#ALSO sorry for the shaky lines in the visuals my hands started shaking really bad while making them hskdhskfhskfj

[jimbleswrites]

Pantheon 2022

Chapter 9: Ongaku’s Big Break

A/N: Wow, depression is kicking my ass. but i figure that as long as I’m trying, that’s OK. also I’ve been trying to draw these characters so there is a visual reference, but I’m not a artist so it’s taking time to hash out.

I woke up to a headache, and a lovely view of the beach. I turned around to see Caleb still knocked out, laying in the backseat, and my portal shut, with tire tracks starting from nowhere. I breathed a sigh of relief, then jumped as there was a loud knock on the door.

“License and registration, sir.” Vida leaned down, smiling at her own joke. I groaned and stepped out of the car. “You know,” she continued, “I was wondering how you’d do in a more action-packed mission, but this is not what I imagined.”

“I feel like it went OK, all things considered.” I replied, showing her the files I'd gotten. “It was more protected than I thought though.” I turned back to the car. There were clear dents in the sides and the windows were broken, but it seemed in decent shape otherwise. Caleb groaned in the back, and I opened the door for him. “You alright buddy?”

“It appears so.” He stepped out, a little shaky as he straightened his clothes. “I would also like to apologize.”

I was surprised to hear this. “Buddy,  I should be apologizing. I threw us out a window and crashed the car in Vida’s plane. We almost got caught.”

“Perhaps, but it was my inaction that caused us to get caught. I am not the best fighter, and i am grateful you helped me on this mission.”

I put out my hand. “Let’s call it even then.”

He took it, shaking. “Agreed. Arinya will be quite happy to have these files.” He turned and opened a portal, waving as he walked away. I went to wave back, then realized i was still holding the files.

“Hold on, you might want these.” I threw the key-chain with the drives at him, accidentally hitting him in the back of the head. He fell forward, the portal closing as the files and him fell through. I winced, and quickly pulled out my phone. I shot him a message saying sorry, and breathed out.

Vida put her arm around my shoulders. “Not bad. You’re really doing good things. And now you have this sick car.” The car finally sputtered off as she mentioned it. “Though you might have a real project trying to fix it.”

I laughed, happy to have pulled off this mission. “I guess I’ll need to put together a garage here. And figure out how to fix it. And get the parts.”

“For sure, but first, Ongaku has called in his favor. And he wants both of us to head over.” Vida stretched and yawned. “He still hasn’t told me what he wants, but we’ll find out.”

“He’s the god of music, right?” I tried to remember from her list of favors she talked about earlier.

“Yup, he tends to be a bit of a loner, but he’s super nice.” Vida waved her arm, with a doorway rose from the sand. “Not sure why he wants to see both of us, but we’ll find out.” She held out her arm, and I took it, leading us into this new plane. Once the light died down, I found us standing in a small recording studio. A panel of switches, dials, and buttons rested below a window, showing us a smaller Japanese man in a button-up shirt playing a bass guitar. The noise of the bass-line quietly played through a headset hooked into the studio equipment. The music felt alive, low tones begging to carry a melody. The man looked at the window and waved, beckoning us inside. I saw a small door leading into the recording room, and led Vida inside, holding the door open for her.

“Ongaku!” Vida walked up and hugged the man. “Beautiful sounds as usual.”

Ongaku smiled. “Always a flatterer. But thank you.” He looked past Vida and looked me up and down. “What did you think, Mr. Robert?”

I awkwardly rubbed my neck. “I’m not really a musician, but I liked what I heard.” I answered truthfully.

“Good. Music is all around us, so always listen close.” He seemed wise beyond his years, with a tone that seemed grandfatherly. “But we can focus on your music tastes later. I need your help with a situation.”

Vida sat down on a stool next to Ongaku. “You still haven’t specifically said what you need.”

Ongaku placed his guitar gently onto a nearby stand. “I normally do most of my work myself, but this falls into more… a more aggressive place than I'm used to.” He looked at me and gestured to an empty step.

“Aggressive?” I asked, sitting down on the step.

“I make music, and give advice. I can fight, but I find it troublesome. I avoid it when I can.” Ongaku sighed. “Have you heard of the singer K Plus?” He produced a small picture of a man with ‘K+’ scribbled on it. He was smiling in the photo, but it looked fake. He otherwise appeared pretty normal, despite the flashy clothes and jewelry.

I shook my head. ���Can’t say I have.”

“He’s a decent musician. He leans too much into his ghostwriters for my taste, but that’s not important. What is important is that his record label is trying to buy out some smaller ones, which we need to stop.”

Vida tilted her head. “I didn’t realize you were so invested in the business side of music.”

“I try not to be, but when one record label is threatening to produce all music for one country, I find that not great for creativity. But this deal hinges on a show K+ is having. If, let’s say, this show were to be fraught with issues, the smaller labels will be able to deny the deal indefinitely based on negligence.”

“So we need to go to a show of this guy, and just make it terrible?” It seemed easy enough, but everything has a catch.

“That’s your job. Vida, while you ruin this show, will be distracting K+.” Vida seemed surprised at this. “He tends to be hands-on and very paranoid, so a distraction is needed.”

“I thought gods couldn’t interfere directly with humans?” I was confused as to why Vida was needed.

“Yeah, why do you need me specifically?” Vida asked, clearly as confused as I was.

Ongaku turned over to Vida. “You have been locked up in that plane for how long? I worry about you sometimes, and I think a little trip to earth will do you some good.” He turned back to me. “Also, godly interference is not allowed, but as long as she doesn’t use her powers, it’s fine. And luckily for you, I have the perfect cover.”

***

Vida sighed. “This has to be the dumbest thing I've worn in a long time.” We were standing in line to the K+ concert, and it turned out the ‘perfect cover’ Ongaku had was some backstage passes and groupie outfits. Mine wasn’t too bad, just a shirt with the K+ logo and some baggy black pants. Vida, however, was given a low-cut logo shirt with matching tight shorts. Combined with combat boots, a choker, and a new tied-up hairstyle, she didn’t look like the goddess I was used to. We awkwardly stood in line next to many younger fans, all of which were rambling about what music K+ would perform and if he would have any new ones.

I looked around the venue, a football stadium in Wisconsin, to see just more fans. “You… look fine.” I was trying not to stare at her too much, but I hadn’t really noticed how much skin her outfit showed until we were already there. Vida was already beautiful, and this new outfit showed off her figure in a very flattering way. “Anyway, at least the weather is nice.”

“For sure, I wouldn't want to wear a jacket or anything.” Vida sarcastically said. Normally very confident, she now was slouching a little, like she didn’t want to be seen. She fidgeted in place, kicking the ground.

I hooked my arm in hers. “It could be worse.” I pointed to a girl ahead of us wearing fishnets and a very slim crop top. “What if we both had to wear that?”

Vida giggled, leaning into me. “I think you could make it work.” There was a moment of pause. “I guess I have spent a long time without hanging out on earth. I never used to be this self-conscious.”

The security man at the front of the line started waving people in. “You used to be a groupie?” I joked as we walked forward.

“I’ve been in a lot of places over the years. I used to take decade-long trips to just live in the moment.” She smiled, clearly remembering something. “I guess Ongaku was right, like normal.”

We passed through a hallway to a main stage floor with some techs still running wires around. “Like normal?” I questioned.

“He’s got a sixth sense for music, and a seventh sense for emotions.” Vida explained. “He won’t admit it, but he’s got a real knack for people.”

Our conversation was cut short by a PA. “Alright, welcome K+ fans! The main man himself will be out in a few minutes for the Q&A, but a few rules first.” He seemed very tired, but was forcing himself to act chipper. He continued with rules, and I noticed an empty door. I nudged Vida, and broke off to sneak backstage. Vida nodded, and I disappeared through the door. I found myself in a hallway, and ran off to cause trouble.

***

Vida didn’t pay much mind to the rest of the rules after Robert left. She knew she just had to distract K+ in this session enough for Robert to ruin the show, however he was planning to do that. She was brought back to reality when the people around her started clapping, and another person came out of the wings. She looked to see another PA and not K+. The PA's had a quiet conversation, then turned back to the crowd.

“It seems that K+ is not feeling well, and is saving his strength for the show. I’m so sorry, but you will be compensated with a free merch bag.” The crowd groaned, clearly defeated.

This isn’t good. Vida was planning on using the Q&A to ask obnoxious questions to buy time. She decided to push her luck. “But I really wanted to talk to him! Are you sure you can’t make something happen?” She asked, using a cutesy voice.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but no one is allowed to disturb him until showtime.” The PA started handing out bags of K+ merch, but Vida needed to make sure this show went wrong. Vida took her bag, and followed the others back through the hallway, only to slip into an open door when no one was watching. Her plan was simple. Sneak around, find the green room K+ was in, annoy him to buy time, then leave or get kicked out. It would be more difficult without her powers, but she was up to the challenge.

She slowly worked through the hallways, dipping into curtains and behind crates to avoid workers going by. It wasn’t fast or exciting, but she had to be certain to make it there. She eventually found herself outside a green room door with ‘K+’ written on it. She waited for a person to pass, then stepped out into the hall and opened the door.

She looked inside to see K+ with his back turned to the door, headphones in, sitting in a director’s chair. He was completely in his own world, lost in whatever he was listening to. She quietly shut the door behind her, and decided to play the annoying fan.

“OMG YOU’RE K+!!!” Vida quickly tackled him in a hug, dragging them both to the floor.

“WHO ARE YOU? GET OFF ME!” K+ struggled to break free.

“You didn’t come to the Q&A, so I had to come find you!” Vida was still using the cutesy voice, seemingly mocking him. “You really shouldn’t flake out on your fans.”

K+ finally broke out, scrambling to his feet and grabbing a walkie-talkie off his desk. “SECURITY! COME TO MY ROOM NOW!” Clearly rattled, he turned to run out and ran directly into a wall, knocking himself out. Vida laughed as she picked up his phone from the ground. She realized that he probably had info on there that Ongaku would appreciate. She would return it later, and made a doorway back to Ongaku’s plane.

***

My phone beeped as I fiddled with the wires of some smoke machines. I was perched on a studio rail, awkwardly balancing as I took out my phone and saw a message from Vida:

'HE’S DEFINITELY SHAKEN UP, BETTER BE CAREFUL BEFORE SECURITY FINDS YOU 😛'

I smirked. I had just wrapped up a little surprise for the show, so the timing was perfect. I put the cover back on and went to a small section of wires I could hide in. I wanted to wait in the building to make sure this show went terribly. I sat there for maybe an hour, watching people file into their seats, and watching the tour crew trying to put together the pieces. They finally dimmed the lights and K+ took the stage. He looked tired and stressed, but received a fanfare nonetheless. Fans cheered as he picked up a microphone, unaware of what was happening next.

The first opening notes started, and K+ started to sing. He wasn’t bad by any means, but I understood why Ongaku was opposed to this. He felt very corporate, even as he sang. No passion, just words. I turned to the smoke machines I had rewired, just in time to see them whir to life. I had just bypassed the filters, and instead of a hazy fog, a trickle of fluid was leaking out of the machines, dripping onto the stage below. I had also taken the liberty of rerouting some of the speakers, so as the song grew to its peak, the speakers grew quieter. The crowd was turning hesitant, and a murmur could be heard among them. K+ finally took notice, and was motioning to some crew. They were motioning back, unable to hear him from center stage. K+ finally took his steps, directly into the pooling smoke fluid. He flipped onto his back, and the crowd gasped. This seems to be the final straw, as K+ began screaming violently. As he threw a tantrum, I decided to finally take my leave, making a small doorway above me and crawling into Ongaku’s plane as K+ screamed and made a fool of himself on stage.

***

Deep in a secret military complex, Commander Leblanc was training. He slowly lifted weights, staring at a monitor with various automated searches going on. He stared at it, his reflection staring back at him. The door whirred open, and a man in a lab coat came in.

“Evening, Commander. Are the cybernetics working as intended?”

Leblanc stared deeper at his reflection. He saw a man with several robotic parts scowling back at him. “They work. Although we won’t know about the combat features until it’s time.”

The scientist leaned against the door frame. “Maybe that will be soon. Did you see our mystery man at the K+ show?”

“I did. Another blurry sighting but that was him. I’m running searches now to see if he’s been spotted anywhere else.” Leblanc put down the weights and turned to this man. “But you didn’t come here to tell me things I already know, right Doug?”

Doug straightened his lab coat and stood upright. “Well, it’s about the plan once we find him. I find it… not great. Maybe we shouldn’t-”

A beeping from the computer interrupted him, drawing both their attention. A flashing article from The Weekly Eagle with a photo of their mystery man and a name. Robert Paladin.

[its-captain-sir]

BATTALION BREAKDOWN

Alright y'all, here it is, my breakdown of what I think a GAR battalion SHOULD look like. Full disclaimer before we get into it: I tried to research this stuff on wookiepedia as best I could but 1. there wasn't a ton of information out there on some of the things I had questions about and 2. some of it just makes No Sense when you put it together, so a lot of these numbers were made up by me and what I thought made sense based on what we see in the show and just simple logic. Feel free to accept/ignore parts as you please! Also, I'm gonna try to explain the rationale behind certain things as I go along but if you have any questions about this, you can send an ask/reply/reblog this post with your question and I'll do my best to answer it :)

Now that all that's out of the way, here's all the actual info beneath the cut.

Basic Organization

Essentially, the GAR breaks down into four tiers at this level: battalions, companies, platoons, and squads.

Battalions are the largest groups with 576* members and are all numbered, such as the 501st, 212th, 104th, etc. The only exceptions to the numbering convention are the Rancor Battalion that guards Kamino and the Coruscant Guard. Personally I believe that both of these should be double, if not triple, the size of a regular battalion, which could potentially explain the difference in names. Battalions are led by a clone commander and Jedi general + a padawan commander if the Jedi has one. 4 companies make a battalion.

Companies consist of 144 members and are all named. Using the 501st for example, this would be Torrent, Tide, Wave, and Typhoon. Note: Torrent, Tide, and Wave are canon/widely accepted fanon, but Typhoon is something me and my friends came up with. You're welcome to use the name as the fourth 501st company in your wips if you want! The names don't have to be related, but my guess would be that they often are. Companies are led by a captain.** 4 platoons make a company.

Platoons consist of 36 members and are simply referred to as the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, or 4th platoon under their company. Platoons are led by a Lieutenant. 4 squads make a platoon.

Squads consist of 9 members and are named. I don't have names for any 501st squads unfortunately, which is why those spaces are left blank in the picture. As a content creator, you'd have a LOT of freedom when it comes to these because there's so many within a battalion and it seems like they can be named just about anything. Squads are led by a sergeant.

*Numbers for this and subsequent numbers in this section were taken directly from wookiepedia

**One problem people tend to have with this is that Rex is a captain, and yet he seems to be in command of all of the 501st. I think most people have figured this out already but the clone wars writers really just threw names around willy-nilly when it came to all the military stuff. Rex should by all intents and purposes be a commander, and my personal in-universe explanation for this is that while he was skilled enough to go through ARC/command track training, he wasn't originally meant to be a commander and his CT number is what barred him from the title initially. Keeli would be another example of this.

A few comparisons just to illustrate it a bit better:

1 battalion = 4 companies = 16 platoons = 64 squads = 576 members

1 company = 4 platoons = 16 squads = 144 members

1 platoon = 4 squads = 36 members

1 squad = 9 members

Please note that these numbers do not include the officers. There would be 64 sergeants, 16 lieutenants, 4 captains, and a commander added to this number to make a total of 661 clones in any given battalion.

Now I could have just stopped here but I have a tendency to want to get way too specific in my wips so I went a little further:

Internal Battalion Assignments

To make the numbers a bit easier, this just looks at what would be found in one company, you can do the extra math if you want to know the full battalion numbers.

I tried my best to remember what kind of specialized troops showed up in the show since wookiepedia wasn't much help, and I ended up breaking these assignments down into medics, heavy gunners, ARF and tank operators, scouts, tech specialists, and standard infantry.

Medics total 16* within a company, one for each squad. Within the medical corps, they're further broken down into junior medical officers (JMO), medical officers (MO), senior medical officers (SMO), and the chief medical officer of the battalion (CMO). Any internal promotions would probably come from the CMO, maybe a SMO on occasion. When pertaining to medical issues, they do often outrank any other officer, but in combat, JMOs and MOs only hold the rank of private (underneath sergeant) and SMOs and the CMO hold the rank of major (between sergeant and lieutenant).

Heavy gunners total 16 within a company, again one for each squad. These are the clones who have been trained to use the Z-6 rotary blaster, like Hardcase and Hevy.

ARFs and other tank operators total one platoons-worth spread throughout a company, or 36 members. ARF troopers are the ones who drive the AT-RTs (the really bouncy walkers you can see used on Ryloth and Umbara) and other tank operators encompass, well, the operators of all the other ground vehicles we see used. The ratio of each of these seems like it could be fluid based on the needs of the battalion and their mission, so I didn't go too much further into this.

Scouts total two squads-worth spread throughout a company, or 16 members. To me it makes sense that one of the lieutenants within their company would specifically deal with their recon reports, simply because it's more organized and practical.

Tech specialists total one squads-worth spread throughout a company, or 9 members. Honestly this is where I grouped anything else left over, like the bomb squad members we see in the blue shadow virus episode, any slicers, etc.

Standard infantry totals the remaining 49 members in a battalion. They're strictly the fighting force on the ground. This doesn't mean that they're the only ones who do the actual fighting, just that they aren't specifically trained for any other specialization.

*These numbers and the subsequent numbers in this section were not taken from any canon source. They were calculated simply by what I thought would make sense to have.

LAAT/is and Starfighters

Again, I tend to be way too specific in my wips so not only did I go through all of the ground fighting force, but I started figuring out the some of the space forces attached to a battalion as well. This doesn't go into a ton about the Republic Navy because frankly, as soon as I read "7400 crew members on a star destroyer" I exited out of that tab cause that's a little Too Much to try to figure out, but I will cover how I think the gunships and fighter squadrons should work.

LAAT/is (gunships) total 48 per battalion, or 12 per company. However, two per company are usually held in reserve to make sure there's always something available for easy transport to/from the ground. This brings down the number to 40 per battalion, or 10 per company. Gunships take two people to man, so the total number of those pilots for a battalion is 96, or 24 for a company. There's also room for two gunners, which would bring the battalion total to 192, but from what I remember in the show the side guns rarely have someone in them, so I don't think the full 96 LAAT/i gunner positions would be filled. I also think the LAAT/i gunners could be temporarily reassigned from the main star destroyer crew (because 7400 is a LOT, they can spare 96). Wookiepedia said that the gunships could hold 30 troops for transport, but that seems like it'd be really cramped quarters. My guess is that each one would hold somewhere between 14-17 comfortably depending on how many people need transport and how many gunships are in use, which is what I kept in mind to come up with the original number of 48 for a battalion.

The Starfighter Corps consist of 5 separate squadrons, the standard* being two squadrons of Y-wings, one squadron of V-19 Torrents, one squadron of Z-95 Headhunters, and one squadron of ARC-170s. There are 12 in a squadron, plus a squad leader and two usually in reserve, so that's 15 total ships in a squadron and 75 total ships overall. Y-wings require a pilot and a gunner, so the total number of members in a battalion's starfighter corps equals 105. However, I believe some battalions could have up to double** these numbers if they're frequently in space battles, like Anakin and the 501st, or if they have a name that suggests it, like the 327th Star Corps. Squadrons seem to often be named after colors, but that isn't always the case, ie. Shadow Squadron.

*This standard isn't canon, it's just what I believe makes sense based on the number of ships types available and how frequently they are seen used in the show. The Y-wing bombers seem to be used a bit more than the rest, which is why I think there would be two squadrons of them.

**While double the number of ships is certainly possible, I figure it's more common to have three more squadrons instead of the full five so there would be two squadrons of each type of ship.

~~~

That's all I got! Like I said earlier, use whatever you like, ignore the parts you don't, it doesn't really matter to me. This system is definitely what I'm going to follow in my wips if anyone is ever curious about what's going on with those.

Hopefully this is helpful to someone out there! And if you made it this far, thanks for reading! :)

[sinnamonrolle]

[ the little moments] ♡ Belphegor

7 - That moment when Belphegor showed you magic.

✿ part of a series! ✿

❀  gender neutral reader  ❀

Warnings: Mentions of death and also lesson 16 spoilers

Nights in the Devildom were no different from nights in the human world, except for the abundance of visible stars twinkling in the night sky. Too much light pollution covered the stars in the human world, and you had almost forgotten what they looked like if not for arriving at the Devildom.

“Can’t sleep?” A voice, soft and heavy with sleep, entered the planetarium. It echoed gently in the dimness around you and almost faded under the trickling of the water fountain, the airy words murmuring against your ears.

Belphegor draped a warm, fluffy blanket around you as he settled next to you, wrapping himself with the other end of the blanket. He sat to your right, one of his long legs bent at the knees, and the other stretched out against the marble floor. When he leaned into you, the soft strands of his hair tickled your neck, and the faint smell of chamomile floated around you.

“Seems like I’m not the only one,” you teased, brushing your thumb against his cheek as you tucked his bangs behind his ear. They didn’t stay there long, falling back down to cover his eyes again.

Belphie sighed. He turned his head slightly, his purple eyes half-lidded as they met yours.

“Missed you,” he muttered. “I woke up with this gaping feeling in my chest, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I could feel you next to me.” Then he hesitated, his breath hitching as you felt his hand twitch against yours. “Can I… Can I hold your hand?”

You took his hand in yours, weaving your fingers with his. His fingers were freezing, so you rubbed them with your other hand, hoping to warm them up somewhat.

“Of course,” you said, smiling. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Of course,” Belphie repeated. He brought your intertwined hands to his mouth and pressed a light kiss to the back of your hand. “You’re here with me.”

Your cheeks warmed along with your heart, your mind fumbling around the affection consuming you from the inside out. This was the best feeling of love you could ever have the privilege of experiencing—it was something like a stuffy feeling, like layers of cotton had been padded in your chest, and it wasn’t strong to the point where you felt like you could burst into pieces, but something more subtle, something more encompassing, suffusing through every fiber of your being and every molecule of your soul.

You were absolutely immersed in it.

“I have a little trick for you,” Belphie said almost immediately after, pulling away from you so that he was sitting upright. “Since you can’t sleep. Have you heard of tracing?”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t think so.”

He hummed. “That’s not too surprising. Tracing is something children are taught when they are very young, so the RAD professors wouldn’t teach you what it is.” Then, he held out his hand, the one that wasn’t holding yours. “Here, hold your hand out. With your palm up. It’ll make it easier. Tracing is basically what it sounds like. You trace the air with your magic.”

You felt like you understood it but also didn’t at the same time. You could hold your hand out no problem, but everything after that was… hm. Not good.

“Belphie, you’re a bad teacher,” you said, smiling teasingly at him.

He glared half-heartedly at you, eyebrows just barely furrowing, but then he chuckled.

“Sorry, my little sun,” Belphie said, lips curling at the edges into an amused smile. His bangs brushed past his nose as he tilted his head. “I’ll explain properly this time.”

True to his words, he took his time teaching you, explaining each part thoroughly and making sure you understood. You were surprised that he had that much patience, especially since he yawned multiple times throughout his explanation. Although, you couldn’t say that tracing was hard to explain.

“Very good,” Belphie said, his voice drifting into your ears. “Visualize your magic, make it visible, solidify it, and then move it according to your will. When you get used to it, put down your hand. Try tracing by using only your mind.”

It took you a few tries, but it really wasn’t too difficult. Once you managed to trace without having to use your hand as an anchor, the first thing you traced in the air was “Belphegor” surrounded by hearts. If you maintained your focus, your tracing could stay for a few minutes, so you kept adding hearts around his name, the color of your magic lighting up the planetarium.

“Why are you like this?” Belphie sighed, exasperated. He started tracing as well, purple letters appearing next to yours. His magic was lazy but light, appearing in delicate, efficient strokes.

“Like what?”

“So precious.”

You turned to him, blinking in surprise, but he didn’t look at you. Instead, he focused on the letters in front of him, his eyes reflecting the light from his magic. When he still didn’t face you, you returned to adding more hearts around his name—only to see what he was tracing.

It was your name in beautiful calligraphy, and underneath, it was Belphie’s endearment for you—my little sun—in smaller but just as lovely letters. He also incorporated a sun into your name, little lines indicating the sunbeams. Even though he didn’t draw any hearts at all, his adoration for you was still clear as day.

“You’re the precious one here,” you said, pretending that the lump in your throat didn’t exist. You spoke past it, even when your voice came out scratchy in doing so. “Now, it doesn’t matter how many hearts I draw. It won’t beat yours.”

Belphegor laughed, his voice coming out in airy puffs. “Since when did this become a competition? You’ve already beaten me. The moment I fell for you, you’ve already become my everything.” He looked at you softly, the lines around his eyes gentle with love. But you also noticed the dark circles lining underneath them, hidden behind his bangs. “My little sun. You are the light in my world.”

“Then, you’re my moon,” you said, squeezing his hand. “My other half. In the darkness, you are my light.”

“I am your moon,” he agreed. He squeezed your hand back, turning away from you, and rested his forehead against his propped up knee. “Because even the moon gets its light from the sun.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you went back to the letters hovering in the air. You let most of the hearts fade from around Belphegor’s name, but you kept the rest. You wanted to keep some form of your love visible for at least a little longer.

“You know what’s funny?” he suddenly asked.

You drew a little cow in the air, adding Belphie’s horns to it. “What?”

“I used to love human beings,” he started. “They were just so fascinating, and I loved them. But not in the way Lilith loved them. The love I felt for humans was like how humans love flowers. But Lilith didn’t love them like flowers. Lilith picked one human and gave them all of her love, to the point that she went against Celestial laws for them.”

Belphie paused. The water fountain gurgled faintly in the silence. You finished your cow and decided to stop tracing, tilting your head up to look at the planetarium sky instead.

He continued, “I didn’t understand that kind of love. I didn’t understand what kind of feelings could drive her to such lengths for a human. A human that would never live as long as us. When Lucifer told us that she died, all I could think about was that, in some way—I killed her. I led her to her death. It was because I loved humans that she fell in love with one. But because my love was not the same as her love, I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand her love, I didn’t understand her reasons, I didn’t understand her.”

He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Because I didn’t understand, I blamed the humans for it. I started hating them, and it was a kind of loathing that ate away at me from the inside. I hated that they took my sister away. I hated that she had to fall in love with one. I hated that I didn’t understand. So, you know what’s funny? It’s funny that it is only now that I understand.”

“Belphie,” you whispered. You couldn’t see his face, but from the shakiness of his voice, you knew that he was in a lot of pain—pain so embedded into him that you didn’t know how to soothe. You adjusted your position so that you could wrap your arm around him, bringing him into a half hug.

“Isn’t it funny?” Belphegor rasped, his body trembling. “Isn’t it funny how I hated humans so much for causing my sister to die, yet now, I am completely, utterly in love with one? And now—and now, I understand exactly how Lilith felt back then. Now, I know why she did what she did. The irony of it all—I hated that I loved humans, but that hate has also led me to you. Lilith, as an angel, fell in love with a human, and I, as a demon, have also fallen in love with one.”

You took in his shaking form, the light heaving of his chest, the balled up fist at his side. You took it all in, and asked, lightly, “Do you regret it?”

Belphie shot up, misty eyes frantically meeting yours as he squeezed your intertwined hands tightly. “Never. I never regretted it. I wouldn’t, and I will never. Loving you is nothing but joy. I love loving you, I love seeing you smile, I love knowing that you are happy. I love that you love me. I love you. I am so happy, knowing that I love you. And I will break every rule in all three realms in a heartbeat, if it means that I can see you smile again.”

“You don’t have to go that far,” you said softly, brushing his bangs to the side so you could see all of him. “Just knowing that you love me is enough. I love you too. For me, loving you is a state of truth. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

A sort of desperation haunted him, lingering in the deep purple of his eyes. He took your free hand, clasping it together with your interwoven hands. When he rested his forehead against them, it almost resembled a prayer of sorts.

“You can’t die,” Belphie pleaded, begging, praying—choking on his words. “You can’t die. Please, I can’t lose you. Please, please—you can’t die. Please, don’t leave me alone. My sun can’t set. I can’t live in a world without your light. Please, you can’t die—”

But you knew, and you knew that he knew too.

That all suns must set.

-------

Masterlist!

[qvid-pro-qvo]

a double shot for me (with a splash of you)

also known as a coffee shop au no one asked for, but i wanted. aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader.

word count: 8628

rating: teen, for lots and lots of coffee consumption, baked goods, and falling in love one cup at a time.

-

Penelope sees it first. 

Ever since JJ left, cases fall on her more and more. Those pesky paper files that the FBI insists on keeping around. Dark manila folders embossed only to be thrown away. It’s a shame, but those are the ones she has to take up to Hotch’s office. 

She makes the climb, moves to his door with purpose. Reaches out to knock, clutching one of her more muted pens in case Hotch needs one to sign. Not likely, but the last time she had one with a fuzzy pink thing on a spring, and the visual of Hotch signing one of their cases with that much... fluff made her eyes cross. 

Anyway. She’s up and in, Hotch giving his permission, and the files in her arms get placed in his box. 

“Just a couple of signatures,” she informs him. 

“Are these finished consults?” he asks, and she fills him on what details she can. It’s while she’s filling him in, though, that he lifts a mug of coffee to his lips. 

It’s a new mug. One that she’s never seen on his desk before. Definitely different, because the ones he usually chooses are the kind that the FBI keeps as standard issue, the ones that get stolen and restocked because they’re convenient and... just okay, as far as mugs goes. They hold coffee effectively enough, is what she’s saying. 

But this is a mug. A kind of cute mug, with a logo on the front of some coffee shop. It’s white, too, almost a shock on the more somber mahogany of her boss’s desk. 

“Garcia?” 

She realizes then that she stopped talking. Hotch is staring up at her, mug still poised halfway up to his lips, and she blinks, mouth falling open a little. 

“I’m - I’m sorry, sir. I was just admiring that mug you have. Is that place any good? It opened up pretty recently, right?” 

He glances at it. Seems to notice it for the first time as well, and his face softens. That’s the only way Penelope can describe it, as if looking at the mug makes him think of something... good. 

But when he talks, it’s like any other conversation. As if that little moment she spies doesn’t happen. Nods, face just on this side of neutral. 

“Yeah, I like their coffee. Fair prices, too, even with the knowledge that a building full of FBI agents are here to overcharge.” 

She chuckles, but it’s for more than the joke. It’s at the fact that Hotch seems that close to smiling himself, and she pulls back from his desk with a little grin. “All right, sir. Thank you.” Her head dips a little.

“Thank you,” he shoots back, and when she leaves, she thinks that maybe she’ll let that place be all his. 

-

The first time Aaron-With-Two-A’s comes into your coffee shop (distinguishing him from Aron-With-One-A and Aahron-With-An-H), you’re pretty smitten with him. You can’t tell if it’s the fitted suit and tie, the jawline, or the small smile he gives you when he orders, but by the time you serve him with an extra bright smile that he kindly returns... well, you’re in love. He could be the love of your life. Especially when he drops a tip in the jar. 

An exaggeration, of course. It’s not love.

Maybe.

Anyway, you see him walk out the door and at that point you know that you’ll never see him again. This isn’t the part of town that usually gets the suits, and there are shops closer to where they gather that he’ll probably use next. Your luck is shitty anyway, so anyone like that who brings you a little bit a joy would, of course, never return. You’re already a late bloomer, and known for your bad decisions, so while you’re very thankful for your job you know it’s not luck that landed you where you are.

But you suck it up, of course. You can’t afford to get distracted. You’re the only one working a shift in the afternoons, and that time is used for cleaning and second-guessing every decision you make, along with doing your best to make damn good coffee. 

But he comes back. More than once. Get his same order, a very plain black coffee with a couple of sugars, and you hand it over across the bar each time, sometimes going out of your way to put it in his hands. Smiling, your handwriting the scrawl on the cup that spells out his name. 

A-A-R-O-N. 

He’s becomes a regular, and you feel comfortable calling him that. It isn’t every day he comes in, not even close. Sometimes he’s gone for three weeks at a time, but he always trails back in, bright and early for a hot cup. Soon, you’re adding smiley faces to the end of his name, and the first time you do it you can’t help but peek out behind the pastry case to watch him see it. 

He smiles. You smile. It’s a win. 

Slowly small talk develops. It’s weeks, pulling little tidbits from him each time you take his order. Basically, what happens is you ramble for too long, he smiles and responds, and the process repeats. 

But he seems to enjoy himself, and you definitely are, and as long as the line isn’t held up, you don’t really mind.

Of course, the days aren’t all peaches and cream (though the peach galette you sell always tastes like it). One day, a slower Tuesday, you’re trying to hide the way your chest aches, after a particularly brutal phone call with your mother that brought tears to your eyes. 

Why are you wasting your time on this – this coffee shop? she had asked. Mocked. You gave up a lot for that dream of yours, and you’re just scraping by –

And you’d tried to explain. You really had. What it meant to you, to start this on your own, to get away from your past, your bad decisions, your spouse. From what was holding you back. But she snapped, and she scolded, and as you closed your eyes and hung up there had been nothing you could do but gasp for air.

Her words overwhelm you behind the counter, and you close your eyes tight at the memory, not realizing that at the same time, the coffee cup you’re holding overflows. 

The coffee scalds you. Because it’s fucking coffee. You let out a cry, dropping the cup all over the floor, grateful it’s only a cardboard one for to-go orders. It splashes your no-longer-clean jeans, and at that moment you’re done. You’re just done. Your hands are shaking, and burned, and you push to the sink in a gasped sob. Your hair falls in your eyes, gets shoved back, and once it falls forward again you reach up to pull at it overwhelmed.

Your name is called out, but you wave the hand that isn’t stinging, splashing water without meaning to when the faucet gets going. “I’m fine, just - just give a minute, I’ll get it right out.” 

“Are you okay?” 

It’s an innocent question. And you should be more put together, it’s a goddamn customer, but your already shitty day just peaks and you whirl around to snap before even processing who’s in front of you. 

“Do I fucking look - oh. Oh, my god.” 

It’s Aaron. With two As. The coffee you spilled? His. The voice. His? The look of concern, one that makes your cheeks flush with a red you haven’t felt in a long time? His. 

Of course. The one time you yell at a customer, and it just happens to the one you have a raging crush on. 

“I’m - I’m so s-sorry,” you stammer. “Like I said, it’ll be right out, I just...” You don’t even know how to recover, instead choosing to turn back to your hand, which luckily is not blistering. It’s just bright red, inflamed. The cold water over it helps, but you can still feel the undercurrent of the sting. However, you still have a job to do and you force yourself to pull way, moving to grab another to-go cup. “I’ll get you a fresh one, okay? Give me a minute.” 

“Put your hand back under the faucet.” It’s not an order, but his voice carries the weight of one, and you blink a few times to stop the tears before moving back to the sink, whimpering as the cool once more rushes over your skin. “Do you need me to go get anything? Is there anyone in the back to help you?” 

You can’t help your snort. It feels snotty with the tears that you’re just barely holding back. Why is he being so nice? You just make the coffee. 

“No. It’s just me this morning. Just my luck, right?” The crushing loneliness of that statement floors you, and you find yourself staring at the running water to avoid his eyes. 

The water is the only noise in the room, besides your occasional sniffle. After a moment, you force yourself to pull back from the water, eyes closing tightly as the pain ramps up again. And Aaron is still there, his eyes holding an intense kind of pity, and you realize his hand is reaching for yours. 

He clears his throat as you raise a brow at the gesture. “I’m not a doctor, but I have a third-grader at home. Burns are nothing new to me.” You give him a weak smile (of course, he’s a father), and he takes your hand gently, looking over it with that classic intensity. He’s furrowing his brow at it for a while, and the whole time he’s just... holding your hand. 

“Your professional opinion?” you ask in a shaky voice, and he hums, turning it over to look at your palm. He looks up at you again, and when he speaks it’s deadpan, brow furrowed. 

“I don’t know. I think we’ll have to cut it off.” 

There’s a beat, and then you’re sputtering out a laugh before you can stop yourself. He smirks before letting you pull your hand back. The pure shock of the statement brings you back from the edge, and the tears in your eyes seem to vanish as you realize you’re giggling, a hectic kind of sound. He doesn’t seem to mind the horrific noises coming from you, though, because he’s still watching you, one hand sliding into his pocket as his face relaxes.

“You’ll be okay. It’ll heal on its own – just make sure if any blisters appear you don’t pop them.” 

He gets a playful glare for his efforts, and you reach for a clean washcloth, soaking it in cold water and wrapping it around the affected hand. 

“Any other advice?” you ask him, and his eyes glance toward the coffee on the floor. 

“No. Fresh out, but. Let me help you clean up.” 

You huff out another laugh. Was he serious? “And ruin your suit?” You gesture to his whole outfit. Hell, he’s got a tie on that screams expensive, shoes that surely are the cost of a full day’s profit. “Trust me. Coffee smell stays with you. And once it’s bad, it’s bad. I’ll get it, after I make you another coffee, one you can actually take with you.” 

He doesn’t seem too convinced. For a moment, he looks almost like he’s going to ignore you, take off his jacket, and grab the mop. But no matter how much you would love to see that, you shake your head, and emphasize it again. “No. I’ll do the cleaning.”

Your stern tone gets him to lift his hands, in surrender. You smile, then, a real one, without much snot, and he starts moving towards the door.

“You’ll have a good day, all right?” He says it so… so confidently, so assuredly. And smoothly pulls out his usual two-dollar tip from his wallet, dropping it in the jar.

“You don’t want your coffee?” you call out, but it’s like he doesn’t hear you. And then he’s leaving, and you’re trying to think of what to say. Something, anything, to thank him for his kindness.

“Wait!” you cry out. You must sound desperate, because he stops and when he turns back to you, you’re rummaging around behind the counter. You almost completely disappear for a moment before you’re popping back up, your prize in hand. 

“Here.” The gift is thrust forward. “To say thank you. Really. You didn’t have to stay, and you did. And. I think my day will be better because of it.” 

He takes it from you, turning it over in his hands. 

“A coffee mug.” 

Suddenly, the gesture feels stupid, and your face flushes as he keeps turning it over in his fingers. “Yeah, I - I would’ve given you a ticket or something, for a free coffee and pastry, but I only printed those for the week of the grand opening. I’m sorry, really, it’s dumb, I can take it back, and we can pretend this never happened -” 

But when he looks up at you, you stop talking. The earth has stopped spinning, as far as you’re concerned. His eyes have wrinkles at the corners, because you suppose that’s what happens when he grins. You find yourself tracing them, unable to pull your gaze away. In this light, he looks brilliant. The shine of the early morning sun is dancing on his features, and you feel like an idiot for even thinking it but it’s all you can think. 

“I can just… I owe you,” you finally say, and to that he shakes his head. 

“No. This is – this is great.” And he means it, chuckling with it.

With a lift of the mug, he turns and goes out the door, leaving you a little agape as the world starts turning once again. And in that moment, the coffee smell is worth it, just so you can watch him disappear from view.

-

Rossi notices because he notices Aaron.

After all, the man’s life is… pretty routine. There are parts about the job that have him yanked all over the place, but the days that they’re at home, it’s methodical. A comfort in a way, knowing that some things never change.

At work before everyone else. Working the day away. Coming down for lunch (or not, depending what he (or Jess) managed to make at home for him and Jack in the evenings). Going back up, and working until everyone else leaves. He takes phone calls and meetings in his office, and every so often one of the team ventures up to interrupt, but. All in all, a pretty straightforward schedule most days of the week.

Dave doesn’t like to burn the midnight oil unless a book’s got him hooked, or get up too early unless there’s something in it for him, and so he’s always trailing in behind him, still before the others but at a time that’s sane.

Until one day. Aaron comes in a little later, later enough to catch the same elevator, and there’s a look on his face that’s a little… hurried.

There’s a cursory scan – no rumpled clothing, no identifying marks. And Aaron knows that he has eyes on him, because he ducks his head, not looking in his direction. Besides, Hotch isn’t exactly the type for one-night-stands, and so Dave rules it out with a nod and a press of the elevator button.

“Dave,” the unit chief acknowledges, and then steps off of the elevator once they arrive.

So. Something’s up.

Dave doesn’t confront him immediately, though. Just lingers, watches. Hotch knows that eyes are on him, but Rossi’s good enough that that doesn’t matter, especially when it happens again. Another elevator ride together,

“So,” he asks his friend, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “Who’s got you running late?”

There’s not an immediate answer. Hell, the guy almost looks chastened at it, like Rossi’s scolding him for coming in at 7:45 instead of 7:15. How dare he make it in only fifteen minutes before eight in the morning?

“There’s this… coffee shop I like to hit before work. Stumbled into it one morning, and…” Hotch murmurs. He pauses, and the numbers keep climbing.

“Yes?”

If anything, Hotch’s face seems to flame, working his jaw for a second as he considers telling Dave what he already figures. “The barista. Think they own it, too, and makes good coffee in the mornings.”

Rossi doesn’t say anything at first. Just chuckles, shaking his head a bit.

“Well. Have you gotten this owner’s number?”

The silence is very telling, and Rossi just laughs.

“Come on, Aaron. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Well, a rejection, for one,” Hotch replies with a look shot Dave’s way, but the older man just shakes his head again.

“Rejecting a handsome FBI agent who frequently pays the bills? Nah, I think you’ve got it,” he says, with a hand reaching to smack Aaron on the back. It’s that he leaves him with, along with another call over his shoulder.

“Y’know, once you get the number, you probably won’t have to spend so much on coffee!”

-

The days continue to pass by. Slowly, and surely, your little place seems to get some attention. More customers, more regulars. You manage to remember the names of your people most of the time, too, when the late nights keeping books and thinking of new bakery ideas don’t run away from you. And with those days, Aaron remains.

He still comes in the morning, at the asscrack of dawn. Of course, you don’t call it the asscrack of dawn in front of him, but often you’re still yawning when he comes in and asks for his order. And with it, since he’s so early, he stays to chat more and more. Sometimes, you see him glance at his watch, and excuse himself in a rush, and you can’t help but feel a little thrill at the thought that he just… likes talking to you that much.

There’s worry with it, too. What if he just feels so obligated to stick around? Are you forcing him to stay back longer than he needs to? But those fears are squashed by the way he always looks back to wave at you, lifting the cup of coffee you made him.

Of course, right after that he’s gone.

It’s like he vanishes. No sign of him in the mornings, and you feel a little bit of sorrow over the loss. But of course, immediately there’s a bit of embarrassment with that sorrow. You barely knew the guy, was he really worth a bit of mourning? But he truly just disappears, and for a moment your head comes up with crazy explanations as a way to cope without your early morning conversations, deal with the continued exhaustion that weighs on you as your business grows.

All hope is not lost, however, because it’s another late night into early morning balancing books when you see Aaron next.

It’s been a couple of weeks. You don’t exactly know what he does, but you know it’s something that requires the suit and tie, so you figure it’s important. Maybe a business trip, or something else that kept him away from your shop, but either way, it doesn��t matter. Because he’s back, and he gives you a little smile when you take his order, even when you can only yawn your way through it. The conversations even flow, like they did before, another source of incredible joy.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, on the tail end of yet another jaw-popping yawn. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” Your hands lift above your head in a stretch, and his gaze drops to the tip jar where he deposits his normal amount: two dollar bills.

“We all have those mornings,” he says with a chuckle. “It’s not a problem.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you have a morning like this,” you tease. Your hands move easily, even in your exhaustion, making his usual order with a flourish. Two sugars, in a little to-go cup, coffee over the top to make sure it’s mixed in. “What’s your secret? Don’t tell me you’re an energy drink fanatic. I’d feel like you were going behind my back.”

“No, no. Just your coffee,” he returns, and it’s easy. Comes out of him without any thought. If you blush, you hope he doesn’t notice, because your face is turned to his cup to make sure it doesn’t overflow.

“You’re too kind.” Lid on top, secured tightly, and when you turn back to him and hand it over, he doesn’t turn away. His comment makes you feel bold, too, so the name you write on it has a winky-face instead of a smiley-face. “Don’t stay away too long, my good days always come when you’re my first customer,” you add, and something seems to… shift.

Because Aaron doesn’t turn away. Smiles at you, at the coffee cup, and then glances back behind him. There’s no one else in the shop, there never is this early – it becomes known around the city as a good place to get a quick bite later in the day, set up and do some studying for a while since the black cups of coffee can be bottomless. But he checks anyway and then passes his coffee cup from one to the other, reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a little card.

“I was… politely encouraged by a coworker to take the leap,” he admits, and your heart is pounding in your chest. You’re offered the little white cardstock, and when you look at it, you see his full name. It feels like a momentous occasion, Aaron-with-two-As shifting to Aaron Hotchner. “And if you’re willing, I would love to go on a date with you. Get to know you more.”

Then there’s a pause, and there’s a cloud of… something. You watch it come and go, and the whole time you just offer the same smile, a smile that seems to rouse him of whatever he’s thinking about.

“But, if you don’t want to, I understand. My work life is pretty hectic, as I’m sure you can guess, and I know you know I have a son –“

“I would love to.”

It’s the easiest thing to say, because you feel it with every fiber of your being. Because Aaron Hotchner seems like a really sweet guy, who works in Quantico and still comes by your coffee shop every morning he can.

“Really, Aaron. I would. As you can guess, my schedule’s pretty routine, but I do close as of right now, so, our dinners might have to be later rather than earlier –“

“Dinners?” he says it with a small smile, and you flush at the slip.

“I didn’t mean to… assume anything, but. Whatever we get a chance to do, or keep doing, I would love to. Just. Give me a second.”

You don’t wait any longer. Your fingers move to your phone, input his number, and immediately send him a text, with your name. When his phone buzzes, you smirk.

“Now you have mine, too. Easy as pie.”

When he leaves, that day, it feels like something special. You don’t know what, just yet, but it feels new, and bright, and good.

Yeah, you think to yourself, I hope we get to do at least a couple of dinners.

-

Emily notices next.

It’s a later night. The whole team has their nose buried in something, whether it be a consult or a report or, God forbid, something for Strauss. There’s work to be done, and unfortunately the jet life is only a small part of it.

She’s working on a report that particular evening. This case ended a few days ago, but since shots were fired it’s taken longer to sort through. Positioning, discharge time, how many shots, where, at who, with who. A nightmare, but incredibly necessary, and she’s done with it soon enough.

Her coat mocks her as she rises to her feet. So close to picking it up, dressing, and heading out the door. But she mentally promises to be right back, that home is just a little visit to Hotch’s office away.

She climbs the steps, and is glad to see the door is cracked open, that warm lamplight is filtering out from the open blinds. It means that when she knocks, he’ll let her in.

A couple taps of her knuckles. She waits a beat, two. No response.

Huh.

Another tap. Tries to peek in, but the door is just open enough that she can only glance in with one eye. She’s not usually one to snoop without the pushing from Derek or Penelope, but her eyes are tired and she’s ready for a night in with Sergio.

Is he... is he on his phone?

His cell phone?

And smiling?

Her eyes widen a bit, and she pulls back immediately. At this point in the night, Hotch is nothing but business. Tired, like all the rest, and if he’s bent over anything, it’s a file he needs to sign off on. Maybe Jack. Maybe he got a picture from Jess…

But he’s... distracted. And she knows Hotch’s smile when he’s looking at Jack, and what she had seen is not that.

She knocks again. A lot louder, and when he responds, it’s quick. But not quick enough. There’s a beat, and she narrows her eyes.

“Come in.” 

She pushes into the room, file in both hands. Immediately her eyes drop to his desk, but his cell is gone. She looks up at him, and he’s looking at her, like nothing’s the matter, like he wasn’t just smiling at his phone –

“Prentiss?” he asks. Brows furrowed at her, their permanent state. 

She’s brought back to reality. Because that’s what this is, reality. He was probably just... looking at a picture, or a video, or… something. “Right. Sorry. Just finished up my report for the Douglass case. Wanted to drop it off before I headed out.” 

“I’ll sign off on it tonight,” he tells her, and he bends over an open file on his desk. Like nothing ever happened. “Thank you, agent.”

She thinks on that, jogging down to her desk. Glances behind her at the shine of the light from his office. Pulls her coat on, flicks her hair over the collar.

Huh.

-

Getting to know Aaron Hotchner is a joy.

It’s a little complicated, finding a date that works for the both of you. Not because of anything other than clashing schedules, and it’s a good learning experience to realize that Aaron Hotchner is always on call. But there are points when he’s home, and free, and you finally are churning enough profit for someone else to close in the evenings, so the nights are what work the best.

And dinner is… great. It’s fantastic, really, and you get to know Aaron Hotchner as that, not just Aaron with the great smile and lines at the corner of the eyes. Well, he definitely still has the great smile, but now you know the whole person.

He tells you about his job, what it means to him, and it feels like you’re truly getting to know him. You can tell he’s passionate about what he does, helping people, and you find yourself enthralled by the way he speaks about his position, his team.

“Sometimes it hurts, knowing what we’re leaving behind when we fly back,” he tells you. “But. I also know there isn’t any other group of people I could this with. None of us are perfect, but when we’re together I know we can get the job done.”

Aaron doesn’t get animated, exactly. His passion is a quiet one, simmering deep within him, right where his heart is. He doesn’t talk with his hands, gesticulate or raise his voice. No, he talks with his eyes. In the way he locks gazes with you, looks up at you from the meal, in the way they crinkle with his little smiles and get warm when he mentions his son.

You’re captivated.

And he gets to know you, too, a little. A lot, really, and you feel like you’re rambling, but you’ve got his full attention, a little smile behind his clasped hands as he listens to you wax poetic about the inherent romanticism of owning your own café.

Well. Not really, but it feels like it comes pretty close to that lecture (a different lecture, for a different time).

After all, it’s your place. It’s a place for the college kids in the mornings and the evenings who suck down your cold brew incessantly. It’s a place for the workers at after sunrise, who just want a quick treat before sitting down and doing real jobs. For the curious in the afternoons, who run their fingers over your bookshelves and sit down for a place to think. It’s a place for the nerdy, and the lazy, and the studious, and the dreamers. It’s yours, and it’s kind of romantic.

“I know it’s not a lot of people’s dreams, to open a café. It’s… childish, as my mother would say,” you tell him. “But it’s more than just a shop to me. It’s owning a business, running something on my own, creating new things for people to try. It’s perfecting my bakes, and now, teaching others to. Coming up with recipes is one of my favorite things, even more than the latte flavor of the month. Giving people a place to come and be comfortable, y’know?”

You’re rambling again, and you find yourself hiding behind a sip of your wine, but he’s nodding. Like he gets it.

“I don’t think it’s childish at all,” he tells you, in a tone that makes your heart swell. “A dream is a dream, isn’t it? We all have them.”

And maybe you’re putting a lot on Aaron Hotchner, but it’s nice to get to know someone who understands, even just a little.

One date turns into two, and then three. They’re spread out, over a couple of weeks, the two of you stealing a few hours when you can. It’s the dating life of two very busy people, but neither of you mind. Each pairing of dinner and drinks is full of life and laughter and a little bit of something else.

You feel so guilty when the next time you’re meant to spend time together, another late evening, has to get pushed back. Aaron had warned you that the first cancellation would probably come from him, but it’s you texting at 5:30, letting him know that your usual closer bailed because of the flu.

It’s not a problem for me to take over, but it means that I’m going to be here until 10:00 or 10:30 cleaning up and prepping the dough for tomorrow morning. :(, you say, and add the frowny face for effect. You prefer them over emojis, just because you can’t draw emojis on coffee cups.

Frowny faces are pretty serious, he quips, but your little chuckle is weak when you read it in between orders.

I’m so, so sorry, I know it’s last minute.

Don’t worry, he texts back, quick as can be. I promise I understand. We’ll just do next week.

You’re sure? I can try and find someone to cover for an hour, at 7:30 or so.

Don’t put that stress on yourself. Next week, and it’ll be extra special to make up for it.

So that’s that. Your heart breaks a little knowing you won’t see him, but his words make you feel a little less guilty. Only marginally, really, but you have other things to focus on, like the onslaught of cleaning that comes after the doors are locked.

At 9:30, you’re sending the last stragglers away, which gets you a late start to cleaning up. Your stomach is rumbling, too, because dinner at your home didn’t end up happening.

But at 10:00, when all seems lost, and you’re realizing that 10:30 is going to be more like 11:00, Aaron’s there.

At first you don’t even realize it’s him. You’re so focused on scrubbing and cleaning the espresso machine that the person standing outside isn’t even a thought. But then your phone buzzes, and when you look over, it’s him, with a bag of something that looks like food.

You going to leave me out in the cold?

You snort at the text, shaking your head, lifting your hands and showing the suds to him through the glass. “Two minutes,” you mouth over, and he smiles at that. At you.

You’re hurrying to wash and dry your hands on the towel at your waist, and when you make your way to the door he hasn’t stopped smiling at you. The door unlocks with a clank, and when you pull it open the cold air rushes in, along with Aaron Hotchner. Of course, it’s hard to acknowledge him, when you can smell what he brought you.

“Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to be making it up to you?” you remind him, but there’s something weak in your voice when you feel him pull you into a hug. With it, you feel his lips gently press against your hair.

It’s exactly what you needed. A break, some food, and him. And even though it’s only for a short moment, fifteen minutes while you scarf down what he’s brought you, knowing he was there is what pushes you through the end of the night.

And the fact that Aaron sticks around to stack the chairs, his jacket off and sleeves rolled up?

It helps a little bit, too.

-

Derek’s embarrassed, but he’s the last to catch on. And only because it’s right in his face. 

To be fair, he wasn’t exactly looking. There were other things to worry about, bigger fish to fry, and Hotch’s love life wasn’t exactly top of the list. But Emily mentions the possibility, and then Garcia, and then even Rossi makes a comment that gets him a dirty look from the boss.

Coming together to gossip about Hotch’s love life is at the very least entertaining and watching the team watch their boss becomes Derek’s pastime. Emily swears that he’s always texting someone with a grin on his face, and Garcia informs them of Hotch’s newest mug and his eyes as he did so (yeah, his eyes). Rossi doesn’t play along as much as the others would prefer, but he has a glint in his gaze when they bring it up.

Derek even does his best to spy, peek around corners when he knows Hotch is close, but even with his best efforts, he comes up empty-handed. For a minute, he almost thinks the team is pulling a prank on him, but his girl insists that something’s up.

“Baby, the look on his face. I’ve never seen such a wistful look at an innocuous cup of coffee before.” The two of them are lingering in her office after a long day, his offer of a ride home keeping him behind while she finishes something on her screens.

His snort comes with a shake of his head. “I’d believe it was indigestion at this point, over… what? A fling?”

“It’s Hotch,” Garcia laughs. She reaches up, poking Derek in that arm. “You really think he’s the type of have a fling? No. Whoever it is, they matter, and matter enough that he has not let that mug come off of his desk. He uses it every day, Derek. Every. Day.”

Point taken, but Derek is still skeptical. It’s a coffee mug.

He takes the bait, though. He watches and waits. Observes. But Hotch is often a door that stays closed.

Until everything seems to go to shit one day and he has to open up.

It’s a really bad case, and the jet is a last-minute decision. The whole team thinks they’re going home, after just landing back, and end up with thirty minutes to pack for a plane back to Nashville. Sure, Derek understands, but he has plans he has to cancel, too (plans that Emily teases him relentlessly about once it all calms down). Overall, not the best way to end the week.

Everyone goes to make their respective phone calls, or at least, those that need to. But before Derek can put his phone up to his ear, moving to the conference room for some privacy, he hears him.

Hotch.

He’s just on the other side, and talking softly, but the sudden shift means not much else is happening besides last-minute packing. So Derek hears, and he eavesdrops.

And he listens.

“I’m so sorry to do this to you. I know that there wasn’t any warning –“ Hotch immediately starts, but whoever is on the other end must him off. He follows it up with the slightest hum and it’s… warm. It makes Derek’s eyebrow lift, but he keeps his distance, tries to glance around the corner.

Hotch is sitting, leaning on the edge of the round table. His legs are crossed, and his face is tilted downward. He looks pained, with the furrow in his brow, but the person on the other end seems to be talking sense. After all, Hotch lifts his hand and wipes, and the furrow is gone, and he’s smiling again.

“I know, but. Putting it into practice is still hard for me. Jack… he’s… he’s a strong kid, but I know days like these are the hardest.”

There’s some more words from the person on the other end of the line. Hotch smiles, a small private thing and Derek sees, in that moment, what Penelope means. About it being… different. And in that moment, Hotch is thrown back to Haley, and it looked like for his boss to get to talk to her.

There’s an echo of that here.

“I owe you, really. Jess will come and relieve you as soon as she can… Okay. Thank you, again, and I’ll call you when we land back in Nashville, okay? And if I could talk to Jack, then… Perfect. Okay. Have a good night, yeah?”

Derek’s gone, before Hotch finishes his conversation. His hand is holding his phone up to his ear, walking down towards the stairs. But there’s no one on the other end, and all he can think about is how Penelope is going to say how much she told him so.

-

Three dates turn into ten. There are dinners and lunches and time stolen when the two of you can. There’s coffee in the mornings and decaf in the evenings. He teases you for it, your downright addiction, but a couple of kisses that taste like French vanilla follow it.

It’s sweet. And you like the way he tastes even without the coffee on his lips.

However, you know it’s more than just sweet dates. There’s layers to Aaron Hotchner, ones that get peeled back alongside yours. It’s opening up to each other, on walks after dinner. Those are good, the two of you, side-by-side, because it’s an even playing field. No bar between the two of you, no coffee shop, no badge. Just. You both.

You tell him about home, and what it meant to leave. He’s seen the impact of your mother, the way she winds you up and leave you hanging, but you tell him about the tan line on your ring finger. The way you were left broken and nowhere to go but away to follow a dream, because the dream was the only lifeline you had left. What else could you do, with a hobby and a throwaway degree in business admin?

He tells you about Haley. About her laugh, about her smile. About the way they would poke and prod and teach each other until the two of them were rolling on the floor. You see how much he loved her, how much he loves her still. And when he talks about Jack, well, there’s nothing that can stop him from absolutely gushing, and you don’t want him to. Seeing this just affirms that Jack’s the luckiest kid in the world to have a father that cares about him so much.

There are layers, to each of you. But like a good chocolate-filled croissant, the insides are worth it.

And you get to meet Jack, and Jess. Finally, it feels like, after hearing so much about each of them. The four of you end up going to the zoo, on a weekend, an outing with Aunt Jess and Dad’s new friend, and by the end of it you’re smitten with all of them. Because Jack gets a lot from his father. A fierce protectiveness, a kind heart, incredible perception, and a love of chocolate ice cream.

“Do you like chocolate?” he asks you, suddenly, as the four of you eat your scoops from the vendor. Hotch and Jess are chatting, so they don’t hear the question.

“I like chocolate a lot,” you tell him. “What about you?”

He seems to ponder it a second, before shrugging, taking a long lick of his cone. “It’s all right. Second favorite to mint chip, but above cookie dough.”

You laugh a little, seeing the logic. “I see. I think if you switch cookie dough and mint chip, we’re on the same page there, buddy.”

He nods. “What about my dad? Where does he go?”

It’s a jump you can’t connect, and you raise a brow at him, stopping in your tracks and Jack doing the same.

“On the list. Of things you like. Where’s Dad go?”

“Oh.” Your cheeks are flushing, and you realize that Jess and Aaron have stopped their conversation, are watching the two of you. But there’s only one true answer, and you smile at him. “Well, he’s at the top of the list, Jack. I really like your dad, and… I hope I can keep spending time with the two of you. And Aunt Jess, of course.”

There’s a beat. Jack takes a long lick of his cone, getting some on his nose, and then shrugs again, a little bashful as he looks at you again.

“Yeah, that’d be cool. I like talking to you. And Aunt Jess doesn’t like chocolate, so I like that you’re on my team.”

You try to ignore the warmth that immediately floods you, especially when you look back behind you and Aaron is watching, his head ducked behind his cone so you can only see the edges of his smile. “I like being on your team, too,” you agree, leaning forward to offer a napkin, and Jess just chuckles, the four of you continuing on your merry way.

Things push forward. And some days are harder than others.

It’s complicated, after all. The more you learn about Aaron’s job, the more you realize how much he gives to it. And some of those days leave him worn down. You do your best to support him, to support all of them. And in return, they do the same for you.

The call comes in the middle of the day, and when you see it’s from Aaron you immediately smile. Your hands are elbow deep in a yeasted dough you’re kneading for fresh cinnamon rolls, but you’re able to lean down and answer it with your nose.

“Just a second, sweetheart.” You pull your hands from the mess, move to lift your phone to your shoulder and trap it with your ear. You feel a crick in your neck immediately, but it’s worth it. “Hey, sorry. I’m at the shop. Didn’t want to put you on speaker.”

“It’s okay,” he returns, and he sounds tired. Even in two words, it seems like he has to take a breath, to steady himself. “How’s the day going?”

You shrug, humming as you continue to work the ball of dough under your knuckles. “It’s all right. Ashley is running the register and Ben’s helping her work the front. They’re doing a good job. Makes it easy to focus on the good stuff.”

Aaron chuckles, just a little. It’s reserved. “You should bring some samples home to Jack, then. He loves taste-testing for you.”

There’s a pause, both in your hands and your response.

“Just Jack, then.”

His breath comes out again. Long and low. “Yeah. The case… we thought we had it solved, and then. Something came up. We’re flying back again, waiting for the jet to refuel.”

You know what that means. Even if he doesn’t often tell you, directly, outright, you know that it means another body. Another life lost. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“I had already called Jess, told her I’d be picking up Jack. Would you mind going to get him? I don’t want to jerk her around.”

“Of course.” It’s immediate, and you glance at your watch, blowing off remnants of flour. “He gets out at 4:00?”

“Yeah. I’m so sorry to do this to you, I know there wasn’t any warning –“

You click your tongue. “It’s not a problem. You know that. Besides, this dough rests overnight, and I can do some experimenting using your incredible oven, hmm?”

Aaron just lets out a little chuckle. There seems to be some relief there, but you can’t tell right away. “I know, but. Putting it into practice is still hard for me. Jack… he’s… he’s a strong kid, but I know days like these are the hardest.”

You nod, giving your neck a little stretch as you lift your shoulder to carry the load of the phone. “I know. It’s hard for him, and for you. But it’ll work out, okay? Just promise me you’ll be safe, for all of us.”

“I owe you, really,” he tells you. “Jess will come and relieve you as soon as she can…”

“She doesn’t need to rush. We’ve got it.”

And with that, you know it’s a load off of his mind. One you can take from him. “Okay. Thank you, again, and I’ll call you when we land back in Nashville, okay? And if I could talk to Jack, then…”

“I’ll make sure he’s available,” you reassure him, and his little sigh is… just what you needed to hear. To know that his head will be where it needs to be when he flies.

“Perfect. Okay. Have a good day, yeah?”

“I will. I love you.”

It comes out. Automatically. Your hands stop working again, and you feel color on your cheeks. Aaron doesn’t say anything either, and the two of you seem to sit in a kind of dangerous limbo.

But then he just chuckles. A sound on the receiver, like he’s standing to his feet. “I love you, too.”

“Be safe.”

It’s a gentle farewell, and you can’t help but stare at your phone as it resumes its place on the countertop, staring at the screensaver you have. The two of you, and Jack, looking up at the camera.

It works. It’s complicated, and comes from nowhere, but it works. The three of you, working together to build something special. You’ll never replace Haley, but you don’t to. It’s new, and brilliant, and happy, and you find that you have another dream taking shape, one that has the Hotchners front and center.

-

(And Reid? Well.

Spencer’s not unaware. Spencer actually puts all of the pieces together before almost anyone else, including your identity.

“I think you’ll find that I’m what you would call perceptive. Very perceptive.”

That’s what he says to Derek, at least, when he asks him how he already knew who the mystery date was. Dave offers Hotch a plus-one to a night over at the Rossi mansion for the team and their significant others, and Hotch actually takes him up on it. That’s when they meet you, for the first time, but Reid’s the only one who doesn’t seem to be surprised who walks through the door.

But no one else has been to the coffee shop that’s on the mug, or has seen the person that Hotch has been texting and calling, and… well.

Spencer has had the pleasure of doing both all in one morning. Because next to the coffee shop you work at is a bookstore specializing in rare editions, and one day Spencer decides to go before work.

He adds a little eyebrow wiggle to his words for Derek’s sake, too, which gets him punched in the shoulder.

It’s worth it.)

-

“You didn’t have to bring me breakfast,” you tell him, crossing your arms over your chest.

It’s a little firm, especially since you now know that Aaron’s drives have been fifteen minutes longer to stop at your place. The direct route to the FBI Headquarters breezes right by you, and getting off and stopping is definitely out of the way.

But he doesn’t care. And truly you don’t, when it’s him and you realize that the bag he has contains one warm sausage roll, and a glazed donut, fresh from the shop by his place. that melts when you bite into it. “I know you didn’t eat anything, and you hate trying to snack on the stuff you have yet to sell in the morning,” he says. Shrugging, as if it’s that simple, because to him, it is. “And I wanted to.”

“Did you get something for yourself, too?” you ask him.

“I wasn’t the one who had to leave in a hurry, was I?” he teases. His eyes are deep and dark, and you get caught in them when you catch his meaning.

Your face turns a crimson that he smirks at, leans forward to make it brighter with a kiss on your cheek. “Well, I wasn’t the one who was insisting on some last minute… affection,” you shoot back, but all that elicits is a low chuckle from him, all bass and gravel. “Besides, Mr. Profiler – question with a question. You didn’t eat, did you?”

He doesn’t answer, choosing instead to lean against the countertop you’re sitting on, watching as you pull out the two treats and placing them on some napkins you have right at the front. But his non-answer is definitely a ‘no,’ and you give him a look.

“One day I’m going to teach you to take care of yourself as well as you take care of others, okay? Here. We’ll split ‘em.”

You snag a plastic knife, and get to work, and soon there are two perfectly portioned plates of pastry in front of the two of you. It’s early enough that customers aren’t exactly a problem, and so you don’t feel guilty sitting on the counter when you know you’ll wipe it down, or leaning down to kiss some glaze off of his lips since there’s no one to see or an order to distract you from.

Of course, neither of you notice the eyes that happen to glance in the window. Not when Hotch is standing between your legs, facing away from the glass, and not when you pull back just to look into his eyes, and in the end it doesn’t matter that a tall and lanky fellow profiler managed to sneak a peek.

Because that’s when you start to feel that your luck has really changed. The early morning before the workday, when the world just starts to come alive. There, in your shop, before the sign has even been flipped to open.

And there, in your coffee shop, as you sit on the counter, you realize that Aaron-with-two-As, standing between your legs, could possibly be the love of your life after all.

tag list: @emilyxprentiss // @genevievedarcygranger // @quillvine // @falcon-arrows // @afuckingshituniverse // @sercyan // @sparklingkeylimepie // @kianagilder-blog // @alexxcorona113 // @mandyandy22 // @thedeaddrop // @angelsbabey // @lolychu // @icyprincess // @gabbygabbie // @cevanswhre // @roses-and-grasses // @mayaaaa // @baadmaxx // @ssaic-jareau // @mooneylupinblack // @rachelxwayne // @greenie128 // @dilaudidwinchester // @stylesboy // @grandpascurtains // @softbibxtch // @winterscaptain // @hurricanejjareau

[legacy4hope]

Breathy Moans, Heavy Hearts and Whispers of Love || Handon

I'm so excited to finally be able to sit down, a time I don't have several exams I need to study for, and write some Handon. More specifically, that extended scene I promised you. Now unfortunately, it has to be a bit AU because that scene definitely didn't happen like this. Also, I'm going to have to switch some things up to keep it believable and kind of in line with the show, but the Handon goodness will definitely still be there, definitely more so than last episode. I warn you now. This fic is going to be gut-wrenching, insanely emotional and if I succeed, it should tug at your heart strings that nothing has ever before. Because while I'm finally going to write Handon officially making love, it's going to be much more emotional than your average, "get me off" smut fic. Get ready, get so, let's write. 

As his length entered her fully, his eyes immediately widened in surprise. Oh god. His arms he had propping himself up on either side of her head started to tremble slightly because of how pleasurable the sensation was. How am I actually here right now?  

The moment she felt his length slide into her, her hips almost involuntarily jolted. She began to spread her legs wider in an attempt to ease the painful feeling of her pelvic muscles literally stretching to accommodate his dick. It didn't work. Or help, at least not by much. Well, sex is a lot more painful than I imagined. "Landon," Hope grit her teeth to stop herself from growling and wrapped an arm around his back, trying to keep his movements little to none,"don't move yet." She raised her head up from her pillow to meet his lips, allowing herself time to get used to his size. 

"Hope," Landon breathed against her lips, his tone filled with absolute concern, "are you okay. Am I hurting you?" I really don't want to hurt her. Should I pull out? 

"I'm okay." Hope murmured quickly, wanting to ease the worries that she knew were no doubt running through his head right now. "It's worth it." 

Landon let out a sigh of relief and completely closed the distance between their lips, pressing his mouth against hers lovingly, "I won't move until you're ready, I promise." 

Closing her eyes, Hope nodded to his reassuring words and let go of his back, letting that arm fall behind her to rest on the pillow above her head. She trusted he wouldn't move. A sigh escaped her as she waited for the discomfort to pass. Thoughts of her and Landon began to swarm her mind; visuals of her and Landon's several make out sessions, their conversations, both the complicated and the joyful ones. What truly swarmed her, however, were blurry images of Josie and him together, which caused tears to instantly begin pooling in the corner of her eyes. It burned even now. She still felt an ache in her heart every time the mere thought of Josie infiltrated her mind. And her name spilling from Landon's lips caused her a type of searing pain equivalent to someone resting their forearm on a blistering, flaming hot stove, for minutes at a time. She began to wonder if it would ever stop causing her so much agony. He didn't remember. She tried to remind herself. He chose you. You need to let it go. As if needing to feel him, as if needing to believe that Landon was actually here with her and not with Josie, Hope reached out to grasp some part of him. 

He was.

"So, we're not going to talk about how you walked away from me after we took down the Croatoan?" The point of the needle entered her skin, but she hardly felt it. Her focus was more on her ex-boyfriend's response and attitude. 

"I didn't have much to say…Welcome back."  

It was said only as an afterthought, she knew. His forest-green eyes appeared to be darker than usual, though even she could admit that her eyes also took to a darkish color when she was angry. And staring at him now, watching him practically refuse to look up at her, Hope knew that he was unbelievably upset. And if it wasn't for the simulandon sitting next to them, unabashedly professing his deep love for her every few minutes, the possibility that Landon was completely over their relationship would have hit her like a bullet. 

"Hmm," Hope uttered the sound to make sure her voice didn't sound shaky because she could feel a slight wetness near her eye. 

Obviously it was her eyes brimming with tears, but she tapped into whatever strength she could find at this moment to keep them at bay. She was Hope Mikaelson. She would not let Landon see how upset she was. She would appear casual, willing to talk but also appear stable, because if Landon wanted to pretend like them being broken up wasn't tearing him apart inside, damn it all to hell if she was about to let him see the hurt in her eyes. 

She would make damn sure that her voice wasn't going to betray her and showcase her complete vulnerability, a vulnerability that she used to allow Landon to see, "he has plenty to say." 

"He is my subconscious. He has no filter. I am a complex, evolved being, last time I checked." 

She was beginning to feel agitated, probably because as each second passed that Landon kept denying what he felt towards her, it just added another second onto Hope having to try to keep herself from falling completely apart. "Evolved people talk to one another." Hope responded snidely, "They don't just stalk off when things get complicated." Her tone was dangerously nearing the point of reaching patronizing. "So, why don't you stop avoiding me?" She was amazed at how soft those words sounded coming out of her mouth. Maybe pretending like she was strong inside instead of seconds away from breaking down was actually working in her favor. 

"I'm not avoiding you.. We're literally in the same room." 

"Oh, you know what I mean." Hope wanted Landon to quit walking away from her and to actually look up at her. He had finally turned around and decided to meet her eyes, which caused her voice to come out a little softer, "Just tell me how you feel." 

This was it. Hope didn't think she could stay strong anymore because if he even mentioned Josie's name, or spoke about his relationship with her, whatever strength she had holding her tears at bay would completely dissolve. 

She waited with bated breath for his answer. 

"It's not about how I feel. It's about doing the right thing." 

She could have laughed with relief because he didn't express his love for Josie, but his words still infuriated her. Did this mean that he was planning to get back with Josie simply because he felt it was the "right thing to do" ?? 

The visual of watching Josie and Landon making out that night, as well as the idea of having to continue to watch them make out in the halls here-on after, caused her sad eyes to turn into a stormy blue as an intense determination hit her. "There is a shelf life of doing the right thing," Landon's green eyes gazing at her with an intensity that even she felt stirring between them caused her voice to tremble slightly, though she pushed on, "but if you wait to long, it's just wrong." Hope practically choked out the last part. And because of his lack of response, she could feel her eyes beginning to water, "So," She shook her head slightly in distress, "you don't have anything else you want to say to me?" 

"I'm leaving, Hope." 

Eyebrows raising in shock, her jaw dropped. "What?"

Landon let out a tired sigh and plopped down on the bed next to her. "Hope," he started with a whisper, "I can't stay here anymore." 

"Landon." Hope reached out to touch his shoulder. 

"No," He snapped loudly, abruptly shaking his shoulder to get her hand off, "You don't understand, Hope. You're the reason I have to leave. I can't stand staying here, loving you," Landon cried out in frustration, as he turned his head to look at her with sorrowful eyes, "wanting you," He breathed, his words not quite coming out audible because of the raw need he was quickly beginning to feel towards her. He quickly shook his head when he felt his body start to lean towards her, almost as if his body knew he wanted to claim her lips before even his mind could process that fact. 

Breaking their gaze, Landon mumbled his biggest fear, "and having to end up feeling like the bad guy for it around Josie." 

Her heart broke. Completely shattered, but not because Landon didn't love her. It was because she was the reason for this. She was the reason that Landon was in literal tears. "Landon, baby," For a quick second, she wondered if she still carried the rights to use that word, but she didn't care. Hope immediately took out the needle in her arm,(figuring completing the blood transfusion later wouldn't hurt) and wrapped both of her arms around her ex-boyfriend(whom she still loved deeply). When she felt him struggle to get out of her grasp, she only held on tighter. "It's not your fault." She felt his body begin to shake as he cried, "It's my fault okay. I put you in this situation and I am so sorry about that." She murmured with her head resting on his shoulder. "No matter what anyone says, or what they might say to you in the future, you're the best guy I know, Landon." Tears were starting to blur her own vision, but her strong voice didn't waver. "You need to know that."

Hope thought she knew Landon like the back of her hand, but obviously she had been wrong. She should have known that it was never about Landon not loving her. It was actually about Landon's fear of having to become the bad guy, or the "asshole jerk", for breaking Josie's heart. 

Landon's character; his values and his core ethics, meant absolutely everything to him. She had always known that, mostly because of their several meaningful conversations, but also because of the fact that she knew the kind of guy he was. Now he felt his good character would be tarnished and it was entirely her fault. In all actuality, Hope was starting to feel like the asshole jerk, or rather a bitch. She had a nasty habit of never thinking anything through, nor did she think about what jumping into Malivore could do. She took a huge part in breaking Josie's heart. She's the reason that Landon feels like he's a horrible person right now and she even almost left Raf as a wolf permanently. 

"Landon, please look at me." Hope pleaded to him softly after a minute of silence. 

Landon slowly turned his neck around to look at her, their lips now practically inches apart from each other. He immediately noticed how glassy her blue eyes were, obviously a result of present tears. She was completely stressed, anxious and hurt. And although a huge part of him knew that it was because of her own doing, a jolt of pain still shot through him from seeing Hope like that because of how much he loved her.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to close the short distance between their lips. Not so much for him, but for her. And maybe that was the only reason he allowed himself to receive any amount of comfort from her touch. His love for Hope overpowered everything he felt, including the hatred he felt towards himself. 

"Landon." Hope mumbled his name against his mouth with a shaky voice. 

He gently shushed her and kept leaning over her body until she fell back onto the bed with his lean body hovering above her. "I know you're sorry," Landon forced a smile onto his face, trying to ease the remorse that he knew was smothering her inside. "And I forgive you." Feeling spent, he let his head fall against the crook of her neck, before he purposely breathed out a few words that he knew would make her heart and body relax,"for anything and everything that needs it okay." 

"Landon," Salty tears dripped down from Hope's eyes, trickling down her cheek, as intense relief washed over her because of the exact words he chose to use, "I really love you. And I'm so sorry that I do stupid things sometimes without thinking first. But I do love you. Please know that." She whimpered. To him, her tone sounded like a plead, as if she believed he actually thought that she didn't love him. Of course Landon knew that she loved him. That wasn't the issue at hand. 

If Hope didn't love him, he probably would have connected with his Phoenix side a lot earlier than he had. He still reminded himself everyday that this girl underneath him actually went on a trip to find him without hesitation when he needed her. This girl underneath him, crying because of a mistake she made, had literally concocted a magical bracelet just to be able to locate him if he were ever in any danger. She needed him to feel safe. He had to remind himself that his safety has always been one of Hope's biggest priorities, regardless of how unbelievably sucky it turned out. Landon definitely knew that Hope loved him and he would always love her because of all of those things listed and then some. 

His own heart still felt extremely heavy though. Doubts about his persona and the upsetting talk he knew that he had to have with Josie soon was threatening to submerge him. But he pressed a gentle kiss against Hope's neck anyways to comfort her. She always came before him. "I know." Landon murmured. "I love you too." And he knew she always would. 

"Make love to me." 

Her request came as a shock to Landon. He instantly lifted his head up to stare at her with eyes of uncertainty."Are you sure?" 

"Deadly." Hope murmured with a sweet smile, purposely using the same word she used when she had asked him to be her boyfriend not that long ago. 

It didn't take long for Landon to catch on to her little remake, "Well, it's a big decision." He grinned widely. 

She quirked an eyebrow up playfully, "I know." 

Landon breathed out in a husky voice, pure need lacing his tone, "You should probably sleep on it." 

Gazing into his those green eyes she loved so very much, Hope raised her hand up to cup the side of his neck. "Mm, absolutely not." She whispered seductively, her tongue poking out to wet her lips slightly. "I'd much rather sleep with you." She added on as an afterthought, wanting him to lose any ounce of control he might have had left. 

He held back a needy groan. "In that case, yeah." Landon instantly leaned down to crash his lips with hers, mumbling against her mouth the finishing sentence to their sweet memory, only changing one word, "I'd really love that."

"Make me yours, Landon." 

That was all he needed to hear. Wanting a more comfortable position, as well as complete access to her beautiful body, Landon rolled over onto his side and tugged Hope over with him, making her legs scissor his. She made a whimpering sound when his dick came out of her, but he shushed her with his mouth and grabbed one of her thighs. He raised her thigh higher with one hand and immediately entered her again, earning himself a loud moan of what he assumed to be ecstasy from Hope. He rested his palm over one of her ample breasts and started thrusting his hips gently. "Ooh," Landon's eyes closed as a loud groan escaped his throat at the result of feeling how insanely wet she was. "Hope, my god." He kept up his rhythm, slowly sliding in and out of her wet warmth, completely amazed at how slick she was. 

It wasn't painful anymore. It was the complete opposite actually. She felt snug with her back against his chest, feeling his length  continue to slide in and out of her with every slow movement he made. It felt so good, unbelievably good. "Landon," Hope moaned softly, her back making an attempt to arch because of the sweet pleasure he was giving her, "tis' so good, so good" Her head tilted back with excessive pants and Landon took that opportunity to capture her lips with his once more. That only caused Hope to cry out. Her cries became more urgent when she felt his tongue lightly graze hers. Hope cupped his face with her hand and kissed him harder, needing to feel his tongue graze hers again. Was this love? Or lust? Could it be both? Hope didn't know, but she did know that the feeling of his tongue softly caressing hers ignited a fire inside of her. "Faster, please faster." She started whining into his mouth, chanting words without even truly processing them first. "Harder."

Did she want Landon to fuck her harder? She didn't know. What she actually wanted was this extremely intense and pleasurable feeling to increase. Hope wanted more. More of whatever he was offering her. 

With a deep groan, Landon broke apart from her lips and followed her request. He moved his hands down to grip her hips and soon began to thrust into her even faster. "Fuuuck." He moaned loudly, one hand moving to rest on her stomach. His thrusts were beginning to get extremely sloppy and his groans became louder against her ear.

Landon's breath blowing against her ear, being the result of the continuous gasps he kept making, caused Hope to moan loudly and her legs to tremble. "Landon, GOD." She screamed loudly, as her lower body started to undergo a type of sensation that was unfamiliar to her. Hope had felt her share of pleasure whenever she'd touch herself, but she had no idea that pleasure from Landon could leave her feeling completely insatiable. Her body needed more. She could feel it. "More, Landon." She whined desperately. Only in that moment, Hope couldn't figure out what she needed. She just needed it.

He was seriously trying his hardest not to cum because he wanted her to cum first, but the feeling of Hope's tightness, along with the slick sounds and the sexy, breathy moans emanating from her throat every time he'd thrust back into her, was making his need to cum incredibly strong. "C'mon Hope, let it go." Landon encouraged with an almost strained voice, trying to think of a way to get her to reach her climax faster. He decided to add to her pleasure by using his fingers to rub her clit in circles. His lips also pressed against her collarbone. And that definitely did the trick. 

Hope let out a high-pitched cry, her hips suddenly becoming almost locked as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed through her. It was the feeling of her juices squirting down his cock though that made Landon finally gasp and close his eyes tightly, grunting softly as he shot spurts of his release deep inside of her. 

For a minute, there was no movement between the two. Hope's heavy breathing was beginning to slow. Landon's exhausted pants against her ear got quieter. Complete silence surrounded them for another few minutes until he finally opened his eyes. His eyes instantly took the view in, saw his hand still pressing against Hope's breast, making him grin against her dampened hair, as he began to caress the flesh gently. Landon was the first to break the silence, "I love you, so so much." He murmured. 

The feeling of his fingers grazing her nipple caused Hope's head to fall back into his shoulder blade, a restless sigh slipping past her lips. "Mm." Her body then shifted and she rolled around to face his front, instantly burying her face into his naked chest. She never felt more wanted or loved than she did in this moment.

"Uh guys, Lizzie is here, probably to take me to the monster dude." 

Before Landon and Hope could process simulandon's words, they heard a high pitched shriek, causing both of their eyes to fly open.

 "Oh my fucking god!" 

...and that's the end, as it really needs to be for both Hope and Landon's sake, honestly. Lizzie flipped. I LOVED writing it, so so much. If it needs to be explained, in the beginning Hope and Landon were obviously in the start of making love, and the italics are a flashback obviously leading to that big moment. I hope you understood it and I hoped you LOVED it. Yes, I changed things(Landon told her his plan to leave and they didn't finish the blood transfusion, which is probably a good thing). Now Hope can fight Clark a lot easier now, so good for her. I honestly hope you guys enjoyed it and I can't wait to write more Handon pieces because I just looove their relationship with everything in me. I didn't have much inspiration to continue writing the piece about Hope and Landon babysitting little Nik, probably because of the events in the show that just took place, but I hope to finish it later. I guess that's it! :)

[jeremiah-and-jerome-valeska]

Learning to Smile (Chapter 3)!!!

Part 1

Part 2

Pairing: Jeremiah x Ecco

Warnings: Angst & Fluff

Fanfic summary: (fanfic is in Ecco’s perspective) Ecco suffers from nightmares which forces her to acknowledge her past, surfacing old wounds. Jeremiah comforts her and does what he can to help in any way. They’ve always been there for one another, through thick and thin. They begin to realize feelings which they develop for one another.

Chapter title: In Shock

Enjoy!

Full fanfic can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14784771/chapters/34202334

______________________

The click of heels bounce off the thick gray walls. A cup of coffee clatters lightly on its petite plate as pancakes sit beside it on the tray. It’s sweet smell follows me into his office. Jeremiah doesn’t immediately greet me with a ‘good morning’ as he usually does. With his back turned towards his work, I place the tray down.

I straighten myself with hands behind my back and chin up, “Would you like anything else?”

He turns almost abruptly, somewhat startled, “Ecco. I didn’t notice you come in,”

I motion to the tray of food, “I brought you breakfast this morning,”

His eyes shift to the meal, “Thank you. That’s very kind of you,”

“I also want to thank you for letting me stay here while my apartment is undergoing repairs,” I mention.

“Of course. That thief should have known better than to break into your apartment,” he speaks with satisfaction.

I don’t respond, standing in place as I wait for him to release me to my other duties.

His gaze shifts to the floor for a few moments then looks to me with concern in his eyes, “How did you sleep last night?”

I’m stunned, not prepared for his question, “I- I didn’t sleep,”

His lips part slightly and he draws closer, “If you need to take the day off or next few days, you can if you need to. I’ll be able to manage,”

Shaking my head, I look down slightly and speak with a quiet tone, “No. I’ll be fine,”

He steps nearer, “But you need sleep. A few days won’t affect much. Please, take the time off,”

My head lowers with my gaze fixed on my leather boots, “I can’t sleep, Jeremiah. I try, but I can’t,”

“Nightmares?” he questions.

Nodding my head in confirmation, I unclasp my hands from one another and rest them at my sides. Jeremiah moves in front of me, placing is hand gently on my left arm. I look up, finding understanding in his eyes.

“I get them too. Some are about Jerome, but most are about being locked in this place, alone forever with no one to talk to” he admits.

My heart flutters as he takes his hands in mine.

“Ecco, you mean a lot to me. I hate to see you in distress. I want you to know that you can tell me anything. I’m here for you,” he speaks with a cute reassuring smile.

I process his words for a few moments then move to wrap my arms around his torso in an embrace. He wraps his arms around my body, holding me close.

“And I’ll always be here for you, whenever you need me,” I tell him with my ear to his chest.

He brings his head closer and rest his cheek to the back of my head.

‘I could stay in his arms forever.’

_____________________

FLASHBACK*

Red and blue overwhelm her vision. The girl sits on the porch steps, tear stains marking her cheeks. Her unblinking eyes are transfixed to the dry, shriveled grass. She sits with a blank mind and blank heart. Her mouth is agape as she is in a motionless shock.

A policeman approaches the girl, crouching down, “Hey sweetheart, can I ask you a few questions if you’re comfortable to?”

The girl nods a yes.

The cop adjusts their position and asks, “Do you know if anyone wanted to hurt your mother?”

“M-my my m-mother?” she stuttered out.

“Yes, your mother. Did anyone have a grudge against her?” The cop asked.

The girl continues to stare at the ground, pausing for a few seconds and then speaks emotionless, “My father would yell at her all the time. Sometimes he would get really mad and hit her. He took a knife one night and held it in front of her. After that day m-my mother took me and said we were leaving to Gotham,”

The cop waits a few seconds then asks, “Did he know where you left to?”

The girl finally looks up, answering, “I don’t know,”

“Do you have a family member who could watch over you?” the policeman asked in sympathy.

“My uncle lives in Gotham. That’s one reason why we came here. My m-mother wanted to be closer to her brother,” she wearily spoke.

“Alright. We’ll call him down here to come pick you up. Let me know if you need anything sweetheart,” offered the cop while standing up.

The shaking girl gave a slight nod, tucking her head into her knees while trying to filter out the noise.

_______________________

Warm drops of liquid fall to my cold palms. The dim lighting, plasters the room in shadows, calming my confused heart. I sit beside Jeremiah as we confide in each other. The ruffle of the bedsheets crease under my movement. Moving my head down to his shoulder, the hot tears stain his coat. Taking in a shaky breath, I close my eyes and find comfort in his lilac scent. A warm touch brushes across my hands as we interlock our fingers. I gradually open my eyes, finding the courage to look at his face.

My gaze lingers up his features, observing each detail until I reach his soft eyes, “You know what the sad part is? They never even found who did it. I was never able to look into the face of the person who had killed her,”

My frown deepens, red-rimmed eyes falling back to my shoes.

He squeezes my hand, “I’m sorry,”

The air is still for a few long moments. It was his turn to share. His foot uneasily adjusts, trying to find the words.

“When my mother died, I was devastated. Even more so when I found out my brother murdered her in cold blood. He had no remorse. He said her death was my fault,” Jeremiah spoke carefully, voice breaking at the last remark.

I hesitate for a second as I raise my thumb to his cheek and gently wipe the tear, “It wasn’t your fault,”

His eyes lift from the floor. His gaze shifts between my eyes and lips, leaning forward ever so slightly. My lips part and my eyes narrow shut as I lean closer and closer. As I’m close enough to count his freckles, the alarm wails and we draw back. The lights overwhelmingly illuminate the room in an irritating red.

I urgently get up from the bed, worried of any intruders. My instincts kick in and I return to my stoic demeanor.

Jeremiah gets up as well, motioning to the single monitor across the room, “Let’s see who’s trespassing,”

We move to the monitor, pressing the power on. The video steadily fills in color. A small dark dot flutters in the right corner of the screen.

I state, “Bats again,”

“It’s always bats. I’ll have to do something about that vent,” he sighed in annoyance.

“I’ll get the cage. You get the fruit,” I say as I begin to walk off to deal with the situation.

____________________

FLASHBACK*

The streets buzz constantly in the night as neon lights pour through the window. The girl lays on the uncomfortably hard mattress, trying to get sleep. Her eyes begin to flicker, but bloody images flash in her head and awaken her to another round of crying. She stares at the crevasses in the ceiling, connecting the lines into a picture. After a while, she pulls her legs to the side of the bed. She walks to the door which is leaking light into the room and cracks it open enough to get a visual.

Beer bottles litter the floor. Some broken and some still full. She spots her uncle laying across an old couch, drinking the next bottle. She pouts her lips and closes the door, returning to her bed. She wraps her arms around herself and tries to get as comfortable as she possibly can. She finds no use in getting sleep. Her hand digs through her pocket, searching for her drawing. Her fingers grasp onto the crumpled sheet. She pulls it out and does her best to smoothen the edges. The page is still wet at the corners, leaving a light mark on her fingers. The girl turns on her side and lays the drawing next to her on the pillow.

She’s drawn in and out of consciousness and whispers, “Good night, mother,”

As she finally drifts into a peaceful sleep.

_________________

I reminisce the events of last night.

‘He was so close. I almost kis- no it must have just been a spur of the moment thing. We were talking about our feelings and we were vulnerable. But was it something more? Does he feel the same way? What would have happened if the alarm didn’t go off? Come on, get ahold of yourself’

I snap out of it, ready to start the day. I’m greeted by the gray walls which I have grown use to, heading towards the kitchen to get myself breakfast and Jeremiah’s coffee.

I voice my identification, unlocking the door. I’m stunned. Jeremiah is sitting at the table already drinking his coffee. Usually he’s working at this time while I bring him his coffee. He turns his gaze towards me, smiling. I walk in, a burnt smell consuming my nose.

“Did you burn something?” I accuse.

He speaks with a nervous smile, “I...uh...made you breakfast,”

My eyes widen in shock, “Um...Thank you,”

I move to sit down and see a plate of slightly burnt pancakes.

“Sorry, I’m a terrible cook,” He shyly states.

“It’s okay. I appreciate you making breakfast for me. I wasn’t expecting this,” I smile.

I take a bite and comment, “It’s not that bad. It’s actually pretty good,”

A smile tugs at his lips, “I’m glad you like it,”

He spends a few seconds looking at me and then his eyebrows shift as if he realized something, “Ecco, I need to tell you something,”

I look up from my plate, a little more serious.

He speaks with composure, “I want to help you bring yourself closure. I want to find out who was behind your mother’s murder,”

My gaze falls to the plate and I shake my head, “Jeremiah, I can’t let you to do that,”

“Please. I don’t want you to continue to suffer,” he pleads.

“That’s too much to ask for,” I state, looking up at him with a long pause between us.

His eyes and voice soften as he moves closer, “I’d do anything for you my dear,”

My cheeks heat up at his comment, giving in, “Even if you did, how could you find who did it without seeing the police reports?”

“That’s where you come in. You would break into the GCPD and retrieve the case file in the archives. After all, I do want to get a layout of the station for future use” he states with a smirk.

I mirror his smile, “Alright. Maybe this will be fun,”

[hockeyytrash]

Alaska - Chapter Twenty One

Okay so when I originally wrote this, I kinda forgot what happened at the end of the last chapter so it’s a little disorganized at the beginning sorry peeps. But shit’s about to go down!

-2700 words-

Today's the day! My day to be precise. I'm officially 19 and legal. Well at least legal in Toronto, however, I'm still a baby in the U.S.

My mom made me my favorite breakfast, gave me a necklace, and then left me alone for a while before suggesting that we go shopping. I agreed because this was one of the rare occasions she suggested that we do something together. She even told Tom off when he asked to come with us. She claimed that this was strictly a mother-daughter day; no boys allowed. I was surprised with how normal she was acting. And when I say normal, I mean she was acting like she did back home: genuine and fun.

To make matters better, she wore clothes that didn't make her look arrogant fifty-year-old mother of four. She also didn't act like it when we got to the mall; she almost acted younger than me, running from store to store, making fun of the absurd clothing for sale.

We did a little shopping, getting a few things here and there, but never spending a ton on unnecessary things. A weird sense of nostalgia hit me as we bargain shopped and scarfed down pretzel bites from the food court. This was exactly what we did back home when we were short on money and were still incredibly close. In fact, we were practically best friends, telling each other everything, making inside jokes, and spectating different celebrity gossip.

But as soon as she met Tom, everything changed. Suddenly, she wasn't there every night for me to vent to. She wasn't there to take long drives with or go on late night ice cream runs. Instead, she would be out with Tom, living the lavish life we would always make fun of. At first, I could tell how sorry she was that she wasn't around as much, and I felt happy for her. But eventually, she didn't even bother telling me she was sorry for leaving, and I started to confide in myself instead of my distant mother.

Since then, I've wished that something would change between us, and this shopping trip has given me more hope than I've had in the past two years.

My mother must be feeling the sudden nostalgia as well because she keeps cracking jokes and laughing about literally everything. It brought me so much joy to see her this genuine and happy. I would easily take her and our bond over any birthday present.

Perhaps her wildest moment came towards the end of our shopping spree, about an hour before I had to head to dinner with Steph. We were walking back towards the car, bags and coffee in hand when she stops and stares at a gleaming storefront with a devilish smile. I stop beside her, eyes settling on the giant sign on the window that reads 'tattoos' in big block letters.

"I'm scared to ask why we're stopped in front of this place," I tell her, still staring at the upscale tattoo parlor.

"Then don't," she says, marching up to the front door and swinging it open, setting off a little welcome bell. Given no other choice, I catch up to my mother and follow her inside the shop. A short man with a full sleeve of tattoos greets us at the front desk with a skeptical smile.

"What can I do for you ladies?" he asks professionally, glancing at me. I remain silent because I honestly have no idea what we are doing in here. My ever so subtle mother leans on the counter before confidently answering.

"I think we're going to get tattoos," she says, motioning between herself and me. I give the man a shaky smile, but he nods and motions for us to follow him. He leads us through the sparse shop, past a red head in the process of getting a tattoo, finally stopping at a large leather chair and table. He motions for us to sit on the stools at the table as he takes a seat a chair on the other side of the wooden table.

"So, you're both getting tattoos?" he asks, pulling out a tablet of paper and pencil. My mother glances at me and I give her a small nod in confirmation that I'll be going along with her crazy plan.

"Yes, I think we're going to get matching ones," my mother says, folding her hands together and resting them on the table. The man smiles, seemingly genuine and nods.

"Awesome. Do you guys know what you want?" he asks, preparing to sketch on the blank page before him. My mother and I look at each other with clueless expressions then shake our heads.

"Well, what's something special that you share together? It could be a date, symbol, number, or anything really," he says, gesturing to the walls which are filled with pictures of tattoos and art alike.

We sit there in silence for a minute or so, gazing around the room for inspiration to the soft hum of the throwback station playing in the background. It's only when John Travolta's voice comes over the speakers and begins singing one of my mom and my favorite songs from one of our favorite movies. My mom picks up on it and starts humming along to the chorus, mouthing the words 'greased lighting' to herself. After the song registers in both of our brains, we turn to each other and smile.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I ask with a hopeful smile.

"I don't know, are you thinking about getting matching lightning tattoos?" she asks, beaming. I nod eagerly and turn to the man sitting across from us who was also smiling.

"Where do you guys want them?" he asks, ushering us through the process I'm relatively familiar with. I already have two tattoos and my mom has one as well, so at least we know what we're in for.

"What about the inside of the wrist?" I ask my mom, pointing to the area I'm describing. She holds out her wrist to visualize it and then nods after a few seconds of hasty evaluation.

"I'd like it pretty small, though, yeah?" she says while asking me confirmation. I nod, glad she isn't envisioning something huge. The man nods, acknowledging our requests and then begins sketching out the design carefully. Once he's satisfied, he holds it up for our approval. Both of us nod, eager for him to continue.

I volunteer to go first which my mother shows no objections to. I take a seat in the leather chair and rest my left arm on the armrest. The tattoo artist, whose name we discovered to be Jared, gets everything set up before sterilizing my wrist and the tattoo gun. He asks for confirmation one last time before beginning to ink my skin.

A few painful minutes later, it's my mother's turn. She goes through the same process as me while I admire my new ink. Somehow, she seems to take the pain much better than I did, even though I didn't think it was that bad, to begin with.

Once we are both done and given cleaning instructions, we follow Jared back up to the front of the shop to pay. Jared makes sure that we are satisfied with our tattoos before my mom hands him some cash, leaving a nice tip as well.

The realization that we just got tattoos doesn't set in until we are sitting in the car, driving to the restaurant I was meeting Steph at.

"So, we just got matching tattoos," my mom says, breaking the silence. I nod in the dark, a smile still on my face.

"Yes, we did," I confirm happily.

@alaskamay: cool mom alert

4,839 likes | 60 comments

@stephlachancee: so that's where you get it from

@carlyyvalentine: this is so cute omg

@marner_93: I thought we were getting matching tattoos :(

@alaskamay: @marner_93 we totally are

@williamnylander: ^I want in too!

@marner_93: @williamnylander no... just no

@43kadri: @williamnylander no worries Willie, we'll get matching ones

@williamnylander: @43kadri luv u

@austonmatthews: woah, you must be edgy or something

@alaskamay: @austonmatthews nah that's my mom

@stephlachancee: real talk: are you still coming to dinner?

@alaskamay: @stephlachancee: of course, be there in 10

@marner_93: why wasn't I invited??

@stephlachancee: @marner_93 girls night :)

As I told Steph, I arrive at the restaurant, a little Italian place downtown, exactly ten minutes later. My mom dropped me off at the front and drove home, leaving me money in case I need to take a cab home. Following the instructions Steph texted me a little while ago, I tell the petite hostess that I'm joining Steph. She smiles and begins leading me through the main dining area, packed with the dinner crowd.

My eyebrows furrow when we've passed through the majority of the room, leaving me wondering where we're going. Just as I'm about to ask the hostess where she's taking me, we round a corner, revealing a long table filled with all the Leafs and Lady Leafs. To top it off and make their intentions obvious, they all chorus a 'surprise' when they see me.

My mouth turns up into a big smile at the sight of all my friends. Steph stands up and pulls me into a big hug which I gladly return.

"I hope you don't mind, I invited a few other people to our girls night," she says, nodding in the direction of everyone else.

"I don't mind at all. In fact, you guys didn't have to do anything," I say, pulling away from the bubbly blonde.

"Of course we did! It's your nineteenth birthday for crying out loud! You're officially legal!" she exclaims motioning towards the assortment of champagne and beer sitting on the table. I laugh and take another glance around the area which had been decorated with gold and silver balloons and streamers.

"Wait, how'd you know it was my birthday?" I ask her, just now comprehending that this is a birthday party. Her smile widens as she glances in Auston's direction.

"Your boy toy told us. You weren't even planning on telling us, were you?" she asks. I shake my head with a smile and she rolls her eyes, mumbling something along the lines of 'typical Alaska.'

"Well, don't just stand there! Let's sit down and get some food!" she says, plopping back down beside Mitch. I smile and take the last available seat which was next to Auston. However, I don't mind sitting next to him tonight, knowing that he was the one who came up with the idea to do something for my birthday.

Once I'm seated, I glance at Auston with a smile. He smirks at me with rosy cheeks while leaning back in his seat.

"How'd you know it's my birthday?" I ask him after everyone's gone back to talking amongst themselves. He shifts in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest, still holding the smirk on his face.

"You mentioned it in the cafè the other night," he says simply. I nod, not really remembering saying that, but deciding to go along with it anyway. I'm still surprised that Auston, even knowing that my birthday was today, suggested that we do something. I really appreciate it, but it just seems out of character.

"So, how does it feel to be nineteen?" Mitch asks from across the table in a way that makes me seem younger than everyone else. I eye his smirk before smirking myself.

"I don't know, you tell me," I say, noting that he himself is only nineteen as well. Mitch scoffs, acting offended, then turns back to Steph. I shake my head, chuckling at the silly boy. Then, my eyes land on a shining bottle of champagne sitting in the middle of the table. I hesitate at first but regain my confidence when I remember that I am now legal and able to drink whenever I so choose.

With my newfound confidence, I grab the bottle, pouring the bubbly liquid into the glass at my place setting. Once it's filled to the top, I lean back in my seat and sip at the golden drink with a satisfied smile. Unlike what I was expecting, no one smothers me with unusual attention or anything, just talking amongst themselves over the Italian dishes that were just served. I happily sit back and watch everything unfold, nibbling at my tortellini and sipping champagne.

My social interactions were kept to a minimum until Carly came over and wiggled her way onto the edge of my seat. She then presents me with a medium sized box, wrapped in colorful paper. I shake my head no and refuse to let her give it to me.

"Goddamn it Alaska, just let me do something for you!" she exclaims, pushing the box into my arms. I sigh but go ahead with unwrapping it anyway. Beneath the paper, lies a now visible shoebox. I carefully open the box and shuffle through the tissue paper before I see a pair of all black Yeezys. I gasp and fling myself onto the brunette happily.

"I can't believe you got me these!!" I say, squeezing her out of excitement. She smiles, surely happy that I like them.

"Well, you are a decent friend and okay human being, so I thought you deserved something special," she says, rolling her eyes. I smile at her response, pulling her in for another hug. Before she returns to her seat, I thank her again for the amazing and unwarranted gift.

Next, comes dessert in the form of a birthday cake that is set down in front of me. But, much to my dismay, the whole table erupted in song, yelling the words to Happy Birthday. I can't help but smile as I make a wish and blow out the candles. However, as soon as the candles are out of the cake, hockey players dive into the chocolate dessert. I feel myself have a miniature panic attack when I realize I didn't get the chance to take a picture of the cake. Steph seems to notice because she smiles at me from across the oak table as a text from her pops up on my phone. It's conveniently a picture of me and my cake, effectively ending my anxiety attack.

@alaskamay: wouldn't want to celebrate my legalness with anyone else

5,290 likes | 71 comments

@carlyyvalentine: happy birthday bestie :)

@stephlachancee: damn who dat birthday girl

@marner_93: how's your first drink taste? ;)

@adamvin: happy birthday baby

@sydneyesiason: so beautiful!

@austonmatthews: better slow down on that champagne there

@alaskamay: @austonmatthews I'm good, thanks!

As the night starts to wind down and people start to mention leaving, Auston nudges me from the side. I turn my attention to him, meeting his large brown eyes with a small smile. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches into his coat pocket and removes a small box, tied with a bow. He then hands me the box, causing my face to distort in confusion.

Auston motions for me to continue, so I slide the bow off the box and remove the lid. Then, after a bit of rummaging through the tissue paper, I feel a smooth material. Praying it's not what I think it is, I unfold the tissue paper to reveal exactly what I didn't want to see.

There in the box lies the black lace thong I left in his hotel room when we were in LA. Attached to the lace material is a note that makes my heart flutter and drop at the same time.

Thought I'd return these so you could wear them on our date tomorrow night.

See you then, Auston