#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

[ekingston]

hey guess what is today’s addition to my ever-growing list of reasons to never share another multichapter work online again!

if you’re a fanfic author, you may want to do a search for a line from your fic and see what comes up. someone calling themselves LoveRosieSunshine changed the names of 1. my fic, 2. the chapters and 3. the characters and nothing else & then uploaded it to Wattpad without my permission.

if you enjoyed You & Me & Holiday Wine (the original of which is published only on ao3 here), please do me a favor and report the plagiarism to Wattpad. more screenshots & the link to their ‘version’ of my fic (it’s literally a copy/paste) are under the cut, along with directions on how to report even if you don’t have an account. if you do have an account, i’d appreciate it a lot if you could leave them and/or their readers a comment about the fact that this is the exact kind of bullshit that stops authors from sharing the stories these readers profess to love so much.

i’d be grateful if you guys could share this post with fandom friends, as well. i’m sure this person has never actually written a single story in their life, so if you have f/f work on ao3 you’ll want to check if yours wasn’t stolen, too.

i know i’m asking a lot, but Wattpad will only allow me to file a DMCA—which requires me to share my full legal name and address with Wattpad as well as the plagiarist, which i’m obviously not comfortable doing. for fuck’s sake.

if you ever see any of my work on Wattpad, that is theft. i will never share my work there, and i would appreciate you letting me know if you find it reposted. apparently this one has been up for at least a year and i don’t know what makes me want to throw my laptop harder, the comments saying ‘that’s SO [character i’ve never heard of]!’ or the people recognizing it as a supercorp fic and then carrying on as if that’s perfectly fine.

[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 unsettling about how her tiny fists rubbed at her eyes. 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, but slowed down. 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 a month 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 five-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 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.

Next Chapter

[sed-haec-hactenus]

i hope i never see you again.

a final confrontation, and an explanation long overdue.

word count | 4.9k link to work on ao3

sylus x reader mentions | heavy angst, no fluff, reader is not mc

You'd like to think that you've long since come to understand the man standing just an arms-length away from you, what with his silver hair that still somehow glistens even beneath the aged, orange-tinted porch light; the way that even without his arms through the sleeves, his blazer sits immaculately atop a button up, slacks cuffed perfectly at his ankles; the way his face – which was always so inscrutable in the threads of your memory – remains so, even now.

It's strange. 

As you gaze up into his unfairly captivating eyes, you swear to yourself that this polaroid image you spent so long so carefully crafting of him – layers upon layers of a man that you toiled so painstakingly hard to even have within your reach – too, remains the same. You can almost wholly delude yourself into believing that to be true. You can feel it; taking one step closer, just past the threshold and onto the porch, just outside of the security of your home, both the physical and the one you built around your bleeding heart, and your fool's paradise would be a fantasy no more. 

Your fingers twitch against where you hold the door open, your last line of defense. 

The smell. The polaroid – your polaroid – has caught; the image comes into focus, and the edges are smoldering. It's burning.

The fringe of his hair, though seemingly perfectly coiffed at first glance, is just barely mussed; like someone's run their fingers through the silver strands. Just beneath the lapels of his blazer, you notice now that the thin chain that usually bridges the collar of his button up is missing; like someone had forgotten to put it back in its rightful place after having removed it in the first place.

His lips, your eyes inadvertently flit down to, are canted slightly downward, subtly displacing his habitually knowing expression with one you're realizing you can't quite read. 

Like someone was here before you, with gentle hands and languid touches that left behind this whisper of disarray, and he was unable to smooth every last morsel over. 

It's blistering.

"Don't.” 

Your voice is rough, harsh, and his mouth stays parted for a second too long, closes around what you know was going to be your name, but you don't want to hear it. Not now, and not like this.

Your lower lip catches in your teeth, a silent question pressed against it. It seeps through the gaps, and the absence of it writhes into an unspoken accusation anyhow. 

Why?

Sylus, ever the epitome of composure, doesn’t speak right away. You know that he knows better than to look anywhere other than at you, yet as you hold each other’s gaze, the air between the two of you becomes so tense, so palpable, you feel it in the back of your throat. It’s still. Thick. Thick with everything, all the confessions and admissions, he’s far too late to say.

His shoulders rise and fall with a low sigh of resignation.

“I never meant for things… for us to end like this. You, of all people, should know that.”

A humored laugh escapes you before you can stop it, and you shake your head in utter disbelief. Something vicious and nasty and unnamed starts festering in your chest, clawing against your ribs, threatening to tear you apart entirely.

“That’s low, Sylus, even- no, especially for you,” you say bitterly.

You watch as his mouth twists, contemplative. He tries again.

“Let me at least just explain myself, please, Y/N,” Sylus says, tone measured. But you can see it in his eyes–he’s wavering. You could despise yourself for recognizing it at all.

“What’s even there to explain?” you scoff, unable to mask the hurt that permeates your voice.

“Everything, Y/N.”

That unnamed something creeps further up your throat just as swift as the polaroid burns. “No. I think I know exactly what I really meant to you, Sylus.”

And how couldn’t you?

You, who was enamoured by his out of place, yet commanding existence in your unostentatious life. You, who tried your hardest to stay hidden, unobserved, in the furthest corner of an art gallery away from the curated noise and polished crowd, yet still kindled a curiosity in the man whose presence alone demanded an audience. You, who noticed his appearance at your side in the warped reflection of a gilded frame, only realizing you’d been studying the brushstrokes of the painting aimlessly when he inquired about your honest thoughts in a low, amused voice. You, who thought, “It’s all performance,” then heard his quiet chuckle, “Surely, you don’t mean just the piece,” and decisively turned to regard your mysterious company– only to find his impossibly carmine eyes already looking at you.

You, who felt like you were truly being seen for the first time in a long time, in a way that invited you in; a vow woven so intricately into one glance, it made something in you localized to your heart believe that this was the beginning. That you were the beginning.

Perhaps that’s what it is. Maybe this unnamed something that sits, waiting, behind your tongue is not grief at what you’ve lost, neither is it the misery adorned across your chest, nor is it the betrayal that’s haunted you in the depths of night, rather it is acceptance you’ve not only turned a blind eye to, but abandoned completely in favor of blissful ignorance. For acknowledging its actuality means accepting that you made your choice. You took the path less traveled and it brought you to this moment now. 

But that couldn’t be so. You might have chosen this road, but when the echoes of every single waking second spent with Sylus live behind your eyelids to torment you when you so much as blink, all paths would have converged into this one anyways. And no matter how carnal the desire, you’re no Orpheus. You can’t look back. You can’t bring back the person you were before Sylus.

The you that existed with Sylus, though, was so in love. So alive. And that, in hindsight, is what’s been killing you slowly. Romantic love was something you’d let linger in the recesses of your mind, never to see the light, for it was something that somehow always seemed so foreign, never meant for you. But the way that had Sylus looked at you the night of the gallery truthfully was the beginning. Words and glances exchanged like secrets in his car, your getaway, as the moonlit water of Whitesand Bay glistened just beyond the open window, with the wind catching on your outstretched fingertips, had you feeling a little like falling in love with this stranger who felt like anything but. 

So you did. As did he.

If love was a religion, then he was devout, and you were his divine. With notes of sharp spice and hints of bergamot, he wrapped you so carefully in his scent, you were always certain you could spend eternity in this embrace. The charmingly ardent way he always spoke to you felt like he was meant to exist in the confines of a fantasy, and the unabating way in which he treated you with such admiration and adoration felt like he would worship the ground you walked if he could. 

And you loved him the only way someone who would have never expected love in return could ever love their first– wholeheartedly, without condition. It wasn’t a love full of glittering spectacles, or grandiose gestures, for such declarations were never you, yet it was intense all the same. Like Sylus was scripture, you faithfully mapped every inch, memorizing him like a prayer to be recited at eventide. Your love let him exist without the need to pretend. A familiar, quiet kind of love where he could return home every night, forgo his defenses, and hang his armour by the door. For months on end, a love most fervent.

So foolish of you. To not have seen your own love had doomed you from the start.

It started with a mistake. One made so silently, entwined in the spaces of your love that, in retrospect, if you weren’t so closely attuned to all that he did, you would never have heard it. But you did; a sharp flick, the scritch of a match, followed by the low hissing of a flame held to your beloved polaroid that even the naïve you of then couldn’t ignore. A name. He’d said it so casually in a conversation so fleeting that you paid it no regard. Until it wasn’t something you could overlook twice. 

This name– her name, quickly became commonplace in your relationship. At the second occurrence, you implored Sylus about the matter. Someone he’d become acquainted with in his work dealing with the imports and exports of Linkon City, he’d informed you. A colleague. How wonderful, you’d reasoned, that his profession presented him with chance meetings like this. Thus, it was never mentioned by you again. 

But then, for all you had claimed to be so intimately aware of him, you finally began to see. 

It lingered a little too long, her name. In the space you weren’t aware was between you two. In the way it would hang in the air a little too long. In the lilt of his voice that was so undeniably soft, you weren’t sure if it was worse that it felt like something not meant for your ears at all or that he didn’t even seem to register he was starting to say it in the same way he said yours. 

That steady, holy ground beneath your feet was shifting, he was slipping out of your grasp– and what were you, if not a bystander? His visits to your home in Bloomshire grew more frequent, yet simultaneously somehow, he was never actually there. He would still touch you, embrace you, and kiss you all the same, but the wail of your fragile heart told you something was different. That it had been different for a while, now. With the dampened light of the moon spilling through your blinds and the lull of sleep overhead, you would lie with him in the sanctuary of your bed, just as the two of you always had– your fingers feebly toying with the neckline of his sweater, and his own tenderly brushing over the skin of your eyelids. Only it felt less like you were a girl seeking wonted comfort in the familiar fabric of her lover’s wear, and more like you were secretly sewing into his heart your hope that he would stay. And it felt less like Sylus was a boy stroking the day’s worries out of his lover’s sight, and more like he was quietly willing you to close your eyes, so you wouldn’t have to see he wasn’t.

Then, it ended. Just as it had begun, it ended; quietly.

Rare was it for you to spend an extended amount of time in the center of Linkon, but work summoned Sylus away, and what with your traitorous feelings of guilty relief for the reprieve, you physically couldn’t stay home. A brief train ride later, you were less than surprised that Azure Square was teeming with life. Whether the bustling passerby and euphoric sounds of the city were the solace you needed mattered not, you were hearing and comprehending nothing more than the static of your own mind. The faces among the crowd were akin to figures moving in blurred strokes across an over-crowded canvas, immediately ferrying you back to the night of the art gallery.

Very little mind was being paid to your surroundings as you nursed a cold drink, sat beneath a canopy, and lost in the corridors of thought. The little bell strung on the door of the coffee shop jingled as more faceless strangers filtered in and out, and you could hear the rhythm of footsteps passing even as you were miles away. For the umpteenth time, you caught the faint aroma of coffee as the closing door wafted it in your direction, and with it, came a whisper of spice and citrus.

Sylus.

Like the scent itself took you by the face and coaxed you out of retrospection, your gaze focused on the backs of two strangers no more than a few metres away. Coffee in hand, hair tied in twin ponytails, and clad in white uniforms you know you’d seen somewhere but weren’t familiar with, the joyous atmosphere surrounding these two girls made you feel even more reprehensible, so you turned away, willing the ache and the devil on your shoulder to follow. 

And maybe if you had been free of the tendrils of insecurity curled around your neck– maybe if you weren’t being suffocated beneath the weight of your own love of all things, you would’ve soberly finished your drink, rode the train back in solitude, and let yourself choke. But you were already on your feet.

You’d never wished for anything as achingly as you pleaded in that moment to be wrong. Perhaps all of your conflicting emotions had finally coagulated, and they were clouding what would otherwise be sound judgement. Maybe you were making unnecessary bounds and leaps towards a conclusion you weren’t even sure of. You could feel your lips part, the breath that gathered in your chest, and the sound of your hoarse voice as you said but one word. A name. Her name. 

There was no mercy. No warning. And when the graceful sweep of her ponytail over her shoulder gave way to wide eyes and a startled expression, you knew she wasn’t just a stranger. 

Even now– as you restudy the man that was everything but a stranger to you, the last remaining embers of your polaroid crumble away to little more than ashes at your feet, fluttering into the depths of the chasm stretching the expanse of your porch.

“Enlighten me then, Y/N, on what you’re so certain you meant to me,” Sylus rebuttals. 

Your jaw tightens, “N-”

“Don’t you even think of responding with ‘nothing.’ You know that couldn’t be further from the truth, Y/N,” he interrupts, the abruptness betraying how unlike him this all is.

With the hand not pressed to the door, you throw your hand up in exasperation, coughing out a clipped laugh, “But it is what I meant, Sylus! What more could I have meant if you were willing to spend months lying to me–to my face about everything, at that?”

He shakes his head in an infuriatingly calm manner, and you hate how composed he can remain, even moreso now that all of your self-restraint is unraveling. But– with the dam cracked, why stop now?

“Jesus, Sylus, I–I mean you even lied about your job,” you stutter over a thick knot of emotions, “and I didn’t even get the courtesy of hearing the truth from you!”

That discovery was nothing less than a direct slap across the face. You can vividly remember the sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach– not at the fact that he had been keeping anything of this magnitude from you, but that you’d been so gullible to have believed it. Imports and exports for Linkon City. Not even knowing what his home looked like or where he lived, for that matter. And for you to have been so extraordinarily insensible to have let that be okay because you loved him.

Even revisiting that revelation now makes your insides writhe. Your eyes slip shut, and the sound of the deep inhale you take is soft, yet simultaneously stretched thin.

“It’s almost repulsive how pathetically naïve I was,” you murmur.

Sylus doesn’t flinch. He never does. He holds your stare when you finally look back up at him, and quietly says, “I can’t even begin how to tell you that I regret not having been the one to be honest with you. Especially from the start–”

“Then why didn’t you?!” The question bursts out of you before you can even consider stopping it. You press your lips together, well aware that any final morsels of collectedness are slipping from your grasp.

He exhales slowly, and you don’t entirely miss how the breath shudders slightly at the end, “As much as I lament deceiving you, Y/N, I ask that you understand the sheer amount of danger I would have put you in for even considering telling you my identity.”

You blink once, “I do understand. Really– I do, regardless of my current feelings. But what I’m hearing now is you thought it was safer to pretend to be someone you’re not, and never were, instead of just being honest with me? That was your idea of protecting me?”

“Y/N,” Sylus says in a more terse voice, “Don’t twist it like this. You’re too smart to insult both of us by acting like that’s what I was doing.”

Whether it’s a result of your frustration, heartache, or both, you can feel the telltale prick of tears behind your eyes, “If I’m so smart, why couldn’t you respect me enough to tell me the truth?”

Something in his unflappable front flickers, but your gaze has fallen to the silent abyss beneath you, threatening to swallow you whole. 

“You denied me the choice of deciding if the truth was something I could live with. If it was someone I could love.”

The silence from before envelops you now. Adrenaline simmers beneath your skin. The unnamed something you came to recognize as acceptance settles heavily in your chest, leaving you with nothing except all of your raw, naked emotions– and questions that you’re not even sure you want to hear answered, but desperately need to so your heart can have permission to end its suffering.

There’s another beat of taut silence between you, and when you finally bring yourself to look back up at him, you can see where his expression is fraying at the edges. 

“You’re right,” he says, the vague presence of something akin to quiet remorse in his voice, “I was wrong in assuming that in sparing you from the truth of who I am, I was sparing you from danger.” 

There’s a pause that follows that feels deliberate, like he’s silently pleading with you to not merely listen to his words, but to feel the weight of a truth he’s well aware is much too late.

“What I thought was protection was nothing more than thinly veiled control. You didn’t, and will never, deserve that, and I’m sorry for that, Y/N,” he whispers.

Something in you longs to call him a bold-faced liar– wishes that you could scream at him for lying yet again, but there’s a painful throb when something else threads its fingers over and under the arteries of your bleeding heart. That lingering acceptance, once more. You yearn to say he’s being deceitful, but you know all too well that it hurts all the much more because you know he means it.

You don’t answer right away. You can’t. Saying anything that remotely mirrors the words ‘it’s okay’ would make you just like he was; a liar. So you elect to say nothing at all. But as you stand in your doorway with the biting winter air making itself intimately familiar with the skin of your cheeks – staring down the ghost of your wildest dreams and the reality of your ruin – you slowly realize that what you desire more than the truth is to be free.

The void beckons you twofold, so you let your stare fall away again. You shake your head, in not disbelief, but defeat. In the closet, another skeleton waits– born of his lies, and unwilling to wait any longer.

“... And her?” 

Two words is all it takes to permeate the air with something far more volatile than before. Sylus, too, doesn’t speak right away, and a part of you grieves that he can’t immediately say you’ve got it all wrong. That it isn’t what it is. And even though you’re sure you look just as disheveled as you feel, you quietly let his eyes trace your features. 

His expression shifts as he circles his response around on his tongue before he even opens his mouth to speak. You decide to spare him the effort. 

“Was it always her?” 

Sylus’ expression falls for a moment so brief you wonder if you imagined it, “She and I were not romantically involved while you and I were together.”

You feel your neck become increasingly warm from anger, and you instantly shake your head at him– bottom lip worried between your teeth. 

“Don’t dodge the question, Sylus.”

“Y/N–”

“So– what, you kept the timelines clean? That’s real fucking rich.”

“The relationship that I have with her is complicated, and–”

You almost laugh. “How?! How is it so complicated that you needed to lie to both of us just to keep it tidy? Sylus, I don’t know how the truth will make me feel, but I know damn well another lie is far from fair to me.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his jaw clenches with the slightest jump of a muscle. Anticipation swells in you as you notice, for what is surely the first time, as his lips part to speak only to stop short; he’s hesitating. The ripple of torment that slithers its way down your spine is excruciating.

“There is no way for me to explain it without sounding disingenuous.”

It takes a herculean amount of effort to stifle the itch to immediately scoff, but you keep yourself quiet. There’s nothing you could say in this moment right now that would be worth easing the pressure on him, and frankly, you don’t want to. 

Sylus’ chest rises in a low breath, “She was mine in a life that’s long since come to pass, and I’ve a bond with her that even I can’t explain. Her reappearance in my life now carried with it the presence of something that I still can’t unravel. Not when she herself wasn’t fully aware of the significance she bears to me.

“It would be remiss of me to pretend that my proximity to her was a mere coincidence, but it meant close to nothing because she was under the impression I was exactly who she’d been warned about. Then, everything changed.”

With each word that leaves his mouth, the world around you – the light of your porch, the chasm at your feet, you, Sylus – starts distorting at the edges. Like this isn’t a conversation you’re actively participating in, but more like you’re witnessing a scene that’s happening to someone else. It sounds unreal, and if it were anyone else telling you what he’s confessing now, you’d laugh. But this isn’t just anyone else. And for all the lies he’s woven so intricately around you, something in you deep down knows this isn’t one. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to keep yourself grounded. Only now do you realize that the door stands abandoned behind you– your hands buried in the pockets of your sweater, keeping their anxious trembles out of sight. 

Nothing, however, can hide the fear that’s laid itself bare in the look on your face.

“You deserve more than a bare bones explanation after all that you’ve gone through,” he admits solemnly, “and I would be the one to provide that to you if the circumstances surrounded you and I, but–”

Sylus’ voice tapers off before he can finish. Not that it matters when it’s all the same to you. You hear what needn’t be spoken aloud regardless.

But this is about her and I.

It isn’t until you taste salt in the corner of your parted lips that you register the weight of the tears welling in your eyes and rolling down the slope of your cheeks. Their existence is made even more miserable with the frigid air. Then, a numbing realization dawns on you: somewhere, in the margins of this back and forth, he’s taken the liberty of claiming your proverbial knife as his own, turned it inward, and positioned it against your chest. Without force, yet without hesitation. 

Waiting. 

For one final truth.

“I loved you, once, Y/N,” he breathes steadily, “but I love her now, and evermore.”

Ah.

You feel it. The crescendo. The point of the knife curves gracefully, guided by steady hands as it glides past your skin, through your bones, and plunges with a sigh of finality into your heart. 

Unconsciously, you stagger back a step. You’re unable to hold his gaze. Your eyes drop down to his chest, your attention blurring out of focus. 

All of it.

The aching. 

The evenings spent mourning. 

The endless nights wondering when you lost him.

The unrelenting mornings asking when you lost yourself.

It all converges into a singular, overwhelming moment. You press your nails into your palm, desperate to feel anything else. 

How foolish of you, to think you had ever understood the man standing so far out of reach. It’s incredible you never saw it sooner: You never truly had him to begin with. 

You try valiantly to blink through the tears staining your vision, steeling yourself to face him as you come undone. Even when you’re falling apart at the seams, there will forever be this that remains constant. Because when you finally muster the courage to lift your chin and look him in the eye, it’s devastating– just how beautiful he still is to you. 

Memories in snapshots flicker across your mind and briefly, you wonder if this is what people see in the moments before death wraps them in its embrace. You conjure images. Of the valleys your fingers left behind in his frosty hair with the haze of early morning hovering in your bathroom. Of a coffee table; where you had a habit of leaving the chain of his button up after you removed it when he’d arrive. And his expression, in the way the corners of his eyes seemed to soften just for you when he said he loved you. 

Then, just as your beloved polaroid of him, this too, snuffs out. The memories stop. Abruptly. As if they themselves know you’re not welcoming them any longer.

A trove of them remains in the archives of your heart, though it feels less like that tenderness that’s been haunting you and more like you’re rotting from the inside out. Your body feels cold, but not because you miss the memories– or because you miss him. You feel cold because you can see.

While you were busy loving him, Sylus was already remembering someone else.

“You’re a cruel man, Sylus,” your voice cracks a little over the syllables of his name.

“... I know.”

In a last ditch effort to exhaust the last of your rage out on him, you rifle through snippets of the one and only interaction you had with her. Searching for even a granule of something that would allow you to absolve yourself of the loathing you’ve been drowning yourself in. That would prove she – just as he did – knew all along. But you can’t. The remorse that was sprawled across her face then– and the sympathetic way in which she whispered ‘I’m sorry’ was a testament for this. 

The last sliver of anger in your body relinquishes into a hurt you know all too well. With it, the will to loathe her slips away and it leaves in its wake the quiet ache of knowing that against fate, you never stood a chance. How could you have been able to bring yourself to hate a girl who was just as kept in the dark? You’re too tired, and maybe too kind, for that.

You’re not quite sure what myriad of expressions you must be making, but you sure as hell can’t look at his for a second longer. Another step backwards leaves Sylus bathed in the orange porch light alone. There’s so much you’ve yet to say to him. So much that you still want to say. Nothing, however, feels adequate enough to convey in words the weight of what he’s done to you, so you concede. 

“You’re a cruel, cruel man,” you echo resignedly, “and I hope I never have to see you again.”

With practiced ease, you slip further back into the shadowed refuge of your home that once upon a time, housed two. Keeping the door open has allowed for the winter outside to infiltrate its ambiance; the floor beneath your feet a frigid kind of cold. You’ll have to remedy this with wool socks when you’re alone tonight.

Sylus says nothing and the silence is resounding, even when the door creaks as you begin to shut it; slow, and certain. And you’ll implore yourself to acknowledge it as some sort of sadistic self-punishment later, but before you can close this chapter for good, your eyes find Sylus one last time, and when you catch a glimpse of something like guilt softening the edges of his face, you pause.

The sheer loneliness you’ve felt is something you wouldn’t ever wish onto someone else. Hence you’re not sure if you’ll ever find it in you to truly forgive him. Perhaps you never truly will. Maybe you, as well, are a cruel person for that. Time will pass, and you’ll spend it unlearning him, anyhow. 

When the time does come to pass, and the dust settles with it, there is one truth that stands untouched.

“But I hope fate is kind to you this time around.”

You, too, loved him once. 

[fanfic-ya-know]

Did You Get the Feeling?

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader +platonic Thunderbolts (mostly Yelena) x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: reader is afab, mentions of a toxic relationship, language, alcohol consumption

AN: I have not stopped thinking about Lewis Pullman in weeks - it's becoming a problem. SO enjoy this little fic kinda based on this song I like. This is probably going to get a second part, so let me know if you guys are interested in that! And, as always, please send me your thoughts and/or requests!

Here's the link to part 2: I Guess You Got the Feeling

It had been a few weeks since you'd decided to break up with your shitty ex-boyfriend, and the only person on the team who knew was Yelena. Honestly, it was a long time coming, but you weren't ready for all the drama that came with ending a relationship. So you took it slow. With Yelena's help, you mourned the loss of the man you had devoted the last three years of your life to. She helped you work through all the stages of grief before you even told your boyfriend. It wasn't super fair to him, but after all he had put you through, you didn't really care.

Eventually, you worked up the nerve to tell him it was over, and he reacted exactly how you thought he would. First, he was defensive, telling you how much you'd be missing out on. Then he started getting more aggressive, calling you a bitch, saying that you were probably cheating on him with one of the guys on your team. Not that you ever would, but the idea wasn't entirely out of nowhere.

The two of you had fights before about Bob, about how much time you spent with him, about how much you texted him, and how you would drop everything in a moment's notice if he needed you. You sometimes felt bad about your relationship with Bob, and, for a while, even pulled back from it, in an effort to appease your boyfriend. But when that turned into him complaining about how clingy you suddenly were, you realized nothing you could do would please him. That was the beginning of the end.

Now, here you were, listening to him ramble on about how you'd never find another guy like him and how he's actually better off without you.

"Great," you said, cutting him off. "Thanks for being so understanding." Then, you finished gathering your things from his apartment and left. You felt free. You felt like you could fly.

By the time you reached the tower, though, you felt like you needed a drink. Somewhere during the walk home, your ex's words had sunk in. Maybe you would never find someone else. Maybe he was the best you could get, and you just blew it. He put up with a lot of your shit and almost never complained about your job. And now you had just thrown three years down the drain.

When you stepped into your room, you dropped the small bag of things you'd brought back with you, which suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. It made a small noise as it hit the floor, and you simultaneously flopped face down on your bed.

You weren't sure exactly how much time had passed, likely only a few minutes, before you heard a knock on your door. All you could manage was a groan in response.

"Okaaaay, I'm coming in," Yelena announced before opening the door. You could hear her padding across the floor, and the mattress dipped beside you. Yelena started patting your head awkwardly, unsure of what to do in this situation. "Sooooo," she started, opting to retract her hand since the patting didn't seem to help. "How did it go?"

You let out a strange noise, something between a grunt and a groan that was muffled by your comforter.

"You know I am going to need more details than that."

"Fine," you sighed, rolling onto your back. You told her about how things had gone and how you were feeling. Yelena had been your go-to person for all of your relationship problems. Even though you would consider Bob your closest friend, it felt weird to talk to him about these things. You didn't think he would want to hear about it, and that he probably wouldn't know what to say. Not that Yelena was great with advice - her default being "then break up with him" for some time now. But she was good at listening, and she made you feel a little less crazy when you were upset about something.

"So let's go get a drink," she said matter-of-factly once you had finished. "I've been dying to get out of the tower, and I know Ava would want to come with."

"I don't know," you groaned again. "I don't want to make a whole thing of it."

"Then we don't tell anyone why," she offered. "We can invite everyone, because Alexi will throw a fit if we don't, and we call it team bonding or whatever."

You propped yourself up on your elbows and contemplated her suggestion. "Okay," you said finally. "But let's go somewhere chill, I don't want to feel underdressed, and I don't have it in me to try to look nice."

Yelena let out a small laugh at that. "Got it, I'll go tell the team." And with that, she left your room.

You flopped back against the mattress and pulled your phone from your back pocket, beginning the slow and painful process of deleting all of the evidence from your relationship.

A few hours later, you'd managed to drag yourself out of bed and put on a fresh set of clothes. You put on your favorite pair of jeans, a tank top, and your comfiest sweatshirt. You reapplied your mascara and ran a brush through your hair, but that was all you had the energy for.

Yelena had texted you the time to meet in the common area before heading out. By showing up on time, you had managed to beat everyone there. Everyone except Bob. He was perched in his usual chair, likely having been there for a while, just waiting for something to happen. Bob lifted his gaze from his book when he heard your footsteps approaching, his eyes lighting up slightly at the sight of you.

"H-Hey," he said, marking his place in the book and setting it to the side. "I was, uh, looking for you earlier, but Y-Yelena said you'd gone to your boyfriend's place. I didn't want to bother you, but I-" he swallowed, looking up at you and then back down at his hands sheepishly. "I, uh, I dunno, I'm glad you're back."

You got that warm feeling in your chest at his words, something that happened a lot when you were around Bob. "Yeah," your voice came out in the way that you reserved for him, soft, but not quiet, more breathy than you usually were. "I'm glad I'm back, too. I missed you."

Bob's eyes snapped to yours at the confession. He smiled at you, and the warmth you felt in your chest seemed to bloom in his as well, a soft pink blush spreading from below the collar of his sweater up his neck, reaching the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears. It wouldn't be that noticeable if you hadn't been staring at him so intently.

Your shared focus was broken by the sound of the rest of the team coming down the hall, chatting about the bar you were all heading to and how much you all needed this. Yelena caught your gaze and gave you a reassuring smile.

The team piled into the elevator together, Bob opting for one of the back corners, pressing his back against the wall. You followed him in, turning to face the front of the elevator as it filled up, and you ended up with your back bumping into Bob's chest. His hands instinctively grabbed your waist, steadying you as you stumbled backwards into him. "Sorry," you half-whispered over your shoulder.

The doors to the elevator closed, and you turned your face back to the front. Glancing around, you realized something. "Guys," you addressed the group. "Where's Walker?"

The whole elevator burst into laughter at your realization. "Oh, he is going to be so mad," Yelena said between laughs. Even Bob let out a good chuckle, his breath hitting the back of your neck where you had swept your hair to one side. You smiled at the feeling, both because of how good it felt to hear his laugh and because of how nice it felt to be this close to him without feeling guilty.

When John finally joined the group in the lobby of the tower, he did not look happy. "You guys suck," was all he said before the team filed through the front doors, Yelena and Ava leading the way to whatever bar they had picked.

Not much later, you found yourself dangling from a stool at a high-top table in one of the dingiest bars you'd ever been in, trying to keep your sneakers off the sticky floor as much as possible. You had all taken a round of shots upon arrival, save for Bob, who was nursing a Coke Zero with lime, and now you had a mixed drink in your hand. You had no intention of getting drunk, just wanting enough alcohol to keep the ache in your chest at bay, Bob's proximity somehow both helping and hindering your goal. The brush of his arm against yours was certainly adding to the fuzziness in your brain. You looked over at him, watching the way his throat bobbed as he sipped his drink through the tiny straw.

Bob turned to face you, slightly pulling you out of your trance. "Y-You okay?" He asked with genuine concern lining his features, a crease forming between his brows. He was so beautiful, and it took a lot of your focus not to reach out and touch him.

"Yeah," you breathed out through a smile. You shook your head slightly. "Sorry, just lost in thought. I think maybe I should slow down," you said, gesturing to the drink in front of you. You weren't sure what was in it, having trusted Yelena when she pressed it into your hand before she disappeared onto the dancefloor somewhere with Ava.

Bob nodded at your words. Then, his eyes darted to your mouth as your tongue poked out to wet your suddenly chapped lips. When his gaze returned to your eyes, a blush rose to his cheeks, realizing what he had just done and that you had seen him.

Then, as if on cue, Yelena appeared out of nowhere. "Y/N!" she shouted over the music. "Come to the bathroom with me!"

This made you realize just how close you and Bob had been, since you were able to hear each other without raising your voices. "Where's Ava?" You asked her, scanning the crowded bar for your other friend.

"She and Walker are trying to teach Barnes how to be a normal person at a bar in the 21st century," Yelena explained. "Now c'mon, I have to pee."

You turned back to Bob with an apologetic look and took Yelena's outstretched hand. She began dragging you away as you called an "I'll be right back" to Bob as you waded through the crowd.

When you reached the bathroom, Yelena pulled you into the stall with her. You stood awkwardly, not looking directly at her. "Don't hate me," Yelena said.

"Okay," you responded hesitantly.

"But I told Ava," she continued. "Because sisterhood or girl code or whatever." You sighed and looked at her expectantly as she zipped up her pants, knowing there was more. With this team, there was always more. "And she told Bucky, and I'm pretty sure Walker overheard."

"Okay," you repeated, resigned to whatever would come of them knowing all about your love life.

"Well," Yelena said, her story evidently not finished. "Bucky told Alexi, and you know he's just sitting at the bar now-"

"So now the whole place knows?" you clarified.

"Not Bob," she offered, as if it made any difference. And it kind of did. You wanted to be the one to tell him that you were newly single, to try to gauge his reaction.

You exited the stall so that Yelena could wash her hands. She looked up at you in the mirror. "I'm sorryyyyyy," she grimaced.

"It's fine," you reassured her with a chuckle and a shake of your head. You weren't surprised in the slightest.

You followed Yelena out of the bathroom, but you stopped in your tracks, surprised to find that Bob wasn't where you had left him. Confusion etched on your face, you scanned the room. Yelena turned and gave you a knowing smile. "He's probably with the others," she shouted over the music that was once again thrumming in your ears. Yelena grabbed your hand once again, carting you behind her, in search of your friends.

You finally found them near the back, gathered around a pool table. John and Bucky were in the middle of a game, and Ava was antagonizing them both, saying if they had let her play, she'd be destroying them. "Yeah," John scoffed, "that's why we didn't let you play."

Alexi had managed to find the only comfortable-looking chair in the entire bar and looked as if he was about to pass out in it. You winced at the thought of trying to get him home later.

And then there was Bob. He was standing near a high-top table, guarding your drink like his life depended on it. He had a soft smile on his lips as he watched the trio at the pool table.

"Helloooooo?" Yelena announced your entrance, and the entire team paused to turn and look at the two of you. "You guys said you were going to wait for me," she directed to the group fighting over whose turn it was.

Bob's eyes stayed on yours from across the space, and his gaze softened slightly. Shit. He knew. You were sure someone had told him while you were in the bathroom, ruining your chance to tell him yourself.

You crossed the room towards him, and when you got close, he picked up your drink and offered it to you. You took the sweaty glass from his hand without breaking eye contact, his expression soft, comforting, maybe even hopeful. You pause in front of him, a comfortable distance separating the two of you. You ached to be closer, taking a deep breath, eyes still searching his. Finally, you looked down at the drink in your hand and lifted it to your lips. Bob watched intently as you finished the drink, his own throat flinching in reaction as you set the glass back on the table. His eyes caught on the small drop of liquid left at the corner of your mouth, and they widened as you wiped away the drop with your thumb and dipped it into your mouth, sucking it clean. The sight felt vulgar. "I'm going to get another," you said, breaking his concentration. "Anyone want anything from the bar?" you asked the group, turning away from Bob. He let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

You listened as your teammates each gave you their orders, and then you turned to Bob, smiling sweetly. "Will you help me?" you asked. He just nodded in response, not trusting his voice.

You knew what you were doing as you led Bob through the crowd toward the bar, your hand in his larger one, fingers intertwined lightly. You'd gotten all the answers you needed from the look in his eyes earlier. And now, you were trying to give him the encouragement he needed to make the first move.

There was only enough space at the bar for you to squeeze between two of the other patrons and lean against the counter. Still, you held onto Bob, pulling him forward and placing your joined hands on the bar, forcing him to lean into you slightly and rest his chest against your back. You stood there a while, waiting for the bartender to take your order and bring you the collection of drinks. You paid and passed a couple of them back to Bob. Even with his help, it was a balancing act to carry all the drinks back to the group. By the time you returned, your sleeve was wet with John's spilled beer seeping into the soft fabric. He grumbled something about "of course mine is the one that spilled," but you weren't really listening. Instead, you tugged the sweatshirt over your head and laid it over the back of a chair, hoping it would be mostly dry by the time you guys left the bar.

You were more exposed than you typically liked to be in public, your tank top hugging your figure, and the neckline exposing the soft flesh at the top of your breasts. But the buzz from your first drink lingered, and your second held the promise of maintaining that fuzzy, slightly giddy feeling you needed. Bob’s stare, however, was affecting you far more than the alcohol. You could feel it - the way his eyes raked over your form, lingering on the swell of your breasts. When his eyes finally met yours, his blush darkened, realizing he’d been caught eye-fucking you. A flicker of gold flashed across his eyes, so quick, you almost missed it.

The rest of the night went smoothly. You and Bob maintained a safe distance for the most part, neither of you quite ready to break the barrier that was obviously crumbling between you. You laughed with your friends, almost forgetting why this outing had been planned in the first place. But as things wound down and your buzz dissipated, the ache in your chest returned.

Bob seemed to notice your mood shift as he made his way back over to you. The group murmured variations of the same sentiment: everyone was tired and wanted to go home. Bob picked up your sweatshirt from where you had left it and passed it to you wordlessly. You slipped the soft fabric back on, the sleeve now only slightly damp from the spilled beer. The moment felt tender, almost domestic.

Your group of friends trudged through the now nearly empty bar and out the door, the chill New York air hitting your face sharply. You winced at the feeling, and Bob turned at the sound. He watched as you rubbed your hands together, trying to generate warmth. He smiled softly, finding the sight adorable. He simply extended his arm toward you as you walked side by side, offering his right hand to you. Bob always ran warm, so you immediately accepted his offer, both of your hands clamping around his larger one. You intertwined the fingers of your left hand with his right and placed your right one over the back, sandwiching his hand between yours. It didn't seem to bother him at all, despite the stark difference in temperature.

You walked in near silence with your friends all the way back to the tower. Then, just like before, only now including John, you all piled into the elevator. Bob didn't move from your side, and you didn't let go of his hand. Your head lulled to the side, resting against his arm. You reached the residential floor, and everyone bid each other goodnight. It wasn't until you stood in front of your bedroom door that you finally detached from Bob.

"Thank you," you whispered, your throat feeling dry. You looked down at your hands, still tingling from the warmth of his touch. Your voice was so low that if it weren't for his enhanced hearing, Bob might not have heard you.

"F-For what?" he asked. You looked up to find his gaze already set on yours. There was a small crease between his brows as he looked at you, the question shown on his face. You wanted to reach up and smooth away the lines of confusion and worry and fear that seemed almost permanent in his expression. Instead, you twisted the ring around your thumb, a nervous tick you picked up for when you didn't know what to do with your hands.

"For walking me to my door," you shrugged like that was obviously what you meant, that you had only wanted to thank him for his chivalry, but you continued. "For tonight. For being so great."

Bob softened at your words, as he often did. "Oh." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the floor. If not for the darkness, you would've seen the blush form on his skin. "Y-Yeah, no problem."

"I know someone told you," you said, finally deciding to address the topic that had hung in the air around you all night. "I wanted to tell you myself. I was going to, but I just didn't get the chance." You paused, thinking about your next words carefully. "I mean, it's no secret that things weren't going well for a while now, and I'm glad it's over. For a lot of reasons." Your words caught in your throat, suddenly feeling overcome with emotions. You searched Bob's eyes, you didn't know what you hoped to see, but what you found was quiet understanding. He was patient, letting you say what you needed to say without interruption, and you were grateful. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, thank you for being there for me." Another pause, not sure of yourself. "And I'm just going to need a little time."

Bob gave you a small nod and a smile, not the wide, open-mouthed one you'd grown to love. This smile was just a twitch, pulling up the corner of his mouth for less than a second. "That's okay," he breathed out, his eyes glassy with understanding, with what felt like love.

"Take as long as you need."

[springismss]

ᱬ⛧ my villain x ~ dabi

⛧ part sum: when the tension finally snaps, you find yourself gasping for more, head spinning at the actions of the raven-haired villain who you know, deep down, is your best friend.

⛧ pairing: dabi x pro hero! female reader

⛧ part content: 18+ mdni. fingering, dirty talk, reader gets called doll/baby, marking, just all around yearning for more, orgasm denial thanks to a certain someone.

⛧ a/n: here's the next part of this work, the part that finally leads to some tension being taken care of. hope you all enjoy the chapter, and it doesn't feel too rushed! as always likes, comments and re-blogs are deeply appreciated!

⛧ word count: 1.4k

⛧ links: series masterlist | 《 prev part | next part 》

Those eyes of his, how could they be so beautiful yet so intimidating at the same time? Like a fallen angel who came to serve you and you alone. Those eyes that held so much hate for the world, yet there was a glimmer of something else behind that hatred, something you wish you could figure out.

The question gnawed at you as you tried to ground yourself. Tried not to fall to the growing need deep within, to the fire starting to build up in the pit of your stomach. Nothing about the position you were in or what Dabi was doing was helping you.

The lips that were at your ear began kissing down your jaw, stopping at your neck as you felt harsh tugs. Tugs to the soft skin that would no doubt bruise if he kept going. Skin being pulled by his teeth as he sucked greedily, a gasp passing your lips.

A few minutes later, with a pop that rang in your ear, you felt the pressure leave. The throbbing of your neck was apparent as Dabi moved back, tilted his head slightly as he took in the mark he left. A mark that meant you were his until it faded. "You know, little hero, you look even better with my mark on show".

Shifting off you, Dabi stood and walked to your feet, boots thumping on the floor as he stopped. His figure looming over you as you pushed yourself up, one hand resting on the floor, the other lightly grazing your neck, hissing as your fingers brushed the sore area. You were going to have a hard time explaining to everyone what the mark was off.

Perhaps you could lie, say you burnt yourself while fixing your hair. A lie, but a passible one at that.

Seeing you were distracted, Dabi chuckled to himself before kicking your feet apart. Your surprised gasp sounded out as he knelt between your parted legs. "Ever since I saw you again, I've always wondered what you feel like beneath me...".

Rough hands gripped your thighs, squeezing slightly as you squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for the flames he would no doubt burn you with. Only the feeling never came, opening your eyes in time to see his hands wander higher, grabbing hold of the waistband of your trousers. "...How you'd sound when I finally have my way with you, fill you so full you'd come begging for more".

The way you felt your walls clench at his words had you mentally hitting yourself; you weren't supposed to feel that way. You weren't supposed to like the idea of being filled by a villain, let alone one that was apparently your best friend.

Within seconds, you felt your trousers being pulled down, your lower half almost exposed to the raven-haired male who could only lick his lips at the sight. The way your legs sat parted, enough for him to see the panties that were covering your pussy to him.

From what he could see, you were beautiful. He couldn't wait to be the one who destroyed you for anyone else who dared to try to touch you. Touch what should have been his if his life had never played out the way it did.

Leaning forward, he pushed you down as he caged you, ruining any means of escape. Your back hit the concrete once more, hand instinctively reached out to grip hold of Dabi's top, trying to keep yourself grounded in any way, shape or form. The thumping of your heart was not helping to calm the way your hand was shaking. "Dabi, please...".

Part of you didn't know what you were begging for, what you wanted, but the other half did; to be touched in a way no one else would touch you. To feel your very being and soul laid bare. "Shush, doll, just relax. Surrender yourself to me".

Opening your mouth to retort back as best you could, you felt your words catch in your throat, a small moan of need slipping out instead. The slender fingers that brushed against your covered pussy had your eyes fluttering shut, hips moving on instinct to get closer. To feel more. "Still as needy as ever but in a different way, I see, baby".

Slow drags on your sensitive clit seemed to drag out longer with each passing second, the heaving of your chest increasing the more needier you grew. You wanted to beg, to cry for him to put you out of your misery, but you were lost for words. Words that should have been so easy for you to speak.

"Think it's about time I put you out of your misery, don't you, (n/n)?".

Arching your brow, you felt your hand being removed from his top, leg being bent after he moved down. Turquoise eyes looked up through lashes at you, taking in the way you looked. Cheeks flushed and lips parted, panting softly. "For a little hero, you're still as beautiful as you were".

With one last smirk, he tugged the cloth covering your pussy to one side, finger teasing your sensitive clit before slipping down, pressing past the ring of resistance into you, a moan of relief passing your lips.

"Fuck, your cunts already this wet, doll? We haven't even started". The smugness in his voice had you groaning, trying to move your leg to kick him. Only to have that spongy spot deep inside tapped briefly. Your breath hitched in your throat as your jaw slackened, brows furrowing at the jolts of pleasure.

The speed of Dabi's fingers increased, pressing against that spongy spot repeatedly as he enticed more moans from you. Each more needy than the one before as they mixed in with the sloshing sounds from your now wet cunt. "Dabi, please, fuck, can't take much more".

The weight of his body moved on top of you, pressing his fingers deeper as he hovered above your face, lips dangerously close to yours. "Shit, you squeeze my fingers like they were my cock, don't you baby? That's right, let me feel you loose control on them".

Curling his fingers upward, he pressed his body further into you, fingers slipping deeper as you arched your back, chest pressing closer to his. On instinct, you reached up a hand, fingers threading into his raven locks as you tugged, whimpering out at the low groan he let sound.

You could feel the outline of his hard cock pressing against your thigh, leaving little to your imagination as you felt yourself wanting more than just the fingers buried deep within you. "Dabi, I need you, all of you. Please".

Smirking at the desperation, you felt him lean closer, breath ghosting over your ear once more as he muttered words to you. Words you were more than happy to agree with. "Say you surrender to me doll. Say you surrender and I'll happily oblige what the needy little hero and her desperate cunt wants".

Nodding your head, you arched your back more, hips moving in time with his thrusts as you felt that beautiful euphoria build up in your body. "I surrender, just please, need all of you".

"Whatever the little hero wants. Now be a good girl and leave those shaky legs wide open f'me". A whine of agreement slipped past your lips as you felt Dabi slip his fingers out, lifting his hand to look at the way your slick glistened in the dull moonlight seeping through the broken windows, before bringing the digits to his mouth, sucking them clean.

The way you tasted had his eyes rolling to the back of his head. You tasted better than he could have ever imagined. The right amount of sweetness that lingered on the tip of his tongue as he reached down, ready to free his straining cock from it's confides.

"Dabi, Shigaraki needs you back at the...". Yellow eyes flickered over the scene, a smirk tugging at the young girl's lips as she gripped her sleeves, looking away for a moment. "Oh wow, I didn't mean to interrupt".

A low growl sounded from Dabi's throat as he dropped his hand, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them. Eyes raking over your dishevelled form, a smirk tugged at his lips, taking in your dazed expression. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss against your jaw, breath fanning across your ear as he spoke. "Don't worry, doll. I'm sure the next time we'll meet, I'll stuff you full of my cock and make you lose your mind as I fuck you".

Pulling back, he took a moment to adjust both himself and you, before he looked over his shoulder, shooting a glare at Toga before disappearing through the portal that appeared at his side.

Not before spearing one final glance at you lying on the floor, chest heaving as you tried to come down from the high you had cruelly ripped from you.

✎ tag list: [open - 4/10]

@dabislittlemouse @hawkwithsocks @bogearts @isabeauwolf

© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.

[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

[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 x student!reader (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 | Mingi | Wooyoung | Jongho

[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.

[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

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Stuck Together Challenge

Hey everyone, I’m back with another monthly challenge! For the months of May AND June, I am formally challenging any willing writer to take a stab at writing fanfiction including characters that are "stuck together" (figuratively or literally) using their choice of Criminal Minds characters! Reader, Original Character, Character/Character ships, and Gen/Platonic fics are allowed! Please check out the Rules below the Keep Reading. There are prompts below the cut, so keep going!

(**This is NOT a request list for me—this is a prompt list of other writers! Feel free to request from someone else, and be sure to let them know about the challenge!)

Assorted Prompts 🪢

The infamous get-along shirt

There's only one bed/desk/car

Characters play seven minutes in Heaven

Characters get stuck in an elevator together

A threat to the BAU has Quantico in lockdown

Character has to ride on the back of a motorcycle

A storm warning forces Characters to shelter together

Characters are visiting a jail when it goes into lockdown

Characters are forced to go together on a work road trip

The flight is going to be a lot longer than anyone thought

Characters are put on the same team at the annual picnic

During office renovations, Characters must share an office

Characters have to give a shared presentation for the BAU

Characters both get seriously wounded and have to share a hospital room

Characters get briefly stuck in a freezer and have to huddle together for warmth

The stakeout feels like forever when Character is stuck with their “least favorite” coworker

Characters are tasked with digitizing the BAU’s records... all of them... In the tiniest filing room

Characters are tied together as fake-victims in a work training exercise and it takes forever to be saved

During surveillance, the two have to stay close together to listen through a single set of headphones... like, really close

Characters both try to hide in a closet to avoid an embarrassing discovery... then they get stuck inside

Despite their best efforts to avoid their coworkers, Character moved next door to their least favorite

Dialogue Prompts 🧵

“Just… stay on your side.”

“Are you… building a wall?”

“You have to stop moving.”

“Try not to make this weird, okay?” “Too late.”

“At least you smell nice.” “Please don’t smell me.”

“Is that a gun or are you happy to see me?” “It’s a gun.”

“This was not what I meant when I said I wanted to be closer to you.”

"You're a decorated FBI agent, and your instinct was to hide? Here? Really?”

“I can’t believe you’re the one to witness my end.” “It’s been five minutes.”

“Well, there’s one way out.” “You would die.” “That honestly sounds better than staying here with you.”

Rules ✂️

Your fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.

Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I collect both! You can also tag “#mentioningmargins”

The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check. Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed. Please also include some indication of rating if it is NSFW.

Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post. For xReader fics, PLEASE specify if your reader is Female, Male, or Gender Neutral.

The use of Generative AI is PROHIBITED. Please do not enter any fics that are written in whole or in part by generative AI. Thank you for respecting my boundaries!

The Masterlist of fics will (hopefully) be posted around June 30. If you finish after that, no problem - just send me the fic once you’re done and I’ll add it after-the-fact!

Feel free to message me if you want help developing a plot, have any questions, or just want to gush about your fic. I’m happy to help, and I’m happy you’re here ❤️

Happy writing!

[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! 🫶🏻🥹

[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.”

[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!

[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

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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."

[nadinebrooks-sides]

Here is the link to my masterlist.

Will Graham: Where Fear Rests

Warning: Please proceed with caution, if you're familiar with the tv show then I assume you already know what you're getting yourself in to

Alana Bloom sat across from Jack Crawford in his office, arms crossed as she weighed his request. 

“Jack, (y/n) left for a reason. Between us, that case she worked on in Oregon nearly broke her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone spiral like that and as her friend, I refuse to let that happen again. I almost quit and moved out there with her. It was bad.” 

“I know that Alana,” Jack sighed, rubbing his temples. “But she's one of she’s the best profiler I’ve ever seen, and we need her. I can’t afford to let this case slip any further.” 

“I know she is, Jack. She’s always been brilliant. Ever since we were kids. You think she wants to come back just because you ask nicely?” 

Jack’s gaze hardened. “I don’t care if she wants to come back. I care that there’s a serial killer out there and it’s my ass on the line right now. We need her insight. Please Alana. I don’t ask you for much.” 

Alana exhaled, shaking her head. “I can ask her. But if she says no, that’s the end of it.” 

Three days later, the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit was abuzz with whispers. Alana’s childhood best friend had arrived, the legendary profiler who stepped away from the field after a case in Oregon nearly had her committed into a psychiatric unit. 

The Salem Slasher they called him. He had been on a two year-long killing spree before (y/n) was able to track him down. Nobody knows how she did it and she didn’t really talk about it. She wasn’t even deemed competent to trail when it was time for her to get on the stand.

She had barely set foot in Quantico before the gossip spread. 

Will Graham stood near the back of the room, observing from a distance as she spoke with Jack. He had read her work, seen her case studies - she was a mastermind. There was no one in the field that was better than her. 

She was also absolutely stunning. 

Not in an ostentatious way, but in a way that made the room feel smaller around her. He had expected sharp eyes, a calculating presence, someone who carried the weight of every crime scene she’d ever stepped into. And she did - but she also had an undeniable warmth about her, a softness that belied the horrors she had seen. 

She had this quiet confidence, an ease that was rare in their line of work. Her voice was smooth, her tone measured as she spoke to Jack with a firm boundary: “If this case gets to be too much, I walk.” 

Jack nodded, agreeing to her terms, but Will could see it in his eyes - he wasn’t going to let her leave easily.

Hannibal Lecter, ever the observant psychiatrist, was already watching Will.

“You seem intrigued, Will,” he mused, his voice carrying amusement. “I take it you’re familiar with her? From what I’ve heard, she’s a genius. I haven’t had the luxury of reading any of her publications.” 

Will cleared his throat, feeling suddenly like a bug under a microscope. “You should. She’s good at what she does.” 

Hannibal’s smile was small, knowing. “That sounds like an understatement.” 

Alana practically sprinted across the office to embrace her friend in a hug. The two of them momentarily caught up before Jack ushered her into a briefing room. Hannibal and Will joined the trio in the office and Will took the seat furthest away from the woman and Hannibal sat down beside him. 

“We need your help.” Jack wasted no time getting to the point. “We’re dealing with a killer who isn’t following any discernible pattern. The bodies are piling up, and we look like a bunch of dogs chasing our tails in a circle.” 

“Walk me through what you have now.” She shrugged out of her blazer jacket leaving a light pink blouse that Will thought complemented her skin perfectly. 

(y/n) listened intently as the team laid out the details of the case, her gaze flicking between the crime scene photos and victim profiles. Will couldn’t stop watching her. The way she chewed her lip in thought, the way her fingers drummed lightly against the table - it was mesmerizing. 

She spoke with the certainty of someone who had been in the darkest parts of the human psyche and came back sharper for it. There was an elegance to the way she unraveled the case, her voice steady even as she discussed the grotesque details that had Alana looking a little sick. 

After a couple of hours of going through everything they had, (y/n) excused herself to the bathroom and Alana followed to make sure her friend was alright. 

“You don’t have to stare, you know,” Hannibal murmured beside him causing Jack to chuckle. 

“I’m not staring.” Will’s jaw tightened. Hannibal simply hummed, unconvinced. 

“Will, you look like you’ve forgotten how to speak.” Jack said. “You’re one of the sharpest men I know and I get one beautiful woman around you and suddenly all that goes out the window.” 

Will scowled but said nothing, focusing instead on the case file in his hands. The teasing was inevitable, but he wasn’t about to indulge them. 

By the end of the meeting, she was already offering insights that no one else had considered. Will could see it happening in real time - Jack’s posture shifted, the weight of his shoulders lifting slightly. They had all known she was good, but watching her work was something else entirely. 

And then, just as they were wrapping up, she turned to Will.

“You’re the empath, right?” 

Will blinked. This was the first time she had acknowledged him. “Yeah.”

She tilted her head slightly. “That must be exhausting. I hope you’ve got good coping mechanisms.” 

As the team began packing up their belongings, Jack pulled Hannibal aside. “What do you think?”

Hannibal’s eyes flicked to where Will stood, still watching her as she gathered her notes. “I think she will be a great asset to the case,” he said smoothly. Then, with a little chuckle, he added, “And I think Will Graham may be in trouble.” 

Over the next few days, Will found himself struggling with something unfamiliar: nervousness. He wasn’t used to feeling this way, especially not over another person. 

She had a habit of bringing coffee to the team in the morning, and for some reason, will was always included in her rounds. The first time she handed him a cup - “A splash of cream, almond milk, and three sugars” - he was too surprised to say anything but a mumbled “thank you.” 

(y/n) smiled, then turned away before he could think of anything else to say. She went to catch up with Alana, the two of them laughing as they made their way back into the briefing room. (y/n) would be speaking to local law enforcement this morning. 

“Speechless?” Hannibal teased as he walked by.

“No, she’s just being nice.” Will shrugged, trying to downplay the way his heart had jumped. 

“Sure Graham,” Jack smirked, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

Will shot him a look before taking a sip. It was perfect. 

The tension in the case room had grown heavier with each passing day. More bodies had turned up, each more grotesque than the last. The killer was escalating, and the stress was beginning to wear on everyone - especially (y/n).

Will had noticed it before anyone else. The way her shoulder tenses, the slight tremor in her fingers when she held a file for too long, the way she went mute for a couple of moments when staring at crime scene photos. Though Will was the first to notice, he wasn’t the only one. 

Jack started to pick up on the subtle way Will watched her, how his attention always seemed to be drawn toward her whenever she walked into a room. He’d caught Will staring at her coffee cup more times than he cared to admit, watching as she took absentminded sips while pouring over evidence. Will had never been particularly good at hiding things, least of all her emotions, and Jack wasn’t one to let something like this slide. 

“You should just ask her out,” Alana said casually one afternoon, her voice light but knowing. She was perched on the edge of Jack’s desk, flipping through a case file.

Will tensed immediately. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Alana.” 

The brunette scoffed. “Oh please. You’ve been making googly eyes at her since she walked into this building.”

Jack smirked from across the room, arms folded. “She is impressive. Probably the best we’ve had here. But you can’t even string together a full sentence around her.” 

“Maybe don’t ask her out then.” Alana threw her head back laughing. “That would be embarrassing.”

Will swallowed, shifting uncomfortable. It was true, he had spent the past few days in a  state of near-paralysis whenever she was around. 

She wasn’t just another brilliant profiler; she was the profiler. The one everyone whispered about in the bureau, the one who cracked the hardest cases, the one Jack Crawford had to practically beg Alana to bring in. And yet, when she was around, when she was looking at him with those curious intelligent eyes, he felt like the least articulate man on the planet.

Instead of responding, Will turned back to the case file in front of him, pretending to be engrossed in the details of the latest victim. But even then, he could feel Alana’s amused gaze on him.

That evening, she surprised him.

“Will,” her voice was soft, hesitant. He turned to find her standing in the hallway, her coat draped over her arm. 

“Yeah?” 

“I was wondering if you wanted to come by my place tonight,” she said, shifting her weight slightly. “I’m at a bed and breakfast just outside of town, and I figured … we could go over the case. Somewhere that doesn’t smell like death. Only if that’s something you’re comfortable with. You’re more than welcome to tell me no.” 

Will was shocked, hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

The drive to the bed and breakfast was quiet, comfortable. The place (y/n) was staying was small, tucked away on the outskirts of the city. It was warm inside, the scent of lavender and something vaguely sweet filling the air. It was so different from Will’s house, which always smelled like damp wood and dogs.

(y/n) led him into the small sitting area of her suite, where files were already spread out on the coffee table. 

“Do you ever stop?” he asked, sitting down beside her. 

She let out a small laugh, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Not really.” 

They went through the case details together, bouncing theories off one another. But Will could see the exhaustion creeping into her posture. It wasn’t just from the case - it was something deeper, something that had been gnawing at her long before she had arrived here. 

She told Will that she was going to take a shower and that he was welcome to eat anything in the kitchen while she was gone. He took that time to look around the house trying to get to know her better.

“It’s hard to sleep,” she admitted after coming back into the living room. “Sometimes a hot shower helps.” 

Looking over at her Will realized this was the first time he hadn’t seen her in business clothes. She wore an oversized University of Maryland sweatshirt and fuzzy socks.

“Because of the case?” Will questioned. 

She shook her head. “Because I don’t like sleeping alone.” 

The words hung between them, heavy and unspoken. Will wasn’t sure how to respond. He had always preferred solitude, but the way she said it, the way her voice wavered slightly, told him this wasn’t just about loneliness. This was about something else entirely. 

(y/n) dropped down on the couch and Will watched as she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her around them. “Ever since Oregon, it’s been like this,” she murmured. “I thought taking time off would help, but the silence is worse than the noise.” 

He didn’t push, didn’t ask for details, though his mind was already racing. Instead he simply nodded, understanding in a way that didn’t require words. 

“You can sleep,” he said softly. “I’ll stay.” 

She studied his face, searching for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, she exhaled and leaned back against the back of the couch, pulling a throw blanket over her. “Just until I fall asleep?” 

Will nodded. “Yeah.” 

(y/n) closed her eyes, and for a while, everything was still.

Then the nightmare came. 

Her breathing hitched first, her fingers curling into the blanket. Then came the whimper, soft and barely audible. Will’s chest tightened as he watched her face twist in distress, her body tensing as if she was preparing to fight off some unseen force. He hesitated only for a second before reaching out, his fingers brushing against her shoulder. 

“Hey,” he said, voice low but firm, trying not to startle her. “It’s just a dream.” 

(y/n) jerked away with a sharp inhale, her eyes wide and unfocused. For a moment, she wasn’t there - she was somewhere else, somewhere dark and terrifying. Will could see it in her expression, in the way her chest rose and fell rapidly, in the way she blinked as if trying to bring herself back to the present. 

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You’re here. I’m here. You’re safe (y/n).”

“Sorry,” she whispered, her fingers clutching the fabric of his sleeve like a lifeline. “That was-”

“Oregon?” Will guessed. “The Salem Slasher?”

She swallowed hard, then nodded. “Yeah.”  

They sat in silence for a long moment, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the wall. Finally, she let out a shaky breath and released her grip on his sleeve. “I don’t talk about it.”

“You don’t have to,” Will said gently. “But if you ever want to, I’ll listen.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time, he saw something shift in her expression. A small crack in the carefully built walls she had put up.

“He taunted me for months leading up to his capture,” (y/n) began staring out the window, not able to meet Will’s eyes. “I knew the type of man he was - young, confident, good-looking, calculating. There’s no way you murder 22 women without being those things. He held them captive for weeks before releasing them, hunting them down like prey and killing them with one single stab to the heart with a dagger. I started to close in on him and his victimology changed.” 

“They started to look like you,” Will filled in. “I’ve never seen a serial killer change like that before.” He remembered the victims changing and starting to look eerily similar to (y/n). Same skin color, same hair type, same body build. 

“I knew he was doing it to scare me. To show just how close he could get to me. He delivered a severed head to my door. For weeks I was scared to close my eyes. I didn’t want to die like those other women. I didn’t want to be hunted down. And he made a mistake. A mistake so small that if you didn’t know what you were looking for, you would’ve missed it. The last victim, Brandy Young, he got sloppy with her. Left a dog hair on her shirt. Sometimes I wonder if he did it on purpose. I didn’t even want to interview him, but he would only tell me where he hid the victims.” 

Eventually she broke down and started sobbing into Will’s chest as he held her close.

**

The first light of morning filtered through the gauzy curtains of the bed and breakfast, casting soft golden hues over the living room.  

Alana Bloom balanced a takeout try in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other as she nudged open the front door with her hip. She had just stopped by the little café down the street, intent on surprising her best friend with breakfast.

She knew how difficult it was for (y/n) to sleep, how restless the nights had been since arriving. She hadn’t wanted to push too much, but the signs were obvious. The dark circles beneath her eyes, the way she carried herself a little heavier each day, the way her walls, already so well-fortified, seemed even more impenetrable than before.

But as Alana stepped inside, expecting to find (y/n) curled up on the couch alone, she stopped dead in her tracks. There, tangled together on the light gray sectional, were Will Graham and her best friend. 

Will was on his back, one arm tucked under his head, the other loosely draped over her waist. She had pressed herself into his side at some point during the night, her face half-buried in his chest. The steady rise and fall of their breathing was in perfect sync. 

A slow grin spread across Alana’s face as she set the coffee and pastries down on the nearest table. 

“Well, well,” she murmured to herself before clearing her throat. “Good morning, lovebirds.”

The response was immediate. Will inhaled sharply, jerking upright so quickly he nearly sent (y/n) tumbling off the coach. She slowly sat up, groggy and confused, blinking up at Alana’s smirking face.

“Alana?” Her voice was thick with sleep, her hair an absolute mess. “What are you doing here?” 

“I could ask you the same thing.” Alana said teasingly before her eyes flickered toward Will, who was reaching for his glasses, his face turning an alarming shade of red. “But I think I have my answer.” 

(y/n) properly sat up, stretching before looking over at Will. He looked positively horrified. 

“Alana, it’s not -” Will started, but she held up a hand. 

“Oh, please don’t ruin this for me. I’ve been waiting for you to make a move since the day she got here.” Alana turned back to her friend. “You really had no idea, did you?” 

“No idea about what?” (y/n) blinked trying to wake up.

Alana groaned dramatically. “Will has been completely, hopelessly infatuated with you since the moment he laid eyes on you.” 

Will pulled away from (y/n), jumping off the couch like it had caught fire. “It’s time for me to go. I have work. A lot of work to do.” He practically fled, barely stopping to grab his jackets and shoes as he rushed out the door, leaving behind a stunned duo. 

“Did that really just happen?” (y/n) turned to look at Alana. 

“Yeah.” Alana sighed, plopping down on the now-empty couch. “It really did,”

Will arrived at the FBI office thirty minutes later, hoping he could shake off the embarrassment of the morning, but he had barely made it inside before he realized that was a lost cause. Jack Crawford and Hannibal Lecter were already waiting for him.

“Well, well,” Jack said, echoing Alana’s words from earlier. “Look who decided to show up.” 

Will sighed, adjusting his glasses as he walked past them, determined to ignore whatever conversation was about to unfold. 

“You seem … well-rested,” Hannibal observed.

“Must’ve been quite a night.” Jack smirked.

Will grounded, rubbing his temples. “Nothing happened.”

“Uh-huh,” Jack said, clearly not convinced. “And yet, you look guilty as hell.” 

Before Will could even argue, (y/n) walked in, carrying two cups of coffee. She made a beeline for him, setting one on his desk.

“Here,” she said, tapping the side of the cup with her slender finger. Will looked down and felt his heart stop for a moment. Written in black ink were two simple words: Thank You 

She gave him a small, knowing smile before turning on her heel and walking away to review the case files.

Jack and Hannibal exchanged glances.

“Nothing happened, huh?” Hannibal said, amused. 

Will ignored him. 

The day went by in a blur, but it ended the breakthrough. (y/n), after hours of analyzing the case files, finally put the pieces together. The killer wasn’t choosing his victims at random - they were connected through an old case that had been mishandled years ago. She presented her findings to the team, and just like that, they had their lead. Maybe all (y/n) needed was a good night's rest. 

It should have been a moment of triumph for Will, but as the reality of the case settling came into focus, so did something else: her departure. 

Will found himself sitting at his desk long after everyone had left for the evening, staring at the coffee cup she had given him earlier.

“I don’t want her to leave,” he admitted, breaking the silence. He wasn’t sure when Alana had appeared, but she was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him carefully.

“You should tell her that,” Alana said simply.

“I don't think I can do that.” Will let out a short, humorless laugh. 

“You’re the one making it complicated. She told me about last night. Thank you for taking care of her.”

Will finally looked up at Alana, “She has a life outside of this place. She managed to get out of all of this. Why would she stay?”

Alana signed, walking further into the room. “Maybe she would stay if she had a reason to.” 

Will looked down at the cup. His fingers traced over the inked words. Thank you.

“You should give her one,” Alana said before turning to leave.

That evening, the reader had just finished packing up her case files when there was a knock on her door. She opened it to find Will standing there, looking uncertain. 

“Can we talk (y/n)?” He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. 

She stepped aside, letting him in. He looked around the room, taking in the half-packed suitcase, the coat draped over the chair. 

“You’re really leaving,” he said quietly. 

She nodded slowly. “That was always the plan.”

A long silence stretched between them. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Stay.” 

She looked up at him, startled. “Will-”

“I know it’s selfish,” he continued. “But I don’t want you to go.”

She searched his face, finding nothing but sincerity there. Slowly, she smiled.

“I was waiting for you to say that.”

Will let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and when he took a step closer. Instead. He reached out fingers brushing against hers, a silent promise hanging between them. 

No matter how ugly it got working with the FBI, the two of them were always going to have each other.