#i just find it funny how this is the thought process of nearly every team hiruzen stan. me too besties

[teamsasukes]

of course i love all the sannin — tsunade, orochimaru, and *looks at smudged writing on hand* jerry

#i just find it funny how this is the thought process of nearly every team hiruzen stan. me too besties #tsunade #orochimaru #jiraiya #team hiruzen #anti jiraiya #<- not actually but just in case

[deannagrey]

Team Players: Chapter 33

Two Months Later

Despite the air being cold, I tugged off my tie and unbuttoned the top of my shirt. Henrik was still inside for his interview—which was taking just as long as mine did.

It’d been a difficult couple of months. Going to the Dean was as hard as I thought it’d be. And everything that followed was equally grueling.

The department took sides. And the guys who worked with Stoll felt betrayed by me and Jack. Which, of course, was their right. I didn’t blame them one bit because, like Jack said, there was nothing black and white about this situation.

As I waited for my friend, I kept scrolling through my text thread with Aderyn. Once I read every message by scrolling up, I read them in chronological order, scrolling down. We hadn’t spoken in person since that day she gave me the papers. I made sure to give her space even though there wasn’t a day that went by when I didn’t think of her.

I usually had to stop myself from texting her about something I knew she’d find funny or interesting. After the day in our driveway, I only messaged her once to check in. She responded with a simple, ‘fine’ and I knew to leave it at that.

My feet often carried me to our meeting spot outside the gym and I wouldn’t know what I was doing until I was halfway there. I hung out at Harry’s long enough for one of the managers to ask me if I wanted to fill out a job application. And on one of my bad days, I found myself reaching for her after a nap, and my chest felt hollowed out at realizing she wasn’t there. She might never be there again.

“Hey,” Henrik greeted, coming down the stairs of the front office.

I straightened and pushed away the sadness that’d snuck up on me. This would get easier, I just had to give it time. I’d never been this down and out about a girl. I hated this new territory.

“How did it go?” I asked and fell into step with him.

The campus was covered in a light coat of snow. Holidays were over but the sidewalk traffic wasn’t as dense as it was at the beginning of the semester. Henrik and I made our way toward the student center to grab a late lunch.

“Tried to coherently respond to questions I didn’t know the answer to,” Henrik said as he readjusted his tie. He always looked the most comfortable when he was dressed up. “They asked if I knew who gave you the printouts.”

I scoffed. “Of course. What did you say?”

“That it was anonymous like we agreed.”

“Thanks.” Before going to the Dean, we all had to decide on what we wanted to share and keep quiet. Bringing Aderyn into the conversation didn’t seem necessary and didn’t feel right. Her family was already going through drama with the investigation. If they found out she helped, then that made this process all the more difficult for them. I wanted her to have the option of whether to tell her folks or not.

“And of course, they’ve stressed that we’re done for the season,” he shared. “With their continued apologies on the whole matter.”

I let out a dry laugh. “I know suspension of the season was to be expected but I can’t help and feel this is a wildly broken system.”

“You don’t say?” Henrik said, sarcastically. He opened the door to the student center.

“I do,” I joked, following him inside.

It was warm in here and more crowded than outside. Henrik offered to get in line for the food while I tried to find us an empty table. Almost everything was taken. I nearly gave up before finding two empty seats at a half-full table.

“Hey, do you mind if I…?” I stopped when I recognized Kaya and Mary.

Surprisingly, Kaya didn’t scowl when she laid eyes on me. She didn’t smile either, but the neutral expression felt like progress. Mary greeted me with her usual perky wave.

“Hey, Sam. Long time no see.” Mary moved her bag, so it wasn’t hanging off the back of the empty chair. “You should join us.”

“Thanks, but I don’t know—”

“Ryn’s not on campus today,” Kaya said, point-blank.

I laughed, trying to cover up my disappointment. I wanted to see her. Just a glimpse would be enough. Or, it would have to be enough.

“How have you guys been?” I claimed the seat next to Mary because she was the least likely to bite my head off.

“Alright considering well… everything.” Mary waved her hand because I knew. “Our season’s shot, too.”

“I heard.” I felt awful about it. They’d worked hard to get where they needed to this semester. All that momentum went to waste.

“We’ll be better next year, though.” Mary sounded sure and winked at her friend. “Our team will be stronger for it. You guys will, too.”

“Right,” I agreed even though it didn’t feel like it. I’d come to Mendell because I thought we’d win championships. And now, with senior year approaching, we hadn’t won one.

I caught Henrik scanning the room in my peripheral and waved him over. His eyes widened a bit with surprise at my choice of seating. But by the time he got close enough, the shock was wiped from his expression.

“Hen!” Mary greeted when he was close enough.

“Mary, it’s good to see you.” He smiled at her and set down my food in front of me. “Kaya, you too.”

Kaya gave him as warm of a welcome as I got.

“You guys should come to Zeus tonight,” Mary suggested. “A ton of us are going to celebrate the end of the season.”

“I don’t know if celebrate is the right word,” Kaya mumbled.

“Well, I’m not going to say mourn. I don’t think we should get too sad about it,” Mary argued. “I think what’s happening was meant to happen, you know? It’s the universe shoving us all in the right direction. Who knows what would’ve happened if Mendell made it to the playoffs? Maybe one of us would’ve gotten injured on the ice. Or our bus would’ve crashed when going to a game?”

Henrik nodded as he started putting dressing on his salad. “I like that outlook. Makes the burn of it all sting less.”

“Or maybe now that we’re sitting on our asses and not practicing at the arena, we’ll get caught in a campus building fire or get hit by one of those go-carts the maintenance guys whip around in,” Kaya argued.

“And the burn is back,” I teased.

Mary and Kaya exchanged glares, but I could tell from the slowly creeping smile on both of their faces they weren’t actually upset.

“We are celebrating.” Mary drummed her hands on the table. “Both teams at Zeus tonight.”

“We’ll be there,” I said. My guys needed a morale boost. Everything—understandably—had been doom and gloom since the suspension. A night getting drunk with no need to be up for a five o’clock workout sounded perfect. We could pretend we were average college students for once.

“Ryn will be there,” Kaya warned. She met my gaze, studying my response like she would report back any red flags.

I forced myself to give her a calm smile even though my stomach started doing backflips. “Great.”

Kaya raised a brow. “Great? That’s all you got?”

Henrik tried to hide his chuckle by taking a bite of food. Mary gave Kaya an actual glare this time.

“Wonderful,” I tried. “It’ll be good to see her.”

Kaya didn’t look impressed but still let me off the hook with a simple, “I bet.”

***

Zeus was a popular club that sat on the edge of town. The two-story black building had a rooftop pool and boasted to attract some C-list celebrities now and then. It was an eighteen-plus club, so most of us had to get our hands stamped if we forgot our fake IDs. Lincoln already had his twenty-first, so he pretended to need distance from us once we got inside.

“Want me to sneak you some shots?” he teased.

“I’m good for tonight.” I waved him away, already anxious about seeing Aderyn.

The girls had texted us a few minutes ago saying they were already in the building. I spotted Jas and Mary on the dance floor. A few others were mingling with older guys. Aderyn was nowhere to be seen.

Old me wouldn’t have cared about finding her. I would have taken Lincoln up on his offer and then, tried to flirt with one of the many beautiful women in the room. Now, no one was appealing. I wanted her husky voice, her rolling eyes, and her mocking smile.

I pushed my way through the throng of people, deciding to check the second floor. There were even more people up here but still no Aderyn. Without her, I didn’t think I’d stick around for long. I moved to the balcony’s edge and placed my hands on the steel railing.

Get it together, Sam.

She was just one girl. One human in this sea of people.

Yet, I couldn’t get rid of her. I didn’t want to. Aderyn was in every corner of my mind. Everywhere I turned I had this silly hope bubbling in my chest that she’d be around the next corner. I missed her filling up space with her laugh. Missed seeing her eyes sparkle when she was determined for something to go her way. And her commentary on things I’ve never given thought to. She saw so much I overlooked.

I tilted my head up to the sky, breathing the cold air in deeply. I appreciated the burning in my lungs. Finally, I was in pain from something other than her. As I took deep breaths, I heard a familiar laugh in the distance.

Stop it, I willed my brain.

I heard the laugh again. This time it was clearer and closer. My mind played a lot of tricks in the past few months but could never replicate Aderyn’s pitch. I turned around to see her and Jack a few feet away. Thankfully, they were far enough so I could wipe away my painful expression in a heartbeat. I blew out a breath, half to calm my nerves, half because of how in awe I was at the sight of her.

Aderyn’s smile came easy and so did her amusement with whatever Jack was saying. I couldn’t take my eyes off her in fear I’d miss the subtle tilt of her neck when she laughed. Or when she bit down on her lip to let the other person talk before getting her two cents in. Man, I even missed being interrupted by her.

Jack was the first one to see me and he said something that made Aderyn look over. I expected her to hang back when he started over to me, but she followed him. My hands began to shake so I hid them in my jacket pockets.

“How’s it going?” Jack asked. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. When he came forward about being a part of the gambling scheme, he got a warning that his probation would be longer than the team's. It could even raise to a longer suspension that kept him out all next year. It took courage for him to do what he did.

I was the first person he went to after hearing the news. Devastation didn’t begin to describe what he was feeling. We’d talked it out and he was more open with me than ever. I’d never considered Jack a best friend, but we were closer now. We understood each other more which was why I didn’t think he was trying to rub his obvious relationship with Aderyn in my face. Despite that, I still felt a twinge of jealousy with how close they were standing.

“Alright.” I nodded, trying not to stare at Aderyn. “Crowded night.”

“This place is always pretty packed,” Jack said. “Want to help settle a bet?”

I raised a brow and couldn’t avoid Aderyn’s gaze any longer. She met my eyes too. There was a small smile on her lips. Before coming over here, she’d been laughing. Now, she looked like she was fighting off a wince.

It was the hardest thing to go from sleeping next to someone to feeling like a stranger. I knew how sensitive her skin was behind her ear. How to make her moan so much that she buried her face into my neck to keep quiet. How to get her to beg me for more. And now, she stood opposite me and couldn’t look at me for any longer than a few seconds.

“Depends on the bet,” I said, awkwardly.

“Girls versus guys,” Jack said. “On the ice.”

I raised a brow, intrigued. “When?”

“Now,” Aderyn spoke up, and to be expected, her voice sent a wave of longing through my body. “We figured since we’re done for the season and won’t see who’s an actual champion in the league, we’ll have to go against one another flat out. That’ll show us.”

“You want to play a full game tonight?” I asked, amused. “How are you planning to get access to the arena?”

Aderyn scoffed, throwing me that knowing look. I’d fantasized about that look daily. I was a wreck. How did she do this to me in a few months? It killed me that she was so unaffected.

“We don’t need an arena. We’ll find a lake. Play like most of us used to as kids. I figured we all could use a reminder of where we came from and why we love playing. It’s not just for the audiences,” she explained.

I smiled at what she said, and she returned it. For a moment, it was just us and I saw her. Saw that she was starting to become who she wanted to be.

“I’m in,” I said, voice low because it still felt like only both of us were in the room. Aderyn raised a brow, possibly hearing more meaning in the words. On the other hand, Jack was completely unaware.

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll round up whoever I can find.” He squeezed Aderyn’s shoulder before leaving. I tried not to feel some type of way about how his hand lingered.

Aderyn and I watched him disappear into the crowd. I shifted my weight from one foot to another as she took a slow, steady drink from her cup.

“I heard your team finally finished interviews,” she said, meeting my eyes. Her voice sounded so formal.

I hated how stiff my neck felt when I nodded. “Earlier today.”

“Good.”

“How have you been since…everything?”

She gave me a one-shoulder shrug. Someone accidentally bumped into her, sending her closer to me. I grabbed her elbow to make sure she was steady. For a moment, we were a breath apart. Her lips parted like she was ready to say something. I tried to get words off my tongue but nothing came out.

I should have let her go. She’d found her balance again. My hand remained wrapped around her, though. Despite her thick layer of clothes, I could feel her warmth. At some point, I started to lean. My nose almost touched hers when she cleared her throat and pulled away.

I brushed my hand over my lips, trying my best to not look like my chest didn’t feel like it’d caved in.

“Sam—” she started.

“I should go grab my car,” I interrupted. I couldn’t hear another rejection right now. She’d done what was best for her and I couldn’t have been more proud. Now, I had to do what was best for me.

“I’m the designated driver,” I explained.

Her eyes widened. “Really? Samson Morgan’s not drinking and flirting his way through the bar?”

I shook my head, trying my best to smile at the well-meaning teasing.

“New leaf,” I said. “Next chapter.”

She made an impressed noise.

“See you at the lake.” I turned to make my great escape.

“Don’t hold back,” she called before I got too far.

I froze.

“Don’t hold back, Morgan,” she repeated herself, assuming I didn’t hear her the first time.

“We’ve been meaning to figure out who's really the best,” she teased. I turned around just in time to see her smile. “I don’t want you guys saying you held back. Give us your all and once we win, I expect no sore losers. One last round to prove ourselves.”

There was the snark in her voice that I loved. The daring quirk of her brow. The perfectly wonderful smile that revealed her perfectly wonderful crooked canine tooth.

“You got it.” Before I knew what I was doing I was back in front of her. Aderyn’s brows raised when I didn’t leave much space between us.

“Could I…” I raised my hands, hovering before getting permission to cup her face. “Just one last time?”

She nodded numbly. Her dark eyes were full of surprise. “Okay.”

I kissed her. At first, her mouth remained frozen on mine. Before I could panic about this being a mistake and pull away, she began to relax into my body. I parted her lips, wanting to memorize her taste.

The kiss lasted longer than I’d planned. I got wrapped up in the feeling of her. Touching her soothed my pain. Aderyn's hands on my chest made me wish with every part of my being that she’d pull me close like she did when we kissed before. But there was no tugging or moaning for more. As soon as I pulled back, that was it. It was over. This felt like more of an ending than when she left me in the driveway. Because when I finally pulled away and let go of her, she didn’t say a thing. She didn’t reach for me when I turned to leave.

I walked away. There was nothing to say on either end. Nothing more to do for one another.

All we had left was a game to win. And teams to lead.

[mintmatcha]

ukai keishin - grumpy

amy!!!! ty so much for the request- i really admire your writing and i hope you like this!!!]

Summary: just a snapshot of your relationship with keishin

Contains: NFSW, 18+, no reader pronouns, reader has a vagina, new relationship/established relationship, soft smut, slight mention of relationship issues.

ukai x reader

word count: 4k

cross posted: ao3

The woody vine digs into the pad of your thumb as you pluck another pepper. The repetition has dug a noticeable indentation into the skin, one that makes you wince every time you harvest a vegetable. In the low light of pre-dawn, sun still tucked behind the mountains, you can't see the bruising on your fingers, but you can feel how it pulses. Popping the digit into your mouth, the warmth of your tongue is automatically soothing, so much so that you can ignore the soft taste of soil on your skin.

“I told you to bring gloves.” Keishin chides, barely looking up at you. He’s squatted a couple feet away, elbows resting on his thighs as he works. The rubber boots, with his oversized overalls crammed into the top, squeak every time he shifts. Pick, squeak, pick, squeak. You open your mouth to tease him, but the way his eyes meet yours, steeled and firm, tell you he’s not in the mood. Cinching his teeth around the worn leather, he pulls his hand from the glove and leaves it dangling from his mouth, lips curled to avoid touching the dust directly. Even in his goofy attire, there’s something about his focus- the downward cast of his eyes, the hint of his canine over the leather, the steadiness of his hands- that makes your heart flutter. Wordlessly, he takes the glove out of his mouth and tosses it your way. You catch it with a fumble.

“Are you sure?” you ask as you pull it on. The tips of the glove gap above your fingertips, bending outward as you clench your fist.  “What about you?”

He shrugs and returns to work. Even in the darkness you can see his scowl. “I guess I’m not as delicate as you.”

You didn’t blame him. He doesn’t mean to be this… grumpy. This was the worst time of year for Keishin; harvest season overlapped with volleyball preliminaries. The late nights he had been pulling with the team after work on top of these early mornings at his family’s farm had to be draining. It was no wonder that date nights had become nearly nonexistent. It didn’t help that your work schedule often led to you working on the weekends, meaning that between the two of you there were no free days. Sleepovers are far and few between; both of you still live at home and, despite the fact you are both well into your twenties, your parents weren’t too keen on your sleeping next to someone while unwed. No free days, no free nights.

Again, you didn’t blame him. It wasn’t like he was trying to avoid you, three jobs was a lot for anyone. It was hard to ignore your concern for his well-being, but he was always quick to dismiss your worries. ‘I’m an adult.’ he always insisted. ‘I can balance myself.’ 

Was it selfish to miss him? Was it selfish to wish there was an extra hour in his day for you? 

“You didn’t have to come.” Ukai says, matter-of-fact. “You should be sleeping right now.” 

“I want to be here.” you insist. It’s almost a lie. Do you really want to be here, squatting in the dirt, picking vegetables at 5:30am? Of course not, but you wanted to be here for him. With him. 

The metal thermos at your feet wobbles as you adjust, the deep squat you’ve been sitting in starting to ache deep in your thighs. Dropping forward onto your knees, the gravel of the path digging into your kneecaps, you wrap your hands around the metal, pressing it against your chest to feel the ambient warmth. The blonde doesn’t turn from his work, but he does tilt his head towards you, a small sign of his attention.

“You gonna hold it or drink it?’ 

You huff before taking a delicate sip, trying to avoid burning your lips. “I’m savoring it, ‘Shin.”

“ ‘Savoring it.’ ” he repeats. The grit of sleep still clings to his voice. He sounds weathered, tired. “Are you gonna let me ‘savor’ some of that?”

“Maybe.” you take another sip before placing the cup back down, this time closer to him, a silent invitation. It’s like trying to feed a stray cat, luring him in with the promise of something tasty. “If you’re good.”

A long moment passes and he doesn’t move, he just studies you. There may have been a flicker of a smile, a hint of a good mood hiding underneath the surface, but it's gone before you can process it.

“You know.” he says, “I don’t know how you do it.” he continues working with bare hands and, even without protection, he works so much faster than you. You can tell he’s been doing this for years; every twist of his wrist seems practiced. It’s something you try and emulate each time you’re here with him, but it only slows you down more. 

“Do what?”

Keishin finally stops. He chews his cheek for a moment, eyes flickering across your features. He opens his mouth, then shuts it with a sigh as he weakly gestures to the thermos at your feet. “The coffee. How do you make the coffee?”

You can’t help but sigh as you fall back onto your seat. You cross your legs as you grab the thermos, taking a deep pull. Again, you savor it with a hum and Keishin snorts at your antics. He picks from the row of plants once more before standing. Hands on the back of his pelvis, he stretches slowly, popping his back with the same care an old man would. It reminds you of his grandfather, but you keep that remark to yourself. 

“ ‘Shin, you make yourself coffee every day- probably the same way I do.” you say as he plops himself next to you. The cup is already waiting for him when he reaches for it.

“But yours is always better.” he doesn’t say it with the sweetness of a compliment- he says it like a fact. It shouldn’t make you smile this wide, but it does. He blows over the lid of the mug, watching the steam twist into the air for a moment before taking a drink. It was your coffee, but  you had made it for him- just a splash of cream, a crazy amount of sugar: just the way he likes it.  The crinkle at the corner of his eye as drinks tells you that he notices. 

“Are you savoring it?” you ask. He just closes his eyes and sighs.

"I guess I am."

Even without looking, his pinky finds yours, looping together gently. It's the gloveless hand, finding yours. Bare skin against bare skin, warmth against warm. Your body prickles with warmth as he squeezes; something about him pulling you closer, even if it’s just a finger’s width closer, makes your heart jump.  It’s funny how the smallest gesture makes you melt. Keishin didn’t always have a lot to give you; your relationship was a collection of these small moments together, settled between his jobs and yours, but it was enough. 

Every moment together is restorative.

“Cinnamon.” you press a kiss into his shoulder as you snag your cup back. He peeks at you through one open eye,  “I put cinnamon in the coffee.”

Keishin leans into you, resting his head against your shoulder. He nuzzles into your sleeve, drawing in a deep breath, before pulling away to sit up straight again. Reaching back into the row of plants before you, he plucks one carefully before dropping it into the bucket. “Nah, that’s not it.”

You blink. “Uh, yeah. It is.”

“Nah. It’s because it’s made with love.” he smirks.

You pretend to think for a moment. "Actually, I didn't make this cup with love- so you're wrong."

He rolls his head back to watch you. "Oh yeah?"

"I made it with hate." 

"Really." he tilts his body, chest pressed against your shoulder.

"You didn’t taste my loathing?" you tease.

The tip of his nose grazes your ear, nudging you softly. His breath warms the side of your face, lips just a moment from your skin. He’s patient, waiting for you to come to him. You try and resist for just a moment, but he nudges you with a huff. 

You can’t help but crumble.

 There’s a hint of a chuckle as you finally turn to meet his lips. The kiss is off center, connecting at the corner of your mouth. You try to pull back to correct it when a leathered hand grips on to your jaw and he holds your face steady, squishing your lips with sheer force. Ukai doesn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, his tongue swiping your lower lip before dipping into your mouth. He tastes like coffee and cinnamon, sweet and bitter. With every movement, he savors you, pulling you deeper and deeper until the both of you are twisted into each other's embrace. 

When he pulls away, it’s too soon. It’s not until he’s panting against you that you realize your own lungs are burning for air, almost as if your hunger for him had outweighed your need to breathe.

He hums thoughtfully. “I dunno, tastes like love to me.”

You roll your eyes, trying to bite back your smirk as you lean in for another kiss. “God, you’re the worst, Shin.”

This time, he doesn’t connect. Instead, he pulls away, mouth downturned once again as he stares back into the sea of green. It’s an unfocused stare, focused more on his thoughts than his surroundings. 

“Yeah, I kinda am, aren’t I?”

“Hey, what-” you struggle with what to say. “Don’t be like that.”

“I mean, it’s true.” he shrugs. “This is our first date in, what? 3 weeks? And we’re working on my fucking grandpa’s-”

Your elbow cracks against the soft of his ribs, a bit harder than necessary. He wheezes slightly as you knock the air out of him. “Negativity be gone.”

He whines a bit too dramatically. “Oh my god, what’s wrong with you? Did you learn that from Sugawara? I’m never letting you watch a game ever again.”

It’s hard to hold back your smirk. “I mean- it worked! I’m not going to let you ruin the moment with your nega-!”

“Shut up for a second!” he says and this time he’s the one throwing an elbow. “I’m trying to apologize for being a shitty boyfriend!”

“You shut up!” you mirror him, but he’s ready this time. His response is quick, catching your arms against his. You two continue, poking back and forth roughly, laughter bubbling up. “You don’t need to apologize for being busy!”

“Well, I’m going to.” he grabs the edge of your shirt, leaning into you once again. “Come here and accept it.”

The gravel shifts under your feet as you scramble to stand, pulling out of his grasp. He watches you in confusion as you back away, but his look quickly transforms into something playfully predatory. The shift is wordless, but both of you understand the game that’s about to unfold. 

“Come. Here.”

“No way.”

You turn on your heel and run. Keishin’s quick, grunting with effort as he throws himself forward. The sound of his shoes, squeaking against the rock, is faster than you anticipate and you have to force your legs to pump quicker. The  cool morning air burns your throat as you barrel down the row, the dew covered leaves brushing against your arms and leaving wet stripes. Something about the simple act of moving dissolves all your tension, all your worries. 

You turn your head to check in on your pursuer. Keishin is behind you, running with just as much force as you, but he’s grinning ear to ear with breathless laugh. It’s not his usual mischievous grin, but a soft one. A relaxed one. His baseball cap is halfway off of his head, caught by the wind, but he doesn’t reach to save it. He’s too busy reaching for you.

Everything is quiet except the two of you, laughing breathlessly as you chase each other like children. The sun has just started to crest the mountains, illuminating the sky with a blur of pastels. The pink of the sky reflects in his hair, catching in the glint of his eye as his gaze meets yours, and something in your brain tells you that you’ll remember this exact moment for the rest of your life.  You want the moment to freeze, to stay  in this childish bliss forever-

-but, of course, it doesn’t.

The rubber toe of Keishin’s boot catches a rock, sending him tumbling forward into a slow fall. He stumbles, catching himself for a moment before falling onto his knees, then his face. With a wince, he rolls on to his back, arms and legs spread eagle in defeat. Oversized pants, chunky boots, a stupid baseball cap: he looked more like an exhausted toddler than an adult. You slow to a jog, trying to pretend his fall wasn’t absolutely hilarious, but your stomach is clenching with the repressed laughter. Backtracking, you join his crumbled form.

“You okay?” you’re panting much harder than you should be. God,  shouldn’t the smoker be less athletic? 

“No, I think I’m really hurt.” 

“Where? Your knees?” you drop to your knees immediately and reach for him, taking his hands in yours. The palm of his non gloved hand is scraped, but there’s no sign of blood. 

“My ego.” he groans, “I think I bruised it.”

You  let out something that isn’t quite a sigh or a groan. “You jerk.” you lean down and place a kiss on the bridge of his nose, right over where it crinkles when he smiles. “You had me worried for a second.”

He cranes forward to press his lips against yours, but only going as far as to brush his lips against yours. Every movement of your lips is a ghost against his, each breath more present than the feeling of skin. Each kiss is just a tease, barely a taste, and it makes you feel hungry. His hand circles your waist before drawing a line up your spine and your hunger deepens, burning deep into your core.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately.” he says against your skin, hand guiding you closer to him. You lay down next to him, resting your head on his bicep. It should feel silly, to be laying in the dirt, in the middle of the field, but there’s something so natural about being with him that makes you forget about your surroundings. There’s something natural and unadulterated about being quiet with each other.

“It won’t be like this forever, I promise.” he’s the first to break the silence. “One day, we’ll see each other every day. Just- be patient with me.”

You kiss his shoulder. “You’re worth the wait.” you place another one a few inches upwards. “I miss you, but you’ll always be worth the wait.”

Ukai rolls, throwing a knee over your hips to loom over you. His bangs tickle your forehead as he kisses you. It’s short. “I miss you.”

He places another peck on your lips. “Every day.”

Another kiss catches you off guard. “Every night.” 

Another one. This one is long enough for you to kiss back. “Constantly. I miss you constantly.”

You hook a leg over his ass, fingers starting to fiddle with the buttons holding his overalls up. “Prove it.”

He hesitates. Tilting his head up, he holds his breath as he scans the row, searching for any signs of movement in the distance. Until now, you had forgotten that other people even exist. The air is still, only the distant sound of crows cutting through the silence. His muscles relax against you after a moment, gaze returning to study your features. 

“I missed you.” he leans in and breathes into the shell of your ear before sinking his canines into the lobe. The sharpness sends you keening in surprise, pressing yourself farther into him. He takes the opportunity to tuck his arm under the arch of your back, using the angle to hold your hips against his, his forming bulge pressed right against your core. Your hands are still twiddling with the clasp on his overalls, your proximity to him making the simple task much harder than it should be. Every one of his movements is pulling you into him, like he can’t get you close enough to be satisfied. He sucks on the soft on your neck finishing the hickey off with a bite.

“Why’d you wear these stupid, ugly pants?” you huff as you finally free a button. Ukai breaks away from your neck to laugh before tracing his tongue across the bruise. The warmth surprises you and you can’t stop the whine that escapes you. 

“Fuck off.” his free hand easily unclinches your pants before shoving them down. The denim digs into the plush of your thighs as he struggles to place himself between your legs. The ground is cold and coarse against your bare skin, but you can’t focus on anything other than the heat of his breath trailing down your neck.

“Fuck- I missed you.” he repeats as you finally unclasp his overalls and slide them down. They hang off his hips, just low enough for his erection to hang over the fabric, his dooling cockhead resting against your stomach. Firmly, he taps his cock against you with a soft thwack, watching the translucent strings of precum connecting you stretch and break. It dribbles on the hem of your shirt and you want to admonish him for it, but when your eyes meet, his blown out pupils take your words away. The way he watches you, eyes hazed over with lust, is borderline feral. All you can do is kick down a pant leg, freeing your leg and allowing it to fall farther open for him.

Keishin slides further down you, greedily dragging the spongy head of his cock through your folds, gathering your slick. Each pass across your clit makes you twitch, thighs squeezing around his hips.  With a wolfish grin, he splits your cunt with his free hand and whistles at the sight. 

“I missed this pretty little pussy.” he pressed forward unceremoniously and the head of his cock squeezes into you with a pop. The stretch aches, but something deeper in you is burning for more. “Fuck, look how wet you are… “

He’s quick to bottom out, slamming his hips into yours as if he can’t hold back any longer. His eyes are struggling to stay open as he rolls his hips against you faster, struggling to continue watching your poor pussy struggle to take him. The weeks without him have left you desperate, hips uncontrollably bucking against his. The rhythm is off, your bodies struggling to keep up with each other and just ending up slamming against each other unevenly. It’s wild,  it leaves you breathless but your approaching high is so painfully close, neither of you can slow down to gather yourselves.

“You’re so good, fuck, so tight…” his head lolls forward, eyes fluttering closed, “You… so good… so hot… fuck, I missed you.”

Your hands wander up the front of his shirt, nails scraping against his chest. “Ple-ase, Keishin.” you beg, too breathless to say anything else. The sound of your voice makes him crumple over with a whine, fingers digging painfully hard into the fat of your hips as he struggles to pull you impossibly close. His cock twitches, spilling pulse after pulse of hot cum deep inside you. 

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” he murmurs, hips dragging out of you slowly. The movement makes you feel sloppy, the mixture of his cum and yours spilling down the crack of your ass. The sheer lewdness of it makes your core clench with desire, but the fading heat in your core makes you feel borderline nauseous. 

As you begin to untangle yourself, trying to hide your disappointment, he pulls you back in.

“Don’t.” he whispers into your chest. “I’m not- I’m not done with you.”

Ukai’s headband has slipped backwards, barely hanging on to the back of his head. The mess of blonde, half of it plastered to his forehead, tickles your cheek as he kisses your cheek. The edge of desperation is gone, replaced with something gentler, as he rolls back into you. Every bit of friction has been replaced with the slick, warmness of his cum. 

“I wanna wake up next to you every day.” Something about cumming has made him sappy. His hand dips low to circle your clit, tracing those practiced patterns you love so much. This time, instead of a fast, dangerous rise, the heat inside you pours slowly, like magma flowing through your core. 

“I’m going to buy you a big ol’ house.” he mumbles into your chest, looking up at you through his eyelashes. “And a pretty little ring. And -oh fuck you feel so good-  and, and you’re never gonna miss me again.” 

God, the term making love is corny, so impossibly cringey, but as he whispers those promises into your skin, you understand it. It’s more about the need to feel closer, the need to hold and be held. It’s three weeks of emotions that neither of you can vocalize.

Fuck, you feel so full. Physically, emotionally. Every caress is tender, delicate and appreciative. Your thumbs trace over his crow’s feet and for the umpteeth time this morning, you savor the moment. 

“I wanna be with you forever.”

Everything feels in focus- the friction of his jeans against your knees, the fabric clinging to your stomach, prickled with sweat, the ministrations of your lover’s lips against your skin as he whispers sweet nothings into you- but everything fades as you cum. Your orgasm hits slowly; you don’t even know you’re there until your legs are kicking out uncontrollably. Fingers tangled in the cotton of his shirt, you keen one last time. In the blur, you’re faintly aware of him joining you, his words dissolving into whines.

It takes a heartbeat for everything to still again. Keishin tilts his head up, studying you for a moment before speaking. 

“‘M so tired.” he essentially collapses on you, knocking the air out of your lungs. The lay he goes immediately slack in your arms would have been cute if whte weight of his body wasn’t pressing our bare skin into the gravel under you.  “I’m gonna nap.”

After quickly ruffling his hair, you press him up, gentling encouraging him to get off. “Come on, sleepyhead, your grandpa’s gonna start looking for us if we’re gone for too long.”

Keishin grimaces, propping himself up onto his elbows as he withdraws from you. The air against the mess on your thighs makes you shiver. “Please don’t mention the old man while I’m still inside you.”

He falls back into his heels and leaves you laying there. Before adjusting himself, he takes your bare leg by the ankle and tries to slip your pant leg back on. The hem gets caught on your heel and he fumbles.

“I can dress myself, Shin, you don’t have to.” you sigh, even as you adjust to make it easier. Denim sticks to your wet skin and he continues to work, completely ignoring your protest. As you lift your hips, letting him slide it past your waist. “Did you mean it?” 

He hums a question, buttoning your pants.

“You really wanna spend the rest of your days with me?”

Ukai looks up at you. “Well. Yeah, of course.” he smiles, “Who else is gonna put cinnamon in my coffee?”

#haikyu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #fluff #smut #ukai #ukai keishin #ukai x reader #keishin x reader #ukai keishin x reader #mint's musings

[idvlover]

Hi! So it says in your bio that your requests are open right? So is it okay if I request ELVAN with an S/o who is like a kiter/rescue type that uses frisbee, it may sound kinda specific but it's just another survivor ability that I brainstormed about. Like they use a frisbee to hit the hunter in the head or like throws it like a balloon popper when someone is ballooned. Bonus if S/o has a lot piercings or tattoos. I AM JUST A SUCKER FOR EVLAN, understandable if you can't answer this and I hope you a great day!

Dw! I love ELVAN as well! 😄

ELVAN with kiter/rescue s/o:

S/o is the second rescuer in this relationship. This gives Eli and Victor a break since support roles are sort of backup rescuers if there isn't a rescuer on the time or the rescuer is chaired or sent out of the game

This also gives Andrew a break with the type of ability they have. Let's say the frisbee isn't exactly a normal frisbee. It's created like one, but it's light metal the round edges are very sharp that s/o must wear gloves to use it. Yet it gets the job done for popping balloons and stunning the hunter

And Norton used to be the only kiter in the relationship. He's pretty good at what he does, especially stunning wise but even he needs someone to take over for him (have you heard his breathing?)

Hunters LOATH s/o more than the other rescue/kiter survivors. They almost have the same vaulting speed as Naib, and the frisbee throws them off guard every single time. It's hard to see because it's already in their face or popped the balloons by the time they see it

This helps Luca out massively. Because if he does get caught, s/o is already at a good enough distance to stun. But... Sometimes the hunter drops him immediately when they see s/o or they have excitement ready to counter them

But to s/o, dropping him isn't an issue because this means they can kite the hunter away from Luca just so he can self-heal and getaway

S/o would emote dance to piss the hunter off more to make sure their focus stays on them

Luca tries to return a favor by shocking the hunter when they're holding s/o. Doesn't always work out, so if Norton is in the match, he'll do his best to give the hunter a long stun

Now s/o and Norton. They're always bickering about who needs to be kiting and who needs to be decoding

Norton doesn't want to pass kiting off to someone else because he feels bad. Despite s/o saying: "Norton. I have two roles and kiting is one of them."

At this point, s/o just shoves him out of the path of the hunter and takes over

"Let me take over."

"No."

"I wasn't asking darling."

They may have shoved him through a window. His neck hurts a little bit at least he can finally go get healed!

He sulked with them over it though. But he comes back around quickly and tells them he is thankful

He likes to provoke the hunter himself. So in duo's these two are doing a pretty good job at making the hunters angry. Especially with their dance emotes...

He and s/o have probably traded items before. It was funny because the hunter was extremely confused. They also begged the baron afterward to forbid s/o from getting ahold of a magnet ever again

Norton threw magnet when s/o was trying to body-block for him. Everyone in the match heard them scream: "NORTON YOU IDIOT"

When they get chaired and the hunter isn't camping. Norton explains to them why they shouldn't have body-blocked. While they're in the chair

His ass nearly got dragged after the match by s/o. It was entertaining to watch

Andrew and s/o normally stick together in matches because they are both rescuers and so they don't get confused about who's going to rescue

Plus, they both need help with decoding since all rescuers have decoding nerfs

They take turns rescuing and trying to be strategic about their abilities

But s/o has accidentally body-blocked for Andrew when he was in the dirt... Force of habit possibly

Now the hunter is targeting them because the biggest pain in the ass survivor is at half-health

Andrew pinched his nose and sighed afterwards

S/o was a little embarrassed

But unlike Norton, he actually frees them first and reminds them not to body-block if he's underground

Victor is sort of a weak kiter. So if s/o isn't matched with Andrew. They'll run around and try to find Victor. Protective s/o.

This is actually quite a relief for him. Plus, he likes having a decoding buddy

He's always sending letters to s/o that would help them in their current situation. He's even sent Wick after the hunter to help out their kiting

The amount of times s/o has snatched Wick while kiting is hilarious. Like suddenly they gain a speed boost protecting the dog

Victor feels bad when he fails to kite, so he tries to tell everyone not to rescue, but s/o never listens (the same goes for the others)

S/o gives him a reassuring kiss and pats his cheek telling him it's okay

He always heals them as a thank you. Plus, Wick will roll over for some patting

Eli watches out for everyone and is protective of everyone

He's always watching out for s/o too

Brooke Rose has saved s/o's ass more than once especially when detention is activated

Eli will remind them to let someone handle rescues (IF there is another rescuer on the team) and kiting every now and then

S/o would probably be in automatic mode and he would grab their wrist the moment they run. It snaps them out of the thought process and Eli tells them to stick with a little while longer until it is necessary they need to rescue or take over kiting

"Don't move-"

"Wait, wait, wait, let the other rescuer do it this time."

"But-"

"They still have tide. You used yours on Luca, remember?"

Saying something about tide is enough for s/o to hang back just for a bit

As for tattoos and piercings

They are all AMAZED by it

Especially if s/o is from modern times and the tattoos are extremely colorful and creative

Victor likes to trace his fingers over them. Andrew does the same

Luca likes to rant about how beautiful and cool they look

Norton won't say anything but tends to stare. Not in a creepy way, he's just admiring them in silence

Eli would ask if there is any meaning behind them. If not then that's completely okay!

He has a facial tattoo and wonders if modern technology has improved to where it isn't as painful compared to the stuff used in his time

They all find their piercings unique

Norton has one of his own on his nose bridge, I think? (Correct me if I'm wrong) He would probably ask for recommendations on piercings with maybe wanting more (might even get a tattoo if he ever leaves the manor)

Norton has probably made some piercing jewelry for them to wear

Victor finds it impressive that they have quite a bit of piercing. He loves the ones that have some type of birthstones in them. They just look wonderful on s/o

Luca loves them. He wouldn't get one himself, but he would ask Norton to make any piercing jewelry if he can for s/o.

He's asked s/o before if he could touch one of the ones that have parts that move around. Sometimes he does this to distract himself

Eli has thought about getting a piercing. But never really had the time to before the manor due to being busy with try to make money

S/o told him if they escape, they can take him and Norton to the shop they went to get it done. He said he would think about it, but for now, he's happy to stick with admiring their's

Andrew sometimes stares. Mainly because he's wondering how much did it hurt to get them or admiring any of Norton's jewelry-making if they're wearing any of it

#norton campbell headcanons #norton campbell x reader #norton campbell #eli clark headcanons #eli clark x reader #eli clark #andrew kriess headcanons #andrew kreiss x reader #andrew kreiss #victor grantz headcanons #victor grantz x reader #victor grantz #luca balsa headcanons #luca balsa x reader #luca balsa #idv x reader

[wheelsup]

the taming of the shrew | two

if i be waspish, best beware my sting

after some setbacks, penelope is willing to do anything to get you back on board. but has spencer already ruined things?

A/N: hello! im so sorry that this posting schedule is super inconsistent. the more i thought about this chapter, the less i liked the more technical aspects of it. but! i hope you enjoy to plot aspect of it nonetheless <3 thanks for reading!

category: fluff, slow burn series, spencer reid x fem!reader

wc: 4.4k

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Since that phone call with Penelope, she’d been over nearly every night for a week with plates of treats and onslaughts of apologies. Each time she came knocking, you told her there was no amount of persuasion that could change your mind. And yet the following night, she’d be there, a new type of pastry in hand and a new set of reasons why Spencer was worth the trouble.

First, she brought blueberry muffins and reasoned that deep below that prickly exterior, he really was everything she promised –– sweet and caring. But that must be deep, deep down. Like, The Lost City of Atlantis, deep down, because you didn’t expect it to surface any time soon. 

Then, she brought fudge brownies and explained that his behavior wasn’t personal –– he was getting snippy with everyone lately. And while you maintained that anybody would have a hard time getting along with Spencer, you were absolutely positive that it was now impossible for you. 

Quite frankly, it wasn’t just Spencer who was unwilling to play nice. You hated him. More than you’ve ever hated a stranger. 

You wished him a lifetime riddled with minor inconveniences that would drive him to the edge of insanity. You wanted him to miss all his trains by just a quarter of a minute; close enough so that he could see it leave the platform, knowing he almost made it on. You wanted him to constantly feel like he was about to sneeze. You wanted his socks to be perpetually wet, and if he should happen to put on a dry pair? You hoped he stepped in a puddle.

That was all you could think about as you laid out on your couch, munching on one of Penelope’s lemon bars while she paced around your apartment. She kept going on and on advertising Spencer to you. As annoying as it was, she was also saving you a ton on groceries that week. 

For the most part, you filtered her out. Not a single word that came out of her mouth was believable anymore, especially not when she was talking about Spencer. Despite what Penelope thought of him, you saw in him what she refused to accept. 

As her speech came to a close, she looked at you like she expected a response to dignify her prattling. 

“Give it a rest, Penelope. He’s a lost cause,” you laughed dryly. “He doesn’t need –– nor does he want –– anyone in his life.” At the very least, he definitely didn’t want you. 

“Yes, that’s the problem!” If you’d been listening to her, you would’ve heard her saying the same thing. “He doesn’t want to date!” 

Your head just about exploded when she said that. 

There had been countless, fruitless conversations about this, and all along she saw the gaping hole in her supposedly airtight plan?

“If he doesn’t want to DATE, then WHAT was the point of this?!” Your fingers pressed the bridge of your nose; you suddenly felt a headache coming on. Funny how it always happened around the time of day that Penelope came to visit.

Penelope stopped pacing. She stalked over to your couch, picked your legs up by your ankle, and moved them to make space for herself. You begrudgingly sat upright as she took her place beside you. 

“Because he’s not himself anymore. He’s not open like he used to be. Not to the people who care about him the most, and certainly not to the world.”  

Penelope toyed with the hem of her dress, distracting herself from her quivering lip before pressing on, “Spencer Reid has always wanted love. And it’s not right that he no longer believes he can have it.” 

You hadn’t seen Penelope look so desperate until now. It was concerning. Because what could make her look so hopeless? What could make Spencer so hopeless? 

“Penelope, I don’t know what’s wrong with your little friend, but… there’s a lot more bubbling inside him than you’re letting on.” 

She chewed up the insides of her cheeks, wincing to herself at your incredibly accurate claim. 

“You are hiding something, aren’t you?” You narrowed your eyes on her. You were no detective, or whatever exactly her team did, but she was just awful at concealing her thoughts.

“It’s not my story to tell,” she murmured. 

She could already feel herself about to give it away and doubled down her mental defenses against it. Focusing extra hard on keeping Spencer’s privacy intact. If only you knew her track record with secrets, you’d be proud of her for staying quiet this long.

“What isn’t your story?” 

“That his girlfriend died last year.” 

She spilled it before she even realized what she was saying. You’d just asked so nonchalantly that she forgot she was talking aloud. Penelope turned purple, terrified now that the whole truth was out there. 

You couldn’t even take satisfaction in the fact that your trick worked. You were just as mortified as Penelope, and if you weren’t already sitting down, you knew you’d need to. You assumed there was something deeper going on with him, you didn’t think it was a dead girlfriend. That was some Nicholas Sparks shit. 

“He pretends like he’s fine but I know he’s not. And if he found a way to move on, maybe he’d start feeling as okay as he claims to be,” she sniffled before snot could run from her nose, tears lining the rims of her eyes. “I know I should’ve given you the full picture, but I didn’t think you’d go for it if you knew…” 

You were too floored to process it all right away. This added a whole new layer of complicated to an already uneasy arrangement.

“Well, I know you’re right about one thing. I would’ve said no.” 

She gave you a set of pleading eyes, praying you’d see where she was coming from. 

“I know,” she whispered defeatedly. “But maybe... now that you know, you can understand why he acts out the way he does.”

“Penelope, I can’t just… make someone move on, or –– or get them to believe in love! Especially when it’s fake.”

How on Earth did she expect you to pull that off? Did that guy from A Walk to Remember move on when Mandy Moore died? You hadn’t seen the ending of the movie, but you assumed not. 

“I’m sorry, this is just… a lot bigger than the favor I thought it was ––”

“What if I could return it?” she cut in. The gears in her head started to turn, figuring ways to patch up the holes she made. 

“There’s nothing I need from you.” 

That couldn’t be true. Penelope looked around the room and it didn’t take her long to think of it.

“I can help you sell your art,” she tempted, gesturing to the scattered canvases. “You make all your income from this, right?” 

You didn’t want to give any fuel to her fire, but you nodded. “What if… what if you didn’t have to settle for local buyers? What if I told you that you could make way more money selling them to the whole world?”

You chortled at her idea. 

You were a local artist, through and through. Your art got put in local galleries and sold to local buyers. Nothing more, and that was fine with you. You realized it a long time ago that it was just a pipe dream to think you’d be more. 

“I’m serious! You could get a separate painting studio, and stop living in one? Huh?” She wrapped her hand around your shoulder, waving the other in the air, urging you to picture it with her. “Imagine this: a kitchen that’s separate from your living room. A bed, inside it’s own four walls, and more than twelve feet from where you cook your meals.”

Pushing aside her so blatantly insulting your apartment, if that were a possibility, you’d want nothing more. But it already sounded foolish and you hadn’t even heard how she planned to pull it off. 

“Penelope, I’m fine where I am. I make the money I need, and that’s... it’s fine.”

She gave you a pointed look. “You know, I can hack all search engine results to make sure you are what comes up first anytime someone enters the word ‘painting’, right?

An airy chuckle left your lips. Of course she could. You patted her thigh twice and stood up, prompting her to follow you to your door –– hopefully, so she can show herself to the other side of it. “Still no, Pen.” 

“Just take some time to think about it!” Her voice carried through the wood as you shut it on her.

*

There was this one bench in Kenilworth Park – the one that overlooks the crystal clear pond – that you’d always been able to rely on to fix any problem.

There was hidden magic in the bushes that sprawled out from the edges of the water, surrounded by spiky green blades of overgrown grass. A simplicity you loved in baby ducklings paddling into the tiny body of water, swimming close together so they don’t get lost in, what seems to them, a whole ocean. And clarity provided by the freshest air in the world, under the shade of the big oak trees on a late summer afternoon.

But at the present, none of that came close to being enough.

The artist’s block started off as a minor inconvenience, but without your permission, had stretched into weeks of steadily declining motivation. Each new idea felt even worse than the last, and you were acutely aware that there would come a point where you’d officially hit maximum capacity for how awful they could get.

Still, that didn’t seem to light a fire under you. You happily coexisted with the blank pages of your sketchbook. Staring down at them, laying open on your lap in their stark-white glory, you felt like you were playing a waiting game. If you stared long and hard enough, maybe they’d flinch. 

Unfortunately, you never got to find out who won, because your phone rang inside your pocket. As if the caller had interrupted an incredible genius at work (which couldn’t be farther from the truth), you hastily raised the phone to your ear, slamming your sketchbook shut.

“Hello?” Your voice wasn’t as kind as it could be for someone with nothing better to be doing. Two seconds later, you learned who was calling and came to regret it.

“Hi, This is Rebecca from District Arts, calling with a message from Andre ––”

“Oh, hi!” you tried to walk back your previous tone, straightening up in your seat and pitching your voice higher, “Yeah, I’ve been waiting to hear from him!” 

While Rebecca intimidated you, Andre happened to be your closest friend at the gallery. He worked closely with the artists to curate their collection and help them make sales. 

“Does he want to sort out what to set the opening bid prices at for my new pieces?” A handful of days ago, you sent him pictures of your new work and were waiting to hear his thoughts. You’d always been able to trust his opinion, and a vote of confidence from him might be just the thing to inspire you.

“Uhm…” There was a criminally long pause on the other side of the line, ended by Rebecca’s weary inhale. “Unfortunately, we’re calling to inform you that your pieces will not be included in the next rotation.”

For a minute, you weren’t sure what to make of what she said. You’d never heard those words before.

“What – what do you mean?” you laughed nervously. She probably misspoke. Perks of friendship aside, Andre always included you in sets. 

“Ugh, let me just get him…” her voice faded away as she put the phone down. 

That wasn’t exactly the reassuring statement you were looking for. In the time it took for the call to switch hands, your confusion finally melted in. And then quickly boiled into anger.

The District Arts gallery changed their entire collection every two months. The pieces shown accepted rolling bids throughout the full eight weeks, finally selling at the end of term to their highest offer. After that, the pieces got taken down, sent to happy new owners, and the entire gallery reset with entirely new works. 

So if you missed one rotation, that meant waiting two months to get back in.

“Andre, how am I just cut from the gallery!” you barked before he could get a word in. If he didn’t like your work, he could’ve just said so. 

“No one said that ––”

“Okay, let me rephrase.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, something you found yourself doing quite frequently lately, and took a deep breath in and out. It was seemingly just for show because it did absolutely nothing to calm you down. “Why wouldn’t you put me in the next set? I’m in all of them!”

“I know you are!” He sounded just as upset. “It’s just that… we give you the biggest space we have, because you always manage to fill it up. But this time… I’m not so sure you can.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed. “What makes you say that?” You asked that, but you knew.

“You’ve only finished three pieces… I’m worried how you’ll deliver seven more before we set up.”

“But… it’s four weeks away, I could do ––”

“And it took you four weeks to make what you have... I’m sorry. We couldn’t take that gamble.” 

He took your silence as an opportunity to turn off the work talk and speak, just friend to friend. 

“You know that I trust you and I’d hold that spot if I could. But, I also know what you’re going through right now, and… I don’t know, maybe letting yourself rest would be a good thing?” 

Your heart paused. By, “knowing what you’re going through”, you assumed he didn’t mean the little artist’s block.

“If you’re implying that I can’t do my job because of what happened with Cyrus –”

“I’m not, I’m not....” he backtracked as quickly as he could. “But take another look at the paintings you showed me and tell me if they feel like you.”

Even if he was right, you wanted to fight him. You wanted to cry. You wanted to beg that you didn’t need that big space; you were willing to downsize and just turn in the three that you had. Even if they got shoved into the corner where hardly anybody bothered to look. You just couldn’t afford to go two months without the income. 

But even with tears beading up, you realized that the gallery couldn’t afford it either. They needed to bring in money and you couldn’t do that for them this time. So they were right to go to someone who can.

“Right,” you sniffled, recollecting yourself so he can’t hear the shakiness in your voice. “I understand. It’s a big risk, like you said… It’s for the better.”

Andre tried to thank you for being understanding and spewed some sort of encouragement. The words flew over your head. You managed to toss in a few ‘mhmm’s and ‘sure’s at the right places to coast you along until the call finally ended. 

As soon as it went dead, you dropped your phone to the side and brought your hands to your face, rubbing them furiously over your cheeks. Your fingertips pressed hard into your eyelids, trying to forcibly reabsorb the tears threatening to spill. 

It almost worked, until you tried to breathe. 

A full sob escaped in that one gulp of air and you succumbed to it. But the loud crunching noise of some pedestrian walking over the falling leaves destroyed your sense of privacy, and you quickly wiped away all signs of your breakdown. The crunching stopped just short of your bench and on instinct you flicked your eyes up to see who the intruder was.

You did a double take. It was him. That fucking asshole.

He was standing there, looking dumber than you could even remember, with his hands in his coat pockets and a curious look on his face as he watched you cry. Tucking your sketchbook under your arm in haste, you made it a point to stand up with as much aggression as possible, rolling your eyes at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” you barked. “No need to yell at me this time.”

You bristled past him, barely refraining yourself from checking his shoulder as payback. You wanted to believe you were better than him, but it did sound incredibly tempting. He stood there for a moment before turning on his heel and following you.

“Wait,” he groaned.

You didn’t listen, neither stopping nor slowing down.

“I said wait,” he huffed as he caught up to you, popping up at your side and jogging along as you kept going.

“Yeah, because I need to listen to a guy who yells at strangers in bookstores.” 

Now that you’d brought up the elephant in the room, your feet started moving even faster, working double time to get you away from him.

Damn the fact that he had those long legs. He didn’t even break a sweat trying to keep up. He was inescapable.

“Well, if you waited like I asked, you would’ve gotten an apology for the ––”

“Gee, thanks!” you yelled, stopping for only a second to turn to him and give him a mocking bow of your head, hands clasped together like you were praising at his altar. “I was waiting with bated breath for that! Thank you, kind sir, for now my life can go on.”

“Look, I’m actually sorry,” he snapped. Then in realizing the irony, softened his voice, “I’m sorry for being rude. I was having a bad day… not that that’s an excuse.”

You stared at him blankly, just watching his mouth moving quickly and waiting until it finally stopped. 

“Did you need something?” 

“Did you… did you not hear what I just said?!” 

“No, sorry,” you smiled, voice sweet like sugar. “My ears filter bullshit. Wanna try again?”

He scoffed, looking away like he couldn’t believe you before stepping even closer. “What’s your problem?”

“Me!? The fuck –– what the fuck is your problem?” You turned and stormed off again, seething at his audacity. Spencer just couldn’t relent his annoying tendencies and followed yet again.

“My problem is that I’m trying to be nice, and you’re not letting me!”

You got a good, hard laugh out of that. “Okay, first of all, having to apologize for yelling at me and pushing me isn’t exactly the best starting point for the journey of becoming a nice person.”

“Like I said, I was having a bad day.” 

Under your breath, you muttered, “Well, I hope this one’s even worse.”

“Why are you such a ––” He stopped himself from finishing that thought. Even in his worst mood, he wouldn’t cross that line. 

But he didn’t need to finish it, you knew exactly where he wanted to take it. The soles of your shoes scraped against the loose gravel as you came to a grinding halt, ears ringing.

“A what?” You turned to face him, a sarcastic smile on your face growing wider as he started to shrink more and more. You got up close in his face, daring him to say what he really wanted to. So he could reinforce your belief in exactly the type of person he was. “A what?” 

Spencer pursed his lips and shook his head, refusing to say it no matter how much you challenged him. If he wasn’t going to have the balls to say it, you decided to take it upon yourself.

“Tell you what, you keep thinking about it and get back to me the next time you’re in a cunty mood.” 

The word he was thinking of was probably not as bad, but you had a habit of escalating things. Even if you took this one too far, you didn’t care. 

Before you tried to take off again, Spencer’s hand flew to your elbow. He tugged you back, forcing you to turn around and face him. He didn’t know his own strength; without any resistance, you came stumbling into his chest, at risk of falling over if it weren’t for his tight grip on your arm.

It took you a beat to push him away with both your hands on his chest, vocalizing your disgust for being so close to him. 

“Can you stop trying to disagree with me for a second? I’m trying to tell you that you’re right, I was being a… well, you know…” He avoided the word. Apparently ‘cunt’ was where he drew the line. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.” 

Your nostrils were still flared and blood hot as ever, but he made you pause. He looked sincere, if not a little tinged with guilt as well. You were suspicious of it.

“You saw me crying and felt bad, didn’t you?”

He laughed darkly. “Well, I saw you, yes. Did I feel bad? No.” 

“Oh, my God,” you growled, berating yourself for getting close to believing he might be capable of decency. 

“I’m joking! I’m joking.” He squeezed your elbow twice in earnest. “I did feel bad, but that’s not why I wanted to say it.”

“Okay.” You weren’t ready to give him a real smile, so you flattened your lips into a thin line and nodded once slowly, and left it at that. 

You still weren’t a fan, but the apology did dampen some of the resentment. Maybe he wasn’t the worst person alive. You’d settle for saying top ten most annoying, instead.

Minutes later, you came to the startling realization that he was still on the path, just two paces behind you. You flinched when you saw him out of the corner of your eye, not expecting him to still be here. 

“Uhm. Where are you… why are you still following me?” 

“I’m not. My car’s that way,” he gestured to the parking lot at the end of the long walkway. “I forgot my loaf for the ducks.” He didn’t mean to offer that information up, it just slipped out. He could practically see your smug expression coming before it even got there.

“You’re not supposed to feed bread to the ducks. It’s bad for them.”

“I don’t.” He didn’t care to explain this to you, but he couldn’t have you thinking he was any less competent than he really was. “It’s a special bread made from water and seeds that were ground into flour. It’s duck-safe.” 

“They make duck-safe bread?” Now that was something you’d never heard before. 

“No… I make duck-safe bread,” he said softly under his breath. 

You didn’t know how else you were supposed to react to that besides laughing wildly. 

“You make it?” He nodded like you were the crazy one here. As if he wasn’t the one spending his spare time grinding up seeds and baking loaves of bread for ducks, donning a frilly pink apron and oven mitts as he did so. At least that’s how you imagined it. “Why not just feed them the seeds?”

“Because, loose seeds will sink in the water and can potentially clog waterbeds and cause foreign bacteria growth in the pond.” 

“So you… hand-make the seeds into a little loaf of bread so it doesn't do that?”

He confirmed. You pondered silently for a moment, then absolutely had to ask, “You ever eaten the duck bread before?”

Spencer was caught off guard by that question. His cheeks deepened to a rosy color.

“Yeah, well, it was the house so…” he laughed nervously and stared at his sneakers. “It’s actually not too bad.”

You weren’t entirely surprised by that. You remembered what his grocery basket looked like, and given those same options, you probably would’ve tried the duck bread too. Still, you cracked the smallest of grins at knowing he makes bread for ducks. The one, sole redeeming fact you’ve learned about Spencer. 

You reached your car first, and Spencer stopped in front of it with you. 

“I’m actually sorry, you know,” he whispered once more, hand resting at the top of your car door as you opened it. He wasn’t talking about the incident at the bookstore.

“Yeah…” For a while you were so busy being angry at Spencer that you forgot about your own problems. 

He noticed your nose was still red around the edges, eyes still a little bleary. “Are you okay, by the way?” His voice was too soft, too genuine.

You shook your head no.

“Is there anything I can do?” You shook your head again. And then you had an awful thought.

You knew he was just offering to help just to say it, because that’s how people react when you say you’re not okay even if they don’t care. But there actually was something he could do for you… Something that Penelope could do.

“Uh, no but…” you fixed your hair and tucked it behind your ear, seamlessly switching to a flirtier voice. “If you still feel bad about the other day, you’re welcome to make it up to me.”

Spencer cocked his head to the side, unsure of how he could do that. 

“Hang out with me sometime.”

“H-hang out?” You could tell that it flustered him, even if he tried to play it off. He swallowed thickly, nose twitching and brows scrunched together.

“Relax, I really do just mean hang out.” You were lying through your teeth. He didn’t need to know that. 

As if he didn’t want to think about it for a second longer and just get out of this conversation as quickly as possible, he agreed without thinking it through. He didn’t even ask why an almost complete stranger would want to hang out with him. 

You stuck your hand out, expecting him to hand over his cell so you could put your contact into it. He rocked on the balls of his feet, watching as you input your contact and sent yourself a text on his phone.

“Hi, this is…” you read out your message as you typed, pausing at just the right place. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Oh-uh, I’m Spencer.” 

A devilish grin took over your face, hidden from his view while you were looking down at the screen. He was going to be easy to fool.

-

-

agh! im still not in love with how this chapter is turning out, but it came to a point where i just had to stop fiddling with it and just post it. any feedback or comments about this story is very much appreciated 💕

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[carmensbroom]

I've once again had 6 hours to process everything I saw in season 4 so I'm just gonna say my thoughts on it (hold onto your fedoras again folks)

first off, WE FOUND OUT GRAY'S LAST NAME?? I was so shocked and happy at the same time I love how everyone asked for player's real name and we ended up with gray's surname for some reason shsjsj. NOBODY ASKED FOR THAT BUT THEY DELIVERED ANYWAY

ALSO GRAHAM IS AN ORPHAN?? my precious boy *throws mommy's boy headcanon out the window*

the second episode really had me shipping carmivy they're so cute we got a girl's trip and I'm all for it

I think I may now be a dash haber stan but let's not make a big thing of it

also ivy eating the chocolate in the middle of a mission deserves an honorable mention because of her cute little tongue (I'm weird okay djsjsjs)

zack trying to bond with shadowsan and him having none of it was delightful

that fucking robot god damn bellum really thought of everything didn't she every time I thought it was gone it made a come back I literally said out loud "carmen is so fucked"

I SWEAR TO GOD EVERY TIME GRAY TALKED ABOUT CARMEN I KEPT THINKING HE WAS GONNA SAY "BECAUSE I LOVE HER" IN WHICH CASE I WOULD HAVE DIED AND NOT IN A GOOD WAY

yall have no idea how relieved I was when I found out that photo of julia was her and her (presumably) mother and NOT a boyfriend sjsjsjs

catch me making a headcanon that julia has a single mom because her father disowned her for coming out as gay based on that picture alone 😭

I'M SORRY BUT THE AMOUNT OF FLIRTING BETWEEN CARMEN AND JULES?? PLEASE THEY'RE SECRET GIRLFRIENDS JUST ADMIT YOU CENSORED THEM AND GO

OKAY BUT WHEN THEY WERE IN JULIA'S OFFICE AND CARMEN SAID "WAY TO FOLLOW YOUR HEART JULES" AND SHE WAS LIKE "YOU REMEMBERED" I LOST IT WHAT DID CARMEN REMEMBER JULES?? DID THEY HAVE A CONVERSATION OFF SCREEN? MAYBE I'M JUST A BIG HUGE LESBIAN BUT THAT'S A BIT GAY LADIES

carmen getting all worried when julia wasn't answering her phone was the blessed gay content I signed up for PLEASE THEY CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER SO MUCH

never thought I'd say this but I loved devineaux this season he was funny, he improved his treatment towards julia (I don't recall him officially apologising I must have missed something djsjsjs)

the only thing I didn't like was it kinda seemed like they were trying to hint that chase and jules were into each other and I didn't really vibe with that

all that shit with dr bellum and the crown for cleo really had me thinking cleobellum was gonna be canon what a clown I am (seriously tho the way she lost it when the crown got stolen GIVE IT BACK IT BELONGS TO HER WIFE)

look all I'm saying is: tigress new outfit in the egypt episode was hot

HER FACE AT THE END AFTER SHE GOT TRAPPED WITH ALL THOSE BUGS

I wish julia and gray could have met there's so much friendship potential there 😭

is player... is he a bit 💅 I SEE THAT PRIDE STICKER ON YOUR LAPTOP YOUNG MAN YOU'RE NOT SUBTLE

ngl I nearly teared up when player finally met carmen in person

I'M SORRY BUT JULIA'S BLUSH IN EPISODE 7 PLEASE SHE'S SO SMITTEN WITH CARMEN IT'S BRILLIANT

EVIL CARMEN WAS REALLY SOMETHING ELSE I WAS SO SCARED SHE'D BE STUCK LIKE THAT FOREVER

I mentioned this in another post but when julia was like "don't you remember me? I'm your girlfriend friend, jules" I NEARLY FUCKING CRIED THEY WERE GETTING KINDA CLOSE AND THEN CARMEN GOT MIND WIPED

JULIA TOPS JULIA TOPS I SAID IT ALL ALONG AND IT'S TRUE SHE REALLY PINNED VILE CARMEN THAT'S TOP BEHAVIOR (also this now makes carmen a bottom I don't make the rules)

kinda shocked that paper star was hardly here I don't stan her so it didn't bother me much but still it was just strange they didn't use her this season

when shadowsan whipped out the last doll and carmen had all those flashbacks to when she was at vile I nearly started crying AGAIN

I LEGIT THOUGHT CARMEN HAD KILLED GRAY DJSJSJS AN ELECTRICIAN GETTING ELECTROCUTED THAT'S SOME IRONY RIGHT THERE

gray really confused me towards the end he kept switching sides every five minutes for the whole season I wasn't sure whether to trust him half the time dhshsjs

THE LOOK ON CARMEN'S FACE WHEN SHE THOUGHT SHE'D KILLED GRAY WAS SO HEARTBREAKING AND THEN SHE STARTED CRYING OH MY GOD I'M SORRY BABY

the way she's always been against hurting people/taking lives and then she ended up hurting all the people she loves (she nearly killed zack for god sake) really hit me hard

gray's ending was... kinda weird I understood the parallel of him not wanting to complicate carmen's life like she said about him in season 2 but it was still kinda strange that they didn't have one more conversation or get any closure

I'm obviously kinda upset that carulia wasn't canon they had so much potential imo and the show isn't about romance anyway BUT I'm happy with the content we got and THEY FLIRTED SO MUCH THEY'RE CANON IN MY HEART

THE TEAM RED GROUP HUG KILLED ME IT WAS SO CUTE

kinda annoyed that carmen just straight up left zack and ivy she really just left a note and said YEET

ivy's voice crack when she read the note got me all choked up

ngl I'm still not entirely sure how it ended I had to rewatch it a few times to understand what they were trying to imply sjsjsj

would have loved to know carmen's given name but at the same time she's literally THE carmen sandiego that's who she is, it would be silly to go by a name that she doesn't connect with just because her parents gave her it

her mom being a regular citizen was kinda bittersweet I mean a plot twist would have been good but at the same time it would make the story even more complicated

*dreams of a spinoff movie where we get better closure on everything*

ACME IVY ACME IVY I'M NOT AN IVY STAN BUT DAMN IF I AIN'T SIMPING FOR ACME IVY

I know carmen didn't want revenge but I feel like chief got let off with killing her father way too quickly if I'm honest sjsjsj

JULIA BEING IN CHARGE OF FINDING CARMEN'S MOM OH MY GOSH

I feel so bad for laughing when julia got knocked out the way the cloth fell on her head sent me but when the pole hit her head I was like "OKAY I TAKE IT BACK THIS ISN'T FUNNY ANYMORE"

was not expecting julia to physically fight anyone I mean she's always been so calm and collected and then this season she was like fuck it might as well hit a few people before we finish forever

wishing carmen and jules could have hugged or had a scene together where they talked about stockholm but I won't complain it wouldn't have really made sense anyway considering they were cool with each other at the university

so glad the trailer was misleading about the coach brunt situation I really didn't want her to get a last minute redemption

another honorable mention: cleo snapping at julia "DON'T YOU DARE IMPLY THAT I AM COMMON" sent me djdjs she was just stood there like "I am but a humble history lesbian leave me be"

I think that's everything I'll probably add to it later if I think of anything or I might make a part 2 djsjsjs (I've been writing this for almost an hour now 😭)

overall I enjoyed it from start to finish. I haven't really cried about it ending yet I'm still processing everything but I'll probably have a little sob when it finally hits me djsjsjs

CARULIA NATION WE BASICALLY WON NOW EXCUSE ME WHILE I REWATCH ALL THEIR SCENES TOGETHER AND MAKE IT MY ENTIRE PERSONALITY

#wow this ended up being way too long #I was trying to go in order of what happened but I kept remembering other things so it's juat a big mess dhshsjs #anyways carulia is canon because I said so #really hope we get an animated movie or another short in the future #cs spoilers #julia argent #carulia #julethief #gray crackle #gray cs #chase devineaux #carmen sandiego season 4 #carmen sandiego

[butterbeerblurbs]

flowing into your heart (f.w.)

 💌 : being friends with the golden trio meant you had front-row tickets to hagrid’s shenanigans. one of it being putting you and fred weasley on a boat because he’d like to add “matchmaker” onto his resume.

📝 word count: 3,800 words / fred weasley x reader / 🌸 fluff fluff fluff

💬: this is a part of @ch0colatefr0gs​​​ 500 writing challenge! congrats again on 500, love! 🥳✨

⛵️prompt: “you and ___ are cute, i’ll put you in a boat.” / “you’ll put us in a what?” - captain holt to jake and amy, brooklyn 99 

sneaking out of the castle during the times you weren’t supposed to be... out of said castle, was no out of the ordinary thing when it came to being with the golden trio. sometimes, you became a part of the equation whenever you chimed in your thoughts. (albeit when they don’t ask for it)

today was no different when they said they’d be going down to hagrid’s. something along the lines of testing out a... small thing he has been working on. it piqued your interest and when the trio said they’d be heading out to hagrid’s cottage at half past eight and offered you to tag along, you did.

so that’s how all of you ended up following hagrid’s lead, deeper into the woods. the giant says nothing the whole way, only making you feel anxious at where he was leading all of you.

barely knowing where you were as it’s getting pretty dark, you can only make up the sight of a small boat coming into view as all of you stood by a lake. you squint your eyes at the sight, and no one’s asking questions yet? you had no idea what the little... experiment was all about anyway. you ought to be the first one to say something, but hagrid beats you to it.

“welp! here we are!” hagrid chuckles, and it seems like there was more than just the five of you when it seems like a certain pair of twins were here as well.

“hello there, children,” george snickers, “out of bed?” fred snorts.

“h-hey, how’d you guys get here?” ron hisses, and you could tell that he’s probably glaring at his brothers.

“think we’d join in on the fun, right georgie?” one of the two elbows the other.

“right you are, freddie,” the second from the first elbows back.

as the voices die out to the silence, past the dark, you gaze to fred’s direction to see he’s already looking at you. swallowing the lump in your throat, you quickly look away, up to the sky. you hate how your brain can’t process what hagrid is saying because of how nervous you feel. your heart is hammering in your chest at the sight of fred, and you hate how the boy doesn’t even know. it’s not until hagrid mentions your name that you find yourself coming back to reality instead of having your head in the clouds.

“well... i reckon y/n and mr. weasley look cute together, so i’ll put two of you in a boat!”

“m-me?!” ron squeaks, only for hagrid to snort, “not you, laddie!” he turns to the pair of ginger heads who glance at one another. hagrid effortlessly grabs ahold of fred and places him in the boat. then, he reaches for you to do the same and upon being placed in the boat, there’s a split moment you thought you’d fall into the abyss but fred’s hands are already by your sides, gently holding you down to take a seat.

your heart is about to fly out of your ribcage and you’re certain if this place was well-lit, might as well call yourself a cherry tomato at how hot your face feels at fred’s kind gesture.

“you alright?” he asks softly, trying to get comfortable on the wooden seat and you nod, trying to relax opposite him, “y-yeah, ‘m okay,”

you can’t even digest what hagrid is saying at the proximity between you and fred. usually there’s a large table between the pair of you or at least an arm’s length away when walking with friends but now? in a small boat that barely fits three people, here is two, mushed together, legs tangled. before you can try to comprehend the spell hagrid was casting, all you can feel is a small tingle of sparks tingling your body before your eyes force themselves shut at the sudden gush of wind greeting you.

it sends shivers down your spine before the boat accelerates with a ferocious speed that nearly sends you off the damned thing. luckily (or maybe the opposite...) there’s a pair of arms steadying you down, as if its’ keeping you grounded.

you realise you’re making incomprehensible sounds, as if you’re speaking in tongues that you ignore the soft chuckle coming from the boy next to you.

when you manage to catch your breath, the boat slows down and it’s like you can hear a pin drop. your eyes peel open and it’s almost pitch black, except the small glow of the night sky painted above you. your brows furrow when you feel your hands not in the position they were in before the boat took off... nor is your body. your eyes trail off to your hands to see they’re... wrapped around fred weasley’s torso and his, tucked around your waist. your cheek, pressed to his chest and gosh, he smells like cinnamon and-gasping, you pull away from him, yet he does it nonchalantly as if he’s unbothered, a smirk on his face.

“you know, i don’t mind it at all,” he winks, and you scoff a laugh at him, nudging him playfully (as if he could go very far), “oh sod off, weasley,”

there’s a moment of uncertainty and silence that falls over the pair of you. unsure if it was confusion or... nervousness or... both, you look around only to realize you have no idea where you were. it’s almost like... the only thing that’s lighted is the lamp attached to the boat and what seems to look like some stars scattered above. and... fred, right in front of you, who is currently looking right at you and nowhere else.

come to think of it, he doesn’t really look as surprised as you are.

“so... um... nice view, huh?” he tries to break the silence that bestows unknowingly, and he can’t help but grin at your response.

“freddie,” (because you’re calling him like that)

“yeah?”

“it’s pitch black and we can’t see anything,” your arm extends to point at the vast space of nothing. absolutely nothing.

“i mean i can see you,” he’s blunt, but then again, fred weasley has always been honest and direct with his words. however, when you catch the meaning of his words that... you’re the view he’s talking about, you can’t help but feel the butterflies roaming freely from within. yet, you shut them down whenever they tried to escape, muttering a quick, “ha ha, hilarious,”

you exhale deeply and roll your eyes, flicking the material of your robe lining your wrists. you’re still looking around to see if anything else was going to happen, because if this was part of hagrid’s little experiment, it’s not very impressive if it means he’s just going to cast a spell on a boat to speed across the wide sea of nothing.

fred doesn’t let you ponder too far, bringing you back to the topic you tried to brush off.

“i don’t think i was being funny, y/n,” he hasn’t looked away from you since, resting against his side of the boat and cocking a brow up to you when you finally do the same against your side of the boat, trying to make do with whatever space there is here.

“oh, really? then what?” you fold your arms, raising your brow,

“i mean, i think you look like an angel,” he shrugs, “just without the wings,”

“so like a normal, average person?” you sneer, using one of your foot to nudge against his. he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, gazing down to your legs closely pressed together because... this is a pretty small boat. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“what?” you feign innocence, blinking at him, “it’s not like you’re flirting with me,”

at your remark, that’s the first time it’s rendered fred speechless. his mouth hangs open, eyes widening before they scrunch in confusion as he stares at you incredulously.

“good golly, y/n. for someone as smart as hermoine, you are a bit daft sometimes, aren’t you?”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you huff, puffing your chest out as you lean closer to him without realising. he takes this opportunity to mirror your actions, leaning a bit too much for your comfort that he takes up the rest of your vision. it makes you gasp at how close he is again all of a sudden, making your head spin as he smiles at you this near, it’s as if you can count how many lashes he has despite it being this dark.

“well, now i’m going to ask, are you interested in me?” he tilts his head a little, teasing.

“y-you?” breathless is what you are, a little scared.

“yes, me,” he confirms, with a nod, “fred weasley,”

said boy doesn’t know which confuses him more: your statement, or the way you lean away from him once more, trying to create a bigger distance between the pair of you.

“i... well...” you debated being honest, but figured... if there’s a moment you had to be, now would be the perfect time to be nothing but honest when there’s literally only you and fred here. maybe, just maybe, whatever happens here, will stay here.

“i had to question myself multiple times if i was - if i’m being honest,” you were sure you were being soft, not trusting your voice to be an octave louder because you could feel your insides shaking. the thought of it alone scared you, but saying it out loud in front of the boy who has been keeping you up for countless of nights made it feel like there was a tsunami wrecking up inside.

it wasn’t that you didn’t like fred. godric, you do. if anything, you liked him so much you wondered it almost every other day if your feelings were... still there. and they were. every time he came up to you just to say good morning, or how you can hear him asking where you were when you were just a step behind from the rest, or the way he insisted to walk you to class because you had too many books for a pretty girl to carry (you had two). it made your heart feel full whenever he seemed to care about your presence but... you’d be lying if you said he only cared about you.

fred and george were no strangers to anyone (at least, the vast majority). being in the quidditch team, the ultimate duo of pranksters, of course their names were well-known at hogwarts. with that, it came to being friends with a lot of people as well. with that, it was also noticing how there were a swarm of girls interested in them. with that... (the last ‘with that’, promise), you couldn’t help but feel dejected whenever it’s also possible fred’s just a kind soul who is nice to everyone. you’ve seen it and heard it many, many times.

“y-you... had to question multiple times if you fancied me?”

him repeating your own confession back to yourself, made your anger boil from within. not at him but at yourself. no matter how hard you’re trying, you can’t seem to hold it back and-“of course i had to!” your voice echoes and it repeats a couple of times into fred’s ears. he's taken back by your sudden outburst, looking like a puppy that took a step too far and you almost hate yourself for raising your voice. your eyes avoid his as you look down to your fiddling thumbs, still flicking one and the other to relieve your nerves.

“o-of course i had to...” you mumbled softly, refusing to look at him and fred... fred doesn’t like that one bit.

“why?” he asks, the same volume you spoke and it seems like the boat has slowed down. you didn’t know if it was actually slowing down or if... your head is making you see things.

“because what if i get hurt from liking you too much? what if... you were as nice to me as everyone else and i’d spiral down this - this sick joke of being infatuated with you and all this while you had eyes for someone else?” you look up to him and this time, fred feels a knot tighten in his gut. the way you genuinely look... upset, and that these are your sincere thoughts, made him want to extinguish every single one of them but-”what if i’m in over my head that someone like you would like someone like me? o-or what if i misread the signs and-” your eyes flutter shut, feeling prickles against the back of your eyes as hot tears start to form.

you inhaled sharply and refuse to speak, knowing your voice will give out at the first sign of it cracking. a tear manages to escape, before you use your sleeves to wipe them away.

“y/n,” fred’s voice is as clear as day, the only thing vibrating against your eardrums in the tranquil.

“y-you don’t have to say anything, really,” you refuse to listen, shaking your head, ”it’s fine, this is pathetic and we can pretend this never-”

“y/n!” similar to your outburst, the sound of fred’s voice raising up in volume makes you flinch. your eyes shoot up to him but they don’t stay on him very long before you quickly look away, unable to look him in the eyes if he rejects you and-“i’m mad for you,”-there’s only so much your heart can... can...

what?

your face morphs into one of confusion, changing from afraid to... puzzled.

“w-what?”

fred licks his lips and tries to shift closer, testing the waters to see if you would move and you don’t. so when you don’t, he carefully makes you face him properly so he can look at you, a toothy grin appearing on his face as he brings the color return to your face.

“i’m way in over my head for you, love. so much i think it’s driving everyone bloody bonkers that i haven’t confessed up until now,” he gives you shoulders a squeeze before letting you go, seeing that you still need time to digest before he can try to show his affections for you. when he sees that you’re still very much in denial, he clears his throat to continue.

“do i think i go around asking people where you are all the time just because i didn’t fancy you? or how i constantly try to sit across from you because i really do think your smile is gorgeous?” he watches as you take the information in and it seems like the nuts and bolts were being placed in the right places when there’s a blush on your cheeks. he feels like he should stop, but when you’ve had your moment to say what you had to say, well, fred thinks he should have his moment to say what he wants to, too.

“do you think i’d go to honeydukes to get you pumpkin pasties, in the middle of a snowstorm just to cheer you up if i didn’t fancy you?”

“that really cheered me up, freddie,” you admit quietly, and fred refuses to give in, not now - no matter how hard you were making it for him by looking that adorable.

“merlin, y/n, i even got hagrid to put us here together so i’d have a chance to...” fred’s voice trails off quietly, “to...”

“t-to what?”

as if it’s on cue, there’s a small spark between the pair of you that rises from beneath the boat, flying up into the air at least two heads above and it combusts quietly. the words string out together as y/n, i think you’re an angel sent from above. could i, fred weasley, have the honors of going out with you?

it wasn’t particularly big or grand, but it was as if it was meant to be small enough for this intimate moment between the pair of you. after the words disappear, small tiny hearts start to fall down, as if in slow motion and you follow the hearts back into fred’s eyes. it finally sinks in that… the boy you had so desperately hoped to see you in the same light, is lighting up fireworks to show you just that.

“i-if this is some sort of sick joke, i’m going to kick you somewhere where it really hurts, fred weasley,”

he can only smirk, inching closer to you and locking you in place with his knees casing you in, “figured i’d be safe then,”

“you...” you had no idea how you were still sane, blinking a couple of times profusely to make sure this wasn’t a dream, “...really like me?” 

he knows you’re somewhat convinced. you just need... a little push to believe him completely.

“could i have the permission to show you, y/n?” he carefully uses a hand to tuck your hair behind your ear and gazes into your eyes.

“please do,” your voice comes out in a soft breath and it’s not long before your vision starts to blur, shifting the focus to just fred being in your line of sight.

fred shifts closer than he already is and reaches out with one arm to steady himself by your waist, the other gently cupping your cheek. he adores the way you gaze into his eyes as he brings his lips down onto yours, eyes flutters shut upon contact. he feels your body tensing at the initial touch of his lips, but soon you melt against him as he kisses you with such delicacy it’s making your heart swell. you can smell the hint of firecracker embers and a whiff of cinnamon on him. you didn’t know where this newfound source of confidence came from but your hands, gingerly crawl up his sides and wrap themselves around his neck that it earns you a soft sound of approval from him.

he can feel your smile against his lips, mimicking a smile you can feel on yours before teeth starts to break the kiss at how wide the both of you are grinning. you rest your forehead against his, breathless, and when fred opens his eyes before you to see yours still closed, at peace, his heart is for certain (as if he needed it to be).

he was so in love with you, he couldn’t see a day without you in it. and right now, where fred was the only thing you could see… you could finally see it.

“you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, his thumb gently caressing across your blushing cheek. it makes the side of your eyes crinkle as you open your eyes a little, a wide smile still apparent. “i feel pretty, freddie,”

“guess you’ll be feeling pretty all the time then,” he smirks, raising a brow, “i won’t let you have a chance to forget, i’m quite the charmer, you know?” he’s doing that thing with his eyebrows again, eliciting a laugh from you as you gently let your fingers run through his hair (and fred resists the urge to ask you to do it again, feeling his heart somersault at the innocent gesture).

“i mean, as long as you’re not shouting it down the halls or getting expelled for it, you’re more than welcomed,”

“...eh, no promises on the latter,” he shrugs, tsk-ing right after.

“freddie!” your hand hits his back gently.

“‘m only joking!” he laughs with you, shaking his head. he then lifts his chin up with a brow cocked, “or am i?”

fred has always found a way to make you smile, even in moments you never thought he’d be able to. today, at the sound of his confession and your feelings out in the open for each other, sealed with your lips together, it was another day of fred weasley making you smile so hard, your cheeks are hurting. it fills your heart with a feeling no one else could. 

surely, yes, surely, whatever happened here is going to stay here, for your memory only. however... the scenarios you imagined yourself doing with fred inside or out of the castle, were going to be a reality. not just a vision you see in your dreams. most certainly not when… he’s holding onto your hand tight, pressing kisses onto the back of it and smiling at you like you’re the only thing that matters to him.

whatever hagrid’s experiment was, albeit it’s a facade, you give him an outstanding.

((”hagrid, please! ’m begging you! just this once!” fred huffs, tailing the giant around.

“just this once, this boy says. reckon a week or two later he’d come back asking for the same thing!” the gatekeeper refuses to acknowledge fred following him back to his cottage. (yep, fred had been walking and begging all the way from the castle)

“c’mon, hagrid!”

fred only bumps against his back when hagrid stops walking. the ginger haired boy huffs and dusts his robe, shaking his head dejectedly. he turns around and begins his way back, mumbling to himself, “f-fine... i’ll figure something out then... i guess confessing to y/n on a hot air balloon would be the next shot,”

“hold your horses!” fred’s shoulders stiffen at the bellowing of hagrid’s voice. he turns around carefully to have hagrid storming up to him with curious eyes.

“did you say y/n, freddie boy?”

“...yeah...?” he’s beyond confused, but he can’t deny the excitement from within when hagrid looks sold upon the mention of your name.

with a devilish smirk, hagrid instantly agrees, “alrightie lad! i’ll do it!”

fred doesn’t try his luck to question why, only grateful that hagrid is on his side to help.

hagrid doesn’t disclose to fred why he’s interested all of a sudden, but let’s just say, this friendly giant has been a bearer to your secrets for a while now, and when hagrid sees this opportunity in front of his eyes... c’mon, you can’t expect him to pass on it.))

//

(((”d’you see anything?” hagrid asks, giving harry - who was resting on hagrid’s shoulders - a nudge,

“darn it, no. it’s too dark to see anything,” the boy in round-glasses huffs, shaking his head.

“maybe you guys should actually give them some space. you know, the whole point of them being so far only where it’s just the two of them?” hermoine chastises, refusing to join the boys with their nosy antics of figuring out what was going on between you and fred.

“ah, but then where would all the fun be?” george chimes, finding a way to climb onto a tree just to see if he could get a peep.)))

#mels500challenge #fred weasley fanfics #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fic #fred weasley imagines #fred harry potter #harry potter #harry potter fanfics #harry potter scenes #harry potter imagines #fluff #;w; #im so so so #idk #i feel happy and giddy #HEHEHE #i hope you enjoy #!!!

[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (v)

word count: 4.6k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of poor parenting and damaged familial relationships

series masterpost: here

a/n: and just like that we're halfway through!!! it's crazy to think about it. however, lots happens in this chapter so buckle up peeps

Soon Magdalene’s feelings are going to get the better of her.

She knows she’s heading down a dangerous path but she can’t help it. Ryan is like a drug she can’t get enough of even though she knows it will hurt her in the long run. Living with him has opened her up to the laid back, intelligent, incredibly funny man he is and Magdalene doesn’t know how she’s ever going to function in her own space ever again. They complement each other like two peas in a pod, and everyone else is starting to catch on to the shift in their relationship.

“When are you going to fess up to Ryan about your feelings?” Bette asks as the two of them sit on the lawn across from the university library. It’s mid October, but the weather is still warm enough that Magdalene eats her lunch outside. Her best friend decided to join her today, no doubt knowing that she’s feeling a little lonely. The Avalanche are in the middle of their season opening road trip and have been gone for nearly five days. Ryan’s condo feels empty without him in it, and Magdalene misses him an unfathomable amount.

“Never, if I can help it,” she replies casually, taking a bite of the turkey wrap that Bette brought her from Barn Owl.

The blonde scoffs. “Fuck off. You have to. What are you going to do when he gets back from Florida and you tackle him as soon as he steps through the door.”

“Caligula will get there first,” Magdalene shrugs. “Those two are thick as thieves.”

Truthfully, Magdalene wasn’t sure what she was going to do. This is the longest they’ve been separated since she moved in and it’s proving to be a harder adjustment than she thought. Magdalene feels a little silly missing him so much – she went nearly twenty-six years without knowing Ryan but now he’s imprinted on her soul for the rest of eternity. Living without him seems impossible.

Bette drops the conversation then, almost as if she knows Magdalene is in her own world thinking about what to do. She mentions the upcoming home opener and her plans to attend with a couple of the other wives and girlfriends. “We’re going out beforehand and you should join us! I really think you’d like most of them.”

The bell in the clock tower rings, signalling the start of another hour, and Magdalene promises she’ll consider the offer as they pack up the picnic and say goodbye. It’s a short walk back to the building she works in, seeing as they were only across the street, but it takes a while for the elevator to come around. Magdalene could have taken the stairs down to the basement but they scare her a lot more than she’d like to admit. Hopefully June won’t mind her being a few minutes late.

Her boss doesn’t look too pleased when Magdalene strolls through the door almost seven minutes later then she should have, but as soon as she tosses the cookie Bette brought her in June’s direction all is forgiven. They work in near silence all afternoon, background noise provided by the small stereo in the corner and their respective grunts of frustration when an image doesn’t digitize properly. The university has finally decided to undertake the massive project of making all their school records available to the public online, and Magdalene and June are in charge of getting all the files ready before sending them to IT for installation into the website. It’s a huge task and is going to take them the better part of a month and a half to finish. Magdalene spends the rest of her work day finishing up a box of graduation records from the 1870s and leaves smelling of very old paper.

On the drive home she considers the invitation Bette extended to her. Magdalene knows she’ll be attending the game, having promised Ryan before he left that she’d be there, but she doesn’t know how to feel about going out for dinner and drink beforehand – especially with people so involved with the team. She isn’t like them, in nearly every sense of the phrase, and doesn’t want people to get the wrong idea. It wouldn’t be fair to Ryan for people to assume they’re together in case he ever does want to bring someone around, but Magdalene can’t help thinking that the speculation wouldn’t hurt. Perhaps it would be the clue that shows him how she feels.

The invite stays in the back of her brain while she heats up leftovers and eats quickly, knowing that Ryan will call soon. He’s like clockwork with his precise game day routine, and he always calls shortly after four o’clock when out east. Magdalene’s phone buzzes from the spot beside her on the couch and she quickly scoops it up and accepts the call.

“Hey,” she says, a little breathless because she’s so excited to talk to him.

“Hey yourself. How was work?” Magdalene can tell Ryan’s got a smile on his face even though she can’t see him. She indulges the question, telling him all about the stuff she digitized and what’s next. Though she always tries to get out of talking about work, fearing it will bore the daylights out of him, Ryan insists on hearing every detail Magdalene wants to share. He finds it all fascinating and tells her so every chance he gets. During her monologue Caligula wanders over and becomes extremely invested after he hears Ryan laugh at something Magdalene said. The small white cat jumps onto Magdalene’s lap and tries to paw the phone away from her ear.

“Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker. Little boots would like to talk.”

At the sound of Ryan’s greeting, Caligula starts meowing up a storm. It’s as though he’s actually holding a conversation with the man, waiting for Ryan to say something before he continues to make noise. Magdalene laughs through what could barely classify as a conversation until the cat gives her space to talk again.

“So,” she says, drawing out the word in an attempt to make Ryan laugh. “Bette asked me to join her and some of the other girls for drinks before Friday’s game.”

Ryan’s responding before Magdalene has finished uttering the last words. “That’s great! I think you should go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly, “It would be nice for you to know someone other than Bette.”

Magdalene is surprised at the response, but tries her hardest to keep her tone light and teasing. “Why, you plan on keeping me around Mr. Graves?” She can tell Ryan is struggling to come up with an answer because there’s a fair amount of sputtering on the other end of the line.

“I’d be stupid to let you go.”

All the breath in Magdalene’s lungs escapes her. She didn’t expect him to say something like that, and it sends her mind reeling. What does he mean? Unable to process the comment, Magdalene makes up an excuse and hangs up as quickly as possible. She spends the rest of the night wondering if Ryan was trying to make a move and deciding how she should handle his homecoming in a few days.

☼☼☼☼

When Ryan gets home Thursday morning Magdalene is at work. Caligula is happy to see him, practically pouncing on him and purring so loud Ryan’s sure the neighbours heard the cat. For an animal so small, Caligula can make a lot of noise if he wants.

“Hi boy,” Ryan coos, adjusting his grip on the cat so he doesn’t get dropped while the two of them move around the house. “Did your mom talk about me while I was gone? Been thinking about her a lot lately.”

The cat doesn’t respond, of course, but Ryan finds comfort in vocalizing his emotions. Multiple times on the road trip Tyson made fun of him for the silent pining he’s found himself participating in since Magdalene moved in, and hinted that she might have said something to Bette. Neither of them are great at keeping secrets, but Ryan also knows they want him and Magdalene to get together and aren’t above manipulation to achieve their goals. He doesn’t know how Magdalene actually feels, but Ryan isn’t willing to risk losing their friendship. Just a couple of months ago she sat on the deck of the lake house and told him she wasn’t looking for a relationship – he has to assume that’s still her position because if he doesn’t Ryan isn’t quite sure what he’ll unleash. Though the two of them are close, closer than most friends, Magdalene stills keeps a lot of things to herself and Ryan doesn’t want to pry. When, and if, she’s ready he knows she’ll come to him.

Exhausted from the countless hours of travel he’s endured over the past few days and the pains that come along with being a professional athlete, Ryan falls back onto the couch cushions. He hurts in places he didn’t know existed and wants to do nothing but sleep. Caligula settles into his stomach, purring contently, and though he knows he should unpack his gear, Ryan can’t find the energy to move himself or the cat. Everything will still be there when he wakes up, and hopefully Magdalene will be on her way home. She texted Ryan earlier in the morning, no doubt just before she headed out the door, to say that she was taking some holidays to have a long weekend and would be home around noon. Sleep comes easy with Caligula nestled against his body, and Ryan dreams of Magdalene as he frequently does.

☼☼☼☼

Despite Bette telling her countless times she shouldn’t be, Magdalene is nervous. The significant others of the Colorado Avalanche are a tight knit group and are very particular with who they let in. Magdalene is a nothing, has no true connections to the team besides being Tyson’s girlfriend’s best friend, and she’s worried she won’t make the cut. If it wasn’t for Bette picking her up in the morning Magdalene would have found a way to get out of drinks, but the blonde made sure she couldn’t make a run for it.

Sitting in the elevated booth, she not-so-casually sips her glass of wine while Bette tries to calm her down. “They’re going to hate me,” she groans, lowering her head to rest it on the table.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bette counters. “You literally know most of them, and Livy will be here if you get too uncomfortable, but most of them were at EJ’s back in May.”

Magdalene can’t argue with the truth, so she rolls her eyes and finishes her drink. By the time she flags down the waiter for a refill the other girls have arrived. They take turns hugging Bette and shuffling into their seats. Magdalene feels awkward with no one acknowledging her, but she does her best to buck up and deal with it. It means a lot to Bette, and Ryan, that she’s here trying to make friends so she’ll at least make an effort.

A blonde who looks a little older than the rest addresses her first. “I’m not sure if you remember me, but I’m Mel. I think we met last season at a game.”

It takes Magdalene a second to recall the face, but then she recognizes Mel as the person who alerted her to the fight Ryan got into to defend Tyson. “Oh yeah,” she chuckles, though it’s still got a nervous quality, “You’re the one who was yelling about Ryan’s fight.”

Everyone looks at her like Magdalene had confessed to seeing a ghost. “What’s the matter?”

“No one ever calls him that,” a petite girl with tight curls explains. “We all just call him Gravy.”

“Oh.”

Magdalene isn’t sure what the comment is supposed to mean, or if it even meant anything at all, but she does her best to push it aside because Livy is trying to catch up with her. The rest of the outing goes well – Magdalene keeps quiet until someone gives an inaccurate analogy about Rome and she has to correct them. It may make her seem stuck up, but she really hates when people spread misinformation. Everyone laughs, and after that it’s hard for Magdalene to stay silent. She talks about work and college, but when someone asks about home she shuts down. Bette notices the shift in her behaviour before Magdalene’s face has even dropped, and shifts the conversation in another direction. Soon it’s a respectable time to head to the arena and they all pay their tabs, Magdalene going first and then ducking out of the bar that became crowded while they were sitting down.

The fresh air feels good against her skin, and she takes the time alone to regulate her thoughts. There’s still several hours until she can return home and cry in the shower over the mention of her family so it’s important to present a calm facade. Bette comes out slightly ahead of the other girls and checks in with her friend, but Magdalene assures her she’s okay. It was a bit of a spook, but the other girls have no idea about how fucked up her familial situation is so Magdalene can’t hold it against them. The arena is a few blocks over, so the group walks towards it at a brisk pace. Magdalene’s mind is still churning from the bar when they step inside, so she peels off from the rest of the group. Warm ups are about to start and she knows that seeing Ryan will help to calm her down, at least until they can go home and she can sequester herself away from the rest of the world.

She finds a space against the glass and strains her eyes for her new favourite number. Ryan hasn’t made it out on the ice yet, but Tyson gives her a big wave when he skates past. It takes a few seconds, though it feels like years, but Ryan eventually steps out, all long limbs and hair and dazzling smile as his teammates give him big hi-fives. Magdalene doesn’t want to intrude but she needs to spend a few moments with him to feel completely present. When he skates by she waves shyly, and Ryan doubles back once he realizes who it is.

“There’s my favourite girl!” he shouts over the crowd, making sure Magdalene can hear.

The phrase brings a smile to her face, which in turn makes Ryan light up more. “Hi Ry,” she yells back. “I just wanted to come and say hi.”

Ryan’s heart warms at her words, but he knows that’s not the only reason. He’s lived with her long enough to know that something is bothering her but he isn’t going to push. There isn’t much time to have a conversation, so Ryan takes the time to make plans for after the game. “You riding home with me?”

Magdalene nods. “Yeah. Bette picked me up this morning so I didn’t drive.”

The loud sound of sticks clapping against the ice startles them both, and it’s Ryan’s teammate’s way of getting him to refocus. Magdalene says goodbye and before Ryan heads back to the bench he flips a puck over the glass for her. She smiles brightly, and watches him skate away. On her way up the stairs she hands it to a little girl wearing a much too big Graves jersey. It makes her night, and Magdalene returns to the private box she’s watching the game from feeling much lighter than when she entered the arena.

☼☼☼☼

Later, much later, after all of Ryan’s post game media and sitting through the traffic of downtown, Magdalene opens up about what was bothering her at the arena. The two of them are curled up in Ryan’s bed buried under a mass of blankets with several pillows strewn about. It’s become a frequent place for them to spend time, and every time they lay down Magdalene rests her head on Ryan’s chest and he keeps her in place with his arms wrapped tightly around her. Magdalene’s clutching his hoodie tighter than usual, her voice small as she speaks into the darkness of the room.

“I didn’t just want to say hi earlier.”

Ryan isn’t surprised by her confession, but wants to know what caused the surprise visit. “No? What was it?”

Magdalene lift head and shifts to face him, propping herself up with an open palm. “It’s kind of stupid,” she mumbles, feeling dumb for even bringing it up. Ryan doesn’t want to know the sob story that is her past life. “But it’s mostly okay now.”

“You don’t have to tell me, and I don’t want to push, but I think getting it off your chest will help,” he whispers, feeling like talking in a normal voice could startle the girl in front of him.

He’s right – Magdalene knows it. Telling someone the truth, as much of the truth as she can share, other than Bette would do her some good. Her therapist once said Magdalene needed to work on letting people in, and she figures there’s no one better than Ryan. “One of the girls asked me about home when we were getting drinks, and it’s just a really sore subject for me. I shut down and just needed to see you to ground myself.” Ryan goes to talk, but Magdalene continues. “No one really knows, but I left for Denver as soon as I graduated high school. My parents weren’t the greatest, and I suffered a lot emotionally at home. When I told them I was leaving, they told me never to come back and we haven’t spoken since. So yeah, that’s pretty much it. And I just needed to see you to remind myself that I’m okay without my family. You’re part of my family now, the one that really matters.”

Ryan is speechless. “Oh bug,” he sighs, heart hurting for all the pain Magdalene has experienced in her life. “I’m so sorry.” He wants to scream for her, maybe even break something, but all his anger dissipates when he looks down and sees her crying. Silently, Ryan wipes away the tears with the pad of his thumb and holds Magdalene until she stops trembling. They lay in silence for a while, sitting with the weight of the confession she just made. At some point Caligula shuffles in and finds a spot at Ryan’s side that isn’t occupied by Magdalene. The three of them feel like a little family, and it’s too good for Magdalene not to do something about.

“Can I kiss you?”

She’s never been so confident while asking a question. Magdalene knows he wants to kiss Ryan, has known for a while, and after baring her soul to him it seems like an appropriate time to take the plunge. They’ve never truly been just friends and everyone around them, including themselves, knows it.

“Mags,” Ryan says in a gentle yet stern voice, “I’m not gonna kiss you. You’ve just been very vulnerable with me, which I appreciate, and though I really really want to fucking kiss you I’m going to take advantage of you like that.”

If it were possible, Magdalene’s heart would expand so much it would be close to bursting. “I promise this is what I want and that I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. So please shut the fuck up and let me kiss you.”

She leans forward to connect their lips, and it feels like a fire has been ignited in her veins. Ryan is soft and gentle with the right amount of grit to make Magdalene weak in the knees. They move in tandem, giving and taking where necessary, and by the time they pull apart for air Magdalene thinks she’ll never be able to kiss anyone other than Ryan. When he looks at her, eyes kind and glimmering with light, Magdalene is certain kissing other people is off the table.

Neither of them make an effort to talk about what just happened or what it means. Instead, Magdalene kisses him again, and again, and keeps going until she’s completely out of breath. There’s no protest from Ryan, and he looks as blissful as Magdalene feels. She rests her head on his chest again and he cards his fingers through her hair as they sit in the comfortable silence that surrounds them.

☼☼☼☼

Magdalene keeps kissing Ryan, and he keeps kissing her. It’s always in the safety of his apartment, oftentimes with Caligula in the way, but wholesome and loving and warm. They haven’t defined their relationship, and truthfully Magdalene is glad. She likes being friends with Ryan and doesn’t know how the added pressures of dating would affect them – though she might like kissing him more than just being friends.

It becomes routine for either of them to reach for a kiss before heading to the door. Magdalene gets one every time she leaves for work, and if she’s there before Ryan has to leave for games he’s pulled into her lips by his tie. It’s fun and it’s new and Magdalene never wants it to end. She keeps the secret for a couple weeks, but eventually it becomes too much to hold in and she tells Bette one Saturday when they meet for brunch at Barn Owl because the boys are away.

“I kissed Ryan.” It’s out of her mouth like a bullet, cutting through the air and ringing out. Bette is shocked, jaw dropping, only to open further when Magdalene corrects herself. “Been kissing Ryan, actually.”

“You’re fucking joking,” Bette laughs, still not one hundred percent sure Magdalene is being serious. When the brunette nods her head, she squeals in what can only be presumed as delight. “Shut up! Tell me everything!”

Magdalene indulges her friend, and spills every detail she’s willing to share. Part of her wants to keep a bit of her life with Ryan a secret so she does, but Bette is more than willing to work with the information given. She listens carefully while Magdalene talks and waits until there’s nothing more to say before diving into a long list of reasons why kissing Ryan is the best thing that’s ever happened to her friend. Magdalene isn’t sure that it’s great because Bette will always have someone to go to games with, but she is in agreement that it is one of the best choices she’s ever made. They spend the rest of the morning giggling like school girls over potential love and Magdalene heads back to Ryan’s place feeling light and airy.

☼☼☼☼

The first thing Ryan does when he comes home is kisses Magdalene. She’s sitting on the couch with Caligula on her lap reading a book, and he doesn’t even bother to drop his bags on the floor before leaning over the worn leather and connecting their lips. It feels heavenly after the days-long absence and Magdalene chases his lips when Ryan pulls away.

“I missed you.”

They’re three words that shouldn’t mean much, but coming from him they send Magdalene spiralling. He missed her? The girl who spends her days geeking out over old documents and talks to her cat? Regardless of how true the statement is she appreciates it, because Magdalene missed Ryan more than she could ever explain.

“How was the flight home?” she asks, twirling a lock of his hair around her index finger and pulling him down for another kiss. Ryan happily obliges, and kisses her until Caligula begins to meow for attention. The cat practically launches himself into Ryan’s arms as he rounds the corner to sit down next to Magdalene, and purrs loudly at being reunited with the tall man.

Ryan laughs at the animal’s antics before wrapping his spare arm around Magdalene and pulling her close. “It was fine. We hit a bit of turbulence that made it hard to sleep but I managed,” he replies, and reaches for the television remote. Magdalene hums in response, resting her head on Ryan’s shoulder and returning her attention to the book in her hands. It’s silent except for the low buzz of the television as Ryan reviews tape, but neither of them mind. Co-existing is enough for both of them, and it’s peaceful and easy. The occasional conversation occurs but they mostly do their own thing, enjoying the feeling of being together again. More than a few kisses are shared, and Magdalene eventually pries herself away from Ryan long enough to make dinner.

They stayed glued to each other until Magdalene falls asleep. Ryan doesn’t even notice when it happens, but eventually he tries to leave the couch to get a glass of water and finds dead weight on top of him in the shape of the girl he just might love. Magdalene’s snoring softly, and he’s positive there is nothing more adorable in the entire world. A glance at the clock on the wall alerts Ryan to the fact that he should go to bed too, and he begins to brainstorm how to get Magdalene into bed without waking her. She’s been exhausted lately, working extended hours, and he knows she needs all the rest she can get.

It takes a few moments to coordinate, but Ryan gets himself upright without Magdalene realizing she’s no longer using him as a pillow. Gently he scoops her into his arms and pads down the hallway, careful not to hit her ankles on the walls or door frames. Once inside her room, Ryan tucks Magdalene into bed and makes sure her phone is on the nightstand just where she likes it. She looks so content in sleep that he can’t help but lean down and press a shirt kiss to her forehead.

“Night Mags,” he whispers into the dark, wondering if she’ll wake and hear all the adoration his voice holds.

Magdalene stirs at the noise, and opens her eyes to see Ryan’s retreating figure. “Night Ry.”

It’s late, approaching two in the morning, when Magdalene’s phone starts ringing off the hook. Though Ryan has told her multiple times that she doesn’t need to turn her sound on before she goes to bed, she can never find it in her to heed his words. What if there’s an emergency somewhere and some hospital has to get a hold of her? Magdalene would never be able to forgive herself if she was too late because she slept through the incoming calls.

Despite her underlying fears of missing something important, Magdalene considers letting it go to voicemail. She’s exhausted, between the high maintenance projects at work and trying her hardest to go to every Avalanche home game she can, and if it’s urgent she’s sure the person will call again if they need her. It rings three more times before Magdalene decides to pick it up – if only to stop the incessant noise.

Not bothering to even see who’s calling at such an ungodly hour, Magdalene speaks in a sleep-laden voice that betrays what she was doing not even a minute prior. “Hello?”

Bette answers her, offering a quick but sincere apology for the time but explaining that it couldn’t wait. Magdalene groans in contempt, thinking that it most certainly could have waited a few more hours. She doesn’t voice her opinion however, instead waiting for her friend to spill whatever news was making her bounce up and down on the other side of the line.

She’s about to hang up when Bette utters a sentence Magdalene’s been waiting for but never thought she’d hear at one fifty-seven am. “I’m getting married!”

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @samsteel @lovethepreds @cutiesara23 @hockeyallthetime @stlouisbluesbrat21 @denis-scorianov @danglesnipecelly @c-tangerine @stormingroses @spine-buster @rapidfever @bb-nhlqueen7 (add yourself to the taglist!)

#ryan graves imagine #ryan graves x oc #ryan graves fic #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites #dmtteol

[jess-the-vampire]

Sooooo whatya think of the new episodeee?

Oh it’s definitely my favorite episode of the series so far, i was having such a good time at every turn. I’m glad i went out of my way to avoid spoilers, cause i was glad to actually be surprised by some elements on first watch.

I think this had by far the best opening for an episode so far, we finally get back to the villians, we meet the coven heads, we get insight on belos’s plans-

and then belos gets constipated, which starts getting into the more character driven lore, which is the best part. You instantly can tell GG and Kiki have some bit of tension between them to be Belo’s favorite, though granted i wonder if hunter is the only one to know belos is cursed and actually just always insists to help belos with his fits to prevent others from seeing them.

Including kiki.

It’s honestly unclear how aware anyone is that belos is cursed, like him eating pailsmans is apparently not something he hides, but like....i feel him being cursed is something that people would know universally if it got out...so i’m left wondering if anyone knows besides hunter.

Regardless, belos turns into a goop monster with an angry side, and i guess his mask doesn’t transform with him compared to the rest of his body so he breaks it again because i guess he goes though masks like crazy.

Hunter turns away in this scene from his outburst and even though he’s masked here i can already tell he’s most likely pained in these scenes. Like he’s probably seen this happen so many times, and i can’t imagine it gets any easier for him, it’s probably awful to watch belos suffer like this for him (Regardless of the abuse)

And to be honest, it seems pretty painful for him, i think this ep seems to at least confirm whatever this thing is that takes over belos’s body.....belos never actually wanted it in the first place. 

Yeah so after Hunter tells belos there’s not enough trees to medicate him anymore, we’re hit with the “UNCLE”. Which, when i first watched it i needed a second to even process the fact they confirmed their relation.

and i was like “CLOSE ENOUGH”, not his kid but uncle still works just fine for me, i’m just happy my assumption they were related actually came to ahead.

And i rewatched this episode a few times, and on second watch i realized more what happened in this scene. Hunter was talking about his interest in wild magic, and making more pailsman to help belos, and some method that could heal him and as soon as belos looked at him he instantly shut down.

He was clearly rambling about wild magic cures for belos because of his interest in it, and then suddenly remembered his uncle hates wild magic and felt super awkward.

It seems highly likely his interest in wild magic came from trying to cure belos and spending a lot of time reading up on the stuff. 

And then we get hit with the whole “Our family is dead because of wild magic” line, which.....i’m curious to know what happened there. But it does at least explain why belos feels how he does, if wild magic both killed his family beside hunter AND cursed him in the first place. We’re just gonna need more info on what exactly happened.

Also while Belos is def abusive and does not treat hunter how he should, this scene actually does read off to me like belos does care about hunter to some degree. If belos is cursed and his curse works in similar ways to how Eda’s curse works, then it’s worth reminding ppl that eda mentions early this season how stress can amplify the curse even more.

And sure enough, belos goes goopy on hunter’s shoulder all of a sudden when he grasps him. Which could be considered a sign of stress and that the idea of hunter dying or being in danger actually does stress him.

You could very much also assume this is just due to his curse not being fully handled and just getting worse, or that belos only cares about hunter for selfish reasons....but i’m not taking anything off the table here.

Belos can still be a shitty uncle, and still care about hunter, these aren’t mutually exclusive traits. But we need more episodes for now on this.

But anyways he asks hunter if he can rely on him, kiki is pissed......and we move on.

So i’m glad luz’s impulsiveness is addressed a ton in this episode, they actually bring up a lot of good points. That luz has no plan, that the time she’s spending here might render moot if she goes back to earth, ect ect.

Hunter even calls her out a lot later for not thinking things through, it’s a whole deal in this episode. I’m glad it was brought up cause it’s actually worth asking a lot of these things.

the set up here works, they actually made a good reason for why a pailsman didn’t bond with her. Speaking of which the adoption thing is cute and i love it, it’s a great idea. The designs are all very cute and fun.

Bump face reveal was a lot for me to process, but i find the idea of his pailsman being a pet that can help with his disabilities a good idea.

Also like, i did find it odd that they got staffs so early because we’ve never seen kids their ages with them before, but i guess it’s a new tradition? Does everyone at hexside now have one?

Honesty not sure why batqueen left the nest there overnight, i meant i guess she assumed they were safe with that shield but in context i dunno why she didn’t take them home after the school day was over.

but whatever, luz stays there overnight hoping  a pailsman will bond with her and GG just kidnapps them cause of pure luck on his part a bunch of pailsman were in a vulnerable spot tonight.

So GG continues to be charming, by whistling the theme song and then being blasted off his ship hilariously, before cockily teleporting himself right back on it seconds later. Like he and luz have great banter, he’s so extra like this it’s so funny, and god he’s so FAST with that staff it’s scary but so awesome.

Yeah so then hand dragon crashes them and i was so excited cause it meant face reveal. Poor dude looked so in pain and then we find out kiki tried to effing murder him because of course she did. But like, i think killing your boss’s nephew is the WORST way to get a promotion tbh.

(Also i got confused for a bit cause his mask has always been drawn as a mask, but now it’s a helmet in this scene for whatever reason but-)

Anyways, face reveal, Like honestly ppl weren’t too far off with their guesses, really the only thing people didn’t get was the tooth gap (That was fair tho, we couldn’t have guessed that). But it did make him even cuter.

like the banter is funny, he licks her hand, she slaps him, he looks SO pissed at her for this mess.

and i guess that outfit is his under armor apparently.

He’s lucky she didn’t run away immediately and followed him, but maybe he assumed she would since she had no where else to go.

Also his expressions in this ep are glorious, these had to be fun to draw.

Also we find out that the coven team members have never seen his face i guess? They just assume he’s a silly kid and are awful to him, so i guess he’s not only the youngest member of the coven but he never really shows his face much.

(”Call your parents”, ha ha.....whose gonna tell them who his uncle is?)

He is however, REALLY good at parkour and he’s fast even without his staff, so he’s well trained alright.

And then they reveal he’s not magical and i was SO happy cause i was so sure something was up when he wasn’t doing magic like the other witches despite his pointy ears. So they outright confirmed what i thought.

Hunter is pretty smart tho, like he can tell luz wouldn’t hurt him and wouldn’t flee so he knows he has the high ground here. Like he might be being a bit of a dick, but to be fair luz has been nothing but a dick to him throughout the whole episode (Everyone in this episode has been a dick to him tbh)

They team up and i get excited cause i love this kinda stuff and it gets more wholesome because hunter is super interested in her magic, he thinks it’s cool and you can tell how much he actually loves wild magic but then again...shuts himself down because of belos making him fear the stuff.

An then because luz asks, he tells her his backstory.

honestly with how this world treats people who aren’t magically powerful, living and growing up in a world that would find you useless sounds....awful. Hunter must be an anomaly around here, human blood or not.

Luz coming here to learn is different then growing up in a world and being the only one with no abilities and no future without them. Belos provides him with magic and a future, it’s no wonder he stays with him despite everything.

the whole “Found me” thing is weird, cause belos implies they’re blood related and hunter makes it sound like belos semi-adopted him. Which....if he did i dunno why “Uncle” and not “Adopted dad”, but ok....guess that’s for later.

Apparently hunter is important for something tho with the “Titan has big plans for me” thing, not sure what, but-

But yeah as soon as Hunter talked about wanting to make his own future and Rascal tried to land on him i knew EXACTLY where this was going, it was so cuteeeeee. The lil birb wanted to be with hunter, that’s so wholesome.

And he’s so terrified because of belos and what wild magic did to him, the poor bab.

But yeah, luz then trusts him with his staff back, because again....impulsive. But hunter does actually ask if she’s sure, so he might as well be asking if she trusts him.

The plan goes ahead, and hunter nearly betrays her.

though granted, hunter never promised her he’d stop and let her take them away, the truce was supposed to last till kiki was stopped and they were gonna fight out who got the pailsman. But it does bother luz cause she was hopeful he was better then this.

But just like he did before, she calls him out and he doesn’t betray her, because he’s ALSO too nice to do it, just like he said she was. He says his name (Which also took a moment to process), and then beats the crap out of kiki while letting luz get away and protecting her like a badass.

He might not have magic, but he’s good at fighting

like he can easily teleport to luz and take the pailsman, but he doesn’t, he lets them get away and luz knows this. Even though she also knows hunter has to go back to the emperor too and they have to separate.

It’s only slightly bitter terms, because in the end he came through for her and she knows it.

honestly, the worst part is i can’t even be mad at hunter for it, i’m sure he was terrified to fail belos. Both because he loves him and doesn’t want him to suffer....but also because of well...being punished. Really says something when his near betrayal doesn’t even make me mad at him, and i can understand why he nearly did it.

He let her go, knowing he’d be in SERIOUS trouble and that it would hurt someone he actually loves, so....ouch.

so yeah at this point i knew rascal wanted him so it was only of matter of what happened next.

Which was, luz getting the wood, which i like more anyway. Eda and King doing this offscreen and coming home like this is actually very funny, and honestly i appreciate the message of it being ok to wait.....means a lot to me.

yeah so belos is like...being an ass, like the kid tried his hardest, you don’t need to hit him with the “Is this the thanks i get?”. He’s a kid and he’s trying to cure you you dick, give him a break he doesn’t remotely have to help you like this.

Also apparently belos has not even told hunter HOW this happened, like...dude. Hunter is trying to be entirely reasonable here and belos spikes at him, which does imply some physical abuse though the only reason hunter doesn’t get a new scar is because he moves.

but how he reacts implies this has happened before, he is bracing for impact and he flinches. It’s pretty sad tbh, especially since hunter loves him and belos’s respect means something to him.

Belos is such an idiot, like c’mon dude, hunter is trying to help you and you don’t listen to him you dick. Kid shouldn’t have to say sorry for anything he did nothing wrong, he was just trying to help.

Anyways, he gloats at kiki (So at the very least she knows what he looks like under the mask), which he deserves a chance to do anyway. So i guess he didn’t rat her out for trying to kill him, personally my guess why is blackmail.....he was gonna hold it over her head to keep her from doing it again and threaten to tell belos.

But kiki quickly tells he LET the pailsman get away since he was the one to fight her (Curse his cute loose hair strand). So i guess now they have dirt on each other, so that’s fun.

His room is adorable, though the med kit by the bed is concerning.

Rascal comes for him and it;s so cute....though you can tell hunter nearly hurts him on instinct because of force of habit, but it’s so cute how he cares and how the birb loves him and is his new staff.

it was well hinted to as well, it’s so subtle, but the bird being cheery, curious, and his constant habit of escaping boundaries was perfect for hunter. He represents what hunter wants to be and why they got matched is done so well, all without explaining anything.

Hunter indirectly stated his deepest wish, to make his own choices, and rascal resonated with that. 

can’t wait to see where this goes.

great ending shot, love me some conflicted shots looking out of windows like trapped birds.

also this title was a pun the whole time i can’t-

#the owl house #toh #toh spoilers #golden guard #toh golden guard #the owl house golden guard #the golden guard #the owl house luz #emperor belos #kikimora

[reidecorating]

L'amore Vero È Così (True Love is Like This)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader  

A/N: Woke up with a killer headache after celebrating the end of 2020 and thought writing something loosely based off events that took place on NYE would be a good cure. Hope this year’s been treating you all well!

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Summer nights and Spencer Reid make it hard for anyone to keep their hands to themselves. Add David Rossi’s holiday mansion and wine to the mix, and watch a dangerously hot fuse ignite

Warnings: Language (as in cursing AND me just completely butchering Italian), unprotected sex, penetrative sex

Masterlist

Maybe it was the Sauternes. Like a spark igniting along the fuse of dynamite, the sweet sting of white grape travelled down her throat, every sip exploding in kaleidoscopic vision and unfiltered words. Even so, it wasn’t the alcohol she was drunk on. No, not drunk - she wasn’t drunk - she was absolutely intoxicated. Not by anything of substance, but by an overwhelming desire for the man she had arrived with. 

Spencer Reid often felt out of place standing in any absurdly large entranceway, belonging to the old Italian with new money, recurrently settling for shifting from shoe to shoe, before taking a deep breath and pressing the doorbell with the hand unoccupied by a bottle he wouldn’t be drinking from. However, his sobriety was far from the cause of his imposter syndrome. Rather, it was the way he always arrived alone, while, what felt like, the rest of the team trickled in with their spouses or significant others. Whilst pairs would dance to vinyl sounds of Bowie, leaving little room for him and the odd number his presence formed in the abacus of the group, he would loiter in a corner, or, on occasion, entertain his godson with a pack of cards. More frequently, he would rattle off excuses about needing the restroom, only to spend his time exploring the corridors of a rather impressive house. A get together at David Rossi’s holiday home was uncommon, and the last time Spencer had wound up here, he found himself inspecting the tiny forgotten library the man housed, attempting to decipher the various foreign books residing on its mahogany shelves as he heard his friends stumbling their way through the Salsa downstairs. L'isola di Arturo, with sterling lettering on its ageing spine showing a familiar pen name, had quickly become his favourite. When he’d first translated the pages, he had chuckled at the parallels between himself and its disconsolate protagonist. However, after years of his ongoing solitude, and lonely arrivals to a castle full of people, he finally had someone on his arm. 

“Wait, what does this mean? I can make out the ‘amore’ but not much else,” That someone now squinted at the words his index finger underlined as he read her the words of that very book, aloud. “Hm?” He was visibly distracted by the Patchouli blend of orange and jasmine emanating from her skin as she leaned against his shoulder to read the page herself. “L'amore vero è così,” she whispered, unsure of the correct pronunciation but attempting it anyway. “Non ha nessuno scopo e nessuna ragione, e non si sottomette a nessun potere fuorché alla grazia umana,” she finished in a whisper, affecting Spencer in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Through fluttering eyelashes, she looked up at him, awaiting his rendition, and suddenly the temperature felt as if it had risen. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been here almost as many times as him; she knew her way around Rossi’s holiday home, but Spencer had insisted on showing her his favourite room, claiming she hadn’t seen it yet. Diverting her attention from Emily’s anecdotes, “I kind of want you all to myself for a little bit,” he whispered in a kiss on her shoulder, proceeding to take her hand and pull her away from chatter over a jug of Cuban rum and homemade pizza - making sure to dissect, in explanation, nearly every painting adorning the maze of hallways on their short trek. He cleared his throat, prying his gaze away from the skin her little black dress revealed, unabashedly scanning her lips before using his own to form words. “True love is like this,” he subtly eyed her reaction to his words as he tried hard to not transliterate the European language. “It has no purpose and no reason, and it does not submit to any power except human grace.” Spencer’s voice was a newly inked quill, ebbing and flowing through the hot air of the dimly lit room. The dark winged butterflies that had been floating around her stomach all evening fluttered in a frenzy at his words, and the way the chartreuse of his eyes had been absorbed by black as they laid on her. “For such a dark story, it’s so beautiful,” she exhaled in a hushed tone, stare not leaving his as he slowly slid the book into the hollow slot where it had previously inhabited, too occupied by reading her demeanour to pay the book any more attention. “You think so? The author, Morante, Elsa Morante, was actually considered the greatest writer of Italy’s postwar generation, at one point.” Spencer began to rest his weight against the wall as they conversed. “I feel as if we always hear about Bassani or Parise, and all the unorthodox things Landolfi wrote in the fifties. It’s very refreshing to hear of a woman getting some well deserved recognition in such a male dominated niche,” she remarked. A dimple appeared on Spencer’s cheek as he grinned at the way she sounded a lot like him. “Agreed. In fact, Morante actually claimed she wished she’d been born a boy, so that she could have all of these heroic adventures. Once, when she was asked about the hero of that book,” he pointed towards the worn copy of L'isola di Arturo, “she commented: ‘Arturo, c’est moi!’,” 

“Living vicariously through him? Interesting,” she tilted her head slightly, “I also think its remarkable how beauty can emerge from so much pain,” she mulled aloud. His eyebrows raised at her words and the flux in her tone of voice. Slowly, she stepped towards him, forearms resting on his shoulders, entangling behind him. 

Earlier, she’d had the privilege of styling him as he stood in front of their shared mirror, muttering complaints of how he had 'nothing to wear’. Now, she repeated maledictions to herself regarding the clothing she had chosen, in her head, as she admired the way his black shirt was rolled up at the sleeves - displaying intricate nerves shadowing his fingers and arms - and simultaneously unbuttoned temptingly low on his chest, exposing the silver chain presenting a small initial, hers. The summer night had made sure a thin veil of sweat coated his collarbones, glistening with his movements under the lamp light. “It’s not a surprising process though - I mean, after the year you’ve had, just look at how pretty you are,”

“Did you just-” he gulped, chuckling, “use the copious amounts of semi-resolved trauma I harbour to romance me?”

“I may have,” she whispered into the skin below his ear, both hands now tangled in his hair as he remained pressed up against the wall, grateful that every wound, fight and flaw had led them here. And she never ceased to make her gratitude known. Tonight, though, ever since she’d caught sight of his hand gripping a cold glass, the strong concoction presumably belonging to Luke, she hadn’t been able to stop envisioning his body on top of hers. Unbeknownst to her, his thoughts had been very similar from the second she’d chosen to wear the satin fabric, claiming it matched his shirt, while leaving very little to the imagination. “Y/N,” he spoke, his body involuntarily leaning into hers. “We can’t- Not now.” His body language betrayed his words. “I don’t study behaviour for a living, unlike everyone else here, but Spencer, right now, yours tells me we can,” she brought down a hand to squeeze his wrist, which was resting against her lower back. He couldn’t breathe. Tongue in cheek, he shook his head at her, a smirk breaking way. “You, my pretty lady, are something else,” he caved, switching their position in a more urgent manoeuvre than either of them anticipated. Spencer’s hands grasped her jaw, his breath fanning over her before his lips collided with hers, messily. A hand cradled the back of her head, heeding any impact with the wooden blockade behind her, fingers and hair tangling together. Her hands travelled along his body, pinky tugging on his necklace in pursuit of closeness, while her lips roamed around his bobbing Adam’s apple, eliciting an exquisite string of moans. Spencer’s leg wedged itself between hers, slowly grazing his thigh against her, using a firm grip to guide her hips downwards, her soft sighs and tugs at his roots only encouraging him. 

The euphoria was short lived. A rapping on the library door tore them apart, its hinges creaking and giving way to an astounded looking Penelope Garcia. “Naughty!” she factitiously gasped. “I didn’t think the good doctor and his fine missus had it in them, but I was very, very wrong,”

“We were just-“ Y/N began, only to be cut off by the tipsy agent. “Save the excuses, beautiful lady. I was simply quested to find you two, and let you know that the rest of us are off to take a dip in the spa. Bring your boy toy, and scrumptious self, and join us ASAP - oh! And no funny business! There are children here,” Penelope gestured her two fingers away from her spectacles and towards each of them as a silent threat of ‘I’m watching you’. Y/N and Spencer exchanged a look, both flushed in different shades of red, on their way to creating a colour wheel. As Penelope spun on her heels and rushed to shut the door behind her, “Thank you, Penelope!” Y/N squeaked, Spencer exclaiming a timid “And sorry!” The two of them broke out into a fit of laughter, still frazzled. “I think I’m getting a little too comfortable with your team,” she grimaced, earning a laugh from the doctor. Later, as Spencer led her towards a bathroom, her arms occupied by a stack of towels, his hand on the small of her back, he dreaded the amount of self control he would need to invoke when the two of them would undress to change. 

What she had said wasn’t entirely untrue. She was indeed very comfortable with his team. If Spencer could have met himself, a year ago, anxious to introduce who he was sure was the love of his life to his dearest friends, he would flick himself in the head. She, not alarmingly, managed to get along with everyone, almost better than he did. Somehow managing to find common ground, even with Aaron Hotchner. He recalls, one night, months ago, listening to her and the usually stoic man debate about which broadway production was better: The Producers or The Phantom of the Opera. Spencer also recalls exactly how riled up he became as he watched her put the ex-theatric-gone-lawyer in his place after calling upon Spencer for some Tony Award statistics. Admittedly, he actively needed to combat the green eyed monster on his back whenever she would go jogging with Luke - but the way she kissed him before leaving, on her tiptoes in her running shoes, whispering ‘I love you’, and ‘I’m really only going for Roxy’, helped. She had become family, the invisible stamp of approval having been silently awarded when they all saw the looks the two of them shared, the three subtle squeezes in their woven hands, and the way Spencer now smiled with his teeth - the way they way they would move the moon and the earth for one another. 

Packed into the watery sauna, words exchanged between the group travelled into the atmosphere, a waxing gibbous eavesdropping overhead. She watched as Spencer squirmed across from her at the nearness to so many sweaty bodies, shoulders, elbows, knees and toes, belonging to anybody and everybody, poking him. Her eyes trailed along the dips and swells at the base of his neck, decorated in its usual, dainty, shimmering pendant, the bones there protruding as he slouched forward. Spencer’s hair was matted, condensation ironing chestnut ringlets to his forehead, complimenting his heated crimson cheeks. The butterflies returned, her stomach flipping as he ran his hand through the mop of curls to ease his discomfort. More of him - that was what she wanted. She hadn’t noticed, but she had been biting her lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. Pulling her back from her thoughts, a heavy exhale travelled past her left ear, changing the course of the steam emerging from the water - a stream of air enough to deflate a person, she noticed. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed.” The blonde rested her head against the barrier of the tub, seeing bright patterns on her eyelids as they shut over her eyes momentarily. Y/N reached over and grasped one of her shoulders in a clinical manner. “Who are you, and what have you done with Jennifer and the gruelling tension in her neck and jaw?” She interrogated, lightheartedly. “What can I say? Stress is my middle name,” she chuckled. “While we’re on the topic, though... Maybe you could give me one of those trigger-point massages,” she opened one eye, an iris burning sapphire, the blue only rival to that of the one from The Tell Tale Heart, finding Y/N’s face. Retreating her hand, having made her point, she let out a laugh at JJ’s words, “I’m afraid that’ll cost y-” Y/N’s eyes widened at the familiar dialect of the words, a charlatan on JJ’s tongue. “Wait a minute, can you repeat what you just said, but slowly?” 

“Oh, I know you heard me perfectly clear,” JJ smirked at her, eyebrows raising as her eyes shifted between the flustered woman and Spencer. 

They had a friendship of unfamiliar closeness, which JJ cherished. After nights of babysitting turning into wining with Merlot and dining on flaming dreaded cheese puffs, stashed away in an airtight container, upon JJ’s arrival home, the two had grown close. The agent was grateful for conversation veering away from work, and for someone seeing her from a different lens; one through which she wasn’t fizzled down to a petrie dish of a mother through a workaholic microscope. Y/N was curious to know how her famous mandatory-Spencer-de-stressing-trigger-point massages had come up in conversation between JJ and her, now guilty looking, boyfriend. She crossed her fingers in hopes that he’d spared the details of the events that usually took place following the neck rubs - another kind of de-stressing altogether. “Do you guys hear that? I think Will’s calling me- and I should go put Henry to bed… It’s quite late…” she exaggerated, wearing a redolent expression as she slunk away with a towel around her cold frame. “We’ll talk later, Jareau,” she looked up at JJ, after the shivering woman squeezed her shoulders in a bid goodnight, waving to the small crowd. Swiftly, Y/N’s gaze met Spencer’s, her figure not having left his vision once. 

The yard and small pool was clearing out, save for Luke and Tara bickering in the corner, so, through the bubbling water, she waded in Spencer’s direction, noticing the way he was evidently mentally undressing her. As if by his telepathy, a thin strap of her bathing suit slipped from its place, causing the gears in Spencer’s head to stop turning as he swallowed thickly. “Hey handsome, long time no speak.” A soft smile graced his lips, adoration for her evident, in place of his muted response. Wordlessly, he slipped a finger beneath the strap, tentatively putting it back in place, refusing to break eye contact in some unspoken play for power. “What’re you up to?” She squinted, wondering exactly what his motives were. “Nothing much,” he pulled her closer by the waist, whispering in a gravelly voice only she could hear, “I’m just thinking about how you didn’t get the chance to finish what you started, earlier,”

“Are you implying that you want me to…” she floated onto his lap, hands draping around his neck to steady herself, “pick up where we left off?” The question left her mouth in a breathy whisper, straight into his ear. He turned to look at her, unblinking. “I’m implying, that I’ve had those pretty noises you make replaying in my head all night, and that I’d like to hear them again,”

“Remind me, doctor, which one of us said ‘we can’t’?,” she mocked his whine, rolling her eyes back. “I have a better suggestion, how about you remind me which one of us struggled to stand the last time we played this game?” The calmness of his voice was the antithesis of the fire she was feeling inside her. Satisfied with her speechlessness, his eyes drifted down her body as she pried herself off him, settling in the plastic indent of a hot tub seat to his side. The attention of the pair of lovers were drawn to Tara’s laughter as she stepped into a robe, calling it a night. “What’d we miss?” Spencer’s clueless innocence returned, as if the words he’d spoken before were now out of mind. Devilishly, Tara responded, “Oh, you know, just me completely destroying this man’s ego,”

“Doesn’t take much does it?” Y/N offered Tara her fist in solidarity. “No it does not,” Tara chuckled, bumping it with her own. “You guys do realise that I’m right here?” Luke scoffed, also drying himself off. “I think that adds to their point?” Spencer offered, pursing his lips, amused. “Well, I’m going to go and catch some sleep, and maybe even shed a few tears over what’s been said about me,” he playfully scowled at Tara walking away, throwing a middle finger at him through the air without looking back. “Trust me, they are very professional,” Spencer promised, turning towards his only remaining company in laughter. “I’m sure they are,” she joked returning a smile. 

The two of them talked beneath an ink sky, stars like pinpricks in a blanket twinkling through their conversation, until she found herself on Spencer’s lap, once again, the ambience shifting to something far more carnal. Throughout the night, like a band of elastic stretching between two fingers, the tension between them had heightened. Now, they both tested the limits, anticipating its snap. His chlorine skin tasted electric on her tongue as she painted his neck and chest with a lilac rendition of the silver initial dangling there, letting his sighs catch in the shells of her ears. Allowing her tongue to explore his mouth, his hands tightened around her waist. “Mhm, no, Y/N,” he spoke, regaining his fleeting conscience. “This,” — kiss — “is a bad,” — kiss — “idea,”

“Spencer, look,” she glanced over at the house, and his eyes followed suite, craning his neck slightly. “What do you see?” She asked. “Aside from a house bigger than my entire apartment complex?” Her face was a deadpan. “All the lights are out, Spencer,” she gave him a look that said, come on, profiler, figure it out. Not a single connection formed in his head as he stared at the way the luminous blue of the night time water cast ripples on her skin - skin which was all over his. “All the lights are out… It’s late… and everyone’s asleep,” he reasoned, more to himself than in response to her insinuation. “We have no real chance of getting caught, plus…” her dark eyes were obscured by the eyelashes sheltering them as she tilted her head. “Would it be so bad if we did?” Two of her fingers danced along his chest, walking towards the damp hair at the nape of his neck, using the strands to pull him closer. “Everyone knowing exactly how good you make me feel?” She purred the last part in his ear, tugging at the cartilage with her teeth. Spencer partially whimpered. “Don’t hold back, gorgeous boy. You sound as good as you taste.” His eyes shut as his head hit the rim of the spa - only briefly losing himself once her mouth was on him again. “Someone’s talking like they’re in charge,” he tilted her chin up towards him, forcing her eyes onto his own. “I seem to be the one doing all the work here,” she teased. He kissed each of her collarbones, eyes still trained on hers. “You shouldn’t speak so soon.” With that, he undid the top of her swim suit, exposing her chest to the frigid night air, compelling a gasp. “Truthfully, I’ve been thinking about doing this a majority of the night.” The bass in his voice reached her core. “For someone who is so fastidious about cleanliness, you sure have a dirty, dirty mind, doct-” She never had the chance to finish the honorific, his lips moulding around a hardening nipple, allowing his fingers to toy with the other. Rolling his tongue around the bud, he smiled to himself as he heard her call out his name, over and over, as if her voice was coming through a scratched vinyl. “Where’s all the talk from before?”

“You’re evil,” she groaned, her hips bucking against his board short clad body. 

Spencers lips travelled along the valley of her breasts, only to hike back up them at a tantalising pace, prehensile fingers covering the ground his mouth couldn’t. Her hands grasped so tight in his hair, he was sure the strands would fall out. A groan of his own left vibrations reverberating through her body, causing her heart to jump. “Alright, you’ve had your fun,” he gnarred, as his hands gripped her wrists, holding them behind her back. With his unoccupied hand, he dipped his fingers into what was left of her apparel. “Is this all for me?” He smirked at the ease with which his fingers slipped over her. “Don’t flatter yourself, we’re in water,”

“You’re so impolite - even when I’m spoiling you,” tutted Spencer. Retroceding his hand, determined to leave her on edge, and her skin a mirror image of his, he continued to pin her fragile hands back against the base of her spine. “S-Spencer, please,” her words struggled to make any sense, “please, I need more,” she panted out, moving purposefully along the growing outline in his shorts. The pleasure was overwhelming. Spencer fiddled with the material still covering her, pulling it aside to make way for himself in between her legs. His eyes softened, silently seeking permission, even as she impatiently pulled down his waistband. When she nodded and eased his ailing with a soft, lingering kiss, he slowly pushed himself into her, never failing to be acutely attentive to her comfort as if it was their first time together. “This was what you were after?” Teased Spencer, his hips speeding up. “So badly,” she uttered out a sigh. “Then take it like you want it.” She craved his adept touch, and she made that known. “S- Spencer, oh god,” she groaned, “you feel so fucking good.” His breathing became heavier, softs grunts and hisses filling her ears with every movement. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, whining in a destitute way at the full feeling. At a slower pace, one of Spencer’s hands guided her hips along himself, while the other traced infinity on her sensitive nerves. “Sweet girl- fuck, you feel like a dream,” he moaned as she tightened around him. Her toes curled, the warm water of the pool splashing her bare skin. Spencer occupied all of her senses, the same way she did his. “I’m so close,” she whimpered, before he used his nose to nudge her face upwards, her momentarily open eyes reflecting constellations. Spencer kissed her once more. Her hands long freed from his grip, she left traces of herself in the form of tiny red sickles on his freckled back as her nails released some frustration. 

Dragging her fingers along his torso, she felt the muscles of his stomach tighten, hers doing the same. Shaky sighs wavered from her lips at the bliss Spencer was providing. “Keep your eyes open for me, angel,” she tried her hardest to focus on his lustfully blown pupils. “That’s it. Just look at what you do to me,” he gasped out, head falling backwards, eye contact broken - only for a second - before he gulped and looked back at her. “You’re breathtaking,” she whispered, hoarsely, stroking his sweaty cheekbone with her thumb.  She could recognise the golden gates of heaven in his eyes as he came undone inside her, warmth spilling over her in every aspect. The knots in her stomach loosened shortly after his, curses spilling from both of them. She rode him through his release, fond of the way he left light kisses on her temple, whispering compliments and confessions of love. Once he was sure she’d caught her breath, and some air had returned to his own lungs, he kissed her, gently, in the summer sauna heat, beneath the stars.

A loud cough startled the two. Stood in the open French doors of the veranda, scotch in hand, and eyes screwed shut, was David Rossi. Their minds were in the same place, wondering why they hadn't listened to Penelope’s drunken advice. “When you two are done, please remember to turn the tub lights off - and put the filter on high.” She hid herself in Spencer’s chest, heartbeat in her ears, contemplating holding her breath for a really, really long time. Spencer was flushed red, his own nose buried in her neck so as to not face the older man. “Or better yet, put some money together to buy me an entirely new spa,” Rossi, laughed, opening one eye to catch sight of Spencer giving him a shameful thumbs up. Even as Rossi wandered away, their embarrassment remained a fresh burn. Spencer groaned as her tired hand fumbled with his disastrous hair, “I don’t even want to begin thinking about how much of that he heard,”

“Or saw,”

“Don’t!”

“I’m never going to be invited here ever again, am I?”

#this got long! #yes there is no tag list i’m so sorry it’s because i still haven’t actually gotten around to doing it #but just know it’s on its way! next time my loves <3 #anyway it’s almost four in the morning and i wanted this out #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #matthew gray gubler #mgg fic #mgg smut #mgg x reader #matthew gray gubler imagine #spencer reid imagine #cm fanfic #mgg #mine: writing

[winterscaptain]

berry hill.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: i am so excited to share this one with you. the tropes are PACKED in here, and it was a blast to write. i also realized some time ago that i keep forgetting summaries on my works, so i’m gonna do my best to add those from now on. as always, let me know if there are any mistakes in here! thanks to @writefasttalkevenfaster for helping me today <3  intended for the ‘a joyful future universe,’ but does not require context. takes place in 2011, early season six, prior to the valhalla arc.  words: 12k warnings: language, some vague mention of aaron’s anatomy, alcohol use, when i say slow burn i mean s l o w burn. 

summary: "...and there was only one bed."  - old fanfiction proverb

waldosia (part 2) | absence (part 3) | mean it (part 4)

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed! updated: january 5th, 2021

It’s way too late and you know it, but Jack is still on his annual winter vacation with Aunt Jess and the rest of the Brooks clan, so there’s simply no incentive to leave. You’re with Hotch at his desk, kicked back like you own the place, while he sits back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head.

The Montana case wrapped up neatly, and any remaining or incoming paperwork this week is light. Though it is admittedly weird without JJ, Seaver seems to be settling in alright. You’re glad that the team decided to take a chance on her like they did with you. 

“What do you mean he drew on the wall?” You say through a laugh, popping a grape in your mouth. “Are we talking like a crayon mark here and there or a full-on mural.”

“Multi-media mural - glue, paper mache, markers, crayons, you name it and it was there.” He laughs and he takes a grape from your bowl, kicking his feet up on the desk - mirroring you. “I have no idea how he managed it. I was in the house the whole time.”

“Oh my God, he’s a terror!” Before Aaron can agree, your phone starts ringing. You pick it up, smiling as you see the caller ID. 

“Hey Dean!” You stand and give Aaron a ‘sorry, just a second’ finger and step out of the office, leaving the door open behind you. You stay where Aaron can see you, leaning on the rail next to the stairs. You don’t really mean to stay within his eyeline, but it’s habit at this point. 

“Hey babe, I hope I’m not calling too late.” 

“Oh not at all. I’m still in the office with Hotch getting some work done.” 

You catch Hotch’s eye and he mouths ‘Work?’ and you shrug as if to say ‘It’s a loose term.’ He rolls his eyes and steals another one of your grapes. 

“Ah, I see. Late-night work with the hot boss-man.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. “So what’s up?”

He sighs, and you already know what’s coming before he says it. “Something came up at work and I won’t be able to make it to the wedding next week. We’re closing on this huge property in Georgetown and it’s really big for the firm and -“

“It’s okay. I get work stuff, trust me.” And you do. It just fucking sucks. 

“I’m so so sorry to leave you hanging. I know it’s going to be super rough. Maybe one of your work friends can go with you? Maybe boss man? His name’s Aaron, right? Hopscotch or something?” His humor doesn’t make you feel any better, but you promise to keep ‘Hopscotch’ for later.  

You tip your head up to stare at the ceiling and will the tears away from your eyes, blinking them back. “Yeah, I’ll figure it out. None of them knew to ask off work, so if we have a case I’ll be on my own regardless.” 

“I’m so sorry.” 

Two tears fall out of the corner of your eyes, and you turn around, wiping them away. “It’s okay.” 

“I’ll call you day-of to check in, okay?”

Hotch watches you carefully, doing your best to hide your tears from him. Bad news, certainly, but he wishes you wouldn’t hide from him like you do. Or rather, he wishes you wouldn’t try to hide from him like you do. 

He can’t hear the entire conversation, obviously, but he resolves to do what he can to return at least a little of the care you always show him without hesitation, 

“Okay.” You heave an uneven sigh. “I’ll talk to you then... Really - don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” You hang up before he can respond and rest your forearms on the railing. You let your head hang for a second, collecting yourself before you have to face Hotch again. 

You take a deep breath and turn, sitting across from him again. Attempting to restore your good spirits, you kick your feet back up and have another grape. 

Hotch’s voice is quiet. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” but your voice breaks. You clear your throat and blink a few more times. 

You can feel him squint at you. “What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, you know.” You sniff, and gesture vaguely as you continue. “My best friend from college was supposed to be my date to a friend’s wedding next week, and the friend getting married also happens to be someone I dated in college so I was really hoping Dean could come with me, and now…” You trail off, realizing you’re rambling.

He’s quiet for a little while, and you shove some more grapes in your mouth to make up for the silence. You know each other so well, but it still feels a little weird to explicitly talk about your personal life in the office. Sure, you spend a fair few weekends together with Jack, but the whole thing is a little embarrassing - and you’re not sure if the worst part is admitting you have an ex-boyfriend from college or you now have to go stag to his wedding. 

“Do you want someone to go with you?” He watches you chew on your lower lip. A long time ago, he decided there was nothing worse than seeing you upset. 

This is the least you can do, Hotchner. First personal weekend in nearly four years, you can at least do what you can to make it suck less. He reasons with himself, but he can’t help the sly thought that sneaks in on the tail end. Being a backup is better than being nothing at all. 

That’s enough. 

You scoff. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” 

He smiles a little, knowing you completely missed his point. “If you wanted…” He clears his throat and looks out the window, and you reply before he can continue. 

“Oh, God, Hotch.” You cover your face with your hands. “Please don’t feel like I’m trying to guilt you into anything. I’ll be fine.” You try to laugh it off, but can’t hide the anxiety in your voice. 

His laugh warms you. “You’re not guilting me into anything. I’m offering.” 

You remove your hands from your face and look at him. There’s an earnest sort of kindness in his eyes, and you find yourself a little short of breath. “Really?”

“Really. I can get the weekend off - things are pretty slow around here. Where is it?” You had trouble reading his tone. Really, he’s just treading carefully. He doesn’t want you to feel pressured, or give away his own selfish motivations.

“It’s, ah,” you stutter for a second, getting your metaphorical feet back under you. “It’s down at Berry Hill Resort, right by the North Carolina border.” Your lip disappears between your teeth again. “It’s about a three and a half hour drive.” 

He opens his phone, and you know he’s checking the map. “It’d be easy enough if we left early and switched in Richmond. I’ll start, if you’d like.” 

You smile at him, wide and genuine. “Hotch, you’re the best.” 

+++

Hotch calls you up to his office, and you swing in, your hand gripping the doorframe. You bite back your greeting as you find him on the phone. 

He beckons you in and you step inside, closing the door behind you.

“...Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to pass that along to the rest of the unit...You too, sir.” He hangs up and laces his fingers, addressing you. “Question.”

You sit, resting your elbows on his desk. “Answer.” 

“Funny.”

You smirk, and he continues. “I’m not sure if it matters to you, but I have an absurd number of ties. Color preference?”

A huff of laughter leaves you in disbelief. “You called me in here to ask whether or not I want to have a color scheme?”

“Yes,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “A united front, or at least a coordinated one, seems like the best strategy, right?”

+++

Aaron walks down from his office, his phone to his ear. You’re helping Ashley with a consult, walking her through your process just like Emily used to do with you. 

“Hotch usually likes to approach the profile starting with a demographic consideration, but I usually start from physical evidence and -”

A hand falls onto your shoulder, and you look up. “Yeah?”

He pulls the receiver away from his mouth. “Jack wants to talk to you.”

With a shake of your head and a fond smile for Hotch and an apologetic one for Ashley, you put the phone to your ear. “Hey, bud! How’s Grandpa’s house?”

“So fun,” Jack says, almost yelling into the phone. “Aunt Jess has let me play in the snow every day.”

You laugh. “I am so glad.” 

“Dad says you’re busy at work, but I miss you.” 

“Aw, bubba, I miss you, too. You’ll be home really soon, and when you get back we’ll go out to ice cream and you can tell me all about your visit.” You, for just a moment, forget where you are, and you lean back in your seat as if you’re leaning into Jack himself. “Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I love you.” 

Your breath catches, and you keep our eyes firmly planted on your consult as you reply. “I love you too, bub. Here’s your dad.” Placing the phone in Hotch’s hand, you return your attention to Ashley and do your best not to acknowledge Aaron as he walks back up the stairs. “So, like I said, Hotch prefers to -”

“Hey.” Ashley stops you with a hand on your arm. “You’re really good at your job.” 

A confused smile pulls at your lips. There’s a question in your eyes, and she answers it. 

“Oh, I just...You’re a good teacher and a good friend, that’s all.” 

“Thanks, Seaver.”

+++

On a rare weeknight off, Emily and you gather at Penelope’s apartment. You’re all sitting on the floor, bottles of wine making an occasional rotation, and a pile of snacks on the floor taking up the space in the loose circle you’ve created. 

“You’re taking time off this weekend?” Penelope sounds almost insultingly surprised, as if the concept never occurred to her. 

You nod. “Yep. First time in four years, so I think I’m about due.” 

Emily laughs and asks. “Where are you going?” 

“I’ve been inexplicably invited to an ex-boyfriends wedding - he’s a friend from college and we were friends before we dated etc. etc.” You wave your hand as you speak, outlining the tedium of it all. “His mom loves me, and I suspect she was the one who added me to the list.” 

“Are you going with anyone? Penelope’s concern is touching. 

“Yeah. One of my college friends was supposed to be my date, but he bailed for a work thing.” All the girls roll their eyes and nod. They get it. “So, Ho - someone else - is going with me.” 

“Who?” Emily narrows her eyes and searches you. 

“Oh come on, profiling is against the rules.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, okay, sure.” 

“Spill it.” Penelope throws a goldfish cracker at you to emphasize her point. 

You take a deep, long-suffering breath, suddenly missing JJ and her powers of redirection. “Fine. Hotch is coming with me -” you intercept their eager questions “- only as a favor.” 

“That’s very...thoughtful of him.” Emily’s chin tips up suggestively, and you throw Penelope’s goldfish at her. “Who’s idea was that?”

There’s a moment here somewhere, where you realize you’ve just dug yourself a hole you’ll be hard-pressed to get out of. “He overheard Dean bail, and offered. I’m sure he’s just doing it because he feels bad and -”

“Oh, don’t be stupid!” Penelope nearly falls into Emily, giggling. “I can’t believe you two.” 

You throw your hands in the air. “What?”

Both women share a look before looking back at you with identical disbelief. Emily speaks first. “You can’t be serious.” 

Take a deep breath. You’re not that obvious. 

Maybe you are. You’ve only been half-or-completely in love with him for five years. 

Shut up. 

“Serious about what?”

Emily rolls her eyes and finishes her second glass of wine, reaching to refill it immediately. “Nevermind. You’ll figure it out eventually.” 

+++

You’re finishing your last bit of packing, leaving your toothbrush and toothpaste out for the morning, when your phone rings. 

“Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s Aaron.” 

“Ah, my saving grace,” you say with a laugh. “Calling to cancel on me, after all?”

His laugh just isn’t as good over the phone, but it’ll do. “Not even close. Is 6am still good to come get you?” 

“It’s so early.” There’s absolutely no shame in your whine, and you’re rewarded with another laugh. “But yes, that’s fine. That gives us enough time even if we hit some traffic out of the District and into Richmond.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

You look at your suitcase, resting open on your bed. “You’re still okay with this, right? I know I couldn’t grab that extra hotel room for you and I don’t want you to feel pressured or -”

He cuts you off, calling you out by name. “Enough. I offered, remember? I’ll see you at 6. Bring a pillow so you can sleep in the car.”

Your lips pinch, holding back a smile. “Thanks, Aaron.” And he knows you don’t just mean it for the pillow reminder. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Of course. Sleep well.” 

You don’t, but are nevertheless ready with bells on, pillow tucked under your arm, and coffee in-hand at 5:55am the following morning. He looks surprised when he pulls into the driveway and sees you standing on your porch, looking only a little worse for wear. At least your teeth are brushed.  

“Thought you might want this.” You hold out the travel mug to him as he approaches, and he takes it (and your suitcase) from you. 

“Thank you. Jump in.” 

You follow instructions and immediately stuff your pillow between your head and the window as he throws your suitcase in the trunk. You’re forever grateful Aaron drives the same SUVs you all have at the bureau. He claims it’s easier to not think about different car specs, but at this moment you only care about the temperature control and familiar, soft leather seats. Your eyes shut on their own accord, still heavy even after your abbreviated morning routine. 

He slips into the driver’s seat and, with your eyes closed, you miss the way he looks over at you with a barely-there, fond smile. Your sweatshirt is too big for you and your face is adorably smushed into the pillow. 

With a sigh and shake of his head, he places his hand on the back of your seat, backs out of the driveway, and gets on the road. 

The silence gives him plenty of time to think about things he’d rather not address. This favor, for one, is something he’s still trying to reconcile. 

Would I have offered to Emily? JJ? Hell, Dave? 

If any other member of the team had a friend bail out of their role as a wedding date, he’d like to think he’d drop everything and take the weekend to make them feel better, but he knows that probably wouldn’t be the case in reality. He knew you were different, and it frustrated and confused him. 

As often as he acknowledges his love for you - he wishes it would just stop.  

Only a year and change had passed since Haley’s death, and there were still some mornings where he woke up and couldn’t breathe. Jack still had some nightmares too. Those broke his heart more than anything in the world, but he knew you would always pick up if he called - no matter the hour. 

It happened more often than he’d like to admit. 

“Hotch? Aaron? What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to wake you.” 

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.” 

You’d always talk to him about something or nothing at all, sometimes turning on your bedside lamp and reading from whatever book you were perusing before bed. 

He knows you understand. You were the only one there with him, when he found her body. You were there to take his son out of his bloodied hands. You were there when he was afraid of himself. 

The nightmares still come for you, too, sometimes. There are nights where Haley’s dark blue eyes stare into you, whether your eyes are open or closed. You told him that, once, and he was grateful - grateful that he wasn’t the only one. 

You murmur something in your sleep, about twenty minutes outside of the city. You’re still an hour or more away from Richmond, and Hotch figures he’ll let you sleep if you don’t wake up between now and then. It’s not a hard drive to Berry Hill, and you need the rest. 

Might be good to pick up some food on the way...

He turns the music off, letting the sounds of your breathing and the road wash over him. 

“Aaron.”

He turns, expecting your watchful eyes, but finds you burrowing further into the pillow, a little smile on your face as you remain blissfully unaware of your surroundings. Something warm starts to radiate in his chest as he looks back out at the road, the Virginia countryside stretching out in front of him, around him, and in every direction he can see. The warmth vibrates into his fingertips. He flexes his hands around the wheel, trying to shake it.

He fails. 

You’re not sure how you manage to sleep so soundly in the car. You had tossed and turned all night, thinking only of facing a part of your life you hoped you’d never address head-on ever again. Why you accepted the invitation at all (or why you even received one) was beyond you. 

It must be his mother’s doing. She always loved you, and she did her best to keep your friendship alive much longer than its natural death. 

Exercising control over her child’s life due to an exceptional lack of control and consistency during her upbringing. Relating to her son’s partners to achieve some semblance of intimacy without facing the root of her insecurity that she’s failed as a parent.

The profiling never stopped, it seemed. 

It wasn’t just the wedding keeping you up last night. The thought of spending the weekend with Aaron in an environment where you will inevitably feel (if not look and act) distraught close to the whole time still wears on you. Spending weekends at home, where you sit together with a glass of wine and leftover popcorn after Jack gets tucked in feels different. 

That’s comfortable. That’s safe. This? This is scary. Vulnerable. Burdensome.

Even then, there’s nobody you’d rather have at your side while you face friends you haven’t seen in ages. He’s charismatic, almost entirely unapproachable (when he wants to be), and tall. All those factors should be enough to keep anyone from trifling with you for the duration of the weekend. 

But now, in the car, all those thoughts are far from your mind. Your mind is blissfully dark and blank, your body soothed by the low hum of the car and the smell that follows Hotch wherever he goes - spicy, earthy, and something that reminds you of the air right before lightning strikes. 

The car slows, and the subtle change in ambiance wakes you. You lift your head, finding Hotch turning on an offramp. 

“Are we in Richmond already?” You ask, bleary. 

He smiles. His sunglasses are resting on his nose to combat the rapidly-rising morning sun. “Not yet, but I figured you hadn’t eaten yet.”

You tip your head. He’s right. “I could eat.” 

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “You should eat.” 

+++

After food and a top-off for the gas tank, you offer to drive. 

Aaron refuses. “If you drive, I don’t get to pick the music.” 

“I thought shotgun picks the music.” You frown at him, admittedly still a little tired. You’ve shoved your pillow behind your seat and start to sit like an actual human being for the first time that morning. 

“Those are Morgan’s house rules, not mine.” 

“Ah,” you say, sagely. “I see. What are your house rules?”

There’s a smile behind his sunglasses. “Driver picks the music and critically considers any suggestions made by shotgun.” 

Thus, the Beatles’ White Album starts from the top. You can’t say you’re surprised - it is his favorite. You’ve grown rather fond of it yourself, if you’re honest, Though, you’re not sure if you fondness for the album has anything to do with the man beside you - the one who’s hair is soft and floppy in the morning light, the one wearing an uncharacteristically casual ensemble of jeans, sneakers, and a black t-shirt, the one singing along under his breath.

“Why is this one your favorite?”  You hear yourself ask. 

He’s quiet for a minute, as if you are the first to ask that question. Maybe you are. “I’m...not sure. I think it might have something to do with my mom. She bought the record a couple of weeks after I was born in late ‘68, and made sure I had a copy when I got my own record player in my first college apartment.” He shrugs. “It’s been around just as long as I have, and there’s something a little - I don’t know - comforting about that?”

You nod. “I get that.” You’re quiet for a moment, considering all the things that happened in 1982. “Grease 2 came out the year I was born, so I can’t say I share a similar affinity for the pop culture phenomena of my birth year.” 

Hotch lets out a low whistle and a grimace. “That film really was awful.” He waits for your laugh and is rewarded before continuing. “I saw The Who on their final tour that year.” 

You furrow your brow. “Weren’t you like, barely in high school?”

He nods. “We snuck out, a couple of friends and me. It was really stupid and we got in a lot of trouble, but it was fun.” There’s a nostalgic smile on his face. “I have no idea how we managed to get all the way into the District, let alone find tickets, but everything was a little less complicated back then. Buses ran on time, people read maps, and parents didn’t all have cell phones.” He shrugs and shoots you a smirk. “But of course, that’s before your time.” 

You roll your eyes. “Oh c’mon. I’m not that young. I remember the world before the mainstream internet and 9/11 and all that pre-Patriot Act shit. I remember when the Berlin Wall came down, at least.” 

That gets a laugh out of him. “Fair enough.” 

You lapse into silence for a little while, handing him fries from the drive-thru bag when he puts his open palm over the center console. You notice his left hand shift slightly in time with the music, and you watch a little more carefully. 

And I see it needs sweeping Still my guitar gently weeps

I don’t know why Nobody told you How to unfold your love I don’t know how Someone controlled you They bought and sold you…

“Hotch, do you play guitar?” There’s a touch of disbelief in your tone, but you try to hide it for the sake of his pride. It’s not that you think he doesn’t have a musical or creative bone in his body, but you’re rather surprised by the relaxed subtlety of his movement. It was your impression he never did anything without thinking about it, and to see the slight, almost unconscious action sparks a pleasant little flicker of warmth in your chest. 

He shrugs. “I played a little when I was younger. I guess you could say I know how to play, but I don’t claim to be decent at it in the slightest.” His head tips, and you could swear you see an eye roll. “Sean’s always been better at those kinds of pursuits.” 

As usual, he doesn’t seem thrown or surprised by your question and doesn’t hesitate to answer them. After almost five years, he’s used to your keen observations. He’d never admit it, but he expects them - maybe he’s not able to guess at the content of the questions themselves, but he always knows there will be one eventually.

“Have you and Sean always butted heads?”

Aaron snorts, and gives you a simple, “Yes.” 

You’d never met the younger Hotchner, but you’d seen photos and heard tell. From what you understand, he’s a little wilder than his older brother, a little more idealistic and far less practical. Sean seems like someone you would like, but you doubt he would rise to the top of your Favorite Hotchners List - a list with only two names so far, tied for first. 

It’s safe to say Jack and Aaron are hard acts to follow. 

+++

You talk about everything and nothing, when finally, he asks. “So, who is this guy?”

“Ugh.” You tip your head against the seat. “You really want to know?”

“Of course. Isn’t it protocol to brief the team before arrival?”

You snort, immediately regretting your decision to make fun of Strauss over drinks last week. “Yes, sir.” 

He laughs, and you tell him. 

You tell him about Austin and how you met in a random general education class and became fast friends and started dating, talked about marriage and kids and the whole nine yards. You told him about your semester abroad, your traveling, and returning home to find he’d been dating someone else while you were away, without your knowledge. 

“It’s kind of cliche, I know, but it broke my heart in half.” You laugh a little to cover the truth of it. Hotch keeps his eyes on the road, letting you go at your own pace the same way you let him the entire time he’s known you. “I was really close to his family, and we did our best to remain civil and friendly for everyone else’s sake, but we’ve only kept in touch through other people the last few years.

“I think his mom sent the invitation. I mostly accepted because I’d love to see her and Austin’s little sister - I miss them the most.” 

“What are they like?”

There’s a smile on your face as you tell him about them - how Allison likes more cream than actual coffee in her mug, how their mom has the best taste in books and still sends you worn copies of her favorites every once and awhile. 

“It’s good of you to keep in touch.” 

You shrug. “I guess. I mean, I know it’s different, but you have Jess.”

The difference, he decides, is that you are kinder, more patient than he is. Jess would hardly be in his life at all if Haley was still here. He had a hard enough time keeping up with Haley’s family when they were married. Keeping up with them after the divorce? 

There was no way to know, but he can’t remember much affection between them even before Haley’s father decided to hold him personally responsible for her death. 

You notice his preoccupation, and reach out. Your thumb traces back and forth over the skin of his bare forearm. “It’s different now, and it would be different then. There’s no right way to do anything.” 

He exhales in a huff, and you bring your hand back into your lap. “I spent almost twenty-five years knowing Haley. You know that?”

“I do. I also know you spent longer than twenty-five loving her, and probably won’t ever stop.” 

There’s a sigh, and then an elbow on the center console. He leans heavily on it, and you do your best to keep your hands to yourself. “How do you know everything?” He asks. 

You rest your head against the seat and adjust so your body is angled toward him. A small smile crosses your face as you take in his profile - relaxed, his wrist hanging loosely on the wheel, sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “I dunno. I guess I just pay attention.” 

+++

You let out an exhausted exhale upon reaching the room you will share with Aaron for the weekend. One king size bed dominates the room, instead of the two doubles you halfway expected. He recovers faster than you do, shrugging and setting his things down on the left side of the bed, closest to the door. 

Instinctively and completely without previous confirmation, you kind of figured he sleeps on the left side. The realization of that fact is a little unsettling, but you follow his lead and set your suitcase on the stand opposite his, unzipping it and unfolding your garment bag. 

There’s a small part of you that’s pleased by this arrangement. Another part of you shames that part. 

He’s going to think you’re taking advantage of him. 

Are you kidding? He’s a SWAT-trained senior FBI agent. And a lawyer. It’s impossible to take advantage of him. 

Yeah, of course that’s what he wants you to think. 

Do you ever shut up?

Your outfits for the cocktail hour and the ceremony day are all set. So are Hotch’s, apparently. You look over to find him hanging a grey pinstripe suit in the closet you’d never seen before. It looks beautifully tailored, and expensive. 

“Mind if I take up some real estate?” You ask, holding up your handful of hangers. He shakes his head and makes some space for you. 

When you’re all settled, you sit on the bed, still tired. It doesn’t make any sense, seeing as Aaron insisted on driving the entire way. 

“What time is our first obligation?”

You huff a laugh at his rhetoric. “5pm. Cocktails at the hotel bar. Rehearsal dinner after that is wedding-party-only, thank God.” Glancing at the clock, you confirm, “We basically have the day to ourselves until then.” 

He nods thoughtfully before meeting your eyes over your shoulder. “How do you feel about a nap?” 

I love you. 

Shut up. 

You can’t imagine how tired he is - working off minimal sleep and coming off a drive just shy of four hours long. “I feel great about a nap.” 

Aaron’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he picks up a pair of flannel pajama pants from his bag and shuts himself into the bathroom. 

Oh my god. Oh my god. 

You quickly shuck your sweatshirt, suddenly too warm. Standing, you cross to the window and draw the blinds, covering the room in a kind of gentle shade that isn’t quite darkness. You toe off your shoes and slip under the covers, thankful you never really changed out of your pajamas. Curling up facing the bathroom door, you try to stay awake until Hotch returns, but your eyes close of their own accord.

Hotch leaves the bathroom to find the room darkened and you under the covers, dead to the world. He takes another moment to look at you, the way your brow sits smooth and relaxed above your closed eyes, your hands curled loosely in front of your face, the way your breath evenly comes and goes past the curve of your lips. 

Taking the risk, he places his jeans back into his duffle bag and gingerly stretches out on top of the covers beside you. His eyes close eventually, but he can’t remember falling asleep - entirely preoccupied by the phenomenon before him. 

+++

When you stir again, your hands are warm. You take a deep breath and your eyes crack open, finding a sight that steals your breath. Hotch is on his side in front of you, ramrod straight, with your hands clasped between his. Your heads are bowed together - not touching, but close. 

There’s no memory of him joining you in the massive bed, nor any recollection of contact, so he either held your hands on his own, or you found each other in sleep. 

You’re not sure which one makes your heart flutter faster.

Resolving to get a little more sleep, you close your eyes. Only moments later, you feel him stir beside you. You know he’s watching you, and you endeavor to keep your breath even and slow, hoping he can’t hear the racing of your heart. 

He releases one of your hands, and you let it drop down to the cover, praying your fingers don’t twitch. 

You’re proud of yourself when you don’t flinch as his fingers brush butterfly-soft against your cheek, tracing from your brow bone, down your nose and across your lips. Impossibly gentle touches find their way down your temple to your jaw before disappearing. 

His hand closes around yours again and it takes everything you have to keep your breath steady as he presses his lips to your fingers before tucking them back to his chest. When his breath evens out again, you know he’s asleep. 

You open your eyes, thinking it's more than high time to study him for a change. 

He looks years younger in his sleep, closer to your age than his. Even awake, he hardly looks the picture of a father in his mid-forties. His graceful aging is more obvious when his face isn’t drawn up in stress or that aching kind of sadness that lingers around him. 

Curious about what he saw and felt on your face, you follow his path, slipping your hand out from under his, tracing his jaw, his cheek and brow bones, his handsome, straight nose. 

Your finger rests lightly on his cupid’s bow for a moment, his breath rushing slow and warm over your hand. The feeling of his breath stalls yours, and you swallow. The next breath you take is almost a sob, and you press your lips into a thin line. Light fingers brush through the hair at his temples, the sparse, soft silver strands seeming to glow in the low light. 

What you don’t know, however, is that he has taken a page out of your book. Though his eyes are closed and his breath even, he is very much awake, heart pounding. He’s sure you can hear it, or even feel it, with your remaining hand still trapped between his. 

The catch in your breath makes his chest ache. Even then, his eyes remain closed, and he’s mindful of his breath. With the route you take, tracing his features, he realizes with a shock of adrenaline and cold panic that you were probably awake, playing at sleep then as he was now. 

If that was the case, you know how he feels about you. He knows how you feel about him. 

But you can’t. You don’t want to take up space in his life he doesn’t have, space better used to heal, space reserved for his son. 

He can’t. It's too soon. He can’t subject you to the ghosts, the baggage, the long journey to wholeness he’s endeavored to embark upon with only his son at his side. 

The new normal, his therapist had told him, is the hardest thing to find. 

He was sure, then, that it would be easier to find the new normal on his own, but he wasn’t so sure, now. 

You slip your hands away from him entirely and roll over, making play at rising. You check the time on your phone, finding the early afternoon awaiting you. 

There’s a deep breath and a stretching noise, and you turn to find Aaron rolled over on his back, his hands laced behind his head. 

“Good afternoon,” you say, and you’re proud of yourself for sounding normal. 

A smile plays at his lips. He looks like he knows something. “Good afternoon.” 

“So, tonight.” You decide it’s best to move on before anyone admits anything they don’t mean to share. “Do you just want to be ‘work friends’ or do we want to lean into the whole ‘let’s ruin Austin’s life’ thing?”

He laughs a little. “I’m comfortable leaning in if you are.” 

+++

The cocktail hour isn’t as horrible as you thought it would be. Aaron sticks to your side like glue, your right hand firmly placed in the crook of his arm while your left babysits a small glass of wine, more for show than for anything else. 

You hear your name from across the room, and you see a huddle of some old friends and their respective dates. Aaron tips his head down to get the briefing, and you tell him names, relationships, and brief histories as you approach. 

As you expected, he’s warm and charming, taking cues from you as you navigate eight years of catch-up with classmates you remember well and alleged classmates you don’t recognize at all. 

“How did you two meet?” The woman asks (You’re certain she’s someone’s sister - Hotch caught her name while you missed it. Oops.). 

You glance up at Aaron for a second before answering. “We’re in the same department at work.” 

The man with her takes a sip of his drink. Him, you kind of recognize. Casey? Carson? Maybe. “Where is that, again? I can’t remember where you landed after your internship.” 

“DoJ, in Quantico.” 

Leslie, who you met in guided research your senior year, rolls her eyes. “They work for the FBI, Carson, keep up.” 

Carson, that’s it. 

“No shit!” 

A small group has gathered around you, and you shuffle closer to Aaron. He wraps his arm around your waist and steps a little behind you, protective and secure. 

“Shit,” you reply, jostling Aaron with your shoulder. “We don’t have our creds on us tonight, so if you get arrested you’ll have to bail yourselves out.” 

“We also don’t have jurisdiction even if we did, so keep it high and tight and we’ll all do just fine.” Aaron’s voice rumbles through you with a laugh, and you take an overlarge sip of wine. 

He really shouldn’t say things like high and tight with his hand where it is. 

And his hand isn’t really in any kind of questionable location, just resting above your hip with his chest to your back, but it's still more contact than you’re used to. He wasn’t joking about leaning in. 

“There he is!” Carson crows, and your head whips around. You almost lose your balance, but Hotch keeps his feet. A warm hand presses to your shoulder. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. You know he can hear you, and he presses a kiss to your temple. 

“Always.” 

It’s just an act. He doesn't mean it. He can’t mean it. 

Austin approaches with his drop-dead gorgeous fiancee and a smile. 

Aaron releases you as Austin gives you a warmer hug than you were expecting, and examines Hotch over your shoulder. He introduces you to his fiancee (Madeline), and you introduce them both to Aaron. 

“Austin, this is my…” you pause, realizing you never actually established a cover story, letting the implication speak for itself. “Aaron.” You recover with a light laugh, and Aaron pulls you to him with one hand while he shakes Austin’s with the other. 

You try not to smirk at the grimace that flashes across Austin’s face when Aaron’s hand closes around his in a very firm and assertive handshake. “Pleasure. Congratulations.” 

Austin laughs, a little uncomfortable, and stretches his hand once it reaches his side again. “Thanks. We’re really glad you both could make it. Mom will be really happy to see you.” 

+++

“That could have been so much worse.” You shuck Aaron’s blazer off your shoulders and hang it in the closet as he passes behind you. He’d passed it to you when you shivered slightly at the bar and it wasn’t even a point of conversation. It had been second nature to him, draping it over you and placing a hand on your back. The memory pulls a smile from your lips. “Thank you for enduring the mayhem down there.” 

Aaron sits on the bed and slips off his boots. “I can’t remember the last time I went to a social event that didn’t directly affect my career trajectory.” He looks up at you, and his grin makes your heart skip around in your chest. 

You shake your head, walking past him to retrieve your pajamas and toothbrush. “Do you ever want to move up the chain at all?”

“Not really. Something big would have to change to get me to leave the BAU.” He looks at you over his shoulder. “We tried that, remember?”

“I do, actually.” At his chuckle, you continue. “I can’t say that’s something I’d like to relive anytime soon.” 

You move easily around each other, changing into pajamas and brushing your teeth and getting otherwise ready for bed. He’s cute at night, with his pajamas and floppy hair and big yawns. It’s not like you haven’t seen this side of him before, what with all the late nights watching movies with Jack, but it is significant that it’s just the two of you. He’s not Jack’s Dad right now, or Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner who won’t go to bed until The Case Is Solved, but Aaron. 

Sleepy, charming, funny Aaron. 

Eventually, you throw back the covers and crawl in without thinking about it too much, while Aaron lingers in the bathroom doorway. 

“I really can take the couch.”

You look at him and pointedly turn off the lamp resting on your side table. “We’re adults. I don’t mind it if you don’t. And for that matter, if either one of us is sleeping on the couch it’s me.” 

“Oh?” He asks. “Why’s that?”

“Because as you so astutely pointed out earlier, I am significantly younger than you, and I think my back will fare better than yours after a night of lumpy cushions.” 

The bathroom light flips off, and you hear a scoff in the dark. “Never once did I say significantly younger.” 

“Well, Aaron, ‘before your time’ is rife with implication.” 

The mattress dips beside you, and his form takes shape in the darkness, facing you. Before he can speak again, you cut him off. 

“You know what? Nevermind. I forgot who I was talking to, and I would hate for you to go full-tilt lawyer on me.” You curl up, bringing the covers to your chin. He laughs, and you can almost pretend that this is your life, that you get to fall asleep beside Aaron every night. 

Don’t get comfortable. 

Why not? He’s here, isn’t he?

He is, but not like that. This is a favor for a friend, nothing more. 

You’re both quiet for a little while, listening to each other breathe in the dark. There’s a sigh, and you belatedly realize it came from you. 

“Are you okay?” Aaron’s voice floats to you in the dark, and you nod. “I know this isn’t easy for you.” 

You think for a moment, trying to articulate your thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just - I really can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re here with me this weekend.” A hand reaches out, and you find it. 

“Of course. I’m glad I can be here for you.” He means it. The trust you’ve placed in him does not go unnoticed or unappreciated. Your willingness to be vulnerable and funny and so yourself is a precious gift to him, and one he’ll never take for granted. “Thank you for letting me come.” 

I’d like to let you come -

Ew, dude. 

What?

Now is not the time. 

“With that in mind,” he continues, his voice gentle in the dark, “I’m really proud of you. And not in a ‘I’m your boss and you’re making significant progress,’ way. As your friend, I’m really proud of you.”

Your friend. 

He is your friend. 

I know but that…sucks. 

It doesn’t have to. 

There’s something in his voice that almost makes you stupid, but you hold your tongue. “Goodnight, Hotch.” 

He takes a deep breath, missing the way his first name fits in your mouth. It sounds safe there, like you’d never use it against him. “Goodnight.” 

+++

You feel warm and feeling somewhat constricted, but not uncomfortable. There’s weight at your back and an arm around your waist, and you lean into it in your state of half-wakefulness. A little noise leaves the body behind you, almost like a sigh with tone. 

Remembering where you are, you resist the instinct to jump. Hotch is wrapped around you like a koala, his knee between yours, one arm under your head and the other around your waist, face buried into the crook of your neck and shoulder. 

His hair smells divine, and he’s so warm. 

Your theory from yesterday morning seems confirmed - you definitely didn’t fall asleep touching each other, so you must have found each other in the night. The thought warms you, and you close your eyes again.

The ceremony isn’t until the early afternoon, so you have all the time in the world to doze and prepare for the hellscape of the day. 

That’s not a fair assessment. You think, and correct yourself. 

If the prior evening was any indication, things would go smoothly. Aaron was the world’s best wingman. He kept conversation flowing and took your cues without a second’s hesitation. Everyone loved him, and people asked you all night how you met, how long you’d known each other, how long you’d been together. The first questions were easy, but the last one was one you hadn’t prepared for. He, of course, had an answer for all three. 

“We work together.” 

“We met, what? Five years ago now? Maybe a little more?”

“We’ve been partners for almost four years.” 

And...he wasn’t lying. You always paired off with him at work, whether naturally or by assignment. His lack of specifics in defining your relationship both settled and raised your blood pressure, depending on the way you decided to approach it. The words accompanied an affectionate squeeze around your waist or a kiss to the back of your hand. 

You know he’s just playing the part for the weekend and everything will go back to normal when you get home. 

But God, he’s good at it. 

You almost believe him.

He’s still sleeping behind you, his breath fanning slow and even across your shoulder. You’re both fully clothed, but there’s something intimate about it. Sleep, you think, is inherently vulnerable, inherently a trusting state. You two not only managed to fall asleep in the same bed, but woke up tangled together. 

You drop your hand to your waist and rest your hand on top of his, falling back into sleep without too much thought. 

When Hotch wakes, it’s thankfully late. He’s far too comfortable to be in a hotel bed, but quickly realizes it’s not the mattress. You’re wrapped in his arms, and for a split second he almost panics, concerned that you’ll wake to find him glommed onto you like some kind of ridiculous backpack. 

But then he remembers the way your fingers traced his face when you were sure he was asleep, the way you leaned into him the night before - taking shelter in his willing arms. 

He feels your fingers pushed between his, your palm warm against the back of his hand, holding him to you.

He’s fucked. He’s totally and completely fucked. He’s even more fucked to even consider the possibility you’re fucked, too. 

How could you possibly want him? A man nearly fifteen years older than you, with one failed marriage under his belt, an inability to tear himself away from his work, and more than enough trauma to drown in is hardly the ideal partner for someone as vibrant as you, with so much life yet to live.

And yet, it’s so hard to imagine a life without you. Whenever he looks into his future, he sees you there with him. It’s far too easy to let himself fall into the fantasy as you peacefully sleep in his arms with your fingers laced together. 

You shift a little in your sleep, and he arches his back a little, definitely trying to keep you away from...certain parts of his anatomy that are a little more awake than the rest of him. 

Quit while you’re ahead, Hotchner. 

He very gingerly disentangles himself from you, and he’s pleased when he only gets a few sleepy protests in return. The shower is calling his name, for more than one reason including but not limited to the uncomfortable tightness of his flannel pajama pants. 

With one last lingering glance at you, he picks up his toiletries and locks himself in the bathroom for a long (very) hot shower, followed by a much shorter (very) cold shower. 

While he’s gone, you stir and stretch your arms over your head. A little disoriented, you find his side of the bed empty but not quite cold before you hear the running water of the shower. 

What if you just - 

Do not finish that thought. 

You are not one iota of fun. 

Reaching for your bag, you pull your laptop out and get started on some emails. You have a couple from Seaver and one from Emily.

You sigh and pull out your phone. 

“Prentiss.”

“Hey, Em. You wanted me to call?”

“Oh, I just wanted to see how things are going down there.” her voice is the picture of forced nonchalance, and you can almost hear Penelope leaning over her shoulder. 

You laugh into the phone and trace patterns on the bedspread. “Things are going well. Hotch was the perfect gentleman last night, and we have the ceremony and reception today. We head home tomorrow morning.” 

“Has anything happened? Where is he right now?”

“He’s in the shower. And no, don’t be ridiculous.” You shove your phone under your chin and answer all of Ashley’s questions in confident keystrokes. “You and I both know he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.”

Aaron pauses in the bathroom, in the middle of towel-drying his hair. With a smile, he overhears: “...he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.” 

He can’t hear the response, but he does hear you when you say. “My God, Em. Would you quit?” 

Ah. So it is Emily. 

“I’m not going to do anything about it because there’s nothing to do anything about...Don’t give me that...You have absolutely no proof...I don’t care if you’re a profiler or not, there is no way you can say with any definitive certainty -” You pause, and your voice drops to a low murmur he can’t hear over the hum of the bathroom fan. 

With a frustrated huff, he ties the towel around his waist and ventures out, entirely aware of his state of undress. 

You’re so glad you drop your voice to finish your thought (“- that he’s in love with me. Don’t be stupid.”) because the door opens and you are immediately confronted with Aaron Hotchner in a towel and every single coherent thought flies out of your head. He smiles a little at you, and something in you melts. 

“Are you good?” Emily’s voice is full of laughter. 

The heat rises in your cheeks and you whip your head back to your laptop, typing just for something to do with your hands. “Yeah, for sure.” 

“He just walked out wearing a towel, didn’t he?”

“Emily, you know I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” You roll your eyes, and miss the smirk on Hotch’s face as he grabs his hanging clothes from the closet.

“So that’s a yes.” 

+++

Austin’s family clearly spared no expense for either the ceremony or the reception. You and Aaron had walked in arm-in-arm to find a spot on the groom’s side near the back. It’s still weird - there was a time where you thought for sure Austin was the be-all-end all for you. 

But here you are, sitting next to Aaron. He’s wearing that beautiful suit that looks even better on him than it did on the hanger (and that’s saying something). As promised, his tie matches your outfit, and you’d be lying if you didn’t say it made your heart all warm watching him put it on. 

The ceremony itself is a blur. You stand and sit when you’re supposed to, and spend the vows with your head on Aaron’s shoulder - playing the role, of course. You take a few unsteady breaths, caught off guard by how affected you are by the ritual of it all. 

You don’t love Austin anymore, not by a long shot. That said, the reminder that you’re not married to anybody but work and rapidly approaching thirty is unpleasant. 

“Are you okay?” Hotch’s whisper doesn’t carry far. 

You nod. “Yeah. Just thinking.” 

“About?”

You shake your head, the soft wool of his suit jacket pressing into your temple. “Later.” 

His cheek presses to your hair for just a moment. He’s not worried about you, per se, but he’s never seen you in this existentially forlorn state before. It’s a feeling he recognizes in himself, but to see it on you makes him feel a new kind of helpless. 

+++

You’re at the open bar, snagging a glass of wine for yourself and two fingers of whiskey for Aaron (the good stuff, of course), when Austin’s mother warmly accosts you. 

“Darling!” 

Against your will, a genuine smile breaks out across your face. “Hey, Laurie!” You set the drinks down and embrace her, the familiar smell of her perfume engulfing you. Suddenly, you feel nineteen years old again. “Congratulations.” 

She pulls back and waves off your good wishes. “Oh, please. I haven’t done anything.” 

You laugh and shake your head. “I beg to differ, but alright.” 

She takes you under her arm and holds you close to her. “So.” Her tone is conspiratorial, as if a great plot is to unfold before you. “Who is that devastatingly handsome man you’ve brought with you to shame my son?” 

“I did not bring him to shame your son, he offered to come when my original date bailed. You remember Dean?”

“Of course. Such a sweet boy. Still married to his work?”

You shake your head. “I would be...hypocritical of me to get upset with him for that. My work at the bureau keeps me plenty busy. If I’m honest, this is the first personal time I’ve used in four years.” 

She squeezes you for a half-second. “I’m so glad you’re here with us.” Her lips purse. “But don’t think you can get out of telling me about that fine, fine man over there.” 

“His name is Aaron,” you start, fighting a smile. “We work together at the bureau and he’s just a friend, Laurie, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I always have ideas. Now, introduce me so I can see for myself.” 

With a long-suffering sigh, you grab the drinks off the bar and lead her to the table, where Aaron sits with his fingers pressed thoughtfully to his mouth, his elbow on the table and ankle crossed over his knee. Approaching from behind him, you set the whiskey down where he can’t knock it over and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Aaron.”

He turns, and a broad smile breaks out over his face. You’re sure he’s just being polite - you’ve never seen him smile so much. Offering a hand to Laurie, he stands. “SSA Aaron Hotchner. Thank you for having us. I’ve heard so much about you and your family.”

“Oh no, that can’t be good.” She laughs lightly and takes his hand in both of our own. “Laurie Miller. As I’m sure you know, I have a great amount of love for this one here.” She releases Aaron’s hand and tucks you into her arms again, kissing your cheek. You laugh, tickled by her demonstrative affection designed only to embarrass you. 

“C’mon, Laur. You don’t have to lie for my benefit.”

You try to ignore the fondness in Aaron’s eyes as he watches the two of you, Laurie cooing over you and your successes. She returns her focus back to Aaron. “Sit, sit and tell me what you crazy kids get up to over there in Quantico.” 

Aaron sits and relaxes back into his chair, resting his arm on the back of your seat. You lean forward with your elbows on the table, your hands propping up your head. Aaron’s a great storyteller, of course, and it’s so interesting to watch him talk about work outside of the context itself. He seems to bloom - effusive, charming, and warm - before you. 

When you look at him, it’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time. 

“...Preventing loss of life is always rewarding, and our team is a family.” 

Laurie is clearly enamored, completely drawn into his gentle description of your very-stressful and often-gritty line of work. “It’s so lovely you have so much fondness for each other. I imagine it makes everything much easier.” 

He nods, and glances at you. “It does.” 

Your phone buzzes on the table, and you excuse yourself with a hand on each of their shoulders. 

“Dean, you bastard!” You answer. Hotch’s huff of laughter tells you he overheard it, but he picks up right where he left off with Laurie. 

As you step out onto the banquet hall balcony, almost feel bad leaving him to his own devices, but then you remember all the times he’s been left alone with serial killers and you feel much better. 

“Hey babe! Are you surviving? Are you alone? Tell me everything.” 

You laugh into the phone. “I’m doing alright. Hotch actually offered to come with me. I just stepped out, but he’s in there holding his own well enough.”

“Oh my god. When I said that I didn’t actually think you’d do it!”

“What do you mean?” You look up and out over the property, and the views are simply breathtaking. The moonlight falling across the Virginia landscape almost makes the world look like it’s holding its breath. 

What it’s waiting for... you’re not sure. 

“When I said bring your hot boss to the wedding I was joking. You didn’t ask him, did you?”

You let out a snort and it almost disrupts the peace of the evening. “Of course not. He offered.”

“I have never met a pair of people so fucking stupid in all my life.” 

“You’ve never met Hotch, idiot.” 

“Don’t have to,” Dean says. “I know you are you’re dumb enough for the both of you.” 

+++

When the dancing starts, you’re understandably resistant. The playlist is a playful mix of contemporary and classic music, and you can’t help but laugh when Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours) starts to play. 

Aaron stands and offers you his hand. You take his hand without thinking, belatedly realizing his intentions. 

“Hotch, you can’t be serious.” You stop dead in your tracks, but his grip on your fingers stays firm as he looks back at you with a look of humorous disbelief on his face. 

“When have you ever known me to be otherwise?” He tugs you forward, and you fall into his arms with a huff. “Humor me. Just one and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.” 

You glare at him, dubious. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because I’m lying.” 

And at the end of the day, you can’t refuse him anything - especially when he smiles at you like that. 

He’s an excellent dancer. Your grip on his shoulder slowly loosens as you grow more comfortable, trusting him to lead you around the dance floor. He holds you tight, his movement playful in a way that’s almost foreign to you. 

You’ve seen him dance exactly once, at Haley’s 39th birthday party, the summer before she died. 

You catch sight of Austin and Madeline on the other side of the dance floor and avert your gaze when you find Austin looking back at you. 

“Hey.” Aaron’s voice is low, almost a laugh.

Your eyes snap to Aaron’s. “What?”

“Relax.” 

“You’re one to talk,” you scoff. 

He rolls his eyes and throws you out by one arm, spinning you so your back is to his chest. “I’m plenty relaxed. You are tense.” 

The feeling of his heartbeat against your back ruins your resolve and you relent. “It just feels weird.”

“What does?” He spins you back out and pulls you close. You try not to be too distracted by the proximity of his face to yours when you land back against his chest, you hand resting over his heart.  

“I just -” you push through your reluctance and admit, “I don’t love him in that way anymore, but it’s super weird to even think that I could have ever thought he was it for me. And now he’s with someone he loves and both of our lives just...kept going after we split, you know?” You shake your head, scattering your thoughts. 

He nods. “I do.”

You believe him. The very concept of his heartbreak with Haley - the separation, the anger, the divorce, her death, the love - is overwhelming. You know he understands. 

The silence that lapses between you is comfortable. 

Yeah, I've done a lot of foolish things That I really didn't mean I could be a broken man Here I am, baby...

When he turns you under his arm, you laugh until you can’t breathe. There’s a smile on his face, too, and there’s something warm and inexplicable about it. You turn the tables on him, turning him under your arm and pulling him back to you.

The song changes to something slower and, true to his word, Aaron keeps you out on the dance floor. You’re exhausted all of a sudden, and your eyes close as you rest your head against his shoulder. 

“Thank you for being here with me.” 

You’re only sure you spoke aloud when Aaron replies, “Of course.”

+++

Your feet ache when you finally call it quits and head upstairs to your room for the night. Aaron’s suit jacket had long since left him, leaving him rolled sleeves and a loose tie with his top two buttons undone. It traveled from the back of his chair to where it now rests, slung over his arm.

You look over your shoulder as you slip your shoes off. “You look positively rumpled, Agent Hotchner.” 

He lets out a laugh, and it makes your breath catch. His laugh always takes you by surprise; it’s much brighter and higher than his speaking register, and frankly, adorable. “It’s past my bedtime.”

“You don’t have a bedtime.” And it was true - you could count on one hand the amount of times you’d known him to actually sleep, especially on a case. You could neither confirm nor deny that he even needed it to function prior to this weekend. 

The thought makes your cheeks a little warm, and you turn away from him, setting aside your pajamas and packing the rest of your items. 

There’s a little chuckle behind you before the bathroom door closes and the shower starts up. 

When Aaron leaves the bathroom, his hair wet and pajamas on, you’re asleep. Curled up on top of the covers, out like a light. 

He flips all the switches, leaving the room in darkness. Creeping to your side of the bed, he reaches over and pulls the covers down, gingerly shuffling your legs underneath, followed by your torso. You stir a little, and catch his hand as he moves to tuck your hands under the covers. 

His eyes close, just for a moment, before slipping his hand out of yours. He’s already dreading going back to his empty apartment tomorrow afternoon. 

That feeling is only amplified when you curl up against his chest as soon as he’s settled under the covers, your leg hooked over his. 

+++

You wake up warm again, and snuggle into the body beside you. Arms tighten around you, and you remember where you are and who you’re with. Unlike yesterday, you can’t pretend to be asleep - when you look up, Hotch is awake, brown eyes looking down at you. 

“Good morning,” he says. 

You tuck your face back into his chest. “I’m sorry - I’m clingy when I sleep.” 

His laugh sings over the crown of your head. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.” 

Don't read into that. 

I’m going to. 

Don’t. 

Fuck. 

“What time is it?” You crane your neck and look at the clock on his bedside table, but you can’t quite see with his arm in the way. 

“Just before nine. We have an hour before checkout. Want to get packed, grab some breakfast, and head out? I’ll drive.”

“You drove here.” You shove at him and sit up. 

He shrugs and you take a moment to admire the tousled, floppy state of his hair. “I like driving.” 

“I won’t argue with that.” 

You sigh, stretch, stand and start rolling. You brush your teeth (twice) and put your clothes back into your suitcase, zipping it up without much trouble. He, of course, takes it off your hands right away and brings the bags to the car while you take care of checkout. 

He meets you outside, sunglasses on, and the sun hits his hair. You can see all the nuances in the black - the touch of silver, the dark browns and reds. They all seem to make a halo around him in the sunshine. “Ready?”

You snap back to attention and give him a wide smile. “Yes, sir!” 

Breakfast is an eventful affair. As soon as you sit down, you get a call from Penelope. 

“Hey, Pen, what’s up?” You look across the table at Hotch with amusement in your eyes, and he smiles, still digging into his eggs benedict like a starving man. 

“Tell me everything.”

“Oh, well we’re just at breakfast, almost on our way back. My laptop is in the car, can I take a look at that for you when I get home?” 

Not now, Penelope, I’ll call you when I’m home. 

She hums, following right away. “You better give me every single detail as soon as you step through the door or I swear I’ll riot.”

With a laugh, you reply, “Of course. You know, it might be easier if you just stop by - I’ll text you when I get home and we can do dinner or something.” You push your food around your plate, trying to ignore the fact that the only person you actually want to have dinner with is right across from you.

“Perfect. Yeah, just text me when you get home babycakes. Can’t wait!” She hangs up promptly, and your eyebrows raise for a half second. 

You put your phone away and shake your head. “She’s very predictable.” 

He nods, looking at you from under his brows. “Indeed.” 

You both continue to dig into your food, not realizing how hungry you are from all your antics the night before. His phone rings next, and it’s Jack. 

“Hey bud!” 

There’s nothing better than the way his voice transforms when he speaks to his son. You hear your name and return your attention to his conversation. 

“...we’re at a wedding this weekend, remember? We got to go to a big party last night, and we’re driving home today… Yeah,” he looks at you, “we did have a lot of fun… I’m so glad you had a good time with Aunt Jess and the Brooks cousins this weekend… You got to go ice fishing? That’s so exciting! Did Grandpa take you?... Awesome, bud… Sounds good, I’ll call you when I get home, okay?... I love you too.”

When he puts his phone away, you ask, “How’s he doing?”

“It’ll be a fight to get him home, that’s for sure.” 

You take another bite of your food. “How are things with Haley’s family? Any better?”

“Not at all. I’m not sure there’s much I can do, at this point. Jess does what she can, but her dad is… not a fan of mine.” There’s a kind of sadness in his eyes, and you almost regret asking.

“I know you know this, but none of this is your fault.” You look into him and hope he can see the sincerity in your eyes, hear it in your voice. 

He thinks for a moment, and you’re almost nervous he’s going to disagree (it’s happened before), but he just meets your eyes and says, “Thank you.”

+++

Hotch lets you pick the music on the way home, and doesn’t say a word when you sing along (sometimes good, sometimes bad). He does occasionally smile a little secret smile to himself, which makes your heart skip around in your chest. 

At a certain point, you turn the music off and sit back in your seat. 

As usual, Aaron knows you’re going to say something long before you say it. “Yes?” 

“I know I keep saying this, but thank you for coming with me this weekend.” Your body shifts toward him, and you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his profile. 

“You’re welcome.” He glances at you before looking back at the road. “Thank you for trusting me not to embarrass you in front of people you haven’t seen in almost ten years.” 

You smile a kind of lopsided sort of smile. “You could never embarrass me.”

He frowns playfully. “That’s not true.” 

“You are exceedingly upstanding, and you just got your hair cut, so the odds are in my favor.” 

“Hey!” He self-consciously runs a hand over the back of his hair. You reach over to shove at his shoulder and you’re rewarded with a laugh. 

“I’m kidding! I like it long.” You look over fondly at him. “It was longer when I first met you, remember?” You’re not sure why you continue, but you do nevertheless. “You started keeping it shorter after the div - well, after.” 

He quirks his brow, the corners of his lips upturned just the smallest amount. “Nobody ever accused you of being unobservant.” 

You grin widely at him and turn the radio back on. 

+++

You’ve never been more disappointed to see your own driveway in your whole life. Hotch pulls in and turns the ignition off, and you sit in silence for a minute. 

There’s so much to think about, and most of it is at least a little uncomfortable. Of course you’re in love with him and he’s your favorite person (and that’s bad enough), but that is even harder to stomach now that you have to go back into the real world. 

It’s easy to pretend that it was real, that it wasn’t just for show to make you feel less awful about the direction of your love life. If anything, now that you’re home, you feel even worse. 

The only person you want is seemingly the only person you can’t have. There’s something so unattainable about Hotch. You’re not sure if it’s his stern exterior or his age or his role, or if it has more to do with how devastatingly handsome he is, but it’s something. 

Aaron wishes he could do anything else, than leave you here at home. Nevertheless, he sighs and gets out of the car. You follow him around back, though you’re not really sure why - he takes your suitcase and insists on carrying it all the way to the door. 

You stand there, fumbling with your keys, feeling more and more like a character in a romantic comedy with every passing second. Aaron sets your suitcase on the ground and covers your hands with his. You look up at him, and he leans toward you, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to your cheek. 

“Thank you for inviting me.” 

All you can do is nod, with a tight, closed-mouth smile. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says

“Bye, Hotch,” you call to him as he trots back to the car. “Thanks again.” 

He turns toward you, puts his sunglasses on, opens the door, and says, “Anytime.” 

You wave with the tips of your fingers and slide into your house. Your back to do the door, you slide down to the floor and cover your face with your hands. 

Fuck. 

tagged: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @saintd0lce @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @vintagecaptainspidey​ @micaiahmoonheart​ @ogmilkis @thatreallyis-americas-ass​ @marvels-agents100​ @newtslatte​ @risenfox ​@mrs-dr-reid​ @captain-christopher-pike​ @joemazzello-imagines​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @sebbybaby0​ @pan-pride-12​ @hotchlinebling​ @lee-rin-ah ​@sunshine-em​ @word-scribbless ​@jdougl-love​ @sageellsworth05​ @emmice9 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky​ @bauslut @yourlovelynewsbian @sparklingkeylimepie @aili28 @kingandrear @reader4027 @spnobsessedmemes @rogers-mouth @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @phoenixfyre374 @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandi-ass-prentiss @songbird400 @dontkissthewriter @ellyhotchner @a-dorky-book-keeper @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @andreasworlsboring101 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @zizzlekwum @lcvischmitt

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

[lastbluetardis]

Sacred New Beginnings (1/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong.

Ten x Rose AU, @doctorroseprompts

This Chapter: Teen, ~5500 words

Note: Er... surprise? This idea has been in my head for months but my brain took it and ran with it this weekend. I plotted the whole thing and am gonna try to update every weekend. I don’t anticipate this being more than like... 7-10 chapter? I’d love to keep it under 5 chapters but that might be trimming things down too much for my liking. Anyways, I really hope you enjoy this little story!

AO3

Flashing lights and shrieks of his name greet James the moment the back door to his armored car is opened. His head of security ducks out first and James can only see a mass of feet and legs but it’s more than enough to let him know it’s a heavier than usual crowd. Not surprising, considering the news of his latest break-up just dropped while he’d been flying back from a visit to America.

He slides out of the car, helped by hands that pull him as much as guide him through the throng. He ignores the shouts of his name—telling him to look left or right or up or down or every combination therein—and the barrage of questions and jokes that aren’t funny.

Was it you or him that ended it?

Three weeks, is that a new personal record?

Another notch in the bedpost, eh James?

Got another beau lined up yet?

If you’re looking for candidates, what do we have to do to get our names in the running?

“Ignore them,” he mutters to himself, too quietly for anyone except his security team to hear.

In answer, one of them gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as they reach his front door. Someone has already unlocked it for him and the darkness within is a blessing he’s all too willing to be shoved into. The cacophony muffles once the door shuts, and finally he’s alone, a rarity for him. If it’s not his security, it’s personal assistants and writers and producers and photographers and the paparazzi.

Or his lover of the month, as the papers have taken to calling his partners.

But nope, his home is empty and quiet and bloody freezing. A shiver ripples up his spine as he treads to the thermostat controller. Summer finally released its hold on London, and the muggy heat has been replaced with a damp chill that burrows down into his bones.

Several button-presses later, James hears the familiar clank of the radiator and he can smell the heating kick on. It’ll take a while for his house to warm up, so James keeps his peacoat on for the time being as he putters around his home, checking the fridge and the cabinets. As always, they’re well-stocked. He hasn’t had to do anything as mundane as grocery shopping in the five years since his YouTube channel full of acoustic covers of popular songs went viral and landed him a lucrative deal with a prestigious record label. Only in his wildest dreams had he expected to find fame and fortune in the hobby he loved so much—for it to have actually happened still took him by surprise, as though any minute he’d be told “it was fun while it lasted, but it’s time for you to leave wonderland now.”

Shaking his head of those thoughts, he goes to the antique dining table that can easily seat ten people, which is great for holidays or in-home meetings, but just plain depressing every other day of the year. A stack of mail has piled up, and he spends the next five minutes attempting to sort it before giving up and telling himself he’ll look at it in the morning, once he’s not quite as groggy—transatlantic flights always take it out of him.

Instead, he rootles around his fridge until he comes up with the necessary items to make himself a ham and cheese sandwich. With the prospect of food in front of him, James realizes he is starving. He shoves a whole slice of ham in his mouth while he assembles his pitiful meal, heaping on lettuce and sliced tomatoes as though that’s enough to negate the pile processed protein and greasy chips he layers in for crunch.

It’s tastier than any sandwich as a right to be, and he nearly makes himself a second one before catches sight of his phone screen and the slew of incoming notifications. His work is never finished, is it?

There are several texts from his publicist, Donna, welcoming him home and congratulating him on not making an arse of himself just by trying to walk up the front drive of his home. (To be fair, he felt entitled to channel his inner crotchety old man and tell reporters to get off his damn lawn if they encroached on his personal property.)

“Though some photos are surfacing of your trip to New York… Anything you need me to get ahead of?”

He rubs his fingers into his eyes, knowing she’s probably referring to his last night out in the city, where he went bar hopping until the wee hours of the morning to try to forget the text his subsequently-ex-boyfriend had sent him.

Thanks for everything, but I need to focus on my career. Cheers mate.

The career that James had kickstarted for him by introducing his rising actor boyfriend to several of his friends in the film industry, because James had been so damn desperate for affection that he’d once again let the wool get pulled in front of his eyes.

And so James had reached out to mates who lived in New York and they’d all gone out and acted half their age and had a wonderful time once James forgot about why he’d gone out in the first place.

But none of that now. Nope. No sir.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he replies. “Let me know if you catch wind of anything.”

Despite the fact that he only just got home and he’s jetlagged and still feeling the effects of his night out in New York, James can’t stay in his house right now. It’s so quiet that his brain is creating its own white noise. He can’t stand being in his head on a good day, and today is not a good day.

He grabs his keys and wallet and makes for the back of the house. His property is landlocked with the back gardens of other houses; the paps have learned the hard way that James is dead serious about protecting his neighbors’ privacy and will not hesitate to phone the police to arrest and sue anyone caught trespassing on private property to snag a photo of him. James hosts dinner for his neighbors several times a year and buys them gifts any chance he can to show his appreciation for their patience and tolerance.

In the dead of night, he slips out into his back garden, the crisp October air burning his lungs in the best way as he ducks his way through the neighborhood, his feet taking him far away from the crowd of reporters that are still stationed in front of his own home. Hopefully they’ll all have dispersed by the time he gets back. Perhaps he should have turned on music or a movie or something, made them think he was settled in for a lazy night in.

He wanders aimlessly for a while, enjoying this taste of freedom and trying to remember the days when he could leave out the front door of his flat without any fanfare.

It’s dark, and thick clouds obscure whichever moon phase they’re in, but the street lamps glow yellow on the damp pavement, lighting his way forward. A crisp autumn breeze ruffles his hair and the leaves, sending them tumbling around him and skittering across the residential street that’s so much quieter than the bustle of New York. It’s good to be home, though.

He arrives at a bus stop and catches one headed into the city proper. It’s no secret that James lives in London, and therefore the general population has gotten used to glimpsing him on the tube or walking on the street or frequenting pubs. He knows people snap quick photos of him, and he’s always happy to stop and pose for a selfie with respectful fans, but mostly he’s left alone when he’s out by himself like this.

Nevertheless, he hears the excited undertones of people trying to inconspicuously point him out to their oblivious friends. He keeps his head down, mindlessly opening and closing apps on his phone for something to do as he pretends he doesn’t notice them. He won’t be on the bus much longer anyway.

Several people get off the bus with him, including a group of teenage girls who are whispering heatedly among themselves. It’s almost funny, watching them debate amongst themselves before one of them approaches him.

She’s red-faced but determined as she blurts, “Can we get a photo?”

“Sure thing,” he says good-naturedly, inclining his head for them to come closer. “Need me to take it?” He holds out a lanky arm and flops it around a bit. “Got a longer reach than any of you.”

He’s certain one of the girls is about to start crying with joy as they all nestle into his side and hand him a new-model iPhone. Damn, it’s fancier than his own. When he was their age, he had an old flip phone that lost reception if he breathed on it wrong. It was a tank though—he’d dropped that thing hundreds of times, and nary a scratch.

“Do me a favor,” he says, handing the phone back to its owner, “and don’t ping our location if you post to social media, yeah? I appreciate it.”

“You’re my favorite person ever,” one of the girls squeaks.

His face splits into a grin and he tucks his hands into his pockets. “Is that so?”

The girls spend the next five minutes chatting with him about music and how they’ve been following him ever since his YouTube days. He listens and chimes in every now and then when they ask him a direct question, but he prefers being passive in exchanges like this, content to hear peoples’ stories. It makes him feel normal, if only for a little while.

Finally, they take their leave, and James turns in the opposite direction even though the destination he had in mind is down the street the girls had just taken. But he’s been burned far too many times by encounters with seemingly innocent fans, only for them to begin following him around and showing up outside his house to talk to him again. He makes a point of not drawing out public encounters with his fans.

He wanders down a street he’s vaguely familiar with, figuring he can backtrack in a couple blocks. The night is too beautiful for him to be upset about needing to take a detour.

Everything looks different in the dark, the glow of neon signs bathing everything in hues of greens and blues and pinks and yellows. Shops and restaurants are mostly shut up for the night, their windows dark or blinds drawn. Dingey motels with pay-by-the-hour rates are in full swing, as are the pubs that have a revolving door of people in varying states of intoxication.

Deep bass that he can feel all the way in his chest catches his attention, and he gets turned around a few times, but he eventually finds the establishment: Bad Wolf Brews. At first, he doesn’t think it’s open, and that he must be mistaken about where the music is coming from, but the heavy front oak door opens, and he realizes the glass on the door is tempered so that the interior lights don’t shine through. The music is clear and heavy and vibrating in his bones. He doesn’t think twice before catching the door before it closes and slipping inside.

The air is humid and smells of sweat and stale beer. Bodies are writhing and gyrating to the rhythm blasting through invisible speakers. The acoustics are phenomenal; none of the layers are lost and the sound quality is nearly as good as if he were listening to the record at home on his own stereo system.

The lights are low, and he’s sure he trips into a few people in the minute it takes for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, but finally, he’s at the bar. There are three open stools, and he claims one between a blonde woman and a red-haired man as he wonders what the hell this dive bar serves. He can see beer taps, but he’s more of a cocktail guy. He must look as lost as he feels, because the bartender hands him a menu that looks like it was hand-written and then photo-copied. It jives with the overall vibe of the pub.

The bartender checks in with him a minute later. James opens a tab and orders a sidecar sans sugar, and is pleasantly surprised by the quality. Not to make assumptions, but he’d figured an establishment such as this would have cheap liquor. If the alcohol in his drink is cheap, it’s well masked.

When he’s drained the last drop and about to signal for another, a hand rests on his shoulder. “Can I buy your next round?”

James looks up into the face of a stranger. It’s a woman with striking green eyes and a disheveled pixie cut. Judging by her crimson cheeks and glazed eyes, she’s three sheets to the wind. There’s buzzed, then there’s drunk, and then there’s plastered. He prefers not to let himself get to that last category, and by extension, he doesn’t really like to associate much with people who won’t remember the night come morning.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” he says with his most charming grin. “G’night.”

He has no idea if the woman knows who he is, but the way she shrugs and saunters to the gentleman sitting beside James, he doubts it.

He gets clumsily propositioned a few more times and always politely declines with a smile. So far, nobody here seems to recognize him and he is going to ride out this anonymity for as long as it’ll last. It has been too long since he’s been able to sit in a pub and drink quietly. Well, quietly, insofar as crazed fans or paparazzi aren’t harassing him—the music is loud enough that he’s sure to have ringing in his ears for a few hours once he gets home.

But he’s not really in any rush to get home, and so he orders his fourth cocktail before making his way to the loo. Alcohol goes right through him, and it’s nearly gotten him in trouble on tour a time or two.

There’s no line, but the loo is crowded, and he tries to ignore the double-takes as he stands in front of a urinal to take care of business. If he wakes up tomorrow morning to find that someone snapped a photo of him having a piss, he’s going to lose his goddamn mind.

Bladder tended to, James keeps his head ducked and shoulders his way back into the bar. His stool is unoccupied, and when he steps forward, he realizes why. A purse sits on it, seemingly reserving the seat but he can’t figure out for whom. He’s about to take the cocktail the bartender hands him and stand against the shadowed wall when someone picks up the purse.

It’s his blonde-haired stool mate. She flashes him a broad grin that lights up her entire face and squeezes something deep in his stomach.

“Saved your seat for ya,” she says with the ease and confidence of someone who’s known him his whole life.

“Thanks,” he manages through a suddenly dry mouth.

Feeling like an idiot for standing and gaping, he slips into his seat and downs half his new sidecar in one go. It’s as though the ice has been broken now, and she turns to him, her elbow on the counter and her cheek propped on her fist.

“Pretty sure you could outdrink a fish, mate,” she drawls, smiling again in that easy way that does too many strange things to his insides. “You’ve been knockin’ ‘em back for over an hour now.”

Has it really been that long? James checks his watch, and yup, it’s half past ten. The paps should be gone from his house by now, but he feels no draw to leave this place. The alcohol has left him pleasantly tipsy and warm, but he’s more drunk on the fantasy that he’s just a normal bloke having a nice night out in a newly-discovered dive bar.

“Fish don’t really drink though, do they? They absorb water through their gills via osmosis,” he replies, and he wants to bite his tongue off because what the fuck was that??

This woman, whatever her name is, doesn’t seem to mind his answer though, because her face scrunches in a giggle. His body is hot and throbbing with more than drink now, and he wants to hear that sound again but his brain has stopped working.

“Is that so different from you absorbin’ alcohol through your bloodstream?” she muses, finishing off whatever is in her short tumbler.

“Can I buy your next round?” he blurts rather than responding to her question, which he’s almost certain was rhetorical.

Her smile melts into something softer, something private and a little shy. “If you’d like.”

“I do.” He flags down the bartender and glances at his new companion expectantly.

“Gin and tonic,” she says. She thanks the bartender, then James when she takes her first sip. “I’m Rose, by the way.”

“James,” he says, feeling stupid because his face is plastered all over London, which likes to boast that it’s the home of international celeb James Noble. But wouldn’t he seem more of an arse if he just assumed this gorgeous woman knew who he was?

Nevertheless, his stomach sinks a bit when she snorts into her drink and says, “I thought it was you.”

“Yup, it’s me,” he forces, his voice flat. He hides his frown with his glass, knocking back the rest of his sidecar like it’s a shot. The room sways slightly with the violent motion of his head, and maybe he’s slightly drunker than he’d thought.

If Rose catches on to his sudden sour mood, she doesn’t mention it. “What brings you here to Bad Wolf?”

He shrugs and blows out a noisy breath. “I dunno. Went for a walk, ended up here.”

“Those are the best sort of adventures.” She hums wistfully. “Sometimes you find what you didn’t know you needed when you let yourself get lost.”

That observation is far too astute for his current state of mind, so instead he says, “Would you like to dance with me?”

Her eyes flicker across his face for a brief moment before she says, “Okay.”

He hops down from his stool, but Rose hesitates, clutching her purse and coat awkwardly. The bartender helpfully tells her to keep them on her stool, and he’ll keep an eye on it. Rose flashes him a grin that James would rather she flash at him, but he realizes that is utterly absurd, so he simply rests his coat on top of her things to better hide them from view. He then holds out his hand for her. Her palm is soft and warm against his as he leads her to the crowded dance floor.

They find space towards the back of the pub, hidden in the shadows of a hallway that states it’s closed off to patrons. And of course, of fucking course, right when he rests his hands on her hips to find the rhythm of the song, a new one comes on, and his own voice belts from the speakers.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. He loves his music—he made it, after all—but he can’t help but feel pretentious and more than a little silly to dance to it like this.

Rose, however, grins and says, “Oh, come on, this is one of my favorites.”

She catches his hands where he’d loosened them at her waist and forces him to grab hold of her. She’s wearing high-waisted trousers and a top that leaves a sliver of her belly exposed. His thumb grazes the skin of her bare side, and it’s enough to send tingles through his body. Rose, meanwhile, slings her arms around his shoulders and begins to rock her hips from side to side in sync with the bass, embellishing the motions until she looks absolutely ridiculous but so, so beautiful.

He can’t help but grin and laugh, and he mirrors her movements until they’re both dancing like idiots to his music.

“This is how my baby brother dances,” she explains, bouncing up and down while twisting her hips. “We have regular dance parties together.”

“How old’s your brother?” he asks.

“Just turned four.”

He blinks, and blood rushes from his face. “And… and how old are you?”

“A perfectly legal twenty-four,” she drawls, reaching up to flick his nose. “You can start breathing again.”

Thank fuck.

“That’s quite the age gap.”

“My mum got remarried when I was nineteen,” Rose says with a shrug. “She and my stepdad didn’t waste much time.”

“Clearly,” he mutters under his breath.

“It does feel a bit like they’ve started over,” Rose confesses with a too-stiff shrug. “New family, new life, and I’m the interloper.

There is no way this vivacious woman in front of him could ever be considered an interloper, but before he can tell her that, she continues, “Mum does her best to assure me otherwise, but still. It’s hard to watch all the things Mum and Dad are able to do for Tony—that’s my brother, Tony—when Mum struggled so much as a single mum with me.”

“Your dad’s not in the picture?”

A sad smile pinches her face, and he regrets asking.

“No, I never knew him. He died when I was a baby.”

“I… I’m so sorry.” Well, he’s totally buggered this all up, hasn’t he? He wracks his brain on how to salvage the easy banter they’d had at the bar, but draws a blank.

Rose seems to realize they’ve lost the mood, but she breaks out into a lazy grin and says, “Since you seemed so opposed to dancing to your own music, it’ll please you to know a new song’s on. C’mon, show me your moves.”

He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, and so he follows her lead, watching her dance her heart out until her cheeks are pink and her hair is damp with sweat. He’s sure he doesn’t look much better, since he can feel the perspiration beading down his back and beneath his arms, but he can’t bring himself to care. Tonight has been the most fun he’s had in a very long time. Clubbing in New York had been a lark, but he’s been swarmed by his American fans half the night, and had been busy drowning his latest heartbreak to fully enjoy it. But here, now, with Rose, it’s like he’s any other bloke in a pub, chatting up a pretty girl he wants to get to know.

Their bodies are wrapped around each other with the ease and grace of partners who have known each other for years, and he forgets that he has known Rose for all of a few hours. He never wants this night to end. He wants to cling to this fairytale and pretend that the clock isn’t about to strike the proverbial midnight.

But time marches on as always. The clock really does strike midnight, and the bartender begins to clear people out of his establishment. James is as exhausted as he is exhilarated, no longer drunk on booze but rather the company of Rose and the magic they made together by simply dancing the night away.

They head back to the bar to retrieve their coats and her purse, and to close out their tabs. James slides his credit card to the bartender and asks him to charge everyone’s tab to his card. If the bartender is surprised, he hides it well. A few minutes later, James is signing off on the receipt of purchase of several thousand pounds-worth of alcohol. His personal assistant is sure to be confused as hell when she wakes up to see the charge. He fires off a quick warning text to her so she doesn’t open up a fraudulent charge claim.

James salutes the bartender, knowing he’ll come back to this pub as often as he can until he’s found out and this place once again becomes somewhere that’s overrun with his fans.

The night is refreshingly cold when he and Rose emerge into it, a nice change after the stifling, sweaty heat of the bar. However, she hunches her shoulders against the chill, prompting him to wrap his arm around her waist and tug her into his side, all too eager to lend her some of his body heat.

“Can I walk you somewhere?” he asks, glancing around the street that is now full of the drunken patrons who’d been in the pub with them. They all disperse in different directions, stumbling home or to a different bar that is still open. “Or wait with you ‘til you catch a cab?”

“Yeah, sure,” she says, pulling up her phone to order a ride. She taps on the screen for a few quiet moments then says, “Done. Should be here in a few minutes.”

They descend into a slightly awkward silence that James wants to break, but he can’t think of anything clever to say. So he says nothing, and finally headlights wash over them, momentarily blinding them before a taxi pulls up.

“D’you wanna share?” she asks, opening the door to the back seat.

Is she as reluctant to leave him as he is to leave her? Or is she being polite and eco-friendly by ride sharing? Nevertheless, he nods and slides into the back seat beside her.

There is something incredibly intimate about sitting with Rose in the dark interior of the taxi, and he feels like he’s fifteen and wondering how to hold his date’s hand after a cheap night out at the cinemas. He fists his hands together, knotting his fingers until his knuckles pop.

The driver goes to the address Rose provides first, and all too soon they’ve arrived.

“I’ll cover the fare,” he says when she makes to hand over some bank notes to the diver. “It’d be my pleasure.”

She hesitates, but nods, then opens the door to climb out of the car. His pulse quickens as he watches her walk away with nothing but a, “Goodnight.”

“Can you wait just a minute?” he asks the driver.

“Meter’s still runnin’,” he grunts.

“That’s fine.”

James scrambles out of the taxi. “Hey, Rose?”

She turns back to face him, frowning.

“I… er… I had a great time tonight,” he says lamely, but her frown relaxes into a smile. “It was fun. With you. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too,” she answers.

He licks his lips; his mouth is bone dry and his pulse pounds in his ears, making his vision throb with each frenzied beat.

“Do you… do you maybe wanna do it again some time? Hang out together? I… I’d really like to see you again,” he says, cursing his clumsy, fumbling words.

She scrutinizes him for a long moment, her expression indecipherable. His stomach sinks. Maybe this was a one-off, a story for her to tell her mates.

You’ll never guess who I met at the pub last night. James Noble! He paid for all my drinks and we danced like idiots.

He stews in his misery of doubt, and just when he’s about to tell her to forget about it, she slowly nods.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

“Really?” he asks, a hopeful edge creeping into his voice.

She laughs. “Really.”

“Brilliant!” James fumbles in his pocket for his phone, and he thrusts it at her. “Give me your number? I’ll text you. Or call.”

He rocks back and forth on his toes and heels, waiting for her to finish up with his phone. He has a sudden, potent bolt of panic that she’s snooping through his private messages or photographs for something to use against him to make a quick profit, but before that panic can take root, she hands his mobile back to him. It’s open to a new texting conversation.

From: 🌹 Bad Wolf Girl 🌹

Now I’ve got your number too 😉

He beams at the name she’s given to herself in his contacts, then he pockets his phone.

“I’ll see you later,” he says.

“You better,” she replies with that knee-weakening smile he’s grown to love over the course of the night. “See ya.”

“Bye.”

He stands there like a moron until she’s safely inside, then he turns back to the taxi and climbs in. The deserted streets streak by as the driver takes him to his neighborhood. He never gives his address though; he always chooses a destination a few streets away, just in case.

James generously tips the driver and bids him goodnight before slipping into the night to his home. He was right: the paparazzi are gone. There is no fanfare as he slips his key into the lock and lets himself into his house. It’s warm and cozy, but still too quiet for his liking.

Between the plane ride and his night out, he feels greasy and disgusting, and indulges in a hot shower before bed. He washes Rose’s scent off of his body, an intoxicating blend of jasmine and vanilla that’s as sweet as it is musky.

He’s groggy by the time he crawls into his giant, king-sized bed and burrows deep into his mounds of pillows and duvets. One of his ex-girlfriends once teased that he turns into the marshmallow man when he sleeps.

His sleep is deep and dreamless, and when he awakes with the sun the following morning, he feels more refreshed and invigorated than he ever remembers being. He’s got a full day of meetings with his songwriting team to brainstorm his next album, and he is ready.

But first, he checks his phone. There’s nothing from Rose, which makes him a little sad, but also nothing from his publicist, which is always a good sign. If ever she messages or calls him first thing in the morning, it always means there’s some sort of dumpster fire to put out. Usually a dumpster fire full of compromising photos of him.

He makes a point of not Googling himself, but he does occasionally check his social media pages for new posts about him, wanting to know when, where, and how his fans came across him in the wild. He easily finds the photo that he took with the group of teenage girls, and makes a point to like the original post and type a quick, “Nice to meet you all. Thanks for chatting with me last night - J” in the comments section. He snorts to himself as his comment blows up within seconds.

But other than some grainy photos of him riding the bus, he can’t find any other photos of himself. Nothing of him wandering the streets or drinking in the pub or even having a wee in the mens’ room. And best of all, there’s nothing of him and Rose. No photos of them dancing together or sharing a cab. If Rose has a social media account, it didn’t post any sneaky photos or bragging stories about dancing all night with James Noble.

He can’t quite believe it; he managed to have a fun night out drinking without it all being thrown back in his face the next morning. Within seconds, he’s grinning to himself and pulling up Rose’s contact information. It’s still in his phone, further proof that his night with her wasn’t some sort of jetlagged fever dream. She was real.

“Good morning. I hope you slept well. Thanks for last night.”

She responds almost instantly. Good morning to you too. I should be thanking you for paying my drink tab and taxi fare 😉 And for being an excellent dance partner.

“The pleasure was all mine, on all counts.” He sends that message, then types out a new one, “I’m gonna be in meetings all day (yes, I know it’s Sunday), so please don’t be discouraged if I don’t reply. But I’d really like to see you again. Want to do dinner or drinks or coffee or something?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, needing to make himself presentable for when his driver picks him up in an hour. Yet he can’t help but check his phone every three seconds, until finally there’s a message from Rose.

Yeah, I’d like that. I work ‘til five most nights, but I’m free after that. Or we can wait ‘til the weekend.

With spirits lighter than they’ve been in months, James steps out of his house with a broad, stupid grin that the ever-present crowd of paparazzi are all too happy to photograph.

#ficandchips #dwfic #doctorroseprompts #doctor who #ten x rose #ten x rose au #james x rose #yet another iteration of james and rose lmao #romance #meet cute #light angst #musician au #my fic #sacred new beginnings

[bts-weverse-trans]

201123 Weverse Magazine 'BE' Comeback Interview - Jimin

Jimin: “I’m the kind of person who likes to be loved” BTS BE comeback interview 2020.11.23

When he’s talking, Jimin often starts his sentence with phrases like, “I just,” “it just,” “they just …” But then he immediately goes on to open up about his feelings, always providing a sincere response.

On one V-LIVE session back in October, you wore the clothes that you had planned to wear at the airport if you were to go on tour. Jimin: I hadn’t really noticed, but I think I’ve finally come to terms with the reality of our present situation.

By “situation,” you mean how it’s difficult to meet your fans in person? Jimin: Yes. If we had to go on stage in this situation, or if we had to perform our songs, I’m not sure how we would go about accomplishing that. At the same time, It felt like something that was closed up and blocked was opened up again. There isn’t the kind of excitement we got from tour season, though, so it’s easy to feel worn out. But, just like when we’re making new songs, I try to do whatever I can.

BE feels like it’s all about taking care of your feelings and the process of moving forward. Jimin: I had the role of listening to what the members wanted to include in the album, but it’s more a record of the present than it is about our individual feelings. We talked openly about how we’re having a hard time and how we’re trying our best to get over things, and that became the album.

As the project manager for BE, how did you go about gathering and organizing all the members’ ideas? Jimin: I became the project manager because Yoongi recommended I do it, but I didn’t think I had to lead anything along, more just make sure the other members could do their work quickly and easily. Usually that meant asking about their opinions, or passing opinions back and forth with our company. So I would collect ideas, organize them, say, “These are some of the ideas we got back. What do you think?”—ask them again, if they said okay, pass it on to the company, and if they made a song, I sent that over, too.

How did you prod along the members who were taking too long with their ideas? (laughs) Jimin: I would mention them by name in our group chat, and that got them to reply. (laughs) Any time I said someone or other didn’t submit their idea yet, all the others would chime in with, “Hurry up, guys!” and then they’d give it to me.

Sounds like it’s great for one of the members to be project manager. (laughs) How did you accommodate all the different ideas? Jimin: When we first started, we sat down for about an hour and said: If you feel downtrodden, just make a song about feeling desperate; if you want to give others hope, go ahead and write a hopeful song. Let’s find the topic and work from there. And since there’s seven of us, and the album’s going to be about current events, let’s put in one skit to make seven songs; and let’s not put in any solo songs. Let’s make something that we can all work on together.

That approach must have been different from the way you worked on your other recent albums. Jimin: We never said anything like, somebody will make this song and someone else will make that song. We would just take a song and say, Who wants to do this? Who wants to do that? I became more ambitious, and wanted the other members to recognize the work I was doing. And because it was so fun working together, any time I made something, I wanted to play it for them right away. I also loved when they gave me compliments, so that added to the fun. When the songs are eventually finished, we hoped the fans would be able to pick up on all those emotions exactly as we felt them, although there are some songs that didn’t make the cut. (laughs) It was really fun.

You could say that, while it’s important to deliver songs to the fans, the process of creation itself is also important. Jimin: A little while ago, I learned something new about myself: I’m the kind of person who likes to be loved. Looking back, I realized I do what I do not just for the work itself, but to be loved by my friends, family, the group, and fans. It’s been really hard to hold onto those connections, but I felt a fullness once I was sure of that love and kept those relationships close. It was like getting something of my own.

Rather than simply being loved, is it actually a satisfaction arising from the effort involved and the deep sense of trust it builds? Jimin: I used to think more frequently about what I was getting from them than what I was doing for everyone else. Even if I don’t strictly owe our fans or group members anything in return, I feel a deep and sincere appreciation for all the things they do for me. I also saw some people for who they really are, some people who don’t really care about me. Rather than pushing those people away, I learned how to react less emotionally to them. Likewise, I was able to be more emotionally honest with people who are very considerate toward me.

It’s become difficult to express those kinds of feelings to fans these days. The only choice, really, is to talk to them through your songs. What is your message this time? Jimin: There’s a message in every album and music video we make; but you don’t have to understand the message, I just hope you enjoy listening and watching. That’s the first thing. I hope you really like the songs and videos I created while working to not become complacent, so I took great care and practiced a lot to present something perfect to you.

On that note, I think your singing and dancing are changing quite a bit. Your performances in “Black Swan” and “Dynamite” are completely different, but perhaps because of your changed body silhouette, the feel of your dance has become more consistent. As a dancer, what is it you want to express? Jimin: I just hope my emotions come across. I just want the emotions I put into my dancing, actions, and singing to be felt. So I got a lot of feedback, asked around, did some research and found that for each emotion you might express on stage, there’s a body most appropriate for the job. We all have different body types. In order to get the body that can best express my emotions at my age, I went on a strict diet, but I don’t stick to it nearly as intensely as I used to. (laughs)

If you watch your dance in “Dynamite,” your body, especially when you turn away, looks different from before. You look lighter. What effect did your new body have on your dance moves? Jimin: I look how I want to look when I’m around 58 kg, so I went on a diet and lost 5 kg. That’s when I found the look I wanted to present to everyone. I can’t be objective about myself, but there was a certain vibe that I wanted. In the past I tried really hard to be no-frills, and by focusing less on trying something new and more on avoiding mistakes, I prevented myself from advancing any further. But in “Dynamite,” I tried out expressions I’d never tried before. I wanted people to be able to tell that I was really concentrating on this when they watched the video, so for this song, I tried to be sentimental and—how should I put this—I even tried to look suave (laughs) and funny, too . I ended up focusing on painting a single picture rather than on each of the individual elements.

And what is it you wanted to show off? Jimin: We haven’t been able to put on a real show during COVID-19. I wanted to show that we didn’t waste all that time but rather have kept going through it all, that we keep working hard. But portraying “working hard” through dance would look really tiring, so I smiled and danced throughout filming “Dynamite.”

How was that possible? It couldn’t have been easy to keep the whole team motivated. Jimin: With the spread of COVID-19, it took us a while to really believe our rise to the top of the Billboard Hot 100. When we checked our phones and it said we got first place we were amazed, but it was hard to believe, although we were all crying. (laughs) But when COVID-19 first hit, we said, “Ah, it’ll pass quickly and we’ll be right back on tour.” The reason was that we had said, even if it gets tough, let’s give it our all for the next year. Give it our all and collapse.. That was the plan, but we were really disappointed. What was worse was, when I heard it would be hard to have any performances this year, my head … it sort of went blank. My mind was empty. We couldn’t just take a break either. Other people had it really hard but we could keep working. I didn’t know whether we should be happy or sad about it. There were no answers for anything. It was really tough.

How did you get over that? Jimin: If an interviewer or anyone else asked me what my goal was, I told them my goal is to perform with the members for a long time, and that is probably my biggest goal; but I was really saying that to the group: I want to be with you guys for a really long time. I think we conveyed that feeling well to one another. I seriously worried a lot that the group would get exhausted. But they’d be laughing with one another, cheering each other up. We had a lot more time to chat together, so whatever was going on, we could always talk about it over a drink at our home and work it out.

What makes you take your work so seriously? Jimin: I really want to love this job inside and out. If we just look at work as work, all we’ll be after is money, but I never once thought that our group’s dynamic, or the relationship we have with our fans, was based on that. But I think if you’re exhausted mentally and physically, the work becomes a chore, and then your relationships will inevitably suffer. That’s what I was afraid of.

The song “Dis-ease” is about how each member feels about working. How do you feel about your work? Jimin: I don’t consider my main profession, performing and singing, “going to work.”. But when I’m doing something else with the camera right in front of me,that feels like “work.” Singing and performing for our fans isn’t work—it’s something I really, really want to do.

You helped write “Dis-ease,” correct? Jimin: The bridge. I was recording with Pdogg and there was one part that didn’t have a melody, so—should I call it improv?—I was just singing something without thinking about it, and then he asked me to sing that again. So I asked if he was sure, and then he asked me to write the melody, so I ended up writing it.

Some of the other songs on BE have something like that too, but “Dis-ease” somehow feels particularly like old school Korean hip hop. Jimin: I thought so too. I thought of 20 years ago when I sang it. The majority of the song was written by j-hope, so that might just be my thinking (laughs) but I sang it when there was a question mark on who would sing the vocals. I was really doing whatever I wanted, so I sort of had to be restrained (laughs) but it was fun.

Was there any place the vocals changed while recording? There are a lot of parts on BE where you use almost a normal speaking voice. Jimin: I usually already have the big picture set in my mind when I sing, but this time it wasn’t like that. “Life Goes On,” especially—that song’s not about me, but I couldn’t help but empathize with it, so right from the beginning I performed it without having to think about how my voice should sound. I wasn’t thinking about some particular emotion of mine I wanted to express to you. I just recorded exactly the feelings I had as I sang.

There’s a song titled, “Telepathy.” When you streamed yourselves in production on YouTube, the group mentioned the idea of telepathy which made me think you were sending the song directly to your fans. If you could talk to them through telepathy, what would you say? Jimin: People have kind hearts, and I just hope they don’t let that go. You asked about telepathy, but I think we really do have a telepathic connection with our fans. It’s not crystal clear or anything, but I think if we’re sincere then they can feel it somehow. I think that’s why our fans support us and are always by our side.

And what about the other way around? What would you like to hear from your fans? Jimin: One thing I’m always curious about, about our fans, is what’s the hardest thing in their lives. What each of them is struggling with, what’s making them happy—I’m really curious to know. We face our own difficulties as well, so I always wonder if there’s someone in each of our fans’ lives to ask them if they’re doing okay. I hope things get better soon, that people can keep holding on, and that the adults will follow all the rules. Kids don’t have a lot of options right now to do the things they want to do. I imagine a lot of kids see this as something that’s being forced upon them by adults, so I hope the grown-ups will properly explain the situation to the kids so they can help each other too, to end the pandemic.

The news is saying that they’ve made a COVID-19 vaccine, so you might be able to meet your fans sooner than later. What are you going to say to them when you finally see them again? Jimin: I don’t think we’ll say anything. I think we’ll just look at each other for a very long time. And if I’m able to say anything, I’ll probably say, “You made it. Now let’s get back to having a good time.”

Trans © Weverse

#bangtan #jimin #be album #weverse #comeback interview #weverse magazine #201123 #2020

[randomprose]

MoShang Week 2021 Day 01: celebrity au / sugar / rivals

When all is said and done—that is, after Shang Qinghua had accepted his victory and fielded the press of any question of the stunt Mobei Jun pulled—Shang Qinghua goes back to the Endless Abyss Sugar Masters kitchen studio.

He sits in front of the xianxia sugar sculpture monstrosity Mobei Jun made to tell Shang Qinghua and basically the whole world of his feelings and couldn’t help but snort a laugh at the life sized cultivator Mobei Jun sculpted out of pastille in Shang Qinghua’s likeness.

It’s…big. When Shang Qinghua called it a monstrosity, he wasn’t even exaggerating. It’s bigger than even Mobei Jun with its base, an intricate background, and a truly impressive pose of him riding a sword. Shang Qinghua truly believes Mobei Jun would’ve won had he not been technically disqualified.

The theme was ‘famous historical people’ and while Shang Qinghua has surely made a name for himself in the culinary industry, he isn’t exactly in the same line as Athena or Leonardo Da Vinci.

It’s just…fucking massive (has he already said that? Because it is) and just really, really intricate. Wow. Shang Qinghua can’t take his eyes off it. It took a truly herculean effort earlier for him to snap out of how amazed he is. This could probably sell way more than the average expensive sugar sculpture. He doesn’t even know if anyone will have the heart to melt this shit for consumption. Hell, it shouldn’t be. This piece should be preserved and put in a food art museum or something.

Is that egotistical of him? To want this sugar sculpture of himself preserved for all eternity? Well, it doesn’t matter! Embarrassing at it is, it really is such a work of art. Mobei Jun should’ve won the whole damn thing and he would’ve too! If the stupid man hadn’t—if he wasn’t so—why did he—

Mobei Jun really likes him this much?

Shang Qinghua doesn’t even know where to begin to process things. For the longest time, he always thought of Mobei Jun as a cocky upstart hellbent on running him out of the industry. Up until this competition and having been forced to work together at the start, Shang Qinghua has never thought of Mobei Jun other than as a rival no matter how one-sided it may be. And now suddenly he finds out it’s not only one-sided but he’s apparently Mobei Jun’s muse and the whole reason he got into patisserie and confectionaries? That he wasn’t out to ruin Shang Qinghua’s career but just actually wants to work with him? And date him?? Apparently???

How does he even respond to that? Does anyone know? Because Shang Qinghua sure as hell doesn’t!

And it’s not even that he finds the idea of dating Mobei Jun unthinkable. They’re friends! Sort of! He thinks! Well, they’re friends now that’s for sure. Before the producers decided that ‘hey, you know what will be great? If we pit the members of the final team against each other like the fucking Hunger Games!’ they were teammates and they were one of the strongest teams to beat. They’re very popular with the audiences too. And no matter how Shang Qinghua had tried his best to not like Mobei Jun at the start, you just don’t go clearing through one of the toughest most cut throat culinary competition in the country as a team without developing some sort of friendship along the way.

When Shang Qinghua finally got over himself and got to know the guy, he found that he’s actually…nice. Great, even! Mobei Jun is funny in that quiet sort of way and has the driest sense of humor Shang Qinghua has ever known of someone. Once, Shen Jiu was grilling them about their spun sugar technique and Mobei Jun mumbled something vaguely offensive and rude that made Shang Qinghua laugh and had Shen Jiu nearly flaying him alive on national TV.

And Mobei Jun apparently likes him way more than how a friend should but it’s...not bad? He’s not uncomfortable or creeped out or anything. It’s just…surprising! Yeah. Shang Qinghua is self-aware enough that people who look like Mobei Jun don’t usually go for people who look like, well, him.

Still, the question remains.

Does Shang Qinghua feel the same for Mobei Jun? And if he does, will he really be opposed to dating him?

The doors to the studio open and who should come in but Mobei Jun himself. He’s a little early than Shang Qinghua expected. He’s not done thinking things over! But he looks at Mobei Jun changed out of his chef’s attire and into a casual loose fitted shirt over dark jeans and combat boots, perfectly at ease at himself despite the earlier stunt he pulled while the person said stunt was directed at is already way in over his head overthinking things.

Mobei Jun stops just by the side of his confession piece looking expectant and Shang Qinghua sighs.

Ah. Who is he kidding? Mobei Jun is exactly, exactly, his type it’s insane. His ideal man in every sense of the word and he kind of hates himself for it.

“You idiot,” Shang Qinghua exhales leaning forward on his knees where he’s perched on the steel table of their former work station. He lets out a short almost hysterical laugh as he runs his hands through his face then his hair in exasperation. “Why did you have to throw in the towel? Don’t even try to reason. That’s what you fucking did. You couldn’t just follow the theme and then ask for my number right after? What the fuck.”

Mobei Jun has the audacity to not look affected at being called out. He just blinks at Shang Qinghua who’s clearly having some kind of Crisis. He thinks it’s cute.

“Do you feel like your victory has no meaning?

“What? No.” Shang Qinghua sits up and sees Mobei Jun has come closer. “I don’t believe in shit like that. A win is a win no matter the circumstances. I won and you lost. Hah!”

“Hmm,” Mobei Jun hums, leaning on the edge of the table beside Shang Qinghua with his phone held out. “So, can I get your number now?”

Shang Qinghua rolls his eyes but takes Mobei Jun’s phone anyway. “See, this is what you should’ve done instead of being all cheesy and confessing on national television.”

“Well, you know,” Mobei Jun shrugs. “Grand gestures and all that.”

Shang Qinghua spies the slight tilt of his lips as he hands him his phone back and, God, this man makes him want to expire right on the spot.

“Well, you looked like a straight-up fool,” he says instead by way of deflection but he really can’t do anything with the stubborn smile spreading on his face.

Mobei Jun doesn’t rise up to the taunt. He just holds up his phone and snaps a quick picture of Shang Qinghua, making him blink after the flash went off.

“Wha—”

“No, see, you look like a straight-up fool,” he says showing him the picture he took where Shang Qinghua looks, for all intents and purposes, a deer caught in a headlight. It’s quite literally unflattering.

“I wasn’t ready! No!” Shang Qinghua attempts to snatch Mobei Jun’s phone but he quickly turns the other way. Shang Qinghua tries to reach for it still while draped across his back. “Don’t you dare put that as my contact photo. Argh!”

“Nah,” Mobei Jun says easily avoiding all of Shang Qinghua’s attempts and already setting the picture as his contact photo. “I like this one. Very candid.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Mm. Pick you up later at seven?”

Shang Qinghua huffs as Mobei Jun returns to leaning against the table. He does not get off of him and just remains slumped on Mobei Jun’s side, chin propped on his shoulder. If Mobei Jun leans down just a little he could easily just plant one on Shang Qinghua.

“Eight and you’re paying for everything. Then afterward, we’ll take another photo, a nicer one, and that will be my contact photo. I’ll take one of you too I guess.”

Mobei Jun hums low and warm sounding content. “Alright,” he says before leaning in to kiss Shang Qinghua sweetly on the nose.

Shang Qinghua scrunches his face at that before leaning forward to give Mobei Jun a proper kiss. He feels Mobei Jun smile against his lips and couldn’t help smiling in return.

[ao3 | twt and other moshang week prompts | buy me a ko-fi // more fics]

#moshangweek2021 #moshangweek #moshang #shang qinghua #mobei jun #writing #svsss meme #svsss fanfic #scumbag system #scumbag villain self saving system

[organabanana]

Up against the (glass) wall || Supercorp

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Supergirl (TV 2015)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: None

Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor

Characters: Kara Danvers, Lena Luthor, Alex Danvers

Additional Tags: Lab Sex, absolute nonsense, lena luthor protocol but it's smut, alex would like a very long vacation, Oral Sex. oh rao     

Summary: Frustrated by the lab's glass walls and lack of privacy, Lena decides to use her genius intellect to build something that'll allow her and Kara to have some alone time in between missions. Alex really only wanted to put her scientific skills to use in the lab, but she ends up discovering Lena's prototype is not quite as successful as it originally seemed.

Notes: this is the result of a totally serious and normal conversation with @emiltons and I feel like it’s 100% her fault tbh.

[ao3 link]

It starts with Kara arriving at the Tower after a particularly challenging mission. She could’ve flown straight home for a shower and some well-deserved rest, but she knows Lena can’t sleep while Kara is on duty, and she knows exactly what her girlfriend does when she can’t sleep. So Kara walks straight to the lab and smiles at the sight of Lena in her element, inventing what Kara has no doubt will be yet another world-saving gadget for them to use.

For a moment, Kara just watches her, grateful for the glass walls allowing her to see her girlfriend work without having to use her powers at all. There’s something soothing about the way Lena works, slow and methodical and precise even when she’s doing it just to keep her mind from drifting to Kara and the dangers she faces as Supergirl. And really, there’s no reason Lena should worry for a minute longer than strictly necessary, so Kara finally pushes the glass door open and walks into the lab.

“Hey, I’m ba—“ Lena turns around so quickly, wraps her arms around Kara so tightly, that Kara can only let out a quiet chuckle and hold on, enjoying the closeness and the scent of Lena’s hair filling up her lungs as Lena lets the tension of the last fourteen hours dissolve into the hug.

“Hey, baby,” Kara tries again, softer this time, breathed against the skin of Lena’s temple, “are you okay?”

Lena nods, lips pressing against Kara’s neck for a parting kiss before she finally pulls away from Kara’s arms to take a good look at her.

“I am now,” Lena says, eyes narrowing just so as she takes in the rips on Kara’s supersuit. Fingertips touch the torn fabric on Kara’s waist and across her left bicep, the smudges of dirt and pulverized concrete on her neck and cheek. “Are you?”

Kara grins. “Takes a bit more than a collapsing abandoned building to stop your girlfriend.”

And then Kara flexes her biceps, playfully, just because she knows Lena gets a kick out of her playing the confident jock from time to time. She definitely (she swears!) isn’t thinking about her supersuit and the small tear right over her left bicep, and she absolutely isn’t anticipating the way the fabric rips over her flexed muscle.

But.

As innocent as Kara is in all this, and she cannot possibly overstate how innocent she truly is, she’s not complaining at all when Lena tilts her head just so, green eyes fixated on the torn fabric and the bulging muscle underneath as she slowly licks her lips.

“Oh,” Lena says — breathes, really — as she arches one eyebrow, “I see.”

And then she reaches up and traces the ripped fabric once again, fingers pressing just so, like she’s testing just how fitting that Girl of Steel nickname really is.

“Who else is here?” Lena asks, voice low and darkened green eyes fixated on Kara’s, “Are we alone?”

“I, um—“ Kara struggles to make her brain cooperate and process Lena’s words when it feels like every single nerve ending in her body has been rerouted to that exact spot Lena is touching, “I think J’onn… lives here?”

Does M’gann live here also? Kara doesn’t know. Kara doesn’t care. Kara can’t quite breathe right.

“It’s pretty late,” Lena says, and her voice sounds like sun-warmed honey tastes, “I’m sure he’s asleep.”

And Kara swears she tries to think about it. About whether it’s past J’onn’s bedtime, about whether J’onn has a bedtime at all, and about whether martians even sleep in the first place. But suddenly Lena’s free hand is grabbing Kara’s and guiding it down, down, down under her skirt, and Lena’s lips are pressing a warm kiss to Kara’s jaw, and Kara suddenly realizes what’s going on.

“Oh,” she breathes out, blue eyes fluttering closed for a moment before they widen in shock at the realization of what’s going on. “Wh— here!?” Don’t get her wrong, she makes no move to stop the path of Lena’s lips towards her ear or pull her hand away from the warm soft skin of Lena’s inner thigh, but still. You know. “Lena, we can’t—“

“Can’t we?” Kara can feel Lena’s smile against her skin, and the way Lena’s teeth graze her earlobe makes her fingers inch just that little bit higher up Lena’s thigh. “Why not?”

What an excellent question. Kara tilts her head to the side to give Lena’s lips and teeth and tongue free access to her neck as she tries to find the part of her brain that knows why they can’t actually have sex in the lab.

“Because…” Kara sighs happily at a particularly well-placed kiss, “…it’s kinda rude?”

She feels Lena’s chuckle rather than hears it, and it makes a little shiver run down her spine. “It’s rude?” Kara can’t see Lena’s eyebrow, but she’s sure it’s arched so very prettily right now. How unfair. “This is my lab.”

And you know, Lena makes a good point, Kara figures, hand moving further up under Lena’s skirt. This is Lena’s side of the Lab. Her office, sort of unofficially, ever since she became an official member of the team. But still…

“You’re such a goody two shoes,” Lena teases, pressing herself a little closer against Kara.

“I mean, I’m Supergirl. It’s kind of my th— oh —“Lena’s teeth nip at Kara’s neck, completely derailing her thoughts for a moment, “—thing.”

And Kara is almost ready to give in. She’s almost ready to accept that yes, this lab counts as Lena’s home away from home so it’s perfectly fine if they want to get frisky in it. Her hand finishes its trek up Lena’s thigh and finds damp lace waiting for her, and frankly, they’re grown ups. She’s a whole super heroine. If she wants to fu—

“Formic acid!” Brainy’s voice reaches them just a second before he walks into the lab, which is lucky because it gives Kara just enough time to disentangle herself from her girlfriend at the speed of light.

Brainy stares through the glass wall separating the main lab from Lena’s smaller area. His eyes move from Lena to Kara and then back to Lena again, brow furrowed just so as he tries to figure out exactly what’s not right.

“Formic acid?” Lena prompts as she opens the door, voice entirely too level for someone who’s just been nearly caught with her girlfriend’s hand between her legs.

“Ah. Yes.” Brainy nods. “Formic acid. Nia’s neighbor has ants. It gave me an idea for the antidote we were talking about earlier. I think if we just—“

“Tomorrow. Brainy.” Kara interrupts him with a smile, hand wrapping around Lena’s wrist to pull her towards the exit. They have things to do. Private places to be.

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Lena agrees, grabbing her coat on the way out of the lab. 

***

It’s been three weeks since the formic acid incident — as Kara lovingly remembers it — when she gets to the Tower after a mission once again to find her girlfriend deep in thought at her desk.

There’s nothing particularly special about it this time. It’s early afternoon, her foes were rowdy but easily manageable, and her supersuit looks impeccable. And yet, when she walks through the glass door, Lena gives her a look.

A Look.

Oh, that look.

Kara knows the look. Knows what it means. And she very nearly offers to just fly them home right away to save themselves the pain of having to stop halfway through to relocate, but you know what? It’s a bit hard to think ahead when Lena Luthor in a deep burgundy dress is walking towards you with that look on her face.

“That was a quick mission,” Lena says, shaking her head just so to make her ponytail swish in a way Kara’s pretty sure should be some kind of illegal, “those bad guys were no match for Supergirl, huh?”

Kara is blushing. She can tell. She knows because she’s having to employ all her kryptonian strength to keep herself from saying golly or aw, gee or a number of other things that would frankly ruin this whole big super heroine fantasy Lena has going on right now. And who is she to ruin her girlfriend’s fun?

“N—no,” Kara manages, voice slightly higher than normal, and she clears her throat before continuing, “I’m super strong.”

Nailed it.

“You sure are,” Lena says with an amused smile, because she’s very sweet and she loves Kara too much to laugh at her, “do you wanna show me how strong you are, Supergirl?”

Kara nods. And then she remembers where they are and shakes her head.

“We should— I can fly us home.”

“But, baby,” Lena takes one slow step right into Kara’s personal space and Kara feels her brain begin to shut down, “I want you right now.”

“It—“ Kara is trying so hard to do the right thing here, she swears, even if her hands are already on Lena’s waist and she’s already pulling Lena close and Lena smells so very good, “but the walls, Lena.”

Kara can tell Lena is trying very hard not to laugh.

“The walls?”

“Yeah,” Kara presses a quick kiss to deep red lips, just because it feels rude not to acknowledge how delicious they look, “I get what you guys were going for with the… futuristic sci-fi interior design, but all this glass is not very private, baby.”

Lena grins. And it’s not just a regular charmed grin. Not the normal one she shows when Kara says something sweet or funny and her heart gets a little fluttery in her chest (Kara’s heard it). No. This is something else. This is the smile Lena wears when they absolutely destroy everyone at game night.

Lena’s won. What exactly she’s won, Kara doesn’t know yet. But oh, Lena has absolutely won… something.

“You know, you’re right. They’re not very private at all. That’s why I made this.”

Lena shows her what looks to Kara like tiny remote and pushes the button.

Lena Luthor protocol engaging.

Kara cocks one eyebrow at Lena, who simply shrugs as a small robot flies from under her desk.

“I named it after the original one. For nostalgia’s sake.”

Kara stares in confusion as the small robot hovers nearby and points what looks like a camera at them. Except it’s not a camera. It’s… some kind of spotlight?

“What’s it doing?” Kara can see the light inside the robot, can see it pointing the ray at them, but she sees no change in the lightning of the lab.

“It’s making us invisible.”

“What? I can see you,” Kara looks down at her hands on Lena’s waist, “I can see me.”

“That’s because you’re not looking through the glass. Look there,” Lena says, pointing at a polished steel surface on the main area of the lab. There should be a reflection there… but there isn’t one.

Kara stares, blue eyes wide and lips parted in surprise. She’s seen plenty of impressive tech since becoming Supergirl — let alone what she grew up with in Krypton — but this is something else.

Of course, the fact that Lena’s body is pressed up against her own, and the fact that she developed a whole new technology just to be able to get frisky in her glass-covered lab may have something to do with it.

“What do you think?” Lena does this thing she does where she sort of arches against Kara’s body in a way that makes Kara’s brain feel like it’s sloshing about in a sea of Lena’s perfume, and then presses her lips against Kara’s jaw, and to be honest Kara isn’t thinking at all right now.

“Wh— what?” One of Kara’s hands slides down from Lena’s waist to the curve of her ass, grabbing a handful of it as Lena’s teeth oh-so-gently nip at Kara’s bottom lip. “Wh—“ Kara tries again, barely above a whisper, but frankly she’s much more interested in kissing Lena like she means it — like she deserves to be kissed — and she completely forgets she’s been asked a question in the first place.

“Kara,” Lena pulls away from the kiss, lipstick a little bit smeared, cheeks a little bit flushed, breathing a little bit stilted, “I asked you a question.”

And you know, Kara is sure that’s true. She’s, like, so sure. But Lena is taking a step back to lean right against that sleek glass wall and pulling Kara along, and Kara’s brain is powerless to process anything beyond the fact that her girlfriend is practically begging her to have her way with her up against that wall.

And that’s… well, that’s something.

“Yeah,” Kara chooses to answer, because frankly she’d say yes to anything Lena asked right now and she’s a bit busy kissing up the path of freckles on Lena’s neck to care about the actual question right now, “yeah, baby, of course.”

Normally, Lena is far from pleased when she detects even a hint of Kara trying to placate her with mindless agreement, but this must be working for her because all Kara feels under her lips is an amused giggle right as Lena’s fingers slide into blond hair.

“What do you think of the new protocol?” Lena’s voice has a touch of teasing weaved into the words, like she knows the question is ultimately irrelevant but she likes watching Kara struggle to form coherent thoughts while horny. And, you know, Kara can respect that.

“It’s so good,” the hand that’s not on Lena’s ass moves up to cover Lena’s right breast, and Kara celebrates her own incredible luck by pressing a kiss to Lena’s lips, “you’re so smart,” another kiss, this time to a smile Lena can’t quite contain, “my genius girlfriend.”

Lena’s blunt fingernails lightly scratch at Kara’s scalp, making her hum happily against Lena’s lips. “You’re just horny,” Lena teases, her tone clearly stating just how happy she is that’s the case.

“And humbled! By your genius intellect.” Kara squeezes Lena’s ass and kisses the tip of Lena’s nose, because she’s cute and Kara knows deep down there’s a little part of Lena that will always need to hear how good she is out loud. “I can do both. I’m Supergirl.”

Lena chuckles, low and soft, and rewards Kara’s thoughtfulness with a kiss. “Well, Supergirl,” she says, shooting her girlfriend a look that hits Kara right between her legs, “if you’re feeling humbled, you may as well show me how much.”

And then. Then, Lena uses her grip on Kara’s hair to gently tug down, just so, just enough to make Kara’s eyes widen with the realization of where Lena wants her. On her knees. At Lena’s feet. And frankly, Kara files this under things they absolutely need to explore further, because she swears she feels her body temperature rise by at least a couple degrees.

But she’s not about to make Lena wait. So Kara slowly sinks down to her knees, blue eyes locked with green just so Lena can see. So Lena can see Supergirl kneeling at her feet.

When her right knee touches the floor, she hears Lena’s breath catch in her throat.

“Go on,” Lena says, upper back leaning against the wall, “show me.”

Kara nods, hands wrapping around lena’s thighs and slowly sliding up, up, up, bringing Lena’s pencil skirt along with them. She can’t resist kissing every inch of soft, warm skin she uncovers, lips trailing a path up one of Lena’s inner thighs and then the other, until all she needs to do is push the bunched up skirt up over her hips and ass to reach the lacy (Kara is willing to bet) fabric of her—

“Oh,” Kara breathes out, staring at the spot where Lena’s panties should be but decidedly aren’t. And Kara, to her credit, manages to look up into green eyes and shoot her girlfriend a teasing smirk along with a fake scandalized look. “Miss Luthor.”

There’s a dusting of pink across the bridge of Lena’s nose that Kara finds frankly unfair given the circumstances. “Well, I knew the prototype would be ready by the time you came back.”

“See? Genius girlfriend,” Kara smiles as she presses a kiss to Lena’s mound, pulling a happy little sigh out of her, “so smart.”

And then Kara stops talking, because she has much more important things to do with her mouth. Things like kissing the slick skin of Lena’s inner thighs, humming in delight at the smell and taste of her girlfriend and the way Lena’s fingers fist in her hair.

Kara takes her time, lips and teeth and tongue exploring every inch of Lena’s cunt but pointedly avoiding her clit, just because she happens to think there’s no sound more beautiful than the way Lena says please.

“You look so good down there,” Lena says, breathy and flushed, “right—“ her breath catches in her throat, and Kara smiles between Lena’s thighs, “—there.”

And this is why Kara will never really mind the way Lena teases her and makes her blush and stumble over her words. Because she knows the tables turn as soon as she’s between Lena’s legs.

“Where, baby?” Kara asks, her face the perfect picture of innocence as she presses a soft kiss just shy of Lena’s clit, “Here?”

Lena’s eyes flutter closed and she leans her head back against the glass wall with a smile. “Kara.”

She’s never Supergirl when they’re like this.

“Here?” Kara’s teeth gently nip at one of Lena’s lips, and then the other, “Or here?”

“Kara, please.”

And there it is. Right there, the most beautiful sound in the world.

So Kara decides to reward Lena by finally flicking her tongue against a stiff clit before wrapping her lips around it, and she doesn’t hold it against Lena when she pulls on Kara’s hair instead of saying thanks.

All slowness and teasing forgotten, Kara puts her lips and teeth and tongue at Lena’s service, letting Lena hook one leg over Kara’s shoulder to give her better access as she uses her hold on Kara’s hair to pull her closer still.

Kara feels like she’s drunk on Lena’s taste and smell and the sound of the moans she’s struggling to stifle. She can taste just how close Lena is, she can feel it in the way her thighs quake and her breathing gets more and more stilted and her hips rock harder and faster against Kara’s tongue.

“God, Kar—“ Kara hears the sound of Lena smacking one hand over her own mouth, keeping herself as close to quiet as possible — Kara is delighted for her own superhearing that allows her to hear it all anyway — as she rides Kara’s mouth.

She’s so close. So close Kara feels the one leg holding Lena up shaking perilously as a quiet moan escapes between Lena’s fingers, and Kara is just in time to prop her up with one hand as Lena finally comes, head tilting back and hitting the glass wall with a soft thud.

And that — exactly that moment — is when Kara freezes at the sound of someone walking towards the lab.

It’s been a while since Alex has been alone in the lab. It’s been a while since she’s been in the lab at all, to be honest. And that doesn’t seem fair, right? She may not be Lena or Brainy, but she’s a scientist! She can do science things. That formic acid conundrum they were talking about the other day?

Alex could have helped.

But do they ever ask Alex for scientific input? No. All Alex is good for is apparently acrobatic crime-fighting and daring make-up choices.

And she’s ready to prove her worth. So after checking that nobody’s already in the lab, Alex walks in and starts looking around. Innocently, of course. She’d never do anything really intrusive like go into Lena’s personal area or mess with Brainy’s future toys. No, no. But she’ll look around. Check out what they’re doing. See if anything looks like it could be solved by an actual medical doctor, thank you very much.

And then — then she hears it. Some kind of… thud?

On the other side of the glass wall, cloaked by Lena’s invisibility robot, Kara braces herself with one hand on the wall as she holds Lena up with the other. And Kara may be Supergirl, but there’s something to be said about trying to be quiet while holding Lena through a frankly earth-shattering — if she may say so herself — orgasm with her face still between Lena’s thighs.

It takes skill.

And Kara is managing just fine, mind you, until Lena twitches in a way Kara wasn’t expecting, and Kara loses her hold on her for just a split second before she presses her up against the wall once again.

Alex narrows her eyes. The thud she could ignore, but she swears there’s the faintest outline of a handprint on the glass. And just when she’s about ready to chalk it all up to sleep deprivation, she hears a… squeak. The unmistakable sound of skin sliding against glass.

And now it’s not just the handprint there. There’s something round next to it. Something like—

Wait.

Is that the outline of an ass?

“Oh my God, Kara!” Alex turns around, voice climbing higher in both pitch and volume as she speaks because she doesn’t know whether she’s just seen the outline of her sister’s butt or her sister’s girlfriend’s butt but either way she’d very much like to have her memory wiped right now. Is J’onn home?

“Not this again!” She continues, somewhere between horrified and desperate. To be fair, she’s never walked into invisible wall sex before, but she has interrupted a frankly worrying amount of heavy make-out sessions for the time Kara and Lena have been together, and she’d really rather not think about what those two would have done had she remained asleep for a few minutes longer the last time she agreed to a movie night.

It’s a pattern of emotionally scarring behavior, is all she’s saying.

“And you know!” Alex turns around, eyes squeezed shut because she does not want to catch even the slightest glimpse of that assprint ever again. “You know,” she bangs on the wall for emphasis, just once, “I’m all for pride, but there is such a fucking thing as a healthy amount of shame!”

Alex stomps out of the lab, and her aggravated footsteps can still be faintly heard in the distance when Lena clears her throat. She’s blushing bright red, but her voice sounds remarkably steady for someone whose left leg is still hooked over her girlfriend’s shoulder.

“Joy,” Lena says, and the sleek virtual personal assistant on her desk whirs to life. “Protocol prototype version 1.0 partially successful,” she dictates, “consider one-way glass going forward.”

“Oh, oh! And Joy?” Kara pipes up from between Lena’s thighs, “Please order Alex a ‘we’re sorry’ pie.”

Lena simply nods. “Make it strawberry this time.”

#supercorp #supercorp fanfiction #fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #fic

[nurvuss]

I Watched the First Episode of Every New Spring 2021 Anime Airing on Crunchyroll

Hey, are you like me, and feeling like you're not getting the most out of your Crunchyroll subscription? Sure, there's stuff on there that you know you like. But whenever I look at the big long list of simulcasting shows, my eyes glaze over and I don't even know where to begin.

I wanted to change my habits and see if there were any shining gems that I should be watching. So, as per the title, I watched the first episode of every new Spring 2021 anime on Crunchyroll. And guess what? There’s a lot of crap! But indeed, there’s some stuff that’s worth your time.

Some clarification: I've only watched shows that began their first season in April 2021.

Backflip!!

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The Lowdown

As Futaba Shotaro comes to the end of middle school, his interest in baseball has begun to wane. Soon he notices the Ao High Boys Gymnastic Club and becomes enthralled, especially after seeing them perform. Once he learns they're down two members, he chooses to sign up and pursue the art of gymnastics. The club is also joined by Misato Ryoya, a star solo gymnast looking to expand his technique through teamwork.

Our Thoughts

Pretty formulaic shoujo sports anime: you've got your himbo, your thug, your ladies' man, your stoic guy, with Shotaro rounding out the cast as the shy and awkward audience surrogate. It looks wholesome enough, and the choreographed routines employ CG in a way that's quite convincing without being hideous.

Who It's For

Fans of  FREE, or Yuri!!! on Ice, or any similar shows about cute boys who succeed at athletic feats. 

Borscht Rating

Burning Kabaddi

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The Lowdown

Legendary high school soccer star Yoigoshi Tatsuya has given up on sports! That is, until he's blackmailed to join the high school kabaddi team, under threat of his online persona being leaked to the entire school. Although Tatsuya initially writes kabaddi off as stupid, the unexpected happens as he begins to have fun.

Our Thoughts

Kabaddi is kinda like competitive tag, or dodgeball but with your body instead of a ball. Burning Kabaddi is basically the shounen alternative to Backflip!! above, replete with nosebleeds, pratfalls, and dudes punching each other. The main cast don't seem to like each other very much; that probably changes as the show goes on but at first blush it's a dynamic I always find annoying.

Who it's For

Fans of Haikyuu!!? Maybe?

Borscht Rating

CARDFIGHT!! VANGUARD overDress

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The Lowdown

The newest series based on Bushiroad's collectible card game, featuring character designs by the beloved collective CLAMP. Petit middle schooler Yu-Yu just doesn't know how to say no. As his older students dress him in drag to use as live makeup practice, he suffers a panic attack and flees into the streets. After being accosted by a pickup artist, he's befriended by Megumi, who invites him to witness a Cardfight match at the local abandoned amusement park. However, Yu-yu is too shy to tell Megumi he's actually a boy…

Our Thoughts

What an unexpectedly weird concept for a show about a card game. Our hero spends the whole episode in drag, whimpering and simpering at the sight of any conflict. Then they show off the latest series of cards, which all seem to be giant buff knights with names like "Bad Steve" and "Violent Bruce". Your guess is as good as mine.

Who it's For

Cardfight!! lovers, Japanese gender studies majors, or the most desperate fujoshi. 

Borscht Rating

Cestvs: The Roman Fighter

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The Lowdown

The year is 54AD, and Nero has taken the throne as the youngest emperor of Rome. At the bottom of the population, Cestvs is a young slave training to be a colosseum boxer. Reluctant, his only choice is to fight or die.

Our Thoughts

Seeing Nero depicted as a gentle little twink is pretty funny. It's also pretty funny that the central character is named after a Roman boxing glove. The animation style transitions to some very uncanny CG when a major fight takes place, and I didn't like that one bit! This seems like a pretty average tournament anime but with a historical setting. It's currently unknown if any of these dudes are fucking each other. I'm gonna say probably.

Who It's For

The venn-diagram of Greco-Roman history buffs and lovers of tournament series?

Borscht Rating

Don’t Toy with Me, Miss Nagatoro!

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The Lowdown:

Hachioji Naoto is a nerdy, introverted student who spends his time studying and avoiding socialising. When pages from the fantasy manga he's drawing fall out of his bookbag, they catch the attention of a younger student named Nagatoro Hayase. Nagatoro begins to tease Naoto for his otaku interests and awkward demeanour, peppered with some suggestive flirting.

Our Thoughts:

What would you do if a younger girl flirted with you? Would you cry? Piss your pants maybe? Maybe shit and cum? Don't Toy With Me… attempts to barely conceal its BDSM fantasy with its comedic elements, but it's incredibly apparent as Nagatoro always wipes away Naoto's tears as a sort of aftercare. It's like a lighter, comedic version of Aku no Hana, but lacking any of the ponderings or danger that made that work so special.

Who It's For: 

People who search Pornhub for "bratty sister femdom".

Borscht Rating:

86 Eighty-Six

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The Lowdown

The Republic of San Magnolia and the Giad Empire, have been at war for nearly a decade. Using advanced military technology, the frontlines are fought by giant mecha drones called Juggernauts, controlled remotely by Handlers. Major Vladilena Mirizé is one of the military's most talented Handlers in the 1st District, and one who is constantly teased by her peers for the humanity and empathy she shows her squadron. The government line is that drone warfare has kept casualties to zero, but unbeknownst to the public these "drones'' are piloted by 86ers—the lowest class of citizens, forced to live in military internment camps in San Magnolia's 86th District.

Our Thoughts

This is incredibly my kind of thing. We've got a dual narrative being set up here: Vladilena as the kind, reluctant officer of a fascist regime, and the Bad Company-esque antics of her new ragtag squad, Spearhead. The first episode is split pretty evenly between the two, with each story converging at the end as Vladilena "meets" Spearhead for the first time through her comms station. It's an explosive and enticing first episode, and I can't wait to watch more of it.

Who It's For

Fans of Fullmetal Alchemist, Psycho-Pass, Gundam, or any number of anti-imperialist war stories.

Borscht Rating

Fairy Ranmaru

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The Lowdown

In a quiet corner of the city sits Bar F, a modest drinking establishment staffed entirely by five hot young men. Unbeknownst to the general population, these men are a crack team of fairies sent to the human world to gather the latent energy of "attachment". They do this by solving the problems of young women, taking their hearts in the process.

Our Thoughts

Hubba hubba, a little something for the ladies! It's Weiẞ Kreuz with a bar instead of a flower shop, fairies instead of assassins, and some pretty revealing outfits. There's definitely a little Persona 5 inspiration here too, from the punctuating phrase "Take your Heart!" to many of the visual cues. Make of that what you will.

Who It's For

Fans of Weiẞ Kreuz, slash fic authors.

Borscht Rating

Farewell, My Dear Cramer

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The Lowdown

Onda Nozomi was once the star player of her middle school football team. Completely unmatched, she no longer plays as there's no opponent she deems to be on her level. Meanwhile Suou Sumire far outpaces her teammates, causing her frustration. By a twist of fate, these two girls find themselves joining the scrappy Warabi Seinan High School FC as they begin to learn the value of teamwork and friendship.

Our Thoughts

I don't know sports. And I really don't know football. I had to look up what the title meant, and now I barely know who Dettmar Cramer is. I'm really not the best person to judge this, but it seems like a pretty good female-driven sports anime. 

Who It's For

Fans of Ace o Nerae! or other sports manga/anime about those ever burning bonds between young teammates.

Borscht Rating

Gloomy, the Naughty Grizzly

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The Lowdown:

Pitty lives with his pet Gloomy, a massive pink bear. Can a boy and a bear truly get along?

Our Thoughts:

This is a series of minute-long gag episodes in which Gloomy mauls Pitty and blood squirts everywhere. It's definitely meant to be a morbid parody of Sanrio or San-X; it might be a Rilakkuma parody in particular? Gloomy is the kind of thing you might laugh at if it came on in between shows, but it's pretty slight to go through the trouble of putting on.

Who It's For:

Gag anime fans with one minute to spare.

Borscht Rating:

Higehiro: After Being Rejected, I Shaved and Took in a High School Runaway

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The Lowdown

After a night of drinking in Tokyo, slovenly salaryman Yoshida encounters a teenage runaway sitting under a lamppost. She offers to sleep with him in return for letting her spend the night in his apartment. Yoshida refuses her offer but allows her to stay. The next morning the girl, Sayu, reveals she's travelled all the way from Hokkaido, sleeping with random men in return for lodging and money. Feeling responsible for her safety, Yoshida agrees for Sayu to stay indefinitely in return for handling household chores.

Our Thoughts

This is kind of the inverse of Koikimo (see below), but without a scumbag character and from a male perspective. It's not nearly as nauseating as that show, but it's still a fantasy about living with a busty teenage girl.

Who It's For

Libertarians.

Borscht Rating

I've Been Killing Slimes For 300 Years And Maxed Out My Level

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The Lowdown: 

Office lady Aizawa Azusa dies of overwork in her early 20s, and finds herself standing before a lecherous goddess. Allowed a wish as compensation for her untimely demise, Azusa wishes for an endless life of leisure. The goddess reincarnates her as a 17-year-old immortal witch in an RPG-coded fantasy world. Thrilled, Azusa lazes about, brewing potions for her neighbouring villagers, and kills a small amount of slimes each day to supplement her income. After doing this every day for 300 years, she inadvertently finds herself at Level 99. Her peaceful life is soon upended as adventurers and dragons come from miles around to challenge the legendary witch.

Our Thoughts:

I'm not really an isekai fan, and that goes double for series which aren't set in an RPG, yet use RPG mechanics. Levelling up, grinding stats, min-maxing, as if it's a part of the fabric of the setting. I don't get it. I like watching numbers go up as much as the next dork, but I don't need to watch numbers go up in absolutely every piece of media I consume. Just play a fucking video game, Jesus Christ almighty.

I thought this might be setting up a fun series in which a layabout is reluctantly called upon to undertake a dangerous quest, but I don't think that's what's going on at all. When the red dragon Laika wrecks Azusa's house, she transforms into a cute young girl and the two begin living together, teaching each other the pros and cons of hard work and slothfulness respectively. The trajectory of the series might be as laid back as its protagonist in the end, which, ultimately, would be fitting.

Who It's For:

Isekai fans, slice-of-life fans. The twain have met!

Borscht Rating:

Joran: The Princess of Snow and Blood

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The Lowdown

In alternative history Japan the Meiji Period continued well into the 1930s, and the ongoing Tokugawa Shogunate has brought technological prosperity to the nation through a magical energy source called the Dragon's Vein. Sawa Yukimura runs a bookshop where she lives with her little sister by day, but by night she's an assassin for Nue, the shogunate's secret police. As the terrorist group Kuchinawa deploys transforming beasts in an attempt to topple the shogunate, Nue springs into action with their own abilities.

Our Thoughts

There are a lot of concepts competing here, and a few too many flashy transformation sequences for my taste, but I'm really into it! Nue are made up of sex workers and street musicians, often overlooked and therefore easily able to blend in. There's a supernatural Standalone Complex vibe to how the team operates, and they're almost assuredly on the wrong side. Worth a shot!

Who It's For

Fans of alternate history science fiction, Ghost in the Shell: Standalone Complex, Demon Slayer.

Borscht Rating

Koikimo: Koi to Yobu ni wa Kimochi Warui ("It's Disgusting to Call This Love")

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The Lowdown

Amakusa Ryo is a womanizing salaryman concerned with nothing but his own base desires. As he slips on the train station stairs one morning, he's saved by the swift action of Arima Ichika, a kind-hearted high schooler. When it turns out Ichika is friends with Ryo's younger sister Riou, he decides she's his soulmate, and begins to pursue her no matter how many times she refuses him. Comedy ensues!

Our Thoughts

Yeah, OK groomer.

Alright look, Korikimo is written by a woman and told from Ichika's perspective, so this is obviously meant to be a lighthearted "older man" shoujou romance. As an older man, all I saw were the adventures of a paedophile and the teenager he's stalking. Fuck off.

Who it's For

There's probably other stuff like this, right? If you like that, here you go.

Borscht Rating

Let's Make a Mug, Too

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The Lowdown

After the death of her mother, Himeno and her father relocate from bustling Tokyo to quiet Tajimi City in Gifu Prefecture. The former salaryman opens a quiet cafe using the remarkable mugs made by his late wife, while Himeno follows in her mother's footsteps and joins the school pottery club. Although her first project ends in disaster, Himeno makes fast friends with the eccentric pottery enthusiasts who make up the club.

Our Thoughts

It's no Eizouken, but I guess it's probably not meant to be. I'm not a big iyashikei genre fan, but if that's your thing, you might enjoy the wholesome non-adventures of three girls trying to make a mug. It's worth noting these episodes are only about 12 minutes long, with the remaining runtime segmented into live action episodes where the voice actresses tour Tajimi and unconvincingly pretend to be interested in Gifu's famous mino-yaki pottery. I think this must be a tie-in with a local tourist board. 

Who It's For

People who enjoy stuff like Aria, actually.

Borscht Rating

OddTaxi

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The Lowdown

In a Tokyo populated by anthropomorphic animals, a solemn walrus named Odokawa spends his nights driving his cab around the bustling metropolis, spending his free time drinking with his pals. Odokawa soon finds his quiet life disrupted by a caper involving a missing girl, some crooked cops, and the animal yakuza. 

Our Thoughts

A deft blend of working class slice-of-life with mystery, cute animals, and striking visual design. OddTaxi might be the sleeper hit of Spring 2021.

Who It's For

Fans of existentialist film noir with absurdist comedy, Polar Bear Cafe, walrus lovers.

Borscht Rating

Osamake: Romcom Where The Childhood Friend Won't Lose

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The Lowdown

Suehiro Maruo Sueharu Maru has his heart set on Shirokusa Kachi, the hottest girl in school. When she begins dating a young actor, Sueharu confides in his childhood friend Kuroha Shida, who's openly in love with him and he rejected in the past. Kuroha suggests the two get revenge on Shirokusa by pretending to be in love. Will Sueharu fall in love with Kuroha for real, making her dreams come true?

Our Thoughts

Give me a fucking break.

Who It's For

I don't know and I don't care.

Borscht Rating

SD Gundam World Heroes

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The Lowdown

The newest instalment of the SD Gundam media-mix franchise. In a world populated by super deform mecha, a burning meteor lands in the middle of Captain City. From it launches a terrible mechanized beast: Naughty Lion. When the police are powerless to stop it, a crack team led by Zhuge Liang Gundam and Liu Bei Gundam sorties to bring Naughty Lion to justice. When the beast stops rampaging, it transforms into Sun Wukong Gundam, a youthful amnesiac mecha horrified at the destruction he wrought. The Three Kingdoms Gundams welcome Sun Wukong into the fold to make sense of this mysterious event.

Our Thoughts

I'm an 80s kid, I know a 30-minute toy commercial when I see one.

No, seriously though, I'm aware of SD Gundam's merchandising—they're cute designs, and I even used to have a bunch of the gum rubber mini figurines. I've played the SD Great War Super Famicom games, they're fun! This is a vehicle to get kids hyped up about the latest toys, which are...based on  a hodgepodge of Journey to the West and Romance of the Three Kingdoms this year? There's even a little SD Guan Yu Gundam with a big long beard!

I kinda wanted to like the idea of a bearded robot, but the mechas are super busy and overdesigned. I guess there's only so much you can do to make your next series of toys bigger and better, so these guys are all decked out in gold accents, capes, horns, and antlers, and half the time I couldn't parse what I was seeing.

I'm so glad I don't have to watch any more of this. 

Who It's For

Very, *very* young mecha fans.

Borscht Rating

Seven Knights Revolution: Hero Successor

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The Lowdown

Long ago, the Dark God Nestra ruled the world through fear. Standing against him were the Seven Knights, seven brave warriors chosen by the Light Goddess Serrass. With their powers combined, Nestra was defeated and the lands returned to peace. Hundreds of years later the wicked Physis Cult seeks to revive Nestra, summoning undead beasts to ravage the countryside. With the Seven Knights long dead, the Granseed Academy has risen to train the next wave of heroes to combat this threat. Using special cards, the students of Granseed are able to call upon the power of the Seven Knights to guide them in battle.

Our Thoughts

As soon as the opening started with its transforming heroes and lovingly depicted weapon cards, I realised this must be based on a mobile game. Indeed, this is based on a free-to-play gacha from Korean developer Netmarble. Even before I was able to confirm this, Hero Successor failed to draw me in, eschewing details on the nature of its world in lieu of a glamourised marketing push for its source material. What's here is incredibly slight, and likely to be of little interest to anyone who isn't deep into this game.

Who It's For

Seven Knights whales, I guess.

Borscht Rating

Those Snow White Notes

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The Lowdown

Sawamura Setsu mourns the death of his grandfather Matsugorou, a talented shamisen player who refused to pass his secrets on. Not knowing what else to do, he leaves his remote village for Tokyo, taking nothing but his shamisen along with him. Soon he finds himself wrapped up in the complicated life of aspiring actress Yuna and her scuzzy rockstar boyfriend Taketo. When Setsu opens for Taketo's band, he stuns the audience with the raw emotion of his playing. However, his heart is still tumultuous. 

Our Thoughts

An entertaining first episode of a speciality music series, which is the kind of thing I have a place in my heart for. I couldn't shake the feeling of some latent misogyny that suggested the role of a woman is to inspire a tortured artist, but I might be wrong. The final few minutes take a twist by introducing Setsu's weird, horny mother who seems to have her own personal SWAT team, and it looks like the series becomes a more conventional high school anime from episode 2 onwards. Don't know about that!

Who It's For

Fans of Kids on the Slope, Sound of the Sky.

Borscht Rating

Tokyo Revengers

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The Lowdown

Former delinquent Takemichi is unsatisfied with the way his life turned out, living alone in a paper-thin apartment and working a minimum wage job under a boss who doesn't respect him. When watching the news one evening, he learns that his highschool sweetheart Hinata was killed, alongside her little brother. On the way to work the next morning, Takemichi falls in front of an oncoming train and wakes up 12 years in the past. Armed with foreknowledge, he attempts to turn his life around and save his onetime lover.

Our Thoughts

This is drawing from a lot of sources; the whole train sequence is lifted straight from Gantz, while the story itself initially seems like a Life on Mars kind of deal. In fact, Tokyo Revengers sees Takemichi jump back and forth between the present and the past, seemingly making small changes until he achieves his desired outcome. It feels like a very video gamey depiction of time travel, and one that's not super interesting.

Who It's For

Steins;Gate fans, maybe? Delinquent manga (Shonan Junai Gumi, Crows, etc.) fans, maybe? It's pretty self-serious compared to any of those.

Borscht Rating

To Your Eternity

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The Lowdown

An immortal being in the form of an orb falls to earth and becomes a stone. Years pass, an ice age sets in, and a white wolf stumbles onto the tundra and dies. The orb, able to take the form of anything that leaves a strong impression on it, transforms into the wolf and slowly learns how to use its newfound ambulatory body. The creature treks back through the tundra where it meets a boy living alone, after the rest of his village left in search of a better life. The boy recognises the wolf as his beloved pet, Johann, and the two begin living together in the harsh, lonely wastes.

Our Thoughts

I'm being a little coy with the synopsis here, and there's a major shake-up at the end of this debut episode. This one's based on a manga by the critically acclaimed Yoshitoki Ooima (A Silent Voice), and it's a depressing, compelling, and exciting start to a series. Lots of potential here!

Who It's For

Fans of NieR, Fragile Dreams: Farewell Ruins of the Moon, Last Exile, Kino's Journey.

Borscht Rating

So, there you have it. I'm hoping this will be of use to anyone who experiences a similar sense of dread when faced with so many choices. Maybe we’ll do this again during the Summer 2021 anime season.

Also, please don't get mad at me if I'm snarky about your new favourite show! It’s just TV and I'm a big idiot anyway.

#anime #crunchyroll #backflip!! #burning kabaddi #cardfight!! vanguard overDress #cestvs #don't toy with me miss nagatoro #86 #eighty six #fairy ranmaru #farewell my dear cramer #gloomy #higehiro #koikimo #killing slimes #joran #let's make a mug too #oddtaxi #osamake #sd gundam #seven knights #those snow white notes #tokyo revengers #to your eternity