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cupid-styles · 7 months

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silk and rope 2

ddlg harry and submissive/little y/n

in which feelings start to grow, y/n is impatient, and harry has to punish her (and someone says something they shouldn't).

word count: 6.7k

content warnings: daddy dom and little/sub y/n dynamics, smut!!!! (anal play, squirting, dirty talk, doggy style, cream pie/a little bit of cum play, use of a collar, y/n in her little space). as stated in the first part, there may be some things pertaining to bdsm/daddy dom relationships that are wrong, but I did my best with researching!!! pls don't hate me if something isn't right!!!!!!

masterlist | read part one

talk to me

. . .

The next morning, Y/N wakes up to an empty bed.

She's sweating, though, and she realizes it's because her body is covered in almost every fuzzy blanket in her apartment, including her comforter. With her eyes still shut, she stretches her legs out and rolls to the side, only for her face to be met with a piece of paper on the pillow next to hers.

She hums in confusion as she wiggles her hands out of the burrito of blankets she's encased in, flipping open the note.

Y/N,

Good morning, I hope you slept well. I had to leave early for work, but I checked your calendar downstairs and saw that you don't have to go in until 2, so I left you sleeping. (Just so you know, I slept on the couch — we hadn't spoken about boundaries after sex so I didn't want to make you uncomfortable in any way.)

I assume your body is probably still sore from last night, so there's a heating pad on the coffee table and a few cold compresses in the freezer I made before leaving. I'm sorry I'm not here to take care of you but please text me when you're awake. I'd like to talk through everything we did and see how you felt about it all.

Have a good day xx

Daddy

Y/N rolls her lips into her mouth to avoid a grin from breaking out onto her face. She feels like a teenage girl, the way she clutches the handwritten note to her chest, butterflies readily swarming her stomach as she thinks back to the previous night. Memories start to flood back — she'd allowed herself to go under, further than she'd gone in a really long time, but Harry... he'd gone beyond her wildest dreams.

She's lying if she says she hadn't at least contemplated what he's like in an intimate setting — he's beautiful, for Christ's sake, and Naomi mentioned once that they drunkenly made out once, describing it as "one of the best kisses I've ever had" — but it felt as though he'd been crafted just for her. He had worked her up and up, teasing her, pushing her limits but always making her feel safe and cared for. She'd never came that much with a dominant before either, which certainly wasn't a downside.

And when it was over... when she was still so floaty and moony-eyed over him, he tucked her into the safety of his body. He ran them a warm bath and washed her skin and hair, put new bedding on her mattress, and pulled sweatpants and a tee-shirt over her form. If she's honest, she hardly remembers much of the aftermath, but she does recall feeling completely and utterly peaceful.

Y/N doesn't know if she's ever felt that way in her entire life. There's a part of her — a rather big one, if she's honest — that wonders how Harry, of all people, the sweet guy in her friend group that's always too busy working to hang out, managed to get her there.

She shakes her head in an effort to rid herself of the thoughts, not wanting to over-think everything so early in the morning. She'd had such a good time last night and she hopes it had been the same for him, so she's eager to leave it at that.

As requested, though, she grabs her phone from her nightstand (she doesn't remember plugging it in last night, but she assumes Harry did) and pulls up their conversation, firing off a quick text to let him know she's awake. It's not even two minutes before she's receiving an incoming call from him.

"Hello?" Y/N answers, her voice slightly scratchy from using it for the first time that morning.

"Hey," Harry greets. She knows he's at work, but it sounds like he's outside somewhere, faint sounds of cars going by in the background. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Where are you?"

"Work," he replies easily, then pauses. "Well, I came downstairs to call you. Didn't want everyone to hear my conversation with you."

"Oh. Isn't it cold out?" Y/N hasn't checked the weather yet but there's already a frosty chill in the air of her apartment, and she's sure when her feet touch the floors, her body will immediately recoil.

"A little. I'm wearing a sweater, I'm fine. Are you feeling alright?"

She hums as she quickly takes inventory of her body, stretching her limbs out, though her movements are softened by the blankets she's under.

"I'm a little sore, but otherwise good. Someone put like, 20 blankets on top of me so it's a bit hard to tell."

Harry snorts at that, "Yeah, babe, your apartment is fuckin' freezing at night. I think there's something wrong with your thermostat."

"Mhmm. It's been broken for months, I've been bugging the landlord to do something about it."

"I'll take care of it. There's no way I'm letting you go into winter like that."

Her body warms at his assertive tone, her fingers finding a loose thread on her tee-shirt to play with.

"So, we don't have to talk about this all right now — I know you just got up and probably need some time to digest, but I just want to make sure everything we did last night was alright." Harry says, the sound of a car whizzing by serving as a punctuation to his sentence.

"It was great," Y/N replies, perhaps far too quickly for her own good, "Really. You were, um... really good."

"Yeah?" he chuckles and it makes her cheeks flush even more. "You were really good, too. I had a nice time with you."

"Do you... would you wanna continue this?" she asks, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. She hasn't really entertained a version of this where Harry doesn't want to be her dominant, but she supposes that she could do with one night if he didn't have an interest in continuing.

"Of course," he murmurs easily, his voice noticeably dropping a lower tone, "Do you?"

"Yes. Yeah. Absolutely."

"Lucky me."

She nearly chokes on her own spit on that, but just manages to keep it together, hoping he didn't hear her visceral reaction over the phone.

"You go in to work this afternoon, right?" Harry asks, moving on way too quickly that it makes Y/N's head spin just a bit.

"Yeah, I'm 2 to 8 today."

"Okay. I packed you a lunch this morning before I left, it's in the fridge. Do you want me to pick you up again or are you fine getting home on your own?"

Her heart almost bursts at him making her lunch, though she forces herself to focus on his question, contemplating it. She's usually pretty exhausted at the end of a closing shift, even if most of her work doesn't consist of taking customer orders. She'll probably be too tired to do anything sexual, but she now knows that her relationship with Harry stretches beyond the bedroom. It's what she's always wanted, but now that she has it—well, what did she want?

"How about this," Harry interjects her hamster wheel of thinking, "You text me when you get home—I wanna know when you're back safe, anyway—and let me know if you want me to come over or if you wanna be alone, hm? Either one is perfectly fine for me."

Y/N breathes out a sigh of relief (one she didn't even know she was holding) and nods, even if he can't see it.

"Yeah, that sounds perfect. Thank you."

"'Course, bunny. That's what I'm here for, yeah? Make those big decisions for you."

She swallows at the nickname, instantly transporting back to the previous night. His tone has a teasing lilt to it but it still warms her entire body.

"Gonna be good for me today?" he continues and Y/N squeezes her eyes shut, "No touching, remember? Those orgasms are daddy's."

"Mhm," she squeaks out. "No touching."

"Good girl," she swears she can hear his smirk through the phone, "I have to get back to work, but text or call if you need anything, 'kay?"

"Okay. I will."

"Bye, bunny."

The line goes dead, and Y/N immediately smushes her face into her pillow.

. . .

Y/N doesn't have a good day at work.

She's basically floating in on pink fluffy clouds when she begins her shift, a dopey smile wiggling its way onto her lips every time she thinks of last night. There's a dull ache between her thighs and her wrists have slight marks from being tied up, but you'd never be able to identify them if you didn't know they're there. It's like her own dirty little secret, and her entire body heats up when she catches a glance at them when she's piping frosting on cakes or kneading dough.

Her rose-tinted glasses fade away within an hour, though, when she accidentally lets a few loaves of sourdough burn because she's taking care of customers in the front while her coworker is on a break. It's a waste of a few days work and ingredients, and the guilt and disappoint creeps up and gnaws at her.

After that, she messes up on decorating a wedding cake — she's normally aces at making roses, but the buttercream she made splits, and she can't seem to get anything right — but the final straw comes in the form of a father coming in with his bratty kids who press their noses up against the glass displays. Y/N politely asks them to take a step back, that she's more than happy to give them samples of whatever they'd like, but the dad chews her out, calls her incompetent, and leaves Y/N with watery eyes.

Thankfully, she only has 30 minutes left of her shift after that, and she's able to hide in the back and work on peanut butter sandwich cookies by herself. After that, she bids a quiet goodbye to her coworkers, bundles herself up in her jacket, and allows the tears to free fall as she walks the short distance to her car. She just wants to go home, shower off the flour and frosting that she's sure has seeped into her pores, and go to sleep. And really, that's the plan, because Y/N has a bad habit of isolating herself when she's feeling down, until she parks outside of her apartment and glances down at her locked phone to see a message from Harry, received two minutes ago.

I hope you had a great day at work. Let me know if you need anything. If not, can I come see you this weekend? xx

And she's just so... not used to anyone checking up on her after work that she bursts into tears on the spot. Sitting in her idle car, clutching her phone to her ear as she listens to the dial tone, awaiting the sound of Harry's voice on the other side.

"Hello?"

He picks up after three rings and there's a twinge of surprise apparent in his voice, but it quickly melts to concern when he identifies Y/N's sniffles through the receiver.

"What's wrong, baby?" He immediately coos, "Did something happen? Are you alright?"

"I had such a shitty day, Harry," she cries into the phone, haphazardly wiping salty tears from her cheeks.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry. What do you need? Do you just need to vent?"

She sniffs and knuckles at her eye. "Would it be too much to ask you to come over?"

There's some shuffling in the background that Y/N can't make out, but Harry's voice resurfaces quickly.

"Of course not. I'm bringing you leftovers for dinner, just sit tight until I get there. I won't be more than 10 minutes."

"Thank you," she peeps out, gazing down at her lap, "And... Harry, is it okay that I don't wanna do anything tonight?"

The background noise stops, a period of quiet overtaking the line. She gnaws at the skin of her bottom lip anxiously until Harry responds not a moment later.

"That will never be a problem with me, Y/N."

Her heart rate slows instantly.

. . .

There aren't many things that give Harry anxiety.

If he had to list them out, it would look something like this: Getting stuck in traffic on the way to the airport, a messy home, when someone says "can I talk to you?", and, on the occasion, when he's had to fire people at work.

Today, he discovers, Y/N calling him crying lands at the very top of that list. The second he heard her teary voice on the line, he threw himself out of bed and pulled a pair of sweats on. He didn't even know if she wanted him there and yet, he knew in that moment that he needed to be close to her, to fuss over and take care of her.

He tells her he'll be there in 10 but it's really just shy of 7 since he speeds there, a to-go container of eggplant parmesan riding in the passengers seat. He doesn't even bother to text her or knock on the door; somehow, he knows she's left it unlocked for him, and when he finds her defeated, crumpled body slouched over on the couch, his heart breaks.

"Oh, my sweet little cry baby," Harry murmurs as he takes large strides over to her, instantly wrapping her up in his arms. "Poor baby, had such a shit day at work."

She nods into the crook of his neck as the tears start up again. His face crumbles and he kisses her hair, stroking his palm over her shoulder blades.

"There you go," he encourages, the sullen sobs from her chest beginning to slow, "That's a good girl. Just breathe. Daddy's got you."

When Y/N is finally done crying, she's embarrassed by the puddle she leaves on Harry's tee-shirt, but he doesn't say a thing. Instead, he scoops her up and fluffs a blanket around her form before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Gonna go heat your dinner up, alright? Pick something good to watch on TV."

Wordlessly, she nods as he hands her the remote. She settles on Jeopardy, which of course makes Harry chuckle when he reappears with a warm plate of homemade food.

"Who knew you were such an old lady?" He teases, setting it in her lap, "Be careful, okay? It's hot, don't want you to burn yourself."

They sit in silence on Y/N's couch, tuned into Jeopardy with Harry occasionally murmuring out wrong answers. It makes them both laugh, and when Y/N finishes her serving, she crawls into his lap with a full belly and an even fuller heart.

Neither of them want to admit it in the moment, but they both know there's nowhere else they'd rather be.

. . .

It's a few weeks more before Harry decides to have an official check-in with Y/N.

"This sounds like I'm receiving a professional review," she grumbles, sitting across one another in Harry's favorite coffee shop. They're both wearing cozy sweaters now that the weather is finally starting to chill, though Y/N still wraps her lips around the straw of an iced matcha. (Harry replied by asking if she was an ice witch.)

"Shush, don't be dramatic," he says, leaning forward and flipping his palm up. He motions for her to place her hand in his, so she does. "I just want to make sure we're both content and happy in this still. If there's anything more I could be doing, I want to know."

"You've gone beyond any of my expectations, you know that," Y/N replies easily as she crosses her legs. "No notes on my end."

"What about in bed?" He asks, lowering his voice to a quiet murmur. "Is there anything you're unhappy with? Anything you want to try?"

She shrugs, thinking back to the many scenes they've had since they began their relationship. She knew from the first night that she trusted Harry implicitly, but that trust only blossomed the deeper they went. She fell into her little space nearly every time they were intimate, even if it was just Harry licking into her at the end of a long day. And while there were soft, slow moments, the intense ones seemed to be more fulfilling for both of them — the evenings when she was gagged and tied up, when he edged her for hours, when she was down on her knees as he fucked her throat and refused to let her swallow his cum until she was drooling down her chin.

She'll never admit this out loud, but she wonders if Harry was somehow handcrafted just for her.

She clears her throat, playfully rolling her eyes at the knowing smirk on Harry's face — one that says I know what you're thinking about, and she pinches the fleshy part of his hand in response. He chuckles and wrinkles his nose at her before taking a sip of his espresso (it came in a ridiculously small cup, and Y/N had to resist making fun of him of it).

"I think we can move on to things that would require more trust," she says carefully, casting her eyes down at the table. Harry makes a faint tsk-ing noise with his mouth.

"Eyes on me, bunny." he instructs softly, "Tell me what you want to try."

Y/N wiggles slightly in her seat, readjusting her position as her thighs clench at the use of his more dominating tone.

"Um... a collar, maybe," she murmurs, pausing to take a sip of her matcha as Harry nods, "I would like if we experimented with anal."

"Have you done that before?"

"Mhm. I like it a lot."

Harry straightens his posture and swallows harshly. She wonders if he decided to have this conversation in public as some sort of test for both of them. They're keeping their voices low enough so only they can hear one another, but Y/N knows it's turning both of them on.

"I have toys and such," she continues when he doesn't reply. He squeezes his eyes shut and she bites her bottom lip, leaning forward over the table. "A few plugs... I have one that's nearly too big, I always have to work it in."

"Enough," he mutters, giving her hand a warning squeeze. "We'll... we'll do that, yeah."

She lets out a giggle and he grumbles, releasing her hand and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Is there anything else you want to do?"

He rolls his lips into his mouth and she can tell that he's mulling over something, though she doesn't know what. They've always been quite open with one another, so for him to be in a state of contemplation feels silly.

"You know you can tell me anything," Y/N murmurs, occupying her newly freed hand with the condensation leaking from her cup. "No judgement."

Harry nods, matching her posture as he places his elbows on the wood table of the booth. "This is an exclusive relationship, right? You're not sleeping with anyone else."

She nods her head. "Of course."

"Neither am I," he says, glancing up at her, "I was wondering if you'd be comfortable with forgoing condoms."

Y/N's eyebrows shoot up. She's never gone bare with anyone before, not even with people she slept with for long periods of time. It's a big ask — they're both aware of that, otherwise he wouldn't be bringing it up in this context.

"Can I ask why?" she questions. The thought of feeling Harry without a barrier is... overwhelming at the very least, but in the best way possible. Her stomach flutters at the thought of it, actually, especially considering the trust she has in him.

"You don't have to say yes if you don't want to or you feel uncomfortable. I just... I was thinking, and I decided that I would really like it. To be with you — inside you — in the closest way possible. Does that make sense?"

It does — it makes a lot of sense, and she's nodding her head in agreement automatically without even giving it much thought. She doesn't need to think about it, but now she's confirmed that her body works on autopilot when it comes to him, giving her away without giving her a chance to overthink it.

"Yes," Y/N answers, affirmatively and with confidence, "I'm— I'm on birth control and I'm clean. I got tested after Todd ended things."

"Seems like that's the only thing he was good for," he says cheekily, and she gently kicks at his foot under the table, "I'm clean, too."

"Okay. Good."

"Very good."

"Do you... are you free for the rest of the day?" she asks, her eyes moving to the window they're sat next to. Rain is falling steadily, fat drops of water painting the glass.

They both know what she's asking. It's a more polite way of saying, do you want to come over and have unprotected sex and maybe choke me and play with my bum, too?

Harry chuckles, leaning across to swipe his thumb over her cheek. She revels in his touch.

"I have to run a few errands, but I can come over this afternoon if you're free. Does that sound okay?"

"Mhm."

"Alright. Let's get you home, then."

. . .

After Harry drops Y/N at home, she falls into her little space.

It's not even on purpose — it's just the context of the conversation they had at the coffee shop. They'd only played once or twice this past week because she had an opening shifts at the bakery (a 3 a.m. wakeup call simply wasn't enough for her to sleep off her soreness from their most recent scene), so they'd resorted to quickies on Harry's lunch hour. On Monday and Wednesday, he sped over to Y/N's just as she was getting home from her own job, bounced her on his cock, gave her two or three orgasms, and came down her throat. While she peed, he ordered her lunch, then wrapped her up in her favorite blankets, tucked her in on the couch, and pressed a kiss to her forehead before heading back to work.

So, given all that, it kind of makes sense. She's craving the sweet, floaty feeling and with thoughts of Harry making her his (in every sense of the word), she slips. She doesn't tell Harry that it happens, instead just toddling up to her bedroom to change out of her clothes and into one of her favorite pale blue lingerie sets, complete with thigh high socks to keep her warm while she waits for him.

But she's not in the right headspace.

And she doesn't know when Harry's coming back, because he didn't say.

She's panicky and teary eyed, missing her dominant, but more than that, she's horny. She's so turned on that she's pacing around the length of her apartment to rub her thighs together and create some type of friction, the arousal leaking from her core creating strings between her legs. And even in her little space, she knows she's not supposed to touch herself, but it's been days since Harry made her cum.

In a sudden decision, she goes back upstairs and rifles through the box underneath her bed. It's filled with a few butt plugs, vibrators, and dildos. Despite the temptation, she avoids the clit stimulation toys and grabs her mid-sized butt plug. It's not for pleasure, she tells herself — it's because it's been ages since she's had someone fuck her back there and she needs proper stretching. If she puts it in now, by the time Harry gets back, she'll be open enough for his cock.

Y/N lays back against the fluffy pillows and blankets on her bed, propping herself up with her plug and a bottle of lube in hand. All of her plugs have pretty little jewels on the end, but this one in particular is her favorite — it has a pink heart on the end with a glass body, and she's so excited to show it off to Harry.

She's done this process many times, both on her own and with a partner. When she reaches between her thighs, she's already drenched, unsurprisingly so, and she uses some of her leaking arousal to press a finger into the tight rim of muscles. She initially gasps, pleasure quickly fizzling up inside of her and making her feel fuzzy and warm.

When she drizzles some lube on to her hole, she gets up to three fingers and by the time it's a comfortable fit, she's craving the plug. With a cautious amount covering the glass orb, she slowly pushes it in, a satisfied moan garbling deep from her chest. It feels so good, a fullness that she's never been able to achieve otherwise, floating her up and up onto cotton candy clouds.

She resists the overwhelming urge to toy with her pussy while she lays there for however long. Every time she shifts her position, she feels the plug move ever so slightly, eliciting a harsh gasp from her throat, her eyes fluttering closed. She's so gone — so, so gone that she doesn't even notice Harry's text, nor does she realize that he's at her house, knocking on her door and, when she doesn't answer, uses the key he has for emergencies to let himself in.

(After Y/N accidentally locked herself out one night at the end of a closing shift and the locksmith didn't come until the following morning, forcing her to stay over at his per his demand, the whole key exchange thing was kind of a given.)

She really, truly doesn't realize it until he walks into her bedroom with frazzled eyes, worried that's somethings wrong, only to be met with his sweet little submissive sprawled out on the bed, a plug wedged between her ass cheeks and her gleaming pussy on display.

"Daddy!" She exclaims, rising to her knees, "When did you get here?"

Harry walks in and sits on the edge of the bed, taking her cheek into his large palm.

"Just did, sweetheart. How are you?"

"Mm, really good," she giggles, wiggling her bottom, "I did something— nothing bad, I promise, I didn't touch myself."

"No?" He murmurs, stroking the soft skin of her cheek. "What'd you do, angel girl?"

"Can I show you?"

He already knows what she did — he saw it the second he stepped through the doorframe, his throat immediately going dry at the sight. But when he notices how blown out her pupils are, the wide eyes and her high-pitched voice, he realizes that she must've gone to her little space somewhere over the past few hours, and he feels like a shitty dominant.

As soon as Harry nods, Y/N flips over and pushes her bum towards him, showcasing the pretty jewel. His hands find the thick of her ass, rubbing gently.

"So pretty, baby doll," he murmurs, and he means it — she looks gorgeous, all stuffed up for him. He taps the plug gently and she whimpers, making him smile. "Did you do this for daddy?"

"Mhmm," she hums, pushing her tummy down to the bed. "Missed you so much, just wanted to get all ready for you."

"I missed you more." Harry says softly, wrapping a hand around her hip and tugging her back up so he can see her face. "Are you feeling little, honey?"

She nods.

"Yeah? When did that happen?"

She thinks for a moment, trying to remember the hours she spent after he dropped her off at home. "I think a little after you left. I didn't know when you were coming back."

"You know daddy will always come back, right?" He asks, brushing some of her hairs out of her face. "And you can always call or text me if you get nervous."

"I don't wanna bother daddy."

"You're never a bother, baby. You're my princess, hm?" He punctuates his sentiment with a kiss to her nose, making a small smile appear on her lips. "You're my good girl and I'll do anything to keep that pretty smile on your face. Okay?"

Y/N peers up at him through her eyelashes. "Really?"

He smiles. "Of course."

She wiggles into his lap and he chuckles, wrapping his arms around her waist. She hugs him tightly as he presses a series of light kisses to the crown of her head.

"Got you a present today." He murmurs into her hair. She glances up at him with wide eyes.

"What'd you get me?"

"Why don't I show you?"

Reluctantly, she moves off of his lap and lays back against the bed, squeezing her thighs at the slight movement of the plug inside her. He jogs downstairs and returns with a dark red box.

"You mentioned wanting one earlier and I couldn't get the image out of my head," he admits, sitting back down next to her and opening the box. Inside, there's a black leather color attached to a silver hooped leash, the word daddy's embroidered in light pink across the material. "What do you think?"

"'S pretty," she mumbles, reaching out to run her fingers over the leather. "For me?"

"Yeah, baby, it's for you."

A grin breaks out across her face and she sits up, baring her neck to him. "Put it on me, please?"

He nods and complies, a pleasant feeling washing over him at her willingness to immediately wear it. He clips the leather around her neck, tugging gently on the chain. A whimper sounds from her lips and he smirks.

"Filthy girl," he mutters, wrapping the chain around his knuckles. "Now, I know you said you didn't play with yourself, but that includes toys. You couldn't wait to put your pretty plug in until daddy came back?"

She swallows. "I... I guess I should've."

"You should have," Harry echoes with a nod. "I know you're desperate for me to own your cute little asshole, but you should've waited, bunny."

"I'm sorry, daddy."

He hums, tugging on the chain to bring her head down to the bed. She gasps at the sudden movement as he maneuvers her hips, raising them so her ass is in the air. He can feel himself thickening in his jeans — she wasn't wearing anything on her lower half except for those god forsaken thigh high socks, and they're going straight to his cock. His limits as a dominant have never been tested as hard as they are with Y/N; normally, he's able to control his powerful facade without a blink, but she, of course, makes it difficult. And she does it all without even trying.

Harry holds in a sigh as he runs his hands over the expanse of her hips, giving them a small squeeze. She's so far under and desperate to be touched that something as minuscule as that has her slowly rocking back into his grasp, yearning for something to take away the persistent ache between her thighs.

"I'm gonna have to punish you," he mumbles, though it's apparent in his tone that he's forcing himself to do this. If he wasn't so hellbent on maintaining a proper dominant-submissive dynamic, he would already have his prick balls deep inside of her. "Nothing too bad since you didn't technically disobey, but you did touch yourself, and I'm sure you got a lot of pleasure from it."

His pants continue to tighten as the image flashes across his brain — his sweet girl spread out on the bed, knees to her chest, two fingers knuckle deep in her ass as she moans and mewls over the prospect of being filled up back there. It's enough to make him shudder, her small and pathetic whimper from below the only thing that takes him out of it.

"It was for you, daddy." she insists, and he notices that her posture has fallen slightly, her face now down in the tufts of her bedding with zipped up thighs to show off the curves of her ass.

"Mm, but you didn't ask, bunny. You know better, don't you?"

A beat. Then, "Yes, daddy. I know better."

He hums and pinches at the crease of her thighs. She's expecting a spanking — if she has to guess, maybe 15 or 20 — but instead, Harry maneuvers back in front of her and tugs on the chain, lifting her head to look at him. His hand finds her chin and he squeezes gently, his eyes roaming over her warm and sweaty face.

Y/N is patiently waiting to be thrown over his knee and a firm slap to come down on her ass. But much to her surprise, he lets the chain go, stands up from the bed, and makes her watch as he undresses. Under ordinary circumstances, this wouldn't be as lusty as it currently is, but the tension is thick between them; Y/N feeling incredibly needy and Harry unable to stay away from her.

"Aren't you gonna punish me?" she asks as he pushes his jeans down, palming himself through his briefs. He nods curtly, avoiding her wide eyes.

"This is your punishment, pet," he murmurs, freeing his cock from the confides of the material, pumping once, "You're going to sit there, on your knees, and watch me jerk myself off. I'm not going to tie you up. You have to practice self control."

Her jaw drops open as he spits into his hand and begins to stroke himself. He's so hard that it hurts a little bit, so he can't imagine how desperate Y/N must be feeling. Her hands are twitching at her sides as she zeroes in on his prick, how thick and long and perfect it is, her stomach stirring as she watches him.

"That's not nice," she mumbles, swallowing harshly, "Please... I-I've been waiting for you all day."

He can see her eyes beginning to well up and his heart cracks just a tad, but it's not enough to get him to stop. His balls are throbbing, the length of his cock wet with spit and pre-cum as he continues his strokes, top to bottom, over and over again.

"Ah, but you didn't, did you?" he says, dribbling down another bit of spit down to his cock, landing at the base. "You put a plug in that pretty ass. You stretched it out, didn't even let daddy get a taste before you did it."

"I'm s-sorry," Y/N blinks the free-flowing tears away, "Please daddy, I've wanted you all day, please—"

"Keep begging."

She's nervous that he'll cum before she even gets a chance to feel him, but little does she know he has no plan to. He knows how to edge himself, and he plans to do just that — he'd be a true masochist to allow himself to cum all over his fist without sinking inside either one of her holes.

"I need it so bad, please. It aches daddy, it hurts, I feel like I'm gonna explode, please—"

"And what do you want?" he presses, giving his balls a squeeze, "You can pick one hole for my cock to fuck and cum in. Which one is it?"

She pouts, her bottom lip jutting out with teary eyes. He wants to reach across the bed and squeeze her cheeks together, pressing kisses all over them, but he restrains. It's part of the punishment, the dominant part of brain reminds him.

"You have five seconds to decide or you get nothing."

"My pussy," Y/N blurts out, and it looks like she maybe even surprised herself with her answer. "Please. I want you to cum in there for the first time."

His cock twitches just at the words and he nods, taking her chain back into his hand. He shuffles back onto the bed and pulls her down, laying her down against the pillows.

"Are you gonna take my cock like a good girl?" He asks, spreading her thighs open and hovering over her.

"Yes, daddy," she answers obediently, licking over her plushy lips, "I— am I allowed to keep the plug in, daddy?"

"Is that what you'd like, baby? All filled up in both of your holes?" He peppers kisses over her chest and up to her neck, and she gasps lightly at he nips the skin. "Tell me now, yes or no."

"Yes," she breathes out, "I want that."

"My dirty girl."

He yanks at the chain again, sitting her up before flipping her onto her tummy. He props her hips up so her ass is high in the air, her face pressed down against the fluffy pillows.

"You know what word to say if it's too much, right?" Harry asks as he pumps his cock, nearly twitching knowing he's so close to being inside of her.

"Yes, daddy— p-please, put it in—"

He certainly doesn't need to be told twice. It's but a moment more before he's pressing his cock into her weepy hole, her wetness making a mess between her soft thighs. They both moan in unison when he enters without a barrier for the first time ever, his mouth dropping open at the sight of the pink jewel fitted between her cheeks. He pumps slowly at first with a hand pressed into her lower back, allowing her to get used to the deep angle, her whimpers from below egging him on.

"What a good little girl," he mutters as he begins to speed up, sliding his hand down to the plug and pulling at it gently. She gasps and mewls, meeting his hips as she rocks back against him. "My little anal whore, yeah? Just love being filled up in both of your pretty holes."

"Yes, daddy!" She squeals beneath him. He already feels her clenching around his cock, her muscles tightening as he continues to pull the plug out in centimeter increments before slowly pushing it back in.

"Tell me when you're gonna cum," he demands through harsh panting, "You know the rules."

She winds her hands back around to each of her ass cheeks, spreading them. He groans out loudly and watches as his prick pumps in and out of her pussy, rings of her wet arousal covering his length.

"Gonna cum, gonna— please!"

Y/N doesn't need anything else for stars to explode between her eyes, and she hardly notices the liquid gushing from her pussy as she comes. Harry withdraws and rubs at her clit, her moans music to his ears as she squirts all over the bed, her hole visibly pulsating.

"Fucking nasty girl," he grunts when she stops, pushing his cock back inside. She gasps at how quickly he goes back to roughly fucking her, her eyes rolling back into her head at the overstimulation and fullness.

"I want your cum," she pants out, "Fill me up daddy, please, I need it."

"I know, bunny, daddy's gonna give it to you," he replies through a tight jaw, burying his cock deep inside her pussy. His balls are throbbing at the tightness of her hole, especially with the aftershocks of her orgasm. She's drooling onto the bedsheets, a wet mess beneath him covered in squirt and sweat with a leather collar snapped around her neck — he's never seen anything more beautiful, and the vision itself has him at his end.

"Fuck— I'm fuckin' coming, baby," he groans, pumping warm ropes deep into her pussy. She moans all the way through, immediately obsessed with the way it feels. She can feel his prick throbbing inside of her as he releases and it's the most delicious sensation.

"That's my girl," Harry mutters as he slowly pulls his cock out, groaning to himself at the sight of her dripping pussy. "Push out for me, baby, let me see."

She does as she's told, using the little strength left in her muscles as she pushes out the thick cum he pumped into her. It's the first time either of them have done this, but it's apparent that it won't be the last. She whimpers at the sensation, wishing she could see what it looks like, but Harry's already using two fingers to push it back in. It's not enough to make her cum again — she thinks she's finally too sensitive for another orgasm to crawl up her body — but it still feels so good, knowing he wants to keep his load deep inside.

When he's finally done, he works slowly to remove the collar from her neck and lower her down to her stomach.

"You okay?" He asks softly. She hums against the fluff of her bed and he's not sure if it's a yes or a no. "I'm gonna take your plug out, okay? Can you tell me if that's alright?"

She tilts her head to the side and murmurs out an mhm, so he makes quick work to gently remove the butt plug from her hole. He bites his lip at the visual, placing the toy on her nightstand to wash later.

"Bath time, angel girl," Harry murmurs, rubbing his palm up her back. "Daddy will clean you up."

She nods and he smiles gently, though he knows her brain is melted beyond belief. He tugs her body up and helps guide her to the bathroom on shaky legs, placing her on the toilet to do her regular post-sex pee. As usual, he looks away, but he knows this time will be a bit longer since the scene was messier. As she sits there, he fills the bathtub up with warm water and her favorite bubblebath.

When they lower into the water together, her muscles feel like jelly. He knows it's been a long day for her so he's not surprised at her quietness as he lathers body wash over her skin. Sometimes she slips out of her little space in the bath or when he's feeding her after a scene, but he expects her to maintain a near-silent demeanor from the intensity of the past few hours.

He helps her out and wraps her up in a fluffy towel, drying her skin off as she smiles softly at him. He gives her a granola bar to munch on as he changes the sheets, and when they're finally in bed together, exhausted from the day, he swears he hears her say the faintest words.

Then, once more, they fall from her lips: "I love you."

642 notes · View notes

lovebugism · 1 year

Note

oh my god,,,, gurl!!!! THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT fic is sooo good 😫 my heart literally breaks every time I read this story. Thank you for blessing us with this masterpiece <3

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | square one

summary: eddie makes a confession that's been weighing heavy on his heart. you realize that your future with him is haunted by ghosts from your past. pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader word count: 16.3k warnings: hopper, steve, and robin being the reader defense squad, hints at reader's previously poor mental health, mentions of abusive and toxic relationships, a banshees of inisherin quote, b*lly h*rgrove because he needs a warning. (pretend any typos don't exist pls and thank u!) a/n: guess who's back, back again? ✨✨ i'd apologize for disappearing for a month, but then there'd be apologies in all my notes, so just know that i'm sorry every time i disappear unexpectedly, okay? 🥲 thanks for being so patient! please enjoy this long-awaited installment of tcar ily <3

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

Eddie’s got a 1986 Van Halen tape in his boombox and a baby pink heart stitched into the fabric of his shirt. He’s the least metal he’s ever been, but he couldn’t be happier.

You keep your promise to him to patch up his torn Hellfire tee. If anything, you use the absentminded assurance as your excuse to see him again. The night you shared before, all but baring your scarred souls underneath glittering stars and streams of pale moonlight, hadn’t satiated your hunger for him. Eddie left you craving in a way you weren’t used to before — a yearning to be close to him that went beyond the boundaries of physical intimacy.

It was a simple sort of longing. It was a homesickness. A sense of nostalgia for a love you’d never felt before.

You wish you could wear Eddie’s adoration for you like a blanket, wrap yourself in the hand-stitched quilt of many colors and bundle it tighter around your shoulders when the cold comes. You want his softness to hold you in a way you’ve never been able to hold yourself.

You feel swaddled in it, succumbed and cloaked and at peace in all his tenderness. You’ve never been so at ease, so blissfully comforted by the presence of another human being. And Eddie feels all of that, every ounce of warmth you feel, because it pours out of you like rays of sunshine and bathes him in shades of gold.

He didn’t think you could get any softer than you had been that night at Skull Rock, until you were nestled in his unmade bed the next morning. You curled your legs underneath you as you weaved the needle and thread through the tear in his t-shirt, eyes squinted and tongue poking out the side of your mouth in an astute concentration.

All of the sudden, you were marshmallow fluff and honey on toast — made of all things sickly sweet that made his stomach feel suddenly full.

You finish mending the rip in record time and beam when he wears the heart-shaped stitching with pride. The rest of the day thereafter was spent in the tiny confines of his one hundred square-inch bedroom. From there, the both of you came to the silent understanding that you didn't want to spend another day apart.

The weekend had given you a limited sort of freedom, allowed you to pretend that you lived in a world with no responsibilities or anything other than Eddie Eddie Eddie, but adulthood made you no such promises. He had a side job to do to keep himself afloat, and you had a cat that thought it was the end of the world anytime you were gone for longer than a night. Both of those things together meant that the eve of parting was ultimately inevitable.

Every second you spent away from Eddie felt like you were grieving.

You mourned for him in the darkness of your apartment and tried to pretend you weren’t half a person in the cat food aisle at Melvald’s.

You tried to lessen the unbearable distance with phone calls, though it didn’t come nearly as close as feeling his fingers thrumming imaginary beats on your thigh or his heartbeat thudding against your ear.

But his voice filled the emptiness of your one-bedroom apartment and the Eddie Munson shaped hole he’d left just behind your ribcage, and that was good enough for you.

When you weren’t with him, you were roaming around your apartment like some kind of ghost, with the phone tucked between your ear and shoulder and the rotary clutched in your free hand.

You cook yourself dinner with him ranting about his day in your ear. You hold the receiver closer to Bowie and force him to hear her purr when she’s being exceptionally cute. He falls asleep some hours later to the sound of your soft snores, and you wake up the next morning to the sounds of his.

It was pathetic, truly.

You’d be gagging at how sweet it was if it wasn’t happening to you.

But it was.

Every ounce of this sticky sweet goodness was yours, and it tasted just like honey on your tongue.

It was the honeymoon stage times a thousand, all rose-colored and reflecting light — your own personal utopia. It brought with it a heavenly sort of refuge, a bubble of peace you never wanted to pierce.

Eddie basks in the serenity of it all when he finally has you with him again. You’re in his lap, on his lips, and all over him, but it still isn’t quite close enough. He doesn’t think he’ll be satisfied until you’ve successfully melted with him and your limbs have entwined with his like tree roots, destined to remain that way for the next couple of centuries or so.

And it’s weird because he could hardly handle living in such a tiny trailer with Wayne, let alone stomach more than a couple hours with the guys from Hellfire all in one place. But you? You entered his life all at once and now he can’t remember what it was like without you.

He doesn’t particularly want to, if he’s being real honest.

It’s why he’s always less enthused about letting you leave when you’ve both got responsibilities dragging you apart. He begs you to stay with him a few hours more, pleads for you to stick around while he makes a quick deal or an emergency pick-up when Dustin Henderson calls and says he needs a ride.

And you promise you’ll wait on him there, because he makes it virtually impossible to say no to his rosy pouted lips and chocolate syrup puppy dog eyes.

That’s when you run into Wayne for the first time, when Eddie’s out and you’re making breakfast for when he comes back.

French toast and scrambled eggs sizzle on the stove and warm the kitchen with all its cinnamon confections. It makes the man’s face screw up in confusion when he steps inside the trailer because he’s never known Eddie to cook a day in his life. And then his eyes find you — a young, pretty girl all alone in his kitchen with his nephew’s van gone from the drive.

“…Who the hell are you?” he wonders gruffly and pops a cigarette between his lips, totally unbothered.

He’s got no reason to be intimidated by the stranger in his trailer. He’s more confused than anything else, and he’s got this contorted look on his face like he’s blaming the exhaustion from the graveyard shift for his vision of you.

“Oh— my god,” you mumble through the mouthful of whipped cream you’d squeezed into your mouth moments prior. You fight to swallow it all down. “Uh. Hi. I’m, um… I’m Eddie’s... girlfriend?”

It sounds like you’re lying.

In some ways, it feels like you are.

You’ve been spending more time in his trailer than in your own home, but it’s not like either of you has motioned to make anything official just yet.

He eyes you with a tired and heavy gaze, eyes as dark and as infinite as Eddie’s. The man gives you a once-over and then chuckles lowly to himself as he tosses his corduroy jacket onto the back of the recliner and his tin lunchbox to the coffee table.

You shift awkwardly on the other side of the room. “…What is it?”

“When Eddie said he was talkin’ to a pretty girl on the phone every night, I thought he was lyin’,” he admits through hearty chuckles.

It makes you laugh too.

There’s little talking after the fact, besides you offering him some of the breakfast on the stove and him joking that you should come around more often.

You recount the story to Eddie when he returns, utterly mortified about the whole thing. You’re even more embarrassed when the boy finds amusement in your horror and starts to chuckle to himself — not exactly at you, but not with you either.

He laughs louder when you swat at him for it. You clamber on top of him, mattress squeaking mattress under your weight, as you demand him to stop through giggles of your own.

Somewhere down the line, both of you stop caring.

Neither of you is quite sure where the conversation stopped and ended, only that when you started kissing, you couldn’t stop.

They weren’t innocent little pecks, but they weren’t sloppy and full of tongue either. You press your lips together with the intent of being as close as you can to the other, like you haven’t spent every second you could together.

Neither of you will be satisfied until you’ve swallowed each other whole.

And you, you’ve got this ache for him. A swirling of want that’s constantly rippling in your belly for this boy. He’s just not usually under you when it’s happening — and now that he is, the crackling embers have burst into white and blue flames behind your sternum.

Your lips click each time you part, a lewd noise you never want to stop hearing. The sound of it gives you goosebumps, like a good song you’ve just heard on the radio. You wonder if Eddie can feel them as his hands start to creep up beneath your shirt and find purchase along your waist.

You open his mouth with your own and sneak your tongue inside just as you roll your hips over his lap.

It’s the most forthcoming either of you had been in your three-day stint of nonstop talking. Even when you were over at the trailer, totally alone and pressed underneath him, it was otherwise completely innocent. You just make out like a couple of teenagers until one of you wants to make a food run or offers to roll a joint.

And you like that. You like that he doesn’t expect anything from you, but it does get a little agonizing when you’ve tried every attempt to give yourself to him and he just won’t take it.

Like usual, Eddie tenses when he feels you grinding on top of him — partly because he feels a tingle at the base of his spine when he gets instantly half-hard, but mostly because he knows there’s nothing he can do about it.

He keeps preaching to himself it’s not the right time, it’s not the right time, it’s not the right time — but he’s got no idea when it’ll ever be the right time, if it’ll ever be the right time, or if he’ll know it when it comes.

Because he’s had you to himself for days now — no Wayne, no responsibilities, no pressure — with his tongue rutting against yours and your hands fidgeting with the metal buttons of his jeans, and it still doesn’t feel good enough. Eddie doesn’t feel good enough.

He’s not sure if he ever will.

And it’s not you. God, it’s the farthest thing from you. As far as Eddie’s concerned, he’s never had more fun with anyone else. He’s never laughed harder with anyone else. He’s never felt as comfortable with anyone as he’s starting to feel around you. So he’s not entirely sure why he finds the rest of it so hard.

Eddie wants you so bad that the ache of all his yearning is palpable. It’s like the weight of it is what’s keeping him from you — unstoppable force, immovable object, blah, blah, blah.

Either way, it leaves him entirely unable to take things further with you, however much he wants to. There’s something in his way and it’s him.

Your heartache is his own when he has to pull away from you.

“You okay?” you ask him with wide eyes and swollen lips, always so concerned for him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he’s quick to assure you. He’s still breathless when he fidgets beneath you, trying to prop himself up on his headboard without rubbing his half-hard cock against your thigh.

When he succeeds, he musters a smile that shakes at the edges. “It’s just… you know, not everything… It doesn’t have to be about sex, you know?”

He makes himself as soft as possible for you when he says this. He gets rid of all the usual teasing lilts that tend to lurk on his tongue as the words spill from his mouth. The last thing he wants to do is hurt your feelings or, in some roundabout way, make you think you’re the problem.

He just wants you to know that that isn’t why he’s been wanting to spend so much time with you. There was never an ulterior motive with him other than all the adoration he holds in his hands and his mouth for you.

The strike of hurt that flashes across your face is obvious to only Eddie, who’s spent enough time mapping out your features to know what twitches are ones of discontent. The slight frown that dips between your brows when they scrunch together for half a second comes like a stroke of lightning. It’s a brief flash of purple in the sky that leaves so quickly that it makes you wonder if it was ever there at all.

You fidget on his lap, not resting as comfortably upon him as you had been just moments before. “Oh…” you murmur through soft, jutted-out lips. “Sorry. I, I didn’t—”

“No, it’s not— that’s not what I—” he tries to assure over your insecure stammers, but succeeds only in tripping over himself in return. He cuts himself off with a breathy laugh, shaking his head while his fingers fidget on your hips. “That’s just not what this is about for me, you know? I just… I wanna spend time with you.”

It’s easily the softest thing he’s ever said to you — to anybody, for the matter — and the marshmallow sweetness of it all wraps around you like wisps of pink cotton candy.

Your apprehensiveness twists into something lighter, a pair of twinkling eyes and a bashful smile.

“Oh,” you hum again, obviously more pleased than before. “That’s nice…”

“No one’s ever said that to you before, have they?” Eddie asks you.

He tries to muster a crooked smirk as the words leave his mouth, but he’s got a feeling he already knows the answer. Hearing you affirm his suspicions will do nothing more than make him angry at all the assholes that had you before him, at everyone who taught you that you were good for sex and hardly a thing else.

It makes him wish that he’d gotten to know you sooner. Maybe then you’d understand that he’d be happy just holding you like this and never doing anything more.

You don’t answer him verbally, just shake your head with your lips pursed softly to the side. You look more innocent than anything he’s ever seen before, even with your lipstick smeared on your chin.

He’s still not quite sure how someone could be so reckless with such a fragile thing — to watch you break and not spend the rest of time grieving to know that you’ll never be quite the same again.

There’s a primal instinct that swims in him then, an urge to keep you in his arms and locked in the confines of his trailer forever and ever. He wants to keep the wolves of Hawkins, Indiana from ever getting a whiff of you again. It’d be more than they deserved, anyway.

“God, you have got to get better boyfriends, sweetheart,” Eddie tells you with a playful lilt in his voice despite the anger simmering in his belly.

“Isn’t that what you are?” you giggle.

His world stops.

“Huh?”

You tense at his tenseness. Only when he’s gaping at you does the weight of your words dawn on you. “…Huh?”

The awkward moment goes as quickly as it arrives, chased out by the fit of laughter the two of you are quickly thrown into. Your entwining chuckles rise like smoke in his tiny bedroom and then settle back over you like a fuzzy blanket.

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, babe?” Eddie teases.

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Babe.”

“Oh, right, of course not. That would be way too crazy considering we’ve spent, like, every day together and have made each other come… what is it now? Twice?”

“Three times for me,” you correct with you a smile. “You need to catch up, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Another time?” he offers with a scrunched nose.

“Whenever you want.”

Eddie is grateful for your lack of urgency, even more so for the kiss you press to the tip of his nose.

You peck him on the lips after — once, twice, and then a thiiird, drawn out time — before moving on to his chin and jaw and neck. Whatever part of him you can reach (which is just about everywhere, considering the vantage point you’ve got sitting on his lap), you sprinkle a kiss to it.

It’s an innocent sort of affection, the kind that makes him wonder how it ever came to be in the first place. What evolutionary measures led to this, to you pressing your lips to his skin to show how much you care about him? Eddie doesn’t really want to know the answer, he’s just grateful that it happened in the first place.

You’re so good at it, loving on him. You’re always so kind and so gentle in your way and it makes him feel guilty. There’s a lingering feeling of undeservedness that settles something heavy at the base of his stomach. How could he ever expect you to be so open with him when he hasn’t done the same for you?

A heavy sigh rattles in his deflating chest.

“I gotta tell you something, sweetheart,” he cautions when your lips smack against the thrumming pulse below the left side of his jaw. “Something you’re not gonna like…”

A billion things run through your head all at once. When you part from him, he can see the rollercoaster of emotions each one of them puts you through.

Your first instinct is that he’s got some kind of partner he’s kept hidden from you until now. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gone steady with a guy who’s then told you about some other girlfriend he had — or, god forbid, a wife.

But then you realize that you surely would’ve had some sort of inkling if that were the case. There’s no way Eddie would’ve been able to spend every second of his day with you — and then another several hours on the phone when you had to leave — without someone else coming along to burst your bubble.

And so far, there haven’t been any angry wives, just the occasionally confused Uncle Wayne.

Then you start thinking he’s about to tell you he wants an open relationship. The you’re great, but I’m just not ready to settle down yet spiel that you’ve heard a thousand times before. Usually when people say that, they mean that they just don’t want to settle down with you.

You’ll become some douchebag’s fuck toy for a month or more until the girl next door comes around. He gets her knocked up in record time, his family forces him to marry her, and they begin their cushy lives together in the center of some cul-de-sac — really settle down, as it were.

You’re not sure if you could take that from Eddie. You could grin and bear if it you had to, take whatever attention he’s willing to give you because who cares if he’s giving it to someone else on the side? You’re just not sure how long you’d last like that.

And then you start to worry that he’s just going to break up with you entirely — it’s not you, it’s blah, I’ll always care about blah, please don’t tell anyone about how we blah-ed. That whole talk.

All the rest of your worries stop mattering so much because you’ve only just called him your boyfriend. And here he goes, about to end it all before it can really even start. That’d be just your luck, you figure.

“Did I do something wrong?” you caution after a few moments of heavy silence.

Eddie’s bleeding heart wrenches at your words, at how sad they sound spilling from your mouth, and how you immediately think that it’s got something to do with you.

He shakes his head feverishly in response. “No. No, it’s not you. You’re… you’re perfect.”

“Okay…” you concede quietly, voice trembling with a lingering disbelief.

“I just… I haven’t been totally honest with you, you know?” the boy admits before his glimmering chocolate eyes fly open and he corrects himself quickly. “And I haven’t lied to you or anything. Not— Not exactly. I just… I wanna be honest with you… As your boyfriend and all.”

You can tell by the sudden weight in his voice that he’s serious. But the fine coat of glowing rose that splotches Eddie’s cheeks after calling himself your boyfriend for the first time makes you melt.

You smile to yourself and start to trace the heart you’d stitched into his t-shirt with your finger.

“Yeah. I mean, we are about to spend our two minutes anniversary together and everything.”

“Exactly,” the boy huffs out a laugh. It lacks its usual jest, though, because of the ice-cold anxiety that drenches him from head to toe and makes his hands and feet go numb.

His fingers tremble where the rest on your waist, trying and failing to find a comfortable position there because, right about now, Eddie feels the most awkward he’s ever felt.

“I just want you to know that I… I’ve never done this before,” he confesses quietly and with his eyes squeezed shut. He prays that he doesn’t have to be any less vague than that.

Your face twists in confusion — your brows furrow and your nose twitches and your head tilts to the side like a puppy. And then you’re laughing, a soft little thing of a giggle that normally makes his heart sing, though now he can only feel it breaking.

“What…?” he tries to scoff out his own chuckle. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’ve already told me that, dummy. That you’ve never felt this way before…” you answer, reciting his own words back to him. You haven’t yet forgotten how he’d looked at you as you said them, pale skin made silk under the moonlight while he sparkled beneath the beams of it and his love for you.

“No, it’s… it’s more than that,” he corrects. “I’ve never even had a girlfriend before you. Or anything really.”

You still don’t seem to understand. You just look on at him with uncertainty.

A quiet “okay?” tumbles from your mouth entwined with a nervous giggle, because you don’t understand what’s got him so somber. He’s never dated anyone, you’ve fucked half of Hawkins — these are just facts that went unsaid before now.

And maybe it’s because you’ve never been with a virgin before, but the thought that Eddie might be one hasn’t seemed to cross your mind at all.

It’s that exact thought that scares him.

Because if it hasn’t already, maybe it’s because you’re avoiding it altogether. And why would he ever be the exception?

He opts to bite the bullet and hopes that his heart doesn’t get broken after.

“I’m a virgin. Okay? I’m a complete, total, proper adult virgin,” he blurts with a brazenness he’d previously lacked when it came to all this. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before now, but I didn’t, because I liked you and I was scared. So if you wanna yell at me or if you wanna break up with me before our five-minute anniversary, I totally get it, but I should probably let you know that it’ll rip my little virgin heart to shreds, so…”

Eddie ends his nervous ramble with a trembling, lopsided smile that does little to ease the leaden tension he’s just manufactured in the four walls of his bedroom.

He can’t seem to gauge your reaction after the fact, which is strange because he always knows what you’re thinking.

He knows when you’re laughing with him and not at him. You scrunch your nose and giggle when he tells you a funny joke, then tilt your head back and cackle when he trips over the punchline.

He knows the exact moment when something’s started to bother you — when you get real quiet in your bubble of reserved stillness and your eyes start to glaze over. To anyone else, it might just look like a person who’s keeping to themselves. Eddie’s starting to learn that usually means trouble when it comes to you.

He knows the difference between your gentle sort of sadness and when you’re damn near inconsolable. When you cried at the end of Stand By Me, you smiled at him with a glassy tear-filled gaze, then rolled your eyes when he tried to comfort you. The tears only spilled over when you laughed because Eddie pretended you’d hurt him when you’d shoved him away.

But when you’re really upset about something, you don’t show him at all — you fight to keep it all to yourself until you’ve squished the problem into a tiny enough ball that you can forget about all of it.

This is something different.

There’s too much crossing your mind all at once for him to get a good read of you.

You just gape at him, like you’re trying to figure out if he’s joking or not, and then fighting to understand what it means when you realize he’s being serious.

And just when you’ve started to wrap your head around it all, when your brain remembers how to make words again and you realize you haven’t said anything in several agonizing seconds, a foreign voice sounds from down the hallway.

Not foreign in that it was unfamiliar exactly, just foreign in that you and Eddie had spent so much time alone that you were starting to forget that there was an entire world outside of yourselves. A great big world, filled with a great many people, some of whom were your friends who tended to get pretty worried about you.

“Edward Wayne— why the hell is the Chief in my driveway?” his uncle curses from the living room, sounding like he’s speaking through a cigarette in his mouth.

Eddie himself is immediately freaking the fuck out because he figures he must’ve gotten tipped off again. He tries to calculate the quickest way to get you off of him and to all of his cubby holes full of miscellaneous drugs so he can flush them down the toilet before Jim Hopper busts the door down.

And even though you’re not the drug dealer who’s had cops on their ass since they were fifteen in this equation, you look a whole lot more terrified than Eddie does.

Your eyes go wide and the whites of them swim with terror as you launch yourself off of his lap. You don’t spare another glance back at him, not even when you nearly trip over yourself when you shove your sneakers on your feet and shuffle out of the room. He’s forced to follow behind you like a confused puppy as you bound through the trailer at lightning speed.

The haste of your movements startles even Wayne, who halts mid-puff of his cig when you’re in and out of the living room before he can blink. The opening squeak of the screen door and metal slamming against metal is the only thing that punctuates your exit.

“Would it kill you to answer your damn phone every once in a while?” the powerful timbre of Jim Hopper’s angry voice, of which only the man himself could pull off, is muffled until Eddie cautiously slinks onto the porch behind you.

He finds the chief standing beside the Cruiser he’s parked sideways. The door of it is still flung open. A distant beeping sounds from the ignition.

He’s still got on the pressed khakis of his uniform — complete with the golden badge pinned to his chest, darkened sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, and flat-brimmed hat on his head. Even with the majority of his face covered, it does little to hide the anger that radiates off of him like a hot stove eye.

You remain on the porch, shifting your weight on your feet at the top of the steps. “Okay, Hopper, just listen to me for a second—”

“Three days!” he shouts over you, not deterred by your composed nature. “I have been calling you… for three days! Seventy-two hours. No answer!”

Eddie decides to speak up from behind you despite his better judgment. “Yeah, uh, that was kinda my fault,” he confesses with an awkward laugh. “Wouldn’t let her hang up the phone—”

“I’ll deal with you in a second,” Jim interjects firmly and without thinking. He goes back to berating you with an admirable finesse. “Buckley wanted my head on a pike when I wouldn’t file a missing person’s report in the first twenty-four hours, but seventy-two? She was gonna kill me!”

Rather than argue with him, like every fiber of your being so desperately wants to, you make the difficult choice to concede with a heavy sigh. Because you don’t doubt that Robin was on his ass the second she realized you weren’t answering your phone or at your apartment when she and Steve dropped by.

She did tend to be on the overprotective side, after all, which obviously paired well with her melodramatic disposition.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’ve just been… busy.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard the one before,” the man answers bitterly.

“It’s different, Hopper!”

“I’ve heard the one before, too!”

Eddie can only assume that the both of you are communicating telepathically, what with the way your synchronized glares seem to say a thousand words (probably every curse imaginable, if he had to guess) without your mouths ever moving once.

He stands on the outskirts of it all, feeling a bit stuck in the thorniness of such a tense silence, like any slight movement might cut him.

Jim moves slowly, akin to a creeping snake, as his hands raise to remove the glasses from his face. Their lack reveals the ice-cold glare that was previously hiding beneath them.

“Get in the car—”

“—No,” you reject just as the direction leaves his mouth because you knew it was coming.

Jim inhales sharply and smacks his lips against his teeth, like a father whose child is most ardently testing his patience. He plants his work boot in the gravel and his hand on his hips. His steel gaze goes far off for a moment before flitting back to you again.

“…Get in the car or I put you in handcuffs.”

Your breath hitches at the threat. You squint over at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Jim smiles at you, but it’s more threatening than anything else. “We both know that I would.”

Eddie’s eyes flit between the both of you. He can tell that Hopper’s serious and that you’re trying to decide whether or not to call his bluff, with your arms crossed defensively over your chest and lips pursed in a tight line.

You ultimately decide not to. Because Hopper has, in fact, done that before. And even though the circumstances are very, very different, you wouldn’t put it past him to do it again. So you all but stomp your foot like a protesting child and spin on your heel to storm back inside the trailer.

Eddie’s nervous gaze flits between your disappearing form and the storm cloud of a police chief standing in his driveway. When their eyes lock, he realizes he should probably say something. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder and stammers, “I should— I should probably…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He catches the front door before it shuts and slithers through the crack of it to follow in behind you.

“Wait, was he— was he being serious about that?” Eddie wonders once you’re back in his bedroom.

It feels a lot less cozy than it did minutes before, less like the bubble of refuge that you thought nobody could pierce and more like a lonely space that feels entirely too empty. You pluck your things scattered around his room, and it starts to feel less and less like home with parts of you gone from it.

“I don’t know,” you answer within a sigh as you collect your cardigan from the back of his desk chair and shrug the thing back over your shoulders again.

“But it’s happened before?”

“Yeah. Once. When I was…” you confess quietly, then trail off. You get your bag from his nightstand and haphazardly shove your scrunchie, sunglasses, and chapstick into the bottom of it. “…When I was in a bad way— it doesn’t matter now.”

Eddie so desperately wants to pry.

He’d wanted to make a joke before, about the handcuffs — something less than tasteful about them and you and Hopper and some good ol’ freaky deaky that you'd scold him for after. But he decides not to now because you sound so strangely solemn about the whole thing, as though it was a story you buried deep with the intent of never bringing it up again.

“You don’t have to go with him if you don’t want to, you know that, right?”

“Of course, I do,” you scoff at his worries, not nearly as threatened by Jim as the rest of Hawkins. You move to stand in front of him in the center of his room and meet his furrowed brows with a soft grin. “He’s not gonna do anything, he’s just pissed. He’ll berate me on the drive back to my apartment and then it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

That seems to please Eddie well enough, though he’s still a bit disheartened at your leaving.

“I guess we couldn’t keep spending time together like this, huh?” he teases lightly, like the realization of it doesn’t make his chest ache. “Sorta forgot about the rest of the world… whatever that is.”

“It was fun while it lasted,” you tell him with a shrug and a whimsical sigh.

“Wait for me, will ya?” he jokes, if only to make you laugh and to feel like he’s stuck in some sickly sweet ending of a romcom for a couple moments more.

You roll your eyes at his dramatics but let him wrap you in his arms anyway. His hands find purchase on your elbows, thumbs rubbing soothingly along the outsides of them. “How about a kiss, then?” he offers when the urge to feel you because too great to bear. “For our ten-minute anniversary and all?”

“You never have to ask me, Eds,” you assure with a laugh. You rise to the tips of your toes and he meets you halfway.

Home is in your mouth. It’s warm and cozy and safe there. It’s easily the most familiar place he’s ever known, with your bottom lip nestled between his own. He feels homesick when you part from him.

“You’re not mad at me?” he wonders quietly, feeling a bit like a cowering child from where he stands in front ahead of you — eased only when you shake your head almost immediately in response.

“No. I couldn’t be even if I wanted to, I think.”

“Okay. That’s… That’s good.”

“We can talk about it later, if you want. After I get lurch off my ass.”

He tries not to smile too wide, but it’s hard not to beam every time he looks at you. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll… I’ll see you around, I guess?” he stumbles over himself, having forgotten how to say goodbye to you.

It’s equally as hard for you too, it seems, because you nod at him and turn to leave and then realize once you’re halfway down the hallway that you might not survive if you don’t kiss him again.

So you turn and rush back, catching Eddie with his back turned and spinning him around so you can peck him again. You feel his cheeks heat beneath your palm and his sigh against your cupid’s bow and his lips melt against your own.

You etch each tingling sensation into the edges of your mind in the hope that you won’t drive yourself completely insane when you inevitably start to miss him like crazy.

You focus on that and on him when you find Hopper and his stupid proud dad smirk. It’s the only reason you don’t punch him in the jaw and tuck and roll out of the Cruiser when the silence becomes so slowly insufferable.

You’re starting to think Jim left the radio off on purpose. You’ve never known the guy not to drive around without the strumming of an old-school folk song to accompany him. You figure it must be some sort of intimidation tactic, to make you so uncomfortable that you break. You’re a lot closer to that than either of you realize.

You spare a glance over at the man next to you. He hasn’t looked at you once since you get in the car. He’s got one hand at three o’clock on the steering wheel and the other with its elbow propped up on the door as he scratches at the stubble on his jaw.

He’s too at ease not to be bothered. This is obviously some kind of front he’s putting on to conceal his inner irritation.

You give on the lecture you’d been trying to prepare yourself for and exhale sharply through your nose. Your fingers fidget on your thighs as you kick your restless feet up on the console.

“Get your feet off the dash,” Jim scolds without missing a beat.

You huff and obey. “Okay, this is crazy— can’t you just yell at me already?”

He barely wastes a second.

“I cannot believe you right now!” he seethes through gritted teeth, stewing in a dad-like sort of anger.

“It was three days, Hopper!”

“You know what happened the last time no one heard from you for three days?” he shouts back.

You tip your head back against the seat and groan. You should’ve known he was going to play that card.

He waves an accusatory finger between the both of you. “You and me— we had a deal, remember? You let me check in on you. You agreed to that. You visit your little high school friends, and I see you at work, so I can make sure you’re not off somewhere killing yourself.”

Hopper becomes a casualty to the tense silence he created then, when you don’t retort with some comeback of your own and force him to feel every ounce of pressure from the leaden quiet.

He sighs a great big, too loud sigh and shifts in his seat. His softening gaze flits between you and the road. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that, okay? I just meant it, you know, figuratively. I wasn’t… trying to be mean.”

“When have you ever cared about being mean?” you monotone.

“I don’t,” he assures. “I’m just not trying to hurt your feelings, alright? Jeez…”

You try not to take too much pride in the man’s half-apology, though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a little bit rewarding.

Jim Hopper’s practically an iceberg. He only melts for his kid, Joyce Boyers, and you, apparently.

It’s why he’s always so damn protective over you. He’s developed this sort of deep-rooted urge to keep you safe after watching you make every wrong decision a human being could possibly make. And when you mess up, because you do mess up, he feels like it’s partially his fault — that, if he’d done more, he could’ve kept you safer.

It makes you feel like a burden most of the time, but you know it’s above yourself and mostly out of your control.

You’d known of each other for a while before you really met, because a troublemaker and police chief in such a small town are bound to. But somewhere down the line, he found you in a valley of mourning for someone that was still alive and you found him in a black hole of grief for someone who wasn’t. The empty and infinite voids within you both were stitched slowly together all over again.

Jim Hopper was the dad you never had. You were the daughter he couldn’t.

And you thought something might change after he adopted El. You figured he might forget about you because it wasn’t like it was his job to watch after you or anything. Playing pretend always felt nice, but you knew it wasn’t real.

It was to Jim, though, who’d developed a similar adoration for you as the one he had for Sara. He hasn’t been able to forget about you in the same way he hasn’t been able to forget about her.

Every night, after he’s scrubbed the day off his body and washed it all down with a lukewarm beer, he lays on his pull-out bed in the small living room of his cabin and goes through a checklist in his head.

He makes sure that he’s checked on El and reminds himself to wake up early to make her breakfast the next morning before he brings Joyce coffee at Melvald’s — Joyce. She always comes next on his list, always right after El, and then you.

He forces himself to calm down when his blood pressure inevitably spikes at the thought of not having heard from you all day. He reminds himself that he saw you at work on his lunch break and that he’ll see you again tomorrow.

Jim hums to himself as he settles more comfortably into his springy cot, deciding that he’ll try a new wine he can’t pronounce when he sees you at Enzo’s the next day and that he’ll drink it while he rambles about Joyce or El’s new boyfriend.

He drifts to sleep with thoughts of Sara.

You’re as ingrained into his mind as every other person he’s grown to love.

He stopped worrying about never getting you out a long time ago. Like a tomato sauce stain on a dress shirt, he knows he’ll never get you out of his head. He knows even more so that he doesn’t want to — no matter how much you annoy him or how angry you make him when you don’t answer his calls.

“Sorry…” you murmur and swallow down whatever mundane argument you could’ve spewed then, at the result of his sudden warmth. You turn to gaze out the window and trace the edges of the puffy white clouds with your eyes. “I wasn’t thinking about that — the… deal, or whatever… Honestly, I was a little too busy being happier than I think I’ve ever been in my life, so…”

You don’t see the dramatic eye roll he gives you in response, but you can’t miss the hearty groan that spills from his mouth.

“What?” you laugh in response. “Have you never been a kid in love before?”

It’s almost jarring how he goes from huffy to concerned in a fraction of a second. His head snaps over to you, jaw clenched and eyes suddenly stern and swimming with a lingering fear.

“Love?” he repeats like he must’ve heard you wrong. “Love— That’s— That’s what this is?”

You shrug. “I don’t know… Maybe…”

His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Please don’t tell me you’ve said that to each other yet. This guy was just a crush four days ago.”

“No, Hopper. We haven’t. I mean, he literally just told me he was a virgin, so I don’t think we’re even close to—”

“A virgin?” Jim echoes, voice high-pitched and giddy. He beams at you from beneath his bushy mustache and slaps you a little too hard on your arm when he laughs. “Shit, teacup. Are you runnin’ out of options over there or somethin’?”

You twist your body to hit him back harder with your right hand. “It’s not funny, Hopper,” you scold. “He’s nice.”

“You said that about Hargrove once—”

“This is different,” you monotone before the words have the chance to leave his mouth.

“Yeah? How do you know?”

The question stumps you for a moment because you don’t know — you can’t.

You’d never admit it out loud, but Hopper was right; you’re still not quite sure how you ever could’ve thought that Billy Hargrove was a good guy, but you did. You felt a similar feeling of elation with him as you do now with Eddie, an otherworldly sort of happiness that makes you feel like you’re the only person it’s ever happened to.

And here you are now, sometime later and reveling in the aftermath, still gluing pieces of your shattered heart together.

You treat love like a drug. You use and use and use until it stops being a fun thing and becomes a crutch you can’t live without. That’s always when it starts to hurt you, but you’re in too deep to stop craving it.

And you know it’s bound to happen all over again, but you have to believe Eddie’s different or else you might as well fall into the deep pit of despair you’ve been trying this whole time to crawl out of.

He makes you happy, really really happy, and you’d rather gamble that he hurts you than give it all without even trying.

“I… don’t,” you conclude after a few moments.

Jim seems surprised by your admission, shooting you an incredulous look with his untamed brows raised to his hairline.

You meet his look with a wavering grin. “But he makes me really happy, Hop. Like… It feels like it should be illegal or something. He makes me feel so good my heart hurts. There’s like this—”

“Ugh,” the man grumbles in disgust, sullen all over again.

“I didn’t mean it like that, you weirdo,” you chide.

A grin twitches beneath his mustache in response. “I know you didn’t… ‘Cause Munson’s a virgin.”

“Oh my god!” you groan. “I didn’t even mean to tell you that, okay? Leave him alone— and a swear to god, Hopper, if you make fun of him—”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with it, alright? I mean, he’s got the expert around to show him the ropes— ow!” You cut off his stupid joke and accompanying sardonic grin with a fist to his shoulder.

Steve and Robin tend to be quite the formidable duo.

They’ve barely got a brain cell to rub together between them, but there’s still something strangely intimidating about them when they’re both angry. It feels a bit like they’re your I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed parents, and you’re the scolded child taking your lashings in the form of a lecture.

It’s what you feel like now, sitting across from them in your designated booth at Benny’s Burgers — the one by the window in the corner. It’s far enough away from the bustle of the entrance but close enough still to gossip about the assholes you used to know from high school when they walk through the door.

“You scare the shit out of us when you go AWOL like that, you know?” Steve confesses, still soft even though you know there’s a more upset part of himself he keeps hidden for now.

His chocolate gaze flits between you and the pile of fries in the middle of the table that the three of you share. He finds the one covered in the most salt and pops it into his mouth.

“AWOL?” you echo with a distant laugh when you realize how much he sounds like Hopper. “It was three days.”

“Yeah, and you fell off the face of the earth,” Robin retorts, half-muffled through the hearty gulp of strawberry milkshake starting to melt in her mouth.

“You guys are acting like I went halfway across the country,” you scoff. “I was with Eddie. At his trailer.”

“Exactly!”

Steve’s face contorts mid-bite. “Wait, you were with him? The freak?”

It makes you roll your eyes. He’d been too busy hopelessly flirting with the waitress at the counter to hear the entire recounting of your absence to Robin, though it was more of you gushing about it than anything else.

“Yep,” you answer.

“You skipped out on movie night to be with… Eddie Munson?” he reiterates for himself, as though there was any correlation between watching the same three movies while gorging on greasy junk food with your best friends and falling more in love with a guy you were already head over heels for as he tried to explain away the unopened box of condoms collecting dust underneath his bed.

Both are equally fun in their own ways, but totally totally different.

“How did you survive without me, Steven?” you joke back in response.

“He didn’t,�� Robin quips.

“So… what? You guys just went on some kinda bender? I don’t get it. Did you just fuck the entire time or something?”

“Well, contrary to popular belief, I can actually spend time with someone and not fuck them—”

“Okay, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“And to answer your question — no, we didn’t fuck,” you confess, then elaborate more slowly, a tad bit awkwardly. “Because he told me today that… he is a… virgin.”

Your words seem to settle over each of them differently. Robin stills with her lips wrapped around the candy-cane striped straw then furrows her brows, as though their meaning hits her a few seconds after the fact.

Steve, meanwhile, goes entirely agape in an amazed sort of shock. His eyes go wide, his brows fly up and hide beneath the bangs that hang down over his forehead, and his jaw falls open. And then he starts to smile, a subtle hint of a grin on the corners of his pink lips, like he finds it funny.

“I knew it,” he murmurs to himself.

“…Why are you smiling like that?”

His smirk widens. “That freak said he screwed Vicki Carmichael senior year. I knew he was lying.”

“And why do you look so proud of yourself, exactly?” Robin asks him.

“Because now I feel less bad about never fucking her,” the boy explains like it’s obvious. He set his elbows on the table and gestures wildly with his hands. “I always thought the freak one-upped me because she, like, never gave me the time of day after Hargrove came along, you know? But… It’s good to know that I’m still king.”

His delighted grin is met with confused looks from both you and Robin, who look upon him with twisted eyebrows and squinted eyes.

“Are you not aware of how strange everything that comes out of your mouth is?” you ask him, only partly joking.

“At least that settles why he wouldn’t let you give him a blow job,” the brunette girl concludes with a shrug as she slouches against the booth. “Poor guy was probably shitting bricks about it.”

You realize then that it does make sense, why he’d always been so adamant about your pleasure and never his own. Why he always touched you like you were some fragile thing he might break, and like everything was new to him. Because it was new to him. All of it.

And even though it baffles you to no end how he went his entire life without someone wanting to jump his bones (because truth be told, you’re doing a terrible job at hiding your want to do just that), the fact still remains — Eddie Munson is a virgin.

He’s a virgin with an acute infatuation for the local slut, both of you freaks in your own right.

It just adds more intricacy to a puzzle that already feels so complicated.

“I’ve never been with a virgin before,” you admit quietly, mostly to yourself, as you train your gaze on the straw wrapper you curl around your finger. “It’s different… Scary.”

“Why?” Robin wonders aloud.

“I don’t know. I just— I don’t know what to do now.”

“Just do what you always do,” Steve tells you like it’s that simple. He folds his arms on the table and leans in closer to you. “Experience is good. Okay? Experience is key.”

“No, it’s not that. I think I’m just… I’m scared I’m gonna treat him the way, you know, that I was treated. And I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna do that to him.”

You’re not sure when the shift started, when you stopped being a person to people. You only know that you were something less than that. Somewhere between junior and senior year, you become a plaything that anyone could do anything they wanted to with, and you were too starved for physical affection to tell them otherwise.

You liked the attention. You liked feeling loved, even if it was only for a minute and a half, and all you had to show for it was a pool of cooling come on your belly.

Eddie’s the fragile thing now that you were then.

He was a delicate little thing that can break so easily, something you could split in half if you wanted to.

You don’t.

You want so desperately to be kind, but you’re scared you won’t know how to, because no one’s ever been kind to you.

Steve reaches across the table for you, taking a wild stab at an attempt for affection after several months of being scared to touch you — he did enough of that, he thought, and he’d hurt you. But he can see the lingering ache hiding in your glazed-over eyes and feels an overwhelming urge to quell your worry.

Five warm fingers wrap around your wrist, not too tight or too strong, just enough to stop you from cutting circulation off to the tip of your pointer finger and to remind you that he’s still there.

“Trust me,” he tells you with a sudden soft swimming in his caramel-colored eyes and a smile playing on his lips. “You couldn’t do that to anybody. Not even if you wanted to.”

Your heart nearly stops at his words, at the sheer kindness of them, and at the way he holds you in the soft way you’re used to only Eddie holding you. Your eyes go wide when they flit up to him and then start to sting with the weight of unshed tears.

You’re quick to blink them away though, while you playfully shrug him off and joke — “stop being so nice before I get the wrong idea, Harrington” — because it’s easier than accepting his tenderness.

Robin takes one look at his fond gaze, all gooey and dripping with honey, and then at your rolling eyes and accompanying shy grin, and groans at the softness of it all. She slides out from the confines of the booth and grumbles something about getting a refill on her milkshake.

“Some fries too, while you’re up?” Steve offers with a hopeful grin.

He’s met with the girl’s signature scowl.

“Please,” you finish for him.

Robin grins. “Anything for you,” she croons, if only to make the boy pout, before skipping off to the counter.

She leans her elbows upon the red wooden laminate top and smiles that same sickly sweet smile for Benny by the grill — no doubt trying to get her refills for free.

Even though the bearded man seems unimpressed with her presence, you know that he’ll give them to her free of charge. He’s always had a soft spot for her, one of the only people in town who could rival his wit.

The door dings open, a familiar and high-pitched chime that often becomes more frequent as the evening progresses. This time it lets in a foreign, bitter breeze when the door swings open and closed again.

You can feel the chill from a distance — it resembles the crispness of autumn despite being comfortably settled in the middle of March. It nearly takes your breath away, prickles your skin and makes you grimace back a shiver.

When your eyes leave Steve, a difficult feat considering he’s doing an alarmingly good impression of a walrus by sticking fries in his upper lip, you find that it wasn’t abnormally cold air at all. It was a Peter Parker spider sense form of anxiety that had felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over you.

Billy Hargrove used to turn heads when he walked into a room.

Now he just sucks all the air out of it.

And it’s not like you haven’t seen him since the break up; for a while, the asshole was painted on the backs of your eyelids — he all but haunted your consciousness. You’ll see him around town on occasion, in his sunglasses and jean jacket and too-tight denim pants, while he struts around Main Street with his new girlfriend (otherwise known as, his flavors of the month).

You think this is the first time you’ve been in the same room as him since your split, though. It feels like it must be with the way your throat starts to tighten and you forget how to breathe.

All at once, you’re scrambling for an exit. It’s like Billy’s a fire and his smoke is rapidly filling your lungs. Your legs start to tremble when your adrenaline spike. Your brain tells you to get out as quickly as you can before he burns you.

Steve notices the look of fear flood your features like a dark storm cloud. You were laughing just seconds before the door opened, equal parts with him and at him, but now you just looked terrified — like a child who’s just spotted a boogeyman in her closet.

He turns in the booth to find what haunted thing has just caught your eye and finds that it’s worse than any monster you could conjure up. It’s Billy fucking Hargrove, with his pretty hair and his pretty smile and his pretty girl under his arm.

His presence filled targeted, almost. Like he chose to come to this diner, on this day and at this time just to fuck with the group of you.

“Don’t even look at him,” Steve advises when he turns back to you. “Look at me, okay? He’s not even worth it. That asshole doesn’t deserve to ruin our day.”

And you try to listen to him. You try really, really hard to let him change that subject to the cold fries or Robin taking too long or a combination of the two, but you can’t focus on him. You’re already so overwhelmed at the sight of Billy that you can’t focus on anything else but him.

You settle on the fact that you might just have to drag Steve and Robin out by their wrists because you can’t sit in this booth any longer, and you definitely aren’t hungry anymore.

And that’s when he spots you.

Your eyes lock and you freeze, immediately averting your gaze but catching the sudden sparkle in his own as he grins a sly, sadistic grin.

“No way,” you hear him say with a laugh under his breath. The sound of his voice makes you tense. You hadn’t realized how at peace you’d been all this time without having to hear it. Now it feels like so many little needles piercing your skin.

“Fancy seeing you guys here,” he greets after he’s made a b-line for your booth and dragged Vicki Carmichael along with him. He smiles with all of his pearly whites while he smacks pungent wintergreen gum between them.

When he slides into the booth beside you, he does so without invitation, and forces Vicki to slink in next to Steve.

And like it wasn’t already awkward enough, you know Vicki — like, know her, know her. There was a drunken makeout at a Halloween party in ’82. Then a one night stand with her brother before he left for college in ’83. And then her Tom Selleck clone of a father at a sleepover for her eighteenth birthday in ’85.

You’re not exactly proud of it, but you’ve gotten a rather hefty taste of her family tree, and the fact that both of you know it makes it that much more uncomfortable.

“We’re kinda busy here, Hargrove,” Steve tells him when he notices how comfortable he’s making himself in your booth.

“Ooh… Is this a little date?” Billy teases with a grin.

Steve’s face falls. “…No.”

“Oh, right,” he nods, though the sardonic lilt in his voice tells you that he already knew the answer. He crosses his arms on the tabletop and turns to look at you with eyes bluer than any ocean. They flicker up and down your form. Suddenly, you feel self-conscious in your baggy jean and tank top duo.

“You’ve been seeing that guy, haven’t you? What’s his name again? The, uh— the freak?”

“His name is Eddie,” Steve answers for you, defending him because you can’t find the words to.

“That’s it,” Billy snaps his fingers, then points. He nudges you with his shoulder. The familiar feel of his jean jacket against your skin makes you wince. “God, you must be runnin’ out of steam over there, huh? I mean… the freak? Seriously? You couldn’t do any better than that?”

The jokes were tolerable coming from Jim and Steve and Robin — they weren’t funny by any means, but you could stomach them because you knew they were jokes. But this? This was just to hurt you. And it works too easily because Billy knows exactly how to break you. He knows all the wires to cut and buttons to push because the puzzle of shattering your psyche is one he memorized long ago.

“He’s actually a really nice guy,” you manage through a tight throat, still staring at your fidgeting hands.

“Well, that’s good,” he hums like you need his approval. “It’s about time, right?”

You huff and choose to entertain him despite your better judgment. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He only shrugs. “I don’t know... Just, you know, that found a guy willing to settle for you. That’s all.”

“Settle?” you repeat, trying to laugh despite how tiny your voice sounds.

“You know what I mean, c’mon,” the blonde boy chuckles. “Sluts are fun and all, but they’re not the kinda girls you wanna settle down with. Steve knows what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” Steve monotones quickly and without thinking, gaze hardened and jaw clenched. “And you need to leave.”

“I”m hungry, Billy,” Vicki whines, feeling every ounce of the tension surrounding her — like syrup or quicksand. She slides her permed bangs from her eyes and tucks a rogue strawberry strand behind her ear in a nervous tick. “Can’t we just get something to eat?”

“Alright, alright. I know when I’m not wanted,” Billy chuckles.

You grumble bitterly under your breath. “Apparently not…”

“I’ll see you around, Harrington,” Billy singsongs with a grin that wreaks of insincerity while his girlfriend slides out from the booth. He turns to look at you and squints. “Don’t be a stranger, alright? Matter of fact, point Munson my way, and I’ll give him a few pointers.”

You’re uncowed by his offer and angered by his mention of Eddie. Your eyes are stern and unwavering as you meet his gaze for the first time since he sat down beside you.

“I think you could learn a thing or two from him, actually,” you retort, words sounding sweeter than the venom lingering behind them.

Billy’s grin only widens, impressed by your arguing. “Ooh… I forgot about the mouth you had on you, sweetheart.”

The use of the nickname makes you cringe. It doesn’t sound nearly as fulfilling as it does when it comes from Eddie. Now, it just sounds artificial — degrading.

He leans in close to you like he’s about to tell you a secret and splays his arm along the back of the booth behind you. The nicotine on his breath makes you grimace; it’s intoxicating when it comes from Eddie, disgusting from the boy sitting next to you.

His eyes are bluer so up close, darker than you remember them being, and you notice he’s trimmed his usual stubble to a patchy mustache. He looks like the grown-up version of the boy you used to know, visually more mature but still the same in his way.

“When he gets bored of you — because, let’s be serious, he will get bored of you — you know where to find me,” Billy murmurs to you, a cynical smirk on the edges of his lips. “I’ll make sure you stay nice and broken in for the next dozen guys that want a taste—”

Steve can’t hear a word from where he sits across the booth, but he’s fuming with fists clenched under the table anyway. He hates how close Billy is to you, more so how uncomfortable you look with the proximity and how his words make you flinch.

“Alright, you need to leave,” he blurts. “Now.”

Before the blonde could respond with a quip of his own, Robin all but teleports to the head of the table. She’s standing in front of the four of you suddenly, carrying a basket of fries and a strawberry milkshake and wearing a frown on her face.

“You’re in my seat, dickwad,” she monotones, even though she hadn’t been sitting next to you before. She’s not the least bit threatened by the Californian douchebag.

Billy smiles up at her anyway. “I was wondering where the third musketeer was! Still a carpet muncher, Buckley?”

“Happily.”

“What do ya say me and you head up to Lover’s Lake later?” the boy offers despite his date shifting awkwardly a few feet away. It’s a joke, for reasons that are more than obvious, and that’s what makes it so unbearably unfunny.

He slinks out from the booth. The lack of his warmth is strangely comforting and you’re able to breathe for the first time in five minutes. He stretches his back out when he stands to his full height in front of Robin, then shrugs with his hands splayed on his hips.

“Maybe you just need some good dick. I mean… we’re gonna die anyway, right?”

“I’d rather,” she quips with a rouge-tinted smile.

The way it makes him laugh is startling. He finds a strange humor in being rejected — in most things, really. You still haven’t forgotten the cackles that left his bloodied mouth when Steve delivered blow after blow to the boy’s face in the middle of his living room, like it was all a fun game to him.

That was, of course, before Billy got the upper hand and nearly killed Steve that night. He laughed about it that too, until Max knocked him out with a baseball bat.

He’s got the same grin on his face now as he did then when he turns to look at you. A pink and pretty smirk, just wide enough to reveal the dimple in his left cheek. It’s nothing short of taunting, like he’s mocking you without having to say anything at all.

“Don’t be a stranger, alright?” Billy repeats. He keeps smacking his gum between his teeth and winks at you before spinning on the heel of his boot. He guides Vicki with him to the counter with a hand on the back pocket of her jeans.

Even when Robin slides in next to you and effectively pierces the bubble of tension that had already started to shrink with Billy’s leaving, you still find it hard to breathe. You have to keep reminding yourself, forcing oxygen in and out with wobbling breaths through your nose, or else you just stop altogether.

The other two move on rather quickly, having no trouble finding their voices again after he’s gone. Their words are muffled, though, like they’re underwater.

“I forgot what an asshole he was,” Robin grumbles.

“Well, I didn’t,” Steve retorts, eyes scanning the basket of fries for the most strategic pick of the bunch. “I can still barely breathe through my nose.”

“That’s because you didn’t go to a doctor, dingus.”

“Because I didn’t need a doctor, Robin.”

“Yeah, because being concussed three times in two years is so healthy—”

Your eyes act like magnets as they stay locked on Billy’s form. He leans in closer to Vicki to tell her something, then pats her once on the ass before walking towards the exit again. The door dings when he swings it open. Through the window, you catch him pulling out a red and white pack of cigarettes — the same brand of Marlboro Reds he’s been smoking since he was in middle school.

“You okay?” you hear Steve say, but it sounds too far away for you to realize he’s talking to you.

Robin nudges you with her shoulder to jog you from your stupor. You blink hard once and then turn to her with wide eyes. “What?”

“You doing alright over there?” the girl wonders.

“Yeah,” your answer is too quick and too high-pitched to be true. “Fine.”

“Like, fine as in you’re actually fine, or fine as in, if I leave you alone for too long, I’m gonna find you living under a bridge like a troll?”

You roll your eyes at her. “Fine as in, if someone bums me a cigarette, I’ll be good as new.”

Steve huffs when you hold out the palm of your hand toward him. He’s the only one of you who smokes recreationally enough to carry a lighter and pack of cigs with him. You swear he only keeps it with him because the weight of them makes him feel cool. You’re grateful for them now, though, and for the escape they unexpectedly provide you.

His fingers are warm when they brush your hand. The metal zippo he drops in the center of it is far colder and carries a comforting sort of weight to it. He thumbs a cigarette from the pack for you, and you take it with a sardonic smile and a sickly sweet “thank you, Stevie.”

Robin gets out of the booth to let you slide out of it.

The door chimes again, this time over your head when you open it.

Fresh, spring air nearly knocks you on your ass when it hits you for the first time. You realize then, that you’d forgotten to tell yourself to breathe and now your vision’s all swimmy. The cool breeze tries its hardest to quell your swelling anger, but you’re still at a simmering boil. Fists clenched over the lighter and cig duo in your palm and your sneakers slapping angrily against the cracked pavement.

That’s what signals your arrival, the raging stomps that echo in the alleyway Billy takes his smoke break in.

The boy takes a puff of his cigarette and smirks on the exhale at the sight of you. All he needs is one glance to see how angry he’s made you. It’s an innocent, childlike sort of rage that’s got you all scrunched face and red — a heartbroken girl on a war path.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me, sweetheart,” he taunts with his signature sarcastic smile. He holds his arms at his sides, like he’s waiting for some kind of embrace from you. “You used to be like that all the time — all over me, you know? Clingy.”

“You know what you used to be?” you ask him once you’ve planted yourself a few feet away from him, fists shaking at your sides in a nearly overwhelming mixture of rage and apprehension.

“What’s that?”

“Nice! You used to be nice! Or do you not remember that?” you wonder rhetorically. Your anger fades slowly, an ebbing tide, as a reminiscent sadness eclipses your fury — a flood of blue in all your red.

The sharp frown between your brows crumbles and so does your clenched jaw as your harsh features crumple like a balled-up piece of paper. You look upon the man that broke your heart with all the shattered pieces of it.

“You used to let me sleep over at your place when I was too scared to sleep alone at mine, and you’d bring me food when I told you I hadn’t eaten all day, and you’d take me on drives when you knew I hadn’t left my apartment in days,” you ramble in a single breath, gesticulating wildly with your hands — waving them at him and at you and the still air between. They fall hopelessly to your sides.

“You used to be so sweet, Billy…” you conclude with a wavering breath. Your chest trembles on the inhale as you straighten out your shoulders and lift your chin, trying your best not to look as defeated as you feel. “And you know what you are now?”

Billy grins that stupid grin at you, the one that almost looks kind. Almost. It’s still soft in all its insincerity, like a parent entertaining their kid that’s gone on some meaningless tangent.

“No, sweetheart,” he answers after a beat. “What am I?”

“Not nice.”

He scoffs out a laugh.

“You used to tell me, all the time, how scared you were about ending up like you’re dad—” he tenses at the mention of the man, of his own monster in his own closet. “—He’d beat you black and blue every night, and I’d bandage all your cuts and put makeup on you when you begged, so you could go out and pretend like everything was normal. And you know what? You’re just like him!”

Billy doesn’t cower when you walk closer to him. He’s got no reason to be afraid of you, but your words hit him in a place far deeper than a thousand bloodied fists.

“What he did to you, is exactly what you do to me… Or do you know see that?” you don’t wait for a sarcastic reply, mostly because you wouldn’t see the indicators of it through the tears that blur your vision. “You’re not punching me, but it feels like you are. You break me over and over and over and I have to pretend like everything’s just normal and that we—”

“Real mature of you. To bring out the dad-card,” he interjects, if only to stop your ramblings so that he might not have to hear the truth that comes with them.

“You used to he nice,” you repeat, you agonize, you deflate. “Or… Or did you never use to be?”

The shell of your mind answers for you, paints itself with all the memories you’ve been trying like hell to forget for the past six months. It’s easier to pretend the bad things aren’t real than unravel all the reasons why they were bad to begin with, you find.

The negative memories come together like renaissance paintings — dark and gloomy and blotted with too realistic tears and spatters of blood. The oil stains the backs of your eyelids, destined to remain there forever like paintings in museum that’ll stand the test of time if you nurse them well enough.

You hadn’t yet been able to forget the screams and the cracks of fists colliding with bone. They tend to keep you up at night, even when you squeeze your eyes shut and beg for your memory to be wiped away completely.

Billy crouches over Steve’s chest and pummels wholehearted punches to the boy’s face, never tiring in their force, even well after the boy goes limp underneath him. You beg for him to stop while trying like hell to shield Max from the sight of it all.

For a while, you’d blamed yourself for it — for Max being there in the first place and for Steve’s cuts and bruises.

You’d taken the girl and sought refuge in the Harrington home after witnessing a rather heated fight between Billy and his father. There was a sudden urge within you to take her far away from it before it ended how it always did — in weeping cuts and salty tears and insincere apologies when the cops were called.

But you made it worse anyway.

For Max, for Steve.

And you apologized profusely for it after, cried to the boy in his bathroom while you nursed his cuts like you were the one who put them there.

When he told you it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t believe him. Not until now. Not until you realized that Billy had always been angry — always raging with an ocean of fear and grief and violence.

When he fought with his sister, you thought it was normal, that that’s just what siblings did. But the way she cried to you after couldn’t have been normal. Neither could the unearthly fury that washed over Billy like a riptide when he found out you and Max had sought safety in Steve The Hair Harrington — angered that it was Steve and that he couldn’t be that for the both of you.

And then there was the fights. The yelling and screaming and crying fights that felt like the end of the world every single time. The kind of fights you shouldn’t be having when you’re eighteen. You thought that maybe there was some normalcy in the cheating and the secrecy and Billy’s accompanying assholery because that was all you’d ever known.

Or maybe because you had to tell yourself that was normal in relationships because you didn’t want your’s to end. Billy was the first guy to give a damn about you in ways that went beyond just sex. How were you supposed to just give that up?

But then there’s Eddie — Eddie The Freak Munson, who was really just sunshine wrapped up in leather jackets and wild hair and chunky rings and metal music. He makes you happy. The sort of happy that makes you suspicious because something bad has to counteract all the goodness he makes you feel.

Maybe that’s what this was.

Seeing Billy after having wrapped yourself in a blanket of Eddie’s warmth made you see somehow more clearly. He loves on you so much that it’s made a mockery of everything else.

Whatever you had with Billy wasn’t normal, it was a goddamn shit show. He loved you when it was convenient and then had you believing it was the real thing, that you wouldn’t find it anywhere else, when you tried to leave him.

It was a lie, all of it.

The realization makes you falter.

“Oh, god…” you sigh, voice fragile like cracking glass. “Maybe you never used to be…”

For the first time ever, you see Billy’s grin shake. The edges of it flitter, like he’s fighting to keep the corners quirked up. And his eyes have gone a lighter shade of blue, the way they always did when he blinked back angry tears as he talked about his father.

It isn’t rage glassing his eyes now. It’s something sadder, but still as real — something you never got from him in the two years you were together.

He tries, still, to cover it all up. He smacks his lips against his teeth, sympathetically. “Sorry it took you this long to figure that out.”

The laugh you exhale then is heavy with sadness. Your smile is far away and so is your gaze as you stumble back from him. You turn your head to the edge of the alley where mom’s with strollers and people in fancy suits bustle on the sidewalk and keep your eyes on the strangers that whiz by you’ll probably never see again.

“This is… This is pointless,” you murmur. His lean form is blurry through the burning tears you blink away. “Every time I see you, it’s just more bullshit so let’s just— let’s just leave each other alone, okay?”

Billy takes a puff from his cigarette. When he sighs, white smoke billows from his plump, pink lips. “That’s a shame… I was just thinking that you were the most interesting you’d ever been.”

The ebbing tide that had just left you rushes back in a bubbling scarlet wave. His words don’t make you sad anymore, they just make you angry all over again because you know you don’t deserve them. And you’re not entirely sure why he’s chosen you to antagonize out of all the other girls who’d made the mistake of falling for him, but you’re too far past the point of not caring to ask.

“Bother me again and I tell Chief Hopper,” you threaten even though you don’t feel very threatening just now. “I know you’re not scared of me, but you’d be stupid to be scared of him.”

“Why’s that?” he wonders before sticking the half-gone stick between his lips again.

“Because he runs Hawkins. And he fucking hates you—” for what you did to me, you almost say. You swallow the words down like bile before they have the chance to spew out. “And… And be nice to Vicki. Okay? She’s too good for you. Don’t do to her what you did to me.”

Your plea for another is the last thing you say to Billy before you turn away from him. You wouldn’t be upset if it was the last thing you ever said to him. You’re grateful for the resounding silence that follows. It’s nothing but the sound of your receding footsteps and the soles of his shoes scrapping the concrete as he snuffs out his cigarette.

There is no snarky remark or insincere plea — just two people who used to love each other that have no idea to exist together anymore.

When you step outside the brick confines of the alleyway, you feel as though a fraying string that had always connected the both of you had been finally cut.

It allows you to take a deep breath in for the first time in months. A lungful of fresh air that cleanses you, body and mind.

And when you catch Steve and Robin idling at the corner and doing a terrible job of pretending like they hadn’t just been eavesdropping, you don’t get upset or angry with them — you don’t feel much of anything, really.

You just hand the boy his lighter and unused cigarette and let them comfort you on the drive back to your apartment.

A misery sandwich. That’s what Robin calls the three of you and the heaping pile you lay in.

Your queen-sized bed is in no way meant to accomodate three moderately sized adults, but you make it work anyway, like you always do.

Steve lays on his back, legs crossed and hands tucked under his head. Robin is on her stomach on the other end of the mattress, arms wrapped around the pillow she smushes the side of her face into. You lay between the both of them — on the both of them. Sprawled out sideways, you’ve got your head on propped up on Steve’s ribcage and your legs thrown over Robin’s thighs.

The awkward position is the most comfortable you’ve ever been.

“I can’t believe that asshole had the nerve to show up to the diner on our day,” the boy rants. “And then sit in our booth, I mean— who does he think he is?”

Robin’s response is mostly muffled by the pillow. “I thought he left, like, forever ago.”

“Maybe he just couldn’t stay away. It’s Hawkins, shit attracts shit, right?” Steve answers with a shrug that jostles your head slightly. It doesn’t little to knock you from your stupor, though, where you’ve been stuck for the better part of the day. You pick at the skin around your nails with little regard for how red and raging it's gone.

He notices this and thumps you on your temple — hard enough for you to feel it, gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt you.

You turn your chin to your shoulder to look over at him. He tilts his own head to stare down at you, honey-tinted gaze somehow stern and soft at the same time. “If he bothers you again, I’ll kill him.”

You’re instantly warmed by his protective disposition. You know that he cares about you, even though you like to joke that he doesn’t. Steve hurt you once, made a promise to himself to make it up to you, and then just never left you alone.

You’re grateful for it.

You’re not sure who’d be the butt of every joke if he wasn’t around.

“Good to know,” you answer, nodding against his side and trying to hide the smile he gives you. You fail. “You think if he breaks your nose again, it’ll pop back into place?”

His face falls. “You’re real sweet, you know that?”

You open your mouth to respond, something along the lines of “I’m always sweet. You of all people should know that, Stevie,” before a knock sounds at the front door. It comes in the several rhythmic raps that Eddie is known to give when he’s got a tune stuck in his head.

Apparently now, it’s the chorus to “Why Can’t This Be Love?” The Van Halen song he said he couldn’t stand before you.

Robin huffs at the sound of the muffled taps. She frowns like a child. “Who the hell…?”

“It’s just Eddie,” you affirm through a half-hearted grunt as you rise from your comfy position.

That brightens the two of them up almost immediately. Her and Steve share a look you can’t place as they grin at one another. Then they turn back to you with identical mischievous twinkles in their eyes. “Your boyfriend is here,” the former of the two singsongs.

You roll your eyes, but make no move to correct her.

When you stand from the bed and make the short journey towards the door, you hear the patter of their feet following close behind you.

“Gonna go all the way tonight?” Steve teases and jabs you on the shoulder. “Do you want us to leave?”

“No, nothing is happening. And yes, I think you should leave,” you monotone playfully.

Robin rushes past you suddenly and grabs the brass door handle before you’re able. She swings it open without thinking twice about it. Her sudden appearance, coupled with the fact that it isn’t you, startles the man on the other side of the door.

Eddie’s umber eyes go wide, brows raising and disappearing beneath his fluffy bangs, as his head jerks back.

“Eddie Munson,” the girl full-names the stranger she’s never spoken a word to before now. She leans against the doorway and effectively blocks the boy’s view of you. Steve, who squeezes himself in beside her, doesn’t make it any easier. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“You too, Buckley…” he wavers, trying to peer past them for any sight of you.

“Perfect timing, Eds,” you call out from behind them. “They were just about to leave.”

He’s relieved at the sound of your voice — even more so at your appearance when the two in front of you step off to the side to toe on their sneakers.

You don’t look much different than when he saw you last. You’ve put on some makeup that’s started to smudge after the long day and changed your baggy sweatshirt for a more fitted tank top and boxers, but other than that you’re still the same. Still familiar and comforting in your way, a home away from home.

His smile is a tired one and it wobbles at the edges. “Oh, shit, am I— am I interrupting something?”

“No,” you’re quick to reassure him. “You’re saving me, actually.”

“Oh, give me a break,” Steve scoffs. “You love us.”

The boy pulls you into a hug before he leaves, and it’s not the rarest thing in the world, but embraces like this do tend to be few and far between. He whispers “use protection” in your ear and then a sharp “ow!” when you jab him in the ribs.

He and Robin smile kindly at Eddie when they walk by him and out the door, but waste barely a second before turning back around and grinning wildly at you. Steve flashes you a thumbs up while she mouths a cartoonish ‘good luck’ — like it’s the first time you and Eddie had ever been alone together. Like they were just on your ass about having been with him this whole time.

You usher Eddie and shut the door behind them. A quiet sort of peace settles on the apartment like a weighted blanket. The boy revels in every bit of its warmth.

Exhaustion drips from him like syrup. He’s sticky with it. His eyes have lost their usual twinkle, weighed down now with the burden of his fatigue. His face has lost most of its color, leaving a pale sheath of monotoned skin, and his hair is wilder than normal, with an unintentional sort of ruggedness to his curls.

It’s what being without you has done to him.

“You okay?” you ask him softly. It almost makes him want to cry.

“Yeah,” he answers anyway and idles in the spot where your kitchen meets your living room. “Just had a pretty shitty day. Wanted to spend time with you.”

“Me too… About the wanting to spend time with you part— and the shitty day part, too, I guess.”

Eddie smiles at your rambling, but purses it to the side to conceal it from you. “And since it is just about our…” he trails off and bends his elbow to check the watch on his wrist. “…Twelve hour anniversary, I picked us up some takeout.”

He sets the plastic bag on the counter. The red logo of Oriental Jade on the side of it makes your stomach roll with a distant hunger. You hadn’t realized how starved you were feeling after you abandoned your early dinner at Benny’s. It makes you more grateful for Eddie, who always seems to be on the same wavelength as you without even trying.

“Keep this up and we’ll be married before we hit hour twenty-four,” you joke as you rifle through the cartons — chow mein, sweet and sour chicken, dumplings, the works.

Eddie settles in next to you, propping his elbows on the countertop. “Well, I’m pretty sure the courthouse opens at nine, so… What were you thinking for the honeymoon? Hawaii? Bora Bora?”

“How about a cabin in the woods where no one can find us?”

“Hmm… Spooky. Sexy. I’m into it.”

You settle in the living room and eat on the couch while She Ra re-runs play on the television. You try to teach Eddie how to use chopsticks, though he can only work them with his non-dominant hand and all the wrong finger placements. You think it’s cute to watch him fumble with them, and you giggle about it until you’re scolding him for trying to feed Bowie some noodles. He laughs as you swat at him.

When all the containers are fully scrapped clean and tossed in the recycling bin, you migrate to the bedroom — which is perhaps too raunchy a phrase to use when the two of you only bury yourselves under the covers to talk shit.

Eddie drags out the chunky box fan you use when the air conditioner goes out in the summer — because it always goes out in the summer — and props it on the chest at the foot of your bed so the covers will billow around the both of you. “And it’s perfect because we can stay in the fort forever and not get hot,” he tells you, all giddy about it like he's a kid again.

“What if I get cold?” you retort.

Without missing a beat, he answers, “Well, lucky enough for you, I know several ways I can warm you up, sweetheart.”

He ditches his leather jacket and strips down to his boxers and settles in beside you underneath the blankets. The two of you lay shoulder to shoulder while you trace absentminded patterns on the palm of his hand and tell him about your day.

You make sure to leave out all the re-traumatizing-Billy-Hargrove bits, though. You focus mainly on the tense drive with Hopper and the small fight you’d had with Steve on the drive to the diner later that afternoon about the lyrics to Love My Way (both of you had been wrong).

Eddie tries his hardest to focus on your story and your fleeting touches, but he’s too far in his own head. You tell him all these things but he can’t stop thinking about himself — about whether or not you might’ve brought him up somewhere in between.

He wouldn’t have blamed you, if you had. Steve and Robin are your closest friends and, for whatever reason, so is Chief Hopper, you’re bound to bring him up eventually. He was just hoping it would’ve been in a better capacity. Maybe about how kind he was or what a god he was in bed — not how he could only be one of those things because he’d never been anything in bed.

“It doesn’t make things weird between us, does it?” he wonders out of the blue.

You halt mid-sentence and turn to him with furrowed brows. “What?”

Eddie realizes then, that the first half of the conversation with you had only happened in his head. He prays that it’s too dark beneath the covers for you to see how red his cheeks get. “Just… What we talked about this morning. About me… you know…” He finds it hard to say the words. Or any of them at all.

“Why would it make things weird?”

“I don’t know. Because I wasn’t… totally honest with you, I guess? I feel a little bad about it, you know?”

“It’s okay,” you assure and turn on your side to be closer to him. Eddie stays on his back, more than happy to let you cuddle further into him. “I guess I do wish you’d said something before, though.”

His chest tightens. “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t know how to—”

“I’m not saying it to make you feel bad!” you interject quickly when you catch the spiral of regret he was about to twist himself into. You curl tighter into his side, tossing a leg over his thigh and wrapping your hand around his bicep in an effort to melt with him. When he turns to face you, your noses nearly brush.

“That’s not how I meant it. I just meant that, if I’d known before, I wouldn’t have… I would’ve taken things slower. I wouldn’t have been so, you know, so all over you.”

He hates how apologetic you sound. Like there was ever an ounce of him that would want to take back what happened that night at his trailer or a part of him that might hate how much you love on him.

“I liked it. I do like it.”

“Maybe we can just start over,” you offer. “Pretend like none of that ever happened.”

Eddie knows there’s no way in hell he’ll be able to forget about a single damn thing — not his cum stained jeans and how you looked so pretty washing them for him, not the feel of your tits in his mouth or you wrapped around his fingers, not how you made him blow his load all over his fist just by talking to him.

He goes along with it anyway, though, just for you.

“Okay...” he nods slowly, then squints over at you. “You’re still my girlfriend, though, right?”

“Of course I am,” you giggle.

He grins proudly to himself. “Well then… Hope it’s not too early to have our first kiss then?”

It makes you roll your eyes because it’s such an Eddie Munson way of asking to kiss you. You told him earlier the day that he never had to ask you — in fact, you’d prefer it if he’d just kiss you out of the blue and take your breath away without you ever knowing it was coming. But there was something foreign and sweet in his little reassurances.

“Kiss me silly, Eddie Spaghetti,” you beam. He twists on his side to press tiny pecks to your smile.

It’s rather strange, you find, to kiss someone this way without the intention of it ever becoming something more. You kiss him just to kiss him — just to map the outline of his cupid’s bow and memorize the pattern of his tongue. Just to feel him, as much of him as your mouth will allow you to.

With one arm curled under his head and the other cradling your jaw, when his watch alarms — high-pitched beepbeepbeeps in quick succession — it’s sudden and close to your ear.

Your lips click in protest when they part. His are pink and swollen and glossy with your spit. He smiles with them. “Happy twelve hour anniversary, sweetheart.”

“How long are you gonna make that stupid joke?” you laugh like your heart isn’t swelling so much you’re scared it might burst entirely.

“Uh, I was thinking… forever. Yeah. That sounds about right,” he concludes after a moment of feigned thought. He turns his watch off again and you swear you see him set for another twelve hours from now.

“Forever?” you echo.

“Uh-huh. Forever—” he presses his lips to yours once. “—And ever—” Twice. “—And ever.”

Eddie kisses you until you’re flat on your back and surrendering to each of his tiny little pecks. You twist your hands in his hair and let him love on you a little while more. You giggle when his mouth trails from your lips to your chin to your jaw to your neck. Please don’t get bored of me, you beg silently within your laughter.

I don’t think I could even if I wanted to, he answers with each kiss his sprinkles to your starved skin. How could I, when you’re the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me?

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson fic #virgin!eddie munson x reader #virgin!eddie munson

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pinkthrone445 · 6 months

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~Too old for this s**t~

Pairing:Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Gender: hurt, fluff.

Warnlings : (+18) strong words, mention of sex, vulgar language .

Summary:Because of Melissa's insecurities, she ends up breaking off her relationship with you, hurting both of you in the process.

The sound of the alarm began to wake you up, it sounded distant, soft. All you wanted to do was go back to sleep. Your body felt so warm, comfortable, it was where it belonged, in the arms of your girlfriend Melissa. Her hands were hugging your waist, still fast asleep, you were hugging her torso with your face hidden between her breasts and your legs intertwined with her. It felt like you were sleeping on a cloud, in the sky itself, in paradise, away from all worries, the only thing around you and your senses was Mel's scent and the soft sound of her breath on the crown of your head. The alarm started to sound again, a little louder this time, making the redhead wake up barely opening her eyes, a soft laugh escaped from her mouth when she saw how much you had hidden your face between her breasts, she even wondered how it was that you could breathe

-"Good morning Principessa" - Mel spoke in a more rapturous voice than usual and saw how you snuggled more into her chest making her laugh - "Your breath tickles me hon, how is it that you're even breathing between my breasts?"

-"I can barely breathe, but I'd die happily if I died suffocated by your breasts" - you replied barely audible because you were squeezed in there and the redhead laughed again caressing your hair. She knew that mornings were difficult for you, so she took care of giving you affection a while early so that you would wake up in a good mood before having to go to school.

Although you didn't want to get up, like every morning, the eldest convinced you by saying that you would take a bath together, to which you happily agreed by filling the bathtub. The woman took it upon herself to continue giving you love, washing your hair, and kissing your back and shoulders as you bathed together.

You and Melissa had been dating for more than two years, she met you in a bar when she was on vacation, after that you kept talking and started a long-distance relationship, after a year and a half of constant travel and calls to see each other, you moved in with her, applying for a job at the school where she already worked, since you were also a teacher, of art, but a teacher like her. Mel was the one with the idea that you move there and apply for the job, which you didn't think much about and accepted since you would do everything to be by her side. The two of you agreed to leave the relationship outside the school, you thought it would be the wisest thing to do to avoid questioning the relationship, especially because of the age difference (which made the redhead very insecure). The only one who knew was Barbara, Melissa's best friend.

Moving in with her wasn't entirely easy, your parents weren't very happy when you introduced your partner, a woman a little more than twice your age. They expressed their displeasure when you said you would move in with her, but when they saw you so convinced they supported you, not quite, but they didn't get in the way either. Your family had a lot of money, which made Mel doubt why you were with her, you were young and well-moneyed, dating an older woman with a state professor's salary, that was odd for her. But when she saw how you imposed yourself on your parents just to go with her, she realized that it was love that you felt. But that didn't stop her from having insecurities from time to time.

Since you had moved, everything had gone well, the other teachers treat you well and the relationship with the redhead was perfect. Mel wasn't very affectionate or expressing her feelings much, but after spending so much time apart, she convinced herself that she would give you all the love and cuddles you wanted now that she had you by her side, which made you very happy because you were very clingy when you were alone with her.

After breakfast, the two of you drove to work, she in her car and you in yours so you wouldn't arrive together and raise suspicions. The only time you saw each other on a normal school day was during recesses or at lunch, and from time to time when it was turn to control the children's lunch break together. All the time you gave each other glances or comments with double meanings, which the others did not notice apparently, except for Barbara. However, today was a different day, it was open house day. Which meant that if parents or neighbors didn't go, you'd be spending a lot of time together in the staff room, playing something, or eating together with the others.

While you all expected no one to attend, this year the open house had quite a bit of support, making the school full of interested parents and families. Although Mel couldn't spend much time with you, being busy with students and parents in her class, she was watching you all day, especially as some mothers came over to talk or flirt with you, they were all women close to your age and striking in appearance. What made the redhead feel insecure, not jealous, insecure of the age difference and the state of her body, even though you reminded her how perfect she was all the time, her insecurities haunted her almost every night, especially when you fell asleep naked curled up close to her.

Coming home only fueled her insecurities, Ava had invited the younger ones to drink, that including you (although Ava was closer to Mel age than yours). Even though you said no, using the excuse that you already had other plans, the redhead felt bad. Many times there were things you didn't do because she wasn't invited with the younger ones, even though she insisted that you go anyway, you said that it wasn't the same if she wasn't there, that you didn't have fun in the same way, although she knew that the truth was that you didn't want your girlfriend to feel left out.

Melissa arrived a few minutes before you at the house and started cooking something for both of you, when you arrived, you hugged her from behind resting your chin on her shoulder and kissing her neck. You have been apart all day and all you wanted was a make-out session with the eldest. But she seemed to have her head elsewhere, ignoring you and almost burning the onion she was dephrying

-"Babe, are you okay?" - You asked, turning off the stove and gently taking her face in your hands for her to look at you. The redhead nodded so you wouldn't worry, but in truth her head was going a thousand miles an hour questioning a lot of things

-"Yeah, just a one long day, one of my kids isn't having a good atmosphere at home and that worries me" - She whispered and kissed your lips softly

-"Do you want us to talk about it? Maybe I could help you find a way to help them" - you said, stroking her cheek, smiling at how much she cared about her students. She shook her head

-"Not now, maybe tomorrow, now I want to finish cooking for us to eat something" -She replied and you shook your head knowing that if she was distracted, she was destined to burn something and that would only make her crankier or sadder. After convincing her, the two of you sat on the couch watching one of Mel's favorite movies while eating ice cream, you lying on her lap while she stroked your hair. If it weren't for the redhead's tear-filled eyes when she looked at you so relaxed and distracted, that would have been a normal night of caresses and tranquility. But throughout the movie, the redhead stared at you instead of the TV, thing you didn't realize, trying to memorize your face forever and wondering if what she was about to do was the right thing to do.

When the movie was over and so was the ice cream, the two went to bed. Like every night, you snuggled up hugging her, but her nervous breathing did not go unnoticed by you, she was about to cry and you knew it, so you sat on the bed in front of her holding her hands

-"My love, what's going on, I've never seen you so worried about a student"-you spoke affectionately caressing her hands and she could only avoid your gaze and sob a little

-"I'm so sorry..."—it was the only thing that made it out of her mouth and that confused you more

-Why? You don't have to apologize for being sad, we all have our days love."-You answered and Mel insulted herself for what she was about to do, you were so good, so perfect

-"This isn't about a student, it's about us. I... I'm so sorry but this isn't working anymore. We don't work anymore. It was fun at first but I don't feel the same way anymore, you're a nice distraction, but I need to find someone more mature and closer to my age. Someone with whom I have more shared experiences and understands me better"-Mel spoke as fast as she could, avoiding looking at you before her crying wouldn't let her talk anymore. She didn't mean anything she was saying, she would never find anyone more perfect for her than you, but she needed to leave you so that you can be happy and live your life to the fullest as you deserved, not ruining and wasting your youth by her side. Her heart sank as she felt you let go of her hands

-What are you talking about Melissa, what's really going on?" - You asked hurt and she didn't say anything or look at you -"Melissa Ann Schemmenti, look at me and tell me the truth, what's really going on?"

Melissa sighed and finally looked at you, she could see in your eyes the pain and anger she was causing you. But she knew she had to be quick and leave no doubt, this was the best thing for you. She was already grown up and had lived her life, she would feel satisfied if she died without having her happy ending as long as you lived your life and if you got a happy ending with someone who would be with you longer in your life than she could ever be.

-"There is no other truth, what you heard is the truth, I don't feel the same way about you or this relationship anymore, I think that coming to live together was a mistake, you should never have come, much less started a relationship, this had a start date, and from the beginning, it had an expiration date. We have a lot of age difference, this was never going to work, I think we both knew it but we ignored it because it was exciting at first, but that excitement is over now and I don't want to go on with this or with you, I'm sorry but it's over, I don't love you anymore and I can't pretend anymore that I do"-The last words came out just as a whisper as she saw the damage that she was doing to you, but time after time, she repeated herself that this was the best thing for you, even if it hurt, in the long run it would be the best thing. You got out of bed with your eyes full of tears, you couldn't believe what you were hearing, this wasn't your Mel, the only thing you prayed was that everything was a nightmare and you woke up soon. But the pain you felt, confirmed to you that this was all very real, even your legs were shaking as you walked to the door of the room-"Where are you leaving? Don't you have anything to say?" - Her words came out without thinking and she immediately regretted it when you turned around to face her

-"What do you want me to tell you, Melissa?"- You shrugged your shoulders confused, tears fell non-stop in your eyes and in hers-"What do you want me to tell you? That this wasn't how I imagined the night would end? That I love you? That I don't want you to leave me? That I pray to the heavens to awaken from this horrible nightmare? Nothing I can say is going to change what's going on"-You walked to the door of the room and sighed trying to calm your crying, turning your back to her, you spoke from the doorframe-"I'll go sleep on the couch, tomorrow I'll see where I can stay..."-Melissa wanted to interrupt you but you wouldn't let her.- "I'll sleep on the couch because if you do it, your neck hurts later...When I get a place to stay, I'll come pick up my stuff"-You said before you went downstairs to the living room to sleep or try to sleep, which you couldn't do because you spent all your time crying hugging yourself, asking why this was going on. Mel didn't sleep a bit either, crying and wishing that life hadn't been so unfair by bringing two people together with such a lifetime apart.

In the morning, the red-haired woman carefully went down the stairs not knowing what to do when she saw you, but when she reached the first floor, you were no longer there, neither you nor your car were at home.

After crying some more and taking a bath, she went to work, putting on a lot of makeup to cover up the large dark circles under her eyes.

Upon arrival, she went straight to her class, trying to avoid everyone, especially Barbara who could read her with just a glance.

At lunchtime, Melissa looked out the window of the teachers' break room, seeing how you were sitting in your car, staring into nothingness itself. She sighed with guilt and pain

-"Hey Melissa Did you bring food?" - Her friend spoke frightening the redhead, turning to look at her but avoiding her eyes she shook her head -"Let's buy then" - The older one spoke and looked at Melissa's side, as if looking for something or someone near or behind the redhead - "And (Y/N)? Where is she? Is she sick and didn't come? She never misses an opportunity to eat or spend time with you" -The last comment was added as they were alone in the break room, the redhead couldn't help herself and started crying silently avoiding her friend's gaze

-"She's in her car, I don't think she'll come to eat with us today... Or any other day. Last night I broke up with her and she kinda hates me now" - She whispered embarrassedly and her friend ran to hug her, confused and worried about her.

-"What did she do to you? You loved that kid. What did she do wrong for you to break up with her?" - Her friend asked, and the redhead laughed with pain in her heart

-"She didn't do anything wrong but the problem is in what you said, she is a child, with so much to live and enjoy, so many people to meet and so many things to do and I just... Because of me, she doesn't do many of the things she wants to do. I broke up with her so she can be happy, she can look for someone who can be with her in everything she wants, someone who doesn't have the same age as her mother, someone with the same age as her..."-The redhead sighed sadly, trying to control her crying and the eldest shook her head, she had never seen her friend this sad in all the years they had worked together

-"That girl loved you with all her being, I witnessed how she looked at you and admired you, but if you are sure that this is the best decision, I support you"-Barbara commented and then encouraged the redhead to eat something.

When the school day was over, Melissa looked outside for your car, but noticed that you were already gone. When she got home, his sadness increased when she noticed how you had taken advantage of her absence to take all your belongings from the house. The only thing that had remained was the immense emptiness, now the house looked very big, very quiet, very sad, just like her life without you.

A couple more days passed, where you avoided the redhead at all costs. Barbara tried to talk to you to find out how you were or where you were staying, you knew Melissa had sent her, it wasn't her fault to be in the middle of the two, but she barely managed to get a couple of words out of you before she stopped insisting and left.

Every day that passed was more painful, the harder it was to sleep alone or eat, and the harder it was to avoid the redhead. You barely crossed her when she came to pick up her students from your class, but you didn't even look at her, you couldn't do it without feeling how her words hurt you again.

A month passed since you left the house, another month living in a hotel, missing sleeping with her, sleeping lousy, eating worse, crying almost every night, not wanting to wake up or breathe anymore. One more month watching her out of the corner of your eye walk past you, spending the hours of break alone in your classroom or in the garden, trying to distract you from your tumultuous thoughts.

Today you were planning to avoid her as usual, but as soon as you opened the door to your classroom, she was in front of you, giving you no room to escape

-"What do you want Schemmenti?" - Your posture was tense, your eyes red and haggard, and your tone was dry, hurtful, and angry

-"Good morning..."-She whispered in pain when she saw you so sad, she knew it was her fault. She thought that by that time you would be better and determined to move forward, but you looked worse and worse, you looked like a ghost - "I wanted to know if we could talk a little..."

-"I don't have anything to say to you, I don't have time either, I'm too busy" - You responded dryly by trying to get her out of your classroom, avoiding touching her for fear that your "strong" façade would break, but she didn't move an inch

-"Please hon..." - she begged with those beautiful eyes that not to long ago made you drop to your knees for her. You were about to insult her and respond very badly, but you couldn't because a child entered class, although you smiled and greeted him, your smile did not reach your sad eyes, she knew you well enough to notice when you smiled with your eyes-"Please"- she insisted and you sighed, you knew that when something got into her head, it was hard for her to give up

-"We'll talk at recess, I have a class to teach now, so you can leave Schemmenti"- you replied without looking at her, arranging the things on your desk. The redhead smiled and left satisfied.

You always hated Thursdays, it was vending machine refill day, the man who did that job always flirted with Melissa, she always ignored him, but since you weren't together anymore, nothing stopped her. But you thought that maybe she would wait a little longer to start flirting with someone, especially at the school where you were, but you were wrong

-"I'll take you to a night you'll never forget, you and me, Dave & Buster's, huh? What do you think?" - The man said just as you were entering the break room, which made you burst out with a dry laugh as you saw him talking to Melissa. You knew the woman well, too well, to know that she liked fine and delicate things, she liked to be pampered, you knew the list of her favorite gifts and restaurants, Dave & Buster's was none of them. You came to give her a chance to talk, but when you heard the conversation, you hadn't heard much, but enough to stop wanting to talk to her again

-"Good idea Nick (you knew that wasn't his name, but he was flirting with your ex-girlfriend and that bothered you) is a very good idea, maybe when you get out of there you could take her to one of those cheap motels, where they make you sign a contract before entering in case you get bitten by a bug in their properties. I bet Schemmenti is going to be very happy, you're a real catch"-You spoke sarcastically by patting the man on the back before turning to look at the redhead, taking out the keys to the house and leaving them on top of her cell phone that was on the table. - "I hope you have a nice day and a beautiful and romantic date"- you said looking her in the eyes angrily before leaving the place.

Melissa looked at everything confused, the interaction, the keys, the man, her friend, the door where you had gone, everything had happened so fast. She grabbed the keys and went after you running down the hall

-"(Y/N)! Wait!" -She yelled in her thick accent but you didn't stop, wanting to get to your classroom to lock yourself in so you wouldn't have to listen to her, but just as you were about to enter she grabbed your arm causing you to freeze in place, even the slightest touch could bring back the most sinful memories- "Why did you give me your keys?"- she asked, watching as you turned to her and pulled your arm out of her grip

-"Because in case you don't remember, you broke up with me and we don't live together anymore, plus I wouldn't want to walk into the house one day only to find how the stupid guy is banging you against the counter"-You responded with your blood boiling, she's never seen you so angry

-"That's not what happened, the conversation started because Barb..."-The redhead wanted to explain, but she couldn't continue talking because you slammed the door in her face.

All the rest of the day, Mel tried to talk to you, but she couldn't.

At night the other teachers went out to drink and invited her, the redhead thought it would be a good idea to distract herself, but she regretted it immediately when she arrived at the place and you were already there, quite drunk, talking to one of the youngest teachers. She didn't know how much alcohol you had drunk, but it was noticeable that a lot, you were talking incoherently, dancing from time to time and you didn't even recognize your work partners well. The redhead was used to drinking, but you weren't, so what you had taken had not only been a lot, but it had hit you hard.

At the end of the night, Jacob, who had been with you most of the night, approached Melissa and Jannne a little bit nervous, well, more nervous than he already was

-"She's very drunk, she's asking me for her car keys but I won't give them to her to drive like that, but I don't know where she lives to take her either. She also wants me to take her to the zoo to steal a penguin so she can have someone to sleep with. You know that I like to help a strong and independent woman, but I don't know if there are penguins in the zoo, I never go because I don't like animal exploitation and the conditions in which they are keeping animals for our entertainment, I think it's very cruel..." - The young boy was talking non-stop and that made Mel's eyes roll, how he got a partner is still a mystery for her

-"I'll take her home"- The redhead volunteered, and the boy breathed a sigh of relief. When Mel grabbed your waist to take you from the bar to the car, she expected you to resist or insult her, but instead, you hugged her and hid around her neck breathing in her perfume, too drunk to remember why you were mad at her. Mel sighed sadly, she missed having you around, hugging you and being with you so much. After begging you for a bit, you told her where you were staying and she was able to take you to your room. The eldest was hurt to see that you were in a hotel, it's not that you didn't have money to pay for it, it hurt her that you hadn't gotten a space of your own and that you left the house to her without protesting, even though she was the one who had been at fault. You had let her be in the comforts of a home while you were in a hotel that didn't feel like home, your clothes were still in the boxes and suitcases, you hadn't even occupied the drawers and there were several containers of fast food on the trash, you weren't even eating well.

The redhead took off your shoes and helped you put on some more comfortable clothes and then watched as you curled up in bed. Not wanting to break into your space anymore, she said goodbye to leave, but your fragile voice stopped her

-"Can you stay for a while? - You whispered with pleading eyes, obviously you still didn't realize that you were angry with her -"I've been sleeping badly for a long time and it would really help me rest if you stay, I don't like being alone" - You pleaded looking so small, your words were clumsy because of the alcohol but your determination was strong. Mel barely smiled and sat on the bed next to you, her heart almost stopped when you lay on her chest and hugged her around the waist closing your eyes and smiling-"You know? I had a girlfriend who looked a lot like you"- you began to babble- "she's the most beautiful, intelligent, loving, perfect woman I've ever seen in my life... But she was too much of a woman for me and apparently I wasn't enough for her."- You said and sighed. Since you had separated you hadn't talked to anyone about this, if you talked to your family they would tell you that they told you so, your friends were far away living on another continent, your co-workers didn't know that you and Mel were dating, the only one who knew was Barbara and she was friends with Mel, so you didn't have anyone to talk to and your drunken brain was betraying you by making you say everything to her-"She told me that I was a distraction, that she didn't love me anymore. At first I didn't believe her, I thought she was telling me because of fears she sometimes had, but when I saw her flirting with someone else, it became clear to me that I was just a distraction to her if she already moved on, she was my whole word and I was just a toy. And you know what hurts me the most? That I can't hate her, that I love her more than the first day we kissed, that I keep dreaming about her, sleeping in her favorite shirt, that I miss kissing all her freckles, I miss making her laugh, I miss kissing her, I miss her food, her caresses, her body, I miss her and I love her so much it hurts..."

Mel could only hug you as you cried into her chest, she had hurt you so much she didn't know what to do, you didn't deserve any of this. You cried yourself to sleep, Mel covered you with a blanket and went home, she knew that if you woke up next to her in the morning, you would be angry and the moment would not be pretty.

The next day at school, Mel spoke to Barbara, doubting whether her decision had been the right one or not

-"I miss her, I miss being with her, listening to her funny comments or her intelligence, I miss cuddling, I miss seeing her laugh, I miss making her happy, I don't like to cause her pain... I miss how she challenged me, the movie nights, the nights of watching games, even though she didn't understand anything. The poker nights, she was good taking all my money, or the stripper poker... I think that's where she let me win to undress for me... God, how I miss touching her, her moans, her ass, that ass drove me crazy, I could have stayed and lived there... I miss sitting on her face and those things she did with her tongue... "-The redhead spoke desperately and nervously, she needed immediate help

-"I don't want any more details"—her friend interrupted her for everything she was saying-"The only thing this separation achieved is to make you both miserable. That girl loves you, she told you last night, she's told you since the moment you met. That young woman left her country and everyone she knew to live with you. She's with you out of love, because it can't be for money with the salary we have. She doesn't care about the age difference, she only cares about being with you and making you happy. With what your ex has made you suffer, when you get someone who makes you happy, you have to hold on to them with all your heart. You can't let fear guide your life Melissa"-Her friend gave advice, and the two of them watched as you walked straight into your classroom down the hallway - "Go talk to her before you end up tearing your hair out because of the frustration you're carrying."

The redhead nodded and ran out to your classroom, when you saw her, you sighed loudly

-"Schemmenti not now, my head is breaking from the hangover and I don't feel like arguing right now" - You spoke squeezing your eyes closed with the palms of your hands, trying to hide from the light coming through the window

-"I fucked up, I know and I'm so sorry, nothing I said was true. You were never a distraction, you've always been my whole life. I never stopped loving you, in fact, I love you more every minute that passes" -Melissa started talking non-stop, she needed to tell the whole truth and reverse the damage she had done to you, she couldn't let her fears make her lose the most important person in her life- "This month without you has been torture, I see you in every place at home, I see your absence in every aspect of my life. I miss the miracle of your caresses at dawn. I miss how your eyes, just by looking at me, can change my whole day. I miss going out to eat together, or when we watched movies or games at home, I miss fighting with you and have reconciliation sex, I miss everything about you, I miss you and I love you. I can't lose you, you're my whole life. I thought you'd be better off with someone your age, but I realized that because of my fears, I hurt both of us and I'll spend my whole life remedying the hurt I did to you if you'll let me. Whether it works or not, whether it's right or wrong, living it with you is the glory. Please forgive me, I can't live another day without you"-Mel watched as you got up from your desk and stood in front of her very seriously, she thought maybe you'd slap her, which she wouldn't stop because she deserved it

-"Melissa, sei una donna molto idiota, quante volte ho bisogno di ripeterti che non mi interessa la differenza di età, anzi, la adoro. Sono ancora arrabbiato, ma ti perdono, perché sei sicuramente un idiota, ma questo non mi fa amare di meno" (You are a very idiotic woman, how many times do I need to repeat to you that I don't care about the age difference, in fact, I love it. I'm still angry, but I forgive you, Because you're an idiot for sure, but that doesn't make me love you any less)-Mel smiled when she heard you and came closer to you but you stopped her - "It's going to cost you dearly to remedy this. You do something like that again and it's not going to end well for you, understood?" - You said with a raised eyebrow and Mel nodded, she was usually the one with the threats but she liked this side of you. You smiled looking into her eyes and kissed her slowly, feeling how the redhead put her hands on your hips and you put yours around her neck. How you missed her kisses, her scent, her whole being. You wanted the kiss to be tender but you had missed her too much to control yourself, so you bit her lip, drawing a gasp out of her. The redhead was easy to turn on and with desire she pressed you against the blackboard and her body, causing the air to leave your body by the force with which she did it. Taking advantage of that movement, she stuck her tongue into your mouth, so a moan escaped your lips

-"Hell girls! I always imagined that Melissa was kinky, but not that you were both like that! Damm!-Ava screamed from the hallway door, you sighed against Melissa's lips and hid in her neck, playing with her necklaces, covering yourself from the principal's view. Her scream attracted the other teachers who were there, surprised at how the redhead had you in her grip, only making your cheeks turn red from embarrassment

-"Melissa! (Y/N)! You're in school for God's sake! The children could arrive at any time. I know I told you to reconcile, but not to have a make-out session here in the middle of the classroom! - Barbara spoke and the other teachers looked at her in surprise when they heard the implication that you were already dating before.

Melissa gently caressed your waist and kissed your forehead, happy that everyone already knew you were together, happy to be back together

-"Please come back home with me hon"-she whispered in your ear and you nodded hiding more in her neck while she hugged you.

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #Melissa schemmenti drafts #abbott elementary #Melissa schemmenti Abbott elementary #Lesbian #Fanfic #soft love #Love

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 2 months

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Consider this a part 2 of Can't Escape the Nightmares cuz I keep getting ideas for this story 🙃

Pairing(s): Jasper Hale x Human!Reader, platonic!Rosalie Hale x Human!Reader

Warnings: mentions of past assault, mentions of past rape, noncon themes discussed, reader is jasper's mate, platonic!rosaliexreader, human!reader, nightmares, trauma, ptsd, dark content, mention of blood, brief mention of murder/death, hurt&comfort, ft the cullen fam, yes i'd like to sign up to be protected by rosalie ✋🏼, and my depressive ass could certainly use a man like jasper lol

Words: 1253

Summary: It was hard for you to be outside. Not after what happened. And with the Cullen house surrounded by a sea of towering trees. . . It was difficult for you to even step onto the wrap around porch. Everything about the outside reminded you of that day in the woods.

They'd smelled your blood from miles away, noticing that it grew closer and closer until Rosalie was upon the doorstep with you dangling in her arms. Your eyes were open, though void of expression; merely staring at these near angelic looking family with gold hued eyes.

Your injuries were nothing major, yet your blood yanked at their olfactory senses.

And Jasper was helpless when, eyes being engulfed by jet black.

The expression in Rosalie's expression though kept him at bay.

"Get him out of here. He can't handle it." Rosalie snaps, her hold on you growing tighter.

Intently watching Jasper's every move, you see the rigidity of his frame and the back and forth sawing motion of his jaw. He must have ground his teeth to oblivion, at least that's what you thought.

Never imagining the true inner turmoil that was engulfing his every sensibility. Jasper's perpetually cold skin suddenly felt like it was on fire. A monster scratched at his mental door. A monster that wanted to taste every inch of your skin before sinking his straight, razor teeth into your delicate paper-like flesh.

"Jazz, snap out of it." Edward motions for Emmett to keep him back. His hiss is low as not to scare you further. Knowing all the horrors you had just gone through

The fog that reduced his head to a warm flush lifts enough for him to finally notice the state you were in.

Large splotches of red and rich purple are smattered across the entirety of your arms and legs, with a giant one blooming on your jaw. His stomach recoils at your lack of clothes. Connecting the visual clues together to realize what had happened and why Rosalie was dyed in a mess of different blood types that didn't belong to you.

You were already broken.

Suddenly that monster was silent, it too watching with baited breath as Rosalie carries you up the staircase and to Carlisle's office. The older blonde vampire quick and on her heels.

Jasper's monster seemed to take that moment to decide something that was against its very nature: it would protect you, guard you and keep you.

There will always be that hunger in him for your blood. But no longer would he be ruled by it.

When exhaustion finally swept over you, Jasper peeks his head into Carlisle's office. Rosalie sat on the floor in front of the couch you were asleep on.

She's in front of him in a flash, barring him entrance with a fatal snarl.

He dare not mess with this gold mama bear.

It was hard for you to be outside. Not after what happened. And with the Cullen house surrounded by a sea of towering trees. . . It was difficult for you to even step onto the wrap around porch. Everything about the outside reminded you of-

"They can't hurt you again." Edward mentions behind you as you stood in the front door, hand quaking above the doorknob.

That didn't relive the nausea in your stomach. Your eyes shut tight and Edward winces when your mind immediately goes to the day that you were assaulted.

When you catch yourself you immediately apologize and take a step back. "S-sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"No, don't apologize." He's firm on this and finally you turn around. Surprisingly, the Cullens had understood the trauma you had gone through more than you would have thought. Every one of them had gone through a horrifying event much like your own. Rosalie's was almost identical to your's and possibly the very reason why she had saved you and killed those monsters who abducted you. And has protected you since then. She reminded you of a mother hen.

When Jasper first showed interest in you, Rosalie actually became aggressive toward him; telling him that you weren't ready for such a relationship. That you needed to heal more.

Jasper never stepped over any boundaries. He never came close to it. He waited. Helped you whenever you asked for it. Approached you tentatively until you told him that he didn't have to tiptoe around you. Many months were required before this. In the meantime you allowed Rosalie (and to a smaller extent, Alice and Esme) to tend to you and repair your fragmented body.

The only time he used his power on you without your permission was when you were asleep and suffering from your all too frequent nightmares.

"If you want, I can go outside with you. Maybe we can take a short walk around the house." He softly offers when you glance back at the door.

They were all so kind to you, never asking when you'd be ready to leave their house. It never came up. In fact you had the suspicion that Rosalie would insist on you living with them from now on. An unofficial part of the Cullen family.

You knew their secret. Living there, it didn't take long to discover that they were not human. From their perfect pale skin, to their golden eyes, there was something different about them. The way Edward was able to anticipate your every needs or how even being in the same room with Jasper had your anxiety simmering down. Even Alice displayed odd signs that you would have normally passed off as some kind of mental illness when she'd stare off into the distance. You now knew it was her getting a glimpse of the future.

"Thank you, but maybe today isn't the day. . ." You force your trembling lips to quirk up into a tentative smile though it could not fool Edward who could hear the inner turmoil in your mind. He never pushed.

He nods and lets you amble back upstairs to safety. The Cullens required no sleep so their bedrooms were essentially just for decoration. Rosalie and Emmett happily gave up their room so that you could seek out privacy when you were too overstimulated to be in their company. They even bought a tv just to put in the room for you. You didn't know what you did in your life to deserve them.

But before you go to your own designated room, you stop in front of Jasper's with a tentative hand raised to knock on his door. You were always nervous when asking him to hang out with you while Rosalie was gone. You'd heard Rosalie whisper to Emmett one night about you being Jasper's 'mate'. She must have thought you were fast asleep but you heard them discuss the possibility of a relationship between you and the other blonde Hale.

It made you self conscious now when you were near him. You'd known that he was. . . attracted to you.

You jump when his bedroom door opens to reveal his figure. "H-Hi."

His smile is always so sweet and even shy. "Hello."

"Um," Your fingers twist the hem of your shirt anxiously. " well, Rosalie is gone. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out for a little bit. . . Esme bought me a new dvd. We can watch it?"

Adoring the way his eyes crinkle when his smile broadens, you take a step back to allow Jasper to exit his room and close the door behind him. "Lead the way, ma'am." Your chest squeezes when that southern drawl of his comes out.

Trusting anyone again wasn't an easy journey. But being cradled by the Cullen family was bound to heal some wounds.

And perhaps water the seed of love that had been planted in your heart by Jasper.

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confused-pyramid · 3 months

Text

Tell Me Some Things Last | s3

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 23.1k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 3x01, 3x02, 3x03, 3x06, 3x08, 3x09, 3x14, 3x16, 3x17, 3x19, and 3x20

a/n: season 3! The slow burn continues:) This was really fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it! (and I promise the chapters won't keep getting longer, this one just got out of hand LMAO) Title is from Heal by Tom Odell

series masterlist

"Excuse me?"

Section Chief Strauss doesn't falter. "You can't expect me to believe you think Agent Hotchner has done an effective job leading this unit."

"You can't expect me to believe that you think I'd willing spy on my unit chief for you."

She sighs and you want to throttle her. "Agent L/N, I know you two share a history, but this is bigger than that. People have died on his watch."

You have been trying to remain neutral since you were called into her office, but every word that comes out of her mouth makes you see red. Yes, this past year has been tough, but none of it was in his control.

"I think you know my answer," you say coldly, straightening your back in her chair. "I have to go, we have a case in Arizona."

She holds your gaze for a second, before nodding and turning back to her computer. You stand up and leave her office without another word, hastening your pace to a light jog the moment you're out of her line of sight.

You want to talk to Hotch as soon as possible, but by the time you get back to the bullpen, the whole team and their go-bags are gone. Grabbing your own bag, you rush over to the airstrip where everyone is settled inside the jet.

He glances up with a thin smile when you take a seat across from him, and you return it, not wanting to raise his concern when everyone is around.

The Flagstaff police meet you at the airport when you land, and everyone jumps into the awaiting SUVs to get to the crime scene as soon as possible.

The victim is another brunette woman on the college campus, but luckily her body was found after curfew, so students aren't milling around.

You step closer to examine the woman's body as JJ glances down at her hand. "She had her Mace out, but she didn't use it?"

Morgan nods, looking around. "And it's well-lit. He's not afraid of being seen."

A bus stop sign catches your attention and you turn to Detective Griffith. "How often do the shuttles run?"

He answers immediately. "Every 10 minutes."

"Were all the other victims posed like this?" Reid asks, bending over to get a better look. "With their arms crossed."

Griffith frowns. "Yeah. Why?"

"It's a classic sign of remorse," Morgan responds, stepping in to take over the explanation. "The unsub kills the victim then immediately feels bad about it, so he poses them like this, so they'll rest in peace."

"You can tell that just by the arms?"

"It's why you called us here. To build a psychological profile of your killer."

After inspecting the crime scene, Gideon and Morgan leave to talk to the dean of the school, and JJ and Reid go to meet with the students living in the victim's dorm. Hotch is still back at the station, and you haven't gotten a chance to talk to him since meeting with Strauss, but you push it out of your mind as you accompany Emily to the coroner's office.

You're so lost in thought that the drive over is entirely silent, and it's not until you've parked that you realize she didn't say a word either.

When the coroner leads you to the victim's body, you notice how much clearer each of the markings and cuts are. Hotch doesn't assign you to speak with the coroners very often, usually sending Prentiss, because of her incredible attention to detail, but not that you're here, you appreciate the second chance to examine the victim.

"Did the other victims have this much overkill?" she asks, pulling out her camera as you flip open your notebook.

"Death was caused by a single, very forceful stab wound to the heart," the coroner confirms.

You lean in closer to see the insertion point and notice the lumpy discoloring on the victim's chest. "Yeah, it looks like he broke through the breastbone."

"And after that he just lashed out at random," he adds.

Emily hums in agreement before snapping a couple of photos. "Well, no defensive wounds. She didn't even hold her hands up to fight him off."

"The first two victims were the same."

A shudder runs through you as the two of you leave the cold room and emerge into the warm sunlight. "Why is it almost harder to look at the victims when they're cleaned up and no longer covered in blood?"

Emily considers your question for a moment. "Maybe it's because they look less human that way."

You remember Jeff's funeral, how lifeless he seemed in his casket, and how you could barely look at him during the proceedings. It was somehow worse than seeing him at the crime scene, blood everywhere. At least then, you could still see the warmth in his skin. Later, he just looked cold.

"I think you're right," you tell her just as her phone chirps with a call.

She stiffens imperceptibly when she sees the number, but you only notice because of how hyper-vigilant you have been about your own tells since speaking with Strauss. "I need to take this. Give me a second."

She walks away from you and answers the call, her tone hushed so that you can't hear her. You know it could easily just be a personal call about something private in her life, but there's something almost familiar about the look in her eyes when she saw the number.

"Everything okay?" you ask her when she returns, but she just sighs and starts walking to the SUV. "It's nothing."

You haven't known her for as long as the other members of the team, but it's not hard to tell that she's hiding something. She looks distracted as she avoids making eye contact, and when you remember how you did the same with Hotch on the plane, the pieces fall into place.

If Strauss gave her the same assignment she tried to give you, then you need to keep an eye on her. You don't believe that she would sell out the team, but you also know how terrifying you thought Strauss was when you first joined the bureau.

***

The profile leads you to take Nathan Tubbs, one of the campus security guards, into custody, and while Gideon interrogates him, you walk with Reid, JJ, and Emily through the quad to get back to the station.

"Everyone is so much younger than I remember being," JJ says, as you all pass through a crowded part of campus. Word must have spread that the team arrested someone, because you can't imagine why else there would be so many students hanging outside after dark.

"Yeah, it's a weird age," Emily chuckles. "You want to be treated like an adult, but you're still used to someone else solving your problems for you."

"All I remember is trying to figure out who I was."

That makes you laugh. "I had no idea what I wanted to do when I was in college."

"Didn't you go to college with Hotch?" JJ asks, her eyes twinkling. You expect she's hoping for an embarrassing, or at least interesting, story from those years, but your past with him feels almost like sacred territory: something you can't breach when he's not around.

"Not college," you correct, "just everything else before and after."

"What was he like then?" Emily asks, genuine curiosity in her tone. You still can't believe that she would spy for Strauss, but you also can't help your suspicions.

"He was completely different, but also the same." You smile as you think back to the early years of your friendship. "He was kind of a cool kid in high school, but he was just as focused and determined as he is now."

"Hotch was popular?" Reid asks in disbelief.

JJ snorts. "Why can't I imagine that at all."

"He was trustworthy," you shrug, "and kind. Even when people weren't kind to him."

The three of them go silent, and you suddenly feel extremely self-conscious, but you're saved when your phone rings with a call from Derek. "Hey."

"There's been another murder."

***

The case ends in a murder-suicide that a part of you believes Gideon should've seen coming. JJ calls the jet to take off at first light, and everyone looks exhausted when you arrive at the airport. You sleep most of the flight back, but when you step into the field office again, you know you can't ignore the talk you've been avoiding all day.

You go to his office in the hopes of having this conversation privately, but he isn't inside when you look through the open door. You turn back with a frown and are about to head down the stairs again when you see him leaving Strauss's office across the hall.

He spots you immediately, and before you can say anything, he says, "I just got suspended."

Your mouth falls open. "What?"

"Two weeks."

You blanche as you follow him into his office, where he immediately starts packing up his essentials into his briefcase. "Hotch...I have to tell you something. Something I should have mentioned yesterday."

"What is it?" he asks, his voice slightly distracted.

"StraussaskedmetospyonyouandIthinkshealsoaskedEmily!"

He blinks. "Can you say that again?"

You press your lips together, before trying again, slower this time. "Strauss asked me to spy on you, and I think she also asked Emily."

He closes his eyes for a beat, but it feels like years. You can feel the disappointment wafting off of him, but he doesn't say anything, giving you the time to explain in more detail.

"She asked me right before we flew to Arizona," you tell him, your chest aching at the defeated look on his face. "I told her I wouldn't do it, of course, and that you are the perfect leader for this team. But I was watching Emily the whole time we were there, and I think Strauss might have threatened her or made her some kind of offer."

His hands pause their packing and for a moment, you're worried that he's going to be angry you didn't come to him sooner, but then he just sighs, a deeply dejected sound. "I figured she would. It's basically in the FBI playbook."

"You knew?" you say, your voice almost like a gasp.

"I didn't know for sure," he amends, "but I believed so. And I'm usually right about these kinds of things. Anyway, it doesn't matter now. You guys will be fine without me."

You want to shake him; to reach forward and rattle his shoulders until he realizes that this is it. This is exactly why he makes such a great unit chief.

He doesn't get angry, even when he may have cause to be. He trusts his team so wholeheartedly that even under the suspicion of spying to the higher-ups, he still treats everyone the same. He puts the team above himself in almost every aspect, and the intermittent calls you get from Haley when you're in the middle of a long case prove that it may be to his own detriment, but he still does it. Because he cares so deeply, about each of you, and about each victim, and about catching each killer.

"We need you," you say, emphasizing your words as though that will make him understand you better.

"Morgan and Prentiss will be fine," he says pointedly, as though trying to prove a point. "I'm sure they'll even be better off. And Reid and JJ can look to you for guidance. It's practically what they do already."

"Fine," you sigh, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "They'll be okay. But what if I need you?"

He looks at you then, and there's a sadness behind the stern set of his eyes. "You'll be okay."

***

You have to drag yourself out of the house the next morning. The knowledge that Hotch (and most likely Gideon) won't be at the office sucks the motivation out of you, especially because you have no idea what will happen once the team is given another case. Will they assign you a new unit chief? Will they temporarily promote someone on the team?

You push your questions out of your mind as you mindlessly get through security and flop down at your desk. There's a palpable difference with half the team gone, especially since Emily doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight either, and the emptiness of the office somehow feels more claustrophobic.

You finished all of your paperwork the night before, because you couldn't sleep after hearing of Hotch's suspension, so sitting at your desk now, you have nothing to do until a new case arrives.

Reid and Morgan dive into their own paperwork the minute they sit down, and they don't look up except to grab a new pen or refill their mugs.

You can see the tension lining everyone's shoulders, the stress about the future of this team, with its two senior-most members gone.

When you can't take the lack of work anymore, you head over to JJ's office, where she is poring over a stack of case files so tall that you can't see her face until you step in front of her desk. "Hey, JJ."

"Oh, hey," she says, looking up at you. "It's been really quiet out there."

You nod, dropping onto the sofa across from her. "Half the team's gone. It doesn't feel the same."

"I wish I could come out there and sit with you guys, but I have so many new case files to look over."

"Need any help?"

She looks up in surprise. "Actually, that would be great. Can I leave you with a few of them? There's a checklist for what I need you to note down at the top of that stack."

"Of course," you say before she hands you a thick stack of files. "I'll get them back to you soon."

"Take your time," she says, waving you away. "I have like a billion more to go through anyway."

When you're back at your desk, you set down the stack with a small thud and open the first file. You're bombarded with gory images of men who have been brutally stabbed to death, and you read over the case history quickly before opening the next one. This time, the images are of live women, all of whom share a skin tone and hair color, and have been kidnapped in the last week.

You slam the file shut and close your eyes in an effort to keep your head from spinning. You don't understand how anyone could classify these cases. How they could decide that one of these unsubs is worse than another. But there aren't enough teams like yours to cover every case that comes through the door, so someone has to.

You glance up at Hotch's office again, a force of habit, and the darkness in his doorway reminds you of the emptiness in the office. It's the same with Gideon's office, and Emily's desk.

You miss them all.

***

The first week of Hotch's suspension is hell. Gideon still hasn't turned up, and you can see his absence clawing at Spencer, who hasn't gone more than an hour without glancing at his office since he left. Derek doesn't admit it, but you can tell he misses Hotch's leadership over the team.

Strauss has come by periodically to "check in" on your team's work, but with the other units available to take on any new cases, she hasn't assigned you anything. You know she doesn't trust your team, but you're surprised that even with Hotch gone, she's still treating all of you like extensions of him. Not that she's wrong about that.

Without getting called in, you stay at home for the first few days, and even get some use out of your Peloton for once. You've been missing him all week, but it's not until the following Monday that you decide to actually do something about it.

Grabbing the files JJ gave you to look over, you stuff them in your bag and drive up to his house. Both cars are in the driveway when you arrive, and you belatedly realize that you should have called first.

You knock on the door hesitantly, and are surprised to see Jack in Haley's arms when she opens the door. She looks excited to see you, but you still feel bad about just showing up. "I'm sorry, I should have called."

"Not at all," she says, opening the door wider for you to enter. "You know I love seeing you."

"Y/N's here," Haley announces as she leads you into the kitchen and sets Jack back into his high chair. She shoots you a pointed look. "And she's not here to talk about work."

"Of course not," you say with a laugh. "I just wanted to see how the suspension was going. The team really misses you."

He acknowledges you with a small nod, and you take a seat opposite him at the table, where he is feeding Jack his cereal.

"I miss everyone, too," he says, "but it's also been nice to have some extra time at home."

"This suspension has been a blessing in disguise," Haley jumps in, ruffling Jack's hair. You don't miss the way Hotch's jaw twitches.

You aren't sure what to say to that, but Haley just pulls Jack out of his chair and turns to the doorway. "I'm gonna put him down for his nap. It was nice seeing you, Y/N."

"You too, Hales," you say earnestly, before smiling at Jack. "Bye, buddy."

When she's out of the room, you shoot Hotch a look that makes him lean back with a frown. "What?"

"You miss work, don't you."

He huffs, and you take that as an admission. "I've loved being home," he says, his words slightly more emphasized than necessary.

You can hear the candor in his voice. You don't doubt that he loves spending time with his family, you just also know the pull of the job. The fulfillment of saving people from unimaginable horrors, and the desolate ache that comes when you know you aren't doing everything you can.

"You can feel both things," you whisper as he exasperatedly runs his hand through his hair. He got a haircut.

The thought pops into your head against your will, and you glance up at his hair as you realize this is the shortest it's been in a long time. It suits him, but it also emphasizes the hard furrow of his brow.

"Haley doesn't understand that," he says simply, no ill intention in his tone, "but I can't expect her to. I barely understand it, and it's what I'm feeling."

To the outside listener, his words could be construed as complaints, but there's nothing but deep empathy in his voice. He loves her so much, and even though they're having differences about his work life, she loves him too.

You spend the next half hour talking him through each of the cases that JJ left you with, and when Haley returns to the kitchen after putting Jack down for his nap, you pull out a chair for her and tuck the files away.

"We need to have you over for dinner sometime soon," she says as soon as she takes a seat. "I can't believe we haven't done it yet." She looks to Hotch with an earnest sigh. "I guess Jack has been kind of a handful, but I can't believe this is your first time coming to the house since he was born."

"It's been too long," he agrees, draping an arm over the back of her chair. The sight of their casual intimacy is a reminder of what you once had, but the usual mistiness doesn't come when you think about Jeff. Your chest just fills with a liquid-y warmth that feels like melted chocolate and syrup.

"Likewise," you smile, patting Haley's hand. "I don't know if I can handle another night out, even with the mid-evening interruption."

She laughs heartily, and you see Hotch's lips curve up involuntarily. "I think I'm partied out for the year."

His arm slips down to rest against her waist, but she doesn't lean into him like she usually does. You avert your eyes, glancing up at their kitchen wall clock and faking a gasp. "I've taken up too much of your family time. I should go."

"It's okay," Hotch assuages at the same time that Haley says, "I'll walk you out."

They share a small glance, and you suddenly feel intrusive in their home. "I'll see you in a week."

He nods and you follow Haley to the door, where she gives you a quick squeeze and another promise to have you over for dinner soon. The sun starts to set as you drive home, and before you can second guess yourself, you're turning into a local farmer's market that is about to shut down for the night.

You rush through the stalls and stop in front of the flower shop, where you buy a dozen pink carnations. The vendor ties the bouquet with a silky ribbon and you hold the flowers close to your heart as you walk back to your car and start driving.

This time, you're more aware of the direction you're headed. You don't stop your car until you're in the parking lot and you don't stop moving until you're past the front gates and up the grassy hill where Jeff's headstone sits stoically under the waning sunlight.

You take a deep breath as you sink down to your knees, blissfully unaware of the grass stains coloring your slacks. You set the flowers down in front of his headstone, which you haven't seen in months.

Jeff Adler

Beloved Son, Husband, Brother

Until we meet again

The carnations look bright against the gray stone, and you arrange them neatly so that they don't get blown away.

He loved flowers. He knew they were impermanent and likely a waste of money, but he still loved all of the different emotions they symbolized, and how beautiful they could be for as long as they lasted.

He brought you a bouquet of heliotrope almost every week after you got married, and when you asked him what it meant, he insisted that it was something you had to find out in your own time. That time came a quick Google search later, and when the words 'eternal love' flashed on your screen, you knew you had picked the right man.

You brush your finger against the petals of the pink carnations you brought, remembering the rest of what the search yielded. Angelica for inspiration, calla lily for beauty, and pink carnation for gratitude.

You're so grateful you met him. So grateful he loved you as much as you loved him.

"I love you," you whisper, suddenly needing to say the words out loud. There's no one around, and the sun has set far enough that there's barely enough light to see, but your words feel strong as they come out of your mouth. "Thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for giving me 10 beautiful years."

You wipe away the tear that falls from the corner of your eye. "Goodbye."

***

He takes his time as he walks through the halls of the Virginia field office on Monday morning. He hasn't been inside in two weeks, and after he and Haley agreed that he should request a transfer, he likely won't be back again for a very long time.

When he walks past the glass doors of the bullpen, he spots you at your desk, pointing out something to Morgan in a case file. He hastens his pace so you don't see him. He still doesn't know how to tell you that he isn't coming back.

"Good morning, ma'am," he says when Strauss beckons him into her office.

"I was hoping you'd do the right thing," she says, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Have you given any thought to what department you'll request?"

He shakes his head. "I was under the impression that if I left the BAU, I'd have my choice of posts."

"Well, I'll consider it after I fully complete my investigation."

She pauses before looking at him again. "You were a prosecutor. What about heading up a white-collar crime task force? That'll get you home at night at a reasonable hour."

That sounds like exactly what Haley wants for them. They spent hours over the last week discussing what the best path forward would be post-suspension, and after countless late-night arguments, they finally agreed on a transfer. It would be best for the team, and best for his family. So why does he feel so guilty?

"Sorry to interrupt."

Prentiss barges into the office, as though she had an appointment. She glances over at him, and he can't read her expression. "Sir, I've decided to resign from the FBI, effective immediately."

"I don't understand," he frowns, taking in her rigid posture. He remembers your suspicions, as well as his own, but this can't be where it ends.

"I'm taking the foreign service exam. With my connections, I'd stand a good chance of landing in the State Department."

"Prentiss," he urges, trying to convey his understanding in his tone. "I think that's a mistake."

She shakes her head with a sigh. "Well, don't try to talk me out of it. Garcia saw my name on the list, and she already tried."

That makes him pause. "If she can't talk someone out of doing something, no one can."

"Sorry for the interruption, but, sir, it's good to see you back." She turns her gaze to Strauss, even as she continues speaking to him. "The team needs you."

She stalks out of the room after a quick "Ma'am", leaving him alone with Strauss, who looks like she's up to her last nerve. "I'll be overseeing this next case until I can assign your replacement."

"You don't have any field experience, do you?" He doesn't mean for the words to come out so critically, but his emotions are a jumbled mess that he can't decipher well enough to fix his mood right now.

"My job is to protect the Bureau. If I have to hold the team's hand for one case, so be it."

Hold the team's hand. He can't imagine that Strauss will be of much help in the field, but he keeps his mouth shut. He's been around enough authority figures to know when to keep his criticisms to himself.

"Ma'am," he says gently, hoping he can turn his thoughts into useful advice. "In order to function effectively, this team needs stability."

She clasps her hands together on her desk, and he knows it's done. There's nothing he can do to fix this for the team, at least not on this case. "The BAU has some very talented people, and they're Bureau assets, and I believe it's time that they were out from underneath the leadership of you and Jason Gideon."

***

Hotch was supposed to come back today. It's not until you're on the plane that Derek informs the team that he's requesting a transfer.

"What?" you burst out, unable to keep your composure even with Strauss seated a few rows behind you.

"He didn't tell you?"

You shake your head with a forlorn frown, and Derek jumps back in quickly to remediate the situation. "I only found out because I ran into him on the way to the jet. He didn't seem like he was in the mood for talking."

But he tells you everything. At least you thought he did.

"It's okay," you say, forcing your face into a neutral expression. "This isn't about me. I just can't believe he's leaving."

"Yeah," JJ grimaces, "and I can't believe we're stuck with her now. You know, from this angle, she looks almost human."

You all glance behind you, but thankfully, her face is still buried in the case file.

"Emily didn't come in today, either," you point out, turning to the empty seat next to you. "We're down two agents, and Gideon's MIA."

Reid blinks, and you curse yourself for being so cavalier. You know how hard Gideon's absence has been on him.

He recovers quickly and leans in to the center console with a raised eyebrow. "Has Strauss ever even been out of the-"

A chorus of shushes come from Derek and JJ and he shuts up as Strauss walks down the aisle and sits across from you all. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe it's protocol to brief everyone before we arrive at the crime scene?"

JJ turns red and she nods hastily, opening her file. "Yes, ma'am."

Strauss has only been here for ten minutes and you already want to strangle her. JJ explains the case details succinctly, and when the plane lands, you all head over to the crime scene to find Detective Wolynski, who called your team in when the murders got out of hand.

Within minutes of meeting them, Strauss manages to ruin your relationship with the local police by questioning their decision to wait so long to call in the BAU. JJ immediately takes matters into her own hands as she explains that we have to work with them if we want to be included in the investigation at all, but she doesn't seem to care.

You get a call from Penelope as you're heading back to the SUVs, and you step aside to get out of Strauss's earshot. "What's up, Pen?"

"I tried everything I could," she wails. You can hear the distinct clicking of her keyboard in the background. "I tried to convince him to stay, but he's so stubborn."

You sigh, glancing over at the scene, where Strauss looks positively nauseous. You can empathize with her emotions, because you know how hard it was for you to see your first crime scene in person, but this just further proves how unfit she is to understand what being on this team really means. "If he made up his mind, there's gonna be no changing it, unless he changes it himself."

She huffs, before audibly perking up. "I gave him the Milwaukee case file before he went home, and I also, uh, saw that his transfer hasn't passed through the system yet."

You're almost certain she had something to do with that, but your mind immediately starts going through the possibilities of what this could mean. If his transfer isn't in the system, then that means he technically still works on this team...which means him not being here is in dereliction of duty. If there's anything that can convince Hotch to show up, it's duty.

"You've been more help than you know," you tell her, before hanging up and hopping into the SUV.

***

When he arrived at his house with the case file Garcia gave him, he immediately stuffed it in his bag and tossed it onto the floor. He definitely didn't think about reading it the entire time he was changing out of his suit, and making a quick lunch for Haley and himself. When she went upstairs to put Jack down for his nap, he couldn't help himself any longer.

Reaching into his bag, he pulls out the file and flips it open slowly, being careful to angle the gruesome photos away from the stairs in case Haley came down without him noticing. Women taken in the afternoons and killed. Bodies dumped in the morning. Hearts cut out of their chests. The words pop out at him as he skims the page, and he's so engrossed in the material that he doesn't hear her until she's standing over him. "I thought this was over."

"It is," he sighs, closing the file. "I'm just curious." He doesn't know when he started lying to his wife, but he doesn't like it. The bitter taste of it in his mouth.

He can see her gearing up for a fight when their home phone rings. He picks it up and clicks the button to answer, but even after saying 'hello' a couple of times, no one responds. For a split second, his mind flashes back a year to the Fisher King and the secret message left on his home phone, but he pushes the thought away.

He clicks the phone off, looking up at Haley again, but then a shrill ringing sound starts again, this time from her purse across the living room.

An unfamiliar queasiness fills his stomach, and he maintains eye contact with her as her eyes flicker back and forth a couple of times. He promised himself he would never profile his family, but the analyses come before he can shut off that part of his brain. Shifting eyes. Rigid posture. All indications of lying and shame.

"What did the Section Chief say?" she asks, her hands going to her hips. Stance of power to overcompensate for-

He shakes the line of thinking from his head. "She suggested that I transfer to a white-collar-crime task force."

"Would you have to travel?"

"No, I'd have a nine-to-five life."

She nods, and he can see the finality in her stance. "Then, it's a no-brainer."

***

You haven't been able to focus as well as you'd like to with the knowledge that Hotch isn't coming back hanging over your head. When you get a spare moment at the station, you step out of the conference room where all of the evidence has been scattered around and press the first number on your speed dial.

"Hello?" It's Haley.

You stumble over your words as you say 'hello' back. You weren't expecting it to be her who answered. She clearly wasn't expecting you either, because she sighs dramatically when she hears your voice and you hear a quiet "It's Y/N" before the phone is handed over.

You can understand where she's coming from. When Jeff was about to start his undercover assignment, you were so angry at him for choosing to be away from you for so long. But then rationality won over, and you remembered why he was doing it...for the same reason you are.

"Hey."

He sounds guilty. You can imagine.

"Hey," you say simply, waiting for him to fill in the gaps. He owes you at least that much.

"I'm sorry," he says after a long pause, "but you knew this was coming. You know Haley hates what this job turns me into, and you know sometimes I hate it too."

That wasn't really the explanation you were expecting. Not willing to let him off the hook, you turn your face away from the conference room windows to hide your expression and lower your voice. "You should have told me, and you know it. That's why you're hiding behind this false justification...but I guess you know that too."

There's a small rustling sound over the receiver and you can imagine him running his hands through his newly cropped hair. "This doesn't change the fact that I'm leaving."

Sometimes you forget that he was once a young boy with an alarmingly developed moral compass that didn't always point in your direction. It's times like this that remind you.

"Fine." You feel like an irritable teenager again, but you can't contain yourself around him. Even when you want to hide a part of yourself, you can't.

"How's the case going?" he asks finally. His voice has gotten softer and you know he feels bad about how this call has been going, but with neither of you willing to concede, you decide to ignore it for now.

"Well, Strauss just offended the lead detective 45 seconds into her first crime scene."

He chuckles softly. "I'm not surprised."

"This isn't about to get any better, is it?" you ask, huffing out a forlorn sigh.

"I doubt it," he agrees. "I'll keep looking at the file from my end. Any idea how he's getting control of these women? Is he blitzing them or coercing them?"

"So far, we're coming up blank," you admit, glancing back at Morgan and Reid, who appear to be in a productive debate.

"All right. Keep me posted."

***

Another victim turns up and you're not any closer to figuring out who the unsub is. Derek steps away from the group a few minutes after you and you see him pacing the halls of the precinct, his phone pressed to his ear.

A break in the case comes when Garcia identifies school records of children who exhibit signs of perfectionism and co-dependence, leading you to a profile for the unsub. You're all listening to Garcia as she reads off the records when the door opens, with two figures standing in the entrance.

"Look who's here," Morgan grins, shaking Hotch's hand. Emily looks sheepish as she glances over at Strauss, who is downright fuming.

"How fast can you get us up to speed?" Hotch asks without another greeting.

Morgan scoffs. "How fast can you sit down?"

Strauss opens her mouth to say something, but Hotch beats her to it as he takes a seat next to you. You ignore the gesture. "We're only here to help."

She sighs. "We'll deal with this later."

With two more members back on the team, at least for the time being, the SUVs are split more evenly, and you join Emily, JJ, and Strauss in the first one as you head to the crime scene. Strauss is the first one to walk up to the scene, but the moment she sees the mangled body, she breaks down, her face contorting into a sob that she tries and fails to hold in.

You make a move to go and help her, but you're surprised when Hotch is the first to step in. "If you need a second, take a second. This is what it is. Just don't let the public see you break down."

He's so kind to her, even though she's the reason for all of his professional stress. You suppose she's not the only reason, but that isn't something you get to have an opinion on.

The devolution of the dump sites leads to an update of the profile, which gets you an address for a young boy who left school early with the nurse on duty. It doesn't take long to get to the house, and Derek and JJ coordinate some of the local police and SWAT as you strap on your kevlar vests.

After an initial argument about the probable cause of entering a house you don't know is dangerous, Emily pipes up with an idea. "Let me go in alone."

"Wait..." you start but she steamrolls over you, clearly needing to compensate for not being here before. "The boy's in the family room. He's looking for female authority figures. If he lets me in, I can signal as soon as I see anything that gives us cause."

"Technically, you're not even in the FBI," Reid points out.

She nods. "All the better."

Strauss steps in with a frown, to no one's surprise. "She's interfering with a federal investigation."

"Well, if I'm no longer in the FBI, then you have no authority over me." Emily shrugs and turns to Hotch for the approval she actually wants. "I'm just a civilian knocking on a little boy's door."

He nods and she pulls her hair back into a ponytail. Derek hands her his gun, and you suddenly remember that Hotch doesn't have his gun either. Reaching into your other side holster, you pull out your second firearm and hand it to him without a word. He doesn't lift his hand at first, but then he nods at you and takes the gun, his eyes filled with an earnest gratitude, and you know you've forgiven him.

Once she goes inside, you all wait in silence for the signal to breach the home. It takes almost too long, but eventually your earpieces fill with a loud beeping, and Derek yells "Go!"

You find her in a back room, where she's on the floor, her forehead bleeding from a thick gash. You enter just in time to see Hotch leap forward and take Emily's weapon from the little boy, before lifting him up and carrying him out of the house.

"I can't officially approve of how that transpired," Strauss says when you all come outside. You sit next to Emily and squeeze her hand as the paramedics patch up her forehead.

Hotch shakes his head, clearly done with the bureau politics. "The arrest was clean. It would be a mistake to break up this team."

She looks at him pointedly. "None of you will ever move up the chain of command, you know that."

"Why would I ever want to leave the BAU?"

You almost believe him. It's not that you don't think he wants to stay. You know he does. You just also know how much his family means to him, and how thin Haley's patience has worn.

Morgan asks if he means it, and he gives a vague answer that you expect, before turning to look at you.

"Here." He reaches into his waistband and pulls out your gun. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

His hand brushes yours when you take it back, and the warmth of his skin makes you shiver against the slight breeze. "You're welcome."

***

When he gets home, the lights are off.

"Haley?" he calls out into the empty silence. He tries to convince himself that he didn't see this coming, but after her last words to him before he left, it's a futile exercise.

"Make sure to give your son a kiss before you leave."

He left, even when she begged him not to. Now his wife has left, and she took their son with her, and once again, he is utterly alone.

***

Gideon's resignation comes through and you find yourself missing him more than you thought you would. If Hotch is the backbone of the team, he was the stoic foundation. He formed the roots of the BAU as a unit altogether, and you owe your life's work to his intelligence and foresight. But more than that, you can't help but remember the fact that out of all the members on the team, Gideon knew Jeff the best.

He attended countless lectures about past unsubs that Gideon put on at the academy, because he believed understanding why people do things was just as important as knowing how or what they were doing. He even went to Gideon's home for the occasional dinner, and he brought you along once after you got married.

You're not sure what the team will look like without his guiding hand, but you don't have to wait long to find out when JJ calls you with the notice that you're going to Portland.

Spencer is reading a piece of paper over and over again when you get to the office, and when you peek over his shoulder, you see the familiar scrawl of Gideon's handwriting.

Taking a deep breath, you reach forward to put your hand on his shoulder for a moment of comfort, but think better of it and pull back at the last second. Derek sees your indecision and cocks his head towards him.

You walk over to his desk and perch on its edge with a sigh. "I can't believe he would leave just like that."

"I can," Morgan shrugs, his eyes hard with contempt. When you shoot him a look, he softens. "I just mean that he's been showing signs of withdrawal for a while now. It still sucks for the kid, though."

You both look up at Reid across the aisle, where he is still scanning the letter. "At least he got a letter." You try to bring humor into your tone, but it doesn't work.

"It's not about us," Derek says gently, in a show of empathy for the older agent that is unfamiliar coming from him. "He did what he had to do to keep himself sane. We just have to let him."

You nod, just as JJ emerges from the hallway with Hotch on her heels. "We're starting the briefing."

***

"You must be the BAU."

A handsome man with a thick East Coast accent comes forward to introduce himself when you all enter the Portland field office. "Special Agent Bill Calvert."

"Hi, Jennifer Jareau," JJ smiles, extending her hand. "This is SSA Aaron Hotchner. This is Dr. Reid and Agents Morgan, Prentiss and L/N."

He smiles at each of you but his eyes linger on yours for a moment before he takes JJ's hand. "I appreciate your help on this case."

"You're from Boston?" you ask, trying to place his accent after having heard nothing like it since you landed.

"The accent's kind of hard to miss in Oregon, right?" he grins, before reaching his hand out to you. "Agent L/N, was it?"

You shake his hand, shooting him a thin smile. You can already see Emily and JJ's smirks behind your back.

"We'd like to take a look around Jenny Wittman's apartment," Hotch steps in, moving forward to stand beside you.

Calvert nods. "I'd take you myself, but I'm waiting to meet her family, so I'll have another agent drive you."

"Thank you." Hotch rushes off with Reid and Morgan, and you stay back with JJ and Prentiss to work the victimology.

"Can we set up in here?" you ask Calvert as you start moving the boxes of case files and evidence onto the conference room table.

"Of course," he says, before leaving the three of you alone.

The first ten minutes of looking through the evidence is silent, and for a second, you nearly let yourself believe the other women won't bring up the elephant in the room, but then JJ lets out an involuntary giggle and they pounce.

"He's definitely into you," she says, making no effort to hide her gaze as she unabashedly stares at Calvert through the window. You want to retort immediately, but after seeing her check her phone about a dozen more times a day than she usually does, you suspect she may actually know what she's talking about when it comes to love these days.

Emily nods, biting her lip. "He couldn't stop looking at you."

"You're profilers," you argue, tossing the file in your hand onto the table. "You notice all kinds of insignificant stuff."

"So are you," JJ points out. "What do you think, then?"

They have you boxed in, and you can't think of any answer that would sufficiently appease them so you just groan.

"She's into it, too," JJ grins at Emily, who replies with, "I can't believe Y/N's gonna date someone from Portland."

Without thinking, you huff. "He's from Boston." All three pairs of eyes widen as you realize your slip in not denying her statement.

Emily laughs. "Ohh, it's so happening!"

***

When the men return from Jenny Wittman's apartment, Hotch instructs JJ to televise a statement warning possible future victims who fit the unsub's victimology. When Emily and Derek later find an ad hung up in a local laundromat that suggests he's been killing for longer than you'd previously thought, you decide to head back to the trail where the first bodies were found.

When you arrive on the scene, a dozen new bodies have been found further down the trail and near the water.

"How did we miss this before?" you think out loud, not realizing that Calvert has come up behind you.

"The trail's 40 miles long."

You jump when you hear his voice, and he apologizes after a small chuckle. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Special Agent Calvert," you say, your voice slightly airy as you catch your breath. "No need to apologize."

"Okay," he smiles, turning to stand in front of you, "and you can call me Bill."

He's a good looking man, and you don't dislike the feeling of someone showing interest in you, especially as clearly intelligent and qualified as him.

"Sure," you say, returning the smile. "I'm Y/N, btw."

"That's a pretty name," he says, his eyes glinting with mischievousness, before he turns back to the scene before you. "They dug up eight new graves before you got here."

You frown. "So the unsub didn't stick to the pattern."

"Guy had a busy year."

You nod, pondering what this change in M.O. could mean, when Bill interrupts your thoughts. "I'm interested to hear more about how this profiling thing goes."

You give him a quizzical smile, and his lips quirk up. "I took a class in criminal psychology in college, but I don't remember enough to be useful in this area."

"We observe human behavior," you explain, ignoring the subtle smirk Emily is flashing you from behind his back. "Profiling is about making connections and predicting future actions based on history, victimology, and behavior."

He takes a moment to digest your words before huffing out a laugh. "Sounds to me like we called in the right team."

When another agent comes by to ask him about the crime scene procedure, you take your leave and walk up the hill of mulch by the open graves. You are nearly to the SUV when you spot Morgan beelining towards you.

"Not you too," you sigh, rolling your eyes dramatically as you stalk away from him.

He catches up to you easily and throws an arm over your shoulders with a grin. "I'm not gonna give you the giggly girl talk that JJ and Prentiss clearly have covered. I just wanted to say one thing."

You look at him expectantly and he brings you both to a stop by the cars. "You're a catch, L/N." You start to roll your eyes again, but he shakes his head. "You are, so if you want to have a little no-strings-fun, then I'll have your back through and through."

You have no idea what no-strings-fun would look like, but you glance back at Bill, who is speaking animatedly with another agent about the change in digging patterns of the graves.

"I don't know what I want," you admit as Derek drops his arm and turns to face you.

"That's okay," he says, before the corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk. "But figuring that out can be just as much fun too."

***

He would be lying if he said he hasn't noticed you talking to the Special Agent on the case. Calvert, he remembers as he thinks back to the capture and subsequent suicide of the unsub from the roof of his old therapist office.

They were able to find the final victim before she died, so even with the unsub's death, the case feels like a victory, and the whole team looks light on the way back to the jet.

He has been trying to keep himself light too, but every time he gets a moment to himself, his mind reverts back to the silent darkness of his home after he returned from the last case. The reminder that he hasn't seen Haley or Jack in days.

When he reaches the tarmac, he spots you talking to Calvert again, but the conversation looks different than before. The special agent looks nervous, and he tries to gauge whether you seem comfortable, before realizing how relaxed you look.

When he gets closer, he catches the end of a question that likely started with "Can I have your number?" You smile at the man, and he turns away, trying not to eavesdrop.

He can't tell what he wants you to say. He knows it's been enough time since Jeff's death that real dating isn't out of the question, but he can't reconcile the protective instinct flickering in his gut.

Regardless of the distance he tried putting between you and himself, your voice carries over the tarmac, and he hears you say, "I'm sorry." before the rest of the sentence gets jumbled in the breeze. Something that feels alarmingly like relief settles in his chest and he frowns at the foreign feeling of it coursing through his veins.

He boards the plane and purposefully chooses a seat with an empty spot next to it, knowing you'll choose to sit beside him after he practically ignored you all day. He really wasn't trying to shut you out, he just doesn't know how to broach the topic of separation with anyone, let alone someone who had as stable a marriage as you did.

When you board the jet and take your seat next to him, he glances over at you sheepishly and murmurs, "I overheard the end."

He's surprised when you laugh lightly. "It's okay. Everyone was going to find out soon enough, especially with how excited Prentiss and JJ were about it."

He nods, glad that you aren't angry about his invasion of your privacy. Then, before he can stop himself, he looks at you and asks, "You didn't want to see him again?"

"I don't think I'm looking to just date for dating's sake anymore," you explain, your eyes flitting around the cabin at the sleeping forms of the rest of the team. "I had a true love...I don't want to settle down again for anything less."

He understands that completely, but he can tell there's something else bothering you, and not just because of the rhythmic bouncing of your knee that you don't seemed to have noticed. "What else?"

You shrug, not meeting his eye. "I used to have my usual excuse, but I can't really say it's too soon anymore, can I?"

He frowns as he notices the visible strain on you that this burden has caused. "You get to decide that for yourself."

"I know," you sigh, rubbing your eye with a loose fist. "I just worry sometimes that I use Jeff as an excuse to keep myself closed off." Your knee stills, and Hotch scoots closer, even with the armrest in the way.

"You don't seem closed off to me."

Your eyes crinkle with laughter. "I'm not sure if that means much coming from you. You're not exactly the picture of openness, Hotch."

He knows you're mostly joking, but your read punches him in the gut in a way he doesn't expect. You must see the shock on his face, because you immediately lean in closer. "What is it?"

He shakes his head, trying to delay for as long as he can. If he doesn't say it out loud, maybe he can pretend that he's still a happily married man. That he didn't fail his wife and son by being as absent as he had wished his father had been, early in his life.

"It's not about Gideon leaving, is it?" You scrutinize him for a moment before shaking your head. "No. Hotch, what's the matter?"

"We agreed not to profile each other," he sighs, gritting his teeth against the pain of having to vocalize one of the lowest moments in his life.

"Aaron," you whisper. Your voice is soft and gentle, and he breaks.

"Haley left."

Your mouth parts in surprise, and he looks down at his lap, taking a deep breath. "And I don't know if she's coming back."

***

You've been waiting in the arrivals lot of the airport for almost an hour. You're assuming his flight got delayed, and you're grateful for the time to get yourself ready to see him, but the wait hasn't made your jitters any better.

You haven't seen Hotch since you left for college last year, and with his pre-law internship that he somehow snagged as a first year, it was a lonely summer.

When he called you last week with profuse apologies for not staying more in touch and a somber tone that had to be about more than his regrettable phone habits, you had told him that you would love to see him, but your winter break doesn't start for another month. After a few hushed breaths and a second of thinking, he told you that he had bought a plane ticket out to California for the following weekend.

That's why it's Friday afternoon, and you're still waiting for his familiar mop of dark hair to appear through the exit doors. A boy walks out right then, with the same raven hair and fit stature, and your heart rate hastens for a split second, before you realize it's not him.

You look down at your car's radio and twist the dial to change the station. It's been playing the same Madonna song nonstop, and you shut off the volume when the other stations are no different. Your shift in focus takes your attention away from the airport exit, so you jump in your seat when a quiet knock sounds at your passenger side window.

He's here. Your lips curve up into a bright smile and you unlock the door, letting him get in.

"Hi," you say, your voice weaker than you'd like.

"Hey, Y//N," he replies, pushing his long hair back from his face. The simple motion sets off butterflies in your stomach and you turn back to your steering wheel to keep your emotions off your face. He could always read you so easily. "It's good to see you."

He grins at you and leans forward to give you a quick, awkward hug over the center console. You involuntarily inhale as he pulls back, and the scent of his natural musk mixed with whatever new cologne he's been wearing smells dreamy on him.

You said you were over it, you tell yourself in your head. He has a girlfriend who he's going to marry, and you are his best friend. At least you were.

You don't really know where things stand between you two now. A year is a long time to go without seeing someone, and you're sure college has changed him in similar ways that it has changed you.

"I have one more class today," you say quickly as you pull your car out of the lot. "It's criminal psychology, so I figured you wouldn't mind coming to the lecture with me."

"Sounds fun," he says, before leaning his cheek against the window to watch the scenery that zips by. "God, the weather here is crazy."

"It's definitely warmer than I'm used to," you agree, struggling not to glance over at him. "We never had 70 degree winters growing up."

"Which do you prefer?"

You grin. "Home, of course."

"Of course."

You look at him then, and his expression is one you don't understand. It's the same look he gets when he's in the library and he finds a book he's been looking for.

The drive doesn't take long, and you bring him to your lecture, where he proceeds to pay more attention to the information being presented than you do. The class usually feels too short for you, but today, the time ticks by, because you can't focus.

It's been so long since you've sat next to him in a class, and the sight of him jotting down notes on a scrap piece of paper takes you back to high school, when he was still the more attentive one.

After the lecture, you both grab a quick dinner in the dining hall and settle back into your double dorm room, which you painstakingly cleaned up before he arrived.

"So, how long have you guys been friends?" your roommate, Katy, asks him as he drops into your desk chair. You've been watching her ogle him since he arrived, and if he's still as perceptive as he was in high school, it hasn't escaped his notice either.

"Forever," he says, looking at you with a grin. "We met when we were eight. When she judged my taste in The Beatles, it was over for me."

You can't help the heat that flames in your cheeks, even though you know this story by heart. Katy keeps glancing over at you as he explains how you guys met, and eventually she gets up and flops down onto your bed next to you. "You're bringing him to the party tonight, right?"

Your eyes widen as you remember that was today. "Oh, I don't know. We might just stay in."

"You have to come!" she squeals, shaking your arm. She turns to him with a pointed look. "We already have outfits picked out."

"I guess we gotta go, then," he smiles at her, before looking at me with a small raise of his eyebrow. You okay with that?

You dip your chin into a nod, and he stands up. "I'll head out for a walk as you guys get ready."

"Sounds good!" Katy says, grabbing your hand and sliding off the bed. "We'll see you in an hour."

Once the door closes behind him, Katy turns to you, her mouth agape. "You never told me how cute he is."

"What?" you sputter, your cheeks turning a bright shade of pink.

"You also didn't tell me you're, like, in love with him."

You scoff involuntarily, your usual diversion technique when someone brings up a topic you want to evade. "What are you talking about?"

"Okay," she shrugs, reaching into your closet and tossing you the dress you were planning to wear. "If that's how you want to play it."

You go into your attached bathroom to change into your outfit, but after seeing Hotch, the mini sundress you picked out feels like too much. You hate how much you're overthinking something as stupid as an outfit for a party.

You turn away from the mirror and go back into your dorm, where Katy is applying her signature shade of red lipstick in her little mirror stand.

"He has a serious girlfriend," you whisper, almost too quiet for her to hear you. But she is more perceptive than you give her credit for. "Like eventual marriage-serious."

"Oh, honey," she coos, patting the bench seat next to her. You scoot in until you're side by side and she wraps an arm around your shoulders. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

"It's okay," you shake your head, leaning on her shoulder. "I just need to get over it. It's a stupid crush that I've had since high school, but it's time. Maybe this party will help."

"Yes, exactly!" she grins, turning her head to look at you. "Nothing that a little music and a few shots can't fix."

"A few shots?" you laugh.

She nods. "Each."

You down another shot of whiskey before tossing your cup onto the table and following Katy onto the dance floor. She grinds against her boyfriend as you dance beside them, moving your hips side to side with the rhythm of the music.

Being in Los Angeles, the temperature outside is already warmer than it should be in November, but inside the house, your dress is sticking to your skin from the sweat and body heat surrounding you.

You're feeling the alcohol enough to have a good time even in the sweaty throng of bodies around you, and you throw your head back as you close your eyes and feel the thump of the music vibrating the floor boards.

Meanwhile, Hotch can't find you anywhere. He's drunk enough already that he knows he won't be able to find you himself, but he doesn't know anyone else here, so he grabs a half empty bottle from the drinks table and makes his way to the dance floor, where the life of the party seems to be centered.

He's usually a lot more fun at parties, but lately he hasn't felt like himself. Ever since you left for school across the country, it has felt like something in his life was wrong, like he was missing a limb. Then, things started looking up with Haley, and he pushed you away in the hopes that he would forget about any of the doubts he had, but it didn't work. The more he missed you, the worse things got in his relationship, and suddenly he wasn't sure what his life was supposed to look like anymore.

He takes another swig from the bottle and leans back against the counter as he watches people dance against each other in the dim light of the house. His eyes flicker over the mess of bodies until they catch on someone he almost doesn't recognize.

Your eyes are closed and your hands are in the air as you move to the beat. It's not exactly graceful music, but you have managed to find some semblance of a rhythm as you slide your hands down your thin dress, which is sticking to your body in a way he can't take his eyes off of.

He doesn't realize he has lifted the bottle to his lips again until the liquid is burning his throat, and he tears his eyes away from you as his head starts to spin. Maybe he's had enough for tonight. He puts the bottle down just as your roommate spots him. Katy, he thinks, or is it Sadie?

"Aaron!" she calls, stumbling over to him as a man holds her up with an arm around her waist. "Where's Y/N?"

"Not sure," he lies easily, barely conscious of the way his words have started to slur together. "I may head out soon."

"Don't leave without her," she instructs, her voice suddenly getting serious. "I'm staying with him tonight." She pats the man's arm. "So I won't be going back with her."

He nods with a resigned sigh, and slumps down on a couch in the next room, leaning his head back to stop the room from spinning.

When you tire of dancing, you push to the back of the crowd and look around to find any familiar face. You can't see Katy or her boyfriend anywhere, but after exiting the room, you spot Hotch asleep on the couch.

You walk forward with a slanted smile and put your hand on his shoulder to shake him awake. "Hotch, get up."

He groans, peeling his eyes open slowly. "I'm awake. Just resting my eyes."

"Yeah, yeah," you tease, looping your arm through his to help him up. "How much did you drink?"

He shrugs and you wrap your arm around his waist to hold him upright as he stumbles forward. "Whoa there. Okay, let's get you back."

You manage to get him out of the house, and once the fresh air hits, he can almost stand up straight on his own. You keep your arm around him just in case, trying to ignore the way his tee shirt is slowly riding up around his waistband.

You make the walk back in silence, and he falls back onto your bed as you lock the door behind you.

"I'm sorry," he whispers when you perch on the edge of the bed next to him.

"It's okay," you say, huffing out a laugh. He looks so young with his hair falling onto his face, and you resist the urge to push it back off his forehead. "Happens to the best of us."

"No, not that." He rolls over with a groan, flopping onto his back and scooting back so he can lay on your pillow. "I'm sorry I stopped calling."

Your heart skips a beat and you tuck your hair behind your ear, needing to occupy your hands somehow as your mind races with a million questions. "It's my fault too."

"No, it's not."

He isn't slurring his words anymore, but you can still hear the earnestness that only comes when one's filter is completely shattered. He was never one to hide things from you, but you also know how truthful people can get when alcohol takes their mask away.

"Haley and I have been having problems for a while," he mutters, making you sigh. So that's why he flew here in the middle of the school year. "We haven't been seeing eye to eye on a lot of things, and we decided to take a break, but I haven't told anyone, because the only person I wanted to tell was you."

You can't look at him. His gaze is too much, his eyes too full of truth and intensity. "Hotch-"

"I miss you so much," he says, cutting you off. "You're the only person I've ever really been able to talk to, but you know that, don't you? It's the same for you, it has to be."

You don't say anything. The air feels thick with tension, and you're afraid that if you say something, the room will explode.

"She's the perfect girlfriend," he says wistfully, his voice tight with an emotion you can't decipher. "I know it's me who's fucking it up, and I hate myself for it, because she's trying so hard to make this work. But every time it feels perfect, and I think I've finally gotten what I wanted, I just remember-"

"Aaron."

You look at him and his eyes are already staring into yours. You have wanted him to love you the way you loved him for years, but not like this. Never like this.

"You can't fuck this up," you whisper, your voice stronger than you expect it to be. "Call Haley tomorrow morning. Tell her you're sorry, and that you love her, because you do. You know you do."

"I love her," he nods as sleep pulls his eyelids down. "Tomorrow..I'll call her."

You watch him as his limbs relax and his breathing evens out, but you don't fall asleep until the sun starts to rise and you physically can't keep your eyes open anymore.

***

"Happy All Hallow's Eve, folks."

Reid pulls his mask off as Derek looks at him with a frightened frown.

"Are you scared of Halloween?" you ask him, trying to keep the grin off your face.

"I didn't say I was scared," he corrects, glancing over at Reid, who drops his mask on his desk and pushes his hair back from his face, "I said I was creeped out."

"What creeps you out about it?" Emily asks, before grinning at you.

"I bet it's the candy," you joke. "Those muscles probably cower at the sight of anything that isn't meat or protein powder."

Emily snorts and Derek frowns at both of you. "It's the masks. I don't like people in disguises."

"That's the best thing about Halloween," Reid chimes in. "You can be anyone you want to be."

Derek grins. "No, I'm pretty good just being me."

You and Emily share a look. "Yeah, why is it that neither of those points of view surprise me?"

"Guys," Reid suddenly calls out, his voice hushed. "He's here."

You turn around to see Hotch walking down the stairs, accompanied by Agent David Rossi, who you've heard a lot about in your years at the bureau. He was one of the founding members of the BAU, and you can't help but wonder what made him want to come back.

JJ introduces him to everyone, before Reid starts spouting off a list of facts from one of the old cases he solved when he was the chief of the unit.

"Reid, slow down," Hotch says with an uncharacteristic smile. "He'll be here for a while. Catch up with him later."

He nods. "Right, sorry."

Agent Rossi doesn't seem fazed. "No problem, Doctor."

This pleasantly surprises you. It's all too often that new people who meet Spencer don't immediately treat him with the respect he deserves.

"Let's start the briefing."

***

The flight back from Texas is hushed. The case went about as well as you could hope, with them catching the unsub and saving the final victim, but the way Rossi went rogue over and over again has rubbed you the wrong way.

You watch him across the cabin as he pores over his little notebook, and you wish you could peek inside his head. You know that the team aspect of the BAU is a newer addition to the unit, but you don't understand how he can keep all of his thoughts to himself.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Gah," you fright, jumping in your seat. "When did you sit next to me?"

Hotch shrugs, his lip quirking up. "A few minutes ago."

"Well, you should really wear a bell or something, god."

"Y/N," he says, giving you a pointed look. He doesn't let you use your evasion tactics anymore. Given your penchant for aimless talking, you suppose that's a good thing.

"I was just thinking about Rossi," you sigh, glancing up at him again. "Lying to the press to get a reaction from the unsub? Taking over that phone call? I don't like how he works, Hotch."

"He's from a different time," he says, even though you can hear the agreement in his voice, "but he worked with Gideon, and if you remember, it took you a while to warm up to him too."

You heave out a breath but it's the only concession you're willing to give in this moment.

"He's used to an older way of doing things, but he's a great agent."

"He clearly has good ideas," you whisper, "but I just worry that you'll have to work over time to keep him under control."

Hotch ponders this, and you think that maybe he knows you're right. Your eyes shift up and you realize his hair has been shorter for a while now, but you're still not used to seeing so much of his forehead. Not that there's anything wrong with his forehead. It's a fine forehead.

"He was the team leader before he retired," Hotch says suddenly. "He may be tough as a subordinate now, but I'm still glad he's back. We needed someone to fill Gideon's spot, we were low on hands."

"Speaking of, why do you think he's back."

He looks at you with a quizzical frown. "Is it really so hard to believe that he may just want to help us out?"

You think for a second, before shrugging. He laughs.

"I don't know," you concede, with a small chuckle. "I think I'm just expecting things from him that aren't fair."

He turns his body to face you. "Like what?"

You press your lips together, trying to formulate your words properly, so you can clearly articulate the tornado of thoughts in your brain. "I know Gideon wasn't a father figure exactly, but he was someone that Reid and Elle latched onto."

Hotch exhales. "I don't know if Gideon is someone I'd want as a father."

You let out a surprised laugh. "Fair enough."

"How is your father doing, by the way?"

You blink in surprise. It's not that he doesn't talk about your family, it's just that the timing is uncanny. You haven't spoken to him in months. After your mom died, you two were almost inseparable, but then you left for school, and you realized how much bigger the world could be when you weren't always bogged down by your grief. "I haven't called him in a while."

"What did he say after Golconda?" he asks, his voice gentle. After Frank, he means.

You close your eyes, guilt flooding your body. "I never told him."

"What?" You don't look at him, but you can see the shock in the stiff line of his posture. "Did something happen between you two?"

You shake your head, your protectiveness over your family flaring up at the concern in his eyes. "Nothing happened. I just didn't want to worry him."

"That's his job," Hotch stresses, scooting his leg over so his knee bumps yours. "If something like that had happened to Jack, I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

"That's what I'm scared of," you tell him, your eyes flitting over to the window, where the clouds are dancing across the horizon. Sometimes, when you're on the jet, you like to pretend that the time up here isn't real. That as long as the world looks like a series of splotches and blinking lights, nothing can really hurt you. "My mom's death nearly killed him. I learned to cook when I was ten, because he couldn't leave his room for a month." Hotch knows all of this already, but he lets you vocalize your thoughts, obviously knowing how badly you need reassurance for the guilt you're feeling. "Then, when Jeff died, I stayed with him for a few weeks to have some company, but...but.. I was so glad when I left, because then I could finally let myself fall apart."

He reaches under the armrest and clasps your hand in his, extending the comfort you didn't know you needed.

"I've never told anyone that," you whisper, feeling your voice tighten with tears. "I love my dad, I love him so much, but I just needed the chance to recover on my own."

"He loves you too," Hotch says, finally breaking his silence. "You know he loves you. I still remember the themed sandwich baggies that he packed your lunch with all through middle school."

You choke out a laugh. "You would always steal the Spiderman ones."

He smiles, squeezing your hand once. "Maybe you just need to give him another chance to be who you want him to be. He might just surprise you."

You know he's right. Somehow, he's always right.

You nod, flashing him a small smile, and lean your head on his shoulder as the clouds float past your window.

***

He glances at his watch for the tenth time since he sat down in his office. The plane landed just over an hour ago, and he sent you home immediately with the instruction to get some rest. He probably should have gone home too, but ever since he got his new apartment, home hasn't felt the same.

He used to be able to look around any corner and see a memory: the couch where he and Haley made love on their first night at home, the soft carpet where Jack took his first steps, the doorframe where he measured his height on his first birthday as Haley held him up by the arms. He also remembers that he wasn't there to see Jack's first steps; he was in Pittsburgh, working a case and thanking his lucky stars that Haley had had the foresight to take a photo as his son stood upright all by himself.

He lifts the picture frame from the edge of his desk, running his fingers over the cool glass and looking at the blue drawing underneath. Jack had drawn his favorite cartoon character and left it for him on the kitchen table, a few nights before his suspension went into effect.

Putting it back down, he looks at the photograph of him holding onto Haley as she clutches newborn Jack to her chest in the hospital. He still has the photo of just him and her on their wedding, but he pushed it to the back, behind the pictures of Jack, and the one of you and him at law school graduation.

A knock sounds at his door and he looks up to see Dave standing in his doorway. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," he says, waving him in. He doesn't sit down, so Hotch stands up too, unsure of how he feels about the power imbalance in the room. "What can I do for you?"

"You said out there, 'The team shares everything.'"

He nods. "That's right."

"There is no 'I'?"

He nods again, not liking where this may be going.

Dave glances down at his desk, where his phone sits next to the picture frame of his family. "Seems a big thing to withhold. Separating from your wife, your child."

He freezes, unconsciously looking at the door to see if anyone heard. "What are you talking about?"

"You used to call Haley 10 times a day," Dave says, his voice not unkind. "We've been together 48 hours and I haven't seen you call her once. You haven't mentioned her, and you're not going home now."

He frowns, feeling his brow settle into place like it's a uniform he wears whenever he's at the office. "What's your point?"

"I guess you're just not used to sharing."

He doesn't say anything, but Rossi seems to interpret this the wrong way. "Or maybe it's something else." He looks out the window at the empty bullpen, but the implication is still clear. "Was it because of...?"

"What?" He doesn't know where this is coming from, but he can't stop the anger that rumbles through him at the connotation. Unable to help it, he looks down at your desk, and Dave tuts.

"I won't say anything."

"Dave," he shakes his head, trying to remain calm. "You have it all wrong. She's my best friend...since we were children. It isn't like that. It was never-"

It was never like that. That's what he's about to say, but that wouldn't be true. Rossi is a good enough profiler that he would be able to spot a lie from a mile away, so he shuts his mouth and shakes his head again. "It's not like that."

"Okay," he accepts, lifting his hands in surrender. "My mistake."

Hotch nods, and Dave leaves his office, but he can't get their conversation out of his head until later that night when his head hits his pillow and his eyes finally fall shut.

***

"Hey, Dad."

You called him when you got home from work that night, and he answered on the second ring. "Hi, sweetheart."

"How are you?" you ask, clutching the phone to your ear as you sink down onto the couch in your living room.

He doesn't answer for a moment, and you can hear him taking a breath. "I'm good, Y/N, how are you? Is work going well?"

"It's good," you tell him. "Really good. We were able to save a woman today, before the unsub could kill her."

"Unsub?"

"Unknown subject," you explain, quickly realizing just how long it's been since you've spoken to him. "It's what we call the bad guy before we know who he is."

"Right," he says, and you can practically see him rubbing a hand over his face, his nervous tic. "I knew that. Anyway, how is everything in your life? Do you still work with Aaron?"

"Yeah, I do," you say with a laugh. "He was actually asking about you earlier today."

"That's nice of him," your dad says, his voice brightening slightly. "He was always a good friend to you."

You tell him about your most recent case, and about Gideon and Elle leaving the team, but eventually you can't evade the topic you've been trying to avoid all night.

You're okay, you think to yourself. Frank can't hurt you anymore.

"Dad," you whisper, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath. In 1, 2, 3. Out 1, 2, 3. "I have something to tell you."

Then you tell him everything, and he just listens, exactly like you hoped he would.

***

"I met this guy." You didn't even see Penelope approach you, but here she is, looking at you like she's about to say something dirty.

"Hell yeah," you grin, trying to match her energy. "Where?"

"A coffee shop," she smirks. "He was having trouble with his computer, so I fixed it for him, and then he asked for my number."

"Look at you," you joke, giving her a side squeeze, "putting your technical analyst skills to good use."

"Thank you," she huffs, throwing an annoyed glance over her shoulder. "That's more of the response I was looking for."

"What do you mean?"

"Derek," she says simply, and you nod, already knowing where she's going with this. You know they have an uncommon relationship, so you're not surprised that he didn't react exactly how she hoped he would.

"He's an idiot," you tell her, patting her arm.

She laughs. "You don't even know what he did."

"Uh, yeah," you say, turning around to face the bullpen, "I definitely do."

***

The case takes the team to Florida, where an unsub has been feeding women their fingers, killing them, and then carving pentagrams in their skin.

The pentagrams suggest a religious element, so you go with JJ, Morgan, and Rossi to the local church to meet with the priest.

"Rossi, do me a favor," Morgan says just before you walk inside. "You talk to the priest, all right?"

You remember his agitation on the jet when Reid prodded him about his beliefs, and given the cruelty of his childhood, a crisis of faith wouldn't surprise you.

"Hi, Father Marks," JJ greets the priest when you enter the church. She introduces all of you to him, before shaking his hand. "We're sorry we have to be here under these circumstances."

"It's good of you to come," he says, greeting all of you. "Abbey's parents are upstairs in my office."

"We'll go up," Rossi says with a nod, "but Agent Morgan actually has some questions for you."

Your eyes flash to Rossi, but he doesn't return your gaze.

"I have some questions too," you offer, and Derek nods gratefully.

The priest answers the few questions Derek spits out at him, and you watch as his eyes wander around the hall, his shoulders raised with tension. You insert a few of your own questions before heading outside with him to wait for JJ and Rossi to finish up with the victim's parents.

"What happened in there?" you ask when he doesn't meet your eye. "Being rude to Father Marks? That wasn't like you."

"You know what happened to me, L/N," he says angrily, kicking his foot out at a loose stone on the pavement. "I went to church everyday, and I prayed for it to stop, but you know what God did? Nothing."

"I know what a crisis of faith looks like, Derek." You stand in front of him, forcing him to look at you. "But Father Marks doesn't know your story. He's not judging you, he's just showing his faith how he knows best."

His shoulders are still tense as his jaw twitches. "Who does Rossi think he is, throwing me under the bus like that?"

"He's an instigator," you shrug, letting the topic slide for the time being. You'll talk to him again later if he still needs it.

"I didn't love the way Gideon did things either," Derek says, his posture going from agitation to annoyance, "but Rossi might just take the cake. Even if he is better with the victim's families."

"I can't help you there," you almost laugh. "I had the same conversation with Hotch after the case in Texas, and he managed to convince me to give the guy a chance. So...if you can't bring yourself to trust him, just think of it as putting your trust in Hotch."

Derek hums, bumping your shoulder with his. "I guess I can do that."

***

The search party for Tracey Lambert only leads to the unsub taking another woman, and suddenly the ticking clock gets a lot louder. By the time you find his lair and the bodies he has been cannibalizing for years, you're already struggling to keep down even the water you've been drinking. When he reveals where Tracey actually is, you feel so sick, you can't breathe.

When the jet lands back in Virginia, you go home immediately, desperately needing some peace and quiet away from the team for the first time in a while. But that doesn't last long.

You're awoken by the shrill ringing of your home phone. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you check the number and answer the phone. "Is this payback for the last time I called you past midnight?"

"Y/N...it's Garcia."

You shoot up into a sitting position as Hotch explains what happened. "How bad is it?"

"I don't know."

"I'm on my way."

You change into a sweater and a pair of loose jeans before grabbing your keys and flying out the door.

"She's in surgery," JJ tells you when you find them in the waiting room. She pulls you into a hug before returning to her hunched position in an uncomfortable vinyl chair.

"There's no other word," Hotch adds, giving you a quick hug as well. With his cheek pressed against your temple, he whispers, "Police think it may have been a botched robbery."

"Where's Morgan?" Emily asks, standing up from her chair.

"He's not answering his cell."

Reid nods, stepping away. "I'll call him again."

He squeezes your hand before he exits the waiting area, and you glance down at JJ again. Her eyes are red from crying, and her chin is pressed into her palm as she stares at the floor. You watch as Emily sits next to her and pats her hand, before clasping it in hers.

You don't realize you've been staring at the same spot on the floor until Hotch stands next to you and nudges your shoulder. You okay?

"I will be," you say out loud, barely registering that he didn't actually ask you anything. "As soon as she's out of surgery." When you got the call that Penelope was shot, you had been hit by an intense feeling of deja vu. Only this time, the call didn't come from bureau leadership, because she wasn't killed at the scene. Because she's going to make it.

He doesn't seem fazed as he checks his watch again, his frown lines deepening. "It shouldn't take this long to get an update."

"Where have you been?" Reid asks suddenly. You look up to see Derek walking into the waiting room, his eyes wide with panic.

"I was in church. My phone was off."

"There's nothing you could have been doing here," Rossi assures him, before nodding at Hotch and pulling him aside to discuss something with the deputies outside. You use the momentary lull to approach Derek, putting your hand on his arm as an initial test. When he doesn't jerk back, you pull him into a hug that he returns gratefully.

The doctor walks in a few minutes later and explains that Penelope will be fine, but she needs to rest until the morning.

"David and I will go to the scene," Hotch informs, his eyes fixing each of you with an empathetic look. "I think the rest of you should be here when she wakes up. I don't care about protocol. I don't care whether we're working this officially, or not. We don't touch any new cases until we find out who did this."

When they leave, you pull Derek down into the chair next to you and lean your head onto his shoulder. After a beat, he relaxes in his seat, and lets out a long sigh. "She's okay."

***

Early the next morning, the doctor shakes you all awake with the notice that Penelope's up, so you rush into her room, trying not to crowd her as she blinks awake.

"Hi," she says softly, her voice small. She looks so innocent, laying in her hospital bed with her blonde hair a halo around her head. You can't imagine how anyone would want to hurt someone like her.

"No tears," she smiles as you swallow down your anger. "I'm afraid if I start crying, I'll come unstapled."

JJ presses a kiss to her cheek, before Derek and Emily start gently plying her with the usual questions. When it comes out that the man who shot her was the same man who asked her out at the coffee shop, your anger turns to anguish, and you reach forward to squeeze Penelope's hand in an effort to comfort her.

"I just thought he liked me," she whispers, the pain in her voice breaking your heart.

"We need a name," Emily asks abruptly. You can see her mentally kicking herself at how serious her words came out, but you know Penelope understands the gravity of this situation.

"James Colby Baylor."

She asks you and JJ to stay back for a second as the rest of the team leaves to investigate Baylor.

"What's up, honey?" you ask, smiling at her sweetly as she uses her other hand to take JJ's.

"I feel so stupid," she sighs, her breath turning into a gasp as tears fill her eyes. "Maybe Derek was right about all of it."

"No," JJ says sternly, reaching forward to brush some of her hair behind her ear. "None of this is on you."

"What she said," you echo, nodding at JJ, "and don't listen to Morgan. He loves you, and he's very protective over you, but he's also a man."

She sniffles out a laugh, before pressing her lips together. "One last thing."

JJ blinks. "Anything."

"Please don't talk about me like I'm a victim."

***

The case wraps up back at the office, where Baylor, whose real name is Deputy Battle, was shot in the head by JJ, who doesn't seem as plussed by the situation as you would expect. You tried to talk to her afterwards, but after telling you she was fine, she put all of her attention on Penelope, who has spent the last week recovering at home.

Now, you're sitting in the break room stirring your black coffee, just for something to do. Hotch finds you in there and walks inside, shutting the door behind him.

"It's been a long week," he grumbles, looking longingly at the spot next to you on the worn couch.

You lift your cup and nod your head at the full coffee pot. "That's what caffeine's for."

"We really should sleep at some point," he says, filling up a paper cup and carefully dropping into the spot beside you. The couch you chose is small enough that his thigh presses against yours when he spreads his legs even the slightest bit.

You snort. "Sleep's overrated."

You both sip your steaming coffees in silence as you watch the other agents shuffle back and forth across the bullpen, unaware of your watchful eyes. The break room is the one place in the office to go for a little bit of privacy, but the unobstructed view of everyone's desks isn't unpleasant either. You imagine this is how Hotch feels when he looks out his office window.

Your eye catches on the stapled wood planks that are currently replacing the broken glass door that leads into the bullpen. He must be looking at the same thing, because he breaks the silence and says, "I think we may need to get JJ out into the field more."

His tone catches you off guard and you crack a small smile. "She does seem remarkably well-adjusted, given that it was her first time."

He nods, turning his head to look at you. "Do you remember your first time?" Killing someone, is the part he doesn't say out loud.

"Of course." You take a deep breath and gulp back more coffee. "He was a serial rapist in Texas. One shot to the heart. I wasn't trying to kill him, he just ran at the last second."

"Serial killer in Florida," he responds simply. "Headshot. He died instantly."

"That was your first year at the BAU, right?" He nods and you sink back into the cushions. "I wasn't even in the field then."

He hums, a low sound that you feel as vibrations on your skin. "I worry that I brought you in here too early. Jeff had just died, and I assumed that getting you out of the house and in the field would take your mind off of things, but I wonder sometimes if I made the wrong call."

"You didn't," you assure him, turning your body to face his, even as he doesn't meet your eye. "First of all, you brought me in six months after he died, and by then, I definitely needed an excuse to leave my bedroom."

He sighs, a small concession, and you continue. "The first case I went into the field for after he died, I could barely hold my gun. Every time I pulled it on someone, I would imagine his body...with all of those bullet holes...and I would just freeze up. It took me months to pass my firearm certification again, but I still don't regret it."

"You sure?" he asks, his voice almost timid.

"Positive," you smile, nudging your thigh against his. "Besides, I didn't realize it until later, but it wasn't getting out into the field that helped me through my grief...it was meeting the team. These people became my family in the moment that I needed one most."

You turn back to your coffee and sip it again, though it's no longer as hot as you'd like it to be.

"How are you doing, by the way?" he asks suddenly. "With Garcia, I mean."

An involuntary shudder runs through you as you remember her pale face in her hospital bed last week, but the warmth of the coffee cup in your hands makes it pass quickly. "I'll never get used to it. But she's okay now, so hopefully it'll be easier this time."

***

You're jotting down notes in the margins of a new case file JJ asked you to look over when your cell phone rings. Hotch and Reid are at a nearby prison, interviewing a serial killer on death row for the Criminal Personality Research Project, so you're not expecting a call from either of them. The rest of the team, except for Rossi, is scattered around the bullpen, but you don't expect him to call you either.

After finishing the line you were writing, you check your phone and see a name you haven't spoken to in weeks.

"Haley," you answer after clicking open your cell. "Is everything okay?"

"I know you're busy," she sighs, her voice tight with what you can only decipher as irritation, "but I didn't know who else to call. Aaron hasn't been answering my phone calls."

You get up from your desk and step out into the hallway to get some privacy. "He and Dr. Reid are at a prison right now, interviewing a criminal for this research project. There likely isn't any cell service out there."

"It's not just today, Y/N," she says, her tone getting colder as she inadvertently directs her anger towards the only person she can get ahold of. "He hasn't been taking my calls for days."

"I can talk to him," you suggest, trying to keep your tone light in an effort to keep this conversation from derailing. "I'll tell him to give you a call."

"I appreciate that," she sighs, losing her steam. "I'm sorry for involving you, I just really need to speak with him about something."

"Is everything alright with you and Jack?" you ask her quickly, wanting to make sure that you aren't making the wrong assumptions about why she's calling.

"Oh!" she inhales sharply. "Yes, of course, we're doing great. Well, great maybe isn't the right word, I didn't mean- I just-" She sighs. "You know what I mean."

"I do," you assure her as your heart twists at the sound of her shallow breathing. You know how hard the separation has been on Hotch, but you know Haley too, and she has always been better at hiding her pain that she seems. "Where have you been staying?"

"With Jess," she says, her voice brightening considerably at the mention of her sister. "She's been a godsend. I feel terrible taking up so much of her space, but she doesn't seem to mind."

You smile, remembering the few times you met Jessica Brooks while Haley and Hotch were together. "She definitely doesn't mind. She always loved children. I bet she's already scheming on how to steal Jack from you."

Haley laughs, and the sound is like wind chimes twinkling in your ear. "She totally is."

Her laughter slowly fades, and you both stay on the line for a few moments in comfortable silence.

"I'll tell him to call you," you promise.

"I know," she sighs. "Thank you."

***

The prison was a bust, but Reid got a chance to use his intelligence to get them out of a tough spot without anyone getting hurt, so the day wasn't a total loss.

He is sitting in his office, drafting an email to the project coordinator, when you walk inside and take a seat in front of his desk.

"Thanks for knocking," he says sarcastically before finishing up the sentence he was working on. Once it's done, he saves the draft and turns off his computer. "How was Indianapolis?"

"Good," you say, leaning back in the chair. "Great, actually. Rossi got to close up the case that's been haunting him for a decade, and the three kids are finally safe."

"I'm surprised he wasn't more excited when he got back," he notes, watching your body language. You look wired, but not about this. Something else is bothering you.

"The unsub wasn't exactly the most gratifying arrest," you sigh, rubbing a hand over your temple. "We don't even think he committed the murders intentionally."

He frowns, shaking his head. "Those are the worst kind."

You're silent for a moment before you sit up straighter and look at him. "Haley called me this morning. While you were at the prison."

"Oh?" Something that feels like ice slithers down his spine even though he can probably guess exactly how the conversation went.

All week, he has felt an enormous weight on his chest in the form of a stack of divorce papers that Haley served him with. She had called him right after, with the explanation that they both should have seen this coming, but he really hadn't. He was a profiler, whose entire job was to notice and analyze human behavior, and he truly hadn't been able to let himself believe that this could be a possibility. That his marriage could actually be over.

"She said you've been ignoring her calls."

He had been ignoring them. He knew she would just tell him to sign the papers, and he couldn't bear to hear her say it again. Once was enough.

He reaches into his desk and pulls out the manila folder that he hasn't opened since his initial read-through. He suspects you already know what he's about to tell you, but he also knows that it won't feel real until he says it out loud. And it's about time he came to terms with what his life would be from now on. "Haley wants me to sign the divorce papers, uncontested."

"She doesn't want to involve a lawyer?" you ask, your voice delicate as you walk him through the explanation with clarifying questions. It's the technique they use when interviewing the families of victims, to help them feel comfortable as they talk about the hardest thing they've ever gone through. He's surprised at how reassuring it feels coming from you.

He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. It has grown out a bit since he last cut it, but he doesn't think he minds. Haley wanted him to cut it short when Jack was in his grabbing and teething phase, but now, he likes how he can push it back when he wants. "I don't want to sign, of course, but she's adamant that we get this done soon."

"You'll be okay," you say, and he looks up in surprise. "You're a good man, Aaron."

"I'm not," he whispers, heaving out a sigh. "I'm not doing anything right. At home, I was an awful husband and an absent father, and at work, Strauss would replace me if she had even the slightest bit more ammunition. I can't focus in either place. Maybe Haley's right, maybe I'm just selfish."

You lean forward and grab his hand, even as he doesn't look at you. "You're not selfish. You're the farthest thing from selfish. You don't want to sign, but you will. You're giving her what she wants, even though it's the last thing you want."

He nods, but his heart isn't in it. He glances down at the folder again and takes a deep breath as you give him a small smile and stand up.

"I'll see you tomorrow, boss?"

He nods again. "See you tomorrow."

When the door shuts behind you, he flips open the folder, faster than he meant to, but he's afraid if he doesn't do this quickly he'll lose his nerve. Grabbing a random pen from the mug on his desk, he uncaps it and scrawls out his initials on all of the earmarked lines throughout the stack.

When he finishes the last page, he shuts the folder and leans back in his chair, letting out a long exhale. He did it. He supposes he should feel some sort of severing away of his old life, maybe an audible snap as the ties to his marriage get cut, but there's just silence.

His office suddenly feels stifling, and he loosens his tie before reaching forward and lifting the picture frame with him and Haley on their wedding day. Her smile still looks beautiful to him, and his content expression as he gazes at her doesn't make him feel anything different. Their marriage may be over, but he still loved her.

He runs his thumb over the smooth edge of the frame, and then opens his desk drawer, before sticking it inside and pushing it closed.

***

"Thank you for watching him," Hotch says, his voice slightly muffled over the phone.

"Of course," you smile, sitting down on your couch with the pasta you made for dinner. "It was my pleasure. Jack's a total sweetheart."

Jess was out of town for a couple of days, so he had asked you to watch Jack while he and Haley met up to finalize the divorce in front of an attorney. She had been adamant about finishing the process over the phone, but he wanted to ensure that she and Jack would be taken care of after the papers went through.

"Did he eat lunch?"

"Kind of," you say, quickly swallowing the bite you took. "He didn't want a full meal, but I got him to eat some fruit and bread with cheese."

"I'll make him a snack soon," he says quietly, but you can tell he's just thinking out loud. "Alright, I'll see you at the office. Thanks again."

"Always," you tell him, genuinely. "See you."

The phone clicks off and you scarf down the rest of your pasta before doing your dirty dishes and cleaning up your kitchen. You're considering whether to change into your workout clothes so you can crank out a few miles on your Peloton, but then you hear a knock on your door.

You're not expecting anyone, and with Hotch watching Jack, it can't be him. You peek around the corner into your foyer to see who's at the door, and relax when you spot a familiar mop of brown hair.

"I'm sorry I didn't call first," Spencer says when you open the door, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his book bag. "I just didn't know how to ask you this over the phone."

"Spence, what is it?" you ask, opening the door further to let him in. He doesn't step forward, and a pinprick of anxiety enters your system.

"If I come inside, I won't be able to do this," he says vaguely, before reaching into his bag and pulling out a flyer. He hands it to you and you read the title, the tension seeping from your body as the words sink in: Narcotics Anonymous for Law Enforcement.

"I know it's a lot to ask," he whispers, "but would you drive me to the meeting tonight?"

Your heart feels like it's about to crack open. Only a boy who was never looked after, never given the love and care he deserved, would think that something like this was too much to ask.

"It's not too much," you tell him, glancing down at the address. "I'll get my keys."

When he's settled in your passenger seat, you pull out of the driveway, not commenting on the fact that his car is parked on the street beside your sidewalk. You understand the need for company more than most people.

The drive to the rec center where the meeting is being held is mostly silent, but you don't press him. He stares down at his hands for most of the ride, and when you stop in front of the entrance, he unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to you. "Thank you."

"Of course," you smile. "I can wait, if you'd like."

He gives you a thin-lipped smile. "It's okay."

"You sure?"

He presses his lips together and looks at you, his eyes reflecting the question in yours.

"Go on," you say, patting his arm. "I'll be here."

He nods and steps out of your car, and you pull into a parking space to wait in while he's in the meeting. You turn on the radio and it's the same song they've been playing for the last week, so you turn the volume down low and close your eyes for a few peaceful moments.

You must have fallen asleep, because you're jarred awake by the chirping sound of your cell phone ringing. It's a bureau number, so you clear your throat and answer the call. "L/N."

"Hey, Y/N." It's JJ, and she sounds tired. "We have a case. It's urgent, so we're flying to Texas tonight."

You sigh louder than you meant to. "I can be there in 20."

"See you soon."

The line clicks off and you rub the sleep from your eyes. A quick check of your watch tells you that you were only asleep for about a half hour, but that's just half of the meeting time. You know Spencer will come back when he gets the call, so you turn the radio off and sit up in your seat.

A few minutes later, he returns to the car. You saw him just over 30 minutes ago, but he already looks lighter than he did when he got to your house.

"I'm proud of you, Spence," you tell him as you start the car.

He nods, a quick thanks. "This federal agent gave me his one year medallion after I left the meeting. I've only been clean for 10 months, but he still gave it to me."

"He believes in you," you say simply, glancing over at his confused expression.

"He doesn't even know me."

You shrug. "You don't have to really know someone to care about them, Spencer. You just have to see something of yourself in them."

"Is that what you see in me?" he asks, finally looking at you.

You consider this for a moment. Is that why you feel so protective over him?

"I don't know," you say eventually, not wanting to lie, even by accident. "I definitely wasn't as smart as you were, or as focused. I wasn't all that driven in high school at all, to be honest. I was lucky to have Hotch. He gave me the push I needed to get out there and focus on school."

He's silent for a minute and you worry you may have said something wrong. Then: "I didn't have anyone in school." He pauses for a beat, before speaking again, his voice quieter this time. "I was in the library one day, and this girl comes up to me, and she tells me that Alexa Isben wants to meet me behind the field house. Alexa Isben was, like...easily the prettiest girl in school."

You frown, already not liking where this story is going. "Did she not show up?"

"No, she was there." His voice sounds almost resigned, but there's a note of something darker underneath. Something raw and painful, that likely still hurts after all these years. "But so was the entire football team. They stripped me naked and tied me to a goal post. So many kids were there, you know, just watching."

"No one stopped them?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I begged them to, but they just...they just watched. Then finally they got bored and they left." He clears his throat, and the sound is small, like a little boy's. "It was like midnight when I finally got home. And my mom didn't...Mom was having one of her episodes, so she didn't even realize I was late."

"You never told her what happened?"

He shakes his head. "I never told anybody. I thought it was one of those things that I thought if I didn't talk about it, I'd just forget. But I remember it like it was yesterday."

"You don't need an eidetic memory for that, Spence," you whisper, trying to stay focused on the road even as his words swirl into your memories and create an agonizing hurricane of emotions. "I was only ten years old when my mom was killed, but I can still remember every moment of her funeral."

The field office comes into view and you push forward as you scan your badge and slide into a parking spot below the upper garage. When the car is in park, you undo your seatbelt and turn to him. "I know how hard it can be to push away the painful memories, but there's something more important that I need you to remember."

"Remember what?"

He looks at you then, and you reach forward to squeeze his hand. "You're not alone anymore."

***

"Is it always this hot?" You look up at the beating sun through your shaded sunglasses and fan your face with both of your hands.

"Every day, all day," Emily huffs, running her fingers through her bangs to unstick them from her forehead.

Everyone is sweltering in the Miami heat, but then Derek gets off the plane with a wide grin, his skin glistening in the sun, and you resist the urge to throw your bag at him. "South Beach, baby."

He immediately shuts up when he spots the stunning Miami PD detective who called your team in for the recent string of murders. JJ shoots you a smirk before introducing her to the team. "Detective Lopez. We spoke on the phone."

"Tina," she corrects, before shaking her hand. "Thank you for coming down so quickly."

"Hey," Emily says from beside you, making you turn to see what she's looking at. "Isn't that..."

You spot the person she's referring to, and your face splits into a big smile. "Detective LaMontagne!"

"He's here to ID the cop they pulled from the bay last night," Tina explains.

You don't miss the flush in JJ's cheeks as she shakes his hand. "Detective, good to see you."

"How are you?" you ask, giving him a quick hug that he returns.

"Yeah, Charlie Luvet and I worked together for seven years."

Derek frowns. "Sorry for your loss, man."

Tina looks confused, and you don't blame her. "So, you all know each other?"

"Professionally," JJ is quick to add. Will whips around to look at her, and you turn to Emily with an eyebrow raise, feeling like you're intruding on a private moment. You aren't sure why she won't just admit that they've been together since New Orleans, but that's her business.

***

You join JJ and Will at the IDing of Officer Luvet, and you keep your distance as he glances down at the body and affirms the report.

"Yeah, that's him."

JJ looks like she wants to comfort him, but instead she sticks to the professional approach. "If you need help making arrangements, liaising with families is part of what I do."

Will nods, his voice choking up slightly. "I might just take you up on that. Excuse me, I'll be outside."

When he steps outside of the coroner's office, you can't help but notice the longing look on JJ's face as she watches him go.

"Let's go," she says to you softly, her eyes still on the door. You follow her outside, but by then Will is nowhere to be found.

"It's okay, you know," you blurt out. You weren't really planning on talking to her about this, but sometimes your mouth takes over before your brain can catch up. "I know you worry that being around a band of profilers all the time makes you vulnerable."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," she says simply, not quite meeting your eye.

"JJ," you say seriously, trying to convey your pure intentions. "If you keep trying to hide it, you'll lose him."

She purses her lips, and you squeeze her forearm, hoping you aren't pushing past her boundaries. The whole team is sparing with details about their personal lives, but you like to think that you're someone people feel comfortable sharing things with.

"I know you, hon." You flash her a knowing smile, feeling a shot of satisfaction as her lip twitches. "I know that it's enough for you to know that you care about something, but it's not enough for everyone."

She exhales, tucking her hair behind her ears. "He's upset with me, but I don't know what to do. I'm still scared."

You sigh, understanding her predicament, but still wanting her to push past it. "You can let yourself be happy, JJ. You won't always get hurt."

She nods before glancing around the room again, searching for Will even though he's long gone. It's an instinct you recognize.

Later, when JJ finally acknowledges their relationship by pulling him in for a kiss at the police station, you can't help but take it as a win.

***

Your house feels emptier than usual when you get back from Miami. Seeing JJ and Will find each other again reminded you of how much you miss having someone to share your life with.

Deciding to take a night to yourself, you pop open a bottle of red, and pour yourself a glass, which you swirl around before taking a sip. It's drier than you tend to go for, and when you check the label, you realize that's because you didn't buy it.

How can you drink this stuff?

It makes me feel sophisticated.

Jeff would break out the fancy glassware every chance he got, because he didn't believe in special occasions. He used to say that people waste precious moments of their life waiting for the right occasion to come around.

The memory feels warm in the back of your mind, and you take another sip of wine before walking over to your cupboard and grabbing the fanciest wine glass you can find. You pour the rest of your wine into the new glass and place the other in the sink, before swirling it around again. No time like the present.

You bring the glass to the couch with you, where you turn on the television and skip through the first few channels. As the wine in your glass depletes, the loneliness sets back in. You're about to pour yourself another pity glass when your phone buzzes with a call from Hotch.

"Do your television channels suck as much as mine do?"

You smile, muting the television and pressing the phone to your ear. "Definitely not."

He chuffs. "I guess I'm not used to the new tv controls."

Right, his new apartment. After the papers were finalized, he gave the house to Haley and moved into a new place ten minutes away.

"We can share mine," you say, listening to the sounds of his breath over the receiver. "I also have wine."

That gets a laugh. "I'll be there in 15."

You hear a knock on your door exactly 14 minutes later. When you open it, you're greeted with the sight of Hotch in a tee shirt and jeans. "A little underdressed, aren't we?"

He snorts, taking the wine glasses from your hands and following you into the family room. "What are we watching?"

"You're the one with the broken tv," you grin, flopping down on the couch and taking your glass from him. "What do you want to watch?"

He thinks for a minute, before his eyes sparkle with an idea. You cut him off before he can suggest what you already know he will. "We are not watching Top Gun again, Hotch!"

"You asked," he shrugs, hiding his smile behind a sip of wine. "What do you want to watch, then?"

You can see him watching you over the rim of his glass, so you blurt out the first name that comes to your mind. "Footloose."

He looks at you blankly for a moment, before his brow twitches, and your jaw drops. "You haven't seen Footloose?!"

"It came out when we were in high school," he groans, taking one of the throw pillows off the couch and stuffing it behind his back. "Terminator and Dune came out that same year. I remember because you tried to get me to watch it then too."

"It's an amazing movie!" you exclaim, standing up to go dig through your movie cabinet. "We're watching it right now."

He groans and sinks back into the pillows as you find the DVD and start the movie. You've seen it at least a dozen times, mostly because it makes you nostalgic for your teenage years, but the opening still gets you excited.

As the movie plays, you keep glancing over at Hotch, trying to see if he's enjoying the scenes just as much as you did on your first watch. To his credit, he watches the movie faithfully, without checking his phone or straying from the television screen.

"Enough," he grumbles suddenly, startling you.

"What?" you question, whipping your head around to face the screen.

"I'm watching the movie," he huffs, fixing you with a pointed look. "You don't have to keep checking."

You frown, hugging a pillow to your chest. "I wasn't checking, I just like seeing people's reactions to my favorite movies."

"Either way."

You groan, reaching out to thwack his arm.

"Eyes on the screen," he berates you, pointing at the TV. "The dance scene is starting."

You sip your wine bitterly as you try to resist the urge to glance over at him. Eventually, the movie takes over your attention and soon it's the final town council scene where Kevin Bacon gives a speech to the whole town.

"'There was a time for this law'," you quote along with the movie, "'but not anymore.'"

The movie comes to an end, and you click the remote to turn off the television. When you turn to Hotch with an excited grin, you're surprised to see that he has fallen asleep.

His head has fallen to the side, resting on the armrest, and he looks so peaceful with his expression completely neutral. His characteristic frown is nowhere to be seen as he snores quietly through his nose.

Your lips curve into a smile as you stand up and grab a blanket from a basket beside the couch. You drape it over his body, being careful not to wake him, and take the wine glasses to the sink before heading up for bed.

***

"That's because you pick horses the same way you practice law."

You hold your breath as he glances into the crowd for a brief second.

"...by always taking the long shot."

Emily snickers under her breath, and you see even Reid crack a smile as the lawyer starts floundering. The rest of the day in court goes by quickly and you all wait for Hotch in the hallway of the courthouse as he finishes up inside.

"That was impressive," you grin, nudging his shoulder as he walks alongside you. "I can't believe that was my first time seeing you in full prosecutor mode."

"Hardly," he says, rolling his eyes lightly. "I was called to give testimony, it's very different."

"I'm just surprised that prosecutor is still walking after how hard you hit him." He shoots you a look and you raise your hands in surrender. "Metaphorically, of course."

"That was a straight knock out." Derek comes up behind you and throws an arm around your shoulder as he spins you both to face Hotch. "The crowd practically cheered when you cleaned the floor with him."

"Thank you," he concedes, flashing his eyes at you. "Now let's get back to work. We still have to get more evidence for the rest of the trial."

And just like that, everyone switches back into work mode. Derek drops his arm and jogs forward to catch up to Rossi and Spencer, while Emily calls Garcia to get the latest update.

Using the moment of solitude, you bump his shoulder again. "Do you ever wish you were still a prosecutor? Your life would certainly be a lot simpler."

He shakes his head, the answer coming quickly and firmly. "I couldn't do it then, and I still couldn't now. Seeing the murderers come in after they've finished killing...I needed to know I could stop them before they were done."

His sentiment sounds familiar. Your mind flashes back to the little boy who took matters into his own hands, because no one could stop the pain for him.

You blink and it's present day again. You loved your best friend who fought his own battles without asking for help, and, even though he's vastly different, you love your best friend as he is now.

***

"Five shootings in two weeks."

"It's about time we got the call."

The whole team, plus Garcia, flies up to New York, where an unsub has been shooting people around the city, seemingly at random.

"Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office," Hotch explains, glancing down at his cell phone. "She's running point on the case and called me directly."

You have heard of her, which isn't too surprising, but all you know is that she's British and seems to be very good at her job.

"You know her?" Morgan asks him, echoing your thoughts.

Hotch nods. "We liaised when she was still at Scotland Yard."

They liaised. You don't know what that implies, but you also know that he and Haley didn't take a single break during their relationship after graduating college, so it can't be anything too personal.

JJ and Emily share a look, but you don't engage with them, instead looking back at the case file and trying to focus on any of the words that aren't 'Kate Joyner'.

***

"Kate."

A pretty blonde woman approaches you all with a smile only for Hotch. "Aaron. How have you been?"

He nods. "Well, thank you. This is my team." He introduces each of you to her, but you don't miss how her eyes linger on you when he mentions your name.

"Thanks for being here," she says, before walking you all through the background of the case. Shootings in different precincts, seemingly random, FBI only brought in after the fourth murder.

After explaining the details and introducing you to the local detectives on the case, she pulls Hotch aside for a private word in her office. You turn back to the team, trying not to let your gaze linger on them as they walk away.

The NYPD doesn't seem happy that SSA Joyner has taken over their case, but even though she comes off as a bit brusque, you can tell she cares about catching this unsub just as much as they do.

"What's your partner's problem?" Reid asks Detective Cooper, the only local officer who has made an effort to meet any of you.

"We're glad the FBI was brought in," he explains with a heavy sigh, "but all of a sudden Joyner's taking meetings with the mayor and calling in you all without us knowing anything about it."

You can understand his hesitation, but you also need his cooperation if you're going to get anything done here.

"We're only here to help," Emily tells him as you turn around to find JJ.

"Has Garcia gotten settled in with the New York tech analyst?" you ask once you find her staring at a map of the various boroughs. She doesn't answer immediately, so you nudge her shoulder. "JJ?"

"Huh?" she startles. "Oh, sorry, yeah. She called a few minutes ago, she's all good."

JJ is usually the focused one who brings you back on track, so you're surprised by how distracted she seems. You nod in acknowledgement, scrutinizing her expression for another second, before heading back to the team. Your eyes involuntarily dart over to Kate's office, and you notice how close together she and Hotch are. You're about to avert your eyes when their body language becomes a bit clearer: each time she leans in to say something, he subtly pulls back.

The dynamic of their relationship is suddenly apparent, and you mentally kick yourself for daring to assume the worst when he first mentioned her. You can't say the same for your opinion of her, though. He's still wearing his ring, for God's sake. Based on how little you've heard about her from him (nothing, you mean), you doubt she even knows about the divorce yet.

Derek and JJ head out with the detectives to check out the last crime scene, while you stay back with Emily and Spencer to build the anti-geographical profile. When another victim is shot, you head to the new scene to see if you can build a working profile.

"It's a different borough again," you sigh after getting out of the SUV and joining Hotch, Kate, Derek, and JJ in front of the body. "Prentiss and Reid are back at the office still working the profile from a geographical angle. We're starting to think maybe we should get officers out onto the high-traffic intersections, and maybe even get some of us out there too."

"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses," Kate jumps in, ignoring you. "It doesn't seem like anyone got a clean look."

You see Derek glance at you out of the corner of your eye, but you don't entertain the look. If she has some issue with you that you aren't aware of, you won't give her the satisfaction of letting her get to you. "The unsub's probably gone before anyone even realizes it's happening,"

Hotch nods, turning to face Kate. "Is this what it felt like during the Son of Sam."

She returns his gaze. "First we realized that if the violence was truly random, there was almost no way of stopping it. Seems like these people have figured that out."

You look up, trying to see if there's anything in the vicinity you can use to ID the unsub. Your eyes catch on a security camera outside one of the delis directly behind you. "From the placement of that camera, odds are the only view they're going to get is the back of his head."

She frowns. "Let's not be too quick to decide what we do or don't have."

This time it's both Derek and JJ that glance at you, but you turn to Hotch, who is avoiding meeting your eyes. Kate steps away to speak with the detectives at the scene, so you grab his arm and pull him aside. "What is her problem?"

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. "FBI brass has made it clear to her that if she doesn't bring this case home, she's going to be reassigned. And you are at the top of the list to replace her."

"Replace her?" you echo, trying to process what he's saying. "I haven't even been in the BAU that long."

"It's not about field experience," he says, angling his body so that you're separated from the others. "You've been with the bureau longer than I have, and your work speaks for itself. It's not a surprise that they'd want to promote you."

You still can't wrap your head around the fact that you could be leading a unit yourself, or that you may have to leave the team you love, so you focus on what you do know. "I thought the bureau was proud of the fact that they stole her from Scotland Yard."

"I don't know," he shrugs, glancing back at her. "Politics here are different."

***

After finishing up at the crime scene, the whole team heads to the hotel to get some rest for the night. You feel more alert than you usually do after a long day of building a profile, and you adjust your bag strap on your shoulder as you dig around the side pockets for your room key. You don't plan on going to bed for at least a few more hours, and you might as well use the time to work on the case, but you need your key if you're going to get any sleep at all.

When your fingers finally catch on the thin plastic card, you look up to see a familiar face that you've been seeing more often than not, as of late. "Wait, isn't that..."

JJ looks up with a start, and she doesn't look distracted for the first time all day. "Will."

He gets up from the lobby chair he was lounging in and approaches her. "Hey, I took a shot and flew to D.C., but when it didn't work, I figured a train ride to New York was only a few more hours."

"Detective." Hotch reaches out and shakes his hand, before glancing at you with a frown that says, Did you know he was coming?

You shake your head imperceptibly and turn back to Will as he looks longingly at JJ. "Look, I'm sorry for showing up like this. I know you're working, but I can't stand you being on this case and me not being near." He pauses for a beat. "Not with what's going on."

That makes you frown too.

Hotch echoes your thoughts. "Is there a problem?"

JJ takes a deep breath and turns around to face all of you. "I'm pregnant."

Oh my God.

"Oh, my God," Emily exclaims, pulling her into a hug, the first of you to regain her bearings after hearing the news. "JJ, congratulations."

"That's amazing, JJ," you grin, hugging her next.

You don't miss how stiff Hotch is as Will shakes his hand. "I've asked JJ to marry me."

"Will," JJ says tightly, a warning in her voice.

He chuckles. "Well, we're working out some kinks."

"We'll give you both some privacy." Hotch turns away from them, his face falling the moment she can't see him anymore. You know he's hurt that she didn't trust him with this information, but you're surprised by just how downtrodden he seems.

JJ rushes after him. "Hotch-"

"JJ, you could have told me," he says softly, his voice both confused and stung.

She looks down. "I know."

"Because I understand if you need to take some time."

"No," she shakes her head, without a look back. "I want to be here."

"Okay," he nods, not looking at any of you. "7:00 AM."

You try to catch his arm as he walks off, but he either ignores it, or he doesn't feel you reaching for him. You choose to believe it's the latter.

***

You all deliver the working profile to the police officers first thing the next morning. While you're explaining an alternate possibility, Garcia calls with an update that a possible unsub was caught on camera shooting someone on a subway platform at one of the intersections you suggested that your team patrol yesterday.

"We could have had that guy," you say, your voice fuming with anger as you turn to Kate with a glare you haven't used in ages.

She doesn't falter. "Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved onto someone isolated."

"Maybe, but it was worth taking a shot."

She fixes you with a stare. "I had every available man on the street."

"And I suggested to you that you use this team." You can't believe that her decision to ignore your advice yesterday might have just cost someone else their life. You can see the rest of the team looking at you with some blend of concern or indignation on your behalf, but you don't care. You just need Hotch to back you up.

Instead he just looks at you. "L/N, second-guessing doesn't do us any good right now."

You're so angry, you can barely see straight. Emily reaches for your arm, but you shake her off. "Hotch, how are we supposed to look these cops in the eye and tell them that we're actually here to help them, if she won't let us do our job?"

"We're here to present a profile," he says simply, not quite meeting your eye. "That's what we need to do."

You gape at him, your back straightening as you get ready to stand your ground. You don't disagree on things like this often, but when you do, it's usually a civil conversation that gets resolved quickly. You've never felt this angry about his handling of a case before, but then again, he's never not had your back before. "We've got seven bodies, Hotch."

He looks at you then, and you can't discern anything from his expression. It's a blank slate that sends a shiver down your spine. "It's not your place to have this discussion."

"Screw you."

You spin around, shoving away Derek and Emily as they try to talk you down. You stalk past them and out of the field office, where the cool evening air fills your sinuses and clears your head for a moment of silence. You stand on the sidewalk for a few seconds, waiting, and when he doesn't follow you out, you just manage to convince yourself that you're not disappointed, but relieved.

***

You're sitting at the hotel bar when Rossi finally finds you. You only ordered a lemon water, still feeling like you're on the clock, even if there's a good chance Hotch won't let you back into the investigation.

"I know," you huff when he takes a seat beside you. "I was out of line."

"You got too emotionally involved," he says, turning to face you. "I know you and Hotch are friends, but that doesn't mean you get to be unprofessional."

You sigh, your body deflating as all the fight leaves you. "I just felt like he was taking her side. Like he didn't have my back."

"There are no sides here."

You nod. "I know."

"And he does have your back." You look at him then, and he flashes you a small smile. "That man will always have your back. Right now, he's just worried about how Kate is holding up, with the word on the street."

That surprises you. "You know about the promotion?"

He nods. "People talk. But if she were to get fired, it would be because we didn't solve this case."

You frown, lifting your hand in defense. "Rossi, I hope you're not saying you think I want her to fail."

"Of course not," he shakes his head. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

"I lost my head for a second," you acknowledge, taking a sip of water. "I think I just needed a minute."

"And you got it," he says simply. "But right now, I see someone who wants to get back on the job. Or is there another reason why you ordered a glass of water at a bar?"

You set your glass down, letting out a surprised chuckle. "Where is everyone now?"

You both stand up, and he leads you out of the lobby. "Joyner took your advice. We're spreading out across the city."

***

"Emily, what happened?"

You rush forward to where she is standing over the dead body of a young man. Detective Cooper was taken in an ambulance to a nearby hospital after getting shot, and you only just arrived on the scene.

"He was strangely calm," she whispers as Derek and JJ come up behind her. "It's almost like suicide by cop."

"Why?" JJ thinks out loud. "Why would he do that?"

Derek looks at you. "We need to walk back through this profile."

Hundreds of thoughts are swirling through your brain, but based on the look on everyone's faces, you can tell they're thinking the same thing you are: terrorism.

After the crime scene officials arrive, you head over to your SUV to get back to the field office. Derek heads out to brief Homeland Security, and Reid leaves to talk to the Port Authority police, while Hotch and Kate call with the update that they will be going to speak with the mayor's office.

You start your SUV and pull out into the street when a loud explosion goes off a few streets behind you, the plume of smoke and fire large enough that you catch the high end of it in your rearview mirror.

You screech to a stop, just as your phone starts to ring.

TAGLIST: @citrusiove, @sanayikes, @yiiiikesmish, @mdanon027, @alice-w0rld, @beata1108, @bakugocanstompme, @raely-study, @himboelover, @hermionegalathynius, @rousethemouse, @calif0rniadreamin, @tolerateit13, @delusional-13s-blog (message me to be added!)

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xonavia · 9 days

Note

hey girlie, I heard you need requests, and I came to deliver 🩷

how about rin with a girlfriend who's meguru's little sister, but since she looks more like their mom, rin couldn't tell? what would both of their reactions be? I'd love to know rin and her dynamic too!

-> You had gone along with your mom to the U-20 to cheer on your brother, Meguru. It wasn't long before you arrived at the stadium and found your seats, overlooking the field. About 20 minutes later the players started coming out to the field and when you saw your older brother you immediately started cheering, until your mother shushed you with a laugh and told you to wait until the game actually started. It started a while after and you cheered every time something good happened, or so you think, as much as your brother was into soccer(football) and as much as he tried to explain it you didn't quite grasp it all the way, just the basics. It wasn't until the second goal was made when you saw him, Rin Itoshi. After the game you were already excited when Meguru's team had won but after the second goal was made for Blue Lock you couldn't keep your eyes off the boy who made it. A couple months ago after the game and you end up talking to him and congratulating him on the win, also mentioning that you were the sister of one of his teammates but never mentioning who. The two of you started dating during the time, without even Meguru knowing. It was a little weird that you two were dating, well at least to the outside eye. You being much more lively and making it seem like you were the one dragging him everywhere, and him being more like a grumpy tall guy who just lets you drag him everywhere with a monotone expression on his face. More or less like opposites attract per say. The media giggled a lot at your relationship but yet they could also see that unlike with anybody else the younger itoshi let you drag him all over the dang place. Behind closed doors was a whole different story though, he was a clingy little monster, even though he would admit that out loud. Since you were already touchy with him in public it was only his "payback" to be touchy with you in private. And that's how he found out that you where Meguru's little sister. It was finally his time to come over for dinner one day at your house. Now he had already heard from Meguru about his "Cutie Patootie of a little sister" but never did he expect it to be you. I mean in his eyes you two looked nothing alike?! But when he sat down for dinner with your mother he finally realized it. The only reason he had never figured it out, was because you looked a lot more like her then you did your brother, that's why he was so shocked when he heard you mother call for "Meguru". His eyes widened at the name of his teammate before looking over at you, who was trying to hold back a laugh when you saw the face he made. "I knew you had a brother, But Bachira?!" "Rin.. I'm technically Bachira too-" "Shut up.. you get what I'm saying" Meguru then skipped into the room and gasped at the sight of the itoshi at his dinner table, he quickly went over and sat down in his normal spot next to you. "Rin! What are you doing here!!" "..None of your business" You laughed a little as he reached under the table to hold your hand "No.. no I think it is, you're kinda fondling my sisters hand and your in my house" Rin blushed at the comment before slightly squeezing your hand instead as a sign to make Meguru stop talking. "Alright, alright. Meg.. be nice, and you to Rinnie." Other than that the dinner went smoothly and it was never really brought up again until they went back to Blue Lock just for you to get bombarded with texts whenever Rin got his phone. Mostly them saying how fed up he was with Bachira, and how he never even got a minute alone without him walking over and asking about you. You laughed and showed your mom every time you got one of these messages, you knew that Meguru was nosey, but not this bad! Overall though, Bachira was more excited that you were dating somebody he already knew, makes him feel a little bit better but also he always questions out of everybody you could've picked you picked itoshi?? Rin was just a bit surprised, he never thought that you were the sibling of Bachira.

Yeah.. I went a little over on this one.. but it was just so fun to write and I’m so so sorry for the delay!! I got sick and then state testing happened and I was just in no mood to write!!

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock #bllk #meguru bachira x reader #bachira meguru #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #xonavia's writings!

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 3 months

Note

AITA for going off on a tattoo artist for giving me the wrong mandarin letters?

Context matters a lot here. I (23ftm) recently lost my partner to cancer. They were the love of my life and I dropped everything for them- I moved states away from my family so that they could be more comfortable in a dryer climate, I made sure to be there for them through thick and thin- the works. My family, though sad, were okay with it since I had never been so passionate about anything before I met them. Losing them has been nothing short of miserable.

They were Chinese and had a very strong connection to their language and culture, so I wanted to get a tattoo that translated to "My angel, my love" with "my angel" being on the top and "my love" being on the bottom onto my arm. I wasn't able to learn any dialects from them while they were alive since things had been so busy, but I thought maybe at least I could start with this.

So, I went to a local tattoo parlor that had a Chinese tattoo artist (I hope it isn't racist to assume, I've heard him speaking in Mandarin on the phone) and asked to get the translation tattooed. He seemed genuine and we got to work with choosing a font, the right location, and scheduling an appointment. It was very professional and I was really glad that it had gone smoothly since if it hadn't, I'd probably just give up entirely.

A week passes and I get my tattoo. A bit after as we're talking about it, I mention that I got it to commemorate my late partner, whom like I said I consider to be the light of my life. When I mentioned that, he sort of paused and had this look on his face, like when you realize you forgot something really important. He shook it off though and we got back to talking, but things seemed obviously more awkward now.

When I went home I sent a picture of it to my partner's family, and immediately they picked up that something was wrong. They didn't tell me what it had actually translated to, but it was apparently very inappropriate and disrespectful.

Needless to say I was breaking down. My partner had died, I was struggling with depression and fatigue from handling a lot of the funeral procedures, and overall that had been the straw that broke the camel's back. This is where I may be the asshole. I drove back to the parlor shop and found my tattoo artist, and I didn't get physical, but I had definitely wanted to. I was yelling at him, screaming about how he was a horrible shitty person, the works. He argued back that I should have at least given him a reason for the tattoo, since he gets white people coming in all the time asking for dumb stuff, but I shot back that he could have at least told me what he had done when I did reveal why I got the tattoo.

Again, I didn't get physical, but they did threaten to call the cops on me if I didn't leave since I wss making a scene, so I left and later emailed that I had at the very least wanted a refund, since they didn't even give me the tattoo I wanted. I still haven't gotten a response yet.

My family (both biological and in-laws) are very conflicted over this. Some of them think that I could have dealt with it a lot better, while others think I should have threatened them with a lawsuit (obviously there's inbetween opinions but those are the main two extremes). I can't afford a lawsuit considering I'm already dealing with the funeral funds like I said, but I don't know. I don't even know if yelling at the guy made me feel better or worse- it was an in-the-moment response to be sure.

So, with more context, AITA for yelling at the tattoo artist who gave me an inappropriate tattoo instead of the one I really wanted?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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mt-oe · 8 days

Text

𝓛𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓼, 𝓒𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓪…𝓐𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷?—modern mizu

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dears!

I know I said I'll start working on requests...but the urge to write smut hit me so hard. Hope that's fine with you <3

The idea has been on my mind for a while now so I hope I'll be able to write it well. A part two idea is already on the way but I'd like to get this out my system first.

Just a disclaimer that all the usernames I have mentioned here are purely made up. Any similarities are coincidental.

Hope you enjoy! Mwa mwa :*

warning: not proofread, smut (mdni), livestreaming, voyeurism, she/her for mizu, implied afab reader

The soft sounds of raindrops pitter-pattering against the roof echoed throughout Mizu's apartment as it continued to rain. Luckily for her, it was her day off from work and she was able to spend her first moments smoking in the hallway.

A gloomy yet peaceful aura emanated from the plain gray walls. And yet here she was, crouching in front of her door, smoking while scrolling through her phone with a bored look on her face.

It wasn't long until soft footsteps could be heard from the other end of the hallway, making her look up.

"G'morning, neighbor!" you greeted cheerfully, approaching her with a smile. In your arms was a cardboard box which was taped shut, presumably some decorations you bought for your office yet again. "Enjoying your day off?

She stood up and dropped her half-lit cigarette on the tiled floor, stepping on it as she approached you. "You could say that," she replied nonchalantly yet taking the box off of your hands, walking with you towards your unit which was just across hers.

You were her first friend in this gloomy apartment complex.

The moment she moved in, she thought she'd be living the same old boring life with neighbors who probably wouldn't give a shit if a murder happened across the hall. And that was fine by her, she didn't give a shit anyway.

That was until she met you.

Your sunshine, sweet attitude somehow made its place into her heart. The way you always greeted her when you saw each other, the way you brought extra food over when you "accidentally" cooked too much, the way you invited her over for movie nights and to catch her up on the latest work gossip made her warm up to you eventually.

Now, she always looked forward to seeing you come home from work or run some errands. She even memorized your schedule and always spent her day-off mornings smoking in front of her door just so you can greet her.

Somewhere along the way, she realized she was slowly developing a crush on you. It started with her heart beating a bit faster and louder whenever you smiled at her until she was fully imagining you naked, panting underneath her.

And yet, she pushed these feelings aside.

You were too pure for her. How could she ever taint someone as precious as you? Her hands were dirty, perverted, and craved to feel the warmth of your sopping cunt as she thrusted them in and out. There was no way she could ever ask you out.

As the two of you finally reached the door to your unit, you opened the door with your keys and pushed it aside to allow Mizu inside. She set down the box on the coffee table in the middle of the living room and looked around.

"Thanks a lot, Mizu. I ordered more decorations for my office but I think I might have gone overboard," you said sheepishly, giving her a slightly embarrassed smile.

A small smile tugged the corners of her lips upwards ever so slightly. She knew you loved decorating your office but she never actually saw it. Every time she stumbled upon the door leading towards it, it was always locked shut. 'I just don't want anyone running through my documents,' she remembered you saying and she respected that.

It was kinda cute to think about how eager you always were to redecorate your office though.

She nodded in acknowledgement and was about to leave when you handed her a pack of matcha flavored chocolates. "I saw these on the way home and I thought you'd like them," you said sweetly. You even thought of her on the way back home?

Fuck, you were so damn cute.

"You really didn't have to. I—" You cut her off by shaking your head and gently pushing her towards the exit. "It's rude not to accept a gift, no?" you giggled. "So take it. Tell me if you liked it, okay?"

Mizu couldn't help but chuckle, accepting the gift. The faintest blush dusted her cheeks. Her heart was racing so damn much and if she wasn't trying so hard to restrain herself, she might've asked you to marry her already. "Alright, alright. Lock your doors and keep safe. I'll ring the doorbell if I come back," she replied, patting your head. "Oh please, you already know where I hide my keys. Just come in!" you laughed as she exited.

Once she heard your door close and the locks click, she let out an exhale she didn't even realize she was holding. Her heartbeat was echoing so damn loud in her chest and her mind couldn't stop thinking about how good you looked in your work outfit.

How your button-up was see-through enough for her to take a peek at the color of your bra. How it accentuated the curves of your breasts, making it hard for her to look away. How your skirt was so fucking tight it made her want to grip your hip dips and use it to pull you close to her. How it was short enough for it to ride up slightly when you walked but still long enough to not completely give her the satisfaction of seeing what was underneath. It was like you were teasing her, and it was making her so goddamn wet.

She went back into her own unit and locked the door. Her hands immediately took her phone out of her pocket as she walked back to her bedroom. The bed squeaked slightly upon her laying down on it, blue eyes glued to the screen and tossing the chocolates you gave her on the nightstand.

Of course, like any other woman, she had her sexual needs too. However, the way she handled it was quite peculiar.

Her screen lit up as the stream she had turned on was now live. A woman wearing a face mask sitting down on her computer chair, waving at the camera, eyes squinting with a eye-smile, wearing a tight button-up and a mini skirt. "Heeeey! How are you?" she greeted at the camera, giggling slightly.

Yes, she handled it by watching erotic livestreams.

Admittedly, she found it embarrassing at first and stopped watching after her first but there was one particular streamer that she couldn't resist. A streamer that went by the username of 'khm_xxx'.

There was something with how she moved her body that oddly reminded her of you, a pornstar version of you, but Mizu couldn't quite place her finger on it. Maybe it was how cute and sweet the streamer was with her viewers, how her curves looked, or maybe it was just...y'know, her imagination and she was just being a pervert.

The streamer giggled even more as more viewers appeared, greeting the top donators. "I'm so excited to spend this session with you all," she said in an excited yet sweet tone. Her hands reached up to the camera and pulled it down, placing it in angle that shower her body from neck to her thighs.

"I've been so stressed out with work lately, so..." She placed a cardboard box on her lap, tapping the sides with her fingernails. "I bought a few toys to help me relax."

Mizu moved to rest her back against her pillows as she watched her favorite cam girl set the box down and move closer to the camera. There was something about that box that she couldn't quiet put her finger on. Like it looked familiar...

Meanwhile, khm_xxx had set down the box on her computer table and was slowly unbuttoning her shirt, making the donations roll-in. Once she was done, she tossed her shirt somewhere in the room. "I also bought a new pair of lingerie on the way home. What do you guys think?" she asked, pushing her chest closer to the camera.

'Fuck, those boobs are so fucking hot,' Mizu thought, breath becoming a bit shallow as anticipation started to build up in her slowly.

Even more donations rolled in, making the streamer laugh slightly. The chat was filling up with dirty comments and comments telling her how pretty she looked in her new bra. "Do you guys want to see the panties too?" she asked in playful tone, lifting the side of her skirt up slightly.

Chats upon chats and donations upon donations kept rolling in, telling her to take the damn skirt off. "Chat's a bit demanding today, aren't you?" she laughed teasingly. "You guys are lucky I love to spoil you all."

Slowly, she unzipped her skirt and let it fall to her feet, the sight making Mizu grow even hotter in her seat. She was wearing those goddamn open crotch panties. It wasn't even covering anything at all, making her gaze linger on the streamer's clit which was slightly peeking out from arousal.

"W-Wait..I didn't think it would be this embarrassing but I do feel kind of shy now," khm_xxx giggled sheepishly, tips of her ears getting a bit red and hands covering her crotch as she sat down. This shy display was fucking hot too.

She opened the box in front of her and picked a toy before showing it up close to the camera. A simple egg vibrator to start off. "Let's try this one first. It apparently has...three speeds," she explained, inspecting it and turning each setting up before turning it off.

Propping feet up on the chair, she slowly spread her legs revealing her cute little cunt. A small bead of slick glistening at her hole and clit slightly red and swollen from anticipation. Her fingers spreading her folds open before pressing the toy on her clit, eliciting a soft groan from her. Slowly, she circled the toy around her clit before turning it on the lowest setting, making her body jump a bit.

Her eyes narrowed a bit as she let out a quiet laugh to hide the gasp she accidentally let out, squirming in her seat. Soft moans escaped her mask-covered lips as she held the vibrator in place. Her toes curling slightly as she leaned back even more against her chair. She looked at the chat and let out a playful giggle despite her moans at the amount of donations coming in.

"S-Should I turn it up more?" she managed to stutter out, tilting her head a bit, giving the camera a fake innocent look. Without even waiting for the chat to tell her to, she turned the speed up even more, body tensing up as moans spilled out of her mouth.

The bead of slick collecting at her entrance was now dripping down to the soft padding of her chair, making Mizu groan slightly at the sight. Her eyes watching as the cam girl stared back at the camera with lust-filled half-lidded eyes as if staring back at her. For a moment, kmh_xxx's eyes almost resembled yours.

No, that's impossible. You were too pure for that.

She slipped her own pants down, kicking it off of the bed before spreading her own legs. Her hands following the streamer's pace as she watched her press the vibrator against her clit further. The soft flesh of her thighs jiggling slightly as her legs trembled.

khm_xxx's let out a breathy laugh mixed with sweet moans. "I...I didn't expect it to be—fuck oh my god—so fucking strong," she moaned out. "S-Should I turn it up even more? Can I handle it?"

Even more requests for her to turn the toy on to the highest setting flooded in. Her eyes sparkled at how much her chat was spoiling her, donations upon donations flooding in. "I swear...you..fuck...y-you guys are so...spoiled."

With a single click of the remote, the toy pressed against her nub vibrated faster, a loud whine escaping her throat. Her hands couldn't help but push the vibrator against her folds even more, one hand pulling the hood of her clit so she could draw circles around the bundle of nerves with the toy.

The toy was now coated with her own wetness, slipping from her fingers occasionally. Her moans progressively got louder and her pants deeper. The tips of her ears were now a bit red from the warmth her body felt.

"Mmh fuck...I—shitshitshit fuck—I think I'm goin' to cum," she moaned out desperately, back arching slightly as her hands moved the toy around her clit faster.

Looking at the camera, eyebrows furrowed, toes curling, hands gripping the sides of the chair, she orgasmed with a loud choked back moan. The livestream was flooded with chats and donations as her body twitched from the pleasure.

Blue eyes watched her through the screen as she watched her slowly came down from her high, panting heavily. Today's live stream was so fucking good, she thought, fingers on her own clit pausing as her favorite streamer's thighs slowly relaxed albeit still trembling.

"She always cums so fast," she groaned out, resting her phone on her chest, feeling a bit edged. It sounded like a complaint but she actually found it so hot. She wondered if you were the sa—no wait fuck, don't think like that.

Mizu picked her phone up again as she heard khm_xxx thanking those who donated, watching as she bent forward, giving the camera the best possible view of her chest while she read the chats. "Am I ending the stream?" she read out before shaking her head with a chuckle. "No, no. I'm still excited to try one more toy out."

Oh?

Her hands rummaged through the cardboard box again before pulling a dildo out of the box. "Ta da!" she chimed, showing it to the camera, leaning closer to read the responses. "Hmmm? I know I bought one for the last stream but this one is pink...and cute."

The streamer placed the dildo on her chair, tip facing upwards before taking a deep breath. "It's a bit longer than last stream's too," she added sheepishly, spreading her legs yet again and angling her entrance towards the tip of the toy. A slightly nervous yet excited laugh escaping her throat as she looked at it. "Well it's more than a bit longer," she joked, using her hand to position the tip to her entrance.

"O-Oh my fuck...holy shiiiiit," she moaned out as she lowered herself, the toy sinking inside of her slowly. Her eyes glanced at the toy before looking at the camera again, tears springing up her eyes from the overwhelming sensation of the silicone stretching her cunt out. "...'t feels so good.."

Mizu's breath hitched at the display, hands going back to her clit, fingers gathering some slick from her entrance before rubbing circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. The sound of the live stream mixing with her own moans.

Fingers slowly entering her own entrance, her eyes remained glued to her phone, watching the woman bouncing up and down on the dildo, eyes rolling back. She could already feel the pleasure building up inside, her climax slowly approaching. But just as she was about to cum...

*ding**dong*

MOTHERUCK—

She hurriedly pulled her fingers out, turning her phone off and put her pants on. Who the fuck is interrupting her self-fuck session huh?

Once she opened the door, her eyes narrowed at the sight of the delivery man who looked at her nervously. "What?" she almost growled out, the annoyance from the interruption very obvious. The man gulped before showing her a parcel. "Is this the right address?"

Her eyes scanned the name and address on the parcel and realized that it was addressed to you. Maybe instead of fingering herself to a cam girl that reminded her of you, she'd go and deliver this to you instead.

"Yeah. Thanks," she replied, still looking a bit annoyed at the delivery man but hey, at least she has a good reason to visit you now. After signing the proof of delivery, she went back to her unit and grabbed her phone before going over to yours.

Like a good neighbor, she rang the doorbell and waited for you to greet her with the usual smile. Her mind thinking about which kind of tea you would offer to her today. A few minutes passed and she heard nothing.

She rang the doorbell again and waited. Still nothing.

What was going on? You were usually quick to answer the door.

Were you in some sort of danger? Maybe you slipped and fell?

Worry getting the best of her, she lifted the pot of snake plants you put in front of your door and grabbed the key taped to the bottom. Entering your house without permission made her feel a bit uneasy but her worry was greater than her guilt.

Silence greeted her as she entered your unit, making her feel even more uneasy. She was about to call out to you when she heard a peculiar noise...like the sound of squelching and moaning.

Her hands immediately grabbed her phone, thinking she accidentally opened the live stream again; but upon checking, it was off. So where was the moaning coming from?

A gulp went down her throat as she quietly looked around with silent steps, parcel in her arms.

At the other end of the room, the sight of your office door slightly open caught her eye. The light seeping out through the door made her feel curious. Her thoughts racing as the moans continued to echo around the apartment. Surely those weren't coming from you...right?

But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw. Peeking into the small crack of the door, she froze in place, hands gripping parcel until her nails punctured holes into the plastic.

In front of the computer, was you, with the camera pointed at you.

You, with the same lingerie khm_xxx was wearing.

You, with a mask covering half your face.

You, riding the same dildo she saw on the live stream, moaning loudly as your hands ran through your hair, boobs bouncing up and down.

...

Holy shit.

What?

HUHHH????

Her thoughts went blank for a moment before she finally snapped back into reality. Hurriedly, she pulled out her phone, turning the volume off and check the livestream again, eyes glancing back at you and back at her phone over and over. Once she was able to confirm it, everything made sense to her now.

The reason why khm_xxx reminded her so much of you, why she couldn't resist the live streams, why she couldn't help but stare into that streamer's eyes whenever she looked at the camera, why that box from earlier looked so familiar...

You were khm_xxx.

Mizu bit her bottom lip to prevent the gasp from her lips from escaping. She peeked into your office again, setting your parcel on the floor to put a hand over her mouth.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck," you moaned out in a chant as your hips moved up and down faster, grinding it down occasionally. Your eyebrows knitted together in desperation. The sound of your pussy going down on the toy making a loud squelching sound each time. Your half-lidded eyes looked down at how much of a mess you were making, a breathy giggle leaving your lips. "I-It sounds so dirty.."

Her hands slipped into her pants at the sight, gaze trailing from your plush thighs to the pool of juices accumulating on the padded chair, dripping down the toy. Now that she knew your secret, she couldn't help the arousal she felt.

Your hands went down to spread your folds, middle finger playing with the swollen nub. "P-please...look at me more.." you pleaded, "Look at my...p-perverted little cunt.." Your eyes shimmered even more as the money kept rolling in, screen flooding with colorful notifications. She could already tell by the way your eyes moved that you were flashing the camera the same cute and charming smile you always gave her.

At your words, Mizu pulled her pants down slightly and inserted a finger inside herself, curling it and massaging her inside in a 'come here' motion while she massaged her nub with her palm. Her eyes watching as you grabbed the vibrator again, switching it on the highest setting and rubbed it hurriedly against your clit. The sweet sobs you were letting out made her feel hotter than usual.

Her hands moved faster as your pace became more desperate, her pace matching with yours. She covered her mouth with one hand to suppress the groans threatening to escape.

"I-I think I'm 'bout to mphh..cum again.." you sobbed out desperately, tears sliding down your flushed cheeks at the feeling. The sensation was so overwhelming it was making your head blank and your lungs heavy. A string of incoherent curses escaping your lips as your riding became even more erratic.

Pleasure started building up inside both your bodies as climax approached you. She watched as you let out a loud moan, body twitching and your back arching as you continued to bounce on the dildo, cum dripping down the phallic silicone toy, forming a ring around the shaft.

Mizu bit the back of her hand as her climax finally came, her eyes glued on your figure as her hand continued to move, riding out the high of her orgasm. Slowly, she pulled her fingers away and readjusted her pants before peaking into your office again.

The image of you slowly pulling the dildo out and sitting on your chair, chest moving up and down as you panted, cheeks red and looking completely flustered was now forever engraved in her memory. Each bead of sweat and each tear streak would haunt her erotic dreams. After regaining your breath, you sat up and shakily moved closer to the monitor.

Your smile widened slightly at the amount of donations before you let out a soft laugh, a bit exhausted from your previous activities. "Thank you all. I'll be eating well tonight," you joked at your chat, gushing slightly as they praised you. Before you could readjust the camera again, you saw something at the corner of your eye.

Glancing at the door, your eyes widened as you made eye contact with Mizu. Your mouth opened slightly before you held yourself back from calling her. Ending stream was your priority first. You waved at the camera, blowing a little kiss at it. "W-Well that's all for today! I-I hope you enjoyed or even cummed to it a little," you joked hurriedly. "Bye! bye!"

The moment your gazes connected with each other's, Mizu was already standing up and walking towards the door, ignoring the shakiness in her own legs. Upon hearing your office door open wider, her footsteps moved even quicker.

Her hand was already on the door knob when you suddenly pulled her towards you, your head making contact with her torso for a brief moment. Mizu nervously glanced down at you to see your eyes narrowed at her. You had already put an oversized shirt on to cover your body and had thrown away the mask you wore.

"H-How much of that did you see?!" you asked, still red from both embarrassment and exertion. The way your hands were gripping hers tightly made her want to either pull you in and hug you or made her want to cower in shame.

How was she supposed to admit that she has been watching your streams for a while now?

She bit down on her bottom lip and glanced anywhere but at you, keeping silent. Your face grew hotter at her silence, taking it as a sign that she was able to witness more than you'd like. "I...I..." You tried to form a coherent sentence but your embarrassment was getting the best of you. Even when you were off stream, your shy display was still cute.

Mizu sighed before pulling out her phone and unlocking it, showing her watch history.

It was all you.

Your mouth gaped open as you scrolled through her phone, glancing up at her once you were done. She scratched the back of her neck before putting her phone back in her pocket, looking away. "So uhh...to answer your question...yeah.."

Once she heard no reply coming from your end, she immediately headed for the door, accepting that she won't be able to face you ever again.

"Wait!" you called out, pulling her in again. She raised an eyebrow as you looked up at her before looking elsewhere shyly. "So...even before today..?" Mizu sighed and nodded, looking away as well. "I'm sorry I'll stop if you'd li—"

"Would you like to..umm.. join me? In the livestream, I mean."

...

what.

Join you in what?

A loud whine of embarrassment escaped your lips at how weird the question sounded. "You don't have to! I'm sorry I'm really sorry, Mizu!" you exclaimed, hiding your face with your hands, letting out another embarrassed whine.

You wanted her to...join you? In your live stream?

"Wait, wait. What do you mean?" she asked. Now it was her turn to pull you in, her long slender fingers prying your hands off of your face. You sighed and looked at her in the eye, pouting a bit. "Like what I said, do you want to join me in my live stream...a-as a y'know?" Your voice getting quieter and quieter with every word.

Her eyes narrowed at you, her hands now gripping your wrists. Fuck was she finally getting what she wanted? Oh fuck fuck fuck..

"As a sex partner?" she asked in a low, husky voice. Mizu bit back the urge to smirk as you nodded shyly at her, watching as you squirmed in your place. "Why me?"

A sigh escaped your lips at her question, blush becoming redder if that was even possible. "B-Because I trust you, silly, and because I...no nevermind.."

She raised an eyebrow at the last statement but decided to ignore it. If you didn't want to say it, she wasn't going to pry. After all, you granting her an opportunity she didn't even know she'd be bless with. First, she found out her crush was her favorite cam girl and now she was inviting her to screw her until she couldn't walk in her next live stream? The universe loves her. Truly.

"So...?" you asked, glancing at her before looking at your feet. Mizu chuckled, making you raise an eyebrow at her. "If that's the case, then sure. I'll take care of you." or maybe she'll wreck you.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips at her response. "Then...let's talk about it soon. I'll message you when I'm free, okay?" you said cheerfully. "And uh...don't tell anyone about my secret please." She let out a huff of amusement and nodded, patting your head. "Of course I won't," she sighed out, smiling reassuringly at you. There was no fucking way she'll be sharing this information with anyone. She'd take this to grave if she had to.

"Well, I was just here to drop your parcel off so uh..I'll get going now." You nodded at her, as she slowly released her grip on your wrists. She glanced at you one last time before closing the door. Once she had left your apartment, a smirk appeared on her face.

Fuck this felt so glorious and she didn't even intend for this to happen.

Yeah, she'll confess her feelings some day, take you on a nice date, and marry you or sumshit. But for now, she'll be thinking of how she'll fuck you until you were pushing her away from how overwhelmed you body was.

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