#I’m going nutty with it

[wazzappp]

Joining @cicada-candy in fish land. I drew these MONTHS ago while in a frenzy with @goldendaydna feeding the fire I just didn’t share them cause. Shy. THAT IS NO LONGER AN ISSUE.

Anyway, like any of my AUs it has l o r e. It’s basically a combo of childhood friends and mermaid bs lol.

Yes i made Robbie a killer whale cause they’re based what of it (I might change his design just a smidgen if I decide to draw more of this which I might).

ANYWAY Robbie is doing pretty good as a kid. Mom and dad are still around but that uhhhhhh doesent stay that way for long. They both die is born via freak boat accident shortly after Gabe is born. He has to spend a lot of time hunting stuff which frankly gets him in quite a bit of trouble with quite a few injuries (I’m a sucker for the ‘patching up the others wounds’ trope fight me)

Robbie’s hatred of boats leads to a dead zone in that area of the ocean where he stays. Lisa gets a research job where she can stay on a houseboat in this area because for SOME REASON her boat is the only one that doesn’t get torn apart (some people think she’s a mermaid. She tells this to Robbie and he thinks it’s HILARIOUS)

This was incoherent. Enjoy.

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

Where’s a supercut of Sousuke eating when i need it? He’s so funny!

And some other versions and stills:

[gumnut-logic]

::is all crafty and arty despite three migraines in three days and surgery five days ago::

::holds crochet hook above head in defiance:: You may take my brain, but you will never take my creativity!

::falls on face::

[kwop-kilawtley]

puking sliding down the walls WHY did I write this. I’m evil for this!

if you’re living for this angst go read my fic. Lmao We are 55k words in and Jacob x Bella are still not even together but yearning and throwing up over each other!

[dukeofdelirium]

my tears ricochet by Taylor Swift is soooooo lawlight coded, specifically L @ Light

“I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace. And you’re the hero flying around, saving face. And if I’m dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed. Look at how my tears ricochet.”

“You know I didn’t want to have to haunt you. But what a ghostly scene. You wear the same jewels that I gave you as you bury me. And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want just not home. And you can aim for my heart, go for blood. But you would still miss me in your bones.”

“You had to kill me but it killed you just the same. Cursing my name, wishing I stayed. You turned into your worst fears. And you’re tossing out blame, drunk on this pain. Crossing out the good years. And you’re cursing my name, wishing I stayed. Look at how my tears ricochet.”

[anipwrites]

I wanna get into Zelda stuff but idk where to start, is Ocarina of Time a good place to do that?

[r0semultiverse]

I need to set up a kofi account too & tipping for posts. There’s some near future stuff going on where any help would be greatly appreciated.

[theradicalace]

if i ever get the bright idea to draw TRIPP PANTS again, i fully expect one of y’all to come clock me over the head with a heavy object

[loplainlointhemorning]

I say this every five days but when someone told me I was psychotic for believing I was Kurt’s reincarnation; ur just jealous bc ur not Kurt’s reincarnation. like I’m sorry but u are purely jealous bc ur not what I am, and what I am sucks anyways

[plantsandpies]

Bit of a rant but I’m not seeing my therapist soon and it’s bothering me, so gonna do it anyway.

So I realized that I don’t really like one of my friends. I get along with many people in my life despite my horrible social anxiety (part of the reason I only have a few close friends (this one being one of them)). However I only have like six close ones (which is a lot but I’m in theatre and people usually have more). I really like most of them and like talking to them. I like hanging out with them and truly do care about them, this friend too. I love my best friend more than anything and she introduced me to my current friend group because they’re in the same class and have been for years now. This is important for my later part of the rant.

One of these friends I used to really like, she was obviously insecure (which is also important to this post) but she’s pretty nice and smart and used to be fun to talk to.

Until we started working at the same place. We worked at an afterschool daycare and I worked everyday while she only worked three days a week.

At first it was fine. But then one day one of the kids started telling her that she had an f and worked it up to a d and now it was an a. She was really proud of it and then my friend went on a rant about how people who get f’s don’t try and how they’re lazy in front of her.

At this point it was just this child (who’s like 12) and her younger sister (who’s in first grade), plus all of the workers (four total including me and her who are all high school students) at the time and our manager who’s in college. One of these girls admitted she had an f in math (which I’m sure we can all agree is understandable). But even with me trying to argue with her gently and get her to stop she went on about it. She said it didn’t apply to the kid but didn’t about our coworker who looked embarrassed and then went to the bathroom.

This kid looked at us and quietly talked about how crazy that was and we (I know we shouldn’t have) tried to soften her behavior because she’s supposed to be in charge, but honestly we were all shocked.

After this I noticed more. She didn’t talk to kids about their behavior or really do anything to help clean up. She would be on her phone all of the time (which we did during snack time or if there wasn’t a lot of kids and one of us was watching them, but she was on it ALL of the time). She’d bring her ap chem book to study during outside play time. She brought stuff to make photo cards for a concert of hers instead of doing stuff to watch the kids and (which I guess could be fun for them) enlisted some of the interested kids to cut paper for her. This bothers me because she brought to focus on something else other than her job. Sometimes I bring books, but those are in case. I’m not actively reading and I almost never actually did anything with them. It was mainly for after we closed cause I don’t drive and had to be picked up.

I’d make jokes about the kids and talk about my day and be frustrated with how kids act (because one of them was ridiculous). But she’d say in an annoyed tone, “I have to see the children today”.

She’d only help clean if everyone else was (and I mean everyone). We had to clean the toys before we could leave for the end of the year and instead of helping clean all of the toys, she’d clean the tables. When she did this I was annoyed, because as someone who cleaned the tables, I knew it didn’t take too long. It took her the entire time we cleaned every toy we had for her to finish. What the hell was she doing? You spray and wipe and the you’re done.

We have these of end of high school projects cause we’re both in special programs. She’s learning programming for hers and I asked how she’s going to have the time to do it all since she’s working the summer camps and she’s working for six hours (I’m not because I realized I needed to focus on next year as well as fixing my mental health (which for an update on that, I’ve started doing things I like again instead of rotting!). She said that she’d just ask for three hours instead and it wasn’t like they could say no cause they needed all the help they could get.

Excuse me? They need all the help they can get? I understand that you have other things to do, but you volunteered for this. You didn’t have to do it. You have committed to watching children, watching young children and being responsible for their well being and you want to ditch? Like, that just rubs me the wrong way and honestly really soured my opinion of her. Not that they would’ve really benefited anyway since, at least from what I’ve seen when I worked with her, she really doesn’t do anything.

She also worked the spring camp, again I didn’t because I understand that I need breaks and that I put myself under pressure and need to take breaks from that. At that spring camp, she wore a revealing crop top. Now I want it to be known I wish women could dress how they want and generally think dress codes are stupid. But when at work with children, I think you should have a little bit of modesty in what you wear. At least sleeves and a bra. Also working at the regular stuff has a dress code too. Did she not ask? Did she think that it’s different? Did she think she could just get away with it? Is she really that clueless?

The reason she keeps working? She wants more albums of her favorite artists. That’s fine, spend your money on whatever. But find a job where you can actually goof off and dress how you want. Don’t get one where you’re responsible for someone else’s life, especially a child’s.

Honestly the main reason I think that we clash in work settings is because she wealthier than I am. One of her parents is a lawyer and the other one is another upper class job. She’s doing this for photo cards and albums, I’m doing this for work experience and so I have some money for college. She didn’t realize my parents couldn’t help me pay for college and just assumed everyone’s parent did. When I asked if she didn’t realize some people’s parents can’t, she said she did and that it was sad. Then why would you assume people are making money to buy things for fun. Look where you are going to school and what the economy is like! You were in macroeconomics, use that! Her mom, despite having to work every morning, makes her kids lunch. The rest of the friend group has to make their own or pack their own leftovers. And you know what? She's the only one that complains. She once complained her mother didn't pack enough goldfish for her and complained. I'm honestly wondering what the hell goes through her head.

Earlier I said that she was insecure and that it was important. It is because she developed this thing where she puts her selfworth in her grades and appearance. She puts that on other people too. Which is clear from the grade rant she had. I noticed that she’d mess with her hair a lot and dress nicer than the rest of us, and didn’t mind it. But with the whole grade thing and her insecurities pushing that, I’m wondering how she thinks of us. How she thinks of me. I’ve only recently pulled myself out of a depression with the help and meds and my family. I have had so much trouble taking care of myself and even without that don’t really care about how other people, who I don’t know, perceive me. I can go to school in sweats with crazy Alice in wonderland patterns and be fine. I had a lot of trouble in chemistry and math last year (and this year for math) and have talked about it. Has she thought less of me as a person or assumed I had negative traits because of how I dressed or my troubles with chem and math? If she has I don’t know if I want to be around someone who thinks less of me because of my performance in stem based studies or my lack of wearing nicer clothes than a tee-shirt and jeans or leggings.

For my birthday this year (which was earlier than now) she was sick and I said I could move it if she really wasn’t feeling well. However, she asked me to move it because she wanted to be better for a visit with a different friend the day after my party. I was okay with moving it if she was sick, because she was my friend. But moving it because she wanted to hang out with another friend instead of coming to my birthday party? What the hell? I said no and was honestly worried that she wouldn’t come. She did. I don’t know if she saw her other friend or not.

Despite all of this, her behavior towards work, me and how she views herself and possibly other people, I can never bring this up to her.

I don’t want to cause an argument or seem petty for holding on to something like my birthday party from months ago. Plus, I met my friends through my best friend since fifth grade. Many of my friends other than me and my best friend went to the same elementary school or were friends when they were younger. Plus they were in the same class for three years in a block period, so they were with each other more than I was with them. My best friend is leaving for college, and despite me hanging out with them outside of school and texting and being the best friend I can, I’m not sure if I stop being friends with her if I loose all my friends. I don’t want her to loose her friends either if they decide to hang out with me instead and I don’t want my other friends to have to choose. As much as I love and care for my friends, I don’t know how strong that bond is without my best friend or our shared lunches together (we all have half days next year and won’t be having lunch at the school). I don’t want to loose my friends over an argument with her. I don’t like how she treats work or what she prioritizes, but she’s still fun to hang out with when she isn’t like that.

As for the other people I get along with, I get along with them, but we aren’t friends. They’re in my class or from theater so it’s only during a show or up to one.

As stupid as it sounds, I’m going to hang onto this until we either drift apart or the straw breaks because I can’t stand loosing my other friends and even if she pisses me off, her presence in my life as well.

Sorry for any spelling mistakes, this really was a rant and just me typing as I went.

[aspiringhorrorauthor]

Met the owner of a local stray rescue today. Really hope I didn’t put her off from letting me adopt a kitty by being just way, way, WAY into my job

[softpanic]

my nails have grown impossibly long (exaggeration) and I can’t find my nail clippers anywhere and I’m going craszeeeeee

[lexalovesbooks]

Uhgfhgfhhh my schools dining hall switched up their vendors which means it’s all new food caterers this year which means all the places I’ve been eating at for the past three years are gone! And I have to learn new menus and decide what I’ll like from them which has been stressing me out so much I’ve just been going to Starbucks (the one constant) for like half my meals I don’t even like Starbucks that much!!!

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

A Weekend at the Weasley's

| George Weasley x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you and george become best friends after a poorly timed prank. george has been pestering you for weeks to stay with him at the Burrow for a weekend over the holidays, and you finally cave.

cw: smut (MDNI 18+), dead parents, pining, Percy being a weirdo, quidditch injury and bruising, george still has two ears and a twin, lots of dirty talk and petnames, equal parts fluff and smut

an: george and reader are over eighteen in this fic. timeline is def wrong. but who caaaaaaares bc it's not me!

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“C’mon, feathers,” George begged, shifting from his place on the couch to kneeling on the floor in front of you. “I promise you’ll enjoy yourself.”

“George, I don’t—”

“Would I ever put you in harm’s way?”

You scoffed. “Well, there was the time you lit my potions homework on fire, and the time you transfigured my chocolate frog into an actual frog. Or the time you and Fred—”

“Besides that!” He huffed, resting his chin on your knees, blinking up at you with round eyes. “Pleeeeaaasssseee, y/n? Come to the Burrow with me.”

You sighed, ignoring the way the Gryffindor common room fireplace made his brown eyes almost golden, freshly brewed espresso with nutty foam. You couldn’t deny George was handsome, most girls at Hogwarts fawned over him or his twin, or both. But George was your friend, as you often repeated to yourself in moments like these, when that mischievous smirk softened to a smile just for you.

“Bloody hell. Fine!” You shoved him off of you to escape his puppy-eyed trap.

“Yes!” He whooped, jumping to his feet. “It’s about time my mum meets my best girl—shit!”

You chucked your Potions books at his head. “Not your girl,” you huffed.

“Says you,” he teased, returning the book to you before flopping back down on the red couch, legs draped across your lap.

“Read the damn pages, Weasley.”

You tried to reimmerse yourself in your studies, but can’t seem to fall back into the reading, losing track of each sentence before it’s finished. George had been pestering you for weeks to spend a portion of the upcoming holiday break with him at the Weasley household, and up until now, you’d successfully resisted. But then he found out your grandparents were going on a trip to Spain for two weeks and became unbearable.

When George set his mind to something, he was stubborn as an ox.

And, despite yourself, you wanted to spend a few more days with him. You loved the Weasley siblings you’d met at school, and heard countless tales of Molly Weasley’s unbelievable Sunday roasts. It couldn’t be that bad, could it?

You were reserved by a nature, a studious and creative Ravenclaw from a muggle household. All things that stood at odds with one, ginger-haired George Weasley. But when a prank in fourth year set for Professor Snape backfired on you, his top student, and ruined your robes, the twins felt so awful they’d taken you to the Three Broomsticks for what George dubbed a “Butterbeer of Forgiveness”.

An unexpected friendship bloomed, and you’d been close with the twin’s ever since, George in particular. You loved Fred, and had countless memories with him, but you and George connected on a deeper level. From the moment you’d met, it was as if you’d always known one another. You could read him almost as well as Fred could, and George could read you better than anyone.

It was unnerving, exhilirating, and by far the most important relationship in your young life. Which is why you squashed any wandering thought about his freckles, his jawline, the way his forearms flexed while he read, or the way his chest heaved after a Quidditch match, his hands spidered with veins after hours of gripping the Beater’s Bat.

And when he called you things like his ‘best girl’, it turned your knees to jelly, your mind inside out. There was no way you’d finish your work now.

“I’m going back to the Tower. I have no idea how you Gryffindor’s get any work done with all this gold.” You stuffed your books into you back and stood, adjusting your robes.

“I’ll walk you,” George said, tossing his book aside. It looked like he hadn’t made any progress either.

“No, no. Finish your work. I’ll meet you in the Great Hall for breakfast, bags packed.”

“It’s a date!” He called as you walk away, and you can practically hear the grin on his face.

“Not a date!” You tossed over your shoulder as you stepped through the portrait.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“My darlings!” Molly cooed, collecting her youngest two children into a massive hug at the train station terminal. You hid behind George, hoping somehow that she’d overlook your presence entirely. But of course, George wasn’t having it.

“Mum, this is y/n!” He grabbed you by the shoulders and thrust you out in front.

“George,” you hissed, but Molly was already upon you.

“Oh, y/n! I’ve heard so much about you! It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. We were absolutely delighted when George’s letter arrived telling us you’d be accompanying him,” she chirped, fussing with your h/c hair and blue and bronze scarf.

“It’s lovely to meet you too, Mrs. Weasley,” you said, smiling at her and her quieter husband, who was busy chatting with Harry and Ron.

George slung an arm over your shoulder, wafting his cinnamon-y cologne over you. “Shall we?”

You scowled up at him as he dragged you along behind his family, oblivious to your hesitation, or willfully ignoring it.

The crowded car ride home was chaotic, with everyone speaking loudly over one another, George and Fred the loudest of all in either ear, and by the time you arrived, you heart was thrumming loudly in your head, your chest tight with anxiety.

All you could think about was throwing yourself out of the car door and running back to Hogwarts on foot.

Everyone poured out of the car, bounding across the lawn and up to the slightly crooked, red-roofed home, smoke buffeting cheerfully from the many chimneys.

“Y/n?” George said, pausing when he realized you weren’t in step beside him. Something in your expression gave you away, and his smile fell. “Hey, what is it?” he asked, jogging back towards you and placing his hands on your arms.

“I, it’s…” words failed you as emotion pinched your throat.

“Too much?” he asked, giving you a sympathetic smile.

You nodded, shame scorching your cheeks as you looked down at your feet. The tips of his boots were touching yours, so much larger, a worn brown leather juxtaposing your shining black.

“It’s going to be alright, love,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down your arms to warm you up. “It means a lot to me that you’re here, even if it’s a bit overwhelming. But, hey—” he tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at his handsome, wind-bitten face. “They love you already.”

“You told them about me?” You asked, your nerves alchemizing from wasps to butterflies.

“Of course I did.” He chuckled like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re probably sick to death of hearing about you, honestly.”

“Like how I’ve been tutoring you in Potions for two years?” you taunted.

“I’m sure they assumed after I told them your were the brightest witch in our year.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, ginger hair falling across his brow, and your heart gave a new sort of thump. One that made you a bit queasy with it’s intensity.

“I don’t know about brightest,” you argued as he tucked you under his arm once again, leading you toward the open front door.

“I do,” he murmured, ushering you inside and into his mother’s waiting embrace.

“C’mere, sweetheart. Help me with these rolls.” She tugged you down the hall, leaving George to be ambushed by his brothers.

“Who’s the eagle?” You heard what you assumed it be the eldest ask before you were whisked into the hearth-like kitchen.

Twenty minutes later and you were back at George’s side, sandwiched between him and Ginny at the dinner table, while everyone fought for a foothold in the conversation.

George’s thigh was warm against your own, familiar and grounding, and you resisted the urge to lean into him fully for shelter. Dutifully, he started filling both of your plates as dishes went by, allowing you to sit and take it all in. He snagged the bowl of garlic potatoes from Ron and added a giant scoop to your plate, knowing they were your favorite.

“Thank you,” you mumbled to him, and he gave your shoulder a light bump in response.

“So, y/n. George mentioned you’re a Potions whiz?” Arthur asked through a mouthful of roll.

Heat crept up your neck as everyone’s attention swiveled to you. “It’s my favorite subject, yes sir,” you answered sheepishly.

“She passed her Potions O.W.L. in fourth year,” George said proudly, beaming down at you. “She’s onto custom lesson plans with Snivelus now.”

“George!” Molly corrected, but he only laughed.

“That’s impressive,” Percy said, nodding at you from across the table. “Brilliant and beautiful.”

“I, uh, thanks,” you stutter, stuffing a forkful of potatoes into your mouth.

George stiffened, but his smile never wavered. “That she is.”

“So, what do your parents do? Were they in Ravenclaw as well?” Arthur asked.

The blood drained from your face. You had so hoped this wouldn’t come up.

George’s hand fell onto your leg, his long fingers looping around your pinky and twining your hand with his. “She lives with her grandparents. Muggles,” George said, the finality in his tone ensuring there would be no further questions.

Arthur stuttered an apology, and the rest of the table looked away nervously. But Molly smiled proudly at her son, a slightly flush to her round cheeks.

Again, your heart gave that brutal pang, and your hand squeezed his a little more tightly.

The meal continued on, and you blessedly fell into the background while the other’s talked about their work and the school year. Or, you at least thought you fell into the background, but every time you glanced up, you found Percy’s gaze lingering on you, hawkish.

You had met the third eldest brother on many occasions, as he often escorted you from the Gryffindor common room to the Tower when curfew struck. But he’d never looked at you like that. And frankly, it made your skin crawl.

You weren’t naive. You knew you were beautiful, intelligent, witty, all of the things that drew a wandering eye. But Percy was far from someone you’d be interested in. And you were here with George, after all, even if it was for purely platonic reasons.

You shifted a little when Percy’s gaze lingered a fraction too long, and accidentally alerted George to your discomfort. He leaned down towards you, his height ensuring your head barely reached his shoulder.

“Okay, feathers?” He murmured, but caught Percy flinching his gaze away at the same moment. “Percy bothering you?” he whispered, and you shook your head no. An obvious lie by the way you shifted marginally closer to George when Percy’s gaze returned. “I’ll handle it.” George straightened, slipping back into his ongoing conversation with Fred and Charlie, but you felt his hand skim past your leg, brushing against your calf as he reached for his wand.

The contact sent a tremor through your muscles, your nerves stretching towards every point of contact with him until it was all you could think about.

“George, what are you—”

He coughed something that sounded an awful lot like ‘incendio’ into his elbow, wand hand flicking under the table at the same moment. Percy leapt up, the crotch of his trousers igniting with flame.

Everyone but you and the twins scrambled up, Molly quickly tossing the cauldron of water at Percy’s pants.

“Could’ve been a little more subtle,” Fred chastised George with a smirk.

“I wasn’t going for subtlety,” George replied. “I was going for ‘burning his bollocks off’.”

You hide your snicker behind your hand, the last of your anxiety unraveling. George was with you, you were safe.

Once the fire was out, dinner was disbanded with the twins being sentenced to dishes duty, since it had to be one of them that set their brother’s trousers on fire. You were whisked off on a house tour by Ginny, who eagerly showed you the in’s and out’s of the Burrow until you were dragging your feet, eyes heavy with exhaustion. But you had to admit that you were feeling more at ease, the Burrow and it’s residents wrapping around you like a favorite blanket.

You collapsed into bed just after midnight, a flickering glow in your chest, and a red-haired trickster in your thoughts.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Two more days passed at the Weasley residence, filled with games, oversized meals, books, and antics. There was never a dull moment with the twins and Charlie around.

But the best part, by far, was watching George’s mischevious walls come down, and seeing the softer, more relaxed version of him step forth. He was a devoted brother and son, often forgoing his own needs to help his mother reach something in the kitchen, or offer Ron a bit of girl advice. He spent many hours in deep conversation with is father and older brothers, speaking to a wide breadth of subjects you had no idea he had any knowledge about.

George, that bottomless bundle of fizzing energy, seemed even more lively around his favorite people, his heart on full display. And, if you were honest, it was doing funny things to your head and heart.

You found yourself searching for his eyes across the room, smiling at silly things he’d said hours prior, ghosting your fingers over the places he’d brushed against you while passing by. You’d even take a whiff of his coat when he’d come in after a walk with Charlie and tossed it onto the banister.

He seemed older somehow, more mature than you’d ever given him credit for, and it was undoing the years of resolve you’d cultivated to preserve your friendship.

It didn’t help that he constantly referred to you as ‘his girl’, and any number of tooth-aching pet names. Could he really mean it? You always assumed it was part of some joke you were the butt of, but now…

“George and y/n!” Molly called across the dinner table, breaking you from your thoughts. “Dishes, please!”

Your heart skipped a beat. You and George hadn’t had a moment alone since you’d arrived, and you were eager to soak up some undivided attention.

“Yes, ma’am,” George said cheerfully, rising to start collecting the plates. You hopped up to join him, and everyone else filtered out of the kitchen, arguing about what game to play that evening.

You scrapped while he scrubbed, and fell into easy conversation about the past few days.

“My mum really loves you, y’know,” he said, dunking a plate under the soapy water. “Dad too. He was raving about your thoughts on electric kettles yesterday.”

“I like them a lot too,” you replied, turning to hide your blush while tossing a half-eaten roll in the bin.

“Yeah?” he asked, glancing down at you. “I really hope you’re enjoying yourself. I know I sort of forced you to come, and then you were so anxious. And I know the house is loud and drafty, and the meals are a bit chaotic, and fucking Percy can’t keep his damn eyes to himself—”

Not knowing how else to soothe his worries, you stood on your toes and pressed a kiss into his cheek, derailing his rant into stunned silence.

“I’m really glad you brought me, Georgie,” you said, holding his wide-eyed expression for a moment before reaching for another dish.

He caught your wrist in his soapy hand, turning you back towards him. Your heart leapt into your throat at the intensity of his gaze, his jaw feathering with tension as his eyes searched your face. They were so dark, nearly black from his dilated pupils. His dry hand rose slowly, as if afraid you might startle. He dragged the back of his fingers along your cheek before sliding them into the hair at the nape of your neck.

“Tell me if I’ve misread this,” he murmured, tilting your head up towards him, his lips close enough that you could feel his warm breath across your skin. “Tell me to stop.”

Your heart galloped away, your mind turning to goo as the full scope of his longing came into focus. Heat unspooled through you at the way he angled your head to accommodate his towering frame, in complete control, but giving you every opportunity to stop him.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you gave a small shake of your head. No, please don’t stop.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his nose brushing against yours as he drew you closer. You pressed your body to his, desperate for his solidity, his warmth, as you trembled with anticipation. He guided your hand to rest around his neck, and you dug your fingers into his hair.

“George,” you breathed, his name a plea, a desperate prayer.

He closed the last millimeter of distance, caressing your lips with his, a delicate, wishful kiss. More cautious than you’d ever seen him. You tightened your grip on his hair, rising onto your toes to kiss him back a bit harder.

You felt the tension in his body unwind and his hand grasped your waist, his tongue sliding along your lower lip, teasing, promising, and your bones turned to mush, your lower belly fluttering with excitement.

“Ahem,” someone cleared their throat and you sprang away from George, grabbing a plate as if they hadn’t seen what you were doing. Bill leaned against the doorway, a knowing smirk on his face. “Father has requested that y/n joins him for a cuppa before the chess tourney begins. Something about doorbells?”

“Oh! Of course!” You replied, dropping the dish into the sink and drying your hands on the towel over the stove. “Thanks, Bill!” You hurry past the eldest Weasley son, cheeks absolutely flaming.

You could barely hold a conversation with Arthur, to fixated on the way your body hummed in the wake of his son’s touch. You were eager to finish what you’d started, but by the time you and Arthur emerged from his study, George was wrapped up in a game of Wizard’s Chess with Ron.

George’s eyes tracked you as you moved into the room, perching on an armchair by the fireplace. Bill shook his head, elbowing Charlie, who chuckled into his whiskey.

“Y/n, want to play against me?” Fred asked from his spot on the floor, crisscross in front of a chessboard on the coffee table.

“Sure,” you said, happy for the distraction.

“Losers rotate out until the winners from each table play one another,” Fred explained as you sat across from him. “Percy always wins, but he’s sulking in his room.” Fred winked, and you stuck your tongue out at him.

Quickly, you lose yourself in the game, and it doesn’t take long before you have Fred’s Queen cornered, a path to victory clear. In a final move, you take Fred’s Queen and win the game in ten minutes flat.

“Merlin, she kicked your ass!” Ron shouted, and the room bursts into laughter.

You flushed under the praise and start reorganizing the pieces. Despite yourself, your eyes flicked toward George, but found he was already looking at you, a warmth in his dark eyes that made your hands quit working, and you knocked over the piece you just arranged.

“My turn!” Ginny said, shoving Fred out of the way.

“Anyone need anything from the kitchen?” George asked, rising to his feet after swiftly defeating Harry.

A chorus of no’s rang out, but you’re already absorbed into the game, finding that Ginny was much better at chess than Fred. You started to make your third move, finding an opening, when you felt a calloused hand brush along the side of your neck, sliding beneath your hair to rest heavily against your skin.

“Need anything, love?” George whispered in your ear, and the blood rushed from your head, leaving you vaguely dizzy, eyes sparkling when you blinked up at him.

“N-no, I’m fine. Thank you,” you stuttered.

“A tea would be nice, darling brother!” Ginny said, jerking you back to the present, and the move you forgot entirely.

“Coming right up.” George’s hand squeezed your neck lightly before falling away, and he disappeared into the kitchen.

The rest of the night carried on like that, lingering glances and scalding touches, the heat between the two of you bordering on incendiary.

You were taking a small break from kicking Weasley ass when Percy emerged from his room, leveling a challenging glare at George. “I’ll take next round,” he said, fixing Charlie with a look.

“Fine.” George made his final move, knocking over Charlie’s queen. “Have a seat.”

Charlie vacated the spot, muttering something about ‘fucking dorks’, and Percy sat across from his younger brother. The energy shifted in the room, going from jovial and teasing to almost hostile. Weasley’s were competitive by nature, the twins in particular, but the tension heightened considerably beyond that as they sized each other up.

Piece by piece, they started moving around the board, an even match as far as you could tell. But based on the murmurings of the family, Percy was off his game a bit, and you had a feeling it had something to do with the way his eyes kept drifting back towards you.

Interesting, you thought, rising from your place on the couch to circle their table, feigning curiosity in the game. Percy visibly tensed, his eyes darting from you to the board and back again. George, however, relaxed, his typical cocky demeanor easing back into his body language.

Thanks to your distraction, Percy missed an easy move, giving George the first upper hand of the game. You leaned a bit into Percy’s space, and his hands began to tremble. When you walked away, he compensated for his hesitation with a rash move, exposing his Queen.

You knew George noted it but he opted for a subtler move, then leaned back in his chair to watch Percy squirm, a slight smirk on his face. When Percy realized what he’d done, he flushed with irritation, his shoulders squared and tight.

And for my final move…

You leaned down to George, nearly resting your chin on his shoulder. His spiced cologne greeted you, tinged with the cinnamon punch of the firewhiskey he’d been sipping on throughout the games. “I didn’t know you were so good at Wizard’s Chess,” you murmured, close enough that your lips grazed the shell of his ear.

His smirk grew as Percy fidgeted, unable to pick a move, struggling to not stare down your sweater. “I have many talents you’ve yet to experience,” he replied, voice low enough that only you could hear him. A thrill rushed through you, so you bowed out before you took things too far, leaving George to deal the killing blow.

Shortly after, you won your final match against Bill, who you suspected threw the game in your favor, and suddenly it was you sitting across from George, the whole family crowded around the table, watching with bated breath.

“Hello, darling,” George cooed, smiling.

“Weasley,” you clipped, all business.

His eyes flashed at the challenge, and he took a slow sip of whiskey. “Ladies first,” he said, setting the glass down.

You started him off easy, confident that you had this in the bag. George was smart, but most of his skill came from his ability to disarm, not his ability to play chess. You, as it so happened, were skilled at both.

It didn’t take long for George’s cocky smirk to fall, his brow to knit together with focus as you guided him slowly into a trap of your own design.

His brow suddenly quirked up, the corner of his mouth lifting, you knew you’d been caught.

“Clever girl,” he purred, moving his Rook and collapsing the trap you’d spent ten rounds constructing. “Almost had me,” he taunted, leaning back in his chair. His legs reached all the way across to yours in his languid position, his sock feet tapping absently against the legs of your chair.

You only hummed in response, crossing your legs. While searching the board, you stretched your stocking-covered foot towards him, sliding it along the inside of his calf. His muscles tensed for a moment, his eyes widening a fraction, before he settled down, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes.

You made your move, but didn’t stop dragging your foot up and along his knee, skimming his inner thigh. He sat up a little straighter, narrowing his eyes at the board, and you expected him to make his move, when you feel a hand clasp around your ankle, his touch a brand even through your thick stockings. His eyes lifted to yours, and the hunger in them stole your breath.

You’d never seen your sweet, good-natured friend look so menacing.

“I should know better than to play chess with a Ravenclaw,” he said, making a weak play with a pawn. “Starting to feel like I don’t stand a chance.”

His family laughed, reminding you that you were, in fact, completely surrounded by his parents and siblings, and you dropped your foot. That fucking trickster, he knew exactly how to get under your skin.

“I don’t know,” you said, stealing the pawn and trapping his King. “You’re doing better than I expected for a younger twin.”

A chorus off oooh’s met your dig, and George huffed a laugh before freeing his King. “You’ll regret that,” he warned with a devilish smile.

“And you’ll regret that.” George fell right into your trap. You skirted his King, stealing his Queen right out from under him. His jaw dropped, and the family erupted into cheers.

“We have a new champion!” Molly cheered, hauling you up to celebrate.

You grinned, allowing them to parade you around. George smiled up at you, a real, proud smile, and it made your stomach somersault. Then, the grandfather clock chimed midnight, rattling the house on it’s structure.

“Alright, enough excitement! Everyone off to bed!” Molly ordered. George’s eyes locked on you, gauging what you would do next. For the first time, you cursed sharing a room with Ginny, and cursed Fred for being born.

As everyone grabbed their things and scattered off to bed, George managed to catch you at the second stair landing before Ginny’s room, startling you.

“Well played, feathers,” he said, brushing his fingertips over your forearm as he looks up at you.

“You were a formiddable opponent.” You shivered under his touch, the heat from earlier instantly flaring back to life.

He stepped up a stair, bringing himself a head taller than you, close enough that you could smell the fire whiskey on his lips.

Could I taste it too?

“Goodnight, love.” He pressed a quick kiss to your temple before breezing past you and bounding up the next set of steps to his shared room with Fred.

You leaned against the wall to catch your breath, heart pounding in your chest. This was not the turn you expected this trip to take, but you couldn’t pretend that a part of you hadn’t wished for it. That it wasn’t why you tried so hard to avoid the trip all together.

But now that you and George had crossed that line, you couldn’t imagine what you’d been so afraid of. You only wished you’d done it sooner.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The following morning, you’re one of the last to drift down to the kitchen, having spent most of the night tossing and turning, too worked up to sleep properly. You rounded the corner and come to a stop, surprised to find George alone in the kitchen.

“Morning,” he said with a lazy smile.

“Good morning.” You padded towards him, accepting the coffee cup from his outstretched hand. “How’d you sleep?” you asked, blowing gently on the steaming brew.

“Didn’t,” he said, shifting closer to you. His hair was still a little messy from sleep, or lackthereof, his expression soft and voice gravelly.

“Why not?” You asked, taking a tentative sip before setting the mug down on the counter.

“Couldn’t stop thinking...” He dipped his head towards you, his nose brushing your temple.

“About?” The word came out breathless, the coil of want you'd been battling all night tightening with a vengeance.

“What it would feel like to kiss you again,” he murmured, kicking your heart into overdrive.

“And why don’t you?” Your hand creeped along his t-shirt, feeling the muscles along his abdomen sculpted by years of Quiddtich.

“Gotta set up the pitch. We’re playing this afternoon.” His demeanor shifted, all playful and energetic innocence. “See you out there!” He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, then hurried outside, leaving you wet and bewildered in the overheated kitchen.

An hour later, you were perched precariously on an old broom, knuckles white from gripping it so hard. Ginny rocketed past you with ease, nearly throwing you off balance.

“I think you need a new nickname,” George teased, steadying you. “Feathers may not be apt.”

You risked removing one hand to show him what a real bird looks like, and he barked a laugh before banking away from you.

Soon, the game was in full swing, with you, Ron, Fred, and Charlie against George, Ginny, Harry, and Bill. You had only ever ridden a broom in first year, so you were massively out of your depth.

You were given the role of Seeker, opposite Harry, and had no hope of accomplishing a damn thing. Harry was like lightning on his Firebolt, and you bobbed around like a lame pigeon.

Thankfully, none of them seemed to be taking the game very seriously. You were content to float around the property, occasionally remembering that you we're supposed to be looking for something small and golden.

After awhile the boys started to get rowdier, pushing and shoving and bludgeoning.. You tried to steer clear, watching George whack the hell out of any bludger that dare cross his airspace. You would not want to be on the other end of one of those.

“Y/n, watch out!” Ginny cried.

You looked back from where you were staring off into space, just in time to see George barreling towards you, a bludger about five feet in front of him.

You tried to move, to steer the broom literally anywhere, but it wouldn't cooperate. At the last second you managed to pull up, but not far enough. The bludger hit you square in the stomach, knocking the wind from your lungs and nearly forcing up your breakfast with the power of it. Stars danced behind your eyes, your grip began to slip from the handle as darkness raced towards you.

Something else slammed into you, wrapping itself around you—

“Y/n? Baby, are you alright?” George. You could tell you were moving, but couldn't seem to make your eyes focus, keep your body from trembling. Your cheeks were wet, the breeze frigid against your damp skin. Am I crying?

Then you were on the ground, blessed ground, and then you were up again, cradled against George's chest.

He was shouting at someone you couldn't see. “I swear on fucking Dumbledore, I'm going to beat you bloody with that fucking bat—”

“George!”

“Get her some ice,” he barked at someone else. “I'm right here, love, you're okay. Just try and breathe.”

You clung to his dampening shirt, the shock and pain keeping you teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. You could hear other people talking, but your whole world narrowed to two points: George's heartbeat and the blinding pain radiating from your stomach.

“It hurts,” you whimpered, barely recognizing the pitiful sound of your own voice.

“I know, love. I know. I’ve got you, I promise.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, soft and trembling. A moment later, he laid you on the couch, careful not to jostle you more than necessary.

Molly passed something into George's hands. “For the pain,” she whispered.

George crouched down next to you, holding the edge of the cup to your lips. “Take a sip, sweetheart.” You shook your head, your Potions safety training overpowering your reason. “Please, y/n. Let me take the pain away.”

You took a small sip, the tea pungent and floral, but immediately the edges of the pain began to soften. But the relief was short-lived. Exhaustion followed close behind it, dragging you down into a dreamless sleep.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

When you come to, the Weasley house was dark around you. The only light came from the moon spilling through window panes and the smoldering fire across from the couch.

A light snore drew your attention, and you looked up to see George above you, his head lolled onto the back of the couch, sleeping soundly. Your head was resting in his lap, his sweater piled under your head as pillow, and his large hand was stretched across your stomach, fingers splayed from your ribs to your hip bones.

God, your stomach. You moved to sit up, memories of earlier filtering through the fading grogginess of the Potion Molly gave you, but surprisingly, your stomach was only a little sore. More like an overexerted muscle than rearranged organs and cracked ribs.

George stirred, lifting his head to peer at your through half-closed lids.

“What are you doing down here?” you asked, sweeping a strand of red hair from his brow.

He came fully awake then, straightening. “How do you feel?” He asked, caressing your cheek, then running his hands over your arms, your ribs, the swell of your hips.

“The Potion did its job, I feel mostly fine,” you said, catching his hands to stop their exploration, and the buzzy desire they coaxed to life.

“Are you sure?” His features softened with relief, his fingers twining with yours.

“I'm sure. Thank you for saving me.” You leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, ignoring the slight protest in your abdomen muscles.

“Always,” George said, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “I'm sorry I wasn't close enough to stop it from hitting you in the first place. It happened so fast—”

“Love, it wasn't your fault,” you shushed, reaching out to cup his face and stroking your thumb along his cheekbone.

“I just…” he trailed off, leaning into your palm. “I always want to be there to protect you. Or for whatever you else you might need. Do you need anything now? Water, tea? Are you hungry? You missed dinner—”

“George,” you cut him off. “Right now, I need you.”

Desire eclipsed the worry on his face, his eyes shading. “Are you sure you're not in pain? No fogginess or headaches—”

You leaned in and kissed him, a light, floaty peck, silencing his incessant questioning. You appreciated his concern, but there were other parts of you that needed his attention far more. He immediately took charge of the kiss, shifting his weight to lay you back onto the couch. His body rested heavily between your thighs, his mouth devouring yours in fervent, searing kisses.

His tongue lapped at your bottom lip and you opened for him, allowing him to take everything he sought. He kissed you like he didn't know if he'd get another chance, like he'd been waiting his entire life for this moment. It stole your breath, made your toes curl and your pussy pulse with excitement, slick already collecting between your thighs.

You nipped at his lower lip, earning a soft grunt in appreciation. His hips canted forward a fraction, though it seemed he was holding himself back. His lips traveled along your jaw, down the valley of your throat with teasing licks and love bites and you arched into him, a moan spilling from your lips before you could stop it.

“Shh, baby. You have to be quiet f’me.” George nudged your shirt up with his fingers, kissing along the purplish bruises marring your stomach. “My poor girl.” His thumbs traced the curves of your stomach softly, almost reverent as he gazed up at you. “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. so perfect. I’ve wanted to touch you for so long, to feel you beneath me, fuck, hear the pretty little sounds you make for me.” He was rambling now, lost in the act of worshiping your body, his hands and lips traveling gently over your skin.

“How long?” you asked, breathless, raking your fingers through his hair while he nursed a mark just under your right tit.

He looked up at you through is lashes, his lips leaving your skin with a pop. “Since that night at the Three Broomsticks,” he said, shifting upwards so he could look you in the eye.

“The ‘Butterbeer of Forgiveness’?” You mouth fell open, shock rocking through you.

He snickered. “Of course, why do you think I kept sending Fred to the bar?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You ran your fingers over his jaw, feeling the rough stubble against your skin.

“I—” his voice caught, his gaze averting from you. “I loved you too much to risk losing you.”

Elation soared through you, and you couldn’t stop the smile that split your face. “George,” you said, bumping your nose against his. His eyes flicked back to you, watery and rimmed with red. “I love you too.”

His smile was like the first sun after an endless winter, and he kissed you like the first torrential rain of spring. The heat of summer came quickly though, and soon you were gasping for him again, your hips pressing against the hard ridge in his pants.

“Need you,” you whined into his mouth.

“I’m here, love.” He kissed down your throat again, pausing for only a moment to nip at your taught nipples through your shirt before continuing his downward decent. “Lift up for me.” You lifted your hips, allowing him to tug down your jeans, exposing your sodden red panties to his greedy eyes. “Gryffindor red, huh?” he teased, and you threw your arms over your face to hide your blush. “All for me?”

You nodded, your heart in your throat.

“It’s a shame I’ll have to ruin them.’

“What—” Riiiip! The cold air lapped against your slick pussy, chased by the heat of George’s tongue as he dragged it through your folds. “Oh, fuck—”

“Shhh,” he warned, before flicking his tongue against your swollen clit.

You bit down on the back of your wrist to keep from crying out when he switched from licking to sucking, the walls of your cunt fluttering around nothing. He moved down, flattening his tongue against your entrance and collecting the wetness that pooled there. He gave a light hum of pleasure that had your eyes crossing, his tongue delving deeper in search of another taste.

“So fucking good,” he mumbled against you, the vibrations of his low voice making your sensitive clit tingle. You tugged on his hair, encouraging him to pay attention to where you needed him most. “I know, I know.” He pressed a kiss to your clit, teasing you for just a moment longer before wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking hard.

You very nearly cried out, having to clap a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. Pleasure shot through you, singeing your nerves and liquifying your muscles. So quickly you were unraveling for him, going stupid under his ministrations.

A long digit prodded at your entrance, collecting some wetness before easing inside of you. Your cunt welcomed him gladly, clamping down around his finger.

“Merlin, baby. You're so tight,” he panted, shifting to watch you take another one of his fingers, slick already running into his palm. “Relax, love. Shh, “ he soothed, curling his fingers to pet the inside of your walls, making your mind go blank as bliss washed through you. “That's it, darling. Just like that.”

The knot in your stomach began to wind tighter, burning through you as you fought to relax, to be good for him. But your orgasm was so fucking close, just a little more—

His lips found your clit again, sucking in time with your racing heart as his fingers coaxed you open, and the knot severed. Your peak slammed into you, stealing your breath so you couldn't even cry out to warn him, to sing his praises the way he deserved. Your muscles locked, your cunt bearing down as him as pleasure tore through you until you could do nothing but shiver beneath him.

“Shit, y/n. That was fucking beautiful,” he cooed, easing his fingers out of you and lapping up the release coating him to the wrist. “You alright?” He shifted upwards, kissing your bruised abdomen before pecking your lips, your eyes still glassy and unfocused.

“I've never come that hard,” you pant, throwing your arms around his neck and raining kisses over his slick-soaked face. “What the fuck.”

He chuckled, flushing under your attention. “Happy to oblige.”

You caught the last word in your mouth, kissing him deeply, desperately. Your body was already keying itself up again, and by the twitching length against your hip, he was desperate for you too.

He hooked an arm under your back and hauled you up to straddle his lap, his back pressed against the couch. “This okay?” He asked, sliding his rough hands under your shirt to skate along your skin.

You nodded, rolling your hips to drag your bare pussy along the bulge in his jeans, a skitter of pleasure making your breath hitch.

“Fuck, y/n,” he hissed, hips bucking up against you.

“Yes, please fuck me.” You kissed along his jaw and nibbled at his ear lobe, reaching between your bodies to find his zipper.

He did the same, helping you undo the button and tug down the zipper, his cock springing free from his boxers. The head nudged against your clit, hard and heated, and you whimpered.

With an arm wrapped around your waist, he lifted you slightly, guiding the head to your dripping entrance. Slowly, he eased you down into him, your pussy more than ready to accommodate his length. A rough groan resounded from his chest, and you silenced it with another kiss. His cock stretched you open, hitting that spongy, sinful spot before sliding deeper until he bottomed out, the head nudging your cervix.

“So fucking tight, baby. Bloody hell,” he whispered, voice strained.

“Feels so fucking good,” you whine, grinding your hips against his.

George buried his face into your neck, stifling a moan. His grip loosened, allowing you to start lifting and lowering yourself, riding him slowly, savoring every inch of his cock as it dragged through you.

“M’not gonna last long if you keep doing that,” he warned, mouthing at your neck with sloppy kisses.

You smirked, bracing your hands against the back of the couch to pick up the pace, your thighs and abs burning from the exertion. But he felt so fucking good, stretching you open, the root of his cock dragging along your clit.

His lifted up again only to snap his hips against yours, his hands a vice on your waist as he started pounding into you from below.

“Oh, fuck, Georgie—”

“Quiet, love. You don't want the whole house to hear how good I make you feel, do you?”

You nodded, a whine escaping through your teeth. One of his hands came up to cover your mouth, silencing the sound and infringing on your air supply, callouses rubbing against your kiss-swollen skin.

“I’d love nothing more than for Percy to hear you screaming for me, but this is just for us,” he whispered, breathless as he fucked into you. “Gonna come for me again?”

Your fingers dug into the couch, another peak racing towards you. You bounced with his movements, desperately chasing your high, the ache in your abdomen long forgotten.

“That's it, love. Fuck, m’gonna come.” He threw his head back, a strangled groan accompanying the kick of his cock inside you, stretching your further before pumping you full of his release.

The hot surge of his orgasm sent you flying over the edge, ecstasy pulling your under while your cunt milked him dry with vicious pulls. You muffled your cry into his shoulder as he fucked you through it, until you both collapsed onto the couch, thoroughly spent and panting.

His lips found your forehead, your temple, his hands gliding along your spine, over your hips, soothing you as you trembled against him.

“I love you,” he breathed into your hair. “I can't believe you're here with me.”

You grazed the racing pulse under his jaw with your nose. “I love you, too.” It was exhilarating to say, almost as thrilling as the orgasm you just shared, a massive weight was lifted off your shoulders.

“So, can I call you my girl without being corrected now?” He teased, tickling your ribs.

“I suppose.” You giggled, pecking the corner of his smirk.

The following morning, you descended from your room to find George at the bottom of the stairs, shirtless, twirling his Beater Bat in his right hand. The same hand that brought you the most earth shattering orgasm of your life.

“What on earth are you doing?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his middle and kissing his cheek, admiring the violet mark you left above his clavicle.

“Waiting for Ron,” Fred supplied from the kitchen.

“Who’s waiting for me—oh fuck.” Ron stopped dead at the top of the stairs, still dressed in his pajamas, staring wide eyed at George, or more specifically, the bat in his hand.

“I just want to talk,” George said, gently moving you aside before prowling up the stairs towards his younger brother.

Ron took off up the stairs, their steps thundering through the house as George gave chase.

“George! Shit,” you huffed, glancing at the rest of the family who'd come to see what the fuss was about.

“I'll let ‘im get a good whack in,” Molly said, smiling at you. “Since you're his girl and all.”

Your cheeks flamed, but they only met you with warm hugs and laughter, like they'd been expecting this from the beginning.

Crack!

“Ow!”

"That's for hurting my girl, you git."

Fin. 🐦‍⬛

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Thank you so much for reading!

If you enjoyed, you can check out my published work here.

Much love,

Allie

[luveline]

Hii, I absolutely love your Hotch fics in which he meets his adult daughter. Could we get one in which she is feeling down about something and he helps/reassures her?💕💕

It’s difficult to foster a relationship with someone when you don’t get to see them. Even harder when the relationship is with your father who didn’t know you existed for over two decades, and who works as a Special Agent in the FBI, spending half of his life in other states. 

Lately it feels impossible. 

He’s just never home. When he is, he can't make it to dinner. You start to feel exactly as you had before you knew him, alone again, working hard to keep up in class, drained from your part time job, and always tired. 

You should stay home and sleep, but tonight, your dad is free for dinner. 

You wait on the corner of the street in the golden light of the restaurant. It’s chilly out, and the sky is slowly darkening. You watch the road for the shape and bulk of Aaron’s SUV, relieved to see him on the way past. He parks in the parking lot, making a small stop into the trunk of the car before he makes his way toward you. 

He’s carrying a little white teddy bear wrapped in pink heart cellophane. 

You know it’s for you, but it’s still sweet enough to surprise you when he smiles at you and encourages it into your hands. “Hello,” he says, wrapping one arm around you quickly as he kisses your cheek. 

It’s always a shock, but never unwelcome. 

“Hi, Aaron.” 

“Let’s go in, yes?” he asks. “It’s too cold to stay out here. Were you waiting a long time?” 

You let him walk you to the entrance, where he gives his name to the hostess for the reservation, and together you follow her to a small table near a bay window. The trees outside are strung with tea lights. The restaurant smells like nutty chocolate ganache. You mentioned that you liked the desserts here the first time he brought you, and he’s continued to bring you here ever since. 

You are undoubtedly getting to know one another. You’ve met Haley three times, and Jack five. You had dinner together only two weeks ago where he tried to show you how to keep spaghetti on your fork while failing to manage it himself. He was sweet, and Aaron was really good with him. 

You’d been jealous. 

“What’s the bear for?” you ask. 

“I’m trying to buy your forgiveness. Is it working?” 

You laugh without thinking. “My forgiveness?” 

“Sometimes, when I don’t see Jack for a long time, he gets frosty with me. I know it’s poor parenting but I’ll bring home a souvenir in the hopes he won’t stay mad.” 

“This is a souvenir?” you ask. 

He sits with good posture, but his face is ducked apologetically. It’s a kind sort of look, like he really is sorry. “I think I owe you more than that.” 

This regret he’s expressed before. You truly believe that he wishes he could go back in time and be there for you, which might be why it aches to think about it in detail. He wanted to be the loving, doting father. He just didn’t get the chance. 

“It sort of… breaks my heart sometimes, when I see you,” you say. 

It’s a lot. You haven’t even ordered your drinks. 

“It does?” he asks gently. 

“I wish…” You bite the inside of your cheek. Shake your head when you can’t finish. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I think about it a lot. I resent your mother.” 

She’s your mother, but yes. “I do, too.” 

You listen to the clatter of the kitchen somewhere deep in the building and the indistinguishable chatter of other families and dates where they sit around you. Your hand closes tightly on a napkin. 

“Are you okay? You look tired, honey.” 

“Must be a Hotchner thing,” you say. 

He laughs like you haven’t just slighted him. “It definitely is. I’m getting the sense that you’re upset about more than your mother, though.” 

“How would you know?” you ask genuinely. 

It’s his party trick. You’re expecting a rundown: your hand moves a quarter inch to the left and shows your upset, or your nose twitches to betray your true feelings. But he doesn’t need to use his special set of agent skills on you tonight. 

“You won’t look at me for very long. It’s exactly like your brother.” 

You sniff ineffectually. “It is?” 

He looks especially solemn, then. “I wish we didn’t miss out on so much with each other, but I’m here now, if you want me. You can tell me what’s bothering you. I promise I’ll listen.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’ve always heard worse.” He manages a smile. “Not that what you’re feeling isn’t important.” 

“Well, I… it’s mostly the little things. You know school is hard.” 

“At GWU? It’s gruelling.” 

“It’s awful. I probably need a tutor.” You laugh. “Maybe. It’s not so bad, and once this year is over, I’m done, but I have my internship lined up for the summer, so I’m trying very hard to– to work as much as I can now. But working and studying all the time makes me tired.” Your cheeks heat at having spilled it all without finesse. “Sorry, I know you work twenty three hours a day.” 

“How many hours are you working a week?” he asks. 

“Uh, usually twenty-four. I try to do three shifts a week. Sometimes they want me after school, so it’s more like twenty-nine or thirty-four.” Or forty-four.

“And you’re studying–”

“Every spare minute.” 

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m sorry. It sounds hard…” 

“What?” you ask. 

“I’m just thinking about something.” He licks his lips. “And you’ve always worked? Since high school?” 

Your flush worsens. “Yeah. I have to pay for school somehow, and to eat.” You quieten. 

“What if you didn’t have to work, honey?” 

You shake your head vehemently. “Aaron.” 

“I’m serious. What if you didn’t have to do so much? You need time to do nothing. Overworking yourself will give you an ulcer, trust me, and that’s the last thing I want. I could–”

“I can’t take your money–”

“It’s not just my money. Does Jack ‘take’ my money?” 

“You signed up for Jack–”

“And I’m signed up for you. I want to be here for you, and this is what father’s do, okay? If they can, and I can.” 

“Unnecessary brag.” 

He ignores your joke. “Even if I could just pay for GWU. I know those textbooks are burning a hole in your pocket.” 

You refuse. Aaron promises to return to the subject when you aren’t exhausted, and maybe you’ll let him. It would be beautiful to wake up on a Saturday with nothing to do. 

It would be nice not to miss your dad. You’ve done it your whole life, but now he’s real, and he seems to really care about you. When he hugs you after he’s paid for dinner, you want to be allowed to cling, and, as he tightens his hold, you realise you are. 

“It’s so good to see you,” he says, rubbing your upper arm. 

“Yeah,” you mumble. 

“Can I see you tomorrow?” 

You ease back. “Really?” Because you hadn’t mentioned that you missed him, but he already knows.

He pats your arm. “You know I’d see you every day, if I could? I’ve missed out on enough already. We’ll take Jack to Olive Garden again and you can think a bit more on what I proposed.” 

“I can’t take your money,” you repeat quietly. 

“Not that, though you should. You can tell me anything, okay?” 

You breathe out as he steps away. “Okay.” 

He touches your cheek briefly. “Okay. I’m proud of you. You’re doing great.” 

“Thanks, Aaron.” 

“You’re welcome. Text me when you get home safe, all right?” 

You look at him for too long. “Thank you,” you say again, moving in for another hug. 

He props his head atop yours carefully. “You’re welcome, honey.” 

[mysteriesmuse]

You’re hiding in your Hiding Place — Bakugou Katsuki’s bicep 💪

In your later years at UA, Bakugou Katsuki ends up with an —unusual reputation within class A. He’s got a notoriously famous mean streak, but in 1-A he’s also got a reputation for having a strangely nutty tough-love aura about him — which makes him a decently good person to come run to when things go wrong. Naturally, not anyone’s top pick or anything, but a good one for when you need cry your heart out, or something. And, Bakugou usually knows, which is why he’s not all too surprised when you plow into his midsection in the middle of the hall. He’s headed upstairs from a later dinner because of his internship when he sees you. You’re coming straight from the dormitory showers, a chrous of familiar caterwauling floating out from the boys side. That’s why he took his showers in the morning, if he could help it, because at least Iida didn’t attempt to sing. You look soft and malleable stepping out from the bathroom. An old tye-dye shirt boasting participation of some kind of annual charity run and a pair of sweatpants on. The cuff at you ankles revealing your — now, slightly pink house slippers due to a washing mishap that happened last week in the dorms with a certain Shitty-Hair’ed guy and his red-themed hero costume. Your arms and face are dewy with what he presumes is that moisturizer that all you girls like to lather up in daily — and your hair is still on the verge of wet and stringy, but also frizzy and fuck, you look so very tired and soft right now. Katsuki pauses, red eyes squinting at your face; your nose is pink and your face is dewy, but those aren’t fingerprints left in the wake of moisturizer — it’s old tears that’s streaked over it. He huffs from his nose, nostrils flaring before he takes his hands out of his pockets and flexes his fingers at you where they hang by the side of his hips. And it’s then that he sees your shoulders slacken slightly before you’re suddenly pressed up against his front. All causal and warm — pressed as far into his abdomen as you can get, and he can feel your boobs smush against his chest because you’re very clearly not wearing a bra — and also because he’s earned a reputation for being a decent fucking human and for being nonchalant about that stuff. Bakugou is one of three guys in the dorm you guys deem trustworthy and reasonable enough to do that with. (The other two being Shouji and Todoroki.) And thus, he’s been grappled into many squishy-boob hugs by all you shitty girls. And your cheek is pressed against the hard plain of muscle that is his chest and your arms are wrapped around him — just under his shoulder blades in an action that lifts him and pulls Bakugou in towards you just a little bit. Your fingertips pressing into the muscle on his back and he hopes you don’t feel the way his heart is lub-dubbing inside his chest at the action. And suddenly Bakugou pulls you closer to him. A bicep circling protectively beside your chin, as a big palm comes to rest atop your damp hair. His other arm squeezing around your mid-section like a python and it’s a good thing too because as soon as he puts his arms around you Bakugou can feel that strength seeping from you and it feels like he’s holding you together. And that’s when the sniffles start.

“I’m so pathetic,” you whine. “As soon as you put your arms around me I felt my knees buckle.” And you’re pressed so close Bakugou can feel the way your lips move to form the words right against his chest. And instead of Bakugou saying anything mildly helpful in this situation his says, “I have that effect.” With a slight shrug that brings the top of your head pressing against his jaw, which might just be him engulfing and cradling you completely, but who knows? And Bakugou has no fucking idea why he said that. Or how he managed to say something so flirtatiously cringy with such calm, but all you do is attempt to shake your head against his hold and mumble, “yeah, that makes sense. I’ve seen the other girls around school.” Which you punctuate with a snort, an arm moving from his back to swipe at your face. Bakugou has no idea where this is going — except for you to start “hilariously deflecting” from whatever problem is at hand. “There’s this one girl,” you start with a breath, “she’s always hanging around the hallway between classes. She’s definitely trying to catch you at your locker, but she always just ends up next to mine and Momo’s — saying something random before running off. She’s definitely into you.” You look up at him, still completely weak in his hold and Bakugou scrunches his nose at you. An action that you find looks unnatural and awkward on the sharp features of his face. You frown, hoarsely laughing, “Stop that.” About his facial expression. Bakugou can’t imagine any girls wanting to be with him. Surely he’s a terrible catch at a boyfriend.

He face curls into a snarling scoff, “Nope. Can’t see it. You must be imaging things.” He declares forcefully pressing your head back into the cocoon of him. He settles his head back on top of yours and you’re now squirming like a damn worm. And you find some strength as you manage to peek your face out and blink at him with furrowed brows. And maybe it’s cause you’re in a vulnerable state with a good friend and maybe it’s because you’ve been harboring a little bit of a recent crush on the boy, but you blurt out, “You’re a catch. You know that, right?” And again his stupidly handsome face scrunches into that weird shape again before his red eyes are staring into yours. The hand on your back clutches at your shirt fabric before he says, “You really think that? You’re not just fucking with me?” You snort, wiping a few more stray tears from an entirely different problem than the internal one that the blonde is currently having. “Yeah I really think that, Bakugou.” And there’s a little quip on the side of his mouth that might count as a Bakugou smile, but it’s gone before you can tease him about it. The explosive murder god boy being unsure about his status as attractive is entirely too precious and far too laughable a situation — which is probably why your aggressively smooshed back into his chest and why he starts waddling side to side. For some damn reason the gently rocking from foot-to-foot placebo affects you into crying it all out. Some remnant of being a baby you suppose, but it’s still annoying how Bakugou’s managed to peg it on you so easily. And you’re damn right Bakugou’s doing it on purpose because you very clearly have a problem of your own or you wouldn’t be clutching onto him for dear life like you are right now. And despite this revelation that Kirishima may be right in the fact that’s he’s attractive he’s still whirling at the thought that you think he’s a catch. Because you’re the only girl he’d probably ever want thinking that — but Bakugou tucks that piece of knowledge into the back of his brain when Momo comes out of the showers next. A giant frilly nightgown on as she scampers over — talking and whispering to you gently from within your little hiddie-hole formed by his curled bicep and forearm. And he just huffs, and continues to cocoon you in his embrace rocking back and forth like a damn rocking-chair as you rattle off whatever’s been on your mind.

What’s on his mind is for another day . . .