#and link's hair has been a bit of mess lately but i still love it

[jula483]

SO much hair

(x)

[chrollogy]

SIGNED: LOVESICK FOOL #01

iwaizumi hajime x f!reader

next | masterlist

synopsis: You decide to try out the university confessions page as an anonymous submitter to write a vague paragraph about your feelings for Iwaizumi—oddly enough, students following the page seems to be hooked in your confession.

chapter content warning: college au, fluff, oikawa appearance :3, reader is helplessly in love with mr iwaizumi hajime, not beta read.

word count: 2.3k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. sorry this came a bit late >< i fell asleep LMAOOOOOO

Falling in love has always been a weird concept. One day you wake up, and feel completely different towards a certain someone who you swear you only love platonically; your heart starts to race faster whenever you’re in their presence, mind formulating a million different thoughts on how to act normally until it loses its meaning, suddenly becoming overly self conscious of one’s appearance, and always wanting to look your very best whenever they’re around—the whole package.

Unfortunately, you were all too familiar with this.

As though in a romance movie, the whole world slowed down as your eyes landed on the person before you, anything, and everything faded into nothing—a mere whitenoise behind the rapid pounding of your heart.

Iwaizumi’s hair gleamed beneath the sun’s afternoon rays, long lashes ghosted over the apple of his cheeks, rosy lips slightly puckered in concentration. You remembered it like yesterday—the strong aroma of roasted coffee beans, the light chatter of other customers in the café, the warm blanket of sunshine, the heart-stopping eye contact.

Iwaizumi called your name a total of three times until you finally broke free from your trance; everything flooded back the moment your name slipped past his parted lips for the third time—as though suddenly reeled from a freeze frame.

You remembered blinking at him, letting a heartbeat or two pass before asking him what he needed, though, Iwaizumi’s words entered one ear, and left the other; you were more focused on the way his plush lips moved with every word spoken, mind wondering what it’d feel like against your own.

That night, you tossed, and turned beneath your ivory blanket; mind a complete mess, and heart an even bigger mess. You just didn’t get why you had to catch feelings for Iwaizumi out of all people.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, never but everything between the two of you has been strictly platonic ever since—hell, you both even had a fair share of past relationships; you felt indifferent when Iwaizumi introduced his first girlfriend to you but now, just the thought introducing another woman made your stomach churn uncomfortably.

Realising that bottling up these feelings was a foolish thing to do, you scoured your mind for anything, and everything just to find some kind of release from all these unsaid thoughts. You were close to giving up, and retire for the night until a random thought popped into your mind,

Seijoh University Anonymous Confessions.

The unofficial page was undoubtedly popular amongst the students of the university, it served as a freedom wall where one was given the ability to express anything, and everything to fellow students behind anonymity; ranging from harmless rants about the meal prices all the way to heartfelt messages, you name it.

Submitting a confession was easy, all one had to do was fill up an anonymous form linked on the page, and wait ‘til moderators post it for everyone else to see.

You’ve always just been an avid reader of the confessions, a mere pastime in between lectures, and study breaks. It was interesting to see other students’ perspective, and thoughts in the campus you all shared, serving you a reminder that despite being in the same environment, everyone experienced things very differently.

Though, the only constant factor in everyone’s university lives was the confession page, even yours.

Despite the page ensuring full anonymity, it was still nerve-wracking to turn your feelings into words, your thumbs shook as you typed each letter into the anonymous form. You knew Iwaizumi would eventually see this confession despite only reading from the page from time to time, you just hoped it was vague enough for him to not notice—he was smart, and usually pieced clues together like it was nothing.

Surely out of all these students submitting confessions to this page everyday, Iwaizumi wouldn’t know, right?

The next few days consisted of refreshing said page, and waiting for your confession to pop up. “You’ve picked up your phone at least ten times in the past two minutes, what’s so interesting?” Oikawa’s dulcet voice pulled you into reality, your torso unceremoniously jerked away to shield your phone as he attempted to take a peek at the device in your hand.

The former narrowed his eyes at you but before he could throw a sly remark your way, Iwaizumi let out an annoyed sigh which gained yours, and Oikawa’s attention.

“Oikawa, if you’re bored, go bother someone outside the study room.”

The brunette playfully rolled his eyes before standing up to stretch, a small yawn slipping past his rosy lips. “Alright, I’m going to get some snacks. Anyone want any?” He grabbed his phone off the table before shifting his gaze between you, and Iwaizumi who only shook his head in silence, completely preoccupied with an assignment.

“Can I come?” “No, go scroll on your phone.”

Oikawa stuck his tongue out, not letting you protest before leaving the study room. The sound of the door clicking echoed throughout the walls of the study room, a deafening silence engulfed you, and Iwaizumi; for you, the silence was awkward, for him, it was completely normal.

If your heart were to pound any louder against your chest, you were sure he would’ve heard.

You randomly flipped through the pages of your textbook, trying to make yourself look busy. God, you couldn’t get more awkward than this. A flurry of overly self-conscious thoughts flooded your mind—would he think I’m weird for flipping too many pages? Fuck, am I reading this paragaph too fast? Is my posture okay? Oh god, I haven’t looked at a mirror all day, do I look fine? Is my hair messy?

Small, sharp prickles kissed down your body as heat engulfed you out of nowhere, cheeks warmed, and palms sweaty. You let out a sigh, nails digging into the skin of your nape, attempting to relieve the annoying itch.

“You okay? You seem very stressed lately.” Iwaizumi pushed his laptop screen halfway down to get a better view of you, he was slouched far into his seat, arms propped on either side of his laptop. His gaze met your own, deep emerald eyes boring into your very core. With a racing heart, you turned your mind upside down for an answer,

“Yeah . . I’m fine. Just tired is all.” Mentally cursing yourself, your nails harshly dug into the hearts of your palm—your voice came out small, and airy, not really convincing but whatever. If Iwaizumi caught your little white lie, he didn’t press on, instead returning a subtle dip of his chin before shifting his gaze back onto the laptop before him.

Sounds of soft keyboard tapping, and the low hum of the wall clock accompanied the deafening silence, you sat there twiddling your thumbs like a dumbass as if you weren’t supposed to be studying.

Iwaizumi wasn’t even doing anything yet here you were, warm faced, and as stiff as a board, if only he knew the effect he had on you. It was beyond embarrassing, really, how he was able to have this effect on you with little to no effort but then again, this was the Iwaizumi Hajime, of course it made sense.

For the first time in forever, you silently wished Oikawa came back as soon as possible—each second passed without a word spoken between you, and Iwaizumi, and you could really use the brunette right now to diffuse the growing awkwardness on your side.

As if the heavens answered your prayer, Oikawa came striding past the door, a bunch of snacks tucked neatly beneath his arm, and torso; you’ve never felt happier seeing him but you weren’t about to let anyone know. The brunette held his phone with his other hand, brown eyes concentrated on the device,

“Have you guys read the new confession? The page just posted it a couple of minutes ago.” He set the snacks on the table, and slid one your way before sitting down.

That’s right, just like you, Oikawa was also an avid reader of the university confessions page as though it was the morning newspaper. You couldn’t really blame him, the whole concept of it was interesting, plus, some confessions were rather strange but fascinating, nonetheless.

Iwaizumi wordlessly shook his head, not sparing a glance at his friend, you, on the other hand, felt a sudden wave of panic wash over your body. Did they finally post your confession? You squirmed in your seat, trying to act nonchalant, and completely normal about the situation at hand, “Mmm, no, not yet. Is it that interesting?”

Oikawa let out a low hum, an amused smile plastered on his face, with the way his gaze shifted back, and forth across the screen of his phone, he seemed to be reading the newest confession. The expression on Oikawa’s face did nothing to relax your nerves, he looked like he was enjoying every bit of the post—surely, you didn’t put much detail into it for anyone to piece it together or did you?

You expected the brunette to answer a simple yes or no along with a little explanation like he always did whenever he brought up the confessions page but apparently, he decided he’d read it out loud without you or Iwaizumi even asking.

Oikawa cleared his throat, “Here, I’ll read it out loud,” 

“Oh god. Never in a million years did I think this would happen to me but lately I’ve noticed that every time I see him, my heart starts racing. I can’t act normally around him anymore and he just looks so handsome whenever I see him. It’s hopeless, I know but some part of me wishes that my feelings are reciprocated. I don’t blame myself for falling in love because he’s such an amazing guy. He’s my everything, he knows that but he doesn’t know I don’t mean platonically. Sigh.”

As your friend read deeper into the paragraph, you slouched further into your seat, cheeks burning like the sun, and embarrassment engulfing your whole body. That was your confession. Fuck, you just wanted the floor to swallow you whole right then, and there.

Your eyes darted between Oikawa, and Iwaizumi, scanning their expressions—the former obviously had a smug smile on his face while the latter looked indifferent; the same old deadpan expression he’d worn since the start of your study session.

As if to make things worse for you, the brunette spoke up again, “It’s gaining quite the attention only because it's such a juicy confession, and students are trying to find out who’s in love with their best friend.” Oikawa chuckled, turning off his phone, and resting his palms behind his head.

What the fuck. How was your confession gaining more attention than the others? Last time you checked, yours was just a typical love confession, something all students have seen hundreds of times on the page, nothing special.

“W-what? Why? Why is it gaining attention?” Your tone came out more panicked than intended. Upon realising this, you awkwardly cleared your throat, and took a sip from your water bottle to help your nerves calm a tad bit before speaking up once again, “What’s so interesting about it, anyway?”

Oikawa shrugged, “Just a typical love confession but I’m not going to lie, it’s always interesting whenever someone has feelings for their best friend.”

Grabbing the snack Oikawa gave you earlier, you hastily opened the bag, and popped a chip in your mouth. Yeah, maybe eating something will calm your nerves.

This time, it was Iwaizumi’s turn to speak up, “Mhm. I’m guessing everyone’s just curious about it, maybe many can relate. It’s not easy being in love with your best friend.” He finally looked up from his laptop, dark emerald eyes shifting from Oikawa to you.

His gaze lingered a little too long for your liking which caused your brain to short circuit. Before you knew it, all you could do was listen to the sound of your yearning heart, fingers curling around the chip packet as your grip tightened.

You sucked in a breath, and averted your gaze from Iwaizumi, staring at the contents of your chip packet, “True . . I feel sorry for OP, especially since it's a long term friendship.” At least your voice didn’t come out shaky this time. Iwaizumi only nodded, he seemed to be in deep thought, whatever the reason was, you absolutely didn’t want to know.

Back in your dorm, you couldn’t help but check the comments under your confession, and as Oikawa stated earlier, majority of it were students tagging their friends on the post, and trying to find out who’s in love with their best friend. Some also gave sound advice about the situation which you appreciated, though, you didn’t know if you were really ready for a face to face confession with Iwaizumi.

Weirdly enough, the unexpected attention gave you a bit of confidence now that you were looking at it from another perspective. Earlier, it felt like a complete nightmare with how much other students were invested in your sad lovelife but now that you’ve calmed down, it was reassuring to see others give blind support, and words of encouragement.

Safe to say, there was still a hint of community between students despite everyone fighting their way through the semesters.

Plus, everyone seemed to await your next confession post, so who were you to deny them that? After all, you couldn’t really talk about it with anyone else, why not share it with the student population behind anonymity?

As expected, not only did your confession gain more traction within the next few days, but friends from classes you’re taking have also been talking about it. Though you couldn’t really comprehend what was so special about your submission, your feelings felt nothing but valid. Suddenly, it didn’t really feel like much of a crime being in love with your best friend—running away from your feelings was never an option but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t once cross your mind.

A million thoughts from students floated throughout the campus regarding the confession; ‘I wonder what their best friend is like?—he must be a really amazing guy.’ ‘I’m kind of curious as to what the person behind the confession is going to do next.’ ‘Heh, what if this confession is actually meant for me?’ ‘When will it be my turn?’

You’ve heard it all.

Despite everyone’s attention on the post, you just really wished that in the back of Iwaizumi’s mind, there was a pressing thought telling him the confession might be for him.

—

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© chrollogy 2024 | don't plagiarise, repost or steal my header.

[ayyy-pee]

Can we get some Nanami fluff where he’s caring for reader on her period?

hi bby!!! i am SO LATE with this one and it ended up being super different than what i first imagined it being lol but i felt like it fit the vibe of SIL so here we are with yet another Strangers in Love bit LOL (click the link if you haven't read SIL yet!)

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Pairing: Nanami Kento x Female Reader

Summary: Just a little drabble about how Nanami cares for SIL reader on her period...

Genre: Divorced to Lovers AU

What was it you had asked for again?

Nanami stands in the female hygiene product aisle at the drugstore, arms full of various items that he thinks may be beneficial for you. The confident air he exuded when he’d first entered the store has long faded and has been replaced with nothing but nerves. Nanami ticks off the boxes in his mental checklist, because it’s been so long since he’s had to do this for you, or any woman really, that he’s completely second guessing himself.

“Heating pad…” he murmurs under his breath. “Painkillers…chocolates…or does she prefer gummy worms now? Hmm…”

The large variety of products has his head spinning and he’s embarrassed to admit that he’s been standing in this aisle for far longer than he had intended. This is definitely not how he planned his day to go. 

Earlier That Day…

Nanami’s eyes watch the minute hand tick by on his wristwatch. It’s early Friday morning, and he should have left for work by now. But you haven’t gotten up yet, breaking the routine you two have picked back up on after all these years apart. It doesn't matter what day it is, or what time it is, if you're staying over at each other's places, you're up to say goodbye to one another. So you still being asleep is throwing Nanami off. Not that you can’t sleep in from time to time, but you just…don’t usually. 

And honestly, he doesn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to you. 

He can’t bear to mess this up again when your relationship has been going so well since dating again.

So instead, Nanami sets his briefcase down in your foyer and heads to your bedroom. When he opens the door, he’s met with darkness and silence. He can just barely make out your form beneath the blankets. You must be exhausted to be sleeping in and Nanami does not want to disturb you, so he quietly moves to close your door so he can head out. He’ll simply send you a text that he left while you were sleeping. That way it doesn’t seem as though he left without taking you into consideration.

The door is less than an inch from closing when Nanami thinks he hears something, the noise so hushed he almost misses it. He pauses, gives it a few seconds, and just before he moves to close the door again, he hears it once more. There’s no mistaking it, the quiet little sniffle coming from inside the bedroom, followed by an even quieter sob.

He’s moving before he realizes it. Nanami kneels beside your bed, gently peeling the blankets back and although he can’t see you in the dim early lighting, Nanami just knows. You’re crying. For what reason, he doesn’t know. But it kills him all the same.

“What’s wrong, my love?” He asks gently, a hand coming to caress your wet cheek. “Are you okay?”

His question makes you openly cry now, the tears flowing freely as Nanami quickly shuffles to the other side of your bed to lie with you, not caring that he’s ruining his suit as he scoots to hold you. His front presses against your back, large palm coming down to press against your stomach, and for some reason you sigh as though the warmth and pressure from his hand gives you some sort of relief.

Nanami nuzzles his nose into your hair, inhaling your scent. “Talk to me, love. What’s the matter?”

It takes you a moment, but when you finally speak, your voice comes out strained and tired. “Ugh…I started my period and I’m so damn miserable…” you groan, sniffling. “I think I’m dying…I need to run to the store but–”

“What do you need? I’ll go for you,” Nanami volunteers immediately. The last thing he wants is for you to go out in this condition. “I think I remember the products you use…”

You make a noise that sounds like a mixture of a laugh and a hiss of pain before you sigh out, “I don’t know if I should be flattered that you remember or I don’t know…disturbed? Are you that obsessed with me?”

“Yes,” he answers, instantly. He nuzzles further into you if possible. “I still remember the first time I ran to the convenience store to buy you products back in college. And the time I had to give you an extra pair of pants when you’d started your cycle unexpectedly, and–”

“Kennnnn,” you whine. “You’re so sweet and so strange. Why do you remember that?”

Nanami chuckles, softly rubbing his hand in soothing circles against your lower abdomen. “It’s not meant to be weird, but I remember these were big moments in our relationship. What I mean is, I want to take care of you.”

“What about work? You’ll be late…”

“I’m not going. You need me here.”

You curl into a ball before him and just a few seconds pass before he feels your body shaking, wracked with sobs. “Stop saying sweet things to meeeee,” you whine. “I love you so muuuuch.”

“Okay…okay,” he agrees. “I’m heading to the store, then. I’ll get you what you need, but if you think of anything else, just message me.” He kisses the top of your head, slowly peeling himself away from you, though he wants to stay in bed for as long as you’re there. But Nanami knows you need these essentials so that you’re comfortable. He’ll make the trip as quick as possible.

Currently…

This trip was not as quick as possible. His brown eyes stare at the selection before him. Did you use winged pads? Non-winged? Scented or not? Heavy flow or light flow? Or maybe you had grown to prefer tampons? Or…what the hell is a diva cup?

“Sir?” A soft voice calls out to him. Nanami turns his head to see a store attendant, an elderly woman, gazing softly at him. Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiles. “I’ve passed by this aisle a few times now and you’re still here. Did you need some assistance?”

Well, this is beyond embarrassing. All that talk of remembering your preferences, being obsessed with you (not a lie), and recalling memories that made you feel confident enough in sending him out alone into the world to bring you back something useful. All that, just for Nanami to get to the store, standing in a wrinkled business suit, and having absolutely no clue what he’s looking at.

Not only that, but some poor old woman is now taking pity on him and offering her services. He wants to take her up on her offer, but he also stubbornly wants to prove to himself that he can take care of you. But while he’s being stubborn, you’re suffering and that is something Nanami can’t stand to let continue.

He gives the woman a tight smile. “Actually, if you could–”

His phone buzzing in his pocket cuts him off. He mutters an “excuse me” and he finds himself dropping whatever is in his arms to answer. Only one person would call him this early in the morning. He answers without question, mouthing an apology to the attendant who waits patiently.

“My love,” he answers, brows furrowing when he hears your giggles on the other end of the line. Much different than what he expected seeing as he left you in a puddle of your own tears before going to the store.

“How long have you been standing around at the store?” You ask teasingly, and Nanami purses his lips together.

“I’ll have you know that…” he sighs in defeat. There’s no point in denying it. “It hasn’t been that long.”

Your laughter rings through and Nanami can’t help the wide grin on his face. The attendant clears her throat politely, reminding him that she’s still waiting. He covers the receiver on his phone. “Thank you so much for your help. My wife is going to take it from here.”

The woman nods, making her way out of the aisle and Nanami resumes his call with you.

“You called me your wife…” you breathe softly. 

Nanami feels his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. It was just a habit that he supposes never died. He opens his mouth to apologize, but your giggles surprise him. He expected discomfort, maybe anger given your history, but you don’t seem to feel either of those things. You simply brush it off and keep talking.

“Okay, so, here’s what I need–”

- - - - - -

“It smells so good in here, Kento.” Your sweet voice carries through the kitchen, arms looping around Nanami’s torso from behind. The sun is slowly beginning to set now, casting a warm glow through the kitchen windows as Nanami finishes up dinner. You’ve been resting on the sofa most of the day with your heating pad and whatever strange snacks you’ve been craving. Your pain has finally eased up and Nanami feels like he can breathe easier now that your face isn’t constantly contorted from your cramps. It’s been nice to let you just sit around. He’s simply been helping around your apartment with taking care of some household chores while you recover.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, stirring one last time before tasting the soup he’s thrown together. He makes a mental note to pick up some groceries for you so that there’s a better selection of ingredients for him to choose from for the next meal.

“So much better. Thank you so much for everything today, Kento.”

Nanami switches the stove off, spinning around in your embrace and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Of course. I’m just happy I was here to help.”

You smile shyly, and it’s Nanami’s favorite of all your expressions. “Me too,” you tell him. You lay your head against his chest, sighing contently as you murmur something that sends his heart into full on overdrive... 

“You should move in.”

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

oh hello, I am here for my first beloved hype fic: someone who cares! prompt: "do you remember when we first met?"

I'll leave the rest to you and your gigantic, perfect brain <333

Lex!! 😍 Thank you so much for all your support and for giving this little universe so much love. These two were the starting point of my Steddie obsession AND of my fanfic journey, and they'll always hold a special place in my heart. Hope you'll enjoy their wedding day!

Perfect, somehow

Rated: G

Words: 986

Tags: No UD AU; Modern AU, Steve is Dustin’s dad; Established relationship; Wedding day; Eddie Munson is a sweetheart; Steve Harrington needs a hug

Notes: Set in the same universe as Someone who cares

Steve is staring out at the rain and the soggy decorations dangling sadly from the branches of the apple tree when he hears the bedroom door open.

“Hey Robs,” he sighs, fiddling with the flimsy zipper of the dry cleaner bag. “Do you think it’s too late to reschedule the whole thing? I know Eddie will be disappointed, but-” 

“Disappointed?” says a voice behind him. A very familiar, very male voice that is distinctly not Robin’s. “I think the word you’re looking for is fucking livid, honey.” 

“What the fuck?” Steve yelps, whirling around so suddenly he nearly topples. “I told Dustin to get Robin!” 

Eddie shrugs - or at least Steve thinks he does. It’s a bit hard to say with only his head poking into the room, the rest of him still hidden behind the half-open door. “She’s downstairs talking to the caterer. Can I come in or what? Dustin said, and I quote, Dad looks like he’s about to puke on his ugly-ass shoes.” 

Steve’s gaze flicks down to his tan leather slippers. He bought them especially for today, to have something to go with his cream suit. 

“It’s bad luck to see each other before the ceremony,” he mutters. 

“Yeah right,” Eddie snorts and steps into the room. The mumble of voices from downstairs dims as he shuts the door behind him. “Except from what you just said, you’d rather not have a ceremony at all.” 

“That’s not true,” Steve blurts. “Of course I wanna- … oh shit, you look amazing.” 

Eddie smiles - the boyish and dimpled one that was one of the first things Steve fell in love with - playing with the lapels of his suit jacket. Black, just like his shirt and tie and pants. His hair has been tamed into a braid, the first stubborn strands already escaping and curling around his face. 

“Thanks,” he says, black leather shoes nervously scuffing on the bedroom floor. “You only get married once, huh? If you still wanna. Marry me, that is.” 

Steve groans. The dry cleaner bag, still clutched in his clammy hands, crinkles as he flops down on the bed. 

“Of course I wanna marry you. I wanna marry you so fucking badly, you have no idea!” 

Eddie’s brow wrinkles. “Then what’s the problem?” 

“What’s the problem?” Steve blurts, gesturing frantically at the curtain of rain behind the windowpane. “I wanted this to be perfect, and now? Weather forecast says it won’t stop raining until tomorrow, and even if it did, the yard’s a fucking mud field. And as if that wasn’t enough, the fucking dry cleaner ruined my suit jacket.” 

He unzips the bag, shaking the mess inside at Eddie’s face. Those pretty brown eyes grow large. 

“Whoa,” Eddie mutters. “Please tell me you demanded your money back.” 

Steve doesn't reply, just continues to stare at him with the same glum expression. Eddie’s eyes go soft and he huffs a laugh. 

“Hey,” he says, plucking the bag from Steve’s hands and tossing it over a chair. Then, he plops down on the mattress beside him, knee to knee, and links their fingers. “Do you remember when we first met?” 

“Huh?” Steve blinks. “Yes, of course, why do you-” 

“I was one failed rent payment away from sleeping on the curb,” Eddie interrupts him, smile wide and happy. “The power company had cut me off weeks ago, and besides, I had pawned my laptop, so I hand wrote my application for that job you'd posted. Not that I thought I'd get it, but I was sort of grasping at straws, y’know?” 

His smile is warm and fond when he looks at Steve.

“That apartment building of yours was so fucking fancy. And then you barged out of that stupid, pompous penthouse and I thought shit, not only is he filthy rich, he's also disgustingly hot on top? Gimme a break, that's just unfair.” 

Steve scoffs, heat prickling at the base of his neck. “C'mon now, I was a mess. My father was breathing down my back at work, I felt like I was failing as a dad. The bags under my eyes were probably reaching my knees.” 

Eddie laughs, loud and carefree and Steve loves him. Loves him so fucking much, wants to spend the rest of his life listening to that laugh. Still can't believe he'll get to. 

“Okay, one: you looked like a fucking dream, baby. And two: I think we can agree we both weren't in the best of places, each in his own way. Right?” 

Steve scoffs. “Yeah, agreed.” 

Eddie's fingers squeeze his, the touch warm and familiar. The shape of his hand. The warm metal of his rings. Skulls and crosses, and the plain silver one Steve gave him on the day he proposed to him. “And still here we are, huh?” 

Steve takes a moment to let this sink in. Here they are. The man he loves and him, with the family they chose downstairs, ready to build a future together. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Here we are, I guess.” 

“So, what d’you say?” Eddie hums, lifting their entwined hands to kiss Steve’s knuckles. “You wanna get married?” 

Steve can't help it, he laughs. “Hell yeah, let's do it.” 

“Yesss,” Eddie cheers, jumping off the bed and punching at the air. “Let's fucking go!” 

Then, he starts unlacing his shoes. He's taken off his socks and is rolling up his pants before Steve finds his words again. 

“Erm, Eddie? What are you doing?” 

Eddie, just in the process of shrugging out of his suit jacket, shoots him a toothy grin. “What we do best, love. I'm making it work.”

They say their vows ankle-deep in mud, with the wind blowing rain under their umbrella and ruining their hair. It's nothing like Steve ever imagined his wedding day to be. It's all he never knew he wanted. 

And damn if that isn't its own kind of perfect. 

More celebration ficlets!

[ethanmorales]

Misconceptions

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Part 4 - Air

Pairing: Ethan Morales x fem reader 4.1k words Requested Tags: @arij3lly@hitoshislut@bjrmaybank@ghostfaceorgirlfriend @in-silverlake @misacc08 Warnings: swearing, smut

It's the beginning of a brand-new school year at Sherman Oaks high. The last year for some of us; me included. But the start of my senior year, ironically, is not the reason my legs are wobbly. Nope, that was all because of Ethan, who had knocked on my window for a late-night visit about 6 hours ago. There were a few things he wanted to try so… let’s just say, it was a good thing my mom had the night shift at the hospital.

It’s only been a week since our first time. Only a week since he admitted having feelings for me. Unfortunately, we didn’t discuss the matter further. My mom had gotten home after his confession, and he practically had to take his clothes and run out the back door before we got caught. We’ve met almost every day since, but we haven’t talked about us. We kiss a lot and of course we have sex, sometimes we even cuddle, and we talk about our days, but we never talk about what we are to each other and at this point, I’m afraid to ask.

I loved every second of the time we’ve spent together. But now that school has started again, I’m afraid. Afraid that things will go back to how they used to be. Afraid that a new girl will catch his attention. I know it makes no sense, after he confessed to having feelings for me, but the heart is a treacherous thing. You can never trust it. I most certainly don’t trust mine. It always makes me feel crazy most times. Or maybe it’s my mind that’s the problem.

It doesn’t help that it’s almost time for first period and I’ve not heard from Ethan yet. He usually texts me as soon as he wakes up. Today? Nada. I even texted him first, but he left me on read.  So, I’m spiraling, just a little bit. I think I’m entitled to in this situation.

I glance around the hallway one more time as the bell rings. I don’t see him anywhere. At that moment, Devi links her arm around mine. “That was the bell ringing just now,” she said, pointing a finger in the air.

I ignored the sarcasm but let her steer me away to our first class.

“I was expecting some witty remark,” she said, when I didn’t reply.

I force myself to smile, “Sorry, head in the clouds today.”

“It’s okay, girl. The first day of school sucks. My sleeping schedule is so messed up from a summer full of all-nighters.”

I quirk an eyebrow at this, “Do these all-nighters have a name?”

Devi shakes her head furiously, “Nope. No name at all.” I pretended to believe her as our teacher walked in the door, closing it behind him. I look back to Ethan’s desk but it’s empty. I hide my phone under the desk and shoot him a quick text.

Skipping on the first day? That’s bad, even for you.

Devi smacks the top of my desk, eyes wide. I glance to the front of the classroom and see the teacher is staring right at me. “Sorry, Mr. Shapiro.”

He sighs, “You guys are lucky I am the coolest teacher ever,” he continues before anyone can respond. “Raise of hands if you completed your summer reading,” pauses, “Yes, the audio book counts. No, the movie does not.”

The rest of the class was a blur. A glance at my phone confirmed that Ethan hadn’t responded. The anxiety in my chest continued to grow as time continued to pass. At lunchtime I still hadn’t heard from him. At this point, I was angry.

Fuming, I stomped all the way to my locker, putting away my books and backpack for the hour. As I’m closing the door, Dominic Stryker leans against the locker next to mine. Dominic was an exchange student that started late last semester. Everyone was surprisingly welcoming to him, but that might have something to do with the fact that he’s hot. Mind you, I only have eyes for Ethan but if I didn’t, the windswept blond hair and bright blue eyes would do it for me.

But Ethan was very much the only person that I wanted, so Dominic’s presence only served to irritate me more.

“Yes?” I asked when he just stared at me, sweeping his hair back with his hand.

Unfazed by my tone, he smiles warmly at me, “Say, have you seen Ethan anywhere? He hasn’t been in any of our classes.”

I frown at this, “Of all the people you could ask, why would I know where he is?”

Dominic shrugs, “I just got a vibe last time, like you were into him or something.”

I huffed. “I am definitely not into him.” I say it louder than I intend to, and some people slow down to look at us. He waves at them, and they quickly carry on with their business.

“My bad,” he says, looking back at me, smiling wider, “Just a misunderstanding.”

I sigh, once I realize that I’m being snappy and rude. “I’m sorry. It’s not been a great morning, I’m a little on edge. There’s no excuse for taking it out on you.”

Dominic slides over the lockers a bit, cutting some of the distance between us; then lowers his voice.

“I forgive you,” he says, “but I might have to seek compensation for the emotional damage.”

I roll my eyes, but a smile does tug at my lips. “Whatever. I’ll buy you a soda. Is that compensation enough?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “How about a meal? After school?”

I suddenly realized that he was asking about Ethan to make sure he could make his move. And I basically gave him the opening. Horrified, I struggle to respond.

“I- uh

“She’s busy after school.” The voice was very close behind me. I turned around so quickly that I bumped into his chest.

“Ethan.” Even at my addressing him, he didn’t look at me. His eyes were fixed on Dominic. For the moment, I ceased to exist.

“I think Y/N can decide if she’s busy or not,” Dominic says, standing up straighter to look down at Ethan. But Ethan seems unfazed.

“I think you need to keep walking before I lose my patience.” Ethan’s words were calm, but I knew him well enough to know this was the calm before the storm. I’ve seen him fight before; Dominic did not stand a chance if it turned into that.

“Guys, please. Just stop. If you get detention this week, they won’t let you come to homecoming.” I was trying to be the voice of reason, but my reasoning was lacking in many ways. My audience could care less about homecoming, for one.

“I’m still waiting for a response, “Dominic says, ignoring my previous statement. “Food after school? I know a cool spot.”

Ethan pulls me to the side so that he can face Dominic without me being in the middle.

“I already told you that she’s busy.” Ethan’s voice was not as calm as before. His hands were balled into fists. I knew I had to stop this now or it would turn into a fight.

“I got a lot going on right now, sorry Dominic.” My words come out quick.

Ethan smiled at this, motioning towards me. “You heard her. Now go find someone else to hit on.”

Dominic’s expression was deadly as he stared back at Ethan, but then his gaze turned to me.

“I thought you were definitely not into him,” he said it in a mocking tone, air quotations in the air. I didn’t know what to say that could make this better, so I just looked at him with what I hoped looked like a silent apology.  He just shook his head in disbelief as he pushed past us, finally leaving us alone.  

Even with his departure, Ethan stays in place, still not looking at me.

“Ethan?” I finally say.

I jump in surprise as he slams his fist on the locker door and I see the metal bend.

“Oh my God,” I grab his arm and pull him away before anyone sees what he did. I haul him through the hallway and take a left, this part of school is empty during lunch time. I find the nearest door and push him through it. I lock the door behind us and turn around. It’s the faculty bathroom, I realize.

“Are you insane? Do you know how much trouble you could get into for damaging school property? You don’t need a vandalism strike on your records.”

He finally turns to face me, but the expression on his face is even angrier than before.

“What the fuck do I care about that?” he replies. Before I can start listing the reasons why he should care, he continues, “What the fuck was that shit about?” He points to the door, but I know he is talking about Dominic. I stay quiet for a moment, not sure how to proceed. I had never seen him this angry. Ever. But at the same time, screw him. I was angry at him myself.

“I should be the one asking you, what the fuck was that? I’ve been looking for you all morning and texting you and nothing. You ghost me and then have the audacity to throw a jealous scene over some guy asking me out?!” The volume of my voice rose with each word.

 I half expected Ethan to throw more angry words at me, or to yell back at me, but it was the opposite. His voice low, he responds. “I dropped my phone in the toilet this morning.”

I stare, waiting for the punchline but he doesn’t say anything else.

“You dropped your phone in the toilet,” I repeat, not sure if I believed it.

Ethan let out an annoyed breath, “I was going to respond to your text, and I dropped it. If you texted after the first one that I read, I haven’t seen them. I left my phone in a bowl of rice.”

I scoff, “Your phone is waterproof.”

Ethan gives me a pointed look, “Not if you leave it in water for a long time, apparently.”

“Why would you leave it in there at all?”

Silence.

“Ethan, I am trying to give you the chance to explain.”

He mumbled something under his breath.

I take a step closer to hear him better. “What was that?”

Ethan shakes his head. “My parents were fighting again.”

“Oh.” Is all I can say.

Ethan laughs, but the sound is bitter.

“Yeah. So, I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to you then. But you letting this dick hit on you while I’m dealing with that shit. Fuck that.”

I suddenly felt terrible, even though I didn’t know what was happening until he explained. We kept ending up in this situation, always with a misunderstanding. But I knew the only reason this kept happening is because our communication was shit. Because I didn’t know where we stood.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize he was hitting on me until it was too late.” I finally say.

Ethan scoffs – not amused.

“What are we?” I finally ask, exasperated. As soon as the words spill out of my mouth, I regret them. This was the last thing Ethan would want to talk about with everything going on.

Ethan just stares at me. Looking beautiful and tortured.

“Sorry. Forget I said anything,” my voice trembles and I hate it.

Ethan steps closer. “Are you serious?”

I meet his gaze, but I can’t decipher the emotion in his eye.

“I said forget about it!” I start turning to leave, embarrassed at my outburst. Ethan just pulls me into him and kisses me. I’m too stunned to respond to his kiss, which seems to upset Ethan more as he pushes me into the bathroom sink, kissing me more aggressively. I give in and kiss him back. His tongue quickly starts a tug of war with mine as he deepens the kiss. After a moment of this, I can’t remember what we were arguing about in the first place. All I can think about is the way his mouth moves with mine, effortlessly. His hands on my waist, then lower, cupping my butt. I pull away for a moment, “It’s the teacher’s bathroom,” I said, my voice breathless.

“I don’t give a fuck,” is all he says, as he kisses me once more, then stops, “You asked me a question. I’m making my point.” I try to remember what the question was but then we’re back at it and I forget to remember.

Ethan plops me on top of the sink as we continue kissing. I feel one of his hands on my thigh and then moving slowly up under my skirt.

“Fuck.” He groans against my lips. I smile, knowing that he has realized I’m not wearing underwear.

“This better have been for me and not for that asshole,” he says as his fingers caress my opening.

I look at him, annoyed. Smack him in the chest. “Do you really think I care about Dominic?”

Ethan holds my gaze steadily and my heart flutters. Stupid body. Why do you have to react in the most annoying ways at the worst possible times. Who cares about his beautiful caramel skin and beautiful brown eyes. He is a jerk.

“I hope not.” He finally says.

“What?”

“I hope you don’t care about him. I hope you only care about me.”

My heart speeds up. “I don’t care about him or any other guy.” I start to tell him that he was the only one I care about, but I don’t get a chance to tell him. In that moment, he slips a finger inside of me and I gasp in surprise. Ethan holds my gaze as he slips a second finger in. I let out a shaky breath as he starts moving in and out.

“I’m the only guy who’s allowed to do this, do you understand?” His tone was a mixture of anger and lust. I was holding on to his arms for dear life as he pumped his fingers in and out of me, then he presses on my clitoris with both fingers, which makes me moan involuntarily. I claw my nails into his arms to keep myself together.

“Do you understand?” he asks again. Fighting the ache building up inside me and breathing heavier by the second, I nod.

His fingers stop moving suddenly, leaving with their absence, a vengeful kind of coldness and I whine in protest. “Ethannn”

“Say it.” He demands. I frown at him, annoyed.

“Fine. You’re the only one who is allowed to do this.”

He smirks. “Yeah, I am.”

I think of an insult to throw at him but never get to say it. At my saying what he wants to hear, Ethan’s hands spread my legs apart and he kneels, his head disappearing under my skirt. Still, I’m not prepared for the attack from his tongue.

Ethan’s POV

I’m not proud at how I reacted about that dick hitting on her, but when I walked over and heard him flirting with her and then asking her out…  It felt like I was set on fire by some supernatural being. It took all of me not to pummel him right there. The nerve on this fucker; to ask my girl out. But what really fucked me up is that she didn’t immediately reject him. That felt like a stab to the heart. I wanted to burn the whole damn world down.

Once in the bathroom, as we threw angry words at each other I realized what the problem was. We both care too fucking much, but we also hold back even more.

Most of the anger in me dissipates at her words when she finally says what I want to hear, even if she only says them because I told her to. I don’t know how to say the things I want to say, so I decided to show her to the best of my abilities. I drop to my knees and in between her legs and under the shield of her skirt, I kiss her in her wetness. I hear her breathing pick up as I suck at her clit; her hand grabbing at my hair. I groan, turned on even more at the simple gesture. I loved it when she did that.

I pull away and she practically whimpers. “Don’t stop.”

I stand up and look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, her chest moving fast with shallow breaths. I feel more blood rushing to my dick. The pain is almost unbearable now.

“Hang on, baby.” I fumble with the button in my jeans. Once I pull them with my boxers, I let her look at me for a moment, the desire in her eyes just driving me to the edge. I pull her to me for a second, kiss her lips softly and smile.

“Now turn around,” I order.

She looks confused for a second, but she does as she is told. Her doing everything I ask her makes me so fucking horny, she has no idea how much power she has over me. Fueled by an animalistic kind of desire, I guide her to a bending position and hold her hips with both my hands. Without a word, I push myself into her. I see her grab onto the sink to support herself as I drive myself deeper inside her. I give her a moment to get used to the feeling since it’s the first time we have done this.

I can see her flushed face through the mirror and when she makes eye contact with me, I catch the silent plea. At this, I lose whatever is left of my sanity. I plunge myself inside of her. She moans and I follow, as I slip in and out. As I watch our reflections in the mirror, I see when she starts to close her eyes as the pleasure continues to build. I hate the idea of her not looking at me when I’m inside her. I pulled out and turn her around to face me.

“Don’t take your eyes off me.”

I lift her onto the sink again and hold her gaze as I shove my throbbing dick inside her again. At this angle, her head falls back when she screams. I grab her face to make her look at me.

“God, Ethan.” Her reaction eggs me on. I move faster, knowing I have a limited time to make her cum. I was barely hanging on as it is. Our breaths were labored as I continued to fuck her. You could hear her wetness as I moved, but her pussy continued to tighten around me so I knew she was close. I slid out a bit and positioned myself slightly to the left before I pushed myself in again. She screamed, loudly this time. I smiled at finding the right spot and moved faster. This time, as if we were in sync, we came together. Once we rode the wave, breathing heavily, I gently helped her off the sink. After pulling my pants up, I loop my arms around her and rest my sweaty forehead against hers. We both closed our eyes, trying to catch our breath.

“What I was trying to say is… you’re mine.” I finally found the words.

I open my eyes to find her watching me. Her face gets redder. I’m confused for a moment and then realize why she’s upset.

“And I’m yours. I thought that part was obvious.” I say.

Y/N narrows her eyes at me, and I laugh.

“How is that obvious?” she asks.

“I told you how I felt last week. If anything, I’m the only one that should be angry. You never told me how you felt about me.”

“I thought that part was obvious.” She throws the words back at me, her tone playful.  

I smile and kiss her deeply.

“So how do you feel about me?” I ask after we stop.

I didn’t want to admit that it had bothered me so much. We’ve spent the last week glued to each other and not once had she brought it up, so I decided to not bring it up and make an even bigger fool out of myself. But the more days passed, the more insecure I became. That’s probably why I lost my mind earlier.

Y/N smiles softly and cups my face with her hands.

“I’ve been crazy about you for I don’t know how long,” she says. I smiled at her words, the heavy feeling in my chest finally easing.

“Me? But I suck,” I say jokingly.

“Yet I’m still in love with you.” She pushes at me gently, embarrassed. I grin like an idiot at her declaration.

I grab her face and kiss her again. Once, twice, three times.

“Ethan,” she giggles. I bury my face in her neck and kiss her there too, holding her tightly against me.

“I love you too.” I say.

When she looks at me, I see stars in eyes.

A knock on the door makes us both jump.

“Shit.”

Y/N POV

“Oh God, we’re going to get expelled.”

Ethan chuckles at this and I smack his arm.

“Just deny everything. They didn’t see anything so it’s their word against ours.”

I shake my head, “But the door was locked.”

“Hey,” he says, lifting my chin up, “You trust me?”

I nod and he smiles.

“Then follow my lead.”

I do. I walk slowly behind him, fighting the soreness in my body and holding on to Ethan’s arm when I notice how shaky my legs are. Ethan looks beside me and realizes. He gives me what seems to be an apologetic smile.

We moved to the door, which was still being knocked on. He turns the lock and opens it.

We’re both surprised to see Paxton standing there, swimming coach uniform on. I don’t think Ethan was prepared to see him of all people. He stays quiet.

Paxton looks at him and then me, almost trying to hide a smile.

“You guys should go. Now. Be thankful it was me.”

I let out a sigh of relief and so did Ethan. We started moving around him and out into the hallway, but Paxton put a hand up to stop me as I was about to walk past him.

“You might want to try being a bit more… discreet next time.” I look at him, confused and he elaborates, stepping closer to not be heard. “You were loud. Like very loud.” I blush furiously at his words and speed away from him. I heard him chucking behind me.

The end of lunch arrives at the sound of the bell and suddenly the empty hallways fill up again, everyone going into classrooms and their lockers to pick up their stuff at the last minute. As we’re moving through the people around us, Ethan’s hand slips into mine and he interlocks our fingers. I quickly looked at him in a question. But he just smiles. We walk to my next classroom, and he walks in with me, hand in hand, even though we don’t share this class. We get to my desk, which coincidentally, is next to Dominic’s. I understand now.

“Thanks for walking me.” I say, shyly. I hear my classmates whistling and adding commentary in the background. I sit down but notice Ethan hasn’t moved from his spot. I look at him in a question. He then bends down and kisses me long. I vaguely hear angry muttering beside me, but I ignore it, lost in the kiss.

“Good afternoon Mr. Morales. I wasn’t aware I had you in this class.” My math teacher had arrived.

Ethan winked at me as he moved away to leave. “I’m out,” he tells my teacher, hands up in surrender, turns around and points at me, “I just wanted to take care of my lady.”

The whole class reacts loudly.

I sink lower into my desk. Still, I smile. He was announcing to the world that we’re together, claiming me in front of everyone.  I couldn’t imagine ever being happier than I was in that moment.

The End.

___________________

A/N: Thank you all for reading! You are bomb! Hope you enjoyed this little story of mine. I enjoyed writing it. Stay tuned for other fanfics and/or one shots about Ethan. ☺️

Stay awesome, much love xx

[depressopax]

Agent Coopers car - Dale Cooper x fem reader

Fandom - Twin Peaks

Pairing: Dale Cooper x fem reader Genre: Smut Warning(s): Sexual content. Smut without plot lmao, “fluff”-smut, penetration, semi-public, switch!Dale, teasing, cuss words, petnames, reader has “fem” anatomy Words: 1.1K Summary: Spicy time in Dale’s car after work <3 English is not my main language, if I make any spelling mistakes please let me know so I can improve my writing! <3 AO3 link soon!

There's fog over the town of Twin Peaks tonight. Apart from the owls hooting, the town is quiet. 

It seems most people have gone to sleep, except you and special agent Dale Cooper. 

The two of you are working on a case together, but even special agents need some time off after a long day in service. 

Dale choosing to bring you as his partner for this mission might not have been the brightest idea. Sure, he enjoyed the company, but he barely got any work done, with your subtle teasing and flirtatious glances at him. At first he was confused but he knows you, and realized what it was you wanted. He was embarrassed but pleased. 

Still, it was a bit annoying, having his colleagues asking if he’s ok, since they never see  the calm and collected agent acting flustered and distracted. 

You usually take your job seriously, but lately it’s been so much work, that you and Dale barely get any alone time together. Once you get home, late at night, none of you are in the mood, or have the energy to get physical with each other. 

Seeing your boyfriend being all serious and focused, just to make him a flustered, annoyed and blushing mess in front of the task force was too tempting to not act up on. 

Once in the car, he confronted you about the behavior. Dale is almost never mad, and you rarely have arguments. 

You could tell from his forced sweet, calm tone that he was pretty pissed off. 

…But his boner said something totally different. 

Like two love drunk fools, you couldn’t keep it in your pants nor wait until you got home before basically ripping each other's clothes off. 

God, you’ve missed his bare pale skin and those toned abs. 

With the front seats pulled back for comfort, the two of you moan in unison. Dale's arms are wrapped around you. His palms are gently pressed around your back to keep you close to him as you ride him. He lets out a soft whimper, already feeling the second orgasm build up as he buckles his hips up, driving his hardened cock deeper inside of you. You cuss out loudly as he starts kissing your chest, bringing your right boob into his mouth, flicking his tongue around the nipple as you continue bouncing on his length. 

Luckily, no one has driven past you yet, but it’s not like you care. 

Dale pulls away from your chest, looking up at you in awe, with brown eyes shining in desperation. 

“I’m gonna…” 

“Not yet, Coop…” 

You coo, continuously moving back and forth on his dick, bringing yourself close to the edge too. He starts mumbling how unfair you are but you know he likes it. His sweaty palms move down, from your back and to your ass, giving it a squeeze as he holds you still, once again slapping his hips up, filling you completely with his member. You gasp and feel your walls clench around him. You can barely continue riding, as the intense pleasure makes you freeze momentarily. 

Dale looks smug over your reaction.

“Don’t stop riding me now.” 

He murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your wet forehead. 

Slowly, you start moving your hips again and let out loud moans from the pleasure. Dale goes from your hair, to your breast which he squeezes, and down to your wetness. He uses his thick thumb to rub lazy circles around your swollen clit and you whimper. 

“Fuck… Are you trying to take control?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Coop.” You hiss. “Oh fuck….”

His fingers are more rough with your sensitive clit now, and he pinches it lightly. 

“You started it… This is karma for trying to make me horny at work.”

“I succeeded.”

“Mhm… And now I’m getting revenge by driving you crazy.” 

Dale’s voice is soft as always and he smiles against your lips as you kiss. He continues stimulating you, whilst your movements get more sloppy and slow. Your legs practically feel like jelly when riding him.

“Mmm… Dale?”

“Yes, cutie?”

“You can cum now.”

Your voice is almost like a whisper.

“Can I take control, my love?” 

His voice is sweet and loving, but you know he’s teasing you. You are usually on top, and Dale is comfortable with being submissive to you. But every once in a while he likes having you at his mercy. 

You nod eagerly, too exhausted to fight back. He pulls out momentarily, just to flip you around. You are now laying on your back in the bent-down seat, Dale hovering over you, holding one hand around his erection, which he pumps slowly whilst looking at your naked body. 

You open your legs for him, your cunt dripping from arousal. He is gentle as he guides himself back into you, doing so with a grunt. 

Dale loves having you in missionary, seeing your gorgeous face as he uses long delicate strokes to satisfy himself and you. 

He watches your eyes roll back, knowing you’re completely at his mercy now. The sight makes him ache for release.

“Together?” 

He whispers, kissing your neck, being careful, but determined to leave hickeys on your cute neck. 

“Together.” 

You whisper back, resting in the seat as you let Dale be dominant for change. The both of you moan, reaching a second orgasm together. He twitches inside of you, as he releases his seeds into the condom, which is the only thing keeping you apart. Your own orgasm is intense, the pleasure making you dizzy as you cum over his cock and the warm leather seat under your naked body. Dale shivers from the wonderful feeling of his climax. He holds still inside of you as you both calm down from the intimacy you shared. 

After riding out your high, you’re panting for air, looking at the ceiling of the car. Dale pulls out his softening cock, rolling onto the bent-down seat beside yours. His warm sweaty hand finds yours, and you intertwine fingers. 

“Wow… I needed that.”

Dale says with a tired but satisfied grin. You chuckle and nod in agreement. 

“So did I.” You sigh happily and roll closer to him. “I love you Dale”

“I love you too, cutie.”

You cuddle up with him, happy to finally be in his arms again.

[jvstheworld]

Sleeping Sudeikis- a mini fanfic

I've been getting into writing more fanfiction recently, and I wrote this one last night. Hope you like it. It's also on AO3. Here's the link, if you want: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56765833

It wasn't often that you woke up before him. You were always the one to sleep late, fighting to stay in bed just a little bit longer, while he tried to drag you out of it to get breakfast or go to work. Today was a rare day. Jason was still asleep, practically dead to the world. One of his arms was out stretched under the pillows you both were using, the other lay heavy across your stomach, because even in sleep he has to hold you. You would never complain about that. You liked that he always had you within arm’s reach, to hold your hand, or hug you at a moment's notice, or pull you in for a kiss. You would never dare complain about him giving you affection. You felt loved in those moments. And just for a second the world stopped and you were the only two people existing. It never got old. Right now, you were the only two in the room. The sound of birds chirping and Jason's breathing were all that you could hear. The sun was coming in through the crack in the curtains, but it might as well have still been night because you weren't leaving this bed for a long time. Not while he was still perfectly asleep.

You laid still, just watching him. Taking in every freckle across his nose and cheeks, his long eyelashes, and the few days growth of his beard, because you finally convinced him to stop shaving. It was a waste of time, money and effort. You liked his beard, you missed it. The feel of it against your skin when he tucked his head into the crook of your neck, or the backs of your fingers and the palm of your hand when you caressed his cheek in a moment of reassurance, or when he trailed soft kisses down your body to your thighs when he wanted to make you feel beautiful. Jason made sure that you never doubted his attraction to you. Whatever negative thoughts you might have had about yourself quickly died when he looked at you with his hazel eyes. Those eyes. You would commit crimes for this man if he gave you the right look. That perfect mix of green and brown you had burned into your mind. So expressive, soft and warm, they made you melt into a puddle when he smiled. Even thinking about it makes you smile, makes you want to wake him to see them. But you let him sleep, he'll wake up when he's ready. For now, you just wanted to keep enjoying him.

You lifted your free hand to run it gently through his hair, gorgeous and thick. A mess of dark brown hair greying at the sides. A silver fox in the making. It only served to make him more attractive to you. As much as you wished he wouldn't dye it as much, you understood why he did. But during the times when the greys were showing through, you never stopped telling him how much you loved them. It wasn't a lie, you wouldn't lie about that. But there were some insecurities he was dealing with, tied to his body, that he needed to work through and you were more than happy, ready, and willing to be there to work through it with him. To you, Jason was the most beautiful man on the planet. To you, he was perfect.

Your hand trailed from his hair down the back of his neck, your fingers then ghosting over the curve of his ear and to his jaw, careful not to wake him. Your hand moved back up to the top of his forehead, tracing a path down, following the slope of his nose to ghost over his lips. Many sinful thoughts came to your head about that nose, how it rubbed against you just right whenever he decided he wanted to live between your legs. And those lips, forever soft like they had never had a chapped day in their life. But behind them was his tongue. That man and his tongue are a dangerous combination and he knew it. Jason wielded it like a weapon to tease and taunt you, to make you squirm and delight you. To bring you to the point of ecstasy where you can't remember your name. But you would always remember his. It wouldn't leave your lips.

You kept making lines and patterns over his skin down his arm, trying to touch every freckle and mole you could see, passing the time until he woke up. His eyebrows twitched a little at some of the touches, like he was realising that someone else was with him. His eyes soon started to flutter open. It took him a few seconds to fully wake up, collecting his thoughts as he saw you still snuggled up next to him.

‘Hi.’ Jason's voice was a little rough from not having spoken or had anything to drink since last night. To be honest, when his voice was like this, it was pretty sexy to hear.

‘Morning.’ You replied, still tracing patterns back up his arm. Your voice was the same, in all this time you've been awake you hadn't made a sound until now. There wasn't a reason to, no need to break the peace and quiet with an unneeded sound.

‘Is it still morning?’ He pulls you in a little tighter, closing whatever distance had been made during sleep. You look at your watch, curious to the time as well.

‘Only just.’ Only just being eleven thirty. You both had slept fairly late. Although, there was no reason to get up today. No work to do, no commitments to keep, no kids to wrangle. It was a day just for the two of you to share.

‘How long have you been awake?’ Jason knew it couldn't have been long as you hadn't even wiped the sleep from your eyes yet.

‘Don't know… Don't care.’ It was true, you didn't care. You were happy to just lie there and commit his face to memory like you do every time you wake up first. And he knew that's what you were doing.

‘Like what you see?’ A smirk formed at his lips. He already knew the answer. It was the same answer you gave him every time he caught you staring at him and he asked you that question. He just wanted to hear you say it again.

‘Always.’ His smirk turned into a full blown smile at that word, and his puppy dog eyes came out in full force to make you melt into his arms even more ‘You know what I'm going to ask though?’

‘You want to stay in bed a little bit longer.’ It wasn't a question, and the truth was he didn't want to leave either. Why would he ever want to leave the comfort of a nice warm bed as his girlfriend lay next to him in his arms? Only an idiot would do that on a day like this.

‘I don't want to lose this moment.’ Jason leaned over to kiss you softly at that response. The first of many to come, that was for sure. Starting them off tender and sweet while warming up for more playful and passionate ones later. He was going to take his time with you today, but for now he wanted to let you have this moment of complete blissful peace.

‘We won't lose it.’ He gave you another kiss, his nose rubbing against yours a little when he breaks it and smiles at the feeling it brings him. ‘I love you.’ He brought you to lay your head on his chest, his arms wrapped around you, taking a few deep breaths to take it all in and savour the memory. You left a few kisses on his chest and neck before you said the four words he was waiting to hear back.

‘I love you too.’

[fanfoolishness]

For the "even more fic writer asks!"

1, 26 and 29 (And Ietting you choose the fic 'cause I can't decide/maybe some have no linked answers?)

Ahhh, the agony of choosing XD Thank you for sending an ask! <3

I'll pick some Bad Batch ones for you <3

Start to finish, how long did it take to plan and write? Did you take breaks during the process?

Technically I'm cheating a bit, since a rain that sounds like home isn't yet complete. But it has been percolating since.... (checks google docs) May 15, and I only started to feel confident in actually writing it in the past month, and only started publishing it in the last 2-3 weeks. I kept going away and coming back to it, getting frustrated because I couldn't quite figure out how I wanted it to go. I knew I wanted Crosshair to have a big, messy breakdown about Tech. I'd been wanting to write that story for ages. But then the finale came along and cut off my boy's fucking hand and I realized I had to deal with that too. Then I had to figure out how to twine his PTSD, the recovery from the amputation, and his unresolved grief about Tech that just barely, barely got brushed on in the finale all together into a big knotty mess. Then I had to figure out how to start to untangle them. It kept feeling like a herculean task, and for a while I contemplated leaving Tech out of it. But it's my goddamn mission in life to help characters deal with sibling grief (since I got through it, I want them to, too!).

This next chapter is going to be an emotional nuclear bomb going off, and Crosshair's finally going to have to start dealing with his feelings about losing Tech while never reconciling with him, and I hope it comes out just as messy and painful as I've been aiming for. If all goes well editing-wise I'll post that tomorrow, and the final chapter still has some writing to do but has an outline. All told it will be about 3 months of work, with many breaks to let my brain try to puzzle it out.

26. Share your favorite detail.

Favorite details? Ooooh, that is tough. I do always like using my whole being a veterinarian IRL whenever I can in fic, sneaking in little things like medical whump or weird animal facts. Patching Up has Crosshair dealing with minor paw pad injuries for Batcher, and Evaluations is a fun little angsty look at Crosshair through Nala Se's eyes, using medical language to create distance. There's also a little shoutout to merle mutations in dogs when Nala Se muses that Crosshair's gray hair is likely linked to his ocular enhancements. Humans don't have a merle gene as far as I'm aware but what the hell, it's Star Wars, I can do what I want.

I have also slowly but steadily been throwing in references to Crosshair starting to pay attention to birds on Pabu in multiple fics to go with my headcanon that he develops a love of birding, using his exceptional vision to spot birds. They show up frequently in moments where he is observing things around the island, using details from real Earth species (or near-Earth species). He doesn't have names for the birds yet, that will come later, but the groundwork is being laid and if you are sharp-eyed you can find several references to them so far in my canon of work. :)

29. If you made a playlist, talk about the songs on it and share a link.

If. IF I made a playlist. omfg. my playlists, let you show them (or at least a good chunk of them). Every blorbo gets a playlist, some more than one if they have a long enough arc, and most ships get one too. Chaptered stories often get their own playlist as well.

Lately I have mostly been writing to my Crosshair and Crosshair Recovery playlists, but I sometimes visit other angsty ones for good writing music. I usually can't write to the show's score by itself because I get too focused on the themes and where exactly certain moments in the episode happened in the music; I can handle a few songs on a playlist but not the entire season score. Most of my Crosshair songs have a male vocalist with a heavy focus on angst, war themes, guilt, and isolation; the Crosshair recovery playlist starts frantic, veers towards guilt and depression, then builds towards songs focusing on release and acceptance, like the story itself (a rain that sounds like home).

Phew! Thanks for all that! Sorry for jabbering on :)

[livewireprojects]

Amy Rose Ref(Lost Prince AU)

I dunno why I took a while to get this setup but here's Amy.

I'm going to admit that I use to not like her thanks to how clingy she was of Sonic.(Slightly ironic by some stuff I watched as a kid like Pucca & There She Is) I was fine with how Amy was I just didn't like how she acted like she & Sonic were a couple when Sonic didn't seem interested even if he cares about her.(Probably made worse by learning at some point Amy was 12 & Sonic was 15)

I've warmed up to Amy & she seems to have mellowed out some. Some fan stuff also helped cause sometimes fandom stuff makes things interesting.

Her younger self is based on Classic Amy & her older/future self is semi base on the idea of Amy needing glasses while her hair/quills are based on Amy's hair style from NannelFlannel & CorvidRoses's Single Parent AU comic.(Amy became baby Cream's legal guardian after Vanilla passed after Cream was born & ended up making a single parents group at the local community center)

Younger Amy:

Amy is a friendly girl that loves to listen to her late parents' stories of knights, it lead to exploring & day dreaming of a prince her parents tell her about. At some point she met(was saved by) Sonic & became convinced they were meant for each other. She started chasing after Sonic after that, occasionally joining him on his adventures & manages to become his friend.

Amy:

Amy is a cheerful girl that was interested in her friend Sonic, the local/mainland wide known hero. She can have a bit of a temper at times but besides that is a strong willed hedgehog that does her best to help her friends & others out. Amy is pretty strong which makes sense as she often swings around a large hammer as a weapon, there's a possibility she might have some telekinesis when messing with her tarot cards but it's never been tested & barely used. When not going on adventures or hanging out with friends she's baking, checking out different stores or working out/practicing her fighting/hammer skills.

Thanks to her & her friends' adventures on the Starfall Islands she's had time to talk things out with Sonic & has put aside her interest in Sonic to go on solo adventures to find/work on herself. It's led to becoming closer to her friends & think about plans for the future. On one of her later solo adventures she ended up finding Metal who had decided to leave Eggman like some of Eggman's past robots. With help from the others Metal ended up living with Amy & with her help has tried to find their own identity outside of being Eggman's soldier.

Older Amy:

Though still as energetic & cheerful as ever Amy has mellowed out over time. Though Amy still cares greatly for Sonic she has moved on & is dating Metal who has learned to be their own person. When she's not busy with adventures or the resistance when it reappears(when needed) she's working at a bakery ran by Vanilla that Cream also works at.

Even though Amy has settled down some she makes sure to keep up with her work outs so she's still as strong as ever. Still shining bright as ever & seems to understand more what her late parents(passed in the after effects of the war from 40 years ago) meant by knights & a lost prince now.

Link to AU master post

[bojackbrainrot]

Bad Habits

F/M Sebastian Sallow / F!MC

F/M Ominis Gaunt / F!MC

Could be read as future M/M Ominis/ Sebastian there are some jealousy elements here :)

………….

SUMMARY:

Sebastian has been brushing Ominis off every morning to hang out with that new fifth year girl. This is something Ominis can’t let go on without payback, and if he caught some feelings for the girl on the way- well he wasn’t really complaining.

…………

Sebastian was acquiring a bad habit out of late, every morning he would rise from his bed, mess with his hair and cast a quick scourgify to keep himself fresh. Then, he would turn right after leaving his quarters, instead of left. Both directions led down to the common rooms for the Slytherin house. However, Sebastian was specifically choosing to go the long way to walk around, he was choosing to walk the halls just outside the women’s quarters.

The reason for this may or may not be linked to the new bright-eyed, raven haired fifth year witch who called the third-to-last door on the right her home. Every morning Esmeralda Paddock would leave her room smelling like spice and vanilla, and every morning Sebastian would ‘conveniently’ run into her. Oh- and of course they would just HAVE to walk to breakfast together, for convenience, and if Sebastian ignored Ominis a couple days a week (or more) to do this then- well he hadn’t complained yet.

“Good morning Sebastian, lovely to see you.” Esmeralda’s voice cut through Sebastian’s thoughts, startling him.

“Esme, lovely to see you! I didn’t even see you there,” Sebastian nearly choked at the scent-heavy air that whooshed passed him, he must have caught her on a wash day. It took most of Sebastian’s self control to pin his arms to his sides, fingers absolutely aching to tie themselves in her raven locks.

“I’m sorry to startle you, Ominis sent me an owl this morning so I was in a bit of a hurry.” Esme grinned sheepishly.

“Ominis… sent you an owl? He didn’t tell me you two were on speaking terms.” Sebastian didn’t have a good feeling, anything that the other Slytherin boy said about Esmeralda was far from kind, especially after the Undercroft incident.

“He apologized in the letter, and said he wanted to apologize in person as well, isn’t that nice? I was going to go meet him in the library.”

Sebastian’s anxious brain highlighted the fact that she made no move to invite him along to their likely private meeting in the library, and something painful gripped his heart at the thought. His mind started to spiral, helplessly he reached out for her hand, running his thumb across her knuckles, practically begging with his eyes for her to stay.

“Will I still see you at breakfast? Don’t keep me waiting, I might decide to go pick a fight with Imelda just from loneliness” the adorable laugh Esme gave him was well worth the humiliation of admitting he would miss her.

“I won’t be long, I promise Sebastian. Save me a seat?” With that Esmeralda turned, her hand slipping from Sebastian’s as she left.

Leaving him behind.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Ominis POV

Ominis presumed his little prank on Sebastian might bring that insufferable woman closer to himself, though however long it took to shake the little witch off of him was well worth how envious Sebastian would sound when they finally met up for breakfast.

Of course Ominis had caught on to Sebastian’s (not very sneaky) attempt at brushing him off every morning to go gallivant with her, Esmerelda Paddock the brand new fifth year. Ominis just wanted to mess with Sebastian a bit, teach him a lesson about ditching old friends. He would do this by hitting where it hurt, if Ominis took the little Slytherin girl’s attention away from Sebastian for even a moment, he knew it would drive the boy insane. Just thinking about it made him giddy with anticipation.

Ominis was waiting in the school library for the girl, normally there were at least a few students about- rarely before the first meal of the day however. Which was the perfect time to play out his plan.

“Ominis? You wanted to see me?” Esmerelda approached the corner the blond had chosen to set himself in, she found him leaning against a windowsill.

“Hello, Esmerelda.”

“Call me Esme, listen- before you say anything I want to apologize too…”

Ominis had opened his mouth to recite the lazy apology speech he’d crafted for this moment, though it snapped shut when he was interrupted by the girl wanting to apologize to him instead. This wasn’t quite how he’d pictured this going.

“ Ah- Esme, right. I’m listening.” As far as he knew, only Sebastian called her Esme. Maybe this little plan was working better than he’d hoped.

“I’m sorry for lying to you about the Undercroft. Sebastian wanted to tell you about inviting me himself, but I realize that by trying to protect a relationship that isn’t mine I just made things worse. I’m really sorry, can’t we be friends?” Esme finished with a huff, letting out all her air at once in a nervous sigh. Her words had come out fast, and nervous and genuine. It was something Ominis hadn’t expected.

And then there were soft fingers grabbing his hand, and Esme must be pulling him towards her because he felt his palm press into something soft- and oh. So warm.

“Feel my heart beating fast? I’m really nervous right now, I really didn’t mean to hurt you, I hope you can forgive me.”

Her heart was beating fast. The feeling of the rapid thumps traced up the nerves in his arm, he could practically feel his own heart kicking to match its pace

“Ominis?”

He realized he hadn’t said a word in minutes, between the girl’s odd way of convincing him to forgive her, and her apology- well Ominis was beginning to feel a bit helpless. He could feel heat creeping up his neck to rest at his cheeks. Ominis doesn’t think Esme realized that in order to feel her heart, Ominis would have to be touching part of her breast as well, and while she didn’t seem to notice, Ominis definitely did. Which was the reason he started to sweat bullets while Esme continued to press his palm into her chest.

“Sorry, Esme. I was merely thinking it over.” His voice came out more like a squeak, he cleared his throat to continue, sounding barely better.

“I forgive you, of course.”

Esme dropped his hand then, Ominis missed the connection immediately. The warmth, the buzzing electricity that coursed through his nerves at being able to feel her, he missed it ferociously. His own feelings knocked the breath from him with their intensity.

“Oh how wonderful! Sebastian will be so happy to hear we’ve made up! Thank you for giving me a chance, Ominis. Walk with me to breakfast?” The scent of something spicy and sweet brushed past him, footsteps leading away indicated she was leaving and Ominis tried to match her pace.

“I doubt that.” He muttered slightly amused at the new development, Ominis’ heart hadn’t slowed since she broke away from him. And he could feel the beginnings of a bad habit forming, changing the path of how his mornings would go from then on.

Though it seems He and Sebastian may just have to share in this bad habit.

…………

I might make this a series so bookmark it on AO3 if you like my writing!

[autonomousllama]

Get to Know Me - Sims Edition

Thank you @papermint-airplane for the tag!

What's your favourite Sims death?

In the Sims 1 it would have to be death by fire, the screams were very messed up. What does that even day about me?

In the Sims 2, death by locusts. I just think it's very creative really, and karma for not cleaning up lol.

In the Sims 3 it would have to be either death by meteor or being crushed by a vending machine. They are jsut so abrubt and random, not to mention if a school gets hit by one, the children can't escape! Thta's messed up.

I haven't played the sims 4 in ages so uh, i dunno...

Alpha CC or Maxis Match?

In the sims 2, Maxis Match, sort of, all my defaults are clay hairs now. They used to not be, but I will never use Alpha cc.

The sims 3 is a bit tricky because I feel like there isn't really maxis match or alpha. I guess maxis match since I don't really like the really shiny alpha hair.

When I used to play sims 4 it was primarily maxis match.

Do you cheat your sims weight?

Nope, I don't even have to, these people lose and gain weight quicker than I can even notice it, it's weird.

When I was playing with the Bunch family in the sims 3, Jack had to get athletic points for his job and he immediately lost tons of weight even though it had only been a day!

Do you use move objects?

Yup, well, mostly in the sims 2, it hasn't really come up often in the sims 3...

Favourite Mod?

In the Sims 2, it has to be 50 New Lifetime Wants and Lifetime Want Chooser by Lamare, it's changed my life honestly. I would also reccommend Semester Changes by Cyjon which makes University 8 days long, which is a lifesaver.

For the Sims 3, I have a few. There is this one here that stops snow day from happening at all, but it is in a different language. There is also Faster Gardening by berryblonde. I also use the Random Genetics Mod by NeuroBlazer that has been deleted by the links are saved in this post here

First Expansion/Game Pack/Stuff Pack?

For Sims 1, I got the ultimate collection, so they all were the first one...

Um, I don't remember for the sims 2, I really don't, I used to play it when I was really young and my mum just bought them whenever she found them.

I do remember that I bought every expansion pack as it came out for the sims 3, the exception being world adventures for some reason. I think there was some kind of problem with that pack? Well, it was Ambitions for me, I love that pack!

For the sims 4, I think it was either Dine Out or Get to Work.

Do you pronounce live mode like aLIVE or LIVing?

aLIVE, no shame here.

Who’s your favorite sim that you’ve made?

Lain, I feel like I put a lot of effort into making here since I was going to show her off to the internet. I also feel very attached to her since I've given her so much backstory and personality, which I haven't really done for other sims in the past. Not including Jane...

Have you made a simself?

Only once, back in the sims 2. I made me and my family and played for a bit with them. Haven't done that since, by maybe I will try and do that some day.

Which is your favorite EA hair color?

Well...I like the red hair swatch in the sims 2 I guess? And the sims 3 plantinum blonde is fun. Don't know about sims 4 though....

Favorite EA hair?

Although I replaced them all with clay hair, I do still feel a lot of fondness for the sims 2 hairs. I think my favourite is the one with the beanie and long straight hair.

Sims 3 hair...is not good. Although, the hairs that came in later expansions were better. I like the surfer hair for guys that came in Island Paradise.

I like none of the sims 4 ea hairs. I feel like the community does a better job at making clay hair than the sims team, sorry.

Favorite life stage?

I'm also going to be boring and say YA. It's were the fun starts. Teens are also fun in sims 2 and and 3.

Are you a builder or are you in it for the gameplay?

Gameplay. I've gotten more into building lately, but I do get kinda impatient with it.

Are you a CC creator?

Nope! I have no talent for it at all.

Do you have any Simblr friends or a Sim Squad?

I have no idea what a Sim Squad is supposed to be, but I do have Simblr friends.

Do you have any sims merch?

I wish I did.

How has your “Sims style” changed throughout your years of playing?

In the past, I just jumped into the game and messed around for a bit then started a new game. It's only now that i've been trying out challenges and legacies. It's made me want to play the games a lot more.

What’s your origin id?

The fact that I had to go and check. It's persona34a. I've had it for a while, it's in reference to the persona games when Persona 4: The Animation came out. You can add me if you want but I have never used Origin as anything more than a way to access the games I play so I have no idea what any of that will do...

Who’s your favorite CC creator?

For sims 2: @platinumaspiration and @midgethetree

For the sims 3: @sweetdevil-sims, i've just gotten so many stuff from them

How long have you had simblr?

uuuuuu-

Over a year now I think, that's when I first started the Doe Legacy.

How do you edit your pictures?

I use Gimp to edit my pictures, which was a rather steep learning curve when I first started. I'm still a little rusty on it but It's not like I need to do much them other than cut out the bits of UI.

What expansion/ gamepack is your favorite?

For sims 1: Vacation, I had a lot of fun jsut sending them on vacation and quitting when their needs dropped too low, lol.

For sims 2: Apartment Life. What can I say, I love apartments and Belladonna Cove

For sims 3: Now that's a tricky one, but I am going to say Generations just because it so much depth to family gemplay and finally gives kids and teens something to do.

Sims 4: um...pass...

Edit: How the hell did I forget to tag people?

I am tagging: @hause-of-pancakes @treason-and-plot @erasabledinosaur @frostedshore @uglynormie @faeriefrolic @igglemouse @platinumaspiration @hurricanesims @kevinvoncrastenburg @tsims @simsdastra

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Domestic Masterlist

Links Last Checked: April 28th, 2024

a long way from the playground (ao3) - shutupluke michael/calum G, 5k

Summary: His Dad had told him when he was younger that he would never understand what love actually felt like until he had his own children. He thinks he understands now. Watching his daughters interacting with his husband, their father- watching his little family just coexisting and loving each other; Calum feels at peace. He feels in love. He wouldn't trade his life for anything.

can we close the space between us now? by lifewasradical calum/luke G, 2k

Summary: “Whatcha doing on the floor?” Calum asks, taking a seat on the edge of the couch, closest to Luke’s face.

Luke’s eyes slip shut again, hiding the pale baby blue from the warm yellow light of their lamp. He looks calm, floating on the sea of their rug, waiting for a current to take him away. He shrugs, motion pushing his bleached curls away from their resting spot pillowed around his head.

“Just hanging out.”

Footprints in the Sand (ao3) - gonefornow calum/luke T, 1k

Summary: Calum and Luke have a beach vacation.

Honey & I (ao3) - LyricalPary (hoseoky) luke/ashton M, 3k 

Summary: Luke and Ashton get off in a laundry room. Just because.

it can wait until tomorrow (ao3) -  babushcat (MerrytheCookie) michael/ashton T, 1k

Summary: Michael has been baking a lot, lately.

Ashton commends the effort, and he’s glad for Michael’s newfound interests, determined to support him in whatever project he dives into—he’s had to be the taste-tester for many a failure, but he thinks he makes for a fair judge.

The thing is, Michael is not a good baker.

Kittens & Kids (ao3) - nationalnobody luke/michael G, 1k

Summary: In which Michael and his son absolutely adore kittens and cats and Luke has to put up with their constant childishness, never mind the fact that he might like felines just as much as they do.

Morning Pancakes (ao3) - wallywestie luke/ashton N/R, 1k

Summary: Ashton's eyes slowly peeled open, a smile finding it's way to his face. He saw the blonde boy he was completely head over heels in love with sleeping beside him. His usually quiffed hair, flat on his forehead. Small puffs of air coming out of his mouth.

Ashton rolled over, grabbing his camera from the side dresser, glancing at the time, 7:34.

He rolled over, so he was straddling Luke's hips.

"Lukey." He whispered, nudging his nose with his. He stirred a bit, not opening his eyes though.

"Lukey." Ashton brushed away the hair from Luke's forehead, kissing it. He kissed his cheeks, his temple, his nose and then finally his lips.

or, domestic sleepy, morning lashton fluff.

My World Is You (ao3) - LyricalPary (hoseoky) luke/ashton G, 2k

Summary: Ashton wakes up to soft lips against his skin, a fluttery feeling in his tummy, and the familiar warmth of a body pressed against his own. That body belongs to the one person that he loves more than anything else and always will, so it's only natural that he smiles and turns over to greet them. The morning sun shining through the bedroom curtains makes it a little harder to see, but when his eyes finally focus on what's in front of him, Ashton finds himself staring into a sea of blue.

He falls in love all over again.

'Still the same songs with the same old beats' by Forbiddenmichael michael/calum G, 3k

Summary: Weird to use the analogy that music so rowdy and thumping and bass-y, would be compared to the slight whisper of a friend directly hushed into your ear. But if silence could be deafening, then music loud enough to leave your ears ringing, could quieten the churning and pulsating rhythm of the word around you.

or Michael has a dog practically leap into his lap, and in any other circumstance he would have shoved it off, but under these circumstances, he couldn't be happier. The dog's owner seams to agree.

you complete mess (ao3) - jetblackash luke/ashton N/R, 1k

Summary: Luke walks in on Ashton cuddling a lot of random cats.

when you move, i'm moved (ao3) - netflixing michael/luke T, 2k

Summary: Michael Clifford, the two time award winner within his boxing category boasts a hard exterior with walls tall enough so that no one could get in, but then, Luke Hemmings, his boyfriend Luke Hemmings, with his manbuns and tortoise shell glasses and affinity for a certain type of thai food, changed that in an instant, and suddenly Michael had someone to come home to every night, and there was now a drawer of Luke's things in his dresser.

alternately, med student luke and boxer michael. 

[nonnonblog]

Fog in Purple Mountains

Image by kjpargeter on Freepik

Hello there! How are you all this fine evening? It’s been a while. Two weeks, instead of just one. I’m sorry, I had exams. They were very rude, and stopped me from posting last Friday.

While on the topic of annoying changes, just so you all know the link to the Non-Non-Blog has recently been changed so old links to the website may no longer work for a little while. On the positive side, it’s no longer a random stream of numbers, so that is cool. I’ve been changing the appearance of the website a bit lately, specifically in the home page, so if you all have any advice on how it should look that would be lovely.

Anyways, this is a story called Fog in Purple Mountains. It is an attempt to include both prose and poetry in the same story, which turned out pretty well, I think. It was a cool experiment at the very least. Before we actually get to the story, I will say this particular post is better read on my website, just because of the formatting of the page and the paragraphs. I hope you enjoy!

Fog in Purple Mountains

The mountains were purple and blue. They expanded out to the horizon, though that wasn’t particularly far here at Cayen. The clouds hung very low here, for reasons no research or experiment had been able to fully explain. Something about the high amount of rivers that filled the nooks in the mountains and turned the valleys into marshlands, alongside the high winds in the upper atmosphere trapping the fog down below.

“Alright, here’s the plan,” Fyna started, looking over the edge of the cliff and into the valley below. It was an excellent view, there was above average visibility today. “I’m going to fly down to the wreckage, and grab the battery. If it’s still there.”

“...Yes,” Waerren agreed. The word was well enunciated, came out slowly. It had a way of feeling uncertain in how it wavered in the air, though what Fyna had outlined was both oversimplified and obvious.

Waerren shrugged, before punching Fyna in the shoulder. “Look! It’ll be easy, you know all of the steps. You’ve finished everything else, and this is the last part you need! Just go in, be careful of the Cyafirse, and worse case we have to check another wreckage. There are a lot of those here.”

Fyna shrugged. It wasn’t Waerren’s shrug. His had been loose, excited. Fyna’s was half-finished and defeated.

“Look, sis, I know I’m only a year past my own Colyen, so I’m not necessarily the best source on all this stuff, but you got this. It’s only scary the first time.”

Fyna’s eyebrows twisted: “You only have one Colyen.”

Her brother just winked, “as I said, it's only scary the first time.”

Fyna sighed. “Thank you. I guess I’ll go now.”

Waerren nodded, and backed away from the cliff. His hands were restrained in his pockets. If Fyna did end up failing he wouldn’t be able to jump after her fast enough to catch her. But honestly, there was something comforting in that. Waerren was confident enough in her abilities that he wasn’t scared, so why should she be?

She looked back down the cliff again. For once, she would be jumping with a solid view of the ground. The visibility would be worse down there.

Deep breath,

jump!

the wind parted, 

pressing itself to her face.

Then it changed directions as she extended her arms, the wingsuit catching on the air and halting her decent as though she were caught by puppeteer’s strings

The ground was a bright blue, almost cyan

it could be easily confused

With the sky.

the purple mountains,

they grew as she reached the ground.

Fyna was smiling, which was expected, probably. Flying felt… Well, it was just pure adrenaline, with nothing in the way. Her mind was clear, as was her vision. If anyone saw her, they would probably think she had lost her mind. I mean, adrenaline made your pupils get bigger, and that was compounded with the already eye-enlarging effect of her flight goggles. Then add the now absolute mess of her wind-shredded hair, and that previously referenced smile.

Wreckage time.

Wreckages were always a sight. Grey, twisted metal, engines and wires exposed to the air. The copper strands were still sparking, which was a good sign for Fyna, if not the violet grass which was now beginning to mix with orange and red. Wreckages didn’t normally cause forest fires, not with all the rain Cayen got, but you never knew. One in a hundred was still a lot when the population was a thousand.

Fayn didn’t see a door, but she did see a window. Grabbing her window-breaker, a hammer with a pointed edge, she made quick work of getting inside the structure. The window was already shattered, it was just a matter of cleaning up the surviving thorns of transparent glass. The ship wasn’t super large, which made it easy to get to the cockpit. And it had planted itself right on its face, so the controls of the thing had already been torn apart. In other words, Fayn had her battery. The last piece of her satellite. She just had to go back up the cliff, then she was ready for her Colyen.

Oh, god.

She had done it.

She was ready.

       …was she ready?

It had been so easy.

Of course it had, she’d already done this 

twenty times over.

Fayn took a deep breath. She had to get back to Waerren. The fires were creating smoke, not a lot, but enough to attract the Cyafirse. The colorless creatures would crack her spine and drink its fluid and walk into town in her corpse.

deep breath.

Fayn slid to the ground. Carefully. It was really just sitting down.

It was going to be alright! She had an okay vision of what she wanted to do moving forwards, and now she would actually get to experience life and be independent and all of that. But she could be wrong. This would be a really bad time to be wrong.

It was really easy to mess up, 

and while people said you could pivot, Fayn didn’t really believe them.

She was curled up in a ball,

She really had to go.

She really had to go. Cyafirse were colorless. They could be right in front of her, written in font too small to see. She could panic later.

Fayn was barely aware of her surroundings as she left the hull, and made her way to the outdoors. Outside of the shield of the ship. Everything was blurry. She blamed the fog. The visibility was really bad.

Rocket on. Wingsuit open. Land.

“Everything alright?” Waerren asked.

“Yeah. I got the battery.”

Waerren whooped, and threw his hands into the air. “Nice! Congratulations!”

Then, his voice grew smaller. “It’ll be good, Fayn. No one ever knows what will come of their Colyen. That’s a part of why it exists, I think.”

That didn’t make sense, but Waerren hadn’t really expected to.

The End

If you are interested in reading any more of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!

[misterewrites]

Frye, Rictavio Frye (Yes that Frye) (In Hope's Shadow)

Me reblogging important messages I think it's important to spread to my writing tumblr: This is important.

Me forgetting to upload my stories to previously mentioned tumblr thus not using the writing blog for it's original purpose: Oh shit that's right, I have this for a reason.

Hey everyone! E here finally remembering to update this blog. I honestly just forgot which is funny as hell. I'm good just stilling dealing with fixing my laptop and using someone else's i kinda don't wanna intrude you know? This is the second chapter of my In Hope's Landing story, a gothic horror style story featuring a brilliant detective and a in trainee monster hunter *Hint, this chapter is about him*

Take care of yourself, your loved ones. Covid is still a thing so be careful (though the new updated booster is in the US so if you can get your shot), hand sanitize and all that jazz. Just sit back, exist, read a funny story from a guy who has too many ideas and just have fun. Deep breathes. one step at a time you got this but for now let's just enjoy this moment.

That's it for me! I will be back very soon with a mirror's edge update. mae's super late birthday gift of Genshin Impact. Some other fandoms etc etc.

If you want to read this story over on a site that is a lot easier on the eyes and generally designed for actually reading endeavors you can find the link right over here

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46380760/chapters/125090896

If you want to read the previous chapter of this series you can find it on the same site with this link

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46380760/chapters/116776354

And if you want to read other stories I have written which include but are not limited to: Legend of Zelda, Arcane/League of Legends, Soul Eater, An owl house drabble and now even an original Star wars story set int the superior legends canon (Yes I cracked and I have no regrets.) you can find it all on my main page.

For you who are leaving me at this point thank you putting up with this I need to do that to promote my work, just what's gotta happen. have a great week. be safe! E is out. Everyone else, enjoy! :)

Summary: Rictavio Frye is the son of famous monster hunter Julius Frye. While Rozalin was busy solving an unfortune murder, at the same time the Fryes were also attending Count Decan's party for less than ideal reasons: A vampire had managed to worm its way among the elitist class of Hope's Landing and it was up to the seasoned hunters to find and stop it before it preys on more victims. Of course just as Rozalin had learned, things rarely go according to plan.

-----

The party was in full swing and guests were indulging their every whim: plates piled to the point it wasn’t unusual to see a pieces of food trailing after their unsuspecting consumers. Impossibly beautiful and elegant articles of clothing donned by less than pious patrons performing unsavory acts. Scandalous, appalling gossip shared freely among grim grins with barely concealed loathing behind cheery glossy gazes.

Rictavio should’ve really been a poet.                     

“Son.” His father Julius gave him a pointed nudge “Stare any longer and you’ll draw attention to yourself.”

Julius Simon Frye cut an imposing contrast to his son: Julius’s eyes were a warm brown unlike Rictavio’s stormy grays. His father’s dark brown hair was long enough to tie in a refined ponytail while his own was a black short wavy mess he could never manage to tame. The master monster hunter had a build befitting a man of his legacy: Average height yet muscular, his clothing perfectly form fitting, perhaps too much so. Ric was a fair bit taller with his own runner’s build less obvious to the naked eye. His father sported a rugged full beard while Ric’s face remained clean.

The pair were dressed to the nines: matching black dress coats to hide the various weaponry stashed in their pockets. White collared shirts though his father went with his signature dark blood red vest and tie. Rictavio opted for a more modest light blue vest, no tie and unbuttoned the top button to let his neck breathe. Black dress pants though they committed a social faux pas by wearing cleaned but otherwise inappropriate hiking boots. The only accessory visibly possessed by either of them was a cane the younger Frye required to move easier.

Both were expecting their outfits were allow them to blend in easily.

They were wrong.

Rictavio glanced first at his father’s clothing then his own “Our outfits would draw more attention to us than anything else we did. I’m 95% sure I just saw a jacket lined with actual gold. Besides, we were only granted entry because they wanted the novelty of boasting they saw a world famous monster hunter at Count Decan’s org…”

“Just because it’s true does not mean you should say it.”

“Imagine what they’d say if they knew you were working.”

“We.” Julius corrected sternly “No wandering gaze Rictavio. I’m too young to be a grandfather.”

Rictavio scoffed playfully “No worries there. Excessive displays of cruelty, indifference and decadence are not very attractive traits in a potential partner.”

“A vampire’s playground.” Julius murmured grimly.

“Not going to lie. If it wasn’t for my personal integrity, I’d be half tempted to let the creature just roam freely and clean up the mess after.”

Julius chuckled as a dark thought crossed his mind “Do you really want one of these fine folks to be an undead creature of hunger?”

Rictavio planted his cane firmly onto the ground while he straightened his stance.

“We should probably get to work.”

His father smirked impishly “That’s the spirit son! Keep an eye out for anyone exceedingly cozy with their companion.”

Rictavio casted a side glance to a room he dubbed ‘the make out closet’ because every occupants within were intensely trying to eat each others face.

“Like that?” he dramatically pointed at the previously mentioned room, leaning on his good leg to keep his balance.

Julius let out a hearty chuckle “Fair point. They’ll be trying to lure their prey to a quieter place, somewhere they could feed without being disturbed. Preferably…”

“Being able to ditch the body before it’s discovered there was an unholy creature lurking about.” The younger Frye chimed in with a bored tone “I know the tactics Da but there’s no private place available: People are dancing below us and the second floor is packed with guests and guards. Any room that’s opened is supposed to be and every room that isn’t is being watched heavily. At this rate the poor hellspawn is going to go to bed hungry.”

“Then what would you do if you were in its fangs?”

Rictavio paused thoughtfully, taking a moment to flit through the possibilities. Realization dawned on his face.

“Distraction?” Rictavio pursed his lips “That leaves a little too much up to chance, no?”

Julius shook his head “You clearly know nothing of Count Decan. How I envy you.”  

“I care little for any noble and their….activities.” Rictavio shrugged his shoulders apathetically.

“You should not be so quick to dismiss people son. You need to know them as well as the beasts we hunt if you wish to stay ahead. Count Decan loves being the center of attention.”

Rictavio groaned unhappily “There’s a fucking speech? Gods no.”

Julius patted his son with a knowing grin “Pick a corner and keep your eyes off the pretty lasses.”

“No promises.”

-----

“The murderer is the Count himself.”

Rictavio’s whistle was lost in the sudden uproar of varying reactions to the detective’s bold claim.

What he had been expecting was a stuffy, pompous noble breathing hot air for a few minutes. What he had gotten was a murder mystery by a cute detective and watching the Count turn different shades of colors yet it was a distraction all the same.

Before he could get too comfortable he heard his father’s whistle. He glanced upwards at the second floor to see the older hunter motioning him to come. With a disappointed sigh Rictavio hurriedly made his way up the stairs.

“We must work quickly.” Julius said in a hushed whisper “We have no idea how long the crowd will be enraptured by the sudden turn of events and a cornered beast…”

“Is a dangerous beast.” Rictavio finished in a serious tone, thinking more of the Count than the vampire they hunted.

The second floor was devoid of any human life as all guests and guards currently a floor below enjoying the free entertainment unexpectedly provided for them.

The younger Frye began to search when he felt his father nudge his side gently. Julius pointed to a previously locked room now pried open, its handle snapped off with inhuman brutality and strength.

The two shared a quick nod before preparing for the fight: Julius produced a dagger from his boot and coiled whip from his coat pocket. Rictavio gripped his cane tightly as he fiddled with some sort of contraption under his weaker side’s pant leg.

“Will your device hold?” Julius asked, unable to keep the concern out of his voice.

Rictavio’s face winced in concertation as he began to move his leg experimentally, the sounds of creaking and scraping metal barely audible.

“I believe the brace will hold.” Rictavio grimaced uncomfortably “It seems to be working at least. I should have enough movement to deal with the beast but let’s not prolong the fight if we can help it.”

“Aye son.”

The two wore matching determined, grim looks: Julius, dagger and whip at the ready while Rictavio held his cane in both hands.

They approached as quietly as they could with only the odd creak of Rictavio’s brace and the detective’s distant words breaking the silence.

The Fryes pressed themselves against the wall, straining to hear anything that may be occurring within.

Rictavio’s blood boiled as he could hear the ever so muted noises of fluid draining among the sounds of weaken, labored breathing and slow shuffling of feet.

Julius acted first, however, flinging open the door while uncoiling his whip to full length in one fluid motion.

The room was massive yet nearly empty: A few chairs knocked over as a large circular table lay in the center. There were no lights within, either turned off or destroyed, so the shadows began to form into odd, monstrous shapes with brief illumination from the outside. Two blood red orbs gleamed in the dark, shifting from its prey to the intruders.  

Julius wasted no time. He lashed the whip towards the vampire.

The vampire dropped his victim, roughly shoving the poor redheaded girl Rictavio noticed earlier to the floor. He fell onto all fours, the whip narrowly missing his head with a resounding crack. The vampire hissed and growled angrily, its legs tensing to pounce forward.

Julius gave his enemy no quarter: He threw his dagger directly at the creature’s forehead. The vampire, startled, leapt to his feet. The dagger sunk harmlessly into the beast’s knee as he pulled away from the hunter and light, flailing.

Julius pulled his whip back before lashing out once more. The vampire tried to move backwards but it had been undead for so long it had forgotten that it was once a human. Its knee was forcibly straightened, the blade stuck in the joint that caused the creature to sway uneasily on a stiffen leg. The whip hit its mark this time, striking the vampire in the shoulder. It snarled and scratched at the air wildly while its shoulder began to smoke and hissed with the sound of burning flesh.

The creature learned quickly, pulling the dagger free from its knee and throwing it back at Julius with inhuman strength. The older Frye barely managed to dive out of the way, avoiding injury but he could hear the ripping of fabric.

The creature surged forward, knee fully healed and fingernails now as long as small blades. Julius was still rising to his feet when the vampire reached for his throat.

Rictavio sprung into action, leaping from his hiding spot and swinging his cane for the back of the creature’s leg. Buckling under pressure the vampire crashed to the floor, scratching the marble tile.

“Whoops.” Rictavio said insincerely.

The vampire whirled about, fangs snarling in rage. It lunged to claw at the younger hunter but Rictavio was ready. With a click of a button Ric pulled free the sword hidden within his cane and deflected the attack just in time. His brace groaned under the added weight but it seemed to be holding for the moment.  

The vampire pressed forward, trying to throttle his neck but Ric dug the cane deep into its shoulder, pushing it far enough back it could not reach any of his vulnerable sports. So his body in general.

Julius rose to his feet, pulling forth a small bottle as he did so. With a mighty throw he tossed the bottle directly at the vampire but it seemed to know what he was trying to do. Instead of swiping at the incoming projectile, it opted to dive sideways. Ric grazed its leg with a swipe of his sword but it paid little mind to the blow. The bottle of holy water broke harmlessly on the floor.

The vampire grinned, its smile twisted and elongated beyond human limitation.

“Eww, gross.” Rictavio shuddered at the sight before him.

The vampire’s featured turned uglier, its face breaking into a furious snarl as it leapt at him once more. Rictavio rose the cane to catch the vampire but that had been a mistake. Rather come at him hands outstretched, it simply crashed into his body. The momentum from the creature’s supernatural speed was too much for him and Ric buckled, falling backwards onto the ground. He managed get the cane between him and the mouth full of fangs waiting yet Ric was working at an awkward angle and couldn’t push the creature off.

The whip cracked, striking the vampire on the cheek. The steam wafted off the creature while it reeled backwards in pain. Rictavio tried to get to his feet but the brace jammed, locking into place from malfunction.

The creature glanced between the trapped Ric and the approaching Julius. Evidently it was no longer liking its odds and turn tail and ran. It flung itself over the railing like a wild animal and splatted below with an unseen thud.

They had been fighting for a few minutes so hopefully everyone had cleared out and it was a simple matter to chase to the beast down.

“V-v-v-va-v-v.” a voice stammered from below.

“Yes a vampire.” The familiar detective’s voice replied, calm and controlled.

Shit.

The old man hadn’t heard the people because instead of giving chase at once, Julius turned to face his son, unable to contain his worry but Rictavio refused to be a liability.

“Da! Over the railing!” his voice dropped to a whisper “There’s people downstairs still. We’re hunters. We can’t let it hurt them.”

That knocked some professionalism back into his father.

With a determined nod, Julius turned away from Rictavio knowing he should be along shortly. He took a deep clearing breath, pulled forth another bottle of holy armament and confirmed with a booming voice “Aye son, up and over!”

Julius broke into a sprint and leapt over the railing with effortless grace and poise.

Once his father was out of sight, Rictavio thumped the brace with as much force as he could muster. The mechanism creaked and snapped back into place, straightening out his increasingly stiff and aching leg. He wished he could switch it back so he could run instead of hobble but he couldn’t risk it jamming and taking him out of the fight. So with gritted teeth he slipped his blade back into the cane and limped forward with haste.

He reached the railing in time to see his father and the vampire circling each other, each trying to maneuver into an advantageous position.

The Bluecoat hid behind the smaller frame of the detective. Her face was grim but calm, dagger in hand. Most people would shriek and beg at the sight of a vampire but she didn’t. If this meant the end she was prepped to face it kicking and screaming.

Rictavio could respect that but he rather prevent if it was all the same.

 Rictavio took a deep calming breath as he waited for the next round of the brawl to begin.

[narraboths]

lena hugging her beefy kryptonian from behind resting her cheek between kara's shoulder blades when aron when

[read on Ao3]

Some days, it’s like this:

It’s early in the morning, a quiet, hazy hour. 

The pair of them move idly around in Kara’s apartment, basking in the gentle warmth of the sunshine streaming into the open space. Kara’s hunched over the stove, still in the loose t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs she’s worn to bed, humming to herself as she’s flipping pancakes. The hair on the back of her head is sticking up a little, messy from sleep and even messier from Lena’s morning ministrations. The pancakes smell a little burnt.

As far as images of domestic bliss go, it’s all rather mundane and unglamorous.

Lena’s utterly, hopelessly in love with every minute detail of it.

She’s always in awe of Kara, her towering, magnetic, just-stepped-out-of-a-heroic-tale kind of presence, but loves watching Kara like this, cozy and chipper and all hers. It’s the kind of ordinariness Lena’s never thought she’d have in her life, the kind that’s been only more ridiculous to imagine considering Kara’s day-job. But here they are, in the comfort of each other’s presence, Kara burning their meals and Lena watching her committed fumbling and thinking she’s the luckiest woman in the universe.

This is what draws her closer and closer until she’s pressed against Kara’s back, arms wrapped tightly around Kara’s middle. It draws a low, rumbling laugh from her wife that reverberates in Lena’s very core.

“Breakfast’s almost ready,” Kara says. She shifts a little on her feet to lean into Lena’s embrace, and Lena delights in the feel of every minute flex of her muscles. She nuzzles her face between Kara’s shoulder-blades, snaking a hand under Kara’s shirt to palm at her abs, tickling the coarse hairs of her happy trail.

“Are you planning on distracting me?” Kara asks, and Lena knows she’s smiling now, bright and ever so slightly smug. She nips at her back in response, and Kara yelps, indignant: “Hey, no nibbling!”

“I know you can multitask,” Lena drawls. Kara lets out a theatrical, I-can’t-believe-I-have-to-deal-with-this huff, and Lena’s already pressing a kiss to the same spot with a giggle, gentle, soothing, her tongue instinctively wrapping itself around a string of much-used Kryptonian words next: “I love you.”

She feels the muscles in Kara’s body go slack the second the words leave her mouth, feels her truly sink into her arms, a quiet, loving surrender. She twists around so she can wrap her arms around Lena too, slotting their bodies together, and Lena tips her head back, eyes fluttering shut, already anticipating the soft kiss Kara bends down to press to her lips.

“I love you too,” Kara breathes into her mouth. Lena drinks the words like nectar, sweet, intoxicating: she kisses back, sloppy and overeager, tugs on Kara’s bottom lip and giggles into her mouth when one of her wife’s hands expectably finds its way to Lena’s ass.

Then something starts smelling decidedly burnt, and they break apart just so, with Kara twisting around and yanking the unfortunate remnants of their breakfast off the stove. Lena’s arms are still wrapped around her middle, her face pressed against Kara’s back, shaking with laughter as Kara huffs and puffs.

“I was so looking forward to making you breakfast just once!”

“I appreciate the intent, darling.” Lena tickles Kara’s side, pressing one last kiss to her back. “Here’s your excuse to grab some sticky buns from Noonan’s again.”

There are worse ways to spend one’s morning than sitting in Kara’s lap, hand-feeding her Noonan’s best pastry item and taking any excuse to kiss off the sugary mess it leaves on her wife’s lips, after all.

–

Some days, it’s like this: 

It’s late night, the sky outside already inky black and Lena doesn’t even really notice when Kara’s touched down on her balcony. 

Sometimes, Kara likes to play coy, leaning back against the railing and eyeing her through the glass with a little smile until Lena realizes she’s there and rushes out into her arms. Other days, when the world has gotten too loud and too much and Kara just wants to be near her, she’s happy to sink silently into the background, face turned towards the city’s skyline, pensive and quiet, ears attuned to Lena’s heartbeat.

Those days, Lena rises from her chair and pushes the balcony door open and stalks out, knowing that Kara can hear her approach. She moves slowly, letting Kara decide how to react to her presence – turning with a tired smile and drawing Lena into her arms, or staying still and silent until Lena reaches her.

(It would be wrong to say Lena prefers the latter. There’s something about it, though, that muted, timid dance, like searching for bruises that need to be tended to after a fight. There’s something so dear to her in the way she has to coax Kara to let the weight of the world fall from her shoulders for a little while, to surrender her armor and let herself lean on someone else.)

Kara doesn’t turn around.

It starts with the merest touch then, Lena’s fingers brushing against Kara’s shoulder. A single point of connection, a delicate hint. Kara doesn’t pull away, she never does – and Lena’s hand can slowly start to wander, fingertips dragging softly along the hard line of Kara’s shoulder, until they meet the nape of her neck.

Kara hums a little and the tension breaks, dissolves with a startling suddenness. She’s leaning into Lena’s touch now, a silent assent, and Lena draws closer and closer until their bodies are pressed together, her arms wrapping around Kara’s middle, holding, protecting.

“Long day, my love?”

There’s only a weary sigh in response, the tender burden of Kara’s body heavy in her arms, so Lena does what they usually choose to do when words fail them. Her lips can only press against the smooth, cold material of the cape and the collar of the suit now, impossible for Kara to really feel. Lena kisses her anyways. She clings to Kara tighter, tighter, until Kara’s head drops against her shoulder and a hand slowly covers her own, and Lena, tiptoeing, can nuzzle against Kara’s face, pressing a small kiss to her cheek. “I’ve got you.”

–

Some days, it’s like this: 

Kara’s warm and pliant beneath her, spread out on the bed. Her face is pressed into a pillow, arms wrapped around it so tightly that her muscles are straining with the hold. It doesn’t quite hide the rosy blush on her cheeks, though, nor does it stifle the low, huffy whimpers that she tries to choke back with every languid thrust of Lena’s hips.

It is an exquisite thing to watch her wife come undone like that, bit by bit.

Lena’s intent on savoring every second of it.

The muscles on Kara’s back tense when Lena runs her hand down the line of her spine, then relax again when she gently scratches her nails over them. Kara mumbles something into the pillow, the indistinct words turning into a broken moan when Lena jogs her hips again, harder, deeper. She does it again and again, hands braced against the small of Kara’s back, delighting in the way Kara’s eyes flutter shut, the sweet, beautiful sounds of her pleasure–

Until Kara bites down her lip and buries her face fully into the pillow again.

“Oh, don’t do that, darling,” Lena chides. She drapes herself over Kara’s back, nipping at her shoulder, the crook of her neck. She gets a low yelp in response, Kara bucking up against her and Lena giggles, stretching out a little so that her lips ghost the shell of Kara’s ear as she whispers: “I want to hear you.”

She punctuates her words with a forceful roll of her hips. This time, there is a moan, loud and unabashed and sinful enough to reverberate in Lena’s chest and settle deep in the pit of her stomach.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmurs into Kara’s shoulder. Her voice feels hoarse, startlingly rough. Kara’s cheeks bloom even redder, and her mouth moves, but the words are low, unintelligible.

“Can’t hear you, baby,” Lena coos, teasing.

Kara grunts. She wets her lips and slides her hand over the covers until it meets Lena’s own, linking their fingers together and squeezing ever so gently.

“Harder,” she pants, and a heartbeat later, in that tone of needy gruffness that Lena could never deny: “Please.”

For one long, excruciating second, Lena doesn’t move. (She likes it, sometimes, to hear Kara really beg, to drive her to the edge before seeing her surrender. But not now, not this time, not when it’s so sweet to give Kara all she asks for.) She drops her head, and presses a small, tender kiss to Kara’s back.

“As you wish.”

[scuttling]

Paper Rings

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 10,191 Tags: SFW, Fluff, Literature, Friends to lovers, Everyone thinks they're dating, There was only one bed, Some angst with a happy ending, Confessing love in the rain, TW fire and blood/wound Summary: Some of my favorite tropes rolled into one cute fic inspired by Taylor Swift's Paper Rings. (lyrics and music) Link to A03 or read below! “Good morning, my friendly neighborhood crime fighters,” Penelope says as she enters the briefing room, wearing a dress that is bright bubblegum pink, with fingerless gloves and glasses to match. You, Derek, and Spencer groan your replies, because you just got home from a case last night, with less than seven hours between arriving at your apartment and returning to the office, and that is everyone’s least favorite thing.

You can’t deny that her typical sunny disposition makes you smile a little bit brighter, but you’re still exhausted, and even your usual extra large travel mug of breakfast blend is barely taking the edge off.

That’s probably why, when Aaron enters with trays of steaming espresso drinks from the cafe down the street, and a striped box of donuts, you act like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh my god, I love you. Thank you, I love you.” He got an array of basic drinks based on everyone’s usual orders, and you scan for one that has something with latte, but he takes one out and hands it to you, smiling when you take a sip and sigh—okay, he’s smiling with his eyes, but you are well versed in his body language and facial expressions, and he’s practically grinning at getting your order (triple one pump hazelnut extra hot latte) correct.

You are not the only one to notice.

“Get a room, you two; it’s just coffee,” Derek says, taking the white mocha from the tray and drinking half of it in one sip. “Now if you tell me there’s a bear claw in there, I’ll confess my undying love too.”

“I don’t know; I asked for an assortment,” he says, and it’s clear he did, but your cup has your name on it; you cover the ink with your hand and take another grateful sip. “I do know there’s a plain glazed in there, though,” he says a bit lower, just for you, and you smile, give his wrist a squeeze, and dive for it before Jennifer Jareau can get her hands on it.

That’s all the morning meeting consists of—bickering and bantering and caffeine and carb consumption—and when the group disperses, you follow Aaron to his office and sit down in the chair across from his.

“Thanks again for breakfast. You definitely raised the morale of the troops,” you say with a sip of your perfect latte, and he shares the hint of a smile.

“You’re welcome. It helps that you’re all so easy to appease.” He flips open his bag, pulls out a small, worn, paperback book, tosses it toward you. You pick it up, run your hand over the well-loved cover, and hum.

“The Call of the Wild—this made it into the Aaron Hotchner Nightstand Collection?” He arches a brow.

“It’s so overrated that it’s underrated; no one ever actually reads it, they just assume they know what it’s about. It’s a great book, if you’ll give it a chance.”

“Hey, you’ve read all of mine without complaint; of course I’ll give it a chance.” You take the last, sad sip of your latte and stand up, point out the door with your thumb. “Speaking of, mine’s still downstairs on my desk. I’ll be right back.”

Exchanging books started as an offhand comment one night, on a flight home from Georgia, when he’d mentioned that he never buys new books, only cycles through the same ten or twelve he’s been reading since college. He knows what he likes, finds something different in the text each time he reads, and you’d found something so profoundly beautiful about that that you’d asked for the list. You wanted to know more about the books that tug at his emotions enough that he’s read them day in and day out for over twenty years with no boredom in sight.

He’d done you one better, said he’d be happy to lend them to you, if you’d like, and that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. Seeing college-aged Aaron’s notes in the margins of battered paperback novels was a prospect too good to be true.

Of course, you couldn’t accept the gesture without returning one of your own, so you’d offered to share your favorite books with him too, only... you don’t exactly give him your favorite books. You purposefully buy the cheesiest romance novels you can get your hands on, pass them off to him while he hands you poignant, classic novels that have won literary awards and Nobel prizes.

Today’s is called Lord of Scoundrels, complete with a shirtless man on the cover, kissing a woman with dark, flowing hair and a light blue dress; you snicker the whole way to your desk and back up to his office—earning curious glances from the rest of the team—and when you drop it on the desk in front of Aaron, you watch closely for a reaction.

As usual, he doesn’t really give you one, just flips the book over, skims the summary on the back, and nods.

“Sounds interesting,” he says, and your heart does a little flip.

He could easily hand the book back, laugh in your face, refuse to read something so clearly out of his wheelhouse, but he thinks these novels are important to you, and he never fails to read them, offering his favorite parts the same way you do for his.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t.

“I think you’ll really like it. Sebastian and Jessica start out kind of indifferent toward each other, but the more they interact, the more they find they have in common. It’s very acquaintances to friends to lovers, if you’re into that.” He looks up with an expression you place as uncertainty, even if you’re not quite sure the reason for it. You smile softly. “I should get to work, but thanks for the book. I’ll see you at lunch?”

It’s been so nice lately that you started taking your lunch outside, sitting on a bench beneath a huge, shady oak tree, and Aaron had taken to doing the same; you both quickly realized it was stupid to sit outside together, apart, so you meet up in the bullpen now and walk out side by side, spend the hour talking about your books or the team or Jack or life in general. He shakes the uncertain expression, nods his head.

“Of course. Thank you,” he says with a wave of the book, and you head back downstairs to start your day.

You’ve become mostly accustomed to the feeling, but it still surprises you a little when all that gets you through the day is thinking about your next conversation with Aaron. A week later, you’re on a case in Pittsburgh, and you and Aaron are paired up to room together. That’s nothing unusual—it seems like you’ve been rooming together more often than not lately, which is fine by you; he’s tidy, quiet, always interested in a late night snack, pretty much the perfect roommate—but when he opens the door and you step inside, the single king size bed in the middle of the room takes you by surprise.

“Uh… do you think it’s a mistake? Or maybe they just ran out of doubles?” you suggest; he's kind of frozen in place, and while it’s not ideal, you know it’s not actually going to be a problem. You’ve shared a bed with JJ before, and Spencer, and even though you don’t feel the same way about them as you do about Aaron, you think you can manage a couple nights in close quarters.

“Probably just ran out of doubles,” he agrees after a moment; he doesn’t bring up calling the front desk to ask for another room, so you don’t either, just hang your clothes and head into the bathroom to change into your pajamas and do your nightly routine.

It’s a little awkward at first, and you don’t know why; over the last six months or so, he’s actually become your closest friend on the team, and conversation usually comes easily, but silence settles over the room uncomfortably as you slip between the sheets on your side of the bed.

He goes into the bathroom, does his own nightly routine, then comes out in his pajamas and turns on CNN.

You take out your book, pay no attention to Aaron, but the longer he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the news ticker on the television screen but not actually watching it, the more you wish he’d just get over himself and come to bed. If he’s trying to wait for you to fall asleep, he’s going to be waiting a while.

“So you were right; I love Buck,” you say as a way to start some conversation, to bring some normalcy to this unusual situation. You hold up the book you’re reading, the one he let you borrow. “His struggle between remaining loyal to his owner and answering the call of the wild—I love dogs, but I never imagined a book about a dog could be so moving.”

He turns back with a soft smile, then switches off the tv and heads over to his side of the bed; he pulls back the comforter, slides between the sheets, meets you toward the middle of the bed.

“I told you you’d like it; what chapter are you on?” He leans over to look, so close it wouldn’t take much to lift a hand and brush it over his hair; it looks unfairly soft, and part of you wants to card your fingers through it, to tug on it and mess it up a little. He probably wouldn’t even mind if you did.

“Chapter 7—I only have a few pages left.” You snuggle more comfortably against your pillow, lean into his shoulder, and move the book so it’s more evenly between you. “Want to finish it with me?”

He does, and you read silently at a similar pace; he reaches up to turn the pages, and you think about how these hands have flipped through this book so many times before, what he might have been thinking, feeling, while reading. It’s a more intimate act than you’ve shared with anyone in a really long time.

When you finish the book, you sigh, let the feeling of reading a really great story envelope you; you turn to face Aaron, and he’s looking at you… and then there’s a knock at the door that startles you both.

He gets up, walks over and checks the peep hole, then opens the door.

“Are you sure?” you hear JJ ask, and he steps back so she can enter the room; when she sees you tucked snugly into the middle of the bed, she shoots you a soft smile and mouths you’re welcome, which makes absolutely no sense without context. You’ll have to bring it up to her later and ask what exactly you’re supposed to be thanking her for.

“So you said the detective called?” Aaron prompts her, and she looks away from you, nods.

“Yes, he wanted me to ask if we could have a few agents meet him at the second crime scene tomorrow instead of the precinct, figured it could save a little time.” Aaron looks confused, like he doesn’t see why this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, but he ultimately agrees.

“Sure. You, Reid, and Prentiss can head straight there, if that’s what he wants. I’ll let them know in the morning.” JJ nods, and looks over at you, and then back at Aaron, who makes a kind but curious face. “Was there something else?”

“Huh? Oh, no, that’s it. I just didn’t want to forget. I’ll let you guys go—enjoy the rest of your night,” she says with a smile and a wave, and when he closes the door behind her, you both exchange a look.

She’s definitely acting a little weird, but it’s late, so you give her the benefit of the doubt.

You scoot over to your side, put the book on the nightstand and switch off your lamp; Aaron climbs back into bed and switches his off, too, and he turns to face the wall while you lay on your back and stare at the ceiling.

It takes about half an hour, but he falls asleep first; you turn to face him, watching his back, following the rise and fall as he softly breathes in sleep, and the peaceful rhythm lulls you into submission, and you drift off as well.

When you wake up a couple hours later, he is on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow, and you are draped over his back with your cheek against his t-shirt. It’s soft, and warm, and smells like him, and you glance at the clock and realize it’s too early to do anything but get comfortable and fall back asleep, so that’s exactly what you do.

The next time you wake up, to light creeping in between the curtains, Aaron is no longer in bed, but you’re holding his pillow, still warm beneath your cheek. He doesn’t act weird when you get up and start moving around, just pops out of the bathroom with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

“Got you a latte,” he says around it, gesturing to the desk and the pair of paper cups that sit on it, and you grin.

“Seriously, you’re my favorite human,” you answer, and you grab your coffee and lean against the doorframe, sipping and sighing until you’re a little more clear-headed. “Sorry if I crushed you; guess I was restless last night. I usually don’t move around that much.”

He just shrugs, spits out a mouthful of foam into the sink.

“You didn’t crush me. I’m pretty solid, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed,” you tease, looking at him over the lid as you take another sip. “Now hurry up and quit hogging the bathroom if you want to leave here at a decent hour.” He rinses, zips up his toiletry bag noisily for dramatic effect, and slips past you, rubbing a hand over your unruly bed head as he goes. The day passes quickly, with lots of interviewing witnesses, following dead-end leads, and bad police station coffee. When Aaron calls it and tells everyone to get some dinner, you all split off into smaller groups—Spencer and Derek go for Chinese, JJ and Emily opt for pizza, and you and Aaron end up at a retro diner with burgers and milkshakes and a plate of fries between you to share.

“I think we should be focusing more on the docks,” you say, dipping a fry in ketchup and taking a bite. “Even if that’s not where the bodies end up, it seems to be where the unsub is meeting with the victims. We could stake it out tonight, maybe. If you want.” You never want to step on his toes, because he is the boss, the leader, even if you’re friends too; you try to be careful how you phrase things, especially in front of other people, because you don’t want your comfort to look like disrespect, however unintentional.

“That’s a good idea. You and I can head down there after this; I’ll let the others know to patrol nearby, in case we need backup.”

He dusts off his fingers and pulls out his phone, types out a text, and you look around the restaurant—the place looks like it was ripped right out of the 50s, with a checkered floor and lots of red vinyl, a shiny jukebox in the corner. Out of place is a flatscreen tv behind the counter; during the day, when it’s busier, it might play news or sports, but you two are the only ones here at the moment, so the staff is hanging out beneath it watching a movie. It’s Titanic, you realize, when the iconic ‘Rose floating on a piece of debris’ scene plays, and you snort, take a long drag of your chocolate shake.

“I always hated this part. They could have found a way for him to survive, too. Unnecessary death for the heartache factor,” you say, and Aaron looks up from his phone to the screen, makes a sound of contemplation.

“I always thought it was kind of romantic. When you love someone, you’d do anything for them to be okay, even at your own expense. Even if it’s stupid.” You look over his face, study the features you know like the back of your hand, and you guess you can kind of see that, but you can’t say that, so you just sigh.

“I suppose you think Romeo and Juliet is romantic, too,” you tease, and he looks back at you, rolls his eyes.

“It’s very much of its time; it's a lot harder to suffer a miscommunication like that these days. And there is something to be said for star-crossed lovers—people who shouldn’t be together, for one reason or another, but can’t help but drift close anyway.” You swirl your straw in the metal cup, thinking briefly of how that happens to describe the two of you, and when you look up at him, you think you see a hint of that same thought on his face.

More likely, that’s just wishful thinking.

“I like the sword-fights,” you say to lighten the mood, and he laughs, and you both polish off the rest of your food and then head for the docks.

Two hours in and absolutely nothing has happened, but just when you’re ready to complain, or suggest playing I Spy or something, there’s movement from one of the shipping containers to your right. You nudge Aaron, point to the container, and you both creep closer, trying to make out the situation.

When you’re just around the corner, it’s clearly two men fighting, but you obviously don’t know if this is your unsub, two random guys having it out on the docks, or what, so you mutually agree to wait until you have some kind of sign that this is your guy. When one of them pulls out a hunting knife that looks vaguely similar to your murder weapon—as close as you can tell in the dark, anyway—you raise your guns and identify yourselves as FBI.

The unsub drops the knife, but fists his hands in the other guy’s jacket, manhandles him to the edge of the dock, and shoves him into the water, then jumps as well. You swear, and Aaron takes off his jacket, throws it on the ground, then his phone on top of it, and looks back at you.

“Stay here and call for backup,” he instructs, and then he jumps in too; you call the team from your comms, get a response from Emily, and then toss your phone onto Aaron’s jacket and follow him.

He, of course, went for the victim first, so you look for the unsub, who is not visible above the water. You completely submerge yourself, feeling for more than looking for him, because the water is cloudy on a good day and pitch black at ten o’clock at night; when you pop your head up for air, you see Aaron getting the victim up onto the dock, and the unsub bobbing a bit further out. You swim to him, limbs aching, and he seems to know it’s time to give up.

He’s winded, gasping for breath, so you keep him above the water to your own detriment, dragging him by his wet jacket instead of cuffing him, because you’re not trying to kill the guy or lug his unconscious body back to shore. You just barely keep your own head above water most of the time, coming up for big gulps of air when absolutely necessary.

You finally make it to the dock, and your team has arrived, so Derek pulls him out of the water, makes sure he’s alright, and puts some cuffs on him. Aaron’s hands are on you right after, getting you up on the dock, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

Despite the warm spring breeze, the water was freezing, and you can feel your teeth chattering. He rubs your arms for warmth, crouches down to look you seriously in the eyes.

“Thought I told you to stay here,” he says with an arched brow, a scowl you can tell is more concerned than angry. You wet your frozen lips and try your best to smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack.”

He looks at you like you’re an idiot, but fondly, if that’s possible, then hugs you so tightly, guides your face to press against his warm neck. How he’s not teetering on the edge of hypothermia is anyone’s guess.

“Your lips are practically blue. Stupid,” he murmurs, but his mouth dusts over your temple in what is unmistakably a kiss, and when you’re able to feel your lips again, you reciprocate, press them a little harder against his throat while you shiver in his arms.

It doesn’t mean anything except I’m happy we’re both alive. Probably.

That night in bed, he faces the wall, and you stare at the ceiling, but you wake up with your nose against the back of his neck. The way he’s breathing tells you he’s not asleep, and when you wrap your arms around him, he holds them tight. Things don’t change after Pittsburgh, and that’s okay. You are comfortable with the way things are, and you love what you have—lunches under the oak tree, the exchange of books, late night texts when you both can’t sleep, hands brushing when you walk to the parking garage, glances shared across the jet. All those things make it easy not to focus on what you don’t have, what you’re not even sure Aaron would want anyway.

You exchange books again on Friday at lunch: he hands you Beloved by Toni Morrison, a book you already know and adore, and you hand him Ravished by Amanda Quick.

“Dubbed the Beast of Blackthorne Hall for his scarred face and lecherous past, Gideon,” Aaron shoots you a glance—“that’s purely coincidental”—“was strong and fierce and notoriously menacing. Yet Harriet could not find it in her heart to fear him. For in his tawny gaze she sensed a savage pain she longed to soothe... and a searing passion she yearned to answer.”

You hold back a smile.

“It’s a modern retelling of a classic story—Beauty and the Beast,” you add, taking a bite of your sandwich. He looks you over like there’s something he wants to say, but he just tucks it under his arm and steals a piece of melon from your lunch.

“I have Jack this weekend, so I probably won’t get to read much, but it sounds intriguing.”

“Well I hope you like it when you read it. Tell him I said hi; it’s been too long since I saw him. I bet he’s looking more like you every day,” you say, popping a piece of melon into your mouth. He smiles softly.

“A little, but Haley says she sees her father in him, and I have to agree. We may have to wait a few years until he looks like me; he’s too cute for that now.” He doesn’t sound self-deprecating, just fond, but you can’t let a comment like that stand, regardless.

“You’re cute; the difference is that kids are cute all the time. You’re an adult, so sometimes you’re handsome, sometimes you’re cute, sometimes you’re hot… it can be hard to reconcile.” This time, he looks you over with something light and playful in his eyes, and it’s something you want to explore, but the timer on your phone goes off, indicating that lunch is over, so you just exhale softly and pack up your things.

You don’t talk much after that—his Fridays are usually busy with meetings, and he leaves in a hurry to pick up Jack, which is understandable.

Emily, JJ, and Penelope invite you out for drinks and dinner—“because we know Hotch is busy,” Penelope says, which has literally nothing to do with your weekend plans, but you don’t correct them—so you don’t linger either.

You go out for Italian, so you are sleepy and full of wine and pasta by the end of the evening, and you smile at your friends.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, guys. I had a really good time.”

“Of course,” Emily says, taking her last sip of Pinot Noir. “We barely see you anymore; it was long overdue.”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I should really try to drag my ass out of bed more often.” You can’t help it, though, that after a long day, your bed and a good book just call your name. You’ve always been introverted in that way. JJ laughs softly, chin in her palm, elbow on the table.

“Honeymoon phase. Give it another couple months and you’ll be past that.” You do have a new memory foam mattress that has made sinking into the pillows and blankets all that more indulgent, but you didn’t think JJ knew about that. And you’ve never heard of a honeymoon phase for a mattress before.

“Eh, I don’t think so. There’s literally nothing more satisfying on this earth.” The three of them exchange an amused look, but your phone vibrates, and that catches your attention; you smile when it’s Aaron, sending you a photo of Jack with a toothy grin and his hands covered in fingerpaint. You look up to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.

“Alright, we’ve lost her. See you all Monday,” Emily says, pulling you in for a hug; when she steps back, she smiles. “And tell Hotch we said hi.”

“I will,” you promise as you hug the other two. You hang back a moment, type out a reply—Looks like you’re having lots of fun without me!—and get into your car to head home.

You change into comfy clothes, drink a glass of water, and climb into bed with Beloved, and at around 9:30 you receive a reply.

Having the most fun we can without you. Maybe next time Jack is over, we can tempt you with dinosaur chicken nuggets and fingerpaint?

You smile, the happiest you’ve been all night—and that’s saying something, because you really did have a great time—and send back, It’s a date. Come Monday, you’re feeling pretty good, well-rested and relaxed from probably too much time in bed, but Aaron looks upset when he walks into the morning meeting. He keeps it short and sweet, and everyone disperses quickly, giving you sympathetic looks as you hang back to try to have a word with him. He clears off the white board, tidies up the table that doesn’t need tidying, and you place a hand on his back, gentle and comforting. He sighs, and you can feel the tension leave him almost instantly.

“Hey. What’s bothering you?” you ask softly, leaning around to try to catch his expression; he looks tired, sad, and maybe a little conflicted, leans into your touch.

“Taking Jack back to Haley’s was rough last night; it always is, but yesterday was really bad.” You know a little about this from weekends past, how Jack always cries when Aaron has to leave, how he feels terrible about it for the rest of the evening, but it must have been extreme for him to still be so upset. “And Haley…” He sighs again, runs his hand through his hair. “It’s like it’s one step forward, two steps back with her sometimes.”

“Why don’t we go sit in your office and you can tell me more?” You want to continue discussing this—that’s what friends are for, and he’s clearly in a bad state emotionally, you think it could help—but he just shakes his head.

“No, I… it’s okay. I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.” You take your hand off his back, lean a hip against the table and look up at him.

“I’m not just your friend when it’s all easy breezy, lunch in the sunshine, talking about our favorite books,” you say with a sad smile; he reciprocates a little, which is more than you expected. “I’m here when things are complicated, when you have bad days, too. The Monday blues especially.” One of his hands rests on the table, and you cover it with yours, lean in to press your forehead to his shoulder. “Let me be here, okay? Even if all you need me to do is listen.”

It takes a moment, and his eyes are wet when he finally responds; he inhales deeply, nods, and brushes his free hand over your head in something of a hug, murmurs a rough, “okay.”

You sit in his office for an hour—which, again, is more than you expected—listening to him talk about his weekend with Jack, how heartbreaking it was to take him back to Haley’s, how he tried talking to her about taking him more often and she just wasn’t sure she could trust him to do what he says he’ll do. He understands where she’s coming from, knows he’s been unable to keep his word in the past, thinks he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt; he hasn’t asked for advice, seems to just want to vent, so you just listen.

“Then I mentioned you, that you might come for dinner next time he’s over, and she was worried about that,” he says, exasperated, and you frown.

“Why would she worry about that? I’ve been around him lots of times.” It doesn't make sense, because Haley has always been nothing but sweet to you; Aaron looks up at your question, and it seems a little like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that part, though you can’t imagine why.

“It’s just different now… because he’s older,” he says after a brief moment of hesitation. “She doesn’t want him getting attached to someone who might not always be around, you know.” You sigh softly, because if that’s all it is…

You lean forward, take his hand, squeeze it tight.

“I’m always going to be around, Aaron. I can talk to her, if you want, tell her that.”

“No, it’s—you don’t have to do that.” He squeezes your hand back, closes his eyes for a beat. “Just hearing you say it, it makes things easier. I’ll talk to her again next time.”

You talk a little more, and he seems a lot better afterward, even if he is a bit less expressive during lunch; you figure any progress is good, but it makes you sad to see him so down, so naturally, you formulate a plan to help get him back to the Aaron you know and love.

At the end of the day, when he makes his way to the bullpen, you spin around in your chair, take him by the sleeve.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” you say in no uncertain tone of voice. “For a few hours. I’ll bring you back for your car.” He agrees with a fond look, and you lose yourself in the expression for a moment, then stand up, grab your things, and walk with him out to the garage.

Rush hour traffic is what it is, and you leave Aaron in charge of the music, which means you get The Beatles and The Who, Rolling Stones and Neil Diamond, and you’re both singing along and so much happier by the time you pull into the parking lot of the bodega nearest your apartment.

“Just running in for provisions—be right back,” you say with a grin, and when you return with two paper bags of loot, he looks at you like you might be his favorite person in the world with an age in the double digits. It’s a look you love putting on his face.

“Do I get to see what provisions you’ve acquired?” he asks, teasing, but you shake your head and tell him he’ll see it when you get there.

With a pit stop in your apartment to grab a blanket and a few throw pillows, you take him up to the roof and get things ready for your makeshift picnic. There is white wine, still mostly chilled; cubed cheese, far from gourmet but no less delicious; crusty french bread that was fresh this morning but at this hour is a little extra crusty; blueberries, because they didn’t have grapes; dark chocolate, because you share a fondness for it; and paper cups for the wine.

Aaron takes a look at your bounty, spread over the blanket, and smiles the first real smile you’ve seen all day.

“Fancy,” he teases, and he takes off his jacket, gets on the ground with you. You pour each of you some wine, pop a blueberry in your mouth.

“No, but I thought a meal—and I do call it that loosely—under the stars might do you some good.” You lift your paper cup and tap it against his, brush your fingers over his hand. “To the best boss, best dad, best friend I could ask for.” You take a sip, but he doesn’t at first, watches you with something simmering behind his eyes.

“Do I get to make a toast?” he asks after a few beats, and you smile, nod, and hold up your cup. “To the only person stupid enough to jump into a freezing cold river after me. To the only person I would consider eating a bodega dinner with. To the only person who sees me the way you do.” You both take a sip, which is hard to swallow around the lump in your throat. He looks into your eyes, then breaks the dark chocolate into slivers and hands you a piece like he didn’t just say the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to you before.

You eat, and talk, and drink, and when you’re done with dinner you put everything back in the bags and lay back on the blanket, side by side, and stare up at the stars. The moon is high and full, shining while the stars twinkle around it, and you can’t think of a single time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“This was really perfect,” Aaron says, almost a whisper, after about twenty minutes of companionable silence. “I can’t thank you enough for being there for me today.” You turn to face him, hands curled up under your chin, and he turns toward you as well. He’s so handsome in the moonlight your heart almost aches.

“You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted to see you happy.” You feel your eyes well up with tears, because he deserves to be happy; you sigh, blink them away, and he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead, rests them there for a long time. When he eventually pulls back, you bring a hand to his hair, brush it back at his temple, and then the creaking of the door makes you pull back, sit up.

It’s your neighbor from 422, who you’ve seen on the roof a handful of times, sneaking away from his wife to smoke a cigarette. He squints in the dark, recognizes you, and waves.

“Hey, 418! You’re not alone tonight.” Aaron sits up too, and you laugh softly.

“Nope, but we were just leaving. The roof is all yours.” Aaron stands, pulls you up, and you grab the blanket and pillows while he grabs the bags, and the two of you head back down to your place.

It’s after ten when you get the groceries put away, and you stand next to Aaron in your small kitchen, contemplating what you want to say next. Your mouth betrays your brain, says what you’ve been thinking but weren’t quite sure how to approach.

“It’s late; I know I said I’d take you back to your car, but you could stay here if you want. I have a spare toothbrush, and I know you have a spare suit at the office, and it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve shared a bed before.”

You’d completely understand if he’d rather go home—you hate when your plans are changed at the last minute, and you prefer to do your full nightly routine for your sanity’s sake—but he only nods, and you lead your way to the bedroom, show him the master bath.

You are in your pajamas, tucked into bed, when he comes out in his boxers and undershirt; he hangs up his suit in your closet where you’d left him some space, then climbs in beside you. He looks over at you, then past you, at your nightstand, which has a stack of books on it—none of them romance novels. You grin, busted after months of book exchanges, and he leans over you to look at the titles.

“Persuasion, To Kill A Mockingbird, One Hundred Years of Solitude—Beloved.” He looks from your copy of the novel to his, which you hold in your hands, and you shrug sheepishly.

“I like reading the notes you put in the margins,” you say meekly, hoping he’s not angry, but all he does is laugh.

“Let me guess: you don’t actually like romance novels.” He leans back against your pillow, and so do you, resting the book on your lap.

“I mean, I don’t not like them… but I’ve been buying those just for you.” The smile on his face is brilliant, and only makes you yearn for him more; things you have been purposefully not feeling are flooding your heart and mind and body now, with him so close, laughing over this stupid secret you’ve been hiding for so long. “And you, sweet man that you are, have been reading them, and discussing them.” You put your hand on his shoulder, and he ducks his head to laugh again.

“Since we’re being honest… I didn’t read all of them. I tried,” he says when you act offended, shoving the shoulder you’re resting against, “but some of them were so bad. I just flipped through, found something I thought could pass as my favorite part, and hoped to hell you didn't ask too many questions.”

You both laugh until you’re breathless—he is so different from how he was this morning it makes you want to cry—and when your laughter dies down you look at each other, sharing breath, two heads on one pillow; is it any wonder you bridge the distance, pull him close for a warm, gentle kiss?

When you break the kiss, you are instantly worried about what Aaron will do—you aren’t drunk, aren’t even tipsy, so you know he can’t be, so much bigger and more solid than you, but will he think it’s a mistake? He kissed back, you’re pretty sure, but maybe that was an accident, something done on autopilot—

He leans in for a second kiss, mouth deceptively soft, and you curl your arm around his back, press into it with lips desperate not to let this end now that it’s started. When you separate, you are both looking into each other’s eyes again, breathing a bit heavily, and you meet in the middle for a third kiss, the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life.

That kiss ends when you yawn in his face, and he chuckles softly, leans over and switches off your bedside lamp; you smile at the ceiling, and he wraps his arms around you, presses his lips to your shoulder, and tells you good night. The next day, the two of you arrive at work early so he can shower and change into his fresh clothes without anyone on the team noticing—not that you think they would really care, but they’re nosy, and a little annoying, so you both agree that’s probably for the best.

You don’t talk about the kisses, even though they’ve been the only thing running through your mind since they happened; you promise to discuss it at lunch, though, and that’s such a sweet, romantic prospect that you think you prefer it better that way anyway.

Only, you don’t ever get to lunch, because there’s an urgent case in Minneapolis, an all hands on deck situation, meaning even Penelope joins you on the jet. You debrief on the flight, hunker down in the conference room, and split up to cover more ground; you barely get to speak to Aaron the whole time you’re there except to be given instructions and to fill him on what, if anything, you’ve learned.

You don’t even make it to your hotel that night, working around the clock to catch the people responsible for terrorizing the city. It takes not one, but almost two full days, and when you board the jet on Wednesday evening, everyone is dead on their feet. You barely remember the flight or the trip home, and you fall onto your bed fully clothed and crash just like that.

Thursday is your birthday, which you almost forgot, and so you assumed everyone else would too. You should have known better, because even if your team can be annoying, they are still your friends, and they love you, so you are well and truly spoiled.

You are treated to a latte and bagels from Emily, purple cupcakes with silver sprinkles from Penelope, a piggy back ride from Derek, a book of poetry you’ve had your eye on from Spencer, and a card from JJ—really, it turns out, from all of them.

“Enjoy a romantic getaway on us?” There’s some kind of certificate in the card, and when you flip it over, you discover that it’s for a hotel and spa that offers couples massages, mud baths, intimate aromatherapy? You arch a brow. “Uh, thanks, guys. Are you trying to tell me something here?” JJ’s face falls a little and she points to the card.

“It’s a romantic getaway. For you and Hotch? Since things have been so hectic lately,” she says, but your ears are kind of ringing and your brain is stuck on the for you and Hotch part.

“Oh. Um. Sorry—it’s just kind of soon, I think? How do you guys even know about that?” you murmur. The two of you haven’t had time to discuss Monday yet, and you haven’t spoken a word to anyone; you wouldn’t have guessed Aaron would have either, but there is a gift certificate for a romantic getaway in your hands, and you’re kind of spiraling.

“Well come on, we haven’t exactly been pretending we don’t know,” Emily says, and you can feel the confusion in your features when you look up at her. “And you guys haven’t been exactly secretive. We’re happy for you, though.”

“I mean, we haven’t been secretive, but we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet. It’s only been three days.” You are met with looks similar to the one on your own face.

“What do you mean, three days?” Spencer asks with a frown. “You and Hotch have been dating for almost two months. Right?” he says, looking at the others, and they nod, but it’s tentative. Your first reaction is to flush, and you close the card, fan your face with it.

“You guys think… You guys thought…” You look at them, then up at Aaron’s office; there’s no way he can know that you’re having a moment, but he chooses then to come downstairs, coincidentally. He’s smiling at first, but it falls when he looks at your face.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” He presses a cool hand to your hot cheek, flicks his eyes over yours, and JJ makes a noise; when you glance over at her, she’s gesturing between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, we were wrong? What were we supposed to think?” Aaron frowns, not following, and you take a deep breath.

“They got me a gift certificate for my birthday. To a spa. For you and I to have a romantic getaway, because they were under the assumption we’ve been dating… for two months.” The way he pulls back quickly makes your stomach ache a little, but you say nothing. You should have known.

“You say I love you,” Derek begins like he’s listing evidence. “You have lunch together every day. You’re always smiling at each other.”

“Seriously, some of the softest, gooiest smiles I’ve ever seen,” Penelope adds.

“You eat together on cases, you’re texting all the time when you’re not together.”

“I’ve been pairing the two of you up in hotels since I first figured out you were dating,” JJ says, and the whole ‘you’re welcome’ thing suddenly makes some sense. “I booked you that room with just the one bed so you’d maybe feel more comfortable about us knowing, so you’d see that we don’t mind.”

“You’re always looking at each other, always touching,” Spencer says. “In Pittsburgh—that was the first time you really hugged or kissed each other in front of us. We were trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was kind of a big deal.”

You look over at Aaron, try to gauge his reaction, but for the first time in a long time you can’t tell what he’s feeling. You can’t really tell what you’re feeling, either. Sadness. Worry. Loss? But what have you lost?

“We’re friends,” you say, even if it sounds weak to your own ears. “We’re… close.”

“We wouldn’t exactly make sense as a couple, would we?” Aaron asks rhetorically, and your heart clenches when he says that. He told you this morning that he’d made dinner plans for you, both for your birthday and to discuss the kisses, what they mean, where you go from here, but that doesn’t sound very promising anymore. “We’re just—”

“Star-crossed,” you say, but you feel like your eyes are vacant. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re stupid for kissing him, for letting yourself think he could feel the same way you feel, have felt for a while. Isn’t friendship enough? Don’t you already have this special bond so unlike what you have with anyone else in your life? Why press your luck? You know better than that. “We should get back to work.”

You don’t look at Aaron, so you don’t know whether or not he looks at you. JJ does, and you can tell she knows you’re upset, but she just nudges everyone on their way, and you take a seat at your desk—it’s covered in balloons and streamers, the Penelope special.

You’ve never felt less like celebrating.

At lunchtime, Aaron stops at your desk, and the two of you walk out to the bench, open your bags in silence. You’re almost halfway through the hour before he tries to speak.

“Uh. I. About earlier,” he finally gets out, looking down at his sandwich, and you shake your head even though he’s not watching you.

“It’s fine. We don’t have to.” You take a bite of your salad even though you don’t taste it. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. You are who you are,” smart, sweet, handsome, tender, caring, “and I am who I am.” Too quiet, too young, too impulsive, too silly, too emotional. He nods, looks at your face for the first time in a while, swallows.

“Right.” You’re due to exchange books back—his is on your lap, yours is on his—and he picks them both up. “I’m like this,” he says, holding up Beloved. “Faded cover, dog-eared pages, scribbles in the margins: middle-aged, divorced, a little broken, barely holding it together for the kid I don’t get to spend enough time with. You’re like this,” he says, holding up Ravished. “Fresh and glossy and shiny and new, with your whole life ahead of you, the whole world ahead of you. You could do anything, with anyone.”

You frown, because this is not what you meant, at all. How could he think that about himself, when the well-loved cover and the dog-eared pages and the scribbles in the margins are all the best parts of him?

“Aaron,” you say, but it sounds like pleading; you reach out to put your hands on his arms, but he pulls them back. His eyes are rimmed red, lips pressed together to hold back everything he’s not saying.

“I think lunch is almost over.” He packs up his things, leaves you with tears in your eyes and a wilted salad and a brand new romance novel you’re never going to read.

Later, he cancels dinner, says something came up, and you go home to your empty bed and watch Titanic and bawl your eyes out when Rose tells Jack she’ll never let go. Friday, you get another case. Weekend cases are no one’s favorite, but especially not yours, when you desperately needed that buffer of time away from Aaron to sort out your feelings and get back to some sense of normalcy. Instead, you’re flying to a small town outside of Nashville to catch a serial arsonist, and when you get to your hotel, you and Aaron are sharing a room.

At least there are two beds, this time.

You go with Emily and Spencer to a crime scene, walking around a house that was once picture perfect and is now all charred wood and ash, and you quickly tell yourself to get a grip and not look for metaphors for your own life while trying to solve a case. What kind of investigator are you? Pathetic, apparently.

You work until evening, and when it’s time to break for dinner, you buy a sad looking assortment of items from the police station vending machine and eat in the conference room by yourself.

It’s a good thing you do, because they get a call about the fire while everyone is still away, and you and a few locals are the first on the scene.

It doesn’t start out bad, mostly located in the back of the house, but you know how quickly these things can spread, and the fire department is working hard to put it out. One of the officers is talking to the family, and the mother is crying, so you come closer to figure out why.

“She said the daughter was supposed to be staying at a friend’s, but sometimes she changes her mind at the last minute and comes home. She can’t get ahold of her,” the officer says, and you nod, thinking.

“Where would she be? The front or the back?”

“Her room is in the front, second floor; if she’s here, that’s where she’d be,” the mother says, wiping her eyes with a tissue, and you tell the officer to stay with them, that you’ll take care of it. You talk to the firefighters—this town is so small there are only two that were able to respond, and they’re both busy trying to put out the fire, but they clear you to go in if you stick to the front of the building and get out of there as fast as you can.

Your team isn’t here yet either, too far out for comms to be effective, and you can’t get ahold of Aaron, so you make a judgement call and head inside.

The front of the house is so eerily normal it’s almost easy to calm your nerves and pretend the back isn’t in the process of being destroyed. You open the front door, run up the staircase, and call out for the girl; she answers, not from the front of the house, but the back—a bathroom maybe? Flames lick up the wall beside it, but you can get to the knob, and she comes rushing out, into your arms, terrified. You weren't expecting that, and you both fall back: your head hits off the floor, but she seems okay, so you tell her to run out the front door and find her mom.

You press a hand to the back of your head, and it comes back tacky with blood. There’s ringing in your ears for a couple of minutes, and then your favorite voice in the world comes through.

“Where are you? We’re here, where are you?” You’re getting hotter, and when you crane your neck up, you can see why: the fire is getting closer, creeping toward the staircase, creeping toward you. You inhale, cough, and press your walkie button.

“I’m upstairs in the hall; hit my head. It’s not safe.”

“I’m coming for you.” You groan. Stubborn man.

“It’s not safe, Aaron.” You hear the crackle of static, hope maybe he heard your warning and will wait until more firefighters arrive—but knowing him the way you do, that’s just wishful thinking. His voice rings out again, and despite the pain, you can’t help but smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack. Just stay put; I’ll be right there.” You close your eyes, drift in and out of consciousness; when you see him, all you can think is how ridiculously in love with him you are, and that you really hope you’ll be around to tell him. You are, of course, fine. Your head is the worst of it, even the smoke inhalation was mild, and the fire didn’t touch you, so there are no burns. Aaron doesn’t leave your side the entire time you’re being checked over, looks serious and concerned, though he smiles when the mother comes over and squeezes you so tightly you wince a little. It starts to rain, making the firefighters' jobs a little easier, and it feels oddly cleansing, after the day you’ve had. Someone offers you an umbrella, but you decline.

The fire is successfully put out, and the half of your team that didn’t respond to the scene responded to a call for suspicious activity, which ends up being your unsub. You are all happy no one was killed this time, and since you’re staying the night again, the group decides to grab a drink to celebrate. You don’t have a concussion, but your head still aches, so you pass, and Aaron passes with you.

You head to the hotel, park in the lot, but you don’t even make it halfway across before you stop, a hand on his arm.

“I need to say something,” you tell him, and he looks up at the dark sky like, right here? Right now?, even though you’re both already drenched. You nod, because if you don’t do this now you might never—almost dying always gives you an unhealthy amount of confidence, which you attribute to equal amounts of adrenaline and stupidity. “When we first met, I didn’t think we’d have a lot in common. We’re both quiet, but in wildly different ways, and I’m quick to trust and let people in while your guard is almost never down.”

He looks a little sad at that, and you realize you’re kind of doing what he did, putting the two of you into completely different categories, emphasizing the ways you don’t belong together. But that’s dumb, so you don’t give him time to focus on that for long.

“But being your friend, Aaron—the more time I spent with you, the more I came to feel like no one has ever understood me the way you do. No one has ever seen me the way you do.” Rain is pouring down all around you, beating against the pavement, flattening your hair against your head, but you don’t care. Regardless of his reaction, this is actually kind of perfect. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you—that was an accident, I admit. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You step closer to him, put your hands on his waist; he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t need shiny, glossy things; you're the one I want—faded cover, dog-eared pages, notes in the margins. I love you exactly as you are.”

He is gorgeous in the rain, water in his hair, dripping off his nose. His expression looks hopeful, and you pray to god that’s not wishful thinking.

“Say something, anything,” you beg, anticipation killing you, and he presses his hands to your cheeks and pulls you close for a deep, passionate, soulful kiss that says it all.

The words are nice to hear, though.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you either,” he breathes against your lips when the kiss breaks. “I told myself it was just a crush, because someone so young and beautiful was paying so much attention to me, treating me like more than just the guy giving orders. But the more time I spent with you, the more undeniable it became. You are everything good about the world—bright, optimistic, caring, funny, sweet. How could anyone not fall in love with you?”

You swallow hard, lean up to press your lips against his again.

“When you said we wouldn’t make sense as a couple…” He shakes his head.

“That was just me chickening out. After we kissed, I was all but ready to ask you to go steady,” he says, and you both smile, because he’s such an old fashioned dork, but god, do you love him. “And then we found out that the team thought we’d been together for months, and you looked freaked out, so I freaked out. I’m sorry. I should have made us talk about it sooner.”

“Classic pointless miscommunication,” you say with a laugh, and he chuckles too, kisses you again.

“Let’s go inside and get dried off; there’s a birthday gift in my bag I’ve been meaning to give you.” He takes your hand, and you head up, duck into the bathroom to change into dry clothes, squeeze the water out of your hair. There is a small, flat, wrapped present on your bed when you emerge, and you smile, sink down to open it.

It’s Romeo and Juliet, a brand new copy, but when you flip through it, there are blue inked notes in the margins. Aaron comes to sit beside you, touches your face like you’re something precious.

“The course of true love never did run smooth,” he murmurs, and you smack him on the arm with the book.

“That’s from A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I know you know that,” you say with a grin. He nods in admission, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, lean in for a warm, loving kiss. When you pull back, it’s with a soft smile. “Give me my sin again?”

“My pleasure,” he whispers, and you sink into his embrace and promise never to let go. The following week, you both leave work at noon on Friday so you can enjoy your romantic getaway. You drive to the spa, and Aaron reads over the brochure on his phone with a tone you find hilarious.

“Mud bath—I’m not bathing in mud. That’s counterintuitive.”

“It’s special mud; more like clay,” you say, but he snorts, scrolls.

“Seaweed wrap—nobody is wrapping me in seaweed. That sounds like a nightmare.” You laugh softly and take your exit.

“It’s supposed to be rejuvenating. JJ recommended it.”

“JJ weighs fifty pounds. It would take all the seaweed in the Atlantic to wrap me,” he says, and you roll your eyes, jab your finger into his ribs.

“But what if I get to unwrap you?” you ask, eyebrows raised; you briefly glance over and he makes a face of contemplation.

“Okay, that’s a maybe. Intimate aromatherapy—what does that even mean?”

“I think it means we do something that makes us smell good and then we go back to our room and kiss and stuff.”

“Now that doesn’t sound half bad,” he murmurs. “Foot massage? I’m not letting a stranger touch my feet, that’s weird.” You look over at him, squinting.

“You literally plugged someone’s bullet wound with your finger yesterday, but someone touching your feet is where you draw the line? Will you do anything on the list?” He scrolls down it, and his extended silence makes you laugh.

“Meditation. Couples massage,” he says, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh. “There’s a sauna.” You think of him, sweat-drenched in a fluffy white towel, and take a deep, calming breath. “I bet the room is nice; did you bring a book?” You smile indulgently, reach out a hand to brush through his hair.

“Yep. It’s called A Duke’s Wild Kiss…” He gives you a mildly withering look, and you lightly tap the bridge of his nose. “Just kidding. I brought To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.” His answering smile is brilliant.

“Are you serious?” You nod, and he gestures to the backseat, where your bags are. “That’s what I brought, too.”

You spend too much of your romantic getaway in your room, but it is really nice; you do the couples massage, though, and aromatherapy, and the sauna, and then you take turns giving each other a foot massage while the other reads To the Lighthouse out loud.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t, but somehow you get to keep him anyway. A/N: Though I snuck in a few parts of a few different lyrics, two lines in particular inspired this fic: 'Now I've read all of the books beside your bed' and 'I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this.' A lot of my fics lately have incorporated books... guess I better get reading!

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