#About Grape Plant All Time Best Useful Tips

[puppyexpressions]

Christmas Hazards for Your Dog

We've put together our top tips to make sure you’re in the know about how to keep your four-legged friend safe this Christmas season, so your dog can enjoy the festivities too!

Which parts of a Christmas dinner can I give to my dog?

Providing your dog is healthy and is not allergic to the following foods, it’s safe to feed your dog a little bit of these foods at Christmas:

turkey meat (no skin or bones)

salmon (fillets or cooked in spring water are preferable to smoked salmon)

lamb meat (no bones)

green beans

Brussels sprouts

parsnips

carrot

peas

swede

mash potato (best without added butter)

new potatoes

sweet potatoes

Note: New foods should always be introduced slowly, as too much can cause an upset tummy. Foods high in fat or salt should also be avoided.

Toxic Christmas food for dogs

Christmas is the time for eating, drinking and being merry, but lots of our favourite festive foods are toxic to our dogs and should be kept well out of paws reach:

chocolate – chocolate is toxic to dogs and even small amounts can cause serious illness. Find out what to do if you think your dog has eaten chocolate.

Christmas pudding and mince pies – grapes and dried vine fruits, including currants, sultanas and raisins, can cause severe kidney failure if eaten

onions (and garlic, leeks, shallots and chives) – these all belong to the allium species of plant and are poisonous to dogs whether cooked or uncooked. Avoid feeding foods that include these ingredients, such as gravy.

alcohol – alcohol has a similar effect in dogs as it does in their owners. Make sure your dog can't help themselves to any unattended alcohol left lying around.

macadamia nuts – macadamia nuts can cause lethargy (tiredness), weakness in the back legs, increased body temperature, tremors and stiffness

leftovers – don’t be tempted to give your dog leftover Christmas food – they can include hidden ingredients toxic to dogs and mold in leftovers can make them ill

sweets – many of the sweets we eat over Christmas, such as candy canes, contain a sugar-free sweetener called xylitol, which is poisonous to dogs

Important: If you think your dog has eaten something they shouldn’t, contact your vet for advice.

Are real Christmas trees poisonous to dogs?

The most common types of Christmas trees including pine, fir and spruce are not highly toxic to dogs, but oils they produce and the pine needles that drop from the tree can pose a risk. Not only can the sharp pine needles get stuck in your dog’s paws, they can also cause a mild stomach upset or blockage if eaten.

If you have a dog but would like a real Christmas tree, you can opt for a non-drop variety – just remember to never leave your dog unsupervised around the tree.

Dog proof your Christmas tree

Christmas trees can have hidden dangers for your four-legged friend – here’s our top tips to keep your dog safe around the tree.

Keep decorations out of paws reach

Decorations such as baubles and tinsel can cause a dangerous stomach blockage if swallowed. Hang Christmas tree decorations up high to prevent mischievous paws (or tails) from knocking them off, and remember to never hang chocolate decorations as chocolate is poisonous to dogs.

Don’t leave presents under the tree

Christmas presents lying under the tree can be too tempting for our four-legged friends – especially if the gift is edible! It’s best to keep wrapped gifts out of paws reach, as wrapping paper can cause a blockage in your dog’s tummy if too much is eaten.

Keep fairy light cables tidy

The wires on fairy lights can be tempting for your dog to chew. Keep any cables out of your dog’s reach and remember to switch them off at the mains when they’re not in use.

Always supervise your dog

Whether you have a real or an artificial tree, it’s always best to supervise your dog around the Christmas tree, so you can spot mischief before they get themselves into trouble. It may be a good idea to keep your dog out of the room completely while you’re out.

Christmas poisonous plants

Christmas plants make the season all the more festive, but these traditional Christmas plants are toxic to dogs:

poinsettia

holly

mistletoe

ivy

potpourri

Stress in dogs at Christmas

The festive fun can get a little overwhelming for our four-legged friends – here are our tips for a stress-free Christmas with your dog.

Get to know the signs of stress

You can help your dog to deal with stress by understanding the signs – this will allow you to be aware of when the festivities are getting a little too exciting. 

Don’t dress them up

Dressing up might seem fun for you, but remember that your dog will find it stressful. If you want to get your dog involved with the festivities, you could try making them a homemade Christmas present of their own instead.

Provide them with a safe place

Christmas brings with it lots of guests, but too many can be stressful for your dog. It’s best to prepare for visitors before they arrive, by providing a safe space for your dog to retreat. This could be a quiet room or a den – just make sure it’s somewhere where your dog can’t be disturbed, and remember to provide them with their food, water and any familiar toys, so they have everything they need in their safe space. This also applies if other pets are visiting your home.

If you are expecting visiting children during the Christmas period and your dog isn’t used to their company, take a look at our advice on keeping your dog and visiting children safe.

Stick to a Christmas routine

Routine can often get lost in the chaos of Christmas, but sticking to the routine that your dog is used to, can help minimize stress. Try to make sure your dog eats at the same time, still goes on the same amount of walks and has plenty of time to rest – Christmas can be tiring for our four-legged friends!

[ramshacklefey]

Hey I saw your latest post and I wanted to ask if you have any resources about eating vegan! (recipes, getting started, etc.) I'm honestly so tired of the "vegans are annoying and obnoxious" stereotype too

Sure!

The first thing to know is that you'll want to ease into it. This is a big change to your diet, and that can affect you in lots of different ways while you're adjusting. One good idea is to adopt a vegetarian diet first, and then switch to vegan once you're used to that.

The only supplements you definitely want to make sure you're getting are Vitamin D and a Vitamin B complex (just make sure it has B12 in it specifically).

Everything after this comes with the caveat that I don't know your particular living situation, dietary habits, or overall health, so this advice is pretty general. Take or leave it as it works for you.

(Long post under cut)

General Tips

Focus on seeking out ways to eat more plants, not on avoiding things. Focusing on the positive side of things makes the whole situation a lot easier, because you won't be thinking about stuff you're missing out on. If you're deliberately filling your pantry with plant-based foods that you enjoy, you'll find that you don't miss the things you used to eat so much. After a while, you'll stop craving things like meat and dairy.

Cutting cheese out of your diet is the hardest part. Turns out that cheese contains a protein called casein which, when you digest it, breaks down into chemicals that have a similar effect on your brain to microdosing cocaine. Be prepared to go through a week or two of bizarrely strong cheese craving when you stop eating it.

You don't have to be a fancy cook to be vegan. Obviously, there's a lot of fresh fruit and veg that you can just eat raw. But there's a lot of other stuff that's super easy that requires almost no prep. I'm a lazy bastard when it comes to my food, and I have no problems. Some of my go-to meals include: spaghetti (I use cheap jarred sauce most of the time), simple curries, rice and beans (plus whatever the fuck spices I feel like), potatoes in every form imaginable, peanut butter and jelly, chips and salsa, chips and bean dip, and oatmeal.

You don't have to pay exorbitant prices to get vegan snacks. There are a lot of companies nowadays producing vegan versions of common snack foods, and they are fucking expensive. However, lots of favorite, cheap snacks are already vegan! Off the top of my head: Oreos and many other cheap packaged cookies, most flavors of Pop-Tarts, almost any candy that isn't chocolate, a lot of chips, dark chocolate (70% cacao or higher), french fries, and popcorn are all good ones.

Fruits and veggies will get tastier the more you eat them. At this point, I'm as happy sitting and eating grapes, cherries, fresh green-beans, or frozen peas as I ever was eating candy. And I don't feel wretched afterwards.

Learn what produce is seasonal in your area. Fresh produce is absurdly expensive, but if you know what's in season at any time, you can take advantage of sales. This has the added benefit of putting some variety in your diet throughout the year.

Preserved produce is just as good as fresh. Frozen, dried, or canned fruit and vegetables are all delicious, often cheaper than fresh, and don't have any nutritional deficiency to speak of. If you're eating canned things, don't throw out the juice though! A lot of the good stuffs in the plants end up in the juice (basically it gets steeped out), so it's best to use that in your dish. Pickled foods are not only tasty, but they have great probiotics in them, and they're a lifesaver in hot weather if you're having trouble staying hydrated.

Add oil and salt! People get a lot of oil and salts from animal products, and if you don't replace those somehow, you may find yourself feeling hungry all the time. Also, adding oil and salt to veggies makes it easier for your body to digest them efficiently.

Roast those veggies! Pretty much any fresh vegetable can be roasted with oil and seasonings to turn it into a delicious meal. If you have an air-fryer, that's also a fucking excellent option.

Legumes are life. Beans and lentils are top notch friends for the vegan, and they can be added to almost any dish.

Peanut butter. If you can eat peanut butter, it's got soooo much fucking good stuff in it.

Tofu is bullshit most of the time. Ok, it's not, but I usually find it to be more of a pain in the ass than it's worth.

Fake meat is overrated. Some of it's definitely tasty, and if you're still feeling very emotionally attached to certain meat-based dishes, it's really helpful. But it's also not necessary. And honestly, it's been long enough since I ate meat that I find the stuff that really tries to mimic meat deeply unsettling and kinda gross. Speaking of which:

You'll start being grossed out by meat and dairy after a while. It's not a performative moral thing, your body just starts being grossed out by it.

Once you stop eating animal products, you will eventually stop being able to digest them. At this point, I am incredibly lactose intolerant, and even tiny amounts of meat or animal fat in my food will make me sick as fuck. Turns out, a significant amount of your digestion is actually done by your gut flora, and there are specific species of microbes in your guts that help you digest different foods. If you go long enough without animal products, the microbes you need to digest those will all die, and you can't actually digest them at all any more.

Things to keep on hand:

Spice blends! Try out a bunch of different ones and then just keep a few bottles of your favs around the house. They can be sprinkled on veggies, tossed into pasta dishes or soups, added to stir-fries, etc. They're especially great if you don't generally cook much and don't have a huge knowledge base for what spices go well together.

Nutritional yeast. This can be a bit expensive, but it's so worth it if you can swing it. It's a kind of yeast that's been dried into flakes, and it's great for putting on some things in place of cheese. I mostly use it for spaghetti and popcorn. It's got a very nice savory flavor.

(Personal) Plant milk. You don't need this by any stretch, but I like having it for oatmeal, smoothies, and baking. Almond milk is usually the cheapest, which I'm not super happy about. Oat milk is my favorite, but for some reason it's way more expensive (making your own oat milk is actually super easy, but I wouldn't expect most people to go to that much trouble).

Cooking

Like I said earlier, you really don't have to be a fancy cook to eat vegan. However, learning a few recipes that you can pull out as stock meals will make life way easier. If there's a specific dish you want to learn how to make vegan, the easiest thing is to just go online and search for "vegan [dish] recipe."

One thing I cannot recommend highly enough is the cookbook Supermarket Vegan by Donna Klein. It's a simple, affordable cookbook that's focused on recipes that can be made of ordinary ingredients. It has a huge variety of different sorts of dishes from all around the world. They range from super easy snacks to main dishes that you could use as the centerpiece for a fancy meal. And the instructions are clear and concise, easy for even a beginner cook to follow. If you get a copy of this book and start basing your meals off the recipes here, it'll probably be a lot easier to make the switch, because you'll have a plethora of tasty foods to make!

Honestly, the most difficult adjustment to cooking vegan is baking. Most things can be adapted, but it takes a bit more know-how and understanding of what roles various ingredients are playing in a dish. And by various ingredients I mostly mean eggs.

Eating Out

This is generally the biggest pain in the ass for vegans. For one thing, it's amazing how many people just. Don't get what being vegan means. Be prepared for some awkward family dinners or parties where there's not a lot available to you.

When it comes to actual restaurants, your best bets are generally going to be Indian, Eastern Mediterranean, Ethiopian, Thai, and higher-end Central/South American. These places are the most likely to serve a variety of dishes that don't have any animal products in them by default.

If you like coffee drinks, ask for soy or oat milk when you order. They steam better than almond milk, which tends to curdle because of the acidity of the coffee.

Lastly, and this is definitely localized to where I live, Taco Bell is my absolute go-to for fast food. Almost none of their default items are vegan, but they're good about customizing things. My usual order is: Cheesy bean and rice burrito, no cheese sauce, no creamy jalapeño sauce, add black beans, add potatoes, add red sauce, and grilled.

Last Thoughts

Despite what a lot of people think, being vegan is easy once you adapt to it. It's suitable to any food budget, allows for a wide variety of different foods, and is just as healthy as any other decent diet. You might go through a couple months at the beginning that feel a bit rough, but dietary changes are a big deal and always take some adjustment. If you stick with it, you're likely to discover that you actually start feeling a lot better and more energetic than you did before.

Most importantly, be yourself and have fun! It's not a contest, and any benefit you want to see from adopting a vegan diet is still going to happen if you only manage to partly change how you eat.

[annoyingwerewolfwizard]

Where Does Your Food Come From? Part 2-Backyard Gardens

Backyard gardens have gone from a necessity to a hobby and now are maligned by certain people we will call, “globalists.” Claims that backyard gardening has a carbon footprint 5 times greater than commercial growing have been published along with a lot of other rubbish, as if the amount of carbon you make growing plants makes a difference in the global climate. The fact is that plants need CO2 to produce oxygen and to grow. In any case, we need to eat and during WWII, Great Britain would have gone down and during the Great Depression, there would have been more starvation without backyard gardens. Today, we are faced with a similar situation where much of the food we can buy is not good for us and is getting less and less affordable. Whenever times are hard, gardens become increasingly important by providing cheap, nutritious sources of food.

I grew up with gardens. I even had one at an apartment complex where I was living. People laughed at my little garden- a container of tomatoes, two of peppers, and a bucket of potatoes, until the tomatoes came on. Home grown tomatoes outshine store bought any day. When I started my own family, I also started a small farm on 1/3 of an acre. It was already planted with oranges, plums, cherries, peaches, grapes and artichoke and asparagus beds. I added a spectacular variety of vegetables, a couple of ducks to eat the slugs and snails and a little coup of chickens. Our grocery bill was the lowest on the block.

Now I understand that this would not be possible anywhere. It was in California, in the Central Valley where the growing season is long. However, no matter where you are, you can grow something. Fruit and nut trees are seasonal, but they produce each year and only need minimal care. The same goes for many berries. Asparagus and artichokes will also produce as long as the beds are taken care of, and the winter temperatures are not super cold. As far as the super cold is concerned, I read about one family that lived in a very cold, snowy area and raised winter crops in a greenhouse heated by rabbits. That’s a two for! The point is that where there is a will there is a way.

If you’ve read some of my other articles on food, you already know there are plenty of reasons to have your own garden. The biggest reason is that it’s your garden and you are in control of what methods to use, and what chemicals, if any. The second best reason is that the food tastes better and is more nutritious than that grown in large monocrop fields. Then there is the time you spend outside, collecting vitamin D from the sun and getting a little exercise. There is a food shortage already happening. With the crop failures, the movement to stop meat from being produced, farmland being taken out of production, and other problems, it is getting increasingly difficult to be able to afford nutritious food. It may at some point get difficult to find at all.

In light of the above, having whatever garden one has the room for, or can make the room for, is going to be important. I know many are not able to have gardens because of space and other reasons. In that case, community gardens, farmers’ markets, or just getting to know a farmer through doing business with them would be a plus. As for those who have the space but claim to have black thumbs- My oldest daughter claimed to have a black thumb yet when she took over management of a small 7-acre farm, she not only raised many animals, but her vegetable garden was an unqualified success. She used the internet, other gardeners, and books on gardening as her guides to achieve this success.

A wealth of information exists on different kinds of gardening, The internet, of course, has a ton of information. People around you can also be a source of information that is more local and can give you tips based on the locality. Rodale put out a series of gardening books with some great information as have a number of other publishers. Local groups organized around the planted seed can be contacted as well as your state agriculture organization.

I understand that some of you live in the city where space is at a premium. You might not have a backyard to plant in. Container, vertical, roof top, and hydroponic gardens are an answer to this problem. The point is to start thinking about your food now. Just stocking up will only be a temporary solution. Fresh food needs to be added to the mix both for nutrition and to make the preserved supplies last. My advice for anyone able to do it is to bury some seeds.

If there is a subject you would like to hear about food, food production or even stories about my experiences in the food industry, and I have some great ones, drop me a line by accessing my contact page on my site: https://irawhite.com/contact/

[edgewaterfarmcsa]

CSA WEEK 14

P i c k l i s t

watermelon - roma tomatoes - garlic - poblano pepper - 

Cherry tomatoes - carmen peppers - lunchbox peppers - carrots

THIS WEEK AT EDGEWATER…

We remain swimming in field tomatoes.  I believe the crop of plums might be at peak, or nearing peak yields right now.  The plants are dripping with fruit, and this abundance is simultaneously soul-nourishing-farmer-pleasing and totally overwhelming.  Being rich in tomatoes lends itself to a real feeling of urgency.  A crop based time crunch.  

For one, as soon as the fruit ripens, we have only so much time until the juice of the tomato bursts through the skin and rots the fruit.  The crew has done an incredible job of staying on top of the pick, however it is inevitable that some of the cherries and plums will rot before we move/sell/cook/eat them. 

The second feeling of urgency comes when the weather turns and the nights move toward fall and flannel.  This is that moment in between seasons that makes me want to harvest everything all the time by day and preserve via canning or freezing all the time by night.  This harvest rush makes for a real crazy person (i.e. me).

This week’s CSA share 100% reflects that crazy.  Please join me as we get into it and go deep with tomatoes.  By Sunday I expect everyone of your countertops to be tomato splattered and every dish piled high in your sink. But come JANUARY, you will be so pleased that you followed suit and took to heart the farmy foodie canny pro-tips.  

Let’s CAN people!

 (wait wait let me try again) 

We CAN do this!

FARMY FOODIE PRO-TIPS the canners edition: 

by far my fave way of preserving cherries and plums

It is simple and the only ingredients you need are tomatoes/salt/pepper/GARLIC/olive oil.

READ ON…

Cherry, grape or small Roma tomatoes

Whole cloves of garlic, unpeeled

Olive oil

Herbs such as thyme or rosemary (optional) Preheat the oven to 225°F. Halve each cherry or grape tomato crosswise, or Roma tomato lengthwise and arrange on a parchment-lined baking sheet along with the cloves of garlic. Drizzle with olive oil, just enough to make the tomatoes glisten. Sprinkle herbs on, if you are using them, and salt and pepper, though go easily on these because the finished product will be so flavorful you’ll need very little to help it along.

Bake the tomatoes in the oven for about 3 hours. You want the tomatoes to be shriveled and dry, but with a little juice left inside–this could take more or less time depending on the size of your tomatoes.

Either use them right away or let them cool, cover them with some extra olive oil and keep them in the fridge for the best summer condiment, ever. And for snacking.

JENNY’S NOTE:  Smitten’s slow roasted tomatoes stop there… but I am suggesting you take it one step further.  Let’s can :)

STEP 1: Prepare your jars and lids- clean them, dry them/ get em lined up and ready.  

STEP 2: Prepare your water bath (big pot with boiling water)

STEP 3-STEP 100: is an excerpt from Tart and Sweet: 101 Canning and Pickling Recipes by Kelly Geary and Jessie Knadler (Rodale, 2011). The excerpt is from Chapter 6: Summer. I am also going to provide their favorite recipe to can tomatoes in case you want to go the “whole” tomato route.  However, if you want to take your newly roasted tomatoes and skip ahead to the canning part, go ahead and ladle your warm batch of tomatoes into jars, skip to bullet point 3 and proceed with the lemon juice. But do not add water- any juice leftover from your smashed down cherry tomatoes is enough!

Canned Tomatoes 

• 12–15 pounds tomatoes, blanched, peeled, andcored • About 8 cups water per quart jar • 2 tablespoons bottled lemon juice (or 1 tablespoon per pint jar) • 1 teaspoon kosher salt (or 1/2 teaspoon per pint jar)

1. Leave the tomatoes whole or quarter or halve them, as desired.

2. Bring the water to a boil in a large saucepan (you may need more or less, depending on the size and cut of the tomatoes). Reduce the heat, but keep the water hot.

3. Place the appropriate amount of lemon juice and salt in each hot jar. Top with raw tomatoes.

4. Ladle hot water into the jars to cover the tomatoes, leaving 1/2 inch headspace. Check for air bubbles, wipe the rims, and seal. Process quarts for 45 minutes, pints for 40 minutes, adjusting for elevation.

YIELD: 4 quarts or 8 pints

Ok DO YOUR BEST HERE PEOPLE! I Highly recommend you get yourself a copy of this book. It is extremely user friendly and chock full of all my fave ways to preserve. Writing it one more time for the boys in the back:

Tart and Sweet: 101 Canning and Pickling Recipes by Kelly Geary and Jessie Knadler 

And if you are not ready to can, but do want roast your maters go ahead and these little gems on toast, with eggs, by the spoonful, or make soup:

Roasted Tomato and Goat Cheese Soup from the cook book: lucid food

serves 4

12 ripe tomatoes

2 cloves garlic, peeled and smashed

1 yellow onion, coarsely chopped

1 tablespoon honey

2 sprigs fresh rosemary

2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar

4 tablespoons olive oil

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 dried bay leaf

1/4 cup fresh goat cheese

Preheat the oven to 425°F. Core and quarter the tomatoes and scoop out the seeds, reserving the seeds and cores for the stock. In a large bowl, toss the tomatoes with the garlic, onion, honey, rosemary, 1 tablespoon of the vinegar, 3 tablespoons of the olive oil, and a dash of salt. Spread the mixture on a baking sheet and roast for 40 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove the rosemary and set aside. Combine the tomato scraps, bay leaf, and 1 cup water in a pot and bring to a boil over high heat. Decrease the heat and simmer, uncovered, for 15 minutes. Strain the stock into a bowl and discard the solids. Rinse the pot and return the stock to the pot. Add the roasted tomatoes. Bring to a boil over high heat, then decrease the heat and simmer, uncovered, for 5 minutes. Let the soup cool for 10 minutes, then pour into a blender. Add the cheese and blend until smooth. With the blender running, add the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil. Season to taste with salt.

Garnish the soup with the remaining 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar and a few grinds of pepper and serve.

[lompocwinefactory]

Vine Training Tips

Vineyards are a symbol of sophistication and a source of delightful wines that have enchanted palates for centuries. However, a successful vineyard doesn't come about by mere chance; it requires meticulous planning, hard work, and expertise in vine training techniques. Vine training is the practice of guiding grapevines to grow in specific ways to optimize sunlight exposure, manage grape yields, and ultimately produce high-quality fruit. In this article, we will delve into essential vine training tips to help vineyard owners achieve a bountiful harvest and produce exceptional wines.

What is Vine Training?

Vine training is an ancient practice that involves shaping grapevines to grow in a particular pattern, ensuring the vines receive adequate sunlight and air circulation while preventing overcrowding. By guiding the vines' growth, vineyard owners can improve grape quality, disease resistance, and overall vineyard productivity.

Benefits of Vine Training

Advantages of Vine Training

Vine training offers numerous benefits to both the vines and the vineyard owners. Some of the advantages include:

Enhanced sun exposure: Properly trained vines allow sunlight to reach all parts of the plant, promoting even ripening of the grapes.

Disease prevention: Good airflow reduces the risk of fungal diseases, which can thrive in damp and shaded vine canopies.

Controlled grape yields: Vine training helps manage grape production, leading to better fruit concentration and flavor intensity.

Efficient vineyard management: Well-trained vines are easier to prune, harvest, and maintain, optimizing labor efficiency.

Aesthetically pleasing vineyards: Thoughtfully trained vines create a visually appealing landscape, adding to the vineyard's allure.

Types of Vine Training Techniques

Popular Vine Training Methods

There are several vine training techniques practiced worldwide, each with its unique characteristics. Some common methods include:

Cane Pruning: This method involves selecting one or two canes to train along the trellis wires, with other canes removed.

Spur Pruning: In this approach, short spurs with two to three buds are retained and trained along the trellis.

Guyot System: A variation of cane pruning, where one cane is trained horizontally, and another is pruned back to a spur.

Scott Henry System: This system uses vertically divided canopies, maximizing sun exposure for each vine.

Head Training: The vine is allowed to grow with little intervention, often used for bush vine or free-standing vines.

Selecting the Right Vine Training Method

Choosing the Best Method

The selection of a vine training method depends on various factors, such as grapevine variety, climate, soil type, and desired wine style. It is crucial to consider these elements to ensure the chosen method aligns with the vineyard's specific requirements and goals.

Preparing for Vine Training

Steps for Preparing the Vineyard

Before commencing vine training, adequate preparation is essential. Follow these steps to set the stage for successful vine training:

Soil Analysis: Conduct a thorough soil analysis to understand its nutrient composition and pH level.

Choosing the Right Site: Select a suitable location with proper drainage, sunlight exposure, and air circulation.

Installing Trellis Systems: Install the trellis system that complements the chosen training method.

Vineyard Layout: Plan the vineyard layout, accounting for row spacing and vine orientation.

Pruning Existing Vines: If the vineyard has established vines, prepare them by pruning to the desired form.

Implementing Vine Training

Applying the Training Techniques

Once the preparation is complete, it's time to implement the vine training technique. The process may differ based on the chosen method, but the following general principles apply:

Gentle Handling: Handle the vines with care to avoid damage and shock during the training process.

Tying and Training: Use soft ties to secure the vines to the trellis wires, guiding them along the desired path.

Removal of Suckers: Remove unwanted shoots that may divert energy away from the main vine.

Positioning of Shoots: Position the shoots to achieve optimal sunlight exposure and airflow.

Caring for Trained Vines

Maintenance of Trained Vines

Maintaining trained vines is vital to their long-term health and productivity. Here are some essential care practices:

Regular Pruning: Prune the vines during the dormant season to remove excess growth and promote fruiting wood.

Irrigation Management: Provide sufficient water to the vines, especially during critical growth stages.

Fertilization: Apply appropriate fertilizers to ensure the vines receive essential nutrients.

Pest and Disease Control: Monitor the vineyard regularly and take necessary measures to prevent and manage pests and diseases.

Troubleshooting Common Issues

Dealing with Vine Training Challenges

Despite the best efforts, vine training may encounter challenges. Some common issues and their solutions include:

Uneven Growth: Adjust vine positioning and trellis wires to ensure even exposure to sunlight.

[laocommunity]

Unlock the Secret to Luscious Locks with Rosemary Oil: Discover the Benefits, Usage Tips, and Top Products for Hair Growth

Unlock the Secret to Luscious Locks with Rosemary Oil: Discover the Benefits, Usage Tips, and Top Products for Hair Growth Unlock the Secret to Luscious Locks with Rosemary Oil: Discover the Benefits, Usage Tips, and Top Products for Hair Growth Are you tired of dealing with dry, damaged hair that just won't grow? Have you tried countless products with no luck? It's time to unlock the secret to luscious locks with rosemary oil. This natural oil has been used for centuries for its incredible benefits for hair growth and health. In this article, we'll explore all the benefits of rosemary oil for your hair, how to use it, and the top products to help you achieve the hair of your dreams. What is Rosemary Oil? Rosemary oil is an essential oil derived from the rosemary plant. The plant is known for its fragrant aroma, and the oil is made by steam distilling the plant's leaves and flowers. The oil is rich in antioxidants, anti-inflammatory properties, and has been used for centuries in traditional medicine. It's no wonder that rosemary oil has been a staple in the haircare industry. Benefits of Rosemary Oil for Hair Rosemary oil is packed with benefits for your hair. Let's take a closer look at how it can help you achieve luscious locks. 1. Promotes Hair Growth One of the most significant benefits of rosemary oil is that it promotes hair growth. The oil increases blood circulation to the scalp, which nourishes the hair follicles, leading to long and healthy hair. 2. Reduces Hair Loss Rosemary oil helps to DHT, a hormone that is responsible hair loss. The oil also improves the overall health of the hair, leading to reduced hair fall and breakage. 3. Soothes an Itchy Scalp If you're suffering from an itchy, flaky scalp, rosemary oil can help. The oil has anti-inflammatory properties and can soothe an irritated scalp, reducing dandruff and itchiness. 4. Strengthens Hair Rosemary oil contains antioxidants that help to strengthen the hair and prevent damage from free radicals. The oil nourishes the hair, making it more resilient to breakage and damage. How to Use Rosemary Oil for Hair Now that you know the benefits of rosemary oil, it's time to learn how to use it for your hair. 1. Rosemary Oil Scalp Massage Mix a few drops of rosemary oil with a carrier oil such as coconut oil or olive oil. Apply the mixture to your scalp and massage gently for 5-10 minutes. Leave the oil on your hair for an hour or overnight before washing it off with a mild shampoo. 2. Rosemary Oil Hair Rinse Add a few drops of rosemary oil to a cup of warm water. After shampooing and conditioning your hair, pour the mixture over your hair and leave it on for a few minutes before rinsing it off with cold water. 3. Rosemary Oil Infused Hair Products Look for hair products that contain rosemary oil. This is an easy way to get its benefits without having to worry about mixing it yourself. You can find rosemary oil in shampoos, conditioners, and styling products. Top Products for Hair Growth with Rosemary Oil Here are some of the best products for hair growth that contain rosemary oil: 1. OGX Rosemary Mint Shampoo and Conditioner Set This set contains rosemary oil and peppermint oil to invigorate the scalp, promote hair growth, and minimize hair loss. It's also sulfate-free and safe for color-treated hair. 2. Aveda Rosemary Mint Purifying Shampoo This shampoo contains rosemary oil, peppermint oil, and white vinegar to deeply cleanse the scalp, reduce scalp irritation, and promote hair growth. 3. Desert Essence Organics Italian Red Grape Shampoo and Conditioner This duo contains rosemary oil and red grape extract to strengthen hair, prevent breakage, and promote growth. It's also vegan, cruelty-free, and gluten-free. Final Thoughts Rosemary oil is a natural and effective way to achieve luscious locks. Its benefits for hair growth and health are unparalleled, making it a must-have in your haircare routine. Use rosemary oil in your haircare routine today to achieve the hair of your dreams! #HEALTH Read the full article

[ussweetners]

Bulk Sugar Syrup Invert Sugar Syrup Crystalline

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Blackstrap molasses is the least sweet, the most bitter, and the darkest of all the cane molasses. Monk fruit, additionally called luo han guo fruit, is a small green fruit of the Chinese plant Siraitia grosvenorii Swingle. The candy parts in the fruit, known as mogrosides, are 230 to 425 instances sweeter than table sugar. Sugar refining is a secondary course of where specialty sugars are produced for various forms of trade.

[speedingsavior]

Land With the Best Red Wine

Following a flavorful supper or perhaps a modern early lunch, wine is one of the most delightful tasting choices that you could delight in as a complimentary relaxer. Talks which are frequently made with wine are either private or loaded with a learn more great deal of style.

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To begin with, we should examine the actual berry impact. In which the grape comes from chooses the nature of the taste and the decency of every single dim wine variation. The berry impact will frequently direct the actual sugar content material that can be found in the wine that you're targeting. Another feature is what we ought to just call the grape plant essentialness, that impacts the actual natural product make up utilized for these wines. An individual doesn't need to be a botanist inside surveying berry impact. Maybe evaluate to what lengths taste as well as thickness you will go for the actual authentic natural product taste to get hold of.

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Getting with the best red wine may not be a simple assignment but rather in the event that you perform your research and forever be excited about this, then, at that point, you could, finally find your best choice. Online is a large center of information, all things considered. Try not to be shy to complete a couple of fair pundit on your search so you can improve your grasping on red wines.

[k1ng0fn0b0dy]

totenkopfe ❤

[Gender-neutral]

[900+ words]

Description: Being a god is hard when you're not the one with power. As you ponder this, a certain god comes to chat. (Dream x Reader)

[Read the rest under the cut]

{《☆》}

You spread your fingers wide, feeling the familiar curls of magic spread over your mortal form, encompassing it in more power than a normal mortal could handle. The withering grape vines held delicately in your hands come back to life, bright green leaves embued with your power blessing whoever decided to use them with the finest wine for years to come.

And as it always did when you used your magic to save your lifeblood, another god came to see who was messing with his.

"You again," Dream said, their mask fixed over their pointed nose, ever-calm and regal. "This is the fifth time this hour?"

"These are new and they are so weak. I must save their vineyard, they supply my biggest followers." You cast another hand to a few weak vines, thumbing a crumbling leaf between your fingers as it's too far gone death decays once more. "The nation is suffering from X-dee's happiness, for it has not stormed in many a night. If this goes on even the child cannot sing these plants better."

"I suppose that is true," The overseer of death looks upon the rows of decaying life and they sigh. They lift their own hand above yours, resting softly on top of yours as he pushes his magic into the air. For all the mortals' cries, Dream is not the god of death. He is the overseer and he is the judge but he is still fair and he is kind. The plant hums beneath your finger, back to life easier than it's known in weeks. "The mortals do not deserve your kindness, O'estatic one. They are greedy and one day they will mark their own end."

"And one day, albeit far later than theirs, so will we," You flip your hand to press your palm to his, sharing the most emotions in the easiest way godhood allowed. "We are not all-lasting as Chaos or Order, we are simply here as long as humans will it so. And not all humans are thieves or scoundrels, and not all thieves are scum amongst angels. As most humans are, I've found them to be complex."

You turn to your plants, sighing as you trail a vine. "Such fickle things, letting such irrationality guide their lives for so long, letting fear and indecisiveness plague their thought when if they thought to ration, would find people do not simply hate them for breathing. For what reason for plants if not humans to enjoy them, a fine wine such as the ones we lay to be created may never be tasted and appreciated because the right person decided for everyone else that nobody wanted them. I find that they are horrible things, but not for their own vile acts, but for the ones coming from a wrongfully good place."

"I haven't had such time to think like that," Dream admits, coming to your side. Here, so close to you, he tips the mask back from his face. Such opposing foes as yourselves, to think of each other as so close. Their lips are parted ever so slightly, his gaze focused on nothing as his mind runs.

"I only ever have time," You sigh, fixing the gold bands on your wrists. "You run a kingdom, I run a vineyard. Time is not something you come about sparingly, not without reason."

"So what is your reason?" Dream turns to you, his human-like freckles standing out amongst pale skin. It was always ironic to you, how someone who looked so human was so disconnected from them. The thought never lingered long,  drowned out by prayers from newly-wed wives asking to be blessed with child or for drunkards for the best wine, sometimes even from the occasional person questioning their gender and pleading for advice from the god known as their patron. "Surely a god as kind as you would have loyal followers."

You shake your head ruefully. "The drought has either killed them all away or shown the ones whose faith had always been waivered. When I showed no help in ending it, even if only for it being out of my control, they had chosen their stance and switched patronage." Now your time was filled with visiting your still loyal followers, as few and far in between as they were. Laying small blessings upon the bastard child's head for green thumbs and fixing a quick wine for the laboured mother who wished for a break.

Dream frowned, emotions so humane they were written like scriptures upon his face and detailed in his eyes curve and forehead wrinkles. "I apologize, O'estatic one. I had not thought of how the drought might've affected the ones still based here."

"It is my hometown," You shake your head even if Dream does not understand the meaning behind your words. "Perhaps I was not raised here but my mother's blood spilt on these holy grounds for me to be born godly. I will bless these as my home for as long as the land remains."

"I'm aware," Dream shakes his head although he does not argue. Fixing a gentle stare over the vineyard, he extends his arm to you. "Our work has been done for today though. Come for a visit to my kingdom. It has been a while since our last dinner."

"Alright," You place your hand gently on his forearm and like a godly voice had not saved these plants, disappeared within a gentle breeze of wind.

{《☆》}

[YOOOOOO I'm tired but I literally can't sleep lol I just watched ranboo's phasmophobia stream with bilzo and this one long af dnd video with Slmcc and I'm basically on the equivalent to drugs rn (/j)]

[I really don't have anything to say except my back freaking hurttsssss]

[L0v3, k1ng]

Masterlist

Taglist: @creatorofstars

[the-bau-quinjet]

Round 1: Fruit Snacks

Bucky x reader

Summary: Steve, Sam, and Bucky try to prank you. Emphasis on try.

Warnings: none, well I guess manipulative crying? but in a funny way...

Word Count: 1384

a/n: my inspiration for this? A box of fruit snacks. What am I doing with my life?

Masterlist

You love fruit snacks. You've even made a definitive ranking of the best brands. Scooby snacks were the clear winner, but hard to find at the grocery store sometimes.

When Scooby Snacks were unavailable, you went for Welch's. Mostly because they came in a 96 pack and three out of five flavors were pretty good.

Whenever you're feeling sad or upset in any way, your go to is a bag of fruit snacks.

There was one especially tough day when you opened the bag only for it to be full of only orange and grape.

You burst into tears in the kitchen.

All this to say, it's become very clear to everyone in the house that you always have fruit snacks hidden somewhere in the kitchen.

You used to keep them in your room, but then you started eating way too many, so you moved them to the kitchen.

You hid them because, although you were willing to share, nobody would ever tell you when they were taking the last bag.

There's nothing quite like the minor inconvenience of reaching into the box for a bag of fruit snacks, and then having it be empty. It really ruins a day.

So, when you went into the kitchen for a bag of fruit snacks, and all of your hiding places were empty, you were perturbed to say the least.

Bucky, Sam, and Steve were sitting around the island, watching as you looked in seemingly random cabinets and containers.

You huffed angrily, moving to check the one of the last spots they could be. It was you're holy grail of hiding places.

You opened the freezer drawer, pulling out a box of plant based burgers. Under that box was a another box, this time of sugar-free, dairy-free, fat-free ice cream bars.

You opened the ice cream bar box, tipping it over to empty the contents onto the counter.

The ice cream slid across the island, but no fruit snacks came out of the box.

You took a deep breath, trying not to scream. You really just needed fruit snacks right now, and there appeared to be none anywhere.

You refused to make eye contact with any of the guys, knowing it would set you off. Instead, you collected the nasty ice cream bars, dumping them into the trash.

ou really wished they tasted good, but apparently they aren't even useful for hiding your good snacks.

The three men all had their eyes on you, waiting for a reaction. You didn't know which one of them found all your fruit snacks, but you weren't going to give them the satisfaction.

If they wanted a prank war, so be it.

With tears in your eyes, you recycled the cardboard box. Then you finally turned to look at them, watching as their expressions quickly shifted into that of concern.

"I'm going to the store, do you need anything?" You stuttered through the question, trying to play up how upset you were. You waited a minute for one or more of them to answer, when nothing came you turned back toward the door.

"Y/N, what's wrong?" Bucky called as you reached the door.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

"It's just been a tough day. I- It's stupid. I'll see you guys later." You turned around again, walking slightly slower than normal.

Bucky jumped off his chair, running to stop you before you left the kitchen. It must have been his idea to eat all of your fruit snacks. He grabbed your should, spinning you around.

"It's not stupid if it's got you this upset. Talk to me, please?"

You waited a beat before pulling him into a long hug. You pretended to cry more, waiting for him to ask what was wrong again.

"Doll, what's got you so upset?" He rubbed your back, unaware of the devious smirk on your face.

You spoke into his chest, leaving your head buried there. "I just, everything is going wrong today. I woke up late, so Tony was annoyed with me. I spent 3 hours trying to fix this piece of tech, only to realize it wasn't working because it wasn't freaking plugged in. I had to rewrite my code for Redwing's updates four times because it kept getting deleted."

You whined as you listed the events of your day. It really was a shitty day, hence the need for fruit snacks.

"Then I dropped my lunch on the floor, so I just ate an apple. I stubbed my toe on the way to training, so it hurt the whole time. I spent ten minutes looking for my phone while I was using it to call someone. I stepped in a puddle, so now my socks are wet."

You took a deep breathe, really laying on the guilt for the last part.

"And when I went to get fruit snacks to cheer myself up, they were all gone."

You hugged him tighter before pulling away, wiping the fake tears from your face.

"So now I'm going to the store. Hopefully nothing else goes wrong because I don't know if I can take it." You leaned your head back, dramatically trying to get the tears to subside.

"Hey, it's okay." Bucky continued to rub your arms, trying to soothe you. "Why don't you go make some tea or something, and I'll go to the store for you?"

You gave him a small, watery smile. "You would do that for me?"

"Of course, Doll. Steve and Sam will come too." He glared at them over your head.

"You guys are the best." You gave them all a hug as they left the kitchen, smirking to yourself once they were gone.

-

"Y/N, we're back!" Sam called from the elevator, expecting you to still be in the kitchen.

The three men walked down the hall, stopping in their tracks when they saw you.

You were sitting on the couch, fruit snacks in hand, watching a movie with Nat and Wanda.

"What the hell?" Bucky looked between you and the fruit snacks in your hand.

"Where did you even get those?" Steve asked incredulously.

"Well, when the frozen fruit snacks are missing, I know I'm being punked." You smirked at them, laughing with Nat and Wanda.

"So- you..." Bucky trailed off, disbelief clouding his thought process.

"A few waterworks and you three were putty in my hands." You walked toward them, taking the grocery bag with the fruit snacks. "Thanks for the refill." You winked, walking past them into the kitchen.

They stood frozen in shock for a minute, before following you down the hall.

"But how did you know it was us?" Sam asked.

"Why else would the three of you be sitting on the bar stools at the island? You were 100% waiting for a meltdown that I never gave you." You smirked as you hid the bags in different cabinets.

"You never answered my question." Steve stated, still curious about your secret hiding place. "We looked everywhere for hidden fruit snacks."

You placed an arm on Bucky's shoulder as you jumped onto the island counter, unscrewing the top of the chandelier.

"Everywhere?" You questioned as you added a few bags to the compartment before screwing the lid back on. "I've got secret compartments all over the kitchen."

"Then why not just take one of those? Why send us to the store?" Sam asked, still incredulous that you got the three of them this badly.

"Well, I'm assuming you ate all the bags you did find?" You reached out, waiting for Bucky to help you down. He grabbed your waist, slowly lifting you setting you on the floor.

The three of them nodded.

"So I needed more." You shrugged, tossing the now empty box in the recycling as well.

"Was your day really that awful?" Bucky asked in a soft voice, feeling slightly used.

"It was." You smiled at him, moving to hug him again. "Thank you for caring. Honestly, it's really sweet." You kissed him on the cheek before turning to go back to your movie.

You couldn't stop yourself from calling one more thing over your shoulder as you left.

"This was round one boys, and I was only on the defensive. I'd say be prepared, but you'll never see me coming." You winked.

Part 2

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner

[fruitymimi]

five nights.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

pairing; eren jeager x princess!reader (modern royalty au)

rating; explicit. minors dni. all characters are 18+ and you should be too.

word count; 2.1k

warnings; please read them all. arranged marriage, mean eren, reader is kind of innocent, slight corruption kink, pet names (princess, good girl), loss of virginity / virginity kink, possessiveness, spitting, slight size kink

summary; the princess of wall maria is set to marry the cocky youngest son of the royal family of wall rose, eren jeager, in 5 days.

💭; new fic format !! this ones not dark, but i feel as though i should mention that this may not be for everyone.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“I don’t understand what the problem is,” Eren popped one of the grapes into his mouth, his eyes trained on his father, “I was only a couple minutes late, who cares?” he shrugged.

Grisha couldn’t believe what he was hearing from his son. His ears burned an angry red as he listened to him, the embarrassment sinking in finally.

In preparation for the wedding between the two young royals, Y/N’s family graciously invited the Jeagers to stay the five nights in their castle, as their own was a far, tedious drive. So, in hopes of bringing the two closer, they were given the “opportunity” to spend five days together to become aquatinted with one another and prepare for their marriage.

“The King and Queen of the Maria kingdom had given us this opportunity to connect with them and get to know Y/N and you came to dinner late. You’re embarrassing our family.”

Eren blinked at his father, “What exactly do you want me to do...? She doesn’t want to talk to me,” he pointed at Y/N, who was watching the whole conversation go down with wide eyes.

“Why don’t you show him around, Y/N?” Her father piped in, cutting the conversation short to avoid any further arguments.

Eren looked over to her, standing out of his seat. “I would love that, Princess,” he extended his arm for her to grab onto, the word rolling off his tongue.

She hesitantly wrapped her arm around his, leading him out of the dining room. “This way,” she said, watching as the guards pushed open the large, obnoxious doors.

ミ✭

“This is my father’s office. I’m not really allowed in this room,” she pointed towards the room, looking up at Eren.

He looked unamused, like he wasn’t at all interested in this house tour. “Why aren’t you allowed in here? Don’t you live here?” Eren furrowed his brows.

Y/N blinked, gently pulling him away from the room. “I dunno. He says it’s just his room. Not even my mom is allowed in there,” she giggled, “But it’s whatever, just his... boring king stuff. Whatever he does during the day-“

“Show me your room.” Eren cut her off.

She looked up at him, tilting her head. “My room is on the next floor, we aren’t finished with this one yet..”

“You know, Princess,” there he goes again, “You sure do talk a lot.” He said it with ease, the insult falling out of his mouth as if it was normal to speak to a princess in that tone! Especially in her own castle!

She was quiet for a little, biting down on her bottom lip. “I’m talking about the tour, Eren.” No one had ever spoken to her this way. Not her parents, not a servant, not a low-born, and damn sure not a snobby prince.

“Do you really want to take me on a tour of your whole castle? Doesn’t this get boring to you?” Eren nudged her arm that was tucked into his.

She looked at the floor. “I mean, I guess it does,” she led him to the stairs, walking up them slowly, careful not to trip over her dress.

She pushed open the door to her room, looking around to see if anyone was on that floor before she let him into her room.

And my god, it looked just like a princesses room.

Eren bit back a smile, letting Y/N’s arm go as he explored the big room.

“Don’t break anything,” she warned, standing in the doorway awkwardly. As if it wasn’t her own room, “My maid just cleaned here.”

“I’m not gonna break anything, Y/N.” he assured her, looking at the many pictures she had on the walls.

As he was looking around her room, Y/N’s palms grew sweaty. What would her family think if they knew Eren was snooping around her room before the two were wedded? “We’ve got to finish the tour now, Eren.”

He looked over at her, “What’s the rush, sweetheart? We just got in here,” he walked to her bed, patting the spot beside her, “I wanna sit and talk to you before we have to go back. I wanna get to know you without a guard breathing down our necks,” he chuckled.

She sighed, pushing the door shut. “I suppose you’re right,” she walked over to him, pausing in front of his legs. “Don’t you think we should sit somewhere else? Maybe on the chairs in that corner? The bed is for sleeping-“

Eren took ahold of her hand, tugging her down to have her seated beside her. “Mm, no. We’ll be married soon. We should be comfortable enough to talk anywhere, right?” His hand wrapping around her lower back.

Her breath caught in her throat, “Yeah...” She said, scooting in a bit closer to him. Something about being so close to him lit a fire in her.

Eren smiled, looking down at her. “Good girl,” he praised, his thumb rubbing against her clothed side. “Tell me if something makes you uncomfortable, Princess.” he told her, his once free hand sliding up her torso, smoothing over her chest.

She nodded her head, pressing into his hands. “I will,” she told him.

Eren hummed, his lips pressing against hers. He could taste the wine they’d served at dinner, his tongue swiping over her soft and plump lips.

Being so close to him sent an adrenaline rush throughout her body. The thought of one of the servants walking in to see her desperately kissing her soon-to-be husband with her clothed chest pressed against his hands just excited her beyond belief. It’s something she’d never done before, hell, she doesn’t even remember having any male friends.

“Can I unzip this?” he asked, tugging at her tight dress, “I wanna see your pretty body.” He pulled down the zipper when she nodded, helping her out of the sleeves. He unfastened her bra, “Lay down for me, Princess.”

She did as he said, watching his movements. Eren’s tongue latched around her nipple, flicking over the sensitive bud. He loved the way her back instantly arched into him.

He looked up at her, watching her eyes flutter closed. “Let me get you out of this dress,” he tugged it off of her, gently placing it on the bedside. “You’re so fucking sexy, Princess,” he kissed down her body, stopping at her panties. He pulled them down her legs, spreading them open on the bed.

Eren darted his tongue out, running it between her folds. He hummed at her taste, planting a kiss on her sensitive clit. “Your pretty cunt tastes sweet,” he let out a chuckle.

He looked so gorgeous. His piercing eyes lazily looked up at her, his pink lips wrapped around her clit, cheeks blushed a pretty shade of red.

She rocked her hips against Eren’s tongue, gasping from the sensation.

“Has anyone played with you down here before? Hm?” he asked her, his finger pressing against her hole.

She shook her head, her eyes closing shut as his finger sunk into her pussy.

Eren nodded, flicking his tongue against her clit. “I get to claim this pretty cunt and make you all mine, huh?” he began to move his finger, watching it disappear inside of her.

He slid another into her, thrusting the two fingers in and out of her dripping pussy. “My good girl... Think you can cum just from my fingers and my tongue?” He asked her.

She nodded her head eagerly, her thighs daring to close around his head. He was taking such good care of her, making sure she was comfortable and felt every flick of his tongue, every drag of his fingers, each time he pressed the pads of his digits against that spongy sensitive area, the pleasure building up in her stomach.

She clenched around his fingers, bucking her hips. “I’m gonna-“ she cut herself off with a quiet whimper, “I’m gonna cum!” she covered her mouth.

“Cum for me. Cum all over my tongue, baby. Be my good girl.” he told her, his eyes fluttering shut.

Her orgasm took over, her body shaking as she felt her release gush around his fingers. Her mind went blank, the only thing she could think about was Eren’s skilled fingers and tongue stimulating her cunt in the best way possible, guiding her through her orgasm.

After she’d calmed down, Eren pulled out his fingers. He pressed them against her lips, biting down on his lip. “Open,” he told her, watching her lips wrap around his fingers, “Good girl... I can’t wait to bury myself inside of your cunt, have you stretched around my cock..” he kissed her forehead, pulling his fingers from her mouth. He placed an open-mouthed kiss on her lips, tasting her cum on her tongue.

She helped him out of his suit, placing it beside her dress to avoid wrinkles. She just wanted to touch. To run her hands down Eren’s pretty body, make sure she’s felt every inch of him. But she was so desperate to feel the stretch of his cock that she couldn’t wait.

He rubbed his tip against her folds, gathering her slick against his dick. “Don’t make too much noise, okay? Don’t want someone to hear me fucking the pretty princess, hm?” he teased, kisses trailing down to her neck.

He licked over the skin, teeth sucking a pretty mark onto the sensitive flesh. He slowly pushed his cock into her tight cunt, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling.

She clasped a hand over her mouth, nails digging into his back, decorating the now broken skin with red scars.

He moaned at the feeling. “I’m surprised you could take me. Your pussy’s so fucking greedy, too... You’re so fucking sexy. And you’re taking me so well...” Eren bottomed out, the sounds of her gasps and whimpers only egging him on.

“You feel so fucking good, Eren... I want you to fuck me so badly...” she whined, throwing her head back.

“Tell me when I can move, ‘kay?” he whispered, voice sweet as he rubbed soothing circles on her stomach as he waited.

She nodded, clenching around him. “You can— fuck, you can move..” she told him, gripping onto his shoulders with both hands this time.

Eren started a slow pace, hands holding her hips. Eren looked down at his cock where it met her hole, watching her cunt flutter and swallow him in greedily. “Don’t think I’ll ever get over how beautiful you are...” he kissed her lips once more.

She gave a lazy smile, her head thrown back in ecstasy. “Faster, please..” she begged him, opening her eyes just to look at him as he fucked into her.

Eren did as she wanted, speeding up his pace. He reached a hand down, fingers finding her clit. He rubbed circles against the bud, admiring how pretty the princess was as she got stretched on his fat cock.

She moaned out, “Eren... I’m close..” she whispered, clenching around him. Her orgasm rocked through her body, her cunt spasming around him.

Eren licked his lips, pulling out of her. “Sit up, Princess,” he said, sitting down on the bed. He laid back, “get on my lap, I want you to ride my cock.” he told her, arms open for her to get into.

She did as he said, sinking down on his cock with a quiet cry. “It’s so good, your cock’s so big..” she whined, bouncing her hips up and down with his guidance.

His hands were tightly gripping her hips, helping her move up and down along his dick. Eren looked up at her, biting down on his lip, face beet red.

“I’m getting close, Princess. I want you to cum around my cock again,” He said, bucking his hips into her, “You squeeze around me so well... Fuck, I can’t wait to marry you, you’re gonna be all mine..” he panted out, grinding her pussy against his cock.

She arched her back, moaning out his name. “I wanna cum with you.” she said, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

Finally, they’d came together. Both of them riding out their orgasms. He held onto her body, loving the heat their bodies radiated together. They caught their breath, Erens arms wrapped tightly around her.

“We should get cleaned up, Princess,” he said, looking up at her after awhile, “Everyone’s gonna worry about where we are,” he chuckled, rubbing his hands against her back, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple.

Maybe these five days wouldn’t be too bad.

[jangofctts]

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit 

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end    

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met. 

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things. 

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income. 

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing. 

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster. 

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.  

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles. 

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship. 

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.  

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back. 

Whatever.

 Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off. 

Maybe. 

                                                       -=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you. 

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.” 

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?” 

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think. 

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.” 

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”  

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots. 

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.” 

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.     

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.” 

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…” 

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.       

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own). 

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.  

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.       

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that. 

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

                                                 -=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show. 

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will. 

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.  

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…          

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.  

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans. 

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.    

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal. 

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.     

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…        

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.   

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.  

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter. 

Eh.    

Could be worse. 

At least you aren’t dead. 

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun. 

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.        

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.      

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light. 

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.  

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room. 

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”      

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.” 

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.” 

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.   

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.  

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.” 

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”  

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt. 

Damn it.  

                                                     -=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this. 

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn. 

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red. 

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.” 

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”      

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it. 

“Leave.” 

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.” 

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved. 

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”  

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side. 

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.” 

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”  

You wince. 

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”  

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.” 

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.    

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet. 

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch. 

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage. 

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?” 

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.” 

You frown. “Poor guy…” 

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.  

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp. 

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?” 

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.” 

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.” 

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.” 

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them. 

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right. 

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath. 

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.   

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning. 

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet. 

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man. 

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell— 

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling. 

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?” 

“She isn’t made of glass.” 

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.  

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.” 

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance. 

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.” 

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.” 

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.   

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.” 

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin. 

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.        

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again. 

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole. 

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.” 

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.  

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope. 

Here you are—asphyxiating.   

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it. 

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?   

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off. 

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.  

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.  

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”           

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on. 

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.” 

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“ 

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah. 

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?” 

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.   

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.” 

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree. 

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk? 

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”    

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.      

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.” 

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.” 

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.” 

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din." 

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb. 

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”  

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing. 

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees. 

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch. 

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.   

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.    

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds. 

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm. 

“Paz—“ 

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”  

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.      

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.     

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh. 

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”  

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—  

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”  

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough. 

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.” 

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.” 

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.” 

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you. 

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.  

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals. 

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?” 

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered. 

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation. 

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.” 

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration. 

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—   

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip. 

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind. 

Din’s kiss is devouring—  

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—  

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning. 

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.   

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.” 

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on. 

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside. 

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth. 

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.  

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now— 

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit. 

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away. 

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.   

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.           

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.” 

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.” 

“Neither will your arrogance.” 

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out. 

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.” 

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic. 

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”  

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further. 

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—         

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words. 

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips. 

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?” 

Din. 

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.    

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position. 

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath. 

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.” 

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.       

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him. 

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.          

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete. 

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.    

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.” 

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need. 

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much. 

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours. 

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.      

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.  

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”     

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.            

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear. 

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder. 

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?” 

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.  

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.” 

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts. 

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.     

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—     

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.     

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?  

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.   

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.  

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.” 

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems. 

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air. 

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.      

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.” 

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.     

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future. 

You shrug it off.    

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear. 

“You love her, don't you?” 

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak 

or’dinni--dumbass idiot 

vod--brother/comrade 

tag list: 

@bobafctts​ @djxrxn​ @teaofpeach​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @nelba​ @datmando​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @dreams-like-clockwork​ @aerynwrites​ @auty-ren​ @huliabitch​ @anxiety-riddled-mando​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @trippedmetaldetector​ 

[lovemesomeharry]

REASSURANCE

Warnings: Angst

Words: 2k

Summary: Harry feels insecure and needs reassurance that Y/N won’t leave him.

The sun was shining, birds were singing and the sound of water splashing made the summer feeling even sweeter. The distant sound of people talking was almost unnoticeable, compared to the hectic and loud streets of London, Y/N, and Harry was so used to. It almost made them forget how quiet the world could be and they were thankful for the little getaway into a peaceful habitat to recollect themselves.

Currently, Y/N was sitting on a chair on the balcony of the small Italian house, reading a book Harry urged her to, a while ago, and eating grapes every once in a while when she had to turn the page. Her white summer dress was floating in the wind and her hair was up in a ponytail to keep the strains of hair out of her concentrated face. The tip of her tongue was sticking out as she tried to imagine the scenario she had just read, not noticing her boyfriend staring at her in awe further away.

Harry was trying to cool himself down at the small pool, Y/N had great access at looking at, and he had hoped she’d join him but she was too focussed on her reading to even notice the lack of attention she was giving her boyfriend. Wet hair was sticking to his forehead and tiny little droplets we're covering his body when he looked up to see her sitting on the balcony. His heart immediately picked up on speed and started to hammer harder against his ribcage. His emerald eyes were scanning every single one of her outlines, trying his best to memorize them as if she was his favorite painting he never wanted to forget.

With a muffed sigh he got out of the pool and instantly felt the hot ground beneath his feet as he grabbed a towel to dry himself off a bit, knowing well that his girlfriend wouldn't approve of him getting the expensive Italian carpet wet.

It was really not a big deal to him but it was to her and he was glad about it. She kept him grounded, even though Harry could swear he was on cloud nine, nowhere near the ground, whenever he remembered she was his to love and he was hers.

He truly couldn't grasp how she’d even consider being with him, knowing what consequences and difficulties he had brought into her life but he was too selfish to push her away and he was happy she never considered leaving him. Even if he couldn’t understand her decision.

When he finally got to see her again, she didn't notice him right away. For a moment Harry let the cold fan air surround him before he decided that she’d spent enough time reading a book. With big and fast steps, he walked into the balcony and stopped right behind her so he could wrap his arms around her shoulders.

A small shriek left her lips and her body jolted forward a bit, making Harry smirk. “Hey, love. What are you doing?” He wrapped his arms tighter around her as she tried to push him away slightly.

“Don’t scare me like that!” She complained but did not close the book yet much to Harry’s dislike. He wanted all of her attention on him. “Besides I was reading the book you wanted me to.” She held the book up so he could see what she was reading. He nuzzled his face into her neck, covering it with sweet kisses as a blush crept onto his face, heating his face up. She couldn’t be more adorable to him than at this moment, he thought. He loved that she always listened to him and paid attention to what he was saying. It made the butterflies in his stomach go crazy knowing she cared enough about him to read one of his favorite books. He knew he’d read her favorites within a second but never expected her to return the favor. “Thought we could talk about it once I finish it.” Y/N suggested only making those emotions Harry was feeling stronger. He really wondered how she still had this effect on him after all this time being together and hoped he was causing the same impact on her.

“Sure.” He said leaving open mouth kisses on her jaw. “But first, your boyfriend needs some attention.” She turned her head to the side to get a look at his beautiful face and got lost into his mesmerizing eyes once she looked into them. His long eyelashes were framing them perfectly and the tiny freckles on his face made her want to count them so she could tell everyone how many he had on his cheeks. She felt his large hands grip her forearm, squeezed it slightly before he planted a kiss on her nose. Her body melted into his embrace as if it was missing his kisses the whole day and craved them already.

When he let go of her she made sure to take his hand in hers and put the book on the round glass table in front of her. Her legs, that were pulled up to her chest, were set back on the ground so that she could have better look at him. He sat down next to her, squeezing her hand back when a small yawn escaped his mouth.

“Are you tired, baby?” She asked and studied her boyfriend carefully. His lips turned upwards and with his other hand, he ran through his fluffy mustache that was tickling her neck not even a few seconds ago. He looked so different with it, she thought but not in a bad way. He looked older with his ’Mario mustache’, as he liked to refer to it, and made him feel proud of finally being able to grow some facial hair. And it came in handy in the bedroom. So how could she ever dislike the little bit of hair?

He nodded his head. “A bit.” She couldn’t deny that he was looking tired but not enough for him to be craving a deep slumber.

“Should we go to bed?” She asked only making Harry feel softer for her. She said ‘we’ and it made his heart swoon and wonder what he’d done to deserve an angel like her.

God, he was so whipped.

“No. But come here.” He hummed and opened his arms. No more words were needed for her to understand what he’d meant and she was already climbing on his lap. Her legs were dangled from each side and her hands found their way into his hair, pulling slightly on the hair on his neck. A deep, satisfied sigh left his mouth and he had to fight the urge to kiss her breathless, fearing he’d be too clingy. “I love you. You know that, right?” He asked instead and held her hips tighter.

Worry was clouding his innocent face and Y/N could only frown. “Of course, H. Is everything alright?” She didn’t want him to think that she didn’t know that because she did. She felt so appreciated, adored, and mostly so incredibly loved because he never failed to prove his feelings to her. Even if it’s just making her coffee the way she liked it or him knowing when she’d get her period so he’d have all the candy ready, she was going to crave.

Sometimes she’d even feel bad about it, thinking she wasn’t giving him enough love. Thinking he deserved somebody better as she did at that moment. Maybe she should have put the book away and focussed more on him, she thought.

Her fingers were massaging his head in hope of calming him down. “Yeah, I just wanted to make sure you know that.” He shook his head as if he was trying to figure his words out and let out a breathy but nervous laugh. “I don’t deserve you, angel. You’re too good to me.” Y/N wanted to ask him if he was joking but seeing the sincerity in his eyes made her swallow the lump in her throat. How could he ever think that, she wondered truthfully.

“Why would you say that?” Her hands stopped playing with his hair, what Harry didn’t like but he kept his mouth shut about it. His heart aches to see the worry and hurt in her eyes as the previous sparkle died down. He mentally cursed at himself for making her feel this way when it was supposed to be their getaway vacation, for them to escape the hectic world they lived in.

His fingers were playing with the fabric of her dress, which she looked ravishing in, only making her look more like an actual angel. “I don’t know why you’re with me when I bring more trouble than joy.” His shoulders sagged and the sadness in his voice made a painful throb run through her heart. She couldn’t believe he would think that and felt as if she didn’t do a good job as his girlfriend proving to him that he was all she ever needed. Y/N wished she could make those thoughts disappear out of his head, but to Harry, they came completely naturally after multiple broken relationships due to his lifestyle no one seemed to be able to put up with. And to think that she’ll leave him too, was a pain no one could’ve ever prepared himself for. Just by the thought of never holding her again and getting to smell her sweet scent made him tear up and something laced his neck, keeping him from breathing.

“Harry, that’s not true. I love you.” She tried to reassure him and once he lowered his gaze she took his chin into her hands, forcing him to look at her. The corner of his eyes was filling up with tears and Y/N wondered how she didn’t realize what was going on in her boyfriend's head. “I’m sorry if I hadn’t made it clear before but there’s no one and nothing I’d trade you for. Ever.”

“It’s just-“ He stopped to take a deep breath to collect his thoughts. “I, I’m scared, ok? I’m scared that one day you’ll wake up and not love me anymore. That you’ll realize I’m not worth the trouble.” Y/N saw how he was fighting with his tears, felt how his hands started shaking around her hips, and his voice got so quiet that he was barely whispering. She wanted to kiss his troubles away but felt so helpless not knowing what to do. “Sometimes I wonder if I should just let you go, but I’m too selfish.”

“Love, I never wanted you to be selfish more than I do right now.” Her voice was slowing losing its power and tears started to form at the brim of her eyes. “I love you, Harry. I love you so much and I really don’t care what we have to go through as long as we’re in this together.” She pressed her forehead against his and let the small skin contact send shivers down her spine and try her best to take all this negativity away. Her fingers were gripping his face and pulling him closer, if it was possible. “You’ve no idea how much you mean to me. You’re worth risking everything for and I’d rather lose everything before I’ll lose you. My heart just wouldn’t be able to take it.”

Harry was still battling inner thoughts even though he believed her and Y/N saw the conflict going on inside of him. Her thumb stroked his cheek and finally, he started to lean into her touch. He breathed the hot air out of his lungs when he pulled back to look at her properly. ”You sure?”

”I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” And with that, she finally captured his lips with hers, trying her hardest to get the insecurity out of him. His soft lips moved perfectly in rhythm with hers and by the shape of their mouths, both parties were convinced that their lips were meant to be together. Harry sighed into the kiss and even though he still believed she could get someone better he was happy she still wanted to be with him and didn't mind giving him the reassurance he sometimes needed. Y/N on the other hand already planned to devote her heart to him for the rest of her life and make it her life goal to prove to him that he was all she ever wanted, needed, and loved.

[winterscaptain]

berry hill.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so sorry.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s enough. 

You scoff. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+++

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

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

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

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

“Funny.”

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

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

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

+++

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh. “I am so glad.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Seaver.”

+++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shut up. 

“Serious about what?”

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

+++

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

“Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s Aaron.” 

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

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

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

“My thoughts exactly.”

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

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

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

“Of course. Sleep well.” 

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

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

“Thank you. Jump in.” 

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

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

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

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

Would I have offered to Emily? JJ? Hell, Dave? 

If any other member of the team had a friend bail out of their role as a wedding date, he’d like to think he’d drop everything and take the weekend to make them feel better, but he knows that probably wouldn’t be the case in reality. He knew you were different, and it frustrated and confused him. 

As often as he acknowledges his love for you - he wishes it would just stop.  

Only a year and change had passed since Haley’s death, and there were still some mornings where he woke up and couldn’t breathe. Jack still had some nightmares too. Those broke his heart more than anything in the world, but he knew you would always pick up if he called - no matter the hour. 

It happened more often than he’d like to admit. 

“Hotch? Aaron? What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to wake you.” 

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.” 

You’d always talk to him about something or nothing at all, sometimes turning on your bedside lamp and reading from whatever book you were perusing before bed. 

He knows you understand. You were the only one there with him, when he found her body. You were there to take his son out of his bloodied hands. You were there when he was afraid of himself. 

The nightmares still come for you, too, sometimes. There are nights where Haley’s dark blue eyes stare into you, whether your eyes are open or closed. You told him that, once, and he was grateful - grateful that he wasn’t the only one. 

You murmur something in your sleep, about twenty minutes outside of the city. You’re still an hour or more away from Richmond, and Hotch figures he’ll let you sleep if you don’t wake up between now and then. It’s not a hard drive to Berry Hill, and you need the rest. 

Might be good to pick up some food on the way...

He turns the music off, letting the sounds of your breathing and the road wash over him. 

“Aaron.”

He turns, expecting your watchful eyes, but finds you burrowing further into the pillow, a little smile on your face as you remain blissfully unaware of your surroundings. Something warm starts to radiate in his chest as he looks back out at the road, the Virginia countryside stretching out in front of him, around him, and in every direction he can see. The warmth vibrates into his fingertips. He flexes his hands around the wheel, trying to shake it.

He fails. 

You’re not sure how you manage to sleep so soundly in the car. You had tossed and turned all night, thinking only of facing a part of your life you hoped you’d never address head-on ever again. Why you accepted the invitation at all (or why you even received one) was beyond you. 

It must be his mother’s doing. She always loved you, and she did her best to keep your friendship alive much longer than its natural death. 

Exercising control over her child’s life due to an exceptional lack of control and consistency during her upbringing. Relating to her son’s partners to achieve some semblance of intimacy without facing the root of her insecurity that she’s failed as a parent.

The profiling never stopped, it seemed. 

It wasn’t just the wedding keeping you up last night. The thought of spending the weekend with Aaron in an environment where you will inevitably feel (if not look and act) distraught close to the whole time still wears on you. Spending weekends at home, where you sit together with a glass of wine and leftover popcorn after Jack gets tucked in feels different. 

That’s comfortable. That’s safe. This? This is scary. Vulnerable. Burdensome.

Even then, there’s nobody you’d rather have at your side while you face friends you haven’t seen in ages. He’s charismatic, almost entirely unapproachable (when he wants to be), and tall. All those factors should be enough to keep anyone from trifling with you for the duration of the weekend. 

But now, in the car, all those thoughts are far from your mind. Your mind is blissfully dark and blank, your body soothed by the low hum of the car and the smell that follows Hotch wherever he goes - spicy, earthy, and something that reminds you of the air right before lightning strikes. 

The car slows, and the subtle change in ambiance wakes you. You lift your head, finding Hotch turning on an offramp. 

“Are we in Richmond already?” You ask, bleary. 

He smiles. His sunglasses are resting on his nose to combat the rapidly-rising morning sun. “Not yet, but I figured you hadn’t eaten yet.”

You tip your head. He’s right. “I could eat.” 

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “You should eat.” 

+++

After food and a top-off for the gas tank, you offer to drive. 

Aaron refuses. “If you drive, I don’t get to pick the music.” 

“I thought shotgun picks the music.” You frown at him, admittedly still a little tired. You’ve shoved your pillow behind your seat and start to sit like an actual human being for the first time that morning. 

“Those are Morgan’s house rules, not mine.” 

“Ah,” you say, sagely. “I see. What are your house rules?”

There’s a smile behind his sunglasses. “Driver picks the music and critically considers any suggestions made by shotgun.” 

Thus, the Beatles’ White Album starts from the top. You can’t say you’re surprised - it is his favorite. You’ve grown rather fond of it yourself, if you’re honest, Though, you’re not sure if you fondness for the album has anything to do with the man beside you - the one who’s hair is soft and floppy in the morning light, the one wearing an uncharacteristically casual ensemble of jeans, sneakers, and a black t-shirt, the one singing along under his breath.

“Why is this one your favorite?”  You hear yourself ask. 

He’s quiet for a minute, as if you are the first to ask that question. Maybe you are. “I’m...not sure. I think it might have something to do with my mom. She bought the record a couple of weeks after I was born in late ‘68, and made sure I had a copy when I got my own record player in my first college apartment.” He shrugs. “It’s been around just as long as I have, and there’s something a little - I don’t know - comforting about that?”

You nod. “I get that.” You’re quiet for a moment, considering all the things that happened in 1982. “Grease 2 came out the year I was born, so I can’t say I share a similar affinity for the pop culture phenomena of my birth year.” 

Hotch lets out a low whistle and a grimace. “That film really was awful.” He waits for your laugh and is rewarded before continuing. “I saw The Who on their final tour that year.” 

You furrow your brow. “Weren’t you like, barely in high school?”

He nods. “We snuck out, a couple of friends and me. It was really stupid and we got in a lot of trouble, but it was fun.” There’s a nostalgic smile on his face. “I have no idea how we managed to get all the way into the District, let alone find tickets, but everything was a little less complicated back then. Buses ran on time, people read maps, and parents didn’t all have cell phones.” He shrugs and shoots you a smirk. “But of course, that’s before your time.” 

You roll your eyes. “Oh c’mon. I’m not that young. I remember the world before the mainstream internet and 9/11 and all that pre-Patriot Act shit. I remember when the Berlin Wall came down, at least.” 

That gets a laugh out of him. “Fair enough.” 

You lapse into silence for a little while, handing him fries from the drive-thru bag when he puts his open palm over the center console. You notice his left hand shift slightly in time with the music, and you watch a little more carefully. 

And I see it needs sweeping Still my guitar gently weeps

I don’t know why Nobody told you How to unfold your love I don’t know how Someone controlled you They bought and sold you…

“Hotch, do you play guitar?” There’s a touch of disbelief in your tone, but you try to hide it for the sake of his pride. It’s not that you think he doesn’t have a musical or creative bone in his body, but you’re rather surprised by the relaxed subtlety of his movement. It was your impression he never did anything without thinking about it, and to see the slight, almost unconscious action sparks a pleasant little flicker of warmth in your chest. 

He shrugs. “I played a little when I was younger. I guess you could say I know how to play, but I don’t claim to be decent at it in the slightest.” His head tips, and you could swear you see an eye roll. “Sean’s always been better at those kinds of pursuits.” 

As usual, he doesn’t seem thrown or surprised by your question and doesn’t hesitate to answer them. After almost five years, he’s used to your keen observations. He’d never admit it, but he expects them - maybe he’s not able to guess at the content of the questions themselves, but he always knows there will be one eventually.

“Have you and Sean always butted heads?”

Aaron snorts, and gives you a simple, “Yes.” 

You’d never met the younger Hotchner, but you’d seen photos and heard tell. From what you understand, he’s a little wilder than his older brother, a little more idealistic and far less practical. Sean seems like someone you would like, but you doubt he would rise to the top of your Favorite Hotchners List - a list with only two names so far, tied for first. 

It’s safe to say Jack and Aaron are hard acts to follow. 

+++

You talk about everything and nothing, when finally, he asks. “So, who is this guy?”

“Ugh.” You tip your head against the seat. “You really want to know?”

“Of course. Isn’t it protocol to brief the team before arrival?”

You snort, immediately regretting your decision to make fun of Strauss over drinks last week. “Yes, sir.” 

He laughs, and you tell him. 

You tell him about Austin and how you met in a random general education class and became fast friends and started dating, talked about marriage and kids and the whole nine yards. You told him about your semester abroad, your traveling, and returning home to find he’d been dating someone else while you were away, without your knowledge. 

“It’s kind of cliche, I know, but it broke my heart in half.” You laugh a little to cover the truth of it. Hotch keeps his eyes on the road, letting you go at your own pace the same way you let him the entire time he’s known you. “I was really close to his family, and we did our best to remain civil and friendly for everyone else’s sake, but we’ve only kept in touch through other people the last few years.

“I think his mom sent the invitation. I mostly accepted because I’d love to see her and Austin’s little sister - I miss them the most.” 

“What are they like?”

There’s a smile on your face as you tell him about them - how Allison likes more cream than actual coffee in her mug, how their mom has the best taste in books and still sends you worn copies of her favorites every once and awhile. 

“It’s good of you to keep in touch.” 

You shrug. “I guess. I mean, I know it’s different, but you have Jess.”

The difference, he decides, is that you are kinder, more patient than he is. Jess would hardly be in his life at all if Haley was still here. He had a hard enough time keeping up with Haley’s family when they were married. Keeping up with them after the divorce? 

There was no way to know, but he can’t remember much affection between them even before Haley’s father decided to hold him personally responsible for her death. 

You notice his preoccupation, and reach out. Your thumb traces back and forth over the skin of his bare forearm. “It’s different now, and it would be different then. There’s no right way to do anything.” 

He exhales in a huff, and you bring your hand back into your lap. “I spent almost twenty-five years knowing Haley. You know that?”

“I do. I also know you spent longer than twenty-five loving her, and probably won’t ever stop.” 

There’s a sigh, and then an elbow on the center console. He leans heavily on it, and you do your best to keep your hands to yourself. “How do you know everything?” He asks. 

You rest your head against the seat and adjust so your body is angled toward him. A small smile crosses your face as you take in his profile - relaxed, his wrist hanging loosely on the wheel, sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “I dunno. I guess I just pay attention.” 

+++

You let out an exhausted exhale upon reaching the room you will share with Aaron for the weekend. One king size bed dominates the room, instead of the two doubles you halfway expected. He recovers faster than you do, shrugging and setting his things down on the left side of the bed, closest to the door. 

Instinctively and completely without previous confirmation, you kind of figured he sleeps on the left side. The realization of that fact is a little unsettling, but you follow his lead and set your suitcase on the stand opposite his, unzipping it and unfolding your garment bag. 

There’s a small part of you that’s pleased by this arrangement. Another part of you shames that part. 

He’s going to think you’re taking advantage of him. 

Are you kidding? He’s a SWAT-trained senior FBI agent. And a lawyer. It’s impossible to take advantage of him. 

Yeah, of course that’s what he wants you to think. 

Do you ever shut up?

Your outfits for the cocktail hour and the ceremony day are all set. So are Hotch’s, apparently. You look over to find him hanging a grey pinstripe suit in the closet you’d never seen before. It looks beautifully tailored, and expensive. 

“Mind if I take up some real estate?” You ask, holding up your handful of hangers. He shakes his head and makes some space for you. 

When you’re all settled, you sit on the bed, still tired. It doesn’t make any sense, seeing as Aaron insisted on driving the entire way. 

“What time is our first obligation?”

You huff a laugh at his rhetoric. “5pm. Cocktails at the hotel bar. Rehearsal dinner after that is wedding-party-only, thank God.” Glancing at the clock, you confirm, “We basically have the day to ourselves until then.” 

He nods thoughtfully before meeting your eyes over your shoulder. “How do you feel about a nap?” 

I love you. 

Shut up. 

You can’t imagine how tired he is - working off minimal sleep and coming off a drive just shy of four hours long. “I feel great about a nap.” 

Aaron’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he picks up a pair of flannel pajama pants from his bag and shuts himself into the bathroom. 

Oh my god. Oh my god. 

You quickly shuck your sweatshirt, suddenly too warm. Standing, you cross to the window and draw the blinds, covering the room in a kind of gentle shade that isn’t quite darkness. You toe off your shoes and slip under the covers, thankful you never really changed out of your pajamas. Curling up facing the bathroom door, you try to stay awake until Hotch returns, but your eyes close of their own accord.

Hotch leaves the bathroom to find the room darkened and you under the covers, dead to the world. He takes another moment to look at you, the way your brow sits smooth and relaxed above your closed eyes, your hands curled loosely in front of your face, the way your breath evenly comes and goes past the curve of your lips. 

Taking the risk, he places his jeans back into his duffle bag and gingerly stretches out on top of the covers beside you. His eyes close eventually, but he can’t remember falling asleep - entirely preoccupied by the phenomenon before him. 

+++

When you stir again, your hands are warm. You take a deep breath and your eyes crack open, finding a sight that steals your breath. Hotch is on his side in front of you, ramrod straight, with your hands clasped between his. Your heads are bowed together - not touching, but close. 

There’s no memory of him joining you in the massive bed, nor any recollection of contact, so he either held your hands on his own, or you found each other in sleep. 

You’re not sure which one makes your heart flutter faster.

Resolving to get a little more sleep, you close your eyes. Only moments later, you feel him stir beside you. You know he’s watching you, and you endeavor to keep your breath even and slow, hoping he can’t hear the racing of your heart. 

He releases one of your hands, and you let it drop down to the cover, praying your fingers don’t twitch. 

You’re proud of yourself when you don’t flinch as his fingers brush butterfly-soft against your cheek, tracing from your brow bone, down your nose and across your lips. Impossibly gentle touches find their way down your temple to your jaw before disappearing. 

His hand closes around yours again and it takes everything you have to keep your breath steady as he presses his lips to your fingers before tucking them back to his chest. When his breath evens out again, you know he’s asleep. 

You open your eyes, thinking it's more than high time to study him for a change. 

He looks years younger in his sleep, closer to your age than his. Even awake, he hardly looks the picture of a father in his mid-forties. His graceful aging is more obvious when his face isn’t drawn up in stress or that aching kind of sadness that lingers around him. 

Curious about what he saw and felt on your face, you follow his path, slipping your hand out from under his, tracing his jaw, his cheek and brow bones, his handsome, straight nose. 

Your finger rests lightly on his cupid’s bow for a moment, his breath rushing slow and warm over your hand. The feeling of his breath stalls yours, and you swallow. The next breath you take is almost a sob, and you press your lips into a thin line. Light fingers brush through the hair at his temples, the sparse, soft silver strands seeming to glow in the low light. 

What you don’t know, however, is that he has taken a page out of your book. Though his eyes are closed and his breath even, he is very much awake, heart pounding. He’s sure you can hear it, or even feel it, with your remaining hand still trapped between his. 

The catch in your breath makes his chest ache. Even then, his eyes remain closed, and he’s mindful of his breath. With the route you take, tracing his features, he realizes with a shock of adrenaline and cold panic that you were probably awake, playing at sleep then as he was now. 

If that was the case, you know how he feels about you. He knows how you feel about him. 

But you can’t. You don’t want to take up space in his life he doesn’t have, space better used to heal, space reserved for his son. 

He can’t. It's too soon. He can’t subject you to the ghosts, the baggage, the long journey to wholeness he’s endeavored to embark upon with only his son at his side. 

The new normal, his therapist had told him, is the hardest thing to find. 

He was sure, then, that it would be easier to find the new normal on his own, but he wasn’t so sure, now. 

You slip your hands away from him entirely and roll over, making play at rising. You check the time on your phone, finding the early afternoon awaiting you. 

There’s a deep breath and a stretching noise, and you turn to find Aaron rolled over on his back, his hands laced behind his head. 

“Good afternoon,” you say, and you’re proud of yourself for sounding normal. 

A smile plays at his lips. He looks like he knows something. “Good afternoon.” 

“So, tonight.” You decide it’s best to move on before anyone admits anything they don’t mean to share. “Do you just want to be ‘work friends’ or do we want to lean into the whole ‘let’s ruin Austin’s life’ thing?”

He laughs a little. “I’m comfortable leaning in if you are.” 

+++

The cocktail hour isn’t as horrible as you thought it would be. Aaron sticks to your side like glue, your right hand firmly placed in the crook of his arm while your left babysits a small glass of wine, more for show than for anything else. 

You hear your name from across the room, and you see a huddle of some old friends and their respective dates. Aaron tips his head down to get the briefing, and you tell him names, relationships, and brief histories as you approach. 

As you expected, he’s warm and charming, taking cues from you as you navigate eight years of catch-up with classmates you remember well and alleged classmates you don’t recognize at all. 

“How did you two meet?” The woman asks (You’re certain she’s someone’s sister - Hotch caught her name while you missed it. Oops.). 

You glance up at Aaron for a second before answering. “We’re in the same department at work.” 

The man with her takes a sip of his drink. Him, you kind of recognize. Casey? Carson? Maybe. “Where is that, again? I can’t remember where you landed after your internship.” 

“DoJ, in Quantico.” 

Leslie, who you met in guided research your senior year, rolls her eyes. “They work for the FBI, Carson, keep up.” 

Carson, that’s it. 

“No shit!” 

A small group has gathered around you, and you shuffle closer to Aaron. He wraps his arm around your waist and steps a little behind you, protective and secure. 

“Shit,” you reply, jostling Aaron with your shoulder. “We don’t have our creds on us tonight, so if you get arrested you’ll have to bail yourselves out.” 

“We also don’t have jurisdiction even if we did, so keep it high and tight and we’ll all do just fine.” Aaron’s voice rumbles through you with a laugh, and you take an overlarge sip of wine. 

He really shouldn’t say things like high and tight with his hand where it is. 

And his hand isn’t really in any kind of questionable location, just resting above your hip with his chest to your back, but it's still more contact than you’re used to. He wasn’t joking about leaning in. 

“There he is!” Carson crows, and your head whips around. You almost lose your balance, but Hotch keeps his feet. A warm hand presses to your shoulder. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. You know he can hear you, and he presses a kiss to your temple. 

“Always.” 

It’s just an act. He doesn't mean it. He can’t mean it. 

Austin approaches with his drop-dead gorgeous fiancee and a smile. 

Aaron releases you as Austin gives you a warmer hug than you were expecting, and examines Hotch over your shoulder. He introduces you to his fiancee (Madeline), and you introduce them both to Aaron. 

“Austin, this is my…” you pause, realizing you never actually established a cover story, letting the implication speak for itself. “Aaron.” You recover with a light laugh, and Aaron pulls you to him with one hand while he shakes Austin’s with the other. 

You try not to smirk at the grimace that flashes across Austin’s face when Aaron’s hand closes around his in a very firm and assertive handshake. “Pleasure. Congratulations.” 

Austin laughs, a little uncomfortable, and stretches his hand once it reaches his side again. “Thanks. We’re really glad you both could make it. Mom will be really happy to see you.” 

+++

“That could have been so much worse.” You shuck Aaron’s blazer off your shoulders and hang it in the closet as he passes behind you. He’d passed it to you when you shivered slightly at the bar and it wasn’t even a point of conversation. It had been second nature to him, draping it over you and placing a hand on your back. The memory pulls a smile from your lips. “Thank you for enduring the mayhem down there.” 

Aaron sits on the bed and slips off his boots. “I can’t remember the last time I went to a social event that didn’t directly affect my career trajectory.” He looks up at you, and his grin makes your heart skip around in your chest. 

You shake your head, walking past him to retrieve your pajamas and toothbrush. “Do you ever want to move up the chain at all?”

“Not really. Something big would have to change to get me to leave the BAU.” He looks at you over his shoulder. “We tried that, remember?”

“I do, actually.” At his chuckle, you continue. “I can’t say that’s something I’d like to relive anytime soon.” 

You move easily around each other, changing into pajamas and brushing your teeth and getting otherwise ready for bed. He’s cute at night, with his pajamas and floppy hair and big yawns. It’s not like you haven’t seen this side of him before, what with all the late nights watching movies with Jack, but it is significant that it’s just the two of you. He’s not Jack’s Dad right now, or Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner who won’t go to bed until The Case Is Solved, but Aaron. 

Sleepy, charming, funny Aaron. 

Eventually, you throw back the covers and crawl in without thinking about it too much, while Aaron lingers in the bathroom doorway. 

“I really can take the couch.”

You look at him and pointedly turn off the lamp resting on your side table. “We’re adults. I don’t mind it if you don’t. And for that matter, if either one of us is sleeping on the couch it’s me.” 

“Oh?” He asks. “Why’s that?”

“Because as you so astutely pointed out earlier, I am significantly younger than you, and I think my back will fare better than yours after a night of lumpy cushions.” 

The bathroom light flips off, and you hear a scoff in the dark. “Never once did I say significantly younger.” 

“Well, Aaron, ‘before your time’ is rife with implication.” 

The mattress dips beside you, and his form takes shape in the darkness, facing you. Before he can speak again, you cut him off. 

“You know what? Nevermind. I forgot who I was talking to, and I would hate for you to go full-tilt lawyer on me.” You curl up, bringing the covers to your chin. He laughs, and you can almost pretend that this is your life, that you get to fall asleep beside Aaron every night. 

Don’t get comfortable. 

Why not? He’s here, isn’t he?

He is, but not like that. This is a favor for a friend, nothing more. 

You’re both quiet for a little while, listening to each other breathe in the dark. There’s a sigh, and you belatedly realize it came from you. 

“Are you okay?” Aaron’s voice floats to you in the dark, and you nod. “I know this isn’t easy for you.” 

You think for a moment, trying to articulate your thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just - I really can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re here with me this weekend.” A hand reaches out, and you find it. 

“Of course. I’m glad I can be here for you.” He means it. The trust you’ve placed in him does not go unnoticed or unappreciated. Your willingness to be vulnerable and funny and so yourself is a precious gift to him, and one he’ll never take for granted. “Thank you for letting me come.” 

I’d like to let you come -

Ew, dude. 

What?

Now is not the time. 

“With that in mind,” he continues, his voice gentle in the dark, “I’m really proud of you. And not in a ‘I’m your boss and you’re making significant progress,’ way. As your friend, I’m really proud of you.”

Your friend. 

He is your friend. 

I know but that…sucks. 

It doesn’t have to. 

There’s something in his voice that almost makes you stupid, but you hold your tongue. “Goodnight, Hotch.” 

He takes a deep breath, missing the way his first name fits in your mouth. It sounds safe there, like you’d never use it against him. “Goodnight.” 

+++

You feel warm and feeling somewhat constricted, but not uncomfortable. There’s weight at your back and an arm around your waist, and you lean into it in your state of half-wakefulness. A little noise leaves the body behind you, almost like a sigh with tone. 

Remembering where you are, you resist the instinct to jump. Hotch is wrapped around you like a koala, his knee between yours, one arm under your head and the other around your waist, face buried into the crook of your neck and shoulder. 

His hair smells divine, and he’s so warm. 

Your theory from yesterday morning seems confirmed - you definitely didn’t fall asleep touching each other, so you must have found each other in the night. The thought warms you, and you close your eyes again.

The ceremony isn’t until the early afternoon, so you have all the time in the world to doze and prepare for the hellscape of the day. 

That’s not a fair assessment. You think, and correct yourself. 

If the prior evening was any indication, things would go smoothly. Aaron was the world’s best wingman. He kept conversation flowing and took your cues without a second’s hesitation. Everyone loved him, and people asked you all night how you met, how long you’d known each other, how long you’d been together. The first questions were easy, but the last one was one you hadn’t prepared for. He, of course, had an answer for all three. 

“We work together.” 

“We met, what? Five years ago now? Maybe a little more?”

“We’ve been partners for almost four years.” 

And...he wasn’t lying. You always paired off with him at work, whether naturally or by assignment. His lack of specifics in defining your relationship both settled and raised your blood pressure, depending on the way you decided to approach it. The words accompanied an affectionate squeeze around your waist or a kiss to the back of your hand. 

You know he’s just playing the part for the weekend and everything will go back to normal when you get home. 

But God, he’s good at it. 

You almost believe him.

He’s still sleeping behind you, his breath fanning slow and even across your shoulder. You’re both fully clothed, but there’s something intimate about it. Sleep, you think, is inherently vulnerable, inherently a trusting state. You two not only managed to fall asleep in the same bed, but woke up tangled together. 

You drop your hand to your waist and rest your hand on top of his, falling back into sleep without too much thought. 

When Hotch wakes, it’s thankfully late. He’s far too comfortable to be in a hotel bed, but quickly realizes it’s not the mattress. You’re wrapped in his arms, and for a split second he almost panics, concerned that you’ll wake to find him glommed onto you like some kind of ridiculous backpack. 

But then he remembers the way your fingers traced his face when you were sure he was asleep, the way you leaned into him the night before - taking shelter in his willing arms. 

He feels your fingers pushed between his, your palm warm against the back of his hand, holding him to you.

He’s fucked. He’s totally and completely fucked. He’s even more fucked to even consider the possibility you’re fucked, too. 

How could you possibly want him? A man nearly fifteen years older than you, with one failed marriage under his belt, an inability to tear himself away from his work, and more than enough trauma to drown in is hardly the ideal partner for someone as vibrant as you, with so much life yet to live.

And yet, it’s so hard to imagine a life without you. Whenever he looks into his future, he sees you there with him. It’s far too easy to let himself fall into the fantasy as you peacefully sleep in his arms with your fingers laced together. 

You shift a little in your sleep, and he arches his back a little, definitely trying to keep you away from...certain parts of his anatomy that are a little more awake than the rest of him. 

Quit while you’re ahead, Hotchner. 

He very gingerly disentangles himself from you, and he’s pleased when he only gets a few sleepy protests in return. The shower is calling his name, for more than one reason including but not limited to the uncomfortable tightness of his flannel pajama pants. 

With one last lingering glance at you, he picks up his toiletries and locks himself in the bathroom for a long (very) hot shower, followed by a much shorter (very) cold shower. 

While he’s gone, you stir and stretch your arms over your head. A little disoriented, you find his side of the bed empty but not quite cold before you hear the running water of the shower. 

What if you just - 

Do not finish that thought. 

You are not one iota of fun. 

Reaching for your bag, you pull your laptop out and get started on some emails. You have a couple from Seaver and one from Emily.

You sigh and pull out your phone. 

“Prentiss.”

“Hey, Em. You wanted me to call?”

“Oh, I just wanted to see how things are going down there.” her voice is the picture of forced nonchalance, and you can almost hear Penelope leaning over her shoulder. 

You laugh into the phone and trace patterns on the bedspread. “Things are going well. Hotch was the perfect gentleman last night, and we have the ceremony and reception today. We head home tomorrow morning.” 

“Has anything happened? Where is he right now?”

“He’s in the shower. And no, don’t be ridiculous.” You shove your phone under your chin and answer all of Ashley’s questions in confident keystrokes. “You and I both know he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.”

Aaron pauses in the bathroom, in the middle of towel-drying his hair. With a smile, he overhears: “...he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.” 

He can’t hear the response, but he does hear you when you say. “My God, Em. Would you quit?” 

Ah. So it is Emily. 

“I’m not going to do anything about it because there’s nothing to do anything about...Don’t give me that...You have absolutely no proof...I don’t care if you’re a profiler or not, there is no way you can say with any definitive certainty -” You pause, and your voice drops to a low murmur he can’t hear over the hum of the bathroom fan. 

With a frustrated huff, he ties the towel around his waist and ventures out, entirely aware of his state of undress. 

You’re so glad you drop your voice to finish your thought (“- that he’s in love with me. Don’t be stupid.”) because the door opens and you are immediately confronted with Aaron Hotchner in a towel and every single coherent thought flies out of your head. He smiles a little at you, and something in you melts. 

“Are you good?” Emily’s voice is full of laughter. 

The heat rises in your cheeks and you whip your head back to your laptop, typing just for something to do with your hands. “Yeah, for sure.” 

“He just walked out wearing a towel, didn’t he?”

“Emily, you know I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” You roll your eyes, and miss the smirk on Hotch’s face as he grabs his hanging clothes from the closet.

“So that’s a yes.” 

+++

Austin’s family clearly spared no expense for either the ceremony or the reception. You and Aaron had walked in arm-in-arm to find a spot on the groom’s side near the back. It’s still weird - there was a time where you thought for sure Austin was the be-all-end all for you. 

But here you are, sitting next to Aaron. He’s wearing that beautiful suit that looks even better on him than it did on the hanger (and that’s saying something). As promised, his tie matches your outfit, and you’d be lying if you didn’t say it made your heart all warm watching him put it on. 

The ceremony itself is a blur. You stand and sit when you’re supposed to, and spend the vows with your head on Aaron’s shoulder - playing the role, of course. You take a few unsteady breaths, caught off guard by how affected you are by the ritual of it all. 

You don’t love Austin anymore, not by a long shot. That said, the reminder that you’re not married to anybody but work and rapidly approaching thirty is unpleasant. 

“Are you okay?” Hotch’s whisper doesn’t carry far. 

You nod. “Yeah. Just thinking.” 

“About?”

You shake your head, the soft wool of his suit jacket pressing into your temple. “Later.” 

His cheek presses to your hair for just a moment. He’s not worried about you, per se, but he’s never seen you in this existentially forlorn state before. It’s a feeling he recognizes in himself, but to see it on you makes him feel a new kind of helpless. 

+++

You’re at the open bar, snagging a glass of wine for yourself and two fingers of whiskey for Aaron (the good stuff, of course), when Austin’s mother warmly accosts you. 

“Darling!” 

Against your will, a genuine smile breaks out across your face. “Hey, Laurie!” You set the drinks down and embrace her, the familiar smell of her perfume engulfing you. Suddenly, you feel nineteen years old again. “Congratulations.” 

She pulls back and waves off your good wishes. “Oh, please. I haven’t done anything.” 

You laugh and shake your head. “I beg to differ, but alright.” 

She takes you under her arm and holds you close to her. “So.” Her tone is conspiratorial, as if a great plot is to unfold before you. “Who is that devastatingly handsome man you’ve brought with you to shame my son?” 

“I did not bring him to shame your son, he offered to come when my original date bailed. You remember Dean?”

“Of course. Such a sweet boy. Still married to his work?”

You shake your head. “I would be...hypocritical of me to get upset with him for that. My work at the bureau keeps me plenty busy. If I’m honest, this is the first personal time I’ve used in four years.” 

She squeezes you for a half-second. “I’m so glad you’re here with us.” Her lips purse. “But don’t think you can get out of telling me about that fine, fine man over there.” 

“His name is Aaron,” you start, fighting a smile. “We work together at the bureau and he’s just a friend, Laurie, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I always have ideas. Now, introduce me so I can see for myself.” 

With a long-suffering sigh, you grab the drinks off the bar and lead her to the table, where Aaron sits with his fingers pressed thoughtfully to his mouth, his elbow on the table and ankle crossed over his knee. Approaching from behind him, you set the whiskey down where he can’t knock it over and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Aaron.”

He turns, and a broad smile breaks out over his face. You’re sure he’s just being polite - you’ve never seen him smile so much. Offering a hand to Laurie, he stands. “SSA Aaron Hotchner. Thank you for having us. I’ve heard so much about you and your family.”

“Oh no, that can’t be good.” She laughs lightly and takes his hand in both of our own. “Laurie Miller. As I’m sure you know, I have a great amount of love for this one here.” She releases Aaron’s hand and tucks you into her arms again, kissing your cheek. You laugh, tickled by her demonstrative affection designed only to embarrass you. 

“C’mon, Laur. You don’t have to lie for my benefit.”

You try to ignore the fondness in Aaron’s eyes as he watches the two of you, Laurie cooing over you and your successes. She returns her focus back to Aaron. “Sit, sit and tell me what you crazy kids get up to over there in Quantico.” 

Aaron sits and relaxes back into his chair, resting his arm on the back of your seat. You lean forward with your elbows on the table, your hands propping up your head. Aaron’s a great storyteller, of course, and it’s so interesting to watch him talk about work outside of the context itself. He seems to bloom - effusive, charming, and warm - before you. 

When you look at him, it’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time. 

“...Preventing loss of life is always rewarding, and our team is a family.” 

Laurie is clearly enamored, completely drawn into his gentle description of your very-stressful and often-gritty line of work. “It’s so lovely you have so much fondness for each other. I imagine it makes everything much easier.” 

He nods, and glances at you. “It does.” 

Your phone buzzes on the table, and you excuse yourself with a hand on each of their shoulders. 

“Dean, you bastard!” You answer. Hotch’s huff of laughter tells you he overheard it, but he picks up right where he left off with Laurie. 

As you step out onto the banquet hall balcony, almost feel bad leaving him to his own devices, but then you remember all the times he’s been left alone with serial killers and you feel much better. 

“Hey babe! Are you surviving? Are you alone? Tell me everything.” 

You laugh into the phone. “I’m doing alright. Hotch actually offered to come with me. I just stepped out, but he’s in there holding his own well enough.”

“Oh my god. When I said that I didn’t actually think you’d do it!”

“What do you mean?” You look up and out over the property, and the views are simply breathtaking. The moonlight falling across the Virginia landscape almost makes the world look like it’s holding its breath. 

What it’s waiting for... you’re not sure. 

“When I said bring your hot boss to the wedding I was joking. You didn’t ask him, did you?”

You let out a snort and it almost disrupts the peace of the evening. “Of course not. He offered.”

“I have never met a pair of people so fucking stupid in all my life.” 

“You’ve never met Hotch, idiot.” 

“Don’t have to,” Dean says. “I know you are you’re dumb enough for the both of you.” 

+++

When the dancing starts, you’re understandably resistant. The playlist is a playful mix of contemporary and classic music, and you can’t help but laugh when Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours) starts to play. 

Aaron stands and offers you his hand. You take his hand without thinking, belatedly realizing his intentions. 

“Hotch, you can’t be serious.” You stop dead in your tracks, but his grip on your fingers stays firm as he looks back at you with a look of humorous disbelief on his face. 

“When have you ever known me to be otherwise?” He tugs you forward, and you fall into his arms with a huff. “Humor me. Just one and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.” 

You glare at him, dubious. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because I’m lying.” 

And at the end of the day, you can’t refuse him anything - especially when he smiles at you like that. 

He’s an excellent dancer. Your grip on his shoulder slowly loosens as you grow more comfortable, trusting him to lead you around the dance floor. He holds you tight, his movement playful in a way that’s almost foreign to you. 

You’ve seen him dance exactly once, at Haley’s 39th birthday party, the summer before she died. 

You catch sight of Austin and Madeline on the other side of the dance floor and avert your gaze when you find Austin looking back at you. 

“Hey.” Aaron’s voice is low, almost a laugh.

Your eyes snap to Aaron’s. “What?”

“Relax.” 

“You’re one to talk,” you scoff. 

He rolls his eyes and throws you out by one arm, spinning you so your back is to his chest. “I’m plenty relaxed. You are tense.” 

The feeling of his heartbeat against your back ruins your resolve and you relent. “It just feels weird.”

“What does?” He spins you back out and pulls you close. You try not to be too distracted by the proximity of his face to yours when you land back against his chest, you hand resting over his heart.  

“I just -” you push through your reluctance and admit, “I don’t love him in that way anymore, but it’s super weird to even think that I could have ever thought he was it for me. And now he’s with someone he loves and both of our lives just...kept going after we split, you know?” You shake your head, scattering your thoughts. 

He nods. “I do.”

You believe him. The very concept of his heartbreak with Haley - the separation, the anger, the divorce, her death, the love - is overwhelming. You know he understands. 

The silence that lapses between you is comfortable. 

Yeah, I've done a lot of foolish things That I really didn't mean I could be a broken man Here I am, baby...

When he turns you under his arm, you laugh until you can’t breathe. There’s a smile on his face, too, and there’s something warm and inexplicable about it. You turn the tables on him, turning him under your arm and pulling him back to you.

The song changes to something slower and, true to his word, Aaron keeps you out on the dance floor. You’re exhausted all of a sudden, and your eyes close as you rest your head against his shoulder. 

“Thank you for being here with me.” 

You’re only sure you spoke aloud when Aaron replies, “Of course.”

+++

Your feet ache when you finally call it quits and head upstairs to your room for the night. Aaron’s suit jacket had long since left him, leaving him rolled sleeves and a loose tie with his top two buttons undone. It traveled from the back of his chair to where it now rests, slung over his arm.

You look over your shoulder as you slip your shoes off. “You look positively rumpled, Agent Hotchner.” 

He lets out a laugh, and it makes your breath catch. His laugh always takes you by surprise; it’s much brighter and higher than his speaking register, and frankly, adorable. “It’s past my bedtime.”

“You don’t have a bedtime.” And it was true - you could count on one hand the amount of times you’d known him to actually sleep, especially on a case. You could neither confirm nor deny that he even needed it to function prior to this weekend. 

The thought makes your cheeks a little warm, and you turn away from him, setting aside your pajamas and packing the rest of your items. 

There’s a little chuckle behind you before the bathroom door closes and the shower starts up. 

When Aaron leaves the bathroom, his hair wet and pajamas on, you’re asleep. Curled up on top of the covers, out like a light. 

He flips all the switches, leaving the room in darkness. Creeping to your side of the bed, he reaches over and pulls the covers down, gingerly shuffling your legs underneath, followed by your torso. You stir a little, and catch his hand as he moves to tuck your hands under the covers. 

His eyes close, just for a moment, before slipping his hand out of yours. He’s already dreading going back to his empty apartment tomorrow afternoon. 

That feeling is only amplified when you curl up against his chest as soon as he’s settled under the covers, your leg hooked over his. 

+++

You wake up warm again, and snuggle into the body beside you. Arms tighten around you, and you remember where you are and who you’re with. Unlike yesterday, you can’t pretend to be asleep - when you look up, Hotch is awake, brown eyes looking down at you. 

“Good morning,” he says. 

You tuck your face back into his chest. “I’m sorry - I’m clingy when I sleep.” 

His laugh sings over the crown of your head. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.” 

Don't read into that. 

I’m going to. 

Don’t. 

Fuck. 

“What time is it?” You crane your neck and look at the clock on his bedside table, but you can’t quite see with his arm in the way. 

“Just before nine. We have an hour before checkout. Want to get packed, grab some breakfast, and head out? I’ll drive.”

“You drove here.” You shove at him and sit up. 

He shrugs and you take a moment to admire the tousled, floppy state of his hair. “I like driving.” 

“I won’t argue with that.” 

You sigh, stretch, stand and start rolling. You brush your teeth (twice) and put your clothes back into your suitcase, zipping it up without much trouble. He, of course, takes it off your hands right away and brings the bags to the car while you take care of checkout. 

He meets you outside, sunglasses on, and the sun hits his hair. You can see all the nuances in the black - the touch of silver, the dark browns and reds. They all seem to make a halo around him in the sunshine. “Ready?”

You snap back to attention and give him a wide smile. “Yes, sir!” 

Breakfast is an eventful affair. As soon as you sit down, you get a call from Penelope. 

“Hey, Pen, what’s up?” You look across the table at Hotch with amusement in your eyes, and he smiles, still digging into his eggs benedict like a starving man. 

“Tell me everything.”

“Oh, well we’re just at breakfast, almost on our way back. My laptop is in the car, can I take a look at that for you when I get home?” 

Not now, Penelope, I’ll call you when I’m home. 

She hums, following right away. “You better give me every single detail as soon as you step through the door or I swear I’ll riot.”

With a laugh, you reply, “Of course. You know, it might be easier if you just stop by - I’ll text you when I get home and we can do dinner or something.” You push your food around your plate, trying to ignore the fact that the only person you actually want to have dinner with is right across from you.

“Perfect. Yeah, just text me when you get home babycakes. Can’t wait!” She hangs up promptly, and your eyebrows raise for a half second. 

You put your phone away and shake your head. “She’s very predictable.” 

He nods, looking at you from under his brows. “Indeed.” 

You both continue to dig into your food, not realizing how hungry you are from all your antics the night before. His phone rings next, and it’s Jack. 

“Hey bud!” 

There’s nothing better than the way his voice transforms when he speaks to his son. You hear your name and return your attention to his conversation. 

“...we’re at a wedding this weekend, remember? We got to go to a big party last night, and we’re driving home today… Yeah,” he looks at you, “we did have a lot of fun… I’m so glad you had a good time with Aunt Jess and the Brooks cousins this weekend… You got to go ice fishing? That’s so exciting! Did Grandpa take you?... Awesome, bud… Sounds good, I’ll call you when I get home, okay?... I love you too.”

When he puts his phone away, you ask, “How’s he doing?”

“It’ll be a fight to get him home, that’s for sure.” 

You take another bite of your food. “How are things with Haley’s family? Any better?”

“Not at all. I’m not sure there’s much I can do, at this point. Jess does what she can, but her dad is… not a fan of mine.” There’s a kind of sadness in his eyes, and you almost regret asking.

“I know you know this, but none of this is your fault.” You look into him and hope he can see the sincerity in your eyes, hear it in your voice. 

He thinks for a moment, and you’re almost nervous he’s going to disagree (it’s happened before), but he just meets your eyes and says, “Thank you.”

+++

Hotch lets you pick the music on the way home, and doesn’t say a word when you sing along (sometimes good, sometimes bad). He does occasionally smile a little secret smile to himself, which makes your heart skip around in your chest. 

At a certain point, you turn the music off and sit back in your seat. 

As usual, Aaron knows you’re going to say something long before you say it. “Yes?” 

“I know I keep saying this, but thank you for coming with me this weekend.” Your body shifts toward him, and you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his profile. 

“You’re welcome.” He glances at you before looking back at the road. “Thank you for trusting me not to embarrass you in front of people you haven’t seen in almost ten years.” 

You smile a kind of lopsided sort of smile. “You could never embarrass me.”

He frowns playfully. “That’s not true.” 

“You are exceedingly upstanding, and you just got your hair cut, so the odds are in my favor.” 

“Hey!” He self-consciously runs a hand over the back of his hair. You reach over to shove at his shoulder and you’re rewarded with a laugh. 

“I’m kidding! I like it long.” You look over fondly at him. “It was longer when I first met you, remember?” You’re not sure why you continue, but you do nevertheless. “You started keeping it shorter after the div - well, after.” 

He quirks his brow, the corners of his lips upturned just the smallest amount. “Nobody ever accused you of being unobservant.” 

You grin widely at him and turn the radio back on. 

+++

You’ve never been more disappointed to see your own driveway in your whole life. Hotch pulls in and turns the ignition off, and you sit in silence for a minute. 

There’s so much to think about, and most of it is at least a little uncomfortable. Of course you’re in love with him and he’s your favorite person (and that’s bad enough), but that is even harder to stomach now that you have to go back into the real world. 

It’s easy to pretend that it was real, that it wasn’t just for show to make you feel less awful about the direction of your love life. If anything, now that you’re home, you feel even worse. 

The only person you want is seemingly the only person you can’t have. There’s something so unattainable about Hotch. You’re not sure if it’s his stern exterior or his age or his role, or if it has more to do with how devastatingly handsome he is, but it’s something. 

Aaron wishes he could do anything else, than leave you here at home. Nevertheless, he sighs and gets out of the car. You follow him around back, though you’re not really sure why - he takes your suitcase and insists on carrying it all the way to the door. 

You stand there, fumbling with your keys, feeling more and more like a character in a romantic comedy with every passing second. Aaron sets your suitcase on the ground and covers your hands with his. You look up at him, and he leans toward you, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to your cheek. 

“Thank you for inviting me.” 

All you can do is nod, with a tight, closed-mouth smile. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says

“Bye, Hotch,” you call to him as he trots back to the car. “Thanks again.” 

He turns toward you, puts his sunglasses on, opens the door, and says, “Anytime.” 

You wave with the tips of your fingers and slide into your house. Your back to do the door, you slide down to the floor and cover your face with your hands. 

Fuck. 

tagged: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @saintd0lce @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @vintagecaptainspidey​ @micaiahmoonheart​ @ogmilkis @thatreallyis-americas-ass​ @marvels-agents100​ @newtslatte​ @risenfox ​@mrs-dr-reid​ @captain-christopher-pike​ @joemazzello-imagines​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @sebbybaby0​ @pan-pride-12​ @hotchlinebling​ @lee-rin-ah ​@sunshine-em​ @word-scribbless ​@jdougl-love​ @sageellsworth05​ @emmice9 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky​ @bauslut @yourlovelynewsbian @sparklingkeylimepie @aili28 @kingandrear @reader4027 @spnobsessedmemes @rogers-mouth @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @phoenixfyre374 @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandi-ass-prentiss @songbird400 @dontkissthewriter @ellyhotchner @a-dorky-book-keeper @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @andreasworlsboring101 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @zizzlekwum @lcvischmitt

[serpentstole]

I’m pretty sure Lady Eve is reaching out to work with me. Do you have any tips about working with her? Like, any offerings or the like?

- Lia

My relationship with Eve is new, but I'll try to answer this question as best I can regardless.

To Start!

If you haven't already (as I've no idea about your experience level or skill set) you may want to gain more practice in your divination method of choice, or learn one. I approached Eve officially while practicing tarot, and becomes of how that went I've come to associate her a good deal with the Queen of Swords and Queen of Pentacles, as both featured very prominently in that early divination. I've also used the Empress card as a makeshift idol for her before as I've yet to set up a formal shrine/altar. I enjoy how laden with imagery and associations tarot can be when using it for communicating with my deities/spirits, but if you have an alternative method you prefer, there isn't really a wrong choice. I once did a series of questions with Lucifer that involved using Paradise Lost for stichomancy, and I still got some pretty clear answers concerning things like what to do with offerings when it came time to dispose of them.

I bring this up since what works for me might not work for you! While many gods, famous major spirits, and saints popular in folk magic have common associations, those with less written about them or less historical veneration in a magical practice can be a bit trickier to narrow down and a little less consistent. For example, silver is very popular among Satanists/Luciferians when building an altar (perhaps because of its nickname "the devil's metal") but I find warm gold tones far more appropriate to my own practice. However...

Offerings!

For some broad ones, I of course associate Eve with fruit, and if you are working with her in a sense that celebrates her "temptation" or her partaking in the Forbidden Fruit, there are few better ways to celebrate that than with fruit offerings (in my opinion at least). Apples are an obvious choice, though there's enough debate over the true identity of the fruit (if it has a mundane equivalent) that you could pick one you favour, feel more drawn to, that's in season, etc. Grapes, figs, and pomegranates are my own favourite alternatives that some have made a case for. Even mushrooms have appeared in historical depictions of Eden, specifically amanita muscaria, which excites me greatly as someone interested in fly agaric's esoteric properties and potential as a plant ally. However, I would never encourage you to handle any plant you're uncomfortable with... or worse, unfamiliar with. For me, as someone with an intense interest in veneficium and the plants associated with it, the appeal is doubled. My Dionysian side also makes the pomegranate and fig appealing, which are much easier to source and physically handle.

I also tend to associate her with flowers, and I think flowers from a tree that bears fruit would be especially nice. And by that logic, woods that come from those trees could be very appealing for any tools or beads you might need. If you enjoy planetary magic, you could mull over what celestial bodies best suit her and use that to help you pick herbs. This is admittedly something I'm still figuring out, as I've found her associations don't come as quickly to me as others have. I suspect it'll come easier with time, and the role she takes in your life will likely have an impact on what planetary nature you associate with her.

Things to Consider!

The divination I did when approaching Eve included questions regarding the role she was going to take in my practice. If you haven't already, you might want to try do the same. We're admittedly in a rather opposite situation: I'm mostly pretty sure that I approached Eve, rather than having her show an interest in me in any way, while you're feeling an obvious draw. I was shown a lot of indications that it would be one of clear communication, unbiased judgement, relief from my fears and anxieties, and a relationship that would provide warmth and support my future success. This is delightful to me since I am working with other deities/spirits that have rather grueling lessons in mind for me, so having a reassuring presence in the form of a very even and maternal spirit was welcome.

If you're being approached for a specific kind of work, meanwhile, she might have something magically or personally in mind for you that you'll want to try and determine. If this is Eve as a Witchmother, for example, the temperament and intentions she shows you might be a little less gentle than what she's shown me so far. Spirits and deities can be complex and have different facets of themselves they show at different times, so it would not shock me to learn that the Eve others know is far more ambitiously minded, pushing for forward momentum, and as happy to teach maleficium as she would be to answer prayers for protection or healing.

To Conclude!

While all of the above is a mix of my own experiences and what I've read, what's important as you begin this new relationship is figuring out some line of communication with Eve... or any other spirit or deity that might come knocking. It definitely gets easier with practice, I promise. Two years ago I would definitely be the one asking this question rather than having any answers to give. Best of luck!

[the-young-and-forgotten]

Chapter 1 - The Arrival

| masterlist |

A/N: this is set at the start of the marauders 6th year

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a clap of thunder and a single flash of lightning, four boys fell directly from the sun, slamming onto the concrete ground beneath them. 

As their backs hit the pavement, their mind whirled through memories that weren’t their own. A castle up on a rocky cliff, rooms full of magical equipment, a forest with danger at every turn and a fiery redheaded girl that made James blush.

Groaning, they all picked themselves up, dusting their clothes off.  Peter shielded his eyes and looked up at the sun, grumbling “Why did they have to go and drop us from the fucking sky?” Remus opened his mouth to respond but something hot and soft started falling from the clouds. 

James held out his palm to the sky and watched as a burning piece of ash floated down onto his open palm. He studied it, visibly confused. “The sky is.. raining fire?”  “Nah mate” Sirius said with his arms outstretched, head tilted towards the sky “The worlds shuddering at the weight of our power” At that, the other boys started to spin in the fiery rain, laughing as they caught the embers on the tip of their tongues. 

Unbeknownst to them, an old man had heard their laughter and was walking up to them, smiling softly. “So you must be the fallen gods” he stated bluntly, capturing their attention. A flash of panic flitted across the boys’ faces as they searched for an excuse. “Oh no,” James said quickly, leaning against Remus’ shoulder. The boy in question had just started picking the flowers out of his hair, which was not helping to sell their lie. “We are just four normal boys casually dancing in the burning rain.” The man laughed, looking at them with a twinkle in his eye. “I do not think I am mistaken, Hecate told me you would be coming soon.” Peter scoffed, “Psh Hecate. You should never trust the goddess of…..” He paused at this, looking at James in wonder who was waving his arms around haphazardly. Realising his mistake, he tried his best to backtrack.  “Wait I mean, who's Hecate? She sounds dumb.” 

Right at that moment, one too many ashes had landed on Sirius’ skin, activating his flames.  With a big flash, he turned into a humanoid fire. The flames gradually subdued, leaving a sooty boy who looked at his hands in shock before turning his gaze to blood brothers, eyes wide. “That wasn’t supposed to happen..”  James’ shoulders slumped, running a hand down his face as Peter ducked down to hide his grin. Remus finally looked up from picking out the flowers from his hair that now lay in a pile around his feet. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at him. “That uh.. That doesn’t happen often...” he explained, shaking his head at what a mess they all were. 

“Would you like to take a walk?” Dumbledore inquired. They slouch after him, visibly relieved that he didn’t question their insanity further.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Dumbledore spoke up. “Are you boys familiar with… the tale of the Children of Hecate? It’s an old one.” Sirius laughed harshly at this “dude, we are a thousand years old we know all sorts of tales you couldn’t even dream up.” “You never answered my question young god.” “No… we aren’t” Dumbledore smiled, pulling out his wand. “I thought not.” He waved about his wand and silver mist broke out of the end, morphing into people, animating the story being told.

“A long time ago, there was a woman.  Cast out by the gods from helping out a paranoid mother, she, like you today, fell from the sky in a blaze of burning rain. Filled with hate and grief, she vowed to anger the gods in any way possible. For a hundred years she wandered this earth aimlessly, occasionally accompanied by Thanatos who came to reap the mortal souls. One day, she stumbled across seven mortals, cowering at the feet of Death, begging for life. Now, this woman had traveled among us, watching all our struggles and misery. Listening to our heartbreak and treachery. She took pity on these mortals and stepping from the shadows for the first time in a century, she addressed the seven. Pushing past Thanatos, she knelt to their level and placed a hand on the cheek of the child in front of her. Smiling kindly, she knew what to do to help them and fulfill her vow.  Reaching inside of her core, she drew out seven silver wisps. Weaving it around the mortals in front of her. “Upon you I bestow the power of the gods,” she whispered, transforming into her godly form. “Follow the path this shows you and life will come.” As the mortals scampered away, hands smoking and eyes dancing, Thanatos turned to her furious. From then on, Hecate was forced to spend the rest of her immortality guiding demigods, gods and mortals along the three crossroads. The mortals she blessed, though some may say cursed, used the powers how their minds begged them too, some for good, some for evil. But the magic went on, passed from generation to generation, family to family and will do so forever. Among all these powerful witches and wizards, as we call ourselves, were two men and two women. Born with magic unrivalled by anyone but Hecate herself.  They drew together and formed a school now known as ‘Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’.  From then onwards, magical folk have been taught, honing their abilities to perfection. Carrying out the vow Hecate made many eons ago.” 

The boys were speechless. Remus pointed to Dumbledore then his wand and back again. “So you’re…” “Yes” Dumbldore answered, turning towards them and giving a short little bow, “I am a descendant of Hecate.” “And you want us at this school of yours?” “With Hecate's blessing, yes.” 

Peter cuts ahead of his friends, raising his hand. “Interjection! How the hell are we supposed to get magic powers?”  Dumbledore smiles at him and holds his hand. “If you four trust me, I will take you to where everything will be revealed.” The godlings look at each other before holding onto the man in question, watching as he whispers something, waving his wand around.

The boys feel a tug on their abdomen and gasped as the world around them blurs, like they are on a moving train. They felt themselves morph, as if they were travelling through time. Their very fibre being pulled and torn. Before long, the scenery around them started to solidify, changing into a strange room with silver instruments and hundreds of portraits everywhere. “What the FUCK was that.” Sirius shouted from a pile of broken items he had staggered into, being vulgar as always.  Dumbledore merely dusted himself off and fixed his robe before moving behind the desk. “That, dear boy, was a form of magical travel called apparition.”  Peter lay on the floor, gasping for breath. “I think I prefer falling from the sky.”  “And I prefer lying on a couch throwing grapes at the nymphs.” James groaned, stretching out his back.

“So magical powers?” Remus asked, walking up to Dumbledore's desk as his friends gazed at him in shock, wondering how he could be fine after that supposed ‘hell’ they just went through. “Ah yes!” Dumbledore clapped his hands together, reaching into a drawer just behind his desk. Out of the drawer he pulled four glasses filled to the brim with grey smoke.  “Within these glasses contain the exact wisps Hecate used to infuse those seven mortals with magic. Take this and it shall do the same.” “I’ll drink to that.” Says Sirius, pushing past Remus and picking up a glass. 

In one go he downs it, smiling devilishly. “See men? All fi-” Suddenly, Sirius’ face freezes in a half smile as his hands fly up to throat. He falls to his knees, coughing horribly, eyes glowing silver. His whole body twitching uncontrollably.  As quickly as it started, it was over. He lay there gasping, trying to formulate a sentence. “That was delicious…” he wheezed “110% recommend you give it a go.”

After seeing what happened to Sirius, the other boys were more hesitant to take even a sip.  But one encouraging smile from Dumbledore made them drink it, going through the same process as their blood brother. 

When they had finally recovered from the side effects of the potion, Dumbledore was reading through a small scroll covered in glyphs. “I just need to ask your four a question in order to secure your stay here at Hogwarts. Now this may feel extremely unnatural, since I am jogging memories that don’t actually exist.” 

He looked up from the paper, his eyes holding that twinkle they had seen before.  “Boys, what house were you sorted into six years ago?” The godlings felt their soul pulse for a second and their mouths fell open of its own accord.  A movie tape started running through their mind, twisted and slightly burning. Back and forth it ran, so fast everything was a blur of colours.  Finally, it landed on a vision of their younger selves sitting on a stool in front of hundreds as a hat screamed out something. The boys on the stools were faceless and the edges of their bodies were blurred, as if someone had edited them into a scene. They felt something invisible reach towards the memory and rip it out of the tape, forming it into words. Speaking together, they all said “Gryffindor.” 

Their souls pulsed once more, and they were brought back to reality, grabbing their heads and groaning. “I swear if we have to go through that everytime we remember some pointless memory-” Sirius spat, grabbing at his hair like he was trying to rip the headache out. “No, do not worry, Sirius. This should be the last time it will happen. You will feel dizzy and weird when experiencing a memory though, since they were forcibly planted into your mind.” 

“That reminds me,” Remus interrupted, wincing as he stood up “How come we aren’t going dizzy from the sight of you? Something tells me we should know you even though we don’t .”  Dumbledore laughed “My, aren’t you inquisitive?”  “That's Remus for you.” said Peter smiling fondly at the boy in question. “Has to know everything about a subject the moment he finds out about it.”  Remus made a face at him before turning back to Dumbledore, eyes hopeful.  Dumbledore smiled kindly at him and continued. “That’s because I personally asked the gods not to include me in your implanted memories. I would prefer to get to know you as the boys you are now. Not what fake scenarios portray you as.”

The godlings look at each other, questions of trust in their eyes.  Taking the first leap of faith, James extended his hand for Dumbledore to shake. “You have left a good impression on us sir. You have earned our trust.” Delighted, Dumbledore shook his hand, once again smiling kindly at them all. “Now, I must show you to your dormitories…”

“No need Sir.” Sirius said, finally standing up. “We can get there just fine.”  They turned to leave, heading for the office door. Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow at their departing figures. “You may get lost” 

James stopped by the door just as the others went through, chuckling.  Turning around he winked at Dumbledore.  “That’s the thing about us chaos gods.” He said, grinning mischievously.  “We have impeccable navigational skills.”

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