#and this older fic was the very generic version

[n7punk]

i was just digging through files and i found one in my "abandoned" folder that had the same title as RoS and went ??? i haven't abandoned RoS i haven't even written it. well folks. it will shock you to know i already came up with and abandoned a variant of this au in 2022

[mrpenguinpants]

You are all I long for, all I worship, and adore.

— It's strange seeing your future selves being so close when you thought you both hated each other guts.

— Jing Yuan, Dan Feng (& Dan Heng) + Sunday

[Masterlist]

Suspend your disbelief for the timeline of lore, please.

Update: When I originally wrote this, I wanted to do an entire "Fly Me to the Moon," series of fics based on time travel. Hence the title. Shout-out to that one person who was waiting for me to write Sunday. I didn't, but I see you. It will happen soon.

Jing Yuan

This is the worst. The absolute worst thing ever. In the entirety of your living long life, this is the absolute worst moment so far. Were all the good times leading up to this moment? Did the Aeon's have some sick agenda, or were you randomly selected to be messed with today? If you had the option of eating literal trash bags for the rest of your life or continuing to live in this moment, you'd rather chew your own arms off. Maybe if you start now, you can save your future self the pain and humiliation of succumbing to...whatever this is.

"Aw, you were so cute when you were younger,” you - at least you think it’s you. This stranger wears the same face as you although a bit older. Perhaps alien would be a more fitting name? - this stranger coos as they cup Jing Yuan's face in their hands. Pinching cheeks with barely any fat on them with the sweetest smile you never knew you could even make. Jing Yuan, one of the seven Arbiter-Generals of the Xianzhou Alliance's Cloud Knights who stared down an actual Lord Ravager, looks two seconds away from bolting like a scared cat. He hasn’t moved an inch since this started and honestly, as mortifying as this is, it’s way worse for him than it is for you. So naturally, you’re turning a blind eye and holding Yangqing hostage from saving his precious general of sweet words and praises.

”I see we didn’t get along at this point in time,” a deep voice muses above you from a man you’re very blatantly pretending to ignore. An older Jing Yuan stands beside you, amused at his younger self having a barely contained stroke. If it wasn't bad enough that a future version of yourself suddenly appeared, Jing Yuan just had to follow. Always a nuisance no matter his age. Maybe if you hold your breath, you’ll pass out and everything will blow over. It sounds less painful than trying to eat yourself from the outside in any way. Before you can start, a hand, heavy yet somehow gentle, is placed on your shoulder. “I don’t recommend trying to self-induce a suffocation. Nor attempt any cannibalism on the self either.”

Okay. That’s creepy. Do senior citizens suddenly gain mind-reading powers? You’ve heard the story that if a man stays a virgin until he’s 30, he'll become a wizard. You let out a huff of amusement at that thought, maybe that’s what’s happening. That amusement gets cut short when you realize that somehow, you fell for this 30-year-old virgin. You refuse to accept that out of spite. That story was meant for short-life species anyway.

“For all intensive purposes, I’m choosing to believe this is a nightmare and the first step to waking up from one is to induce pain,” you answer blandly, your grip on Yanqing finally waning as the boy sprints in for the rescue. Only to get swept up in the storm as your other self switches her attention to the kid. Sticky fingers and starry eyes have Yanqing disarmed before he can even lift a finger to summon his ice sword, falling prey to the musing of a Xianzhou auntie. Nevertheless, Yanqing does his job correctly because it allows Jing Yuan to finally escape as he stumbles over to you and his other self.

"How far the mighty have fallen," you snicker behind your hand at how ruffled Jing Yuan looks. His hair is a bit fluffy from how many times your future self ran their hands through it, and his cheeks are a bit pink. Probably from all the pinching. There's even a deep chuckle next to you to accompany your words as Jing Yuan coughs into his fist before straightening up properly. You can see Yanqing being given sweets behind his back and that alone buys the kids complacency.

"My apologies for that," Jing Yuan says as the older Jing Yuan simply laughs in response. Unserious and unfretted in everything.

Huh, now that you look closer. He has laugh lines.

"It is I that should apologize. We have disturbed your schedule with our, ahem, compliments," Other Jing Yuan chuckles once again, as if the fact that he has time traveled into the past was a small "disturbance". Aeons, you hate this guy in every form.

They go back and forth, talking in that faux politeness that never truly goes anywhere before you finally had enough of this. You're not sticking around for this tea-time pleasantries any longer than you need to. It's the exact reason why you left your position as the "Divine Foresight Counselor" and passed it off to Qingzu as soon as you could. Unfortunately, you're going up against two Jing Yuan's, so the moment you shift your shoe to take a step back to remove yourself from the conversation, two pairs of golden eyes snap to you. One is smiling, the other is frowning.

"Heading off?"

"Where are you going?"

You look between the two, older and younger, and you can feel your head beginning to hurt. You let out a sigh, rubbing your forehead, before ultimately picking the lesser of two evils. If you have to look into those love-stricken soft eyes one more time, you might actually pass away.

"Out. You don't need me here anymore do you, General? Or do I require your dismissal now?" you ask bluntly, turning to the Jing Yuan you're used to. The one who's supposed to be in this timeline. "If you need anything, I'm sure Diviner Fu would love to be of assistance."

You don't bother to wait for Jing Yuan to say anything, pivoting on your heel and marching out of the Exalting Sanctum. You glance at your other self, a bitter feeling rising in your chest when they look at you disapprovingly. You can tell they want to say something but one brief look to the side, where the two Jing Yuans stand, and they close their mouth and turn around. Regardless, there's no reason for you to stick around longer. As long as the time travelers stay within the exalting sanctum, no one will know they ever appeared in the first place.

As you near the exiting doors, nodding to the guards on each side, you spare one last glance back. Your sudden departure hasn't halted anything and Jing Yuan is speaking to both his other self and you. Yanqing huddles close, one of his hands in your other self's hand, as he tries his best to participate in the discussion. Realistically, you should set aside your petty pride and march back to help. Do something other than running away and letting everyone else pick up the pieces for you. But the doors are already open and you need a sweet drink desperately.

There's been a growing sour taste on your tongue every time your Jing Yuan stares longingly at the other you.

Dan Feng

There isn't a single word to describe the situation you're in right now. Strange? Uncanny? Just super weird? You've seen and done a lot of weird things in your long life, but this is the absolute weirdest thing that has ever happened to you - and you've seen a star collapse before.

“If you keep making that expression, it’ll stick on your face,” Jing Yuan muffles his laugh under his hand, keeping up with your brisk pace as you not-so-subtly run away from the situation thrust into your hands. A tactical retreat you call it. You give Jing Yuan a pained grimace for a brief second before focusing straight ahead again.

“Jing Yuan, I will make sure your promotion to General is riddled with paperwork,” you say straight-faced. He knows you’re lying, you adore your pseudo-nephew too much to do that to him, but it does make him jolt and respectfully keep his mouth shut. However, in exchange, it makes the third pair of footsteps all the more louder. The source of your current predicament and Jing Yuan's amusement. You peer over your shoulder at the young man just to make absolutely sure that you're not hallucinating. A tall, slender young man with blue eyes, fair skin, and black hair stares right back at you before quickly averting his gaze back to the ground. Even with his unique coat and clothing, he has the splitting image of that old lizard. Even though this stranger is younger...and without a stick up his ass either.

He said his name was Dan Heng. A "traveling guard" for the renowned Astral Express. He had sworn on his life that he was telling the truth but that didn't change the fact of who he looked like. If Jing Yuan hadn't been there to vouch for him, then you would have attempted to throw him off the Luofu yourself. According to Jing Yuan, he found the young man "asleep" under one of the ginkgo trees, but otherwise wasn't doing any harm to anyone. He had just appeared with no way to return to where he came from.

At least you have one thing in common: you both don’t want to be here.

"So, are you a distant relative? Is this your first time visiting the Luofu? Oh! Are you here to visit him for vidyadhara business?" Jing Yuan spitballs one question after the other, his barely contained excitement shining through. He had slowed his pace to walk side-by-side with Dan Heng, illustrating the differences between them. Jing Yuan barely reaches Dan Heng's waist, the standard cloud knight uniform looking plain compared to the other's elaborate coat. Teal clashing with blue. Although, they match in their one red accessory flapping in the wind.

Dan Heng awkwardly coughs into his hand, before giving Jing Yuan a rather embarrassed look, "I don't think it'd be wise for me to say anything. If you have any questions, you should ask my teacher..."

Dan Heng shoots you a look as he says the word 'teacher', to which you raise an eyebrow right back. You've never seen this specific man in your life, let alone taken on any students. You don't even like kids that much unless their name is Jing Yuan and even, he isn't fully nestled in your heart. But that's another weird thing about this whole situation. This mysterious "teacher" apparently came along for the ride, yet the man won't spare a single detail about them. Vague descriptions that could be for anyone but wouldn't be a definite confirmation. All in all, it's been a headache and not something you wished to do on a bright and sunny morning. It's frankly out of your pay grade to be babysitting wandering travelers, even if they look like the High Elder.

“We’re here,” you call out, abruptly stopping your near sprint as you feel two bodies collide into your back. One has the decency to step back with an apology while the other clings to your arm as he peers around your waist.

"The forge?" Jing Yuan questions, tilting his head almost fully sideways as the three of you look up at the unassuming blacksmith shop.

"Yep, we're visiting the only adult of the group. Come on, Yingxing should still be inside," you say eyes forward but your arm reaches behind you to hold onto the retreating body of Dan Heng, who has been quietly trying to step away as soon as you confirmed just where you were. Jokes on him, you're the master of running away from your problems- retreating. You're the master at tactical retreating.

Although it’s muffled, you can hear some commotion going on inside. Maybe an unruly customer who didn’t read the fine print and is now venting their frustration? You share a look of confusion with Jing Yuan as you strong-arm Dan Heng into coming inside.

Entering the store, it looks relatively normal? There's nothing out of place or anything to show there was a scuffle, but the argument is getting louder sounding from the back of the store, into the forge. Which is strange for two reasons. Firstly, Yingxing may not be a dragon but he guards the forge with his life. Secondly, the only other people allowed in aren't even in the area. A mutual understanding passes through the three of you, Dan Heng finally giving up on trying to escape with the death grip you have on his arm, and you all tip-toe to the back door. Jing Yuan being the smallest reaches the door first, his head peeking out, your head above his as you squint into the room, and Dan Heng above yours with a look of defeat.

“You selfish old lizard! I’d outta cut your tail off right now for all the trouble you caused you senile son of a-“

"Please calm down, this is still the High Elder you're speaking to!"

What you see is something you'd never expect to see, and you need to reiterate that you've seen a literal star collapse. An older version of you is being held back by Yingxing as they throw threats and cusses at Dan Feng, who looks relatively unbothered by the promises to maim him.

“Teacher!”

Dan Heng, who has kept the most monotone voice imaginable since meeting him, suddenly pushes himself forward. A small "ah!" comes from Jing Yuan as he flops onto the floor from the sudden movement. A spear you've definitely seen before materializes in his hand as he goes to swing at Yingxing, only to be parried away by an identical spear. If you thought the tension between your first meeting with Dan Heng was rough, this feels like the Aeons themselves are fighting against each other. Yingxing and the other you have gone slack in surprise as two vidyadhara's who share the same face are kept at a standstill. Two cloud piercers pointed at each other, poised and ready to strike again, the air growing more humid with sticky beads of water vapor suspended in the air. Well, if you had any doubts about Dan Heng looking way too similar to Dan Feng, this pretty much confirms it. They're the same person.

Your eyes slide to the other you.

A falling star has nothing on this.

Sunday

There's something off about this entire situation, and there are enough oddities to begin with, but there's just something that doesn't sit right with you. Was there such a thing as a second puberty? Is that what a "mid-life" crisis was? Aren't you supposed to dye your hair and buy a sports car when that happens? Because the person walking next to you is certainly not you. They're too...peppy.

When you first saw the "future you", you had assumed they were a figment of someone's imagination. A dream perhaps? In Penacony, it would definitely be possible, but who would want to dream of you? The other you didn't seem that weird either, just a bit older and more well-mannered, but otherwise exactly the same. They had greeted you cheerfully, even coming up to shake your hand because "it was the polite thing to do when greeting friends.". You didn't know how to react to that wording so you brushed it aside. Maybe in the future, you're some big shot? That's kind of exciting to imagine.

"So...any idea how you got here?" you ask, turning to the other you. It's kind of funny that you're escorting yourself but you doubt the future you remember's the winding pathways the Bloodhounds take to the main base. Although your boss is quite nonchalant, Gallagher has always had a steady head on his shoulders. If you can't figure out a way to fix this time travel business, he can at least play damage control.

"I'm not entirely sure. I was about to set out to welcome some new friends on behalf of my husband, and then I was suddenly here. Oh, I hope he isn't upset with me for disappearing," your other self hums, a hand on their cheek, before quickly jolting up, "Ah, I guess I should say our husband now."

You let out an awkward laugh to match their giggle. Although your future self doesn't look that much older than you, it seems you managed to get hitched with someone great. They always seem to slip the word "husband" into every sentence, heck- you're making new friends because of him. Your mother would weep tears of joy learning that fact. Although it does make you curious just who your supposed husband is. The only man you see more than once in your life is Gallagher, and respectfully, he's not your type. But then who else? Perhaps one of the patrons? You've heard the news that the IPC sent a handsome gambler with beautiful eyes. Perhaps that's who you've fallen in love with? You don't want to ask because you don't want to mess up the timeline and frankly, you don't want to ruin the surprise. To be honest, even though you never thought about marriage, it kinda makes you giddy knowing that in the future, you seem to love your husband so much. A bit too much but it's probably the honeymoon phase train never stopping.

You still can't help but shake the feeling that something is horribly wrong.

There's just the slightest sinister curl in their smile. As if they're secretly laughing at the expense of everyone while keeping on an angelic facade. It's unsettling and makes chills down go your spine when it's your face that does it. The only time you've felt this sense of unease was when you accidentally stumbled into Gallagher's private meeting with the Head of the Oak Family. The Halovian had simply smiled, inquiring who you were and holding his hand out for you to shake. Your fingers had just brushed against his white glove when Gallagher stepped in, gripping your wrist hard enough for bruises, and forcibly pushed you out the door.

"Someone not important."

That's what your boss had said. You thought he spoke so harshly because he was pissed at you for possibly giving the Oak Family a bad first impression. He pretended it never happened and you never brought it up, afraid he might fire you from your job.

"I don't mean to pry, but are you alright?"

You blink, shaken out of your thoughts by your future self's question. They smile at you kindly, a slight tilt to their head as they wait for you to answer patiently.

"Oh! Sorry, I kinda spaced out there for a bit..." You let out an awkward laugh. Your voice sounds weak even to you, but the other you just nods in understanding. Perhaps it's because it's technically you that you're talking to, or that feeling of foreboding, that you feel like you need to explain yourself, "I guess I haven't been sleeping well. Gallagher has me running errands on the other side of Penacony in preparation for the Charmony Festival. Between you and me, I think he's dumping his errands on me so he can slack off."

Your lighthearted chuckle tapers off when the other you doesn't respond in kind to your joke. In fact, bringing up Gallagher's name has completely cleared their face from that prim and proper mask. Leaving behind a blank expression with disinterested eyes before a blink, and there's that same smile smeared on.

"You speak rather fondly of him. It seems I'm farther into the past than I originally thought," they mumble to themselves. Although you pick up on the words easily, you double-take just to make absolutely sure those words came from them. Sure, Gallagher isn't the most traditional-looking boss but he's not a bad person. Especially not to you. When you were looking for a job, he was the one to approach you out of the blue to work under him as a Bloodhound. If he never showed up, you would have most likely wasted away as a paper pusher for one of the families. He's always forgiven your mistakes and always offered to escort you home even though you can take care of yourself. So why is your future self so unfriendly to someone you currently hold in high regard?

"Oh uh...did something happen between us and Gallagher? I mean, I always suspected I'd get fired but I don't know, I always thought we got along. I mean, he has been acting a bit weird since that Oak Family Head came around but he's probably just stressed, right? Oh wait- I don't think we should be talking about this. I don't want to start a butterfly effect, especially so close to the festival-" you muse only to get interrupted.

"If I were you, I wouldn't trust that dog so easily," your other self spits with so much venom that you take a step away. Is it possible that you misjudged how close you were with Gallagher? Your other self talks about him as if he had betrayed them on a personal level. This shouldn't be possible because you and Gallagher have a strictly professional relationship. Unless you potentially knew him before you arrived in Penacony? To be fair, your memory gets a bit hazy looking back but you're sure you would remember someone like Gallagher.

"Wha- Hey, I don't know what happened but you shouldn't call him a dog-"

"We're here."

You stop in your tracks. What? We're here? You look up and realize that you've completely walked off the beaten path and happened upon a door. In fact, if you remember correctly, this was the door you stumbled into when you first met that Halovian. When did it become your other self escorting you rather than the other way around? You thought they wouldn't know these back alley pathways anymore.

"Why are we here?" you ask tentatively. Realistically, you know nothing bad will happen to you, at least not physically. You're their past. Whatever happens to you will affect them. A small scrape here will become a scar for them later.

"You haven't been sleeping well correct? I remember when I used to have headaches all the time. But you'll be okay now, he'll make things all better. While it's a bit early, I'm sure you'll understand. You are me after all," they smile sweetly, taking your hand in theirs as they pull you in front of the door.

"Come now, let's go meet our husband. He's been eagerly waiting for you for a long time."

---

Small author's note: I fell into a pit and wrote way too much. If I didn't cut it off, this fic would take another year to finish. That's why there's no real ending, lol.

[erwinsvow]

𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞, 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐬

summary: aaron hotchner is a lot of things. in love with you is one that you never saw coming.

word count: 7.1k

author's note: bau!reader + hotch is my favorite combo ever. i haven't written and posted in, like, two years so please be nice :) i've written so many other versions of hotch but this one just wrote itself. inspired by the amazing @luveline and so many breathtaking hotch stories and isabel (alisdas on ao3, not on here anymore i think :( ) who wrote of terrible coffee and late-night rides which i think started all of this and my immense aaron brain rot when i read that fic, like, three years ago. enjoy!

This was wrong, Aaron thought to himself. He seldom committed acts that others might say were wrong, or argue they could potentially be wrong, but this was different. Aaron felt wrong, a feeling he was not used to.

“I’m worried about you, that’s all,” you had said quietly on the jet early one morning. You two were sitting across from each other on the flight back from the team’s latest solved case, an excruciating long ride home from the coast of Oregon.

Your book laid open on your lap, unread and a bookmark tucked between the earlier pages. The spine was cracked, like you’d read it a hundred times before. He knew that wasn’t true though, it was just a used novel probably from the thrift store around the corner of your apartment.

You had told him once, back when you first started—back when he was still married and you were less affected by this job—that you liked finding used (pre-loved, you call it) books and picking the most worn out ones to take home. You said it means that someone used to love this book.

It felt wrong because you were too young for him, and too innocent to be mixed up in his life. What could you know about his thoughts? About the love of his life that divorced him and his son he only sees once in a while.

The rest of the team makes jokes with you, in particular JJ and Penelope. He’s even heard Emily pitch in, about your not-so-secret fondness for your boss. For him. 

Back when you had first started, it was nothing. Passing glances, working extra hard to please him and earn his praise—which was never given out generously. He hadn’t even taken the time to notice, never paid more attention than any other member of the team. What he did notice was your work ethic.

Being among the youngest of the team had instilled a drive in you to prove your worth. You always stayed an hour extra, came early, and spent  nights working the case even when you were yawning every few minutes. The most attention he’d given you back then was commenting that you’d had a good insight into the unsub, commending you on well-written reports and briefs, and offering you a cup of coffee when it was just you and him left in the sheriff’s office. He’d be rereading seemingly endless pages of the case reports and you’d be diving headfirst into the victim’s lives.

Your specialty was always understanding why the victims did what they did, figuring out their routines and ascertaining important details from their personal belongings. He was used to you flicking through diaries and boxes of mementos that were once treasured by another young girl, not so much older than yourself. 

He’d be lying if he hadn’t thought it was impacting you—reading through the journals of dead women who had been very similar to yourself, with similar hopes and dreams. It was depressing, he knew, and yet if you were bothered by it, you didn’t show it in the slightest. At least not to him. 

And back then, he’d never notice the sweet smile that always graced your face when he was asking you if you’d like coffee. You’d shake your head no, and take sips of water between your yawns. You didn’t even tell him that you don’t drink coffee until a few months later, after he asked if you’d ever like a cup when he offered. He can remember it clearly even now.

“Actually, Hotch, I don’t drink coffee.” Your cheeks were tinged with color like you were embarrassed to even be admitting this to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner? I would have stopped asking three months ago.” If he sounded stern, he didn't mean to. The burning on your face deepened.

“I didn’t want to be rude. I drink tea though, but I didn’t think to mention it. It’s not as easy to make.”

“Well, let me know if you need a cup of hot water then.”

You had smiled at that, and he had turned around to take another picture on the bulletin board. He smiled a little too.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said, maybe a little too gruffly. He didn’t mean it, again, but it just came out that way. He thinks some part of him is trying to warn you to stay away before you get too close.

“We’re all worried. You went through something really big and didn’t tell any of us and even if you don’t care about us like that, I care about you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

Aaron’s gaze casts around the rest of the jet.  Derek has his headphones in, staring out the window and trying to resist sleep. JJ and Emily are playing cards—they should be sleeping, but they had a little too much espresso a few hours before. They’re too far away to hear you and Aaron speaking, but he notices JJ’s eyes darting over every once in a while. Spence is asleep, and he realizes that’s why it’s so quiet. Dave is reading a book, too, but he’ll stop and interject into JJ and Emily’s conversation.

He looks back at you, sleepy-eyed and wrapped in a warm, boxy pullover from your alma mater. He thinks a little bit too much about you these days, and he can’t get it to stop. He shouldn’t profile anyone on the team, they have a strict moratorium on that, but especially not you.

You, who never fails to try to make anyone feel better when they’re down. You, who doesn’t make it seem like you’re analyzing their behavior, but rather observing and offering comfort in hard times. You remember everything the team tells you about their likes and dislikes, never forgetting a birthday or special occasion. He can distinctly recall fresh chocolate chip cookies on Derek’s birthday, carrot cake from the Italian bakery Rossi loves to celebrate when his latest book became a bestseller, and a new knick knack for Penelope’s office after a particularly brutal case.

You say it’s all in passing, but he knows it’s not. You’re trying your hardest to keep the team together in the little ways, strengthening bonds that extend beyond coworkers. You want to fit in and be accepted, and you worry so much that you won’t. This is your way of trying to show that you’re a part of this team too, not just the new girl and one of the young ones. 

Aaron blinks twice. You’re looking at him expectantly, and he wishes you wouldn’t. All he’ll do is disappoint you. 

“You don’t need to worry,” he repeats. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t say that. Why is it so bad for us to worry about you?” You look like you’re starting to get upset—it hurts Aaron more than he realized it would. It’s not bad for the others to worry, it’s bad for you. If you get attached, if he lets this get unprofessional, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself. Hurting himself is one thing; hurting you is another entirely.

“Let it go, Agent. Try to get some rest.” He looks out the window. He can see the sun coming up, and realizes he hasn’t slept since the night before last. He still needs to drive home—not really home, he remembers sadly, his empty apartment— and work on reports before he can even see Jack. He doesn’t think resting now is a good idea, and yet his body is so tired.

When he looks back, you’re reading your book again but your eyes are really paying attention to the words on the page. You’re just skimming, and blinking rapidly, and he realizes then he’s made you tear up.

His phone goes off—Haley, and he feels guilt building up in his chest, almost overwhelming him. He steps away to answer and talks quietly. He doesn’t want you to overhear and worry even more. When he comes back to his seat, you’ve fallen asleep. He takes the book from your hands gently and puts the bookmark in, closing it and resting it on the seat beside you. He watches you sleep and wonders if he’s making a mistake trying to hide from you. He thinks, and not for the first time, that you see right through him.

The plane lands an hour and a half later, and everyone is beyond exhausted. Even Spencer, who normally doesn’t need much energy or caffeine to start talking fast about something interesting he noticed about this case and this unsub, is unusually quiet. They’re all running on fumes, staying up two nights in a row profiling and then catching the unsub with the latest victim at one in the morning, and then boarding the jet soon after.

Aaron makes a decision, everyone can work on their notes from home and the report is due no later than day after next. Derek pats him on the shoulder and says no one is to call him for the next twenty-four hours. JJ and Emily exchange a laugh. Y

ou, he notices, though he wishes he wouldn’t, go up to Spencer and talk with him quietly. When you’re done, he beams at you and you at him. He wonders what you two talked about when they’re all heading out, listening to Spencer ramble about how the unsub’s use of his childhood spots as disposal sites offers insight into the abuse of his youth. Prentiss tells him to save it for the report. 

He and Rossi are walking back to their cars when Dave speaks up for the first time.

“You’re wondering what she said to him, aren’t you?”

Aaron stops for a moment. 

“You should know better than to profile me.”

“Oh, I’m not profiling. This is just me being observant. You should stop fiddling with your ring finger when you talk to her. It’s a dead giveaway.”

“Dave, I don’t need to tell you that this conversation—“

“I know, I know. I won’t mention it again if you don’t want me to.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow, Aaron. And by the way, she offered to write his notes for him if he wanted. He said it’s hard for him to write about unsubs with schizophrenic tendencies and she said she can try to help, if he wants. That’s all. Let me know when you’re ready to talk about this.”

Aaron gets in his car and doesn’t stop thinking about you the entire ride home.

-

You wish you could make it stop. The way you feel about your boss. It started so long ago, it’s almost a part of you now. Aaron is stern and his disposition is frightening, to the say the least. But only at first, you’ve realized, after so many late evenings spent discussing the case with him, breaking down the tiniest details, and him paying attention to your every word when you discuss the victim’s demeanor and behavior to try to figure out what had really happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you thought. You had gone to the overpopulated state school with the hopes of entering the medical field. You were a true empath, and there was no one’s suffering you couldn’t relate to, no one that you wouldn’t try to make feel better. All your life, people cried on your shoulder while you offered up words of comfort. And because of this, everyone thought you were a shoo-in for nursing or medical school, where you could help people through the worst days of their life.

All it took was a few days at the hospital where you had been working, a string of murder victims being wheeled in one after another, for you to reconsider your life’s work. None had survived the incident, but the killer let them live just long enough to be seen by the doctor, who then had to declare them legally dead.

Something about the victims seemed familiar to you, how they’d all come from wealthy families and were sliced up in their expensive clothing, expensive jewelry and watches smashed to bits instead of being stolen. You mentioned it to one of the officiers, who told someone else, and somewhere in that chain of events, your insight helped them catch the killer.

It was then, you thought, that maybe you should be working on the other side of these situations. Stopping the killer before it ever got to this. 

Then you’d done a one-hundred and eighty degree spin on your career, electing to pursue becoming an agent. You had been young, and motivated, and you chose to overlook when everyone told you this job might become your whole life, leaving no time for a husband and kids and a family.

You had ignored it all, working your way up from the local field office to child crimes in just a year and a half. The transition out of sex crimes to homicide was disturbingly hard, because at least before you’d had a victim to interview. You were no expert, not yet, but a unique asset altogether, combining a true mission to uncover the best in each victim, and figuring out their behavior patterns from bedrooms and diaries.

It was a unique skill-set, acquired mostly because a lot of traumatized children didn’t offer much to go off of. You had to turn to their childhood homes, toys, and scribbles to figure out what had been going on in the first place.

You reflect often on why you decided to leave child homicide when news spread that the BAU had an opening for one more agent. Truthfully, you hadn’t considered it at all, since you were more than happy with your current position and coworkers. You were solving cases, delivering justice, and bringing whatever comfort you could bring to grieving families.

In fact, you had been requested specifically. You, out of a hundred or more well-established, intelligent agents that could be a huge asset to the team. You were never special, and you didn’t like to think of yourself in that way either, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to hear that the team wanted you. 

And when you transferred over, everyone was so nice. The team was inviting, they respected your opinion, and especially in cases with younger victims, they revered your knowledge. You felt included, and invaluable, and as hard as you worked, you wanted to work even harder. 

Your boss was a brilliant agent and profiler, and so hardworking that you wanted to do anything you could to make his workload a little easier. You wrote the most detailed reports, so he would have to edit them as much.. You offered to pick up extra briefs, so he took home a couple less papers. And no matter what you did, acknowledged or not, you knew you were making the kind of difference you’d always dreamed you would. 

Aaron—he was only ever Aaron in your head, and Hotch the rest of the  time—liked you as an agent, and it made you happy. A little happier than you should be, considering he was happily married with a toddler and a perfect life outside of work. It was almost wrong, but it didn’t stop you from trying to impress him with your work ethic.

You always put aside your other feelings and focused on the team, and somehow in all of that, you felt like you were finally making your difference. You were close with the team and close enough with Aaron, that you hadn’t been worried to start that conversation on the jet now that all these circumstances were changing. Haley had asked for a divorce and he hadn’t muttered a word of it to anyone.

He’s so tired, you can see. You wonder if everyone else notices it too, or if it’s just you observing so closely. He has dark circles now, because he never sleeps, always working, and the furrows on his forehead are seemingly etched in and permanent. He misses his wife and his son, and you know it, and maybe it’s wrong to care about your boss so much that your heart hurts when you see him glancing at the framed photos of his family on his desk, or the tiny polaroids in his wallet, but you do. You think you’re in love with Aaron Hotchner, and you don’t know how to make it stop. 

You’re gonna get hurt, you remind yourself every now and then. 

Aaron and Spence have just come back from the prison, where they had an encounter with Chester Hardwick that they won’t really talk about. You’d been with the rest of the team in Indiana, and then two days later in Oregon. 

Aaron and Haley were divorcing, and it hurt him so much, you knew, because it wasn't for a lack of love. It was a lack of time, a shortness of hours in the day. He couldn’t be the husband Haley wanted and the father he thought Jack needed while being an agent for eighteen hours a day. It hurt you too, seeing him like this. You wish he felt better. 

The days and weeks seemed to blend into months. Somewhere in between Hotch’s divorce and JJ’s pregnancy, you had become complacent with your relationship with Aaron. Walking in together from the parking lot, leaving together at the end of a long day—usually alone and sometimes joined by Emily or David. Sometimes you’d have a frothy drink from a nearby coffee shop in your hand—to which you always hear, “My coffee’s not better than that stuff?”

“It’s not coffee, remember-”

“I know, you don’t drink coffee. That stuff is full of sugar. I don’t need you bouncing off the walls like Reid and Garcia too.”

You laugh, and then you wonder if it’s because he really cares or if it was just a passing comment. You share a lot of little moments like that. 

When his eardrum was nearly blown out after New York, you almost offered to drive back with him from Ohio to Virginia. It was instinct, because you just didn’t want him to be alone. You had exchanged a glance when he handed you the plate of brownies from the victim’s mother, and you knew he had read your mind. But he didn’t say anything, and you left it at that. You’re not nearly stupid enough to think that your boss reciprocates your feelings for him. Hell, most days you don’t even know what feelings you have for him.

Your seats on the jet are almost permanently fixed; near the coffee machine towards the cockpit. You sit across from each other, and sometimes you don’t even speak. He’ll bring you a cup of hot water, and he doesn’t ask if you need a tea bag from the make-shift coffee station, because knows they’re in your go-bag. 

When it’s his weekend with Jack after two weeks of back-to-back cases, Aaron is always working on the reports on the jet. It’s because he’s trying to reduce how much work he has to do at home, and even when everyone’s fallen asleep and your eyes are close to shutting, you get up and make him a cup of coffee. He’s never once told you how he takes it, and he doesn’t know if you’ve seen him make it either, but somehow you know, and it’s always right. When you offer him the steaming paper cup, he looks up at you with an entirely new look—something you’ve never seen before. You two don’t exchange so many words.

He says it all with his eyes, sometimes, even when you’re not looking. It’s gratitude. (When you get off the jet a few hours later, you tease Morgan about his snoring. Derek asks you where his cup of coffee is, and you shove his arm so hard he almost drops his bag.

In the end, it was you who had figured out there was something wrong with the Reaper’s last few victims. 

“Why would a nineteen year old girl date her teaching assistant?” You had questioned, looking through a file that everyone’s eyes had already seen. “An honors student, a freshman, I mean, none of this points to an illicit affair with faculty. She knew it was against the rules and her roommates said she’s never so much as skipped class.”

“That could have been because she wants to see him,” Derek interjects. “If they were truly in love like Foyet said, she’d take every opportunity to be with him.”

“But in an environment where no one can know you two are together? I mean, if she was in love and close to getting engaged, wouldn’t she tell her best friends? Her parents? How many teenage girls keep something like that just to themselves?”

The pieces of the puzzle that had once fit together so nicely were coming undone. It felt like the blink of an eye, from catching Foyet to him escaping. Everyone was on edge, no one more than Aaron, and your empathy still knew no bounds. Where you had once been able to focus on work and dedicate all your thoughts to the cases, you now were distracted and distant. Every other thought was about Aaron, as wrong as that might be. 

Canada had been something else entirely. It was difficult for the entire team to fathom, but nearly impossible for you. You had lost your temper twice—something you’d never done before— and thrown up when the team discovered all the shoes. JJ had run after you but in the end, Aaron was the one who found you outside.

“I’m sorry, JJ, I’ll be fine—I-I just need a minute,” you breath out, chest heaving and tears brimming. 

“It’s okay,” Aaron says, “take your time.” 

You turn around so fast, your breath catching, and you hate this situation. You could never hate Aaron but you hate this, you hate that he followed you and that he’s seeing you like this. You look weak, after two and a half years of trying to prove to him that you’re strong—strong enough to handle this job, do what needs to be done, and not cry at a crime scene.

“I-I’m sorry, I-” 

“Why are you apologizing?” He doesn’t sound mad, or like he’s belittling you, and you don’t know why that’s what you expected. This is Aaron, your Aaron, and even though he’s not really yours it doesn't seem to matter much right now.

“I’m making a scene. I-I shouldn’t be throwing up on the job or screaming at those unsubs or anything else-”

“It’s okay. It happens.” Aaron says it so concisely, you almost feel better for a second. Isn’t this what it’s always come down to? You need Aaron like air, and somehow he always knows what you need to hear. He doesn’t treat you any differently compared to the others but it feels different today. You can’t describe it in words. If JJ or Morgan had followed you out here, you would have said the same things, but you wouldn’t have felt this way. Like if you crumble here today, Aaron will be there to pick you up.

“Take your time, please,” he repeats. “I know you think you have something to prove to me, but you don’t. You’ve proven it already, to all of us. Admitting that all of this gets to you isn’t a bad thing. That’s what separates us from them.”

At that moment, a dam bursts. Tears flow down your face like they haven’t in so long, as long as you can remember. You think you should feel embarrassed, crying in front of your boss, but Aaron takes you into his arms and you can’t remember the last time you felt this safe. Cheesy, you think, but this is everything I thought it would be and more.

You’re not sure how long he holds you there, but eventually once the front of his shirt is covered in your tears and he offers you a tissue (Does he just carry this around waiting for one of us to cry?) and you head back together. This is the embarrassing part, you think, bracing yourself and biting your inner cheek. But if the team is judging you at this moment, they certainly don’t show it.

You join JJ and Emily inside the house, who ask you if you’re okay when you sniffle for the last time. Spencer asks you later, on the way home. Derek tells you to call him if you need anything. Dave tells you, “You’ll be okay, kid,” and somehow, you believe him. Penelope texts you once on your phone, checking in and promising a distracting, gossip filled girl’s night out soon.

Aaron walks you to your car, and says goodnight. You’re delusional, you think, once you're back at home. You’ve taken the longest, hottest shower imaginable and your record player is emitting the scratchy sound of your favorite Beatles album. You’re in a big shirt that’s getting wet while you brush your freshly cleaned hair and all you can think about is how it felt to be wrapped in Aaron’s arms a couple hours ago. 

You are delusional, you remind yourself. You’re checking your phone every couple minutes like a love-sick teenager. You think Aaron’s going to call you to check in, you almost feel it in your bones. You leave the ringer on incase he calls later—maybe he showered and sat down to work on some reports before sleeping. You fall asleep thirty minutes later, exhausted down to your bones, and wake up startled by your phone going off. In your sleepy delirium, you answer without looking who it is—assuming it’s Aaron.

“Hotch?” 

“Hey, sorry it’s JJ. We have another case, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, JJ, um, okay, I-I’ll be there in ten. Text the address, okay?” Your cheeks burn at the slip.

“I sent it just now. Listen, I’m sorry, but can you try Hotch’s cell? I called and texted and he’s not answering.” You feel your stomach turn, first because Aaron isn’t answering and he always answers, and second because JJ thinks he’ll answer if you call.

“I’ll try him now. I’ll call you back.”

You try him twice while changing and another time in the car. Your only explanation is that maybe he went to see Jack and put his phone away, but even that doesn’t check out. 

When you get to the scene, you inform the others about Aaron not answering.

“Alright, let’s split up for now and I’ll keep trying Hotch,” Derek says. They don’t seem that worried, and maybe that lulls you into not worrying either. After all, they’ve known him a lot longer than you have.

You end up with Spencer and Emily at the doctor’s house, combing through patient files Garcia sent over. There’s tens of dozens, and even though you want to go with Emily to Aaron’s place to get him, you know your experience with kids and in the hospital is vital. You and Spencer start working, but something feels off. You just can’t place it. 

In the end, you attribute it to your nerves from the last case. Your fear of embarrassing yourself carried into today, and even though you know no one judged you for losing it in Canada, the feeling lingers. Spencer answers the phone from Emily and says that Hotch was busy with something at the bureau that now requires Emily too. In the end, you and Spence figure it out just in time. Your body is so tired, it hurts, and then on top of that, Spencer gets hurt. You can barely process what’s happening, and you don’t feel better until the doctor says it’s through-and-through.

“God, Spencer, never do that again,” you say, your hands wet with the blood from his wound. You wipe it on your clothes, thinking you’ll change soon. 

“Guys, guys listen to me, something’s happened to Hotch.” The blood drains from your face and your breath stops in your throat. 

“What?” 

“Emily told me not to say anything until we got the unsub, but he’s in the hospital.”

The next hour is a blur. You all show up to the hospital, and Emily is talking to a bunch of agents. Their faces are blurred because you can hardly think straight. 

“Em? Is he okay?” your words must be coming out frantically because everyone’s looking at you like you’re about to crumble. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t say anything because I knew we wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case, I know it’s wrong but-”

“Is he okay?” You didn’t mean to cut her off, it just happened like that. Your mind is so clouded right now with a petrifying vision of Aaron dying alone on the floor of his new apartment that he hates so much, while you were waiting for a call for him.

“He-he hasn’t woken up yet.” 

You sit on a chair by Aaron’s bed. He looks like he’s sleeping, and a part of you had always wanted to see him like this. It would be comforting, if he actually was sleeping. You’d imagined it a little differently—you thought for sure he snores and sleeps on his side. You always notice sleep lines only on one arm when you guys have just woken up and continue working on the case. You stare extra hard when he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt on particularly hot days. Everyone would moan and groan about another case in the heat of Texas or Arizona, but not you.

It seems like those memories were a million years ago. 

When he wakes up, everyone pours in and it distracts you for a few heartbeats. When they realize what Foyet is actually after, the terror is apparent on everyone's faces. You realize how long it’s been since you last saw Haley and Jack when they finally step into the room. You and Emily leave to give them privacy. 

Later that night, you’re back in that chair. Aaron wakes up for a few minutes at a time, and when he finally stays awake, he notices you.

“How long have I been out?” 

“Thirty minutes. Give or take.”

“Is there water?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You scramble up to get the pitcher and pour him a glass. There’s a straw too, which you put in the cup and hold still for a second so he can drink.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.” He can see all your emotions on your face. It doesn’t take him long at all, not anymore. You’ve been crying and your clothes have blood on them. He’s alarmed again.

“Is that your blood?” he asks, swallowing hard.

“No, no, Hotch. We had a case, the-the unsub shot Spence. He’s okay though, it just got on me and I haven’t been back home to change yet.”

“Why don’t you? Go home?”

“I didn’t want to leave you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I let you go home alone yesterday and look what happened.” You smile meekly at your own joke, hoping he appreciates it. He lies still though, not smiling. 

“I think you should go home. Get some rest after everything.”

“You know, Hotch, only you would tell me to go home and rest up when you’re the one who’s currently in the hospital.” 

“I just think-”

“Do you want me to leave? If you do, I will. I swear.” There’s silence between you two for a moment.

“No.” 

“Good, because I wasn’t going to.” The corners of his mouth turn up a little. You barely even notice it. “I can’t leave now. I don’t want you to sit alone here.” You should stop talking, you think to yourself. But you don’t. “You know yesterday, I got home and the whole time I sat there wondering if you were gonna call my cell. I even turned the ringer up all the way so I didn’t miss it. And I know that’s stupid because why would you call me? But I had this feeling. And now all I can think is why didn’t I call you?”

“Don’t think like-”

“Don’t think like that? Yeah, I knew you would say that. But if I had called you like I wanted to, and asked you to come over like I wanted to, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But I didn’t because I was scared and I don’t want to be scared anymore. And I know this is the last thing you need to hear right now, but I guess I can’t hold it in any longer.” 

You want to clamp your hand over your mouth. Your favorite cheesy rom-coms have infiltrated your brain, and you can’t fathom how stupid you must sound right now to Aaron. He’s just almost died and the kid who was the last to join his team is declaring love for him on his hospital bed. But it won’t stop coming out.

“Can I tell you something Aaron? I mean, more than I already have? Emily said she didn’t tell me you were hurt because she knew I wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case anymore. About anything, anymore, if I knew you were missing or that you were hurt or dead. And I’ve been trying to hide it for so long, because I know you don’t need any more complications in your life right now, but, I think I have feelings for you, Aaron.” Hot tears stream down your face. You try to stop them but you can’t. They’ve been building up for two years.

“Please don’t cry. I don’t have a tissue for you this time.” You smile through your tears, but your entire body is still tense. It’s because you’re still expecting bad news, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“Do you want me to leave? I can call Emily, she’ll sit with you if you don’t want to be alone.”

“I don’t want you to leave. And you don’t have to tell me these things, I already knew them.” Another few tears drip down your face. Aaron’s chest hurts more than it has ever before. He thinks back to your conversation on the jet that day, when you told him you cared about him and he hadn’t said much of anything at all. “I hope you know that I have feelings for you, too.” 

“You mean you care about me and the team?” you question half-heartedly. You think you’ve already gotten your answer. “I mean I care about the team a lot. And I care about you more than I should, more than what’s right. More than a superior should care about one of their agents. And I think if this hadn’t happened, I would have called you last night. Not because of the case, because of you. Because I need to make sure you’re okay.”

Your heart thumps uncomfortably in your chest. Aaron reaches out his hand a little, and you take it into yours. You sit like that for a long time, and you know there’s so much else going on, but a small part of you sighs in relief. Aaron is okay, and he feels about you how you do about him, and maybe everything will be okay in the end. 

The months after Haley’s funeral are tough for everyone. It’s weird going to work and not seeing Aaron. Sometimes you inadvertently make a cup of coffee how he likes it and have no one to give it to. You started drinking some, even though it tastes bitter and terrible, it makes you feel close to him.

How stupid is that, you wonder one day, sipping the coffee and looking over files with JJ. If the rest of the team thinks you're stupid, they haven’t shown any signs of it yet. You’re sure they mostly feel bad for you and your pathetic behavior. You’ve gotten sloppy because you can’t stop thinking about how Aaron is doing. 

You and the team will go visit him and Jack at his new place. You make cookies, snickerdoodle for Aaron and oatmeal raisin for Jack.

“What kind of a kid are you?” you questioned, helping Jack scribble in his Captain America coloring book. He’s munching on a cookie while you try to figure out what part of the shield is blue and what part is red. “I mean, who likes oatmeal raisin cookies at the tender age of 5?” 

“I did,” Spencer says, taking another one out of the tin. 

“You don’t count, genius,” Morgan says, and then directs his gaze at you. “And I mean come on, no chocolate chip for me? None at all? That hurts.”

“I made you some like two weeks ago! I have a job, you know,” you fire back. Aaron laughs, eating the snickerdoodle after dipping it in milk. It’s so domestic, you feel yourself staring. You only turn away when he catches you looking. 

When he comes back, you wonder if it’ll ever feel normal again. That silly routine you two had, the chairs on the jet near the coffee machine that you still sit in, walks to your car. 

At first, it just feels strange. So much has changed yet the team’s dynamic remains the same. You get through cases with the same ferocity you had when you first started, eager to prove your worth again. Your reports detail every detail and then some, and you stay even later than Aaron some nights. You need something to focus on, and your cases seem like the best option. The other option is to have another conversation with Aaron about your feelings and you think you might die if that happens.

When it finally does happen, it’s plenty embarrassing. You were so sure about your theory about this unsub, so sure that he would confess if he was confronted about his crimes and reminded of the humanity of his victims—three little kids, all under ten. Maybe that’s why it bothered you so much, and that’s why you stormed into the residence even though the rest of the team was screaming at you not to. In the end, you talk him down, but Aaron runs in behind you anyways and nearly spooks the unsub into suicide.

“You do not have the authorization to make calls like that,” Aaron yells at you, and though you had once thought you would die if he yelled at you, it’s all too easy to yell back. 

In that moment, when you had known what would happen, dealing with your area of expertise, he stormed in and questioned you and your abilities as an agent and as a profiler.

“I don’t need authorization, I knew what would happen, and I knew how to talk him down without this ending in gunfire—”

“I don’t care what you think you knew. This is a team, and we don’t make decisions that jeopardize a case without agreeing on it!” “You mean you have to agree with every decision I make? I had it handled, Hotch, you almost blew that whole thing up because you didn’t believe in me!”

“That’s not what this is about,” he fires back, and it feels strange to be yelling at you. He can’t recall the last time he’s ever done this. The rest of the team is just packing up in the police station, trying not to overhear but not really having any choice in the matter.

“Yes it is! You don’t trust me! Not to make decisions for this team and for our cases, or for anything. You just proved that back there. You don’t trust me.” It’s happening again. Tears brew in your eyes. They spill down before you can stop it. Aaron softens before your very eyes at the sight of them. “Stop! Stop feeling bad just because now I’m crying, they’re not tears for you, they’re angry tears and I can’t control it-”

“Of course, I trust you.” His voice has dropped from a yell to just above a whisper. “How could you think that I don’t?”

“I’m not stupid, Aaron. I know what I’m doing. My plan was going to work and you shot me down in front of everyone because you didn’t believe in me,” you say between tears. “Nothing’s changed.”

“And what do you think would happen if you stormed in there and I lost you too?” His voice is gentle. You hadn’t noticed that he was so close to you now. You can see the eyelash on his cheek and feel the heat radiating from his body. 

“That’s not what this is about.”

“That is exactly what this is about. You think I don’t trust you, so I won’t let you walk into a confrontation alone? That I think you don’t know how to profile, how to handle these unsubs, so I get into a screaming match outside a crime scene? Tell me, does that check with any of my behavior in the years I’ve known you?”

“I don’t know, Hotch, I don’t profile you.”

“You call me Hotch in front of everyone, and especially when you’re upset with me. When it’s just us you use Aaron. You know how I take my coffee even though I’ve never told you, because you pay attention even when no one else is looking. Cases with children affect you the most, especially when it takes us longer to work them, because you think you should be quicker and figure out the unsub faster since you worked with kids before joining the team. You remember the little things everyone says because you don’t want them to think you’re not paying attention to them. You cry about cases when you feel like there’s something more you should have done, even though there’s nothing else any of us can do. And you cry about me the most of all, that time on the jet, in the hospital, and just now because you think I don’t share your feelings. You think I know all this because I’m profiling you, but it’s not. It’s because I pay attention to those whom I love.” 

Shell shocked. You are shell shocked at Aaron’s speech, eyes wide and mouth open. You’re sure the rest of the team, hidden behind a bulletin board and the conference table is much the same. 

“I’m going to kiss you now. And that’s the end of the conversation about me not trusting you, okay?” You nod dumbly. Aaron’s lips are sweet and taste like his coffee—black, with two sugars. You feel another tear falling but it’s only because you hadn’t expected any of that. 

“That took long enough,” David says from behind the partition. 

and voila <3

[sundrop-writes]

She Keeps Me Up

Dom!Jennifer Jareau x Sub!Fem!Reader

I'd fall to pieces if I went anywhere without her

Summary:

JJ is protective of you. When you offer yourself up as 'bait' to lure in an UnSub who is killing women of your type, she protests endlessly about it - but ultimately she can't stop you.

She can, however, possessively lay her claim on you when you get back from the ordeal with nothing more than a tiny scratch.

Dom!Jennifer Jareau x Sub!Fem!Reader. Established Dom/Sub Relationship. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 3,100

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: This is pretty much pure smut (with very little plot); this is older/milf JJ and younger reader - the specific age difference is not stated, but the reader is mentioned to be the youngest person on the team; JJ is dominant and the reader is submissive; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; in the very minimal plot, the reader volunteers herself as 'bait' to lure an UnSub (that UnSub is hunting women with similar looks to the reader, but the reader's looks are not described in any way); (passing mention of rape - the UnSub rapes his victims); the reader ends up with a very small cut on her neck from the UnSub but doesn't get any other injuries from the incident; JJ is very protective of the reader; JJ is very possessive of the reader; lots of praise kink - JJ calls the reader 'good girl'; JJ calls the reader 'baby', and 'babygirl'; thigh riding (the reader rides JJ's thigh); JJ is fully clothed and the reader is naked; Mommy kink - the reader refers to JJ as Mommy; very slight manhandling (nothing beyond JJ's realistic strength/nothing to suggest the reader can't be plus sized); oral sex - reader receiving; edging (once - because JJ likes to play with her food); slight spit kink; undertones of humiliation kink; fingering - reader receiving; a lot of begging; implications toward overstimulation; and I think that's it?

A/N: I feel like I have to give credit to this amazing edit - this inspired the general vibe of this fic and inspired the song choice for the title. Dom Milf JJ got stuck in my head and I needed to write about her, and when someone requested thigh riding with Dom JJ, it all came together perfectly in my brain. This could be viewed as a version of JJ who never married Will, or this could be viewed as a situation where Will and JJ are poly and Will is totally okay with JJ and the reader's relationship (which is what's happening in my head, even though I didn't mention Will in the fic). Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!!

...

“You did so good. Hey, shh. It’s okay. You did so good. You’re okay.” 

It was still echoing in your mind - JJ’s firm, soothing voice speaking the words, along with the way she held you tight as you collapsed into her arms after the long, hectic night. 

You had been the perfect bait to a killer that the BAU had been struggling to catch - a young, pretty face, exactly like all the other girls he had killed thus far. You were the youngest member of the team, a fresh face that perfectly matched the man’s type in a string of young girls that he had murdered and dismembered after brutally raping them. 

Even though you had volunteered to help lure the killer out, JJ had been stiff-jawed and glaring at the mere suggestion of you in the presence of such a sick man. You saw it as a way to help, but all she saw was horrible flashes in her mind, images of you merging with the crime scene photos on the board, turning into one of the dead girls who had been killed so brutally. It kept flashing through her mind on a loop, taunting her. She was deeply against it, and spent the better part of the day trying to talk Emily out of it, trying to convince the team that there was some other way. 

But you wouldn’t risk the lives of any more women. You trusted the team to have your back. 

And even when the horrible man had held the knife to your throat, just barely cutting into your skin with it while the team rushed to capture him, you still didn’t regret it. So many more people would be safe because of what you had done. JJ had been there for you - holding onto you tight, and assuring you that you had done well while your chest racked with sobs and you struggled for breath. 

There was a lot of paperwork to be done and technically they wanted you to visit the hospital to be fully medically cleared, but all you wanted was JJ. You needed some time alone in a quiet room instead of all the flashing lights, people bustling around, asking you questions, crowding into your personal space. She stayed tight by your side, her hand never leaving yours. 

She barked at them in her authoritative voice when you gave her a sad-eyed look that told her you didn’t want to go to the hospital. The small cut on the side of your neck that had been inflicted by the man’s large knife was bandaged up with you sitting on the back of the ambulance and then JJ whisked you away from it all. 

With you still shaking lightly, your muscles quivering with anxiety and your chest threatening more sobs - she knew that you wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not with your mind replaying it all, over and over again. 

She knew exactly what you needed. (She always did.) 

It wasn’t long before she had you alone in her hotel room, stripped completely naked while she was still fully clothed. She guided you to sit on her lap as she sat on the edge of the bed, the roughness of her clothes so perfect against your sensitive skin. 

The lights were dim - only the lamp of the side table turned on, creating the perfect quiet atmosphere, making it feel like the two of you were the only people in the world. She had a firm, commanding grip on your hips with both hands, guiding you to sit with your thighs bracketed around her leg. You were soon sitting with the firmness of her athletic, muscled thigh stiff between your legs; nestled up against your hot, needy pussy as she firmly pulled you to sit on the fabric of her gray slacks. 

You let out a loud whimper as she pulled you to fully sit and forced her thigh fully between your legs. She forced the muscled firmness right up against the naked, swollen lips of your cunt. You weren’t completely wet (yet), but you found yourself clenching down hard at the pure rawness of the fabric rubbing against you, the feeling of her nails digging into the flesh of your hips. 

Upon instinct, your hands moved to sit on her shoulders, tangling into the mess of blonde curls there. You whimpered even harder at the feeling of her lips skimming along your cheek as she gently hushed you. 

“Shh, shh.” She said, entirely confident and firm. “Good girl. You’re so good for me.” 

Her nose brushed down toward your neck and her thigh flexed - you unconsciously bucked forward, scraping your pussy against her leg, creating a raw, perfect burning friction. A needy heat easily grew within you at a very fast rate, easily pushing out any fear or anxiety that you had about being attacked by that man, about coming so close to having your jugular sliced. All of it melted away from you with her grounding touch on you, with her breath fanning across your skin, with her familiar scent in your lungs. 

“We’re gonna take it slow, okay baby?” JJ said, her soothing voice petting across you - like being wrapped in velvet. 

Slow. 

That word was usually your enemy. 

But you knew that JJ set the pace, no matter what. She was the one in charge. If she ripped your pants down and demanded that you cum within a minute - then you were just a puppet for her pleasure. If she laid you out on the bed naked and played with you, teased you for hours and only let you cum for the first time when the sun was starting to rise - then all you could do was lay there, a sweaty mess, and let her have her way with you. 

She was the commander, and you were nothing but her humble follower. 

You felt hollow without her - always waiting for her command, waiting for her touch. And you could do nothing but accept what she had to give you. 

“Yes, Mommy.” You squeaked out, sliding your palms from her shoulders, deeper into the softness of her hair, seeking more of that touch - more comfort. 

“Good girl.” 

It was that firm praise coming from the velvet of her voice that had wetness truly leaking from you now. You didn’t think that she could feel it through the fabric of her pants, not yet. But she knew you well enough, and she could see the tense of your thighs, the way your stomach quivered. She knew how to play you like a fiddle. And she was good. 

So it was then that JJ dug her fingers into your hips once again, and began rocking you across her thigh - forcing you to move. She wanted you to begin riding her thigh in order to get off. 

“Come on, baby.” She encouraged you, lifting her face from your neck to look you in the eyes - sharp, icy blue piercing through the dim lighting of the room at you, instantly making your gut twist. “Move your hips. Be a good girl for me. Come on.” 

You couldn’t help but to follow the instructions, encouraged by her words. You moved your hips along as she guided you - already feeling pleasant warmth and tingling creeping up your spine, pooling in your stomach and between your thighs. With your swollen pussy rubbing against the fabric of her pants, it was creating a hot friction that was already driving you crazy. Your legs unconsciously widened, your body grinding downward, trying to get more attention on your throbbing clit. 

“Patience, needy girl.” JJ growled, digging her thumbs firmly into your hips, making you moan out in pain at the sharp touch. 

She guided you along in wide, languid strokes. She was forcing your hips to stroke back toward her knee, forcing your back to arch harshly before she brought you back to sit more upright, bringing your body closer to hers once again. It was a motion that put tingling heat through you - but it was a slow burn, rather than the fast, mindless pounding that your body was begging for. She was keeping you on a low simmer, forcing your body to warm up so slowly. 

It was just like she wanted - slow. 

You whined out with impatience, your hand grasping at her shirt while you bit your lip harshly. You were deeply resisting the urge to fight against her grasp in order to fuck yourself against her. 

“Please.” You begged quietly. “Please, Mommy. I need it.” 

“I know what you need, babygirl.” JJ told you, leaning in to kiss your forehead. 

You let out another pathetic whine, but conceded to her whims. 

You closed your eyes to simply feel it, wondering how you would be able to cum like this. (Thinking that you wouldn’t.) 

JJ continued to guide you across her thigh with determination and force. 

You were getting wetter with each stroke, your body boiling in that slow burn, your thighs shaking every single time you were guided back enough for the stiffness of her muscles to graze your swollen clit. You continued on, your hips pushing deeper - knowing she wouldn’t let you break pace, pushing yourself down harder. You were simply enjoying the presence of her hands on you and the pure burn of her thigh between your legs as you bucked across her in those long, deep strokes. 

“Please.” You started begging again. “Please, Mommy, please-” 

“Such a needy girl.” JJ sighed - the tone of her voice almost bored - so light and airy, with none of her own lust showing through at all. 

Though if you could have pried your eyes open for a second, you would have seen her icy irises almost completely chased out by her lust-blown pupils. You would have seen her looking at you with nothing but pure hunger - absolutely loving the show you were putting on for her as you became more desperate, as you stained her pants wetter and wetter as you went on.

“Mommy’s precious girl.” She hummed to herself.  

You would have instantly seen through her calm facade. But you were far too distracted for that. 

You were too caught up in your own head, too busy keeping up the long strokes of your hips for some friction on your cunt. You didn’t catch the wistful tone of her voice; you were too distracted to truly feel the way her thumb just barely brushed against the bandage sitting on your neck. You missed the way her eyes lingered on it - half glaring at the bandage, half glossy with unshed tears. 

She was still burning with deep anger at the thought that anyone would be allowed to bring even the smallest amount of harm to something that belonged to her and still live. But she was also thankful to the high heavens that you had come out of the incident safe. So thankful that you were back in her arms. 

“Mommy-” You croaked out again, your voice cracking with pure need, pulling JJ from her thoughts. 

She shouldn’t be thinking of the filthy man who had almost hurt you. She should be thinking of ways she could bring you pleasure now - ways she could be thankful that you were still here, unharmed. 

“Where do you need it, huh? Right here?” JJ replied, moving one of her hands to slot between your legs, just barely brushing her fingers against your clit. 

This made your hips stutter, pushing toward her touch even more. 

“Yes!” You breathed out desperately. “Yes, there! Please!” 

JJ let out a gentle laugh, and this made you downright dizzy. 

Before you could even comprehend it, you had been flipped onto your back - JJ taking advantage of the fact that your body was limp, lust-weakened and distracted. You were breathless as you looked up at her, now towering over you, so damn powerful with her hair billowing around her in a beautiful golden curtain. Her hands slid up your sides firmly while she leaned into you, pressing her knee into the naked rawness of your cunt - something that made you moan and clench your thighs tighter around her leg. 

“Gonna give you just what you need, pretty girl.” 

JJ rocked her knee against you a few times, enough to make you moan out brokenly. Before you could get any real friction from it, she moved away completely, leaving you breathless and even more needy. 

And then, leaving your stomach flipping with anticipation - she descended downward, using a hair tie that she had around her wrist to put her hair into a messy bun before she positioned herself between your thighs. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she had in mind. 

She took a hold of you by the backs of your knees and shoved your legs up toward your chest, bending you to her will. This made you vulnerable and open to anything she wanted from you as she dove in eagerly. The moment that her tongue made contact with your clit, you knew that you were done for. 

(Like you always were exactly when she wanted you to be.) 

“Mommy!” You cried out desperately. 

Your back arched hard as you fisted the comforter of the still-made bed underneath you, quivering under her touch but unable to move as she kept you concretely in place. Her lips suctioning tightly around your clit and sucking for dear life, determined to make you cum as hard as possible now that she had teased you to this point. 

“Fuck, Mommy! Oh, oh god!” 

Your hip muscles quivered and you gasped hard, struggling to get air into your lungs as she furiously worked her tongue over you. The movements of her talented tongue causing sharp, hard shocks of pleasure to emanate out from that precious little point. It was all so perfect - the filthy slide of her spit mixing with your wetness, dripping down between your pussy lips, even gathering and dripping down along your asshole and lingering in a small puddle on the bed. 

You were a mess - just as JJ wanted. 

She dug her nails into the flesh on the backs of your thighs, making the muscles in your legs burn from holding the position. But you had nowhere to go, you could do nothing but sit there and take it as she sucked on your clit and tongued against you with vigor - giving you exactly what you had been begging for, making you mindless and dizzy as the pleasure became near painful in the most beautiful way. 

“Mommy!” You gasped. “Mommy, fuck! Gonna-” 

She cut off your words just as you were on the edge, pulling back with a wicked grin and just barely cutting off your orgasm. It made your whole body tense up in shock and caused your lungs to let out a shocked, disappointed whine. You bit your lip to keep from swearing or letting out any complaints - which you knew would only lead to a prolonged time before cumming with JJ in charge. 

Instead, you stared at her with your best sad eyes, hoping she would take pity on you. She gathered a large glob of spit on her tongue and heaved it onto your clit, and the touch of this alone had your legs quivering harshly and caused you to let out another sharp moan. 

“Please!” You began begging again, knowing that your voice was completely choked by desperation. “Please, please, please, please-” You didn’t breathe between the words, chanting with pure need until JJ shut you up. 

“Shh, shh.” She hushed you, running her cheek along your inner thigh. “You need it that bad, huh?” She mocked you gently, and you echoed back a moan. 

“Yes.” You confirmed, your voice warbling. 

“Hey, look at me.” She hummed quietly. 

Your head snapped toward her automatically, and then you were staring down those powerful eyes once again - greeted by her chin glistening with your juices, her messy hair half fallen out of the haste bun. Of course, she looked more gorgeous than ever. 

JJ crept back up your body, letting go of one of your thighs and letting it relax, but keeping the other leg pinned up. She put her body weight against it now, putting your knee over her shoulder while she snuck her hand between your thighs as she leaned in to kiss you firmly. The taste of yourself on her lips was beautifully tangy, and you couldn’t help but to suck that taste off her tongue as she forced it between your lips. 

She pulled away after a moment, pulling a moan from between your lips. 

“Tell me that you’re never gonna do that again.” JJ whispered against your lips. 

In your lust-wrecked state, you were confused. 

“Huh?” You mumbled back. 

“Tell me that you’re never going to volunteer as bait ever again.” JJ said, grinding out the word harshly. “You belong to me. And you need to be safe. So what I say - goes.” 

Your pussy clenched at her words. You hadn’t realized how much you had truly worried her - how much you had upset her. 

“I won’t do it again.” You murmured back, your voice partially lost in your throat. “I promise, Mommy. I won’t. I’m yours.” 

JJ showed her satisfaction with your declaration by shoving two fingers into your well-slicked, wanting pussy. With no warning, she began pounding the digits in and out at a furious pace, sending your body into overdrive. 

Still pinning your leg into place with her body, she moved her other hand down so that she could rub your clit in fast, hard strokes to make it all more intense. 

In seconds, your pussy was once again throbbing, lit up and burning from the sensations while she fucked you hard and quick - driving you towards an orgasm at an intense, rapid pace. 

You let out harsh pants against her mouth and her lips formed into a sharp smile, clearly pleased with herself for turning you into such a mess so quickly. She crooked her elbow so that she could fuck her fingers into you at a sharper angle - and it was only moments before you felt your stomach clenching up again, that telltale heat drawing across your thighs as your clit downright burned underneath her fingers. 

“Please. Please, Mommy!” You begged, your throat scraping against the word now. “I need, I need - oh!” 

She was actually feeling merciful this time, and continued to fuck you through it, finally bringing you to the orgasm that your body had been begging for all night. 

But of course, she didn’t let up. She wasn’t going to stop there. 

She leaned in and kissed you on the forehead, and you knew that you had a very long night ahead of you.

...

A/N: Please keep in mind, this is a standalone oneshot, and I will not be writing a follow up or a 'part 2'. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written. Also, please consider reblogging, because supporting fanfiction writers is important to keep fandoms going! If you liked this and you want to see more, definitely check out my Criminal Minds Masterlist for more of my work.

[faeryarchives]

heartslabyul with a furina-like female reader! the "regina of all waters, kindreds, peoples and laws" is deeply loved by all. under her flamboyant and imprudent facade, lies a girl holding an unbearable weight and guilt on her shoulders to save her people. note: contains major spoilers about fontaine story quests (you have been warned) !! furina - like female reader series: savanaclaw recent fics: you feel like home & octavinelle with a fischl like female reader! & i'm not jealous !! (savanaclaw x gn!reader)

-‘๑’- riddle rosehearts

"who are you people? and why are you all dressed suspiciously? no, don't come near me, i am warning you!" "calm dow- where did these water familiars came from?!" "stay back i said!"

riddle was taken aback by your sudden behavior and your ability to wield a sword as well as commanding your familiar like it's your second nature! but weapons are still not allowed on school grounds 🤬

after the incident, riddle thought he wouldn't interact with you again when somehow manage your way to the dorm and stepped in when he was about to collar his dorm mates

"i don't think it's appropriate for you to chain your subjects like prisoners, mr. riddle. that is not a proper way of to rule." "don't stand in my way, what do you know about ruling?!" "... you have no idea."

and you proved him so wrong after overhearing your conversation with your heartslabyul friends. it's not like he intended to eavesdrop but it just happened that he was passing by

"after 500 years of acting on stage - i am finally free to live as a normal human again without the need to act as a strong and more god-like version of myself. but the problem is, i don't know where to start."

riddle made it his mission to always make you feel welcomed in the heartslabyul dorm and gradually became close friends with you

who knew that the two of you are similar to each other? from ruling over a community to having tea parties and your love for sweets

"riddle, you can enjoy sweets as much as you want. you dont need to follow such suffocating rules." "...what a pleasant surprise, truly an extra slice of joy."

believe it when i say he is very fond of your salon members and even went out his way to always give them a proper greeting and send them invitations for the unbirthday parties.

it was like he is healing his inner child along with you + very comfortable to the point that he doesn't even hesitate to ask you for advice 🫡 rather than an older sister you were like his twin

-‘๑’- trey clover

it is bad to have favoritism but trey clover took the cake immediately after watching him bake the most delicious cake you ever tasted

sorry to all fontaine patissier or fontaine in general but maybe you might as well stay in this world ... kidding 🧍🏻‍♀️

out of everyone you met, trey's firs impression was the second best (kalim being first for obvious reasons) he was like your dear friend who adores tea time but more laid back verion of them

"what a rich aroma and delicate texture... i didn't expect you to be such an accomplished cook... with refined taste, as well!" "a compliment from the regina herself is such a worthy praise for someone like me." "nonsense, trey! you are the best one out there!"

with curiosity getting the best of you, you always try to help out during the unbirthday parties and learn how to cook and bake from the vice dorm leader

... after all having pasta everyday is not very healthy 😭

listens to your rambles about the novels you've read befora and suggests you some that he have on hand! at this point he might as well be your guardian angel

despite being smaller than most of the student at nrc - you shocked the whole heartslabyul group after fighting off the known bully group of seniors trying to scare some freshmen

"now go along and never show your faces to me again. capiche?" "woah, i thought you said you are not used to battling!" "mmm, i did. but it's different from my abilities, no?"

you were the opposite of trey, rather than being embarrassed, you know your strengths and weaknesses and use it to your advantage

"trey, don't tell me you are just an ordinary person, you liar. you can't fool me with your downplaying talk!"

he can't fool you with that but trey pulls some harmless pranks on you by tricking you in putting a different recipe in the pie orsomething

he learned his lesson after you really followed his instructions and became the first victim to his own prank

you always seem to pride yourself as a strong and capable woman and how despite everything you are going through you always go for it headstrong

"now look at you, getting sick. i told you not to overwork yourself right?" "mmm, sorry big brother..."

did you just say 🥺 older 🥺 brother? after that he wears that title like a cape everyday and even brags it to cater 😭

-‘๑’- cater diamond

oh cater absolutely adores you the moment he saw your outfit because it is so well made?! 🫨 not only that - you were like giving the total celebrity vibes

"you have an eye for discerning people! yes, i am once the most beloved star of my country... but that time already came to an end."

sometimes while he tags along whenever you, grim and the adeuce duo hangs out - he always had this feeling that you are staring deep into his soul ��️👁️

as much as he puts up his usual cheerful facade to fool you, it was like arguing up to a wall and you finally pointed it out one day during your tea parties

"you know, you don't have to force yourself to eat sweets. i cooked some habanero pepper cream pasta earlier with

you might as well become his favorite underclassman 🥺

no wonder you were able to read him so well because you revealed that some how seeing him act in such way reminds him of yourself in the past

"sometimes acting for so long can make you wonder if people can really see through you or was it all fake." "but that is how it is right? how can other people know us when we don't even know ourselves?"

anyways! every now and then, cater would appear right on your doorsteps with small clothes and hats in shopping bags to give it to the salon members

it was funny to see your salon members have a new member and they treat him like their own son 😭🤍

as much as he want to tease you sometimes - he try not to over do it after seeing you let the salon trio chase after ace and grim all over the maze with threatening looks in their eyes.

"wow, mademoiselle crabaletta looks so energetic when she got to hit ace at the back of his head." "well, ace did pissed her off by playing rock paper scissors with her." "... did she win?" "i don't know, you tell me big brother cater."

... he will never let it down after owning his title as your big brother 😭 get ready to receive random gifts every now and then because this big brother cater is ready to spoil you to rotten

-‘๑’- ace trappola

having to get sprayed and hit by multiple bubbles in the face was certainly not on ace's list 😭 remind him to never play rock paper scissors with mademoiselle crabaletta ever again

he really like to be your friend genuinely 🙏 not that you mind though because ace is fun to talk too + you were able to adapt and learn about this world thanks to him, deuce and grim

but sometimes, he can be a little too reckless in roping you in trouble

"woah! (name) put mr seahorse down and let's talk about this!" "oh so you prefer my sword instead?" "it was just a harmless prank!" "then why is there an anemone on grim's head, again?!"

after you were comfortable enough to tell your story - ace thought he was actually dreaming because how did you stay sane after that 500 years?!

will ask you to help him with his studies and practicing magic + probably thought you were clueless but after years of searching every nook and nanny in your nation's library, you were like a walking dictionary

"how come you get a higher score than me in animal languages?!" "i was wondering how on teyvat did you get a lower score than me?"

omg you traitor 👩🏻‍⚖️

your number one buddy with midnight snacks + everytime he would sneak out of the dorm he always bring some sweets as a bribe to let him stay

there are times that you always fool ace by acting especially in front ofriddle when he accidentally dropped your cake in accident

despite the shenanigans between you two, he always trusts you to have his back

"(nickname) cover for me!" "alright! let the world come alive, hehe!"

whenever the salon members feel silly, they will go and chase after him and you just let them be - even they shower him with love in unexpected ways.

"recently, i've been wondering if Iife been a little too hard on myself in the past. i never got the chance to enjoy my life." "then let's go grab cater-senpai and go shopping!"

he will not let you experience such loneliness again! not when he is one of your first friend here in wonderland.

-‘๑’- deuce spade

opposite to ace, he is mademoiselle crabaletta's favorite for some reason or even the whole salon members are fond of him !

while he is more on the less troublesome side - he still make some troubles but you can see how much he was trying to not get you involve in it 😭

"deuce, you could've just told me earlier about this..." "i'm sorry, i don't want you to get involve again." "you are really a jester. we are friends! how can i not help you when you are facing problems?"

just as you listen to his problems, you were surprised that deuce is a great listener 😮 its not sarcasm !!

it first came to you during the octavinelle incident when deuce found you crying behind the ramshackle down, hugging your knees and being surrounded by your salon members, trying to calm you down

"i still couldn't do it... i do not belong in this world now i don't even have a place to stay..." "(name)..." "d-don't look at me like this! just give me a second." "no it's okay, let it out. i am so sorry for putting the pressure on you."

the sweetest guy??? ever??? he will try to include you in discussions about this world itself and wouldn't let you feel out of place

you even found him taking down notes whenever you get the chance to talk about your nation and people

"you have a dragon as a friend?!" "yea, don't let the dragon title fool you though. he is very kind but all he eats and drink is water every break time."

while ace had your back, deuce got your sides covered + knows fully how capable of being the front liner

"how dare you!?" "ah, (nickname) don't go to far!" "... remind me to never mess with her again."

remember the phantom back in the mines? you encountered one again and after it made one of your salon members disappear - the trio watch you literally annihilate the monster

seeing you all impatient and having a childlike temper made him laugh because you weren't so different from them after all

but please do not rush in battle so suddenly, you might as well give him a heart attack 😵

don't tell the others but deuce really looks up to you as an admirable person + not only you were able to endure everything for a long time, you still have the heart to forgive everyone who doubted you.

"do you know that you are really a respectable friend?" "...? oh my god, did you eat mushrooms for breakfast again?" "i'm serious!" "oh is that so? well i am proud of you. don't you know you improved a lot too?"

it's 7 am in the morning are you trying to make him cry? 🥹

having you with him during his high school life is an unexpected but wonderful experience - learning other things together + being interested in the same things? he had never felt such comfort before

deuce just hope that even though he and ace are seen as troublemakers, you won't hesitate to let your walls come down when times get rough 🫂

[n3rdyw0rdy]

My thoughts on Vefve

I’ve been a fan of Ghost and Pals since 2018, and only in recent years have I joined the fandom. If you’ve seen my past tumblr account, you can tell that I’m quite the fan of Christopher Pierre (Aka: The Distortionist)

I’ve noticed Vefve when I saw her reference sheet for her version of Christopher Pierre and went down the pipeline of her works, and I’ve got some thoughts.

Selfshipping

I have no problem with self shipping at all, since I myself, if you couldn’t tell, make countless ocs for fandoms or characters I like.

What I do feel odd about is Vefve’s self ship with Christopher Pierre. I have heard that Vefve is in her early or late 20’s (I’m not completely certain, but she claimed to be an adult), which the character, Christopher, is 17.

I know she has stated that the version if Chris that she ships herself with is “aged up”, but Christopher, quite literally, hasn’t aged a bit in her art. Even if he’s supposed to be “24”, Vefve has done nothing to his design to indicate that he’s older than he canonically is, appearance wise, which rubs me the wrong way.

“He’s fictional”, I don’t hear you guys saying that when Erin Clover shipped herself with Bakugo while she was in her 30’s.

The Vampire Au

I wasn’t familiar with this AU or the fanfic that went along with it until recently.

I know that Vefve has made a statement saying how she doesn’t like the fanfic anymore, but I beg to differ.

For context, the fanfic consisted of Christopher Pierre as a Vampire, and Kennith Simmons (keep him in mind) as a victim. Christopher attacks Kennith and offed him, but then kissed the severed head of Kennith.

This fanfic is both odd and just weird to me. The random n3crophilia and weird romanticization of the situation leaves a weird taste in my mouth, and if anything, unnecessary.

I understand that Vefve wanted it to be a “horror” fic and not glamorized, but the fanfic itself does that. She even made the excuse that “vampires can’t control themself” or are mindless monsters, but even with that logic, I don’t think a mindless monster would make out with a severed head.

Even with Vefve’s statement of not liking the fic or au, she still mentions it a lot and even made art of the kiss scene, which discourages me to believe that she was honest about it.

Mischaracterization and Chrisken (christopher x kennith)

Probably the most prevalent excuse Vefve gives for defending this ship is that she “changed the characters” so the relationship isn’t as toxic as it would, and with that, fully mischaracterizing the two characters.

Vefve has changed Christopher to a “dominant nonchalant charismatic charmer” while Kennith is a “Sweet innocent boy”. This may be nitpicky of me, or over exaggerating their recharactsrizations, but I just personally dislike it. She also characterizes Kennith to be “child like”, which is really odd to me since canonically, he’s an adult and Christopher is still a minor. I know it’s only a one year age gap, but I have more thoughts on the ship itself below.

Now for the ship itself, I’m not a fan at all. Sorry. But don’t take this being the only reason I don’t really like Vefve, as seen above theres more understandable reasons for my distaste other than me being nitpicky. The ship itself doesn’t really work for me, especially by how realistically, it would be really toxic. Toxic ships have a right to exist, but I feel like if it got into the hands of Vefve or people like her, it would be glamorized to hell and back. (pun intended)

Other thoughts

Generally, the very risky and otherwise odd things she post of Christopher and the fanart her fans make her is very jarring, especially knowing the context of Christopher as a character and his age.

The dynamic of Vefve’s version of Chrisken is just really generic and oddly fetishistic. I’m not accusing anything, but being honest, their relationship feels like it was written by a person who just discovered gay people existed. Sorry. That was mean. But I’m trying to give my honest opinion.

Vefve’s behavior towards people who dislike her is somewhat immature for an adult. Yes, I do understand that some people send death threats to her which can be a bit overboard, but Vefve going out of her way to make post about them seems unnecessary if she can just block them.

I don’t like using the word cringe, but Vefve is cringe. Sorry. I genuinely hate using the word cringe by how watered down the meaning became, but I have no other label to think of when it comes to Vefve. Her fans are no different either. Sorry, that was also mean. Please don’t publicly execute me.

These were my honest thoughts on Vefve. I know that I might be dogpiled for even criticizing her for anything, but I feel like someone had so say at least something. If I missed anything, I’ll edit this, but whoever read through this whole thing and agree with me, have a good day. And if you disagree, also have a good day, but if please don’t associate with me.

And if Vefve is reading this, hi, stay cringe, but don’t thirst over canonically minor characters. Thank you.

[writing-zelda-brainrots]

The Apothecary’s Travel Guide Chapter 1

Quickly, before we begin, I want to set some things straight about this little fic series.

This fic will use Fem!Reader in both pronouns and body descriptions. I usually stick to gender neutral stuff, but this fic just works better with a female main character in mind (or at least I think so).

While I won’t be going into actual nsfw stuff (maybe in the future, I haven’t decided), this fic will still contain sexual themes and scenarios. This fic is meant for older teens and up. I don’t write with a young audience in mind, both for this fic and in general.

For those of you who are not familiar with The Apothecary Diaries (wtf are you doing here, go watch it), the series takes place in a fictional version of Imperial China. You don’t absolutely need to watch it to read this fic, but you will have a better understanding of things if you have (also, it’s just a really good show, very well written with one of the best female protags I’ve ever seen).

Also, this fic starts before Sunset, so the whole “Twilight is Wolfie” and “Hyrule can heal” things are not known yet.

–

It felt a little strange to be back in the busy streets of the pleasure district after spending months in the rear palace. But it was the good kind of strange. The smell of grilled meat skewers that you missed so much, the paper lanterns hanging overhead, people haggling for better prices in the street side shops, playing games on the side of the road, or drinking tea in teahouses. And of course, beautiful women calling men over to offer ‘special services’ in the many brothels.

It’s a sight you’re all too familiar with. Having grown up here, raised by the women of the famous Verdigris House, these things did not phase you. One would think that working in the palace would be quite the change of pace, but if there’s one thing that you’ve learned over the past however many months, it is that the palace and brothels aren’t all that different. A beautiful caged garden full of flowers for the emperor to enjoy looking upon.

In truth, if you had the choice, you would not want to have anything to do with the imperial palace, but given your situation, what could you do? You certainly didn’t ask to be kidnapped and sold off to the palace back then and you didn’t ask to be promoted to lady in waiting to one of the four highest ranking concubines. You were doing just fine as an apothecary back in the pleasure district, thank you very much.

You had originally attempted to stay low, worked as a simple, low ranking servant until your contract expired and then head home. You hid any signs of value that could get you promoted; you hid your ability to read and write, as well as hid your ‘true beauty’ so you wouldn’t become a concubine (even if a servant could only ever become a low ranking concubine). Any extra money you would have earned  from those promotions would just be swiped by your kidnappers, anyway. At least you still got paid for your regular work.

Had things originally gone according to your plan, you would have worked hard and been released within three years. However, now that goal post has been moved quite a bit.

But you shouldn't be thinking about work right now; it was your day off, after all. You were back home (after managing to haggle your way into them letting you leave the palace) and that’s all that matters right now.

I should get some radishes and chicken for soup tonight. You thought as you walked down the street of the makeshift market. You hoped that your father had been eating well. He was never all that good at feeding himself. If he was starving for a few days, the old lady from the Verdigris House would force something down his throat.

Speaking of the Verdigris House, you should probably head there later. Both to say hello to your ‘big sisters,’ but also so you could take a bath there. They’d likely want some medicine, too, now that you thought about it. The last time you delivered medicine there was the day you got kidnapped.

Heh. Even on my day off I’m running errands.

With your little morning shopping excursion done, you stuffed the ingredients into the basket you carried on your back and started heading to that familiar little shack you affectionately called home. Dad should be in the fields tending to the plants right now. Honestly, he was getting too old for that trek, especially with his busted knee, but you couldn’t deny that he loved that little garden he’s cultivated over the years. Not like you were any different when it comes to your passion for medicinal herbs. As your master, he taught you everything you know about medicine; what herbs work in which situations, what to use and what to avoid, how to make medicine, what plants, mushrooms and animals were poisonous and which weren’t, etc. He was a very learned man, having studied both eastern and western medicine. With a few more years of teaching, you might be as good as him, or you hoped so, at least.

Finally you reached the calm little neighbourhood you grew up in. It was on the very outskirts of the city, not even protected by the tall stone brick walls. Looking at the small sizes of the houses, barely larger than your average shack, told people that this was where the poor lived. It wasn’t much, but it was home. Truth be told, your father was an excellent medical expert, even having worked in the palace before from what you’ve heard, but for all his skill and knowledge, he had terrible luck, which is why he ended up living here instead of somewhere more fitting for his stature.

But when you got to your little childhood home, you were met with a worrying sight. A woman you didn’t recognise, worry and uncertainty written on her face, knocking on the front door of your home. That’s strange, did she need medicine? You didn’t recognise her servant uniform, but she seemed to be from one of the inns in the area.

You called out, catching her attention immediately. “Are you looking for the apothecary? He’s currently out, but I can leave him a message.”

“Please help, it’s a medical emergency! Someone’s been poisoned!”

Your face immediately turned serious as you dropped your belongings before running inside the shack to retrieve an emergency med kit. “Lead me to them.”

--

People had gathered around the doorway of the inn, clearly all in a panic, but not sure on what to do.

“I brought the apothecary. Please step out of the way.” The two of you moved past the seemingly small army of staff and patrons.

What you saw seemed to match what the woman had told you before. A man lying on the bed, restless, breathing erratically, hands clenching at the fabric of his clothes right over his heart. Immediately you entered your ‘work mode,’ practically diving next to the man. First, a physical check up.

You pried open the man’s eyes, looking into them; you checked his pulse and stuck a finger into his mouth. Judging from the spittle running down his chin and trace amounts of sick on the bed sheets and his blue scarf, it’s safe to say that he had vomited. Still, you pressed down on his solar plexus to induce more of it. It would help expel whatever caused this reaction, but it would also dehydrate him. There was a hrrk, and spit came pouring out of his mouth, which you wiped away with the bedsheets you had gripped.

Suddenly, a new man with brown hair and eyes came running through the door with what seemed to be a waterskin in his hands.

He was just about to offer the water to the man you were tending to, but you shouted at him: “Don’t let him drink that! Charcoal- we need charcoal!” The startled man dropped the item onto the floor, but recovered just as quickly, running off once again to retrieve the required item.

You repeated this process several times on the victim; making him vomit, wiping the bile away ad nauseum until nothing but stomach acid came out. The man was able to breathe much easier now, no longer hyperventilating. Thankfully, at your request, the charcoal had arrived just in time, which you quickly ground up with your mortar and pestle.

“This’ll be rough on his throat, but it’ll flush the toxins out of his body.” You spoke as you poured the fine powder into his mouth. Some of the men, who you assumed to be the patient’s associates, had gathered around the two of you, clearly worried.

“Wa… Water. Please…” Those were the first words you heard him speak, weak, but nonetheless a sign that he was recovering.

“Not yet. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to endure this a little bit longer.”

Though unhappy, he accepted and resigned himself to his scratchy and dry throat for the time being. Finally you were able to remove yourself from the bedside, letting the other men move the patient while the inn’s servant ladies removed the soiled linens.

First damn thing in the morning and I already have to deal with an emergency. I only just got back. You grumbled in your mind as you looked at your filthy hand. Ugh. I really need a bath. You sighed both from relief and exhaustion.

“You doin’ okay, Captain?” One of the taller men with brown hair asked while holding him up so he could stand.

The patient - now identified as ‘Captain’ - took a breath. “Much better.” He then turned his attention towards you. “Thank you. I was certain that I was a goner.”

“I am simply doing my job. There is no need to thank me.” Utilising some water in a pitcher that one of the servants offered, you wiped your hands with a damp cloth.

You then took out a wooden slip, wrote just a couple characters on it and handed it over to the servant woman who you first encountered. “Deliver this to doctor Luomen and bring him here. He should be by the south wall.”

With that, the servant gave you and everyone else in the room a small bow before leaving.

The man with a blue hat turned his attention to the patient, who had once again been laid down onto the cleaned up bed. “Now I know that stuff took you out; you didn’t even try to flirt with your “guardian angel”.”

“So that’s your impression of me?” The sarcasm in his voice was evident. “Glad to know that it took me almost kicking the bucket to change your opinion.”

--

Within about half an hour, the servant had returned, your father in tow. It took longer than you had hoped, but given your father’s age and condition, it wasn’t all that surprising.

He took a good look at the patient and asked some questions.

“I suppose you did an adequate job here.” He gave you his trademark gentle smile after he was done with his examination.

“‘Adequate’?” You ask, annoyed.

A man who you assumed to be the owner of the inn came into the room. “Thank you, doctor Luomen. You are the best medical expert one could ask for.”

“Don’t thank me. My daughter did all the hard work.”

“Tell me, how much do we owe you? Name your price.”

“There’s really no need-”

You nudge your father’s side with your elbow. “Can you pay rent this month?”

“Ah… Well, in that case, I’ll take the usual fee.”

This was one of his habits; undercharging for his work, or even failing to charge at all, much to your distress. You understood the desire not to take money from people who were already struggling to get by, but this was not the case.

A tall blond man in heavy armour came up to you, holding out a small-ish sack. “Please, allow us to reimburse you as well. We owe you a lot.” Seeing no reason not to, you accepted the item.

With that, your father and the inn’s owner head into another room to discuss payment, leaving you to gather up your tools.

From the corner of your eyes, you noticed a few of the men fidgeting nervously or giving each other glances. They obviously wanted to say something. You didn’t know why they were hesitating. Sure, you might have sharp, mean-looking eyes and you didn’t smile all the time, but there’s no reason for these numerous grown men to act like this around you.

“Can I help you?” You broke the ice. No point in delaying this.

The one who you assumed to be the leader cleared his throat. “Actually, we’d like you to answer some questions we have. We’re travellers from afar, you see, and we don’t know much about this place or nation.”

They came all this way here and they don’t know the first thing about where they are? “You’re in the country of Li, specifically in the capital city of both the nation and the Central Province. I’m not going to judge how you choose to spend your time, but if you wanted to go sightseeing, I wouldn’t exactly recommend coming to the pleasure district first.” You raised an eyebrow. Just who were these people?

You saw that a few of the mens’ faces had turned bright red when they realised where they were. “Ha! Told you that this is where we ended up.”

“Are you implying that you frequent these kinds of places, Captain?” It sure seemed like these two had a penchant for arguing. Even during the time while you were waiting for your father to arrive, you noticed that they kept butting heads.

“Enough, you two.” The oldest shot them a quick glare. “Either way, it’s good we left Wind with Four back at the city outskirts. Both because of the inappropriate nature of this place- no offence…”

You shrugged. “None taken.”

“... But so that they wouldn’t have to see you get in trouble like this.”

“You are the apothecary here, right? If so, then you should be familiar with people who have gotten injuries.” You nodded. “Have you heard anything about encounters with any strong monsters, particularly those with black blood?”

Alright, now you were really confused. Monsters? Black blood? Was this some kind of way of informing you of a new disease spreading among the troops of enemy nations? But if so, why not tell this to an army physician instead of a random apothecary?

“Can’t say that I have.” You spoke up after having given it some thought. “Though I have to admit that I have been working in the inner court for the past few months, so I’m not caught up on the goings on outside the palace walls. But if you are telling the truth, I’m certain I would have heard rumours.” Thinking back, Xiaolan - a girl you had grown a friendship with when you were a simple servant at the palace - sure loved her gossip, and if there was one thing she loved more, it was sharing that gossip with you over tasty snacks and food.

“Thank you anyways.”

While this conversation didn’t seem like it yielded much, it did get your gears turning. It was time to do some espionage- or rather, some investigating. Something you’ve gotten pretty good at lately, if you said so yourself.

“Please wait here while I get you some medicine.” With a quick bow you left the room. In truth you had already prepared the medicine while waiting for your father to arrive, but this was still a convenient excuse.

As quietly as you could you hid yourself behind the sliding door and pressed your ear against it. Sure enough, once the men in the room believed you to be gone, they started talking. Words like “monsters,” “eras,” “shadow” and others got thrown around as if it was common knowledge, yet it only served to confuse - and intrigue - you further. One thing was certain; these were not your regular, run-of-the-mill travellers.

Your earlier talk also gave you an opportunity to scrutinise their appearances. Given their unfamiliar clothes and armour, plus features like light coloured hair and eyes, and their utter lack of knowledge of where they even were, you assumed them to be from a distant land, the west, most likely. But that was before you noticed one curious detail that they all shared; pointed ears.

This one thing had you calling things into question. Sure, the world was a large place, but in all your years of studying medicine and the human body, you’ve never heard of any group of peoples with such a distinctive feature.

But now came the question of what to do. What were you going to do about this suspicious group? Should you report them in case they were here to cause trouble? To be honest, you didn’t want to get involved. No point in sticking your neck out for these strangers and possibly risk getting accused of treason. You’ve done your job, you healed them, and you’re about to give them their medicine and leave. There’s no need to let them occupy your mind anymore. You’d steer clear of them from now on. Yeah, that sounded good.

Finally, you pretended to have returned from your ‘excursion’ and knocked on the door. Given the sudden silence from the room, it was safe to assure that whatever they were talking about was not for others to hear.

Walking up to the Captain still in bed, you handed over a small paper bag. “Please take this for the next few days. It’ll ease your stomach and help with getting rid of any lingering toxins. I would recommend drinking it as tea.”

The one who you had identified as ‘Legend’ from when you were listening in groaned. “Ugh. This whole thing’s been a wash. You guys ready to head back to camp?”

A unanimous ‘yes’ was heard.

--

Ironically enough, you could not get those men out of your head. Was your intuition trying to tell you that there was something wrong with them? Or were you simply curious? They were certainly the most interesting people you’ve met in some time.

They had already left the inn and you had headed in a different direction. You did finally manage to get that warm bath you were looking forward to. And getting to speak to your ‘big sisters’ at the Verdigris House was nice. But still your mind was occupied with something else. Damn it, this was supposed to be your day off, but you haven’t been able to relax completely!

You kicked a small rock in front of you in frustration. Hopefully having dinner with your dad would help alleviate your problem.

Suddenly you felt an all too familiar feeling of being pulled backwards.

Well, this wouldn’t be your first kidnapping.

--

And Wars will have to suffer through that dry, ashy throat for the remainder of this fic- lol jk.

A.N Fun fact: did you know that other than Twilight (who has lived among humans for a long time), technically, Legend is the one who has interacted with humans the most? The people of Koholint Island had short, round ears, as did the people of Holodrum (Oracle of Seasons), Labrynna (Oracle of Ages) and Hytopia (Tri Force Heroes).

[crazysaru99]

LMK fic au idea

Welp im not good writing fic and my ideas are riots

@quitealotofsodapop and I made an au about the Monkey King's children: Paramita, Sun Luzhen, Yuebei Xing, Jidu and Luohou.

This happens once Wukong finishes his journey and returns home, helping with the reconstruction of the island, mainly because he starts to feel lonely especially for what happened with his partner Macaque. And one of the things he always wanted once the war was over is to be able to have a family with his beloved but this couldn't happen so he will do it with his own hands in the style of Nuwa, he would create clay eggs and even find a hidden one and from there his children would be born.

Paramita is the firstborn and heir to the throne of the kingdom of the mountain of fruits and flowers and Alolai being the serious of all his brothers and the most elegant of them, he has an elegance that his father lacks but that will not make him less lethal on the battlefield; he is the general of the kingdom's army and has on his shoulders the expectations of the kingdom as crown prince.

Sun Luzhen in his canon is Wukong's twin brother who had taken so long to hatch, and the second to be born when he was found, the king had adopted him as his own son, He has an energetic personality like a showman, He is now a version of Porty light, he is a professional musician and has worked in various musical genres, even in large industries making soundtracks for various movies or video games under an alias.

Yuebei Xing, the only daughter of the monkey king, is daddy's little princess, with a tough character and a very bad temper, with an enormous and muscular build that makes her completely intimidating, but under the dark shell she is a monkey who loves her family and her brothers, she was born with a cleft lip of which she only has a scar, she is a renowned paleontologist in her field who loves her job, she has always loved digging up bones since she was little.

Jidu and Luohou they are mischievous twins who like to cause trouble like their older brother Luzhen, who love theater like Macaque and dedicate their life to that art. Jidu is a comedian in various stand-up comedy shows while Luohou is an actor in musicals and has participated in many.

Jidu

Grande Caeza de pichi

Luohou

King Paramita, Jidu and Luohou desing based in @wuzhiqi-enj0yer

Wukong wanted to experience the possibility of having children by modeling in clay that he created 4 eggs, by the time he found the stone egg of Luzhen he found that the Paramita egg had already hatched and in time only the eggs of the others would hatch turning Wukong into a tired father of 5 energetic children.

Rumors of his existence abounded, especially the fact that Paramita was the son of Princess Iron Fan, which was never lacking (Paramita could never find the author of that aberration in the book and if he had, he would have pulverized it). This rumor was born because he and Red Son WERE childhood friends and a possible marriage union between them was expected (Like Odette and Derek in The Swan Princess). Now their parents wanted them to marry for love like they did, but then the thing at the mountain happened and they lost contact.

Paramita as a cub: "This is my best friend Red. When we grow up, we'll get married and have an island to ourselves!" :3

But that is if the day they meet again they shout with joy and hug each other like little kids who haven't seen each other all summer.

The rumors of the monkey king's children grew to be illustrated in the non-canonical sequels of the journey to the west and at that time they were just children, but due to the isolation of the monkey king the rumors of them became a myth until their existence was doubted, making the shadow of his father grow…

MK would meet the children of the monkey king in ''A hero is born'' is when he lands on the beach of Huaguoshan Island and they were the monkeys in disguise (Headcanon the common monkeys are glamours of yao monkeys)

Making them lose their glamour and scare MK even more until Paramita has to take control of the situation by lining everyone up.

After the initial scare MK asks them to take him to the monkey king and leave them alone; Now you might be wondering why the monkey king would need a successor? Simple, because Wukong has empty nest syndrome.

For the events of season two Paramita and his brothers will be in charge of MK's training so he wouldn't be so far behind and if they would be aware of LBD.

When MKang finds out about their existence it will be at the end of this same season especially when Pigsy is yelling at Wukong and oh boy, if there is something that Paramita does NOT tolerate at all is that HIS FATHER IS INSULTED (He's a daddy's boy)

Pigsy: You're supposed to be his mentor! Paramita: "Excusr me!? He raised five children as a single parent!" HE IS ANYTHING BUT A LAZY MAN WHO DOES NOTHING, DAMN SERVANT!!!

Paramita was millimeters away from beating Pigsy up, he will defend his father's honor knowing how introverted he is and will let that insult pass (He will fight even in mud to prove his point), his brothers would be pulling him to avoid the chef's announced death, even Yuebei has a hard time doing it being the strongest of all her brothers.

And that would be all c:

EDIT: And now the au called ''Wuxing au''

[shibaraki]

SO THIS IS LOVE ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

synopsis: you’ve been dating your close friend and roommate, todoroki shouto, for almost a month. it’s new, and scary, and easier than you ever expected.

tags: GN reader, friends to lovers, newly established relationship, living together (+they were roommates), support engineer reader, pro hero shouto, fluffy fluff, implied class differences, casual affection (plenty of kisses etc), first date!!!, feeding each other, they’re in love your honor

wc: 4K

a/n: this takes place after my other fic ‘to build a home’ however!! fear not! it can also be read as a standalone ^_^ enjoy!

The vanity is littered with pieces of your life. Work you’ve brought home, tissue discarded after wiping down your dirtied hands, old draft sketches drawn haphazardly and set aside for sentimentality’s sake. Hero merch has been hung around the mirror frame. Small things. Keychains, magnets and bookmarks. A chibi shouto hangs on a ring, fist high and enveloped in ice.

Colour hems your peripheral vision, stems cut from a meadow and displayed in your room. Pink, green, purple and red. Shouto gave you a flower bouquet, roses and carnations and others that you cannot name without a guide; one he loaned expressly to learn the language of flowers for you.

The balmy, summer fragrance lingers, drawing a subconscious grin. You see it in your reflection, and you don’t look away. Not that you were unhappy before—but lately you can’t stop smiling. It is ever present, in your tone, in your disposition, in the pleased glow your coworkers liked to point out. Undeniably, things have been good.

Almost too good.

Dating Shouto changed everything and nothing. It was a uniquely embarrassing experience to reconcile just how obvious you had been throughout the years. You had prepared for wobbling baby steps. However, in many ways, it was as if you’d completely skipped the awkwardness all together, and Shouto became more emboldened than ever.

Exhaling, you push the thought aside. Your reflection relaxes once more as the tension bleeds from your shoulders. You’re all done up; donning your best clothes, an almost unrecognisable version of yourself compared to the oil-stained, work-swept appearance you usually took.

Tonight would be your first official date. Despite having been together for a few weeks now, your misaligned schedules and general lack of free time made it difficult to take that next step. You initially suggested setting up dinner at home. Candlelight and wine. Good food and good company is all you needed. As tempting as it was, Shouto insisted on treating you to somewhere proper—

His own words. ‘Proper’ was not your department. You didn’t know what to expect.

But the memory resurfaces, and at the vision of his soft pout, you ease. Things would be fine regardless of where the night took you.

Echoing through the hallway, Shouto’s bedroom door quietly clicks shut. You watch his silhouette appear beneath the crack of your own. He shifts his weight. The knock you anticipate never comes. Instead your phone lights up where it sits on the end of your bed. You stretch to grab it. The screen unlocks, opening onto your messaging app. Shouto’s name sits unread at the very top.

shouto : just now

Here to pick you up :)

“He’s trying to kill me,” you breathe, biting back an affectionate laugh and smoothing your thumb over the text. Filled with a sudden urgency to see him, you get to your feet. You pat down either side of your hips, ironing out the creases and give a last look to the mirror—pleased, beautiful.

Behind the door, Shouto anxiously waits. Fingers combed through his hair, the bicoloured strands have mixed into one another, brushed over to one side. The light glints. Gold studs sit in either ear, warming his complexion. He’s wearing a light sweater and dark trousers cinched with a belt. The sleeves are rolled midway along his forearm, casting light on a thin gold chain that hangs delicately around his wrist below the watch his older sister bought him for his birthday.

“You look really good,” you murmur, moving into his space. What would make an otherwise clumsy first encounter for any other came naturally to you both. Eyes drag over the length of your body. Shouto licks his lower lip, gaze heavier, and he pulls you in by the hips. A warm musk fills your senses. Pleasant notes of sandalwood and cinnamon. Your hands come to rest on his chest as you kiss his cheek.

“And you look beautiful,” he says. “Are you ready to leave?”

“I’m ready,” you concur, voice steeped in contagious excitement, “we’re going on a date”.

Shouto sways on his feet, your body moving with him, and his fingers dig into your hips as though restraining himself. “We are. Our first date,” stepping away, he gestures for you to take his arm. You coil around his bicep. Quiet, he continues, “I’m sorry it took so long to organise”.

You swat at his shoulder, falling in line with him as you make your way through the apartment. “Your needless apology is not accepted. I’ve told you it’s completely fine”.

Shouto hums a small, gratified sound, and then bends to take his shoes from the rack. You move to do the same. As you straighten he is pulling on a dark brown leather jacket, the collar flicking up when he shucks it around his chest.

A clink echoes out. He hooks his car keys through his forefinger and slowly looks you over without intent. “Bring a coat. The nights have been getting colder,” he tells you. You concede, endeared by his concern.

The car journey is mostly spent in a comfortable silence, feelings of anticipation tainting the air. You don’t ride with Shouto often, usually opting to take the subway, thus reclining into the plush padded leather is still relatively new. Shouto presses a button and a gradual heat gathers beneath your thighs. Your gaze drags to the gear stick, where his fingers are flexing. After some hesitation he shifts gears and rests his hand above your knee.

You stroke his forearm. His thumb moves in idle shapes. The traffic thins out when he takes an unexpected left onto an unassuming street and regretfully releases you. Car parked alongside a few others, strikingly expensive, Shouto cuts the ignition and you step out.

A clandestine entrance comes into view. Through double glass doors awaits a polished, minimalist lobby, leading to a flight of winding stairs. Upon reaching the top you realise the building houses a pair of adjacent restaurants. Traditional and Western, respectively.

Shouto encourages you toward the more traditional archway, and intermittently squeezes your hand. Your palms kiss, his skin a little clammy. The thought of him being nervous charms you. He glances over as you stroke your finger across his knuckles and his temperature seems to cool.

“Welcome”.

You startle. A server had approached at some point during the intimate moment, stoic and lingering; dressed in a pale kimono, not a thread out of place. With your attention she bends into a perfect bow. “It’s a pleasure to have you this evening. Will it be a table for two?”

“There should be a reservation under the name Todoroki,” Shouto replies with silvery cadence. Expression waning in recognition, the server nods.

“Right this way sir”.

You trail through the restaurant. The architecture is luxurious and calming, woodsy tones and warm accents. Thick sticks of bamboo hang over the ceiling, and pale structures formed to resemble cherry blossoms overhang the chef’s bar. Most notable is the fish tank behind it, pulsing gently as the filter whirls.

The server maintains a strict posture as she guides you to your table. Positioned in an intimate corner next to the window wall, overlooking a blushing cityscape, streaks of sunlight threading between buildings.

You take your seat and sink into the curved back. An illuminated centrepiece gently breathes, coming to life and casting a glow across the tablecloth. Cutlery of which you’ve never seen before is set out before you. “I will return to take your order in a moment…” you hear from your left.

Shouto voices his gratitude. His focus turns to you as the server retreats. “Everything okay?” he asks, too perceptive for his own good, somehow managing to make it feel as though he is still holding your hand through all this, even with the distance.

You hum, not trusting yourself to immediately speak. The menu is thick and glossy and heavy in your grasp. “…All good, handsome,” your eyes skim over the eclectic dishes. You squint at the small font, mind unspooling at the assortment of food—most you hardly recognised. “What do you think you’ll order?

With the tilt of his head, Shouto’s focus returns to his menu. While he reads through you wonder if it’s obvious that you’re out of place here. That you came home hours earlier and scraped the grease from your nail beds after tinkering with Ingenium’s suit for most of the afternoon.

“Their signature dish, maybe. I’ve heard the meat is good. They make it with an iron griddle,” Shouto’s thumb plucks restlessly at the corner of the card. Voice pitched lower, he adds, “And it’s the only thing I find appetising on here”.

Your brows raise at his admittance. Partly relieved by the shared uncertainty, though more surprised he felt it at all. “You’ve never been to a place like this?”

Shouto gives a plaintive blink. “No, I have. Years ago when I first debuted my father would drag me to places like this to network,” he says, setting down the menu. Sheepishness colours his features, “But I’ve never been here specifically. Momo recommended it”.

“Momo did?” you echo, subconsciously leaning onto the table. Shouto nods and shifts in his seat. “Cool. Has she ever brought Kyouka here?”

A wayward curl of crimson falls over his forehead as Shouto tilts. He brushes the stray hair back. “No, not that I’m aware. She mentioned that her parents often spent date nights here and they loved it”.

You smile helplessly, restless with the urge to pinch and pull at him. It was obvious that he’d put effort into organising this—maybe a little much. He had overthought things in true Shouto fashion.

“Why do you think that is?” you muse, hoping he’ll see your sincerity and hear you out. “It’s because Kyouka doesn’t like… extravagance. It makes her uncomfortable”.

Shouto considers this. “…Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“That’s not it, baby. I told you I’m happy to go wherever with you,” Shouto’s gaze momentarily drops, the corner of his mouth curling up. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s just—don’t always feel obligated to go to these lengths. Or spend this much. We can save all the fancy stuff for our anniversaries”.

You sit in a brief, comfortable silence, skin warming at the realisation of what you’ve said and the weight it carried. As he studies you carefully in the low light you hear the far off sound of food popping on the hot stove-top and smell a sweet, buttery aroma.

“I understand,” he exhales, resting his chin in the cup of his hand. A smirk teases his lips. “I guess I’ll need to find some other way to spoil you”.

“Shouto. You do more than enough—”

The server is approaching from the corner of your eye. You lightly kick his leg beneath the table to alert him, and he catches your foot between his ankles. There’s a small notepad and pen in her hand. She gestures to the menu.

“Excuse the interruption. Are you ready to order?”

Shouto recites his choice and you choose the same, trusting his palate. “Could we have a pitcher of water for the table?”

“Of course, sir”.

Your eyes linger on his jawline, the flex of his throat. Shadows dance across his face. The live music flows supple and amorous through the room. You want to lean into it; find yourself in Shouto’s arms and move as the rhythm dictates.

“Did you have a good day at work?”

The normalcy of the question catches you off guard in such a setting, and you blow air into your cheeks, embarrassed to be caught staring. He sits with arms folded atop the table to lean closer, unabashedly staring right back. “Work is work,” you reply, giving the routine answer. “What about you? Anything interesting?”

At that Shouto reaches to rest his hand over yours. Broad palm and paling bruised knuckles. He’s cool to the touch. Your heartbeat picks up as he begins to play with your fingers. “I caught a man trying to flash his genitals at an all girls school,” he says, attention drifting as he recalls what, for him, is a monotonous day. “Stopped a train from derailing—ah. One of the students we saved had an interesting quirk. I thought Izuku was going to ask her for an autograph…”

The evening unfolds. Darkness envelops the city and one by one people switch on their lights. It comes to life. You share laughter. You rub his calf and wisps of steam flutter around him. You talk, settling into a natural conversation, a complimentary rhythm, as you would’ve at home. Your once friendship hung lightly between you, an ephemeral thing, lacking weight or gravity. Any other first date experience paled in comparison; this didn’t feel like a first date at all.

Sitting there, now with an empty plate and your glass half full of liquor, a different spirit seems to sift inside you. Uninhibited contentment. The dressed up, high class onlookers fall away. Shouto looks at you over the lip of his mocktail as if you are the only thing he can see.

“A little weird, isn’t it?”

Shouto raises a brow and hums, “What do you mean?”

“Well, this is the part where people learn about each other,” you say. “We already know almost everything”.

“Not everything,” he stops to think. “Sometimes I swallow my gum instead of taking it out”.

“You—” startled, breathy laughter overshadows your reply. You cover your mouth and shake your head. “That’s gross. You’re ridiculous”.

A dazed smile teases Shouto’s lips, “You wanted to know”. The ice in his glass remains, cradled in his right hand, while condensation gathers around your fingers. “…We knew each other as good friends. That’s different”.

You take a quick sip, “Think so?”

“I know so,” he murmurs, his leg sliding between your own. “Now I get to learn about you all over again, in a new way”.

The thin hair on your arms prickles. Warmth and desire seeps through you, soaked into adipose tissue, tenderising thought and thew. “What a charmer,” you say, voice a little thick, seeing the night with new clarity. “You’re right. We just started a few steps ahead”.

Pleased at that, Shouto’s attention falls to the empty plates. “Should we get dessert?”

You consider the idea. It pulls you away from the moment, and everything sharpens in your periphery. Coalesced voices, the clink of cutlery, dulcet piano notes flowing beneath it all. “Not here,” you decide, an excited grin unfolding. “Let’s go get ice cream”.

Despite your protests Shouto pays the bill. You allow it, begrudgingly, since he had organised the date. In passing you bow your head toward the chef working behind the bar, and he gives an effusive ‘thank you’.

“Thank you very much,” another server calls politely, delicate hand raised to wave from behind his drink tray. “Please come again”.

Already too late into the evening, any ice cream parlour would be closed. Even so you clasp Shouto’s hand, bracing against the warmth, and direct him to a corner store on the far end of the road.

The cashier—reclined in a fold up chair, feet propped on the counter and cigarette in hand—staggers, almost tumbling to the floor as he registers Shouto’s identity. Though few, other customers stop to stare.

That feeling of unease returns once more. Amidst the bliss, and mellow, alcohol induced haze, you had completely forgotten about his status as a public figure and the scrutiny that might befall your new relationship as a result. You’ve been linked to various heroes before for business but never romantically.

Shouto is oblivious to it. Rather, you suppose he is used to the scrutiny. You recoil from their staring, and subsequently from his side, your anxious mind assuming some distance might cause them to think twice. In that instant an arm wraps firm around your lower back. Anchoring your hip, Shouto keeps you tucked against him, searching your face for objection.

You chew the inside of your cheek and relent, because you feel better when you’re close to him. The apprehensive and moderately starstruck atmosphere barely tickles him as he rummages through the large freezer. Ice creams and pops of every shape and colour. With a quiet, pleased sound, he plucks out a packet of bite sized matcha ice cream.

The cashier has steadied his hands by the time you’re ready to pay. Shouto deliberately frowns at the cigarette butts on the counter, discarded in an Endeavor themed ashtray. Not on account of any suspicion or disapproval, just simple pettiness. You know that but the poor young man does not, as he continues to nervously explain that his manager is ‘pretty lax about that kinda thing’.

“That’s nice,” Shouto tells him, passing his phone over the card machine. You press your lips thin to keep from laughing. A ping echoes out and the money goes through. “Thank you. Have a good night”.

Confused, the man gives a tremulous smile and nods, “Thank you for everything you do, Shouto, sir!”

Stepping into the tepid night air brings a wave of relief. Shouto releases your waist to pass you your cold treat. Falling into a lazy pace you start back toward the restaurant.

You’ve chosen an ice cream bar on a stick. Teeth sink into it like warm butter, the first bite melting on your tongue. Shouto is eating his delicately with a small pick and at your satisfied moan, he freezes, the next piece halfway to his open mouth.

“I haven’t had ice cream in forever,” you effused, licking the remnants from the corner of your lips. “Do you like yours?”

“Yes,” he replies, strained. You watch him from the corner of your eye. There’s a blush high on his cheeks. Drifting into the car park, he catches your gaze, slowing beneath a stream of light coming from the street lamp above. Cast in a syrupy, honey toned veil, he holds out the pick to you. “Would you like to try some?”

You smile at this, and then wordlessly part your lips. Shouto visibly swallows as he feeds it to you. Sweet earthy flavours harmonised with a hint of bitterness flood across your palate. Chewing, you hold up your mostly eaten ice cream bar and gesture for him to finish it.

Like you, Shouto opens up in a silent request to be fed. You turn the tacky stick between your fingers so he can get to both sides. “Thank you,” he mumbles, gently brushing his thumb at your mouth to wipe away a smear of cream. “For the ice cream and for tonight”.

“What’re you thanking me for?” you smile, besotted. His arms rise to welcome you into his chest. “You’re the one that did everything”.

Shouto squints in obvious disagreement and dips to give you a kiss. His lips are careful, still sweet with vanilla. You feel the soft tickle of his breath to your cheek, fingers carding through his hair as you breathe each other in.

“Let’s go home,” he murmurs.

Arriving at the apartment together is somewhat odd. The air is charged. Where you’d bid any other date goodbye, Shouto crowds into the genkan behind you and locks the door. You shrug off your coat and the thin hair on your nape tingles as he places hands on your hips, guiding you to the side and slipping past you.

Shouto lingers and you wonder if he’s having the same thoughts. “Are you following me?” you tease lightly, giddy at his presence so close to your heels.

“I’m walking you to your door,” he says.

“What a gentleman,” you laugh under your breath. Turning to lean against the frame, fingers wrap around the handle behind your back. Head cocked, you add, “Gonna come in for coffee, too?”

Hearing the innuendo, his expression settles into fond amusement. He cups your cheek. You lean into the shallow of his palm and draw him closer with your eyes. He inclines his face, nudges his nose against yours, and your mouths come together, already soft and open. You kiss for a while, before his lip curls and you both devolve into quiet laughter.

Breathless when he pulls away, you say, “Goodnight, Shouto. Thank you. I really enjoyed myself”.

“Sleep well,” he returns. “I’ll see you in the morning”.

Upon entering the solace of your bedroom, you’re overcome by an urgent giddiness. The energy has you bouncing on the spot, a squeal building in your chest that you don’t release until your face is buried deep in a pillow.

Sleep finds you in the early hours, creeping in amongst your tumultuous thoughts, mentally listing the options of what to do for the second date.

It’s as though you blink and morning shutters in. You stretch, limbs caught in the covers, and shy away from the light bleeding through your curtains. As senses sharpen and your body wakes, the distant sound of pots and cutlery draws your focus.

Your feet drag on the cool floorboards, dazedly wandering towards the tantalising smell pouring out from the kitchen. Shouto stands at the sink in a wrinkled shirt, the hem falling over his red boxers. There’s a slight bounce to his step as he moves, and his expression visibly brightens as he notices you.

“You’re perky this morning,” you mumble, still one foot in sleep, rubbing at the corner of your eye. “What, did you have a hot date or something?”

Hearing the affection in your voice, Shouto flashes a small grin. He slumps against the counter, leaning to check on the rice cooker. Steam curls up into the air. “A really hot date,” he affirms. A smile pulls at your lips.

You notice the two bowls already set out and turn to the coffee machine to pull out a second mug. “Sure there’s enough water in that?”

“Yes,” his puffy eyes narrowed. “I remembered this time”.

You hum, satisfied. Shouto drapes himself around your shoulders and you turn to press a soft kiss to his bare collar, exposed by the loose material of his sleep shirt. The roommate act falls away. “When do you need to leave?”

A warm breath brushes your temple as he sighs, “About twenty minutes”.

“You should go ahead and get ready, then. I’ll plate this up”.

Shouto nods with some reluctance. While he’s gone you fill his bowl and break an egg into it. Adding a little soy sauce and a dash of salt, you whip the rice with a pair of chopsticks until the egg is golden, turning foamy and giving the rice a tender texture. After repeating the steps you sprinkle mixed seasoning over both meals.

You set his coffee down on a coaster as he jogs out into the living room, hair lazily styled and his hero suit zipped to his midsection. “Thank you for the meal,” he says, slightly faster than usual, before proceeding to shovel the rice into his mouth.

“Don’t choke,” you pluck a sticky grain of rice from Shouto’s cheek and eat it. He blinks at you as he chews. “At least give me a few years first”.

The crinkles by his eyes deepen, scar tissue pulling taut. You swallow a hot mouthful of coffee to distract yourself from the way he visibly brightens. “I can give you more than a few,” he replies.

Heat prickles beneath your skin, “No romancing me at breakfast”.

Shouto laughs warmly. And with that you finish your meal together. He departs for work in a hurry, kissing the top of your head and calling out as he goes,

“Have a good day, love. I’ll see you at home”.

[elesianne]

Some resources for Silmarillion fic writers, artists, and general enthusiasts, 2023 version

I made a new version of this post since the old one now has some dead links .

The Silmarillion, full text by chapters - the thing itself.

Laws and Customs of the Eldar, full text from The History of Middle-earth: Morgoth's Ring. This essay written by J.R.R. Tolkien, with commentary by Christopher Tolkien, includes information on the elven life cycle and marriage, roles of men and women, Noldor naming customs, the fëa and hröa, death and rebirth, and the complex matter of Finwë & Míriel & Indis. Whether you want to write ‘LaCE’-compliant fic or not, it’s interesting reading.

The Silmarillion Writers' Guild Biographies are great, comprehensive summaries of what Tolkien wrote about a particular character, complete with quotations and references, with some commentary. They’re written by many different contributors so they differ from one another but all are useful when you want to learn about a character. (Older version, characters listed alphabetically)

Henneth Annun character bios contain less commentary but there are lots of them, including for minor characters, from the Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, The Hobbit and LotR. Bios include facts and quotes about the characters.

Heraldic devices of Silmarillion (and LotR) characters, including heraldic rules among Elves etc. Some are copied from Tolkien’s original drawings while others have been drawn based on descriptions in the books.

Timelines for the events of the Silmarillion on Tolkien Gateway which cannot possibly be accurate for all of Tolkien’s conflicting versions, but they are still a very useful resource

Arms and Armours of the Eldar is a comprehensive list of quotations from Tolkien’s works concerning all things physically offensive and defensive.

Parf Edhellen Dictionary of Tolkien’s languages gathers definitions from multiple other sites. Easy to use.

RealElvish.net Name lists are an excellent resource for finding a name for your OC.

Please note that I cannot guarantee the security or accuracy of any of these websites.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Do you think Percy Weasley could have gotten on with your version of Tom? Like, obviously they'd need a situation to get past Tom's general Tom-ness, but Percy did do 12 OWLs (also where'd you get Tom's OWL scores I can't source it) and I feel that he gets a hilariously bad rap in canon for just... wanting to learn things and not be poor.

What's the Deal with Tom's OWLs?

Your second question first.

There is no source, we don't know canonically anything about Tom's coursework and scores beyond that Dumbledore said he did very well.

We gave him 13 to put him ahead of known canon characters like Barty Jr. and Percy and make him a super special boy (who to be fair would then be remembered for his overachieving mad academic prowess that turned out not to matter at all).

It's one of those things we made up in fics so as to be able to write stories in which we needed such a detail on hand.

Would Percy Get on with Tom

With mine and @therealvinelle's version? (see here)

No.

I actually think Percy gets the short end of the stick much of the time. As you note, even before he made the great betrayal of expressing doubt regarding Dumbledore, he was generally disliked by Ron, Fred, and George at least and when the split happened between Percy and the Pro-Dumbledore family it felt weirdly as if Percy had been excommunicated until he learned to admit he was wrong.

But that doesn't mean he gets along with Tom either.

Tom as a schoolboy would likely view Percy much the way Fred, George, and Ron did. He'd ask himself "who is this ponce with the over-inflated ego and need to please?" (never mind that Tom is doing the same thing himself, save that Tom excuses himself because "I am poor and Muggle-born" and no, Percy being poor doesn't count).

Tom would chafe at Percy's entire personality of unironic overachiever.

That Percy then does go on to get positions like secretary to the Minister would have Tom despising him on principle.

Tom as an adult would likely think that Percy's surprisingly reasonable and ambitious for a Weasley but would think nothing of his life/trials and tribulations and would probably just find it funny the complete ostracizing of Percy (to be fair a bit in both directions) over agreeing or disagreeing with Albus fucking Dumbledore on every batshit thing the man has ever said.

But Tom would not feel any personal connection with Percy and if ever in conversation with him would probably be very disinterested.

... And if they were to be trapped in a conversation with one another, I imagine Tom would still think to himself "who is this ponce with the over-inflated ego and need to please?" (nevermind that Tom at this point is a stylized Dark Wizard who sometimes refers to himself in third person by the fancy title he's given himself).

As for Percy, if he got to know Tom on any real level, he'd think he's fucking nuts (which he is). If he knew him on a superficial level--he'd either be a heated academic rival he distantly respects but wants to beat or if the man's older then an authority figure he wants to impress.

You said it yourself, some drastic thing has to happen to get past Tom's Tom-ness. And I just don't see what that drastic thing would ever be.

Just because Percy doesn't deserve his reputation among the family or Harry for that matter does not mean he and Tom Riddle would be buddies.

(Though it sounds like you really want this, anon, so you should just write the fic.

(gif credit by @franzias-cave)

(Also, as a caveat, I love this insistence that overachieving nerds must sit at the same lunch table and like each other. That that quality is alone that the stamp of friendship must be placed upon you both.

"You both took so man O.W.L.s!" - someone's grandmother at a Christmas party.)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Silver Lining 8

Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

Part of the Silverfox AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You lose yourself in the trance of your work. Just like you used to in the office. You have a way of blocking out the entire world when it's just you and words. You have your fingers curled into your lower lip as you reread what you hope it the last version.

You have one leg crossed over the other, jittering as you scroll. A sudden squeeze on your shoulder makes you jump and you clap your hand over your mouth to catch your scream. You swivel in the chair to face the disturbance.

Bucky looks amused as he steps back, dragging his hand away, "sorry," his voice is low and gritty as he tries to upset the quiet, "I called your name."

"S-sorry," you nearly hiccup, "I was f-focused."

"Seems like it," he hugs an armful of books, "almost done?"

"Y-yeah, the doc-- sh-should be up-da-dated."

He dips his chin and his eyes narrow just a bit, "you alright?"

"Ye-yes, you d-don't ne-need to w-wor-r-ry," your voice cracks as you check that all the changes are saved and log out of your account.

"Just.... checking," he murmurs. "I just know..." he clears his throat and shifts the book in his arm, "when you're worked up, you tend to.... never mind."

"St-st-stutter," you click out of the session and the PC returns to the login page, "I kn-know."

"I wasn't meaning it as anything."

"It i-is what it i-is," you shrug and stand to pull on your coat then gather your purse and your zip up folder.

"I really hope you're not upset."

"D-do you?" You counter, "you d-don't have to p-pretend."

"I'm not," he frowns, "look, I know I was a bit of a prick before but I'm tryna make up for it."

"S-sure," you say dully, "i-it r-really is f-fine. Let's get th-this done."

He's silent as his nostrils flare. He looks around then looks at you, taking in your purse and your lilac leather folio.

"So... what happened to the computer?"

You look away, "y-yeah, it--it fell," you sniff, "I-I'll get s-something else."

"Explains a lot."

"Wh-what?"

"Why you're at the library. I get a very homebody type sense from you."

"Y-you d-do?"

"I'm the same way," he says, "I'm not a fan of the general public."

"F-figured," you agree.

He tilts his head, "I deserve that."

You don't reply. That's that. You're both socially inept.

"Ready to go? You wanna look around first?" He asks, sweeping back a grey swoop of hair as he it falls forward.

You shake your head. You're really not feeling well. You don't know if it's the lack of sleep or the dregs of your flashbacks, you just feel so off. Like something really bad is going to happen.

He gestures you ahead of him as he pivots on his heel. You take the lead and head for the front doors. He follows not far behind. He must've already checked out as the censors doing chime at his passing. Outside, you stop short, realising you don't know where you're headed next.

He collides with you from behind, grunting as his hand briefly clutches your side. He apologise and sidles away. The contact makes your face burn against the bitter chill.

"Parked over this way," He points ahead of himself.

You walk beside him and turn off into the lot. There aren't many cars and you wait for him to get in before you claim the passenger's side. He starts the motor and adjusts the heat, asking if you're cold but getting only a shrug in return. Your mind is far off and hard to rein in.

Before you know it, the car is moving. It isn't until the tires crunch of snow and he turns into a driveway that you fully process what's going on. You agreed to go to his place but why would you do that? Why didn't you ask yourself that earlier. Oh gosh, you need sleep. You need to get your head straight.

This is exactly why you're in therapy. It's why you're trying to change. You want to stop being that person who just lets things happen to them.

He turns off the engine and you just sit staring through the windshield. You want to go home but not really. Your family doesn't want you around to stain their perfect image. You're clearly better off with this man who can only tolerate you professionally.

“You okay?” He asks yet again.

“Yep, all g-good,” you shake it off. “Y-you said you h-had a re-re-recording set-up?”

“Sure, yeah, been working on it a while now but with the script coming together, I finally got my ass in gear and got the last few pieces,” he explains.

“Must h-have been ex-expensive.”

“Eh, I budgeted,” he pulls the handle on his door, “no use staying out in this cold.”

He gets out and you do the same. You trail him up the shoveled walk, glistening with a thin layer of sparse snow newly fallen. The house is pretty nice. It's not too dissimilar to your parents but there are no bright Christmas lights or ridiculous inflatable decorations on the lawn.

He unlocks the front door and holds it open, ushering you in first. You're mindful not to step off the mat as you bend to unlace your boots. He steps in close and slips out of his own bulky boots. He stands first as you balance your purse and folio in one arm.

“Want me to take all that?” He offers.

You shake your head and straight, “g-got it.”

“Right well, you want something to warm up first?” He unzips his jacket, “I have some tea or coffee.”

“No, th-thanks,” you unbutton your coat, shrugging off one sleeve at a time. He takes it from you and hangs it with his own.

“Okay, I suppose I should show you around,” he sighs, taking out his phone as a soft buzz vibrates the case. “Not this guy again.”

He ignores the call and slides his phone into his back pocket, “the studio is in the basement. Best place to soundproof–”

He stops as you hear a car outside. He brushes by you in the entryway and pulls back the curtain over the window set into the door. You huffs again.

“Can't take a hint.”

“I c-can g-go. C-come back later.”

“Nah, it's fine,” he dismisses you as he opens the door, “go home. I'm busy.”

“Ah, come on, Buck, you're gonna ditch me out in the cold,” the voice wafts back on the crisp air as treads mulch in the snow. The timbre makes your heart knot, you swear it's familiar.

“I can and I will,” Bucky avows as he starts to close the door.

“Wait, wait,” the footfalls pick up and a large hand catches the door, “I'm here on business–”

“I told you, Steve…”

The name plummets in your chest. No, no, it can't be. It can't be him. It's a coincidence. The peek of a rolex under his jacket sleeve is just a coincidence, the voice is not the same, just familiar.

“Just hear me out, okay? You're gonna love this project,” the man bulls his way through the door, getting a grunt from Bucky in return. “I'll even pay you this time–”

The man's voice halts as he senses your presence, your dumbfounded gaze, the whole word zeroing in as your ears ring. It is him. It can't be. This has to be a dream. He only comes in your nightmares.

He looks at you and you know. He's real.

[prncssie]

caution! mdni 13k wrdz, best friend's bother!hobie x black fem! reader, hobie is twenty one, reader is 19, small town in the country, everyone knows everyone, a very brief moment of angst, reader is jealous, misunderstanding troupe (?) but quickly resolved, crybaby reader, kitchen sex w/people in the house, unprotected sex, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus, p in v sex, unprotected sex, facial, cum eating, open ending

miffy's note! this took me like two weeks to write which is so much faster than every other fic i’ve written in a while. i knowwww she has a lot of words but she is my baby and I hope everyone loves her as much as I do. enjoy <3 pls do not spam like my blog if you enjoyed it, feel free to tell me in the reblogs

there’s a waxy smell in the freshly opened soda shop, one that reminds you of the shiny tiles that line the floor of the high school you graduated from, the high school most people graduated from.

highbury high, smack dab in the middle of highbury hills. it’s the only high school for miles, operating on a set curriculum and generic uniforms. fits right in with the small town vibe.

“do you know what you want?” your long-time friend, maise, glances over at you. she’s a darling thing, curly hair braided into pigtails and tied with two white ribbons. her arms are crossed over her stomach, clothed in a white tank top just barely cropped. “there’s so many options, i can’t decide.”

you sniff, eyes glazing over the yellow tinted menu. your tongue skims over your lips, getting a taste of the vanilla flavored lip gloss. “i dunno. i don’t even think i want anything. i’m too nervous, like i’m gonna throw up.”

maise’s deer shaped eyes find yours in sympathetic understanding. “aw, honey. it’ll be okay. it’s been years, now. i doubt he even remembers.” her hands massage the kinks out your tense shoulders in a tight grip. “you were a kid, anyway.”

“yeah, maybe.” you offer a small smile in return. you find you’re disinterested in the menu, stomach rolling in its queasiness for the anticipated scenario. “i still don’t think i want anything. i don’t think i could keep it down.”

maise just shrugs and orders a rootbeer float for herself. she gets your anxiety but she’s never been the best at helping you through your emotions, even more so when she can’t relate. maise doesn’t have an older brother, not one with an attractive best friend that she used to have a crush on as a child.

with the acrylic, milkshake cup settled between the fingers of your friend, you both move towards the booths surrounding the perimeter of the retro-styled shop.

it’s really, very cute. quaint with pop music softly wafting from the speakers and a red, white, and blue theme consistent throughout. america’s sweetheart is what this place is known as, although you prefer to think it’s talking about a better, more ethical version of the country.

“you have to admit it’s kind of exciting, though.” despite your claims, maise still pops a second straw into the float and settles the cup between you. “i mean, your brother and hobie are coming home today and you haven’t seen hobie in like, two years. the last time anyone saw him was on graduation day, right? and then he packed up and left town. and your brother! he kept contact this whole time and didn’t tell anyone? doesn’t that bother you a little bit?”

you wait until she’s retreated to grab the straw between your thumb and pointer finger and tap a long, drawn out sip. the sugary sweetness does nothing to quell your nerves but it gives you time to come up with a response. “mm, not really. hobie is quen’s friend. plus, everyone knew he was gonna skip town. he didn’t like it here and he made that very clear.”

although your words convey otherwise, there’s a small seed of discomfort in your tummy. it would have been nice to keep you in loop, especially since you were under the impression that you and hobie were somewhat acquainted with each other. after all, he’s been good friends with quentin since elementary school and has known you for just about the same amount of time.

“okay but you’re not even curious? not even a little?” maise tilts her head inquisitively, lips drawn in a pout. “hobie is coming home after being gone for two whole years and you don’t care at all.”

“i didn't say i don’t care, mai. i do care and it's nice that he’s stopping by for a visit but let’s be serious, it’s hobie. in all the years we’ve known him, when has he ever committed to anything?” you turn your gaze towards your baby pink nails, shiny and just long enough to clack against your phone when you text. “i don’t want you to get excited over a summer romance that hasn’t even happened and won’t happen. we’re friends and barely that. his loyalty is with quen.”

you can feel the change in the atmosphere the longer you sit in silence. you’re hesitant to look her in the eyes and find a sudden interest in the condensation trickling down the side of the glass.

“uh huh. so if you feel all of that, why are you nervous? you don’t like hobie anymore, and he owes you nothing. what’s the problem then?” she rests her cheek in the palm of her hand, supported by the elbow resting on the table.

instead of answering her question, your hand smacks down against the table. it echoes in the empty room, filled by only you two and mr. terry, the owner of the shop.

“you know what, i have to go. it’s almost three and quen should be home soon. you know how punctual he is.” you grab your purse and sling the strap over your shoulder.

“chicken!” maise points a finger at you. she’s glowing with a toothy grin while watching you prepare to bolt for the door. “you can’t avoid it forever, honey.”

you brush off her comment with a hug and a wave. “whatever. love you. i’ll call you tonight with the details, maybe. bye!”

you all but run out of the shop, white sundress blowing with the opposing force of your movement. it’s not quite three o’clock yet but leaving is better than letting maise interrogate you further. she’s a riot but she got you pinned up against the wall and there’s nothing fun about being forced to answer her questions and face the music you’ve been tuning out for weeks. at least now you’d have some time to freshen up before the great arrival.

by the time you’re finished primping and set the hot curler down to refresh your styled silk press, you can hear the engine of your brother's lexus rolling into the driveway.

you lean forward and tug the curtains back in a firm grip to peak out into the driveway. between you and quentin, you received the larger room with the connected bathroom and it offered a perfect view of the front yard. said view is particularly handy for times like these.

you watch the driver door pop open, breath hitched in your throat and refuse to make any movements until you get the answers you're looking for.

a polished sneaker makes its appearance and becomes stationed on the white pavement. a body follows, tall and stocky and unlike the statuesque frame you’re subconsciously excited about.

pushing yourself even more to your feet and across the expanse of your vanity, you flick the latch of your window until it clicks to signal its unlocked. you push it up with such force that it soars much farther than you anticipated but that’s the least of your concerns right now.

“quentin!” you yell from your bedroom with a wide smile and a vigorous wave at your older brother below you.

your voice gets his attention and he snaps his head in your direction. “ ☆ !” he mirrors your expression, arms open wide in a hug as if he expected you to fly down into his embrace. he bumps the car door closed with his side. “i’m coming up.”

quentin’s words don’t stop you from flinging your door open, running down the stairs, fingertips grazing the wooden railing as you go. to some it may seem odd to be so cheery over the reappearance of your sibling but he’s your best friend, a staple part of your life to which you’d be lost without. if you aren’t running to the front door to see him, then there’s clearly a problem.

he’s already in the entryway, though, and peeling off his jacket to hang in the coat closet. the pittering of your feet long alerted quentin of your presence so he’s not shocked when you’re throwing yourself at him. “jeez, girl. did you eat a whole cow? you’re strong as shit.” his arm comes to wrap around your back and become settled between your shoulder blades.

“shut up,” you roll your eyes in return and separate yourself from him. you give him a once over, from the two strand twists at the top of his head, across the gray nike tech, and to the pristine white laces of his shoes. “wow, you really don’t look like you belong here anymore. that’s crazy, quen. you’re all grown up.”

“yeah well,” he pushes the closet door closed, waiting for its creaking hinges to silence before continuing his sentence, “gotta get out of this town someday. not you, though. you can stay. it suits you.” quentin’s eyes are filled with a brotherly fondness while giving you a similar once over. “where’s ma?”

you follow him to the bathroom to watch him wash his hands. “at work. dad, too. told me to text them when you get home but, uh, where’s all your stuff?”

quentin flicks his wrists into the sink and side-steps you. he rounds the corner to enter the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge and popping it open. “oh, it’s at hobie’s place. i figured i’d leave the extra shit there since he has his own crib. do you know what mom’s making for dinner?”

you’re still trailing behind him, now leaned against the countertop with your arms crossed over your chest. when you’re face to face with the source of your turmoil, it’s hard to pretend it doesn’t exist. “so he really is back in town, huh.” it's not a question with the way you say it, staring at your fluffy sandals designated for wearing inside the house.

“mhm. forgot how talkative people here are. news spreads fast.” he pulls out a container of last night's leftovers and sets it beside you, already closing the fridge and moving on to find a plate. when his eyes find their way back to you, he’s surprised to see you glaring at him. “why are you looking at me like that?”

“because i’m a little upset that you didn’t tell me he was coming home. i get it if he didn’t want to draw attention to himself but it’s just me. i thought we were all cool.”

“we are all cool. it just slipped my mind, swear.” quentin bounces around the kitchen. he’s still engaged in your conversation though his sole focus is getting some food in his system but every now and then, he’ll glance at you while scooping fried rice onto a plate. “i didn’t intentionally not tell you. i just had a lot to do with the packing and the whole coming home thing. plus, you just finished your first year of college so i didn’t think you’d care so much. which you also still have to tell me how it went,” he puts the fork in his mouth and sticks the plate in the microwave.

“quentin,” you’re tempted to stomp your foot, no matter how childish it will come across.

“i didn’t exclude you on purpose, ☆ . i forgot and i’m sorry. next time, i’ll tell you as soon as i know.”

you’re somewhat pacified with his response, tossing his words over and over in your head until your concerns are soothed and the gloomy feeling dissipates. “fine but you have no idea what i had to go through with maise today. i swear she had all these theories and speculations about what its going to be like that i could have avoided if you told me.”

the microwave beeps, ringing its alarm that the timer has finished all throughout the kitchen. quentin is quick to take out his steaming plate and make his way towards the table with you still in tow. “oh, maise! how is she? i haven’t seen her in a minute.”

“she’s good. good grades, likes her college, majoring in child development. who cares, though. i want to know about hobie. it’s been two years.” you sit next to him, even going as far as pushing the chairs closer as if the topic needed it, as if hobie is a taboo subject.

“he’s great. he’ll be by later, said he wanted to stop by and see you and then he has to make his rounds.” quen shovels a forkful of food into his mouth. he’s eyeing his plate with an almost blank stare. you’re too close for him to feel comfortable looking at you, expectantly. as if he’s going to drop some big news about hobie’s return.

he's not an idiot. he knows, knew, about your crush on his best friend. it was obvious watching you go through all the childish phases, giggling to clinging onto to him to trying to play it cool. quentin has seen it all and he doesn’t think he can handle watching your excitement grow and dull when hobie ultimately makes his decision to leave. “he’s got that place he rents out when he’s not here. don’t know how long he plans on staying, though. when i asked, hobie said two months so i guess we’ll see.”

you’re blissfully unaware of the idea that quentin’s words are for your sanity, to calm the budding excitement as you gather strands of your hair between the tips of your fingers and stare at the freshly trimmed ends. “that’s nice. maybe he’ll come to the summer festival in a few days.”

that elicits a scoff out of your brother. “fat chance. hobie brown? he’s not showing his face at those things. he thinks they’re capitalistic holidays that prey on children. personally, i think he just really hates this town and is coming up with a bullshit excuse not to go.”

you let the bundle of hair between your fingers go and it drops back towards your shoulder in a soft heap. “did he say that or are you speaking for him?”

“he doesn’t have to say it, stupid. i just know.” quentin points his fork at you, flinging grains of cooked rice in your direction. despite the gross reaction that flashes across your face, all he does is laugh. genuine laughter with his head tilted back, clearly delighted to have bothered his dear sister. “it was an accident. i didn’t mean to.”

“get away from me.” you scrunch your face in disgust and shove the chair away from the table. it screeches against the floorboards with each movement. “you don’t point your fork at someone, dumbass. that’s fucking gross.” you say as you rise to your feet and make your exit, rolling your eyes on the way out.

it’s futile to pretend you aren’t looking forward to hobie pulling into the driveway. behind the closed door of your room, you barely watch the virgin suicides. the volume to the movie is turned down so low, you can almost hear your neighbor’s dog trotting on the pavement enjoying its walk. you’ve even gone as far as to open your window just in case you’d be too preoccupied to hear him as is.

you haven’t bothered to change out of the pretty dress, wanting to give off the best first impression you possibly could. after all these years have passed, it’s nearly critical that hobie sees you as you are, an adult. not because you still harbor feelings for him, but because that’s what you are now. you’re all grown up, just as he is.

quentin’s asleep in his room and offering you no answers as to when his friend is actually arriving nor did he request you to wake up when he does so. it’s only right to assume he’d rather stay asleep when hobie arrives then, isn’t it? especially after such a long trip.

hence why when the sound of hobie’s motorcycle reverberates through the glass pane of your window, you roll off your bed and to your feet with a sudden quickness. contrary to the excitement you greeted your brother with from your upstairs bedroom, you close the window the moment you reach it.

as soon as the white latch clinks shut, you’re flying out the door and down the stairs. the tips of your fingers graze the railing, only truly grasping it when you find yourself losing your balance at the speed you’re moving. if only maise could see you now.

you pull the front door open before hobie has a chance to ring the doorbell with such force, he flinches. there’s still a finger hanging in the air, adorned in silver rings and what seems to be a hand tattoo. that same hand is connected to a body, just as tall as you remember. your eyes trail as far as his shoulders, gaze already tilted upwards and too nervous to continue. it never occurred to you what being face to face with hobie would mean, would entail.

you didn’t think about him and his pine scent, paired with the natural musk of being outside. not once did you even think about the possible changes he’d go through within the past two years. even without looking at his face, you can already point out differences. he’s leaner, more muscles protruding from his tank top. grungier too, with dark wash baggy jorts sitting so low on his waist, you can see the calvin klein boxers peeking through the bottom. if you thought seeing hobie show off his toned stomach was a lot, the sight of the ink on his arm has you at a loss for words. a full sleeve of various line art and doodles.

you’re sick to your stomach.

“you’re back in town!” you finally gain the courage to look him in his eyes and nearly fall to your knees. “and you pierced your face!” your eyes dart between the nose piercing, the lip piercing, and the eyebrow piercing. slowly, you soak it all in, including the shoulder length locs tied into a ponytail. only after all of that do you look him in his eyes, filled with the same warmth and wonder as they were two years ago.

“ ☆ !” hobie’s face lights up with the same childlike glee as before, too. it’s like nothing has changed when he throws his arms around you to envelop you into a tight hug. “you noticed, did you?” he chuckles, deep and smooth right in your ear. unfortunately for you, it sends spirals into your stomach.

“do you like them? i want to get my tongue pierced this summer, too.” he finally pulls away and reveals his toothy grin, full of dazzling white teeth that can only come from regularly visiting a dentist. “but how have you been? i haven’t seen you in forever. you’re so . . .” he gives you his own once-over, much shorter than the one you gave him, “not a little kid anymore.”

you aren’t too sure what to make of that but you step aside anyway to welcome him into your home. suddenly, you’re far more nervous than you were at the mere thought of hobie coming over. he was intimidating just as a concept but in person? he’s even worse. he’s too pretty and composed. “i’m so not a little kid anymore?” you try to offset your awkwardness by turning the situation back to him.

“yeah. i mean, you look nice, ☆ .” hobie stands with his hands in his pockets and a lazy smile. there’s not one ounce of embarrassment or hesitation written on his face. however, it oozes out of you. “so, where’s your brother at? he’s supposed to be going around town with me. it makes it less weird if we’re both there.”

“oh, quen fell asleep a few minutes ago.” you say with your back to hobie, disguising your reluctance as a sudden interest in turning the lock rather slowly. “you’re welcome to wait until he wakes up but he’s out cold.”

hobie clicks his tongue with a sigh, eyeing the walls of your childhood home. it’s still lined with the same family portraits and kindergarten crafts. there’s even his own graduation picture on the mantle, sandwiched between yours and quentin’s. he snorts at the sight, dressed in the same black graduation cap and gown but missing some of the cords adorned by the others. not only was hobie not too involved in the community, but he merely did what he had to in school with the exception of a few clubs and hobbies. “no, he’ll probably be knocked for a while. i’ll just do it later, i guess.”

you nod, hugging yourself in a tight grip. your act to self soothe during your one-on-one isn’t very effective. the air feels thick with tension. you have the impression that it’s one-sided because hobie turns to face you. 

“how about you come with me instead? we can ride around and go to that one park we used to go to as kids.”

for a moment, your heart drops to your feet. staring into his eyes does nothing good for your nervous system. as much as you attempted to convince both maise and yourself that you harbor no feelings towards hobie at all, everything in you is screaming otherwise.

your eyes settle on the floorboards and you sniff. “i don’t know. i don’t think i’d feel comfortable on your bike. don’t you have to wear gear and stuff?”

“well, yeah i’m supposed to.” he shrugs. his head is tilted to one side. “i don’t, though. not here at least. if i’m on the highway or in a big city then yeah but not here. nothing ever happens here.”  parts of the hobie you subconsciously fear appear as a shadow on his face. the corners of his mouth twitch downwards and his eyes become clouded, but only for a second. “we can take your car if you’d like. i saw it in the driveway. it’s cute.”

he’s referring to the little volkswagen beetle parked just outside with a tan exterior and a decorated interior. it’s full of flower vent clips, pink seat covers, and scented with gain car air freshener.

“um,” you busy yourself by smoothing your hands over the skirt of your dress. suddenly, you’re reflecting on the fact that you are somewhat dressed up. sure, you curl your hair and wear cute dresses on the regular but never have you worn a cute dress, curled your hair, waited for someone to come over, and beat them to the door before they could announce their arrival. “sure. i guess we can do that. i don’t want you to think you have to, though. you came for quentin and he’s asleep so don’t force yourself.”

you’re surprised when hobie laughs, nose wrinkling with genuine enjoyment. he shakes his head and places his hand on your shoulder. it engulfs your skin like a warm blanket and gives you a squeeze. “never change, okay? you’re so sweet. get your keys and let’s go.”

there’s a strawberry field just across the park guarded by a wire fence. some kids gather around the edges and pluck the berries off the overgrown branches that poke just close enough for them to reach with their little fingers.

the breeze carries the sounds of high-pitched laughter and squeals from the children running about. with school just recently letting out, the park is well occupied. it’s a surprise to no one to see a crowd of elementary schoolers running around the slides and pushing each other on the swing.

you sit at a bench. the metal is warmed from the sunlight beaming down. you have your phone in your hand, pumping out back to back texts to maise filled with terrible grammar and even worse spelling. to say you're panicked would be an understatement. you’re more than panicked. you feel so wrong about being here, more or less alone with your brother’s best friend. the same best friend that you’ve had the biggest crush on for years, only for him to disappear and for you to assume everything you’ve ever felt and thought would be gone with him. the same best friend who’s return brought back the juvenile feelings from your youth.

he’s gone to the ice cream truck parked in the parking lot to buy you both popsicles and therefore, giving you about five minutes to figure out your game plan. maise is no help. most her texts consist of “i told you so” and laughing at your inevitable demise. you feel just about ready to melt into the pavement and through your phone across the park, in no particular order. your nails just might break your screen with the amount of force between each push.

“are you mad at someone?”

you're quick to turn your phone off in the amount of time it takes for you to look up at hobie, standing in front of you with two popsicles, one in each hand. “huh? oh, no. it’s just maise. she’s being so stupid.” the frustration has yet to dissipate and your face shows it, huffing a breath of annoyance. “you’d think you ask someone for advice and they’d actually give it to you instead of making fun of you.”

“mm,” hobie has a seat next to you. he hands you the powerpuff girls popsicle, very obviously supposed to be styled after bubbles. its still in it’s wrapper and it’s a good thing at that. already the popsicle began to get a little soft in the summer heat. “advice about what?” he, himself, holds one of those spongebob ones that never come out right. for a moment, you consider that perhaps he’s reminiscing about the days where you, quentin, and hobie would run out at the sound of the ice cream truck and get the silly cartoon popsicles, only to compare who’s looks the worst.

“oh, just about my classes. i don’t know if i want to take one of my electives or not.” you spit out the lie faster than you can really process it. you peel the wrapper off the popsicle and stick it in your mouth to give you an excuse not to speak.

“i definitely can’t help you with that. i didn’t go to college so i really wouldn’t know.” for a brief moment, hobie finds humor in the distorted face of his spongebob popsicle before taking a small bite of the cold corner. “what’s it like? do you like it?”

the question makes you sigh. there really is no response you can give him that would push the conversation forward, especially when you have been asked the very same thing so many times by almost every adult in your life. “um, it’s okay. it’s hard, y’know, to find the motivation to make myself go to class and there’s always some sort of drama going on between someone and someone else.” you reminisce on the boy and friend drama you’ve both witnessed and experienced from a bittersweet perspective.

hobie nods, watching a group of giggling ten year olds run by. they seem to be participating in a game of tag, their cheeks rosy and eyes glistening with what can only be found in childhood. “can’t believe you’re in college now. that used to be us, playing at the park and then going to your house to have dinner.”

you don’t mention that hobie didn’t come to your graduation. instead, you kick a rock by your foot and change the topic of the conversation. “so, if you don't go to college, what do you do?”

“i’m a server at a restaurant. it makes pretty good money, actually. i can afford a one bedroom apartment in the city so i don’t mind. i’m in a band now too and sometimes i make stuff to sell.” he pulls out his phone for a split second to check the notification that vibrated in his phone before sliding it back into his pocket.

you’re grateful that he doesn’t outright tell you what he makes so you’re able to participate in the conversation and ask him, “what kind of stuff?”

“oh, like paintings, crochet stuff, stuff like that. arts and crafts that people like to buy. it does pretty well since that kind of thing is trending.” 

the conversation falls a bit flat after that. you fault yourself, too self conscious to relax around him. a part of you is overjoyed to have him back and another part of you feels like a neglected afterthought. all this time, hobie was doing just fine. he was living his life and choosing who to keep contact with. it hurts your heart that he didn’t consider you at all but is so comfortable with returning and acting like nothing has changed. perhaps he didn’t take you as seriously as you would like.

“oh, that’s cool.” you try not to sound too sour when you say it. “it’s great that you made a life you enjoy.” you watch a blue drop of melted popsicle roll down and drip onto the white plastic gripped between your fingers. gravity continues to pull the droplet down towards the stick and it stains the wood blue.

hobie glances at you, eyebrows knitted together. he takes in your expression and the subtext behind it. it’s obvious what he’s doing behind his scrutinizing gaze. “yeah? you can be honest. you know that, right?”

“mhm,” you nod with a hum. you’re not interested in engaging any further with the topic. instead, you eye a ladybug crawling on the bench armrest. it’s not like you planned on discussing your deep emotional feelings with him anyway, especially not here. “i’m happy for you, really.”

you can still feel hobie’s eyes boring into the side of your face but the feeling does nothing to capture your attention and turn your head back towards him. instead, you nearly praise whatever higher power caused your conversation to be interrupted by an onlooker.

“oh my gosh, hobie brown!”

you both turn your head to the perpetrator. hobie is just as surprised as you are to see magnolia, from high school, walking up to you both. you don’t know her very well considering she was in the same graduating class as your brother but you’re aware of her.

truthfully, you’ve never liked her very much during your younger years. you despised the way she’d cling onto hobie and quentin, often forcing her way into their circle. at least, you’d consider it forcing. quentin always told you not to worry about it.

here she is again, forcing herself into your hangout with your supposed friend who’s there with you. she’s grinning as she walks up to you both, hands planted on her waist. you so badly want to judge her for her outfit choice but you know you can’t. it’s not like you don’t know what type of person magnolia is and how much she pushes the social standards most people operate with. still, something vile twists inside you and even more so when you catch hobie’s eyes wandering across her body.

that is also no surprise because you know their history. of course hobie wouldn’t be able to deny himself from staring at magnolia like this when she’s wearing daisy dukes, a tiny shirt, and so ready to reopen the book of their past.

“look at you. can’t believe you didn’t come by the moment you got back,” she teasingly smacks his arm with a tinkling laugh. her eyes briefly drift to your direction and she smiles out of politeness. “oh hey, sugar. tell your brother i said hi, would you?”

you nod and pull your lips tight. suddenly, what interest you did have died a painful death and you turn back to the ladybug as your only comfort. unfortunately, that too is gone and you’re left with nothing but the ability to listen in on a conversation you want nothing to do with.

“aw, maggie. don’t worry, i’m still planning on it. you’ll get a very special and personal visit, just for you.”

“promise?”

you nearly choke, face scrunching up in disgust. you’re not five and can read between the very obvious lines. you feel the need to remind them that you are quite literally right there and swallow the green monster making a nice home in your heart. “i don’t mean to interrupt but i have to get home and get ready for dinner. do you want me to give you a ride, hobie, or are you good?”

you try to hide your disappointment before hobie can say anything. you can tell by his hesitation and expression what decision he’s going to make, glancing between both you and magnolia. he’s going to spend some quality time with her. “i think i’m good but you should get back. drive safe, okay? text me when you get home.”

“okay. then, i’ll see you later.” you rise to your feet and dig your hand into your purse, searching for the keys to your car. “bye magnolia. it was nice seeing you again.” her words of the returned gesture fall on deaf ears as you turn and head back to the parking lot. there’s a frown etched on your face and you dump the mostly-eaten popsicle into the trash.

it never crossed your mind that you’re not the only one who is looking forward to hobie back around. you’ve been so used to viewing yourself as the center of the universe that not once did you think about literally anyone else who has been involved in hobie’s past.

you pull the door open of your car and get inside, staring out of the windshield. you feel so teenage girl romcom movie but you don’t know what to do about it. one half of you wants to sob and rot in your bed and claim your heart is broken and the other part of you just wants to go home, eat dinner, and call maise.

you sit there like that for a few minutes before eventually turning on your car and starting the drive home. sza blares through the radio and is your only solace on your lonely drive home.

“no! and then she just shows up and takes him?” maise pulls out two small boxes of sour patch kids out of the plastic grocery bags on the counter. her eyes are wide and she’s hanging on to every part of your story.

it’s been about a week and a half since that time in the park with hobie and you’re still reveling in the emotions of it. you have yet to make a decision on how to conduct yourself around him and as a result, have begun to avoid him. you find it’s better not to be near him at all than to stand there and know that he wanted you to leave him so he could probably have mind blowing sex with his small-town fling.

“she just walks right over and he basically starts drooling.” you’re also unloading various snacks and a liter of soda from the grocery bags. tonight, you both plan to watch movies and eat junk food until your tummies are threatening to burst and you’re both ready to pass out from exhaustion. “i’m so stupid. i should have known. we weren’t even in the same crowd back then. why did i think anything would be different now?”

maise pities you just a bit. she sympathetically presses her lips into a pouty frown and reaches over the counter to grab your hand. “poor baby. in your defense, you have more of a southern belle, sweetest girl in town thing going for you and hobie is the exact opposite. it makes sense why he’d go for magnolia. you two have nothing in common and you’re virtually inexperienced.”

“i have experience!” you begin to pile the various snacks into the bin you brought down from your room just for the special occasion. “i have plenty of experience.”

“you had one situationship for half of your first year of college that treated you like shit. that’s not experience, babe. that’s trauma.”

you whip your head to give maise a pointed glare at bringing up what you’re trying so hard to forget. that chapter of your life is over and it died the moment the academic year ended. “okay but the point is, i am not a baby and i bet i could fuck just as good as she can. he just sees me as a little girl and i can never change that.”

“so what are you going to do?” your friend leans against the counter on the opposing side of you. she crosses her arms over her chest after adjusting her black leggings as they have risen above her ankles.

“nothing,” you say with a sigh. you grab the basket and hoist it onto your hips. “like i said, he sees me as a child. i’m just going to do what i’ve been doing, nothing. ignore him. just keep my distance until he goes home and forget all about him.”

what you don’t tell maise is that magnolia isn’t the only one. sometimes, the habits from your childhood return and you sit yourself at quentin’s door with your ear pressed up against the wood. you listen to his conversations with hobie, sometimes on the phone and sometimes in person, about his recent endeavors with the locals in town. so far, there has been at least one other girl since magnolia. whether he bounces between spending his nights with the two, you’re unsure and you don’t think you even want to know.

maise begins to open her mouth to say something but snaps it shut at the sound of the front door opening. there’s an irregular pattern that comes from two people coming through the door and for a moment, your face flashes with panic.

“i’m beginning to hate going out with you. every single time there’s always some girl ready to — oh hey.” quentin stops in the middle of his sentence as soon as he spots you standing in the kitchen. he jumps a bit, not having expected to see both you girls watching him walk into the house. “what are you doing here, maise?”

“we’re having a movie night.”she rises to standing and positions herself at your side.

“the sun is still out.” quentin lifts a finger to point to the window with the blinds open. sunlight streams through the trees of your backyard and reaches the living room.

“yeah. we just came back from the store and now we’re pregaming by talking shit.” she throws an arm around your shoulder, taking notice of your silence and lack of movement. it’s almost like you’re not breathing and it’s definitely because hobie is standing right there in all his glory, smiling right at you. maise using her grip on you to subtly nudge some sort of humanity back in you.

“anyway,” you clear your throat and take a sudden interest in reorganizing the bin of snacks, “we’re going to get going. we have a lot of girl stuff to talk about so see you later.” you take maise’s hand and take the lead in walking past the two and up the stairs of your house. you don’t miss the quizzical looks from both men at your hastiness to get out of being around them.

frankly, this isn’t the first time you’ve made a bolt to get out of being in the same room as them, but only when hobie is around. however, no one makes a move to question it and lets you do as you please. to quentin, it’s a sign you’re no longer hung up over his best friend and is far better than getting your hopes up for nothing. to hobie, you’re abhorrently avoiding him for some reason and he can’t stand it at all.

it makes him antsy, as if there’s some big impending doom coming that he won’t be able to stop. it makes him uncomfortable to see you get along so well with others and flee the moment he steps into the room and oddly enough, it’s only ever started happening since that one day. was it something he said or did? surely it can’t be because he didn’t accompany you back home. after all, you did text him to let him know you made it safely like he requested so he thought everything was fine. what is going on with you?

it’s somewhere between the hours of two and three am when you make the decision to trek downstairs for a cold glass of water. maise had fallen asleep on the left side of your bed a half hour ago and you had beaten her. you won by staying out longer than she did and decide to reward yourself with a neutral drink to wash the syrupy taste out your mouth.

the house feels awfully cold during such hours of the night and you regret leaving the warmth of your room in your oversized shirt and little pink shorts. both of your parents came home hours ago, wished you a fun night and retired to their beds in preparation for work the next day. you’re assuming no one else is awake with the only other options being quentin and hobie, if hobie is even here.

you sniff and rub your hands along your arms as you round the corner and enter the catch. in the darkness of night and with your squinting eyes, you use what spatial awareness you have to guide your way to the glasses in the cabinet.

you just manage to wrap your fingers around it before there’s some sort of shuffling behind you. you’re unnerved, almost dropping the glass in the time it takes you to look over your shoulder at the perpetrator. “hello?” you try to make out the form in the dark and find purchase in the knife drawer in front of you.

“it’s just me.” the voice is gruff and familiar and washes over you like a relaxing wave of warm water. “sorry, i wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“hobie?” you lean towards him to make out his figure in the shadows. the moonlight does little to aid in visibility. there is only a pale light struggling to come through the window. you have to reach over and turn on the stove light just to see him since your eyes have yet to adjust. “i thought you went home?”

“i did. i went to see my parents and it went just about as well as i thought.” hobie takes a seat at the bar stools behind the aisle. he seems strained, running his hand over his face with a sigh. “so i came back because i like it here more.”

“why didn’t you just go to your own house?” you feel a little underdressed in your attire all of the sudden. sure, you are preparing to go to sleep and in the comfort of your own house but you’d hate to give off the impression that you’re walking around without pants on.

“because i like it here more. pretty sure i said that,” now he’s rubbing his eyes, sitting up to lean against the back of the chair. “if you’re getting a glass of water, can you get me one too?” hobie’s lips turn up into a small, sad smile. his eyes look tired, worn out from whatever went down at his parents’ house.

you forgot all about the glass in your hand, looking down at it as if it’s appeared from the ether. “oh, you can just have mine. i’m probably going to go back to bed.” you’re still dead set on ignoring hobie. for one,  it makes it so much easier to get used to the feeling of disappointment that he doesn’t see you when you literally don’t have to see him. not to mention, it’s difficult enough to look him in his eyes but to be alone with him and look him in the eyes? you have to go.

you set the glass down on the island and slide it over to him, prepared to take a quick and silent walk back to the safety of your room and your best friend asleep on your bed. “goodnight, hobie.”

you don’t make it very far before hobie is speaking to you, again. his gaze is following your attempt at escaping him and it’s annoying him that this is probably the thousandth time you’ve evaded him. “what is up with you? i’m clearly going through something and would benefit from talking about it with someone. i literally just left your house and showed up again and you’re not even going to ask me how i got in?”

you try to not huff when you turn to face him with an eyebrow quirked. “what are you talking about?” you clench your hands into small fists, only to flex them and release what tension you carry.

“what am i talking about? you speak like, five words to me now. i don’t know what i did to make this happen and i’m sorry but you’re literally avoiding me. you came down here for what, a glass of water? you gave me yours before you even got one and now you’re going back upstairs so you don’t have to talk to me. what did i do?”

you shake your head at his words. he’s not wrong. you have been avoiding him and looking for any way out not to speak or be around him more than you need to. still, hobie doesn’t have to bring it up. he shouldn't have brought it up. what are you going to do now? “i still don’t know what you’re talking about. i haven’t done anything to avoid you. i just don’t want water anymore and i want to go back to sleep.”

hobie presses his lips together. he’s doing his best not to stare at you with hardened eyes so he turns away, looking at the countertop instead. his frustration is palpable but he’s sensible enough to restrain himself, to keep himself from turning it into an argument. “okay, go to sleep then. goodnight.” he taps his nails against the side of the glass, listening to the little plinks ro distract himself from the unrest in his soul.

you stand there, staring at the back of hobie’s head even though he’s dismissed you. you’re free to go with no repercussions but the guilt from doing so while knowing he wanted to talk about whatever is plaguing him is too much to handle. “oh my god, fine. what is it? what happened at your parents'?”

your feet drag all the way towards the island and you sit on the bench beside him. you rest your hands in your lap and stare at the numbers reading back the time on the stove. they’re green and a great source of something to look at that isn’t hobie.

“no, it’s okay. you don’t want to hear about my problems because it’s such an inconvenience to you. i’m just going to sit here and mope, maybe cry, and go home.”

“don’t piss me off.” you tsk, picking a strand of string off your shirt. your eyes cut to him in a sideways glare, urging him to talk and quickly before you change your mind. “what’s wrong? what happened?”

hobie pokes his cheek with his tongue. he stares at the ceiling before slowly closing his eyes. “i dunno, man. it was so bad. they think i’m a disappointment or somethin’. it’s written all over their faces.”

“that’s not true. they probably were just overwhelmed that you came home.” you do your best to reassure him but even you know that’s probably a lie. hobie’s parents disapprove of him, everyone knows it. they’re embarrassed their only son turned out to be some sort of punk neanderthal and actively denounce him in public.

“don’t kid yourself, dove. my parents hate me and you know it. we all know it. i went over and they practically screamed it in my face. we had dinner for five seconds and got into a screamin’ match about how i let everyone down by runnin’ wild in the streets.” he’s squinting now. “when have i ever run wild in the streets?”

you can only shrug, unable to give him a response. you don’t know what to say to him. there is no denying what he experienced. all you can do is listen and shrug. “i’m sorry about that. you’re not a disappointment. they just can’t understand why they like it here so much and why you don’t. that can’t be easy to understand.”

“yeah well, i’ll get over it. i’ll just stay away from them and they can stay away from me and we can all pretend we aren’t related.” hobie doesn’t sound bitter, he sounds defeated. he sounds like he’s been down this road many times before and expected an outcome no different than before. however, it’s only natural for a child to wish for their parents to understand them. “anyway . . .,” his head lolls to the side until he’s looking at you, staring at you, “why are you avoiding’ me?”

your lips curl into themselves and you feel the need to excuse yourself. “i’m not avoiding you. if you’re done with your rant, i’m going to go to sleep now.” you go to rise to your feet but your attempt is short-lived when hobie catches you with his hands on your shoulders.

“yes, you are. look. you’re trying to do it right now. you’re tryin’ to leave because i’m confrontin’ you about it. i’m not going to stop pressin’ you about it until you tell me.”

one look in his eyes and you can tell he’s serious. hobie has caught you alone in the dead of night. he’s got you face-to-face and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it but lie or tell the truth, neither of which would work here.

“i’m not avoiding you, hobie. i just –,” you avert your gaze until you’re looking at literally anything else, “– i just think it’s best if we keep a distance and remain cordial. we don’t have to be friends because you're friends with quentin. you don’t have to feel like you have to be friends with me.”

“what?” the man lets you go. his arms drop back into his lap and he’s looking at you as if you’ve just proclaimed your undying love for present day denzel washington. “where is this coming from? you’ve always been a friend of mine. we grew up together. just because i’m closer to quentin doesn’t mean we aren’t close at all.”

you rack your brain to find a way around the real reason by cherry picking the words until they form a sentence that makes sense. “well, yes but i’m not like you. i don’t think there’s anything you – i just – we aren’t the same. we’re in very different crowds and i don’t want you to force yourself to get along with me.”

“okay, we’re in different crowds. what’s that supposed to mean? i’m friends with you because you are different from me. if i didn’t want to be around you or anyone who isn’t the exact same as me, i wouldn’t have come home. you’ve never been insecure about our friendship before so what’s going on?”

you’ve just about reached the end of the line. you’re frazzled and unable to keep pumping out excuses. he’s just going to disprove every single one and deny you a reason to run away. he doesn’t get it and he won’t get it. there’s only one option left to do. every ounce of your soul is screaming at you not to, already burning from the humiliation but as far as you’re concerned, you have no other option. “you don’t get it. jeez, hobie, you’re so stupid. obviously, i’m avoiding you because i have feelings for you and you don’t feel the same. i don’t want to be around you when i know you’re just going to go out and fuck every girl in town.”

your little spiel is followed by silence. while what weight was lifted off your chest, your hands are beginning to sweat from the anxiousness. still, you’ve already said it and you can’t back down so you sit firm in your decision. your eyes still begin to water from the overwhelming emotion that comes with speaking your mind like that and being met with absolutely nothing.

finally, hobie tilts his head. “fuck every girl in town? what are you talking about? is that what people are saying about me?”

you burst into tears, partly because you took that as rejection and partly because you think he doesn’t care. he just brushed off everything you said to talk about his sexual endeavors. “you’re so mean. you’re so mean and you hate me and you want me to die,” you blubber through a watery gargle. your hands are unable to keep up with the tears that stream down your face. by the time you brush one away, there’s another one that takes its place.

“oh my god.” hobie’s eyes widened in shock at your immediate reaction. it happened faster than he can blink and he’s terrified that someone is going to wake up, find you crying, and blame it all on him. “why are you crying?” he pulls you into an embrace, tucking your head beneath his chin and into his chest. despite what many would think, his skin is awfully warm to the touch and it would have been comforting if he didn’t stomp on your heart.

“because i just spilled my deepest, darkest secret to you and you don’t care. you’re bragging about how many times you got laid instead of having human emotions.” you only sob louder as he runs his fingers along your spine in what’s supposed to be a soothing manner.

“i’m not bragging about anything. i haven’t even fucked anyone since i’ve been here. where are you getting your information from?” hobie can’t decide whether or not he’s concerned or humored. he lifts your head, but only briefly, to wipe the tears on your cheeks. the moment he sees your lip tremble, he allows you to go back into the comfort of hiding against him.

“i don’t have to get my information from someone. i just know. you literally left me for magnolia and i know that you’ve been seeing some other girl. plus, quen was saying something about every girl and you when you walked in.” your words are muffled in his shirt. you feel a little guilty because of how wet it is but then you think about how hobie wronged you and wish you soaked it with your sobs.

“okay, first of all, i did not fuck magnolia. i’d have to bash my head with a brick to consider doing that. second of all, i’m not seeing anyone. i’m trying to get a temporary job while i’m still here and i have to suck up to the manager because she doesn’t like me. and why is it my fault that people like me? i can’t stop them from liking me and i can’t stop someone else from talking about it. you’ve misunderstood every single thing and now you’re yelling at me.”

you sniffle and tilt your head up. there is suspicion and doubt written all over your face. “so if you don’t like magnolia like that, then why were you looking at her like that? like you were thinking about taking her clothes off.”

hobie reels his head back, giving you a similar mystified expression. “girl, what are you talking about? if i was looking at her any sort of way it was probably because she was standing in front of the actual sun and I couldn't see. i wear contacts and i forgot to put them in. you know i wear contacts so now i’m confused.”

for a moment, you don’t say anything. you sit there and replay his explanations over and over again, searching for any holes in his story. you slowly run your tongue over your lip as the embarrassment slowly sets in. he’s right, he does wear contacts. he got them senior year of high school and you suppose you just forgot. you forgot and cried and went on him for no reason.

hobie watches you come to the realization. he can tell it’s dawning on you when your face relaxes and forms into one of mortification. this is where he decides it’s humorous to him. it’s even more hilarious when he adds the cherry on top. “and your deepest, darkest secret? i already knew. it’s not really a secret if everyone knows.”

that brings you an entire new wave of waterworks but instead, they build and build in your waterline until they eventually spill over in an occasional spill. “so you knew this whole time and let me embarrass myself? and you’re rejecting me?”

hobie reaches off and tears a paper towel square off the roll. he shakes his head, bending the square into a smaller one. he uses it to dab your cheek with a tut of his tongue. “you have to stop crying. i can’t talk to you when you’re refusing to listen to me. at least cry silently or ask questions that i can actually answer.”

“no,” you take the square from his fingers. really, you snatch it and use it to clean your dribbling nose. “i’m so mad at you. i don’t want to talk anymore.” you take this chance to get off the bar stool and move towards the trash can. you’re still sniffling and occasionally gasping for air while you clean yourself up. “you knew this entire time and didn’t say anything? i’d rather you turn me down from the beginning than give me this false sense of security. you led me on.”

“no. no, i didn’t.” hobie watches you rinse your face with water. hearing his denial just makes you angrier.

“yes you did. you knew and you said nothing.”

“no i did not. you didn’t even ask me –”

“i don’t have to ask you because i already know. you’re the worst person alive and you only care about yourself –”

“ ☆ , listen. you’ve been assuming things for weeks and look where that got you. just, stop talking and let me speak, please.” his firm tone knocks any thought out of your brain and gets you to tighten up, real quick.

you look over your shoulder, not yet ready to look at him but finally ready to accept that you just might be wrong. you lift the neckline of your shirt over your face and use it as a method to dry it.

“in order for me to have led you on, you’d have to actually confess your feelings to me. at what point do you think i should have just walked up to you and say ‘hey, i know you have feelings for me that you aren’t ready to talk about yet but i just wanted to let you know that i’m not interested’? why do you assume that i don’t feel anything towards you, anyway? maybe i do but i don’t say anything because i know it’s not going to work. let’s think about it, i rarely ever come into town. you love town. at what point would i ever come along and see you?”

“you would get your ass on your bike and drive here like you did this time,” you mumble under your breath. you stand by the sink for a moment to gather your thoughts. you’re gaining clarity through the fog but now you’re drained. you’re tired and you don’t have the energy to feel displeased over whatever he has to say. it doesn’t matter what he has to say because in the end, it’s all going to be a no. “but whatever you say. we don’t work, okay. you’re leaving soon, okay. if that’s all, i’d like to go to bed now.”

“are you mad at me?” he asks from behind you, softly. he almost purrs it and it tugs at your will. you want so badly to let him in but he doesn’t want that and so you must persevere.

you shake your head with a breath. “no. i’m not mad at you. you’re entitled to your own opinion.” you put on the blankest expression you can manage and turn to face him. you cross your arms over your chest and manage to maintain what little composure you have.

he quips a brow at you, obviously not believing your claim and even more so when you don’t say anything to confirm it. “come here for a second.”

you shift your weight until your weight is all on your right side and your hip is popped. “hobie . . .”

“just for a second,” he outstretched his hand as an offer for you.

reluctantly, you take it and give no resistance when hobie pulls you into his personal space. his hands find your cheeks and squish them together until your lips are forced into a pout. “be honest with me, baby. are you mad at me?”

he doesn’t act surprised when you pause before nodding in response. “are you still going to be mad at me if i kiss you?”

hobie watches the thought go through your mind. you consider it and the consequences that come with it. it’s going to be a meaningless kiss because hobie has drawn the line. he can’t be attached to anything from this town and you know that. still, it’s an incredible opportunity to just pass up because of morality.

you shake your head.

hobie’s lips are soft against yours. there’s a subtly sweet taste but it’s possible you’re high off  oxytocin. again, you clench your hands into fists but this time it’s to restrain yourself from holding onto him and pulling him tighter. you have to keep reminding yourself that it’s a meaningless kiss.

it’s even harder to maintain that thought when hobie’s mouth fits so perfectly against yours. he doesn’t move his hands from your cheeks but the kiss grows heated, regardless. his tongue, wet and warm, runs over the expanse of your bottom lip before worming its way into your mouth.

you mewl when it finds yours and sucks. you have to tuck your hands behind your back to hold onto your composure. your feet betray you, though, by bringing you even closer into him and in turn, into his lips.

“are you done cryin’?” he kisses the corner of your mouth and jumps to the skin along your jawline. like before, he kisses and sucks the trail of skin from there to your neck. “because it wouldn’t be right if i just left you here.”

you squirm in your spot and do your best to conceal the whines that threaten to bubble up out of your throat. “hobie, you said – you –” you finally rested your hands on the tops of his thighs. the voice in the back of your head telling you to give in is getting more and more convincing with each passing second.

“what did i say?” he pauses his ministrations to catch his breath and give you a second to find yours. he isn’t sure how the conversation took this turn but he isn’t complaining. if anything, he’s hoping it’ll never end.

you stare at him in the yellow light from the stove. there’s still a chill in the air but you’re buzzed with need. suddenly, you’re hot. it’s sweltering even without the heat being on. you need to find a solution to your lust and quick. you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him back into you, deciding the solution right there in the moment.

your lips crash against each other with a burning passion. hobie stands up out of the bar stool, his hands circling around your waist. he takes steps forward and forces you back against the counter across from you. you don’t mind, entangling your hands within his scalp. you’re willing to let him do whatever he wants to you and it shows.

hobie turns you around and presses his hardening cock against the plumpness of your ass. you gasp at the feeling of him rutting against you with his breath fanning over your shoulder, warm and sticky. there’s something that takes over, a horny little monster that throws all your inhibitions out the window. you’re equally as turned on, rolling your hips back on his in tandem with him.

“fuck, okay. don’t get too loud.” he whispers under the sound of the fabrics moving together. out of he corner of your eye, you barely get a glimpse of him shoving his fingers in his mouth before sliding underneath your clothing. he pulls your shirt up in a balled up fist and watches his hand disappear beneath the waistband of your shorts and elastic of your panties.

they waste no time finding your clit, sticky and growing swollen from your insatiable desire. “already so fuckin’ wet.” he rubs the nub in little circles, growing accustomed to your body and what you like most. occasionally, his fingers slip and unintentionally fall too close to your entrance.

your mouth falls open in a tiny “o”. you throw your head back onto his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut and grinding against both his dick and his fingers. you’re sandwiched between pleasure and doing your best to keep your moans limited to a whisper. you grip the edge of the counter and you’re actually grateful for it. it’s the solace that’s keeping you grounded to reality because without it, you’re sure you would have soared to the sky. “d – don’t tease,” you pant. you reach behind you searching for hobie’s dick and you find it easily. it’s hard to miss with the hard feeling of it against your skin and you swear you feel it grow harder when you wrap your fingers around it, still clothed over his sweats.

“sorry, dove. whatever you want,” hobie flattens his palm against your pussy. his middle finger prod at your sticky entrance to test your reaction but it slips right in, much to your pleasure. he has to take it slow with your sensitivity but hobie savors every moment. he’s not in a rush, especially when your fingers squeeze and rub at his clothed cock. he’s ready to stick it in now if he truly wanted but hobie wants this moment to last. he wants to burn the memory into his head and stain his life with whatever effects you have on him.

“mmm,” you hum, spreading your legs farther to accommodate his size. just one of his fingers could make you feel so full that you’re nearly satisfied like this. you have to close your lips and run your tongue along the inside of your cheeks to wet them again. “that feels so good.”

“yeah?” hobie asks. he’s so focused on you, he doesn’t notice how you’ve also managed to get your hand under the waistband of his boxers. he only realized what’s happening when your hand brushes against the stubble of his pubes and wraps around his shaft. “oh baby,” he whines in your ear. you can feel his dick twitch and jump at the tightness of your palm. he nearly falls over your frame when your thumb begins to circle around his tip.

hobie’s fingers stutter inside you. they push farther, deeper, making contact with your g-spot accidentally. he hasn’t gotten a chance to stick another finger in before you’re whimpering and nearly finger fucking yourself with his hand. “oh my gosh, right there. right there, right there!”

if hobie could have laughed at you, he would have. however, he has better things to worry about. like how your voice is beginning to rise in volume and he just cannot have that happen. “shhh,” is all he can manage throughout his full-body shudders. he uses his other hand to drop your shirt and instead stick his fingers in your mouth. they serve the purpose he intended, muffling your noises. he didn’t anticipate for you to suckle on them as if it’s the last thing you’d ever have in your mouth.

that, paired with the handjob and your gushing pussy around his fingers, he could have came right then and there. he could have exploded in his pants and made you cum and end it there but he didn’t. instead, he forces himself to pay attention to you. he puts his pleasure on the back burner and pushes his finger deeper, even going as far as to stretch you farther by adding a second one.

with his fingers deep in your throat and drool pouring out the corner of your mouth, your legs begin to shake. your chest rises and falls with each heaved breath. if you weren’t forced into somewhat silence, you’re sure you would have been calling out hobie’s name, drunk of him and him alone.

he has no idea what words you’re gurgling but unless you’re chanting about how you’re on the verge of cumming, he doesn’t care. luckily for him, it’s almost certain that you were and it’s evident with how your body falls slack in his arms and your cunt spasms around his fingers. the sight is an ultimate turn on.

hobie pulls his fingers out of your mouth and wipes the saliva over your cheek. he takes the opportunity to yank your bottoms down until they’re confined to your ankles. you step out of them and turn around, reconnecting your lips with his.

once again, you’re kissing hobie as an act of hunger, pushing your lips so hard together that they nearly swell. you cup the back of his head to draw him in. you’re delighted to feel his hands on the globes on your cheeks and set you onto the counter. it’s cold on your skin and so you flinch but it becomes a faint thought when hobie’s hands are anchored on the backs of your thighs. he pushes them back until your feet are flat on the counter and your glistening pussy is all on display, still creamy from your recent orgasm.

“just gotta get a taste,” he mumbles, mostly to himself as he eyes the shining cunt open and throbbing for him. he wastes no time wrapping his lips around your puffy clit, slurping at your slick. he enjoys the sapidity that’s unique to you, tangy and a bit sweet, like a refreshing dessert he could eat for the rest of his life.

he can feel the juices drip down his chin and coat the lower half of his face but that doesn’t stop him from eating your pussy like a starved man. you have to bring a hand up to your mouth to muffle the moans, watching the hobie lick between your folds and lap at your clit. your eyes are ready to roll back when hobie’s tongue pokes at your entrance. you want so badly to scream, to pull hobie’s head even closer to your aching pussy but you can’t. you can’t risk moving your hand off your mouth, knowing that the moment you do, you’ll wake up the whole house.

you compromise by using your other hand to support your weight and shift toward, putting yourself a little more onto your toes. in this new position, you’re able to move your cunt along his face. you push farther, going as far as to brush your clit along hobie’s nose.

his response is to tug your body to the edge of the counter and wrap your legs over his shoulders. your lower body is solely held up by him, his shoulder, and his hands. he swallows every ounce of your slick and sears your clit with a kiss.

it doesn’t take long before you’re finding yourself closer to the edge of a second orgasm. you ball your shirt up and shove the jumbled mess into your own mouth. your brain is foggy. you can’t think of a single thought that isn’t full of hobie, the pleasure, and the need to cum, immediately. 

“mmmf,” you wrap your legs around his neck. dig your fingers into his hair, and tug just in time for another gush of cum to come flowing out of your pussy. every muscle in your body has relaxed and become putty by now. you’re at hobie’s disposal and you love that.

“you’re so perfect, i’m devastated.” he kisses your inner thigh, continuing to trail those kisses up your stomach, between your tits, and onto your lips. he doesn’t wipe the cum off his face as he does it. instead, he makes you taste it, wrapping his tongue around yours and wetting your cheeks with the stickiness as your arousal as he does it.

“no you’re not. you won’t stay for me.” you whisper between kisses, running your hands along his bare chest under his shirt. you grab the hem and pull it up until hobie inevitably allows you to pull it off. it’s discarded and tossed onto the floor.

“i won’t stay for anyone. you know this.” he disconnects from the kiss, but only for a moment. during this time, he drops his pants to pull out his cock, raging from watching you cum not once, but twice. in the darkness, you can make out an outline of it, long and skinny with a mushroom tip and bulging veins. he’s been straining this whole time but hadn’t complained at all, loving every second of pleasing you. he could do it for hours if he had the time.

you resort to pouting as hobie sets your feet back onto the ground. with his hands on his hips, he turns you back around until your back is pressed against his chest, once again. “just say you hate me.”

“keep saying that and i’ll shove my dick in your mouth.” he says, aligning his tip with his sticky entrance. you don’t mention how his threat holds no weight if you’d enjoy it. instead, you play into it and huff, resting your hands flat on the counter.

you brace yourself when hobie begins to push deep into you. the stretch is painful at first, enough that you have to grit your teeth and will yourself to relax through the shallow thrusts to ease his way into you. it only takes a few seconds before the pain is blooming into satisfaction.

he fits so well inside you, filling you as if he was created solely for this purpose. you reach up, resting your hand on his cheek for a source of intimacy in the slow thrusts. you use the leverage of the counter to push your ass back to meet his thrusts.

you don’t know how much willpower you have to continue standing on your own when hobie is doing such a good job of fucking you dumb. even with the slow pace, you have to give in, leaning over the counter. to hobie, this is leverage for him to take control of the situation. he slots a large hand over your mouth and the other rests on the small of your back.

almost instantly, his thrusts increase tenfold. you’re certain if this was done on a bed, it would have been rocking with such an intensity against the wall. you grasp his hand covering your mouth with yours, almost screaming into his hand.

“shh, you’ll w – wake someone u – up.” he leans over you. hobie doesn’t compensate for the sound of skin slapping against each other by speaking louder. instead, he gets closer to you and because of that, angles his dick deeper into your cunt.

in this new state, you can hear every soft moan and whimper that leaves his mouth. he’s not rough about it, almost singing in your ear. his breath feels moist on your skin and adds to the fire burning in your core. “just t – take it, baby.”

you almost sob, rising onto your toes and writhe underneath him. it didn’t occur to you that you’d be overstimulated by the time you’ve reached this point. as much of your fault as it is, you like to blame most of it on hobie for pushing it this far. you wouldn’t be tempted to push him away, feeling as though he would be forcing another one out of you, if he didn’t.

you’re still, almost stuck in place. he’s too good at delivering. your body craves more and less of him at the same time. you’re certain you can feel him in your throat, ready to pop out the other side and through your mouth if this continues long enough. it’s driving you crazy, so crazy you squeeze your legs together.

it doesn’t last long because coincidentally, hobie hooks his hand under your leg and pushes it onto the counter. your cunt squelches as it swallows his size greedily. he’s obsessed with watching his length disappear inside you and the white sheen that surrounds the base. “shit, you’re gettin’ tight. gonna make me cum.”

you can only wail at his words and press your forehead against the granite. your legs have begun to quiver for the second time that night and you’re almost certain your insides are about to explode. you’re unsure what is building up inside you but it’s drawing from somewhere deep in the pits of your stomach and you’re getting nervous. there’s not much you can do about it, nor can you think about it too much because hobie’s fingers are rolling your clit between them.

the bud is all swollen and practically hot to the touch. you’re dripping down your own thighs at this point. there’s a musk that accompanies sex in the air, thick and sending you into a daze. your eyes flutter closed before they roll back. you let loose, weak streams of squirt falling into the floor beneath you.

“holy fuckin’ shit,” hobie pulls out of you so fast, you whine and crumple onto the floor. he, as the kind gentleman he is, don’t force your weak body to move positions again. instead, he steps to your side and turns your head with a hand under your chin. “open your mouth for me. atta’ girl.”

you watch him through half lidded eyes jerk his swollen cock in front of your face until he’s spurting cum all over it. your tongue dangles open and catches what remnants dribble downwards into your mouth.

hobie’s equally sensitive body stands there for a moment to catch his breath. he slowly lowers himself onto the ground until he’s able to run his thumb over your cum-covered face to collect some of it on the pad of his finger and swipe it over your tongue. “how do you feel? want water or something?”

you wordlessly shake your head and crawl into his arms, despite the fact that your face is ultimately covered in his nut. you don’t mention that what you really want to know is what happens now. “just want to shower and sleep.”

he looks at you, half asleep against him, and then around the kitchen and the few pieces of evidence left behind. for one, the scent has got to go. “i’ll get you into the bath and i’ll handle the cleanup, okay? you just rest your pretty little head.”

you’ve already beat him to it, humming in response and envisioning the comfort of your queen sized bed. if you considered things awkward before, just what until you see how you try to navigate it in the morning.

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

What are some pro-team green fanfics you would recommend?

Ohh I've been meaning to recommend a few! Most of these are Aegon-centric because I'm generally more interested in him than Aemond, but there are a couple Aemond fics in here as well, and at least one that's Alicent centric.

a poison tree by @branwendaughterofllyr is a Dance retelling in which Daemon and Viserys' younger brother Aegon lived and had a daughter, and that daughter ended up being raised with the green children. Branwen tells a compelling story with great attention to historical detail, and although the story is green leaning, I feel it is fair to both sides. It has many POVs and really tells the story from many different angles, some some reliable than others.

My co-author @aifsaath's series The Skies Are Always Red Above Valyria is an entire Dance retelling that starts with Alicent as a lady at court before her marriage but eventually will progress to the Dance itself (and involves our beloved Baela/Aegon pairing). Aife's fics always feature impeccable worldbuilding and lush descriptions, so check them out.

The Wrath of the Queen by @florisbaratheons has just started but is very promising, featuring a more proactive Alicent who gets a cooperative if reluctant Aegon on board with her plan to put him on the throne following Driftmark, as well as fully fleshed out versions of the Baratheon and Lannister sisters. After seeing Cassandra Baratheon and Jason and/or Tyland Lannister cast as antagonists in dozens of Dance fics it's nice to see them get a fair shake.

The Dog Days Are Over is a Aegon/Helaena fix-it by @franzkafkagfn which they escape to Essos to start over with the kids. She also has another Aegon/Rhaenyra fic that is I'd say slightly more green slanted simply because much of the rest of the canon black faction doesn't exist per se.

This one has been on hiatus awhile but In The Ripe and Ruin by @kingsroad will forever have my heart as the first OC fic I ever got into, featuring gorgeous worldbuilding and one of my favorite iterations of Aegon. He's awful but also incredibly endearing. According to the author it's not going to be super canon divergent, and OC is Aegon's mistress through the Dance! Crossing my fingers that the author returns soon!

Would That They Were Not is a one shot by @navree that deals with Blood and Cheese and Aemond's feelings of guilt in the aftermath. It's heartbreaking! Blood and Cheese happens here the way it does in the book so if the show ends up changing it and you want an idea of how it might have gone down, this one is very faithful.

1968 is a modern AU by @inthedayswhenlandswerefew In which the wife of presidential candidate Aemond Targaryen, who is running against Richard Nixon in the 1968 election, forms a connection with the family screw up, his older brother Aegon. This is technically a readerfic (hear me out!), although I'd really call it a 2nd person POV because the "you" is a fully fleshed out character more so than a reader insert. I do not usually go for readerfic but opened this on a whim because the history teacher in me saw the premise and went "what on earth" and proceeded to be blown away by delicate character work, symbolism, and gorgeous prose. I actually got several friends who do not usually enjoy Dance fic OR readerfic fully invested in this one. Is it pro green? I guess? It's not set in Westeros and Aemond is a real POS but Aegon is lovely and the blacks don't really feature so I think it counts.

[obiwan]

Hi! I just started watching the Star Wars prequels and I want to read some obikin fanfictions but I don't know where to start so if you have any recommendations for me I could really asappreciated.

Have a good day/night!

Hii! I keep saying I'm going to do this because I have so many messages like this - and what I usually try to do is leave the most "famous" ones out of reclists, because most likely everyone has read them, but they were also the first ones I've read. So I will try to do a combination of both new and old fics which I consider "classics". Also a reminder that I have already posted this this & this before. And oh boy this got long.

✰(Explicit, Complete) When the Abyss Stares Back at You  by skyl_tales

Pausing the holovid, Mace looked from Anakin to Obi-Wan. "This holovid was taken on planet Revoran two days ago."   In the holovid, the golden-eyed Anakin looked at something just out of frame. There was something distinctly hungry and possessive about that gaze. It made a shiver run up Obi-Wan's spine--because he recognized that look. He'd seen Anakin look that way at Senator Amidala.

But it wasn't Senator Amidala who stepped into the camera's view. It wasn't Senator Amidala the Sith yanked closer and kissed.

It was Obi-Wan.  [Obi-Wan and Anakin are sent to investigate the sighting of a Sith Anakin, who appears to be in a relationship with an older version of Obi-Wan.]

This is one of my favourite Obikin fics, and if you enjoy time travel shenanigans chances are you will enjoy this too. skyl_tales wrote some of my favourite fics for this fandom, so if you enjoy this, I suggest you check their other work as well!

✰(Explicit, Complete) If I only knew by wanderlove

Newly knighted Obi-Wan Kenobi and his padawan, Anakin Skywalker, have been sent to Ryloth on a simple diplomatic envoy. While there, an unsettling incident causes Obi-Wan to look at Anakin in a new light and re-evaluate…everything.

The Galaxy will never be the same.

aka: "come for the obikin, stay for the tzai and deep emotional discussions that dismantle every single misunderstanding in the prequels."

Beautiful story!!!! This is honestly one of the most wholesome and "fix-it/what-if" kind of canon obikin fics I've ever read. I really really recommend reading this if you're just getting into Obikin and the SW-verse in general.

✰(Explicit, Complete) Moonlight Serenade by Lemon (@renlyslittlerose)

“Glad you came,” the man said. He pushed away from the lamppost and approached Anakin, his hand held out for him to take. “I realized I never properly introduced myself. I’m Major Kenobi, but you can call me Obi-Wan.”

Anakin took his hand and shook it, their touch lingering for just a little longer than was normally acceptable. It felt like holding on to fire. “Flying Officer Skywalker. But most call me Anakin.”

An accident in 1944 over the fields of France puts an end to Anakin’s flying career. Discharged and sent back to Canada, Anakin must confront the ghosts of his past and find a new path forward.

This is a WWII AU - so beware of that in the first place, but I have always enjoyed historical AUs, and this is very beautifully done. It spans over a long time (my favourite) and does it so well.

✰(Explicit, Complete) To Eden by Unfortunate17

Accused of masterminding the Jedi Temple bombing, Obi-Wan is expelled from the Order.

Anakin is left to pick up the pieces.

This fic. THIS FIC!!!! I don't have anything to say about this - read this fic (in fact read everything written by this author - they have a bodyswap fic called Gray Matter) I really enjoy their characterization of both Obi-Wan and Anakin and the story telling is amazing. Truly love them.

✰(Teen, Complete) Don't be Afraid. by spqr

Tainted by your encounter with the Sith, you are, Obi-Wan imagines Master Yoda saying. Fix you, we cannot. To the AgriCorps, you shall return.

“Padawan Kenobi,” Yoda says, after a moment. “Complete your training, Master Skywalker will.”

Another reverse AU! I realise this is one of those 'either you love it or hate it' tropes, but I do love it, so I include it in my recs. I enjoy imagining the scenarios of Jedi Master Anakin and Padawan Kenobi, so if you think that's something you would also enjoy, give this a chance!

✰(Explicit, Complete) Fearless and the Negotiator by @zimriya

Anakin Skywalker is a superhero. He spends his nights roaming the streets of Coruscant alongside his superhero partner—a man called the Negotiator whom he has never seen without a mask, and yet whom he loves desperately all the same. By day, Anakin works an uneventful nine-to-five at Jedi Inc., doing his best to remember that he cannot murder his coworkers—even if they are called Obi-Wan Kenobi and are the literal worst.

A superhero AU!!! I love his au because it's so well done and so well thought out (the details in this!!!) and I love enjoying Obi-Wan in white spandex. Like that's my bread and butter right there. Either way, if you enjoy marvel-esque superheroes and Obi-Wan and Anakin is the usual idiots they are, give it a go <3

✰(Explicit, Complete) if you love me, let it remain unnamed by @tennessoui

Obi-Wan Kenobi is grappling with his failure to protect his padawan from Dooku's blade. As the galaxy around them plunges into civil war, he overcorrects and refuses to allow Anakin's Knighting ceremony in order to keep him by his side where he will be safe.

His padawan is less than pleased.

Only trying to help, the Force overcorrects Obi-Wan's overcorrection and pulls them into an alternate universe where they run into a different version of Anakin Skywalker altogether.

But Obi-Wan Kenobi is also grappling with new, sudden, and insistent feelings for his padawan. He overcorrects by following the older version of Anakin into bed.

His padawan is less than pleased.

The Force….lets them figure this one out on their own.

OBIWAN GETS TAG TEAMED. OBIWAN GETS DOUB- [gunshot] Look, this fic is hot but beyond that, I loooove time travel shenanigans, and Anakin being pissed off at a future version of himself is so delicious.

✰(Explicit, Complete) Lex Talionis by @intermundia

The ancient Galactic Republic is dying slowly—an ugly death of corruption, sprawl, and decay—with the sin of slavery hanging over its every triumph. The beleaguered Jedi Knights are too few to adequately patrol and police the entire Republic, and are faced with complacency and greed at every turn. Born into a crumbling and stagnant galaxy, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker are faced with the greatest challenge of all: themselves.

Obi-Wan likes rules and control. When the galaxy around him stops playing by the rules, what is a Jedi to do? Anakin needs rules and restraint. When the galaxy around him conspires to set him loose, what is his Master to do? Falling slowly or falling fast, falling through lust or falling through wrath—it all leads to delusion and moral decay. What can be born from the ashes?

Or, how Obi-Wan and Anakin fell to the dark side, obtained their revenge, and saved the galaxy in the process.

An insane canon-divergence AU, this is so intricate and could truly be a movie of its own lol. It features (eventually) sith! Obi-Wan and sith! Anakin, so beware of that, but I don't want to spoil that story. Also that I would never rec any story that has a sad ending :)

✰(Explicit,A/B/O, Complete) i shouldn't cry (but i love it) by blahzarry

Obi-Wan knew alphas that liked to be taken existed. He knew it was possible. But not once in his life had he felt even tempted to try it.

...It's exactly what it says on the tin. Once again one of those: either you will love it or hate it kind of tropes I think, omegaverse is what it is. If you're familiar with it and the idea of an Alpha Obi-Wan growing to enjoy submission sounds like up your alley (it is mine,) then by all means!

✰(Teen, Complete) that mouth of yours looks like it gets you into trouble by @tennessoui

Obi-Wan Kenobi inhales a powder that compels him to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Good thing Obi-Wan doesn't have any secrets.

or,

by god, Obi-Wan Kenobi is forced to talk about his feelings. It's, on the whole, regrettable for everyone involved. Or it would be once everyone stops laughing about it.

Fairytale tropes! I've always loved truth serum/truth spell trope where one party is obliged to tell the truth. Add one repressed Obi-Wan Kenobi into the mix? Perfection. I looooove this fic so much, it's wholesome and touching at the same time.

✰(Explicit, Complete) The Bottom of the Ninth by @ragnarlothcat

"No baseball pitcher would be worth a darn without a catcher who could handle the hot fastball." - Casey Stengel

Obi-Wan Kenobi is the veteran catcher of the Coruscant Jedi, a talented baseball team that have been down on their luck. The addition of rookie pitcher Anakin Skywalker might be a sign all that's about to change.

Especially for Obi-Wan.

Lmao anyone who knows me a *little* bit knows that I have an obsession with sports aus. This is no exception. Granted I know *nothing* about baseball, but this was a perfect balance of actually explaining the sport without getting too heavily into details and making it a perfect obikin story. WE 👏 NEED 👏 MORE 👏 SPOTS 👏 AUS 👏

✰(Teen, Complete) the sound of your voice (helps me find peace) by izazov

It was a promise to Qui-Gon Jinn that had allowed Anakin Skywalker into Obi-Wan Kenobi's life. But it was Obi-Wan Kenobi who had allowed Anakin Skywalker into his heart.

OR (more accurately):

Five times Anakin had to ask for a story. And one time Obi-Wan offered it freely.

Ahhh this author, this fic. It's so beautifully written, canon compliant au, and it just hurts (in the most beautiful, gut wrenching way). It's beautifully melancholic, I always love their works even if they leave me with a pang in my chest.

✰(Explicit, Complete) Conceal Me What I Am by @himboskywalker

Separatist Propaganda is turning the Republic against the Jedi Order and the Senate sees no choice but to join in a political alliance to fight dissent on a unified front.An alliance is proposed through an arranged marriage,between a Jedi Knight and Republic Senator. Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi are chosen as representatives of the political union by Darth Sidious, meant to bring ruin to the marriage and the public's support of the Jedi,for Obi-Wan Kenobi is not the Beta he claims. But even Sidious does not know of the secret Anakin Skywalker keeps, that he is not the Alpha the galaxy believes him to be.

Another omegaverse fic!! This time with omega Anakin and alpha Obi-Wan in disguise. I read this fic eons ago (read: when I first got into the fandom) but it always stuck with me, because I love sneaky stuff like this - also it's plot driven! It's an au but within the same universe, so again, if you don't have anything against omegaverse, give it a read.

✰(Teen, Complete) we should run after each other (and be with one another) by Resacon1990

Even though he’s still full of anger and rage, he pushes it all aside to force a smile and squeeze Anakin’s shoulders.

“No, Anakin,” he says quietly, “I could never blame you for his death.”

It’s the first time Obi-Wan ever lies to Anakin.

or

Five times Obi-Wan lied to Anakin, and the one time he told the truth.

Another 5+1 fic!! I love this fic, also semi canon compliant, and very much gut wrenching. I love this kind of story telling where we get to see the span of their lives throughout 5+1 thingies. This is a beautiful story <3

✰(Explicit, Complete) Swear On It by dirkygoodness

Anakin lets his feet take him a good ways from camp before he actually stops, breathing fast from the memory of his dream.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight against it and holds his breath for a moment, trying to get himself under control. Tonight it doesn’t seem to be working, though, because the images of people he knows and loves hurt and bloody and dead just won’t get out of his mind.

YOOO - this is one of the first fics I've read in this fandom and oh my god. It's kind of PWP - but the characterization, the feeling, the EMOTION. It's all there. It's a two parter - read them both, it's so good, it's one of those fics where I read it and I was like. Oh yeah this happened in canon.

✰(Explicit, Complete) Bare grace misery by @thedunesea

Anakin let out a pained sound. “I failed my men, I failed you, and now… and now this. Could you, Obi-Wan? Could you come from this humiliation?” His voice broke, and then he was weeping, hot tears streaming down his face even as he kept stroking himself, his sobs of shame intermingling with his whimpers of pleasure. The mixture was so unbelievably erotic Obi-Wan felt his head spin.

Or: Anakin gets poisoned, and the antidote that saves his life has some uncomfortable side effects.

Ahhh, gorgeous fic! Have to say the only version of Dom!Obi-Wan I enjoy is Gentle!Dom Obi-Wan and this fic does it justice! It's such a nice read - I love some self shaming Anakin and Gentle! Obi-Wan guiding him through those feelings.

✰(Explicit, WIP) toss overboard what is too heavy to carry by @tennessoui

In the aftermath of the Clone Wars, Palpatine dead and untold tragedy averted, the Republic struggles to heal and rebuild itself.

Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi attempt to do the same with their own relationship, riddled as it has become with betrayal, distrust, and hurt. It's not going too well. Desperate and unwilling to accept that maybe their friendship is ruined, Anakin finds a counselor they can talk to, one that specializes in healing "teams."

Or, as the counselor would probably put it, married couples, which they are decidedly not. Not that she knows that though. And not that they know that she thinks they're in a romantic relationship either. What a silly assumption to make. It's not like they're more intimate than lovers or anything.

I know I recced this before, and I'm usually against that but lol. This fic, this fic truly holds such a special place in my mind, it fits in SO WELL with the headcanons I have of Obi-Wan and Anakin, the little questionnaires they answer in the end of each chapter - the EVERYTHING. I'm not even exaggerating this fic is what's keeping me tethered to the obikin fandom atm. I really get a bit stupid when Kit's fics are involved, she is probably the author who got me hooked on obikin, so I would suggest checking out her work in general. I could rec anything and everything from her.

✰(Explicit, Complete) You can call me baby (You can call me love) by @lilredghost

Four times Anakin calls Obi-Wan an old man, plus one time he realizes how much it bothers him.

I love Sub!Obi-Wan who loved being called baby and who is also a bit insecure and this is why this fic is here sue me.

✰(Mature, Complete) Fringe believers and hopeless wanderers by iiscos

A Jedi falls in love with a kind, but poor mechanic aboard the luxurious, ill-fated R.S.C. Terranova.

A Star Wars/Titanic AU

A titanic AU!!! I love this so much, (it does have a happy ending) and the premise is so intriguing, (as someone who has never seen titanic) I love this fic greatly)

Look - this is OF COURSE not a comprehensive list. I tried to compile somewhat of a combo of new and old fics, of course of the ones I've loved. Please do check out the author's other fics if you like their fic you've read! That's a sure way to discover more fic you'll most likely enjoy. Hope you like this, I wish I could do more, but it takes up more time than you can imagine, so, until next time!!!

[wildflowerwoodsworld]

So, I figured I should finally get around to doing a post on my four main OCs, bc they keep popping up in fics and I'd like to have a visual reference that's easily accessable.

Starting with my oldest OC and the one that's technically a canon character, my version of Finral's mother, Fiona Roulacase! I've done a Fiona character study here

Fiona is a nice person. That being said, her view of the world is very much "as long as me and mine are safe, I don't care." to save her family, this woman will burn the world.

Not only is she a Spatial mage, one of the rarest types of magic there is, she is a Roulacase and has the family ability of walking/portaling through most wards like they aren't there (this power comes with the price of never being able to use offensive Spatial magic). If she has been somewhere before, there is absolutely nothing anyone can do to stop her from returning there. This shows itself in her personality; she's cocky and her confidence borders on arrogance. She's impatient and finds listening to other people's personal problems tedious if they aren't part of her circle.

Fiona's main spell is her portal spell; Spatial Magic: Seraphim's Gate

Tondra Sturm is, in a word, ruthless. She is Fiona's best friend/girlfriend (depending on the story). I've done a Tondra character study here

She is based on the Evil Scientist/Chessmaster/smartest person in the room archetype, generally five steps ahead of everyone else and she knows it. She often forgets that people are, in fact, people and not just numbers/figures on a board because sometimes the fastest way from Point A to Point B is to just kill everyone in your way (this is generally the point where Julius steps in to stop her from committing mass murder).

She has weg from messing around with forbidden magic "just in case we need it." This woman's backup backup plans have backup plans. She's also the sort of person to put lightning booby traps after water booby traps so if you don't down you get electrocuted.

Tondra has trouble understanding other people and things like emotions. She can come off as cold and even heartless to people outside her circle but does try to listen to the advice of her friends.

Tondra's main spells are Lighting Creation Magic: Thurderer's Spear and Lightning Creation Magic: Lightning Wheel which create a spear and a shield respectively.

Lana Vaude is the least developed of my main ocs, but I love her all the same. She's Finral and Langris' little sister, a Silver Eagle and has a rival in Solid Silva (she has punched him in the face so many times). I've done a Lana character study here.

Lana Vaude as a character is fueled by spite. She's not good enough for her father, her magic is completely the wrong type for him to bother with her, and she's second in her mother's attention after Langris. Finral is definiately her favourite brother, but she and Langris are closer than it might originally appear as Lana wasn't foced into the same competition the boys were and Liliane didn't want either of her children interacting with Finral any more than necessary.

She spends a lot of her time in the Silver Eagles outpost on Raque beach because every time she is in the same room as Solid Silva, they get into a fight and Solid always loses despite A) having the attribute advantage and B) being a year older than Lana and Nozel is tired of listening to his little brother whine.

Lana's main spell is Fire Magic: Starburst which creates lots of tiny fireballs that go flying in every direction

Last, but definitely not least, we have my most recent OC; Lia Bardsley. She started out as a DnD OC (you can find her in @/thoughtfullyrainynightmare's incorrect DnD quotes) who bullied her way into the main story for my Everybody Lives au and expanded from there. I've done a Lia character study here.

Lia is, in a word, chaos. Almost constantly chattering at a speed of five hundred words a minute, this woman cannot sit still and will talk to anyone who so much as stands next to her for five seconds. She has a gift for getting people to tell her their life stories without her giving them a single bit of information about herself; this is very useful in her job as her job is literally to talk to people and catch the problems before they can become problems. This doesn't earn the Green Preying Mantises any stars, but it does mean that the area of Clover they oversee has the least issues out of anywhere in the country.

She's a prankster by nature and her favourite victim will always be Jack, even though he nearly always throws her out a window for her pranks when he's not involved in planning them (the one time he didn't throw her out the window, he threw her off the roof). That being said, Lia has about as much respect for Jack as Yami has for Julius, even if she doesn't always show it. If he tells her to do (or not do) something, then she listens.

Lia's main spell is Air Magic: Chrysalis which creates a platform or barriar made out of air in any shape she choses. She regularly uses this in her day to day life to hover in the air so she's at Jack's eye level when they're talking.