#here you can click on this tag too if it's easier

[the-kr8tor]

Make Waves

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 12.4k

Synopsis: The Mermaid's head proves to be a pirate's paradise.

Tags: No use Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), pirate AU, Reader has nicknames, A sequel to BDAS, CW alcohol mention, CW food mention, CW suggestive, CW violence, CW guns, fluff.

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Beyond the Sea of Night Masterlist

Chapter 2 >>> Chapter 3

Balancing on the bowsprit has always been your one weakness. That and throwing a grappling hook, but you have no choice but to cross the beam when Hobie's on the other end and he hasn't had his breakfast yet. Stubborn as he is, he's way too deep in what he's doing for him to remember to eat. So it's up to you to keep the captain well fed, for your own sanity and his health of course.

The mermaid's head is getting closer by the hour, and the rest of the crew is slowly waking up to the smell of porridge, and land just a stone's throw away.

With both hands occupied, it leaves you little space to keep your balance while trying not to spill the cup of coffee in one, and in the other a bowl of rice porridge. You carefully walk over to Hobie, who's currently facing the sea. Always the daredevil while he teeters off the edge dangerously. His shoulders are slouched, quil scribbling loudly on the piece of parchment. You worry that he'll fall off the ship and into the waters. But you always worry whether he's near an open flame or just sitting with you in bed. You guess that's just a part of loving someone.

“I won't save you if you fall into the shark infested waters.” You say, still slowly making your way towards him.

He chuckles, looking over his shoulder as he gazes at you while the sun is in his eyes. “Between us, love, you look like you're the one who’s about to fall.”

You pause, huffing while your legs tremble. The waves lap at the bow of the ship, crashing against the wood that adds to your worry of falling. You've never been afraid of heights this much since you love climbing things, but the sea looks like it would swallow you whole if you fall in its uncharted waters.

“Can you help me please?”

“So you won't rescue me if I fall but I have to save you if you do?” Raising a brow and clicking his tongue, he smiles teasingly at you. “Double standards, love.” His actions betray him though as he stands up and walks effortlessly on the beam. “Is this for me?”

“No, it's for the bloody sharks, yes it's for you, Hobie. And as if I won't jump in after you.” Handing him the bowl, he tucks the paper in his armpit, and the ink and quill in his vest pockets. Surely smudging ink inside but he doesn't seem to care as he takes your hand and slowly guides you towards the end of the bowsprit. “Why do you keep hanging out here? You could fall.”

Watching where you place your bare feet with your shoes left at the deck safely. You decide to just slide your feet over, it seems easier than walking on what practically is a tightrope with its slim beam of wood that turns skinnier the further you walk to the end. It reminds you of walking the plank back then. But you continue, wanting to spend more time with him and seeing what he likes most.

“It's quiet ‘ere, ‘sides, the view isn't so bad either.”

“It kind of reminds me of walking the plank.” You tell him your thoughts like you always do, not intending for it to strike him.

With your words, Hobie turns around to face you, expression apologetic. “Shit, let's go back then, lovie.”

Your heart feels warm. “No, I was just thinking loudly, let's continue on.”

“If it makes you feel unsafe—”

“You're here, Hobie, I feel safe.” You take his cheek, feeling his scruff, smiling while the early morning sun peeks out from the clouds fully, drenching the two of you in sunlight. He's right, it's beautiful here as you gaze at him in the heavenly light. “And the view is perfect for eating breakfast.”

“Are you sure?” He continues to worry, hand still holding onto you, securing you beside him while you nod with a smile. “Tell me if it gets too much, yeah?”

“I will, come on, the porridge is getting cold.” Nudging him gently, he leans close and kisses the corner of your eye as you hum against the kiss before he pulls away and continues to trek towards the edge.

Once his foot hits the end, he slowly sits down, hand sliding from your hand to your waist as he leads you down on the beam. It takes a few seconds to find your balance, and once you do, you let out a sigh. Your position is mirrored with him as you face Hobie. He straddles the beam while you gaze at him with the backdrop of the mermaid's head. The black pearl swings against his clavicle, a mark of all the things you two endured together. His breezy tunic is unbuttoned, spider tattoo, and scars— some you've mended with your own hands are peeking out while the sun outlines his torso with its light. The bandana that he always wears even though you've told him a dozen times that he still looks handsome with or without hair, is tucked inside his back pocket, tufts of soft curls blowing in the wind. it's the best view you could ever afford. And it beats the view from the crow's nest, anything with him beats everything else.

Unbeknownst to you, he sees you in the forefront of the whole Osprey while the sunlight catches in your eyes. You look like you belong here, a bandolier strapped at your front with a silver octopus wrapped around the leather, one that he stole off a merchant ship a few months ago. You have a flowy top on that he has seen a hundred times on you before but always has him weak in the knees. Trousers that finally fit you, and the cutlass that swings from your hip— a proper pirate that belongs beside the captain on the ship he now calls home with you and his family in it. He couldn't ask for anything else, no treasure could compare to what he has now, what was once a life he once dreamt of in the tiny four walls of his childhood home. He could not ask for more. A pirate should ask for more, to satiate his hunger for more, more, more. But he's satisfied with this, just this. Everything good that happens after this is just a bonus.

“Which one is it, coffee or continuing to ogle me, hm, captain?”

A smile slowly spreads on his lips, silver piercings glimmering under the light as he snatches the cup from your hand. “Coffee first, then I'll make eyes at you again after.”

“Good choice,” you joke back, helping carry the load by taking the parchment from his arm while he balances the bowl on the beam. “Is this the pirate code?” He hums, taking a generous amount of porridge and blowing the heat away before feeding you the first spoonful.

You open your mouth as you receive the porridge. It needs more salt, you thought as you start to read the list while Hobie continues to share the breakfast with you. You see a lot of it is for the benefit of the crew more than the captain. Some are about the equal share of booty, a couple that says that everyone has a vote in all decisions, and one that reads that all in fighting must be resolved by arm wrestling. It even has a detailed line on what the punishment will be for a crew member who is found to be stealing from a fellow crew.

“‘Candles and oil lamps must be shut off before nine.’ I have a feeling that one is catered to me.”

“You tell me, scuttlebutt.” Nudging your dangling foot with his own, he finishes his breakfast and moves on to his cup of coffee while you roll your eyes playfully and continue to read. “D’you approve of ‘em?”

“Yeah…” you read the second to the last line, “‘Mutineers and traitors found will be keelhauled.’ What's keelhauled?”

Gulping down the bitter drink, he finishes it and neatly places the cup inside the empty bowl. “Let's hope you never get to know what that is.”

“Is it that bad?”

Hobie wants to spare you the gruesome details, so he sugarcoats it as much as he can. “We tie them by their feet and bound their hands together. After that we cover their head with a sack and…” the anticipation is killing you. “... throw them overboard while they're gettin’ dragged by the rope through the underside of the ship. We then pull them out, if they live after that we do it again.”

You shudder at the thought, imagining a beaten and battered body dangling on a rope. “Until they stop moving.”

“Until they stop movin’, yeah. If that doesn't happen after three times, they get shot.” He eyes the pirate code in your hands. The parchment flutters in the wind while he sees Gwen wave at him from his peripheral, he gestures to her, and she stomps her foot impatiently. “I'd take it out but it's a necessary evil so they won't even try.”

“No, I get it. It's a warning.” You nod, changing the grim subject as you smile sweetly so he could forget the previous conversation. Eyes flicking down to read the last line, your heart swells at the words written by his hand. “‘Any offence against the ship's doctor will be dealt with by the captain himself.’”

“That one's new.”

As you gaze up at him fondly, you find that he has the softest look on his face whilst he waits for your reaction. “You're too kind, captain.”

“Nah,” shaking his head, his smile stays, “you're jus’ too valuable to lose, doc.”

You chuckle, hitting his head with the parchment. “Fuck you.”

“You already di—” He gets a face full of the paper smacking him. Laughing above the rush of the wind, he holds onto the beam while his head lolls back in laughter.

Rolling the paper neatly, you hand it to him as his giggles get carried by the breeze. “So,” you clasp your hands together, inhaling the salty air. “can I swear now? Y’know, just get it done before the vultures could smell that I'm not officially one of them.”

Hobie snickers, “don't call ‘em vultures and you'll be fine. D’you want to do it ‘ere? We can do it in my quarters.”

“Hobie, if we do it there then we won't be getting out until we hit land.” Your eyes shine with mischief, one that he is familiar with as realization flickers on his face. Chin tucked on his clavicle while shaking his head, you see a rare flustered captain. “If you know what I mean.” Flicking his forehead, he gazes at you as you wiggle your brows.

“We jus' talked ‘bout keelhaulin’ and you're thinkin' ‘bout that?” Hobie can't help but smile lopsidedly at you like a lovestruck teenager.

Taking the empty cup, you sniff at it. “I think something's in the coffee, Hobie—”

“It's not the coffee, love.” Moving close, hand braced on your knee, and the other pushing down the cup, he grins wickedly at you. “I think it's jus' you.”

“Or…” you whisper against his lips, “I've been hanging around you too much.”

“Is that why you still have a separate cabin, hm? So that you don't spend too much time with me and infect you with my… rapscallion thoughts?” His breath fans your lips as he squeezes your knee, eyes never leaving your own.

“No, it's because…” you're at a loss of words as he inches closer to you, unable to let out your doubts. “...of my stuff.”

“You can put your stuff in my quarters,” nudging your nose, he inhales before brushing his lips against your own. “I made space for you already.”

“Wait, you did?” Leaning away, hands on his shoulders, you gaze at him lovingly. “Did you really?”

Hobie's eyes softened, hands reaching to hold your face, “‘course, love, why wouldn't I?”

“I don't know.” You shake your head gently, leaning against his touch while a dozen doubts curl around your mind. “Would I fit?” He knows what you truly meant.

“I love you, you do know that, right?” You nod, cheeks searing. He finally kisses you, brief yet the message is received as he leans away. “You always have a space with me, I'll always make space for you.” As he brushes away your doubts with another heavy kiss on your cheek, you melt in his arms.

“Alright then.” You say against his chest, cheek pressed on top of the spider tattoo, nosing his chest as your arms wrap around him comfortably. “I'll move in. Do you have a space for Jeremiah?”

Hobie furrows his brows, moving back to look at you. “Who's Jeremiah?”

“My skull.”

Hobie chuckles that quickly turns into a loud guffaw. You follow suit, laughing together with him right on the bowsprit. He pulls you in closer, accidentally bumping into the empty bowl and cup in the middle between you two that falls into the depths with a splash.

“Well shit.” He says, looking down while he still holds onto you.

“Good thing that wasn't the expensive one.” Now that there's no barrier, you scooch closer, and he's not in the habit of saying no to you so he hooks your legs, holding under your knees, and placing them around his hips while he cradles you in place securely. You run your palms all over his chest, unabashedly touching him. “What happens now?”

“We sail the seven seas and be pirates until we decide to retire, or the sea takes us together.” Kissing your temple, he lets you rest against him. We and together, casual yet affectionate words that have your eyes filling with gentle tears. Just you and him until the salty end. “Whichever comes first.”

“I vote on the former.” You hum, knuckles running along his spine that have goosebumps appearing on his arms. “Hey, Hobie?” Craning your neck up, he raises a brow and gazes down at you, chin to chin and mere inches from your lips. “Gwen looks like she's about to kill us—”

“Stop fucking on the bowsprit and get your asses over here!” Your guffaws echo above the rushing waves.

“We're not—!” He looks down at the position that you two are in, and your cheeks run warm, hiding your giggles against his bare chest. “C’mon, before she pushes us off.”

—

You line up together with Lyla and George right at the helm. The ship is just at the mouth of the Mermaid's head and you can already see the bustling port from where you stand. People from all walks of life running around, trying to manage the busy port. The first thing you notice about them is the various weapons on them— swords of different shapes and sizes, and guns that they proudly wear around their hips. You're definitely not in a normal port town.

The sound of rustling paper takes your attention away from the ringing bells at the docks. Hobie takes the parchment from his coat pocket, reading through it for the crew. He's now decked out to keep appearances— an appearance of a tough and rugged captain that helped take out the king's flame. He doesn't usually care about keeping that image, but with him needing new crew, he needs to show them a leader. He has a rough leather coat on that has the same colour as burnt amber around his body, coat tails fluttering in the wind. It's scruffed but that adds to the charm. There’s a tricorn hat with a bird's feather and braided leather wrapped around it that you lovingly placed on his head a few minutes ago— which is placed right under a red bandana you've tied yourself. He's still the feared red spider after all, even without a hundred crew behind him or without sailing the original people's revenge.

His boots thump against the floorboards, chains rattling as he goes towards the front of the line where Lyla stands as she yawns. He looks just like how you first met him, intimidating, and that has your heart pumping— in a different way than before.

“I already swore before, Hobie.”

“Different ship and captain, different code. Hand on the paper and swear.” Hobie says with a slight scoff, trying to quicken the process before James, Miles, and Yuri could drop the anchors.

With a sigh, Lyla places her right hand on the rolled parchment. “I honour the code of the bloodsail pirates.” She says in a monotone voice, matching Hobie's emotion.

“Good, still alive, right? Not that hard?” He sarcastically remarks.

As much as they are similar to each other, they seem to not get along as well as the rest of the crew. It's probably Hobie's way of hazing Lyla. Or he's just irked that they come from the same thieves guild that she never fails to mention to him. Maybe one day he'll tell you all about that part of his past, for now you’ll leave it in the past just like he has.

She rolls her eyes, “y’know I'm technically your senior in the guild—”

“Yeah, I get it, you're old.” Hobie moves on to George, who's clearly having doubts while Lyla gasps in offense, holding onto her imaginary pearls as she stares at you. You could only shrug with amusement. “Are you sure ‘bout this, George?”

“It's the only way I get to stay here, right?” He whispers, eyes darting over to Gwen, who's manning the helm.

Hobie glances at you briefly before turning back to the older man. “Never said that, mate. You can stay on the island as my crew until you…” He inhales, staring eye to eye with him, grey crashing against blue. “...decide. No swearin’ needed.”

George appears to think it through, but once Gwen looks over her shoulder with a somewhat knowing glance, he places his hand on the parchment. “I swear.”

Hobie gives him a curt nod and a lingering look before walking towards you, who's probably the only one who's smiling during the ‘ceremony.’ His back relaxes, sighing with a relieved smile. “Scuttlebutt, d’you swear?”

Without trepidation, you place your palm against the paper that's wrapped around with a lilac ribbon. “I swear, captain.”

A smile slowly spreads across his face, rolled paper softly hitting your cheek as he pats you with it. “You're officially a pirate.”

Pav's sudden burst of cheers from above the crow's nest has you and the rest of the crew chuckling.

As you squint from the glare of the sun, you see him tossing something from above. Hundreds of paper scraps fall from the sky, raining down upon the ship in a flurry of hearts and rectangle shaped paper. One falls on your head, and Hobie plucks it off of you, grinning at the piece as the two of you wave at Pavitr, who waves back and hollers below. With the impromptu celebration, it even lightens George and Lyla's mood.

“Always a ball of sunshine.” Hobie murmurs, twirling the heart around his fingers. “He's goin’ to have to clean this all up.” Joking, he tugs you beside him, pocketing the paper before placing a kiss right on your forehead.

“I'll help him, don't worry.” Reaching to poke the crease in between his brows, you press on it gently until he smiles.

“We'll help him—”

“I just fucking mopped, Pav!” James yells from the deck while he lowers the wheel of the first anchor with Yuri. Pav just chortles from the crow's nest, clearly having no regrets when he made the crew smile. Or at least most of the crew.

“Ready to go, love?”

“With you?” He nods. “Always.”

—

The loud thump of the wooden ramp against the dock has your nerves lighting up again. It's been months since you've seen land, and now you're about to set foot in one, one that is strange and new to the likes of you. Pursing your lips together, you let James and George pass first with the rolling barrels stamped with your family's insignias as an excuse to not leave the ship just yet.

The Mermaid's head looks exactly like you expected it to be. People milling around the place, selling wares right from their back, and workers screaming and trying to get ahead of shipping schedule. You've been to a lot of port towns before, but none of them could compare to what you're seeing now, it's as if every pirate in the world congregated in the same place. There are hundreds or even thousands of them walking about the muddy and sandy streets of the Mermaid's head.

Houses and buildings are built around the port, various signs of business on display— a jeweller, a tavern, a warehouse and even a stable with horses and carriages. You have no idea how big even the island is, but from where you first saw it at sea, it seemed smaller. But as you now stand on the bow of the Osprey, looking over the chaos, the size could even rival the capital’s. There are stone roads all weaving and slithering around the cramped alleys of the town, oil lamps swinging on each corner that are protected by a steel column that looms above the street and a metal cage around the lamp itself. And rows upon rows of buildings— both made of wood and stone. Instead of the open sky, you stare above you and see the inside of the Mermaid's head. A cavernous roof of boulders and rocks shaped by the tides itself. A terrifying thought comes to you, that it could collapse and flatten everything, but if it has survived this long, then it'll continue to do so even after you're long gone.

As you look further into the island, the rocky roof stretches as far as it could until a canopy of trees of all kinds shields the busy place. Dappled sunlight passes through the gaps of leaves and branches, a reprieve from the dankness of the streets. You notice children running around, playing with toy swords and singing sea shanties.

Smiling, the hair on the back of your neck stands, smile wavering. And as you slowly turn towards the cause, you see an old man hunched behind a wooden barrel. His eyes are almost white in the dim light, wrinkled hands gripping the barrel as he stares at you heavily.

“Thinking of how you could burn this place?” Gwen sidles up next to you, and as you turn back towards the man, he's gone like the wind. “I was just joking.” Her brows knit together. “You alright?” She grasps your arm, following your line of sight. “Something wrong?”

“There was just this old man staring at me.”

“There are a lot of weird old people here.” She chuckles, taking your attention away from the empty space with a squeeze on your arm. “We call them sea crazy. You don't become that old without surviving horrors.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Exhaling out, you smile at her. “Penny for your thoughts, quartermaster?”

“Nothing much.” Releasing your hand, she leans against the railing and watches Miles haul crates towards the docks. “The streets here are called the shambles because of the rocky roads. Notice there's not a lot of chimneys?” You nod, “Fireplaces are regulated here since the canopy could easily catch fire, same goes for the ships. So if you want to cook or warm yourself up, you have to do it at a designated area or in one of the taverns or inns that are allowed to have one.”

“Mm-hmm.” You pretend disinterested but in truth you found everything fascinating. “What's going on between you and Miles, hm?” Nudging her, you wiggle your brows teasingly.

Gwen manages a flustered smile. “Stop, I literally gave you knowledge and this is how you repay me?” she gently pushes you, earning a chortle from you. But when you don't relent by staring her down with your dancing eyebrows, she sighs and puts her chin on top of her palm, soft blue eyes staring at Miles whilst he carries two sacks in one arm effortlessly. “We're good.” She says, hoping to satisfy your curiosity. But you don't ease up as you poke her bicep annoyingly. “Alright, fine! We're really good! He told me that he loved me—” Your squeal has her eyes rolling away as she tries to move away from you but you grab her arm, hugging her.

“Alright, I'm sorry! I won't ask anymore! Just stay for a bit.” You tap your head against hers.

With a sigh, Gwen walks back towards the bannister. “I don't ask about you and Hobie, doc.” She pointedly glares playfully at you.

“I know, gossip isn't your thing—”

“No, it's because you two leave little to the imagination.” Grimacing, she pinches your arm, earning a huff from you.

“Well I was just concerned, you know? I don't want to see any infighting.” You lie through your teeth as you side glance at her.

“Sure, sure, infighting, and it's not because you want to eavesdrop on our relationship.”

“Did you at least say it back?”

“Fuck you!” She guffaws, and the crew looks up at the two of you briefly with a shake of their heads and subtle smiles. “Seriously?”

“Well, did you?” You eye her, nudging relentlessly until she nods slowly. “I knew it! Oh young love!”

“Yeah, yeah shut up or I'll start asking about your nightly visits to the captain's quarters.” Gwen places her palm atop your face as you laugh against her.

“Fine, fine I'll stop.” Waving her hand away from your face, you two fall into a comfortable silence.

Seagulls cry above, perching themselves on top of the ship's mast. People yell along the shambles, and the world continues to turn while you and Gwen take a pause, just savouring each other's company.

“I think there's something going on with my dad.”

You crane your neck so fast to face her that there's an ache on your nape. “Gwen—”

“He's planning on leaving, isn't he?” Her baby blue eyes gaze at you softly, eyebrows furrowed as she grasps your hand. Squeezing her, you encourage her to continue. You look at her with a strained smile. “I don't blame him. We haven't seen each other since I Ieft. That makes it almost seven years now. It's been so long, but he's still my dad and I know my dad—” pausing, she grimaces. “and that probably sounds fucking horrible to you.”

“It's not, you had every reason to do that.” You twist in place, hip leaning against the railing to look at her better. “It's good that you still acknowledge that he's your father. It's a sign that you still love him.”

“I was just a kid. A shitty fucking kid who left her father to the wolves.”

“Still, just a kid who wanted to run away from it all. We have this… innate preservation to keep ourselves safe. And you were doing just that. You were afraid, Gwen.”

She nods, eyes glossing over. “I should've helped him at least, got him away from the cards but after mom— he couldn't bring himself to leave the betting table.” Wiping at a stray tear, she continues. “The lords took everything from family portraits to heirlooms, even my ballet shoes. Then our house. Maybe I should've stayed, but if I did, I wouldn't be here, I wouldn't have met him.” Glancing at Miles on the deck, he notices Gwen's eyes on him and he waves at the two of you with a smile. She smiles back before he returns to his task. “But I don't regret it, even with everything that happened. It's still a life well lived than shoveling shit at the stables to pay his debts.” Turning back to you, she inhales deeply. “I'm sorry for laying all this on you.”

“Lay it all on me, Gwen.” You joke, half genuine, opening your arms and surprisingly, she hugs you with her chin atop your shoulder. “You did everything you could, kid.”

“Thank you,” she whispers your name kindly. “And don't call me kid.” Squeezing you tightly, she whispers the words in a threatening manner that has you giggling. After a bout of chuckles, she relents. “Really, is it bad that I'm mad at him? He should've told me, I guess.”

“Not really that bad, I would be too.” With a chuckle and a pat on her back, she releases you, a bit reluctantly on her part.

“Yeah, I guess you're right.” Holding you at arm's length, she sighs loudly. “Maybe him leaving would be a good thing.”

“How so?”

“One less person to worry about on board.”

Craning your head at Hobie while he's carrying two sacks over his shoulder, it's as if you're immediately gravitating towards him, already finding him within the crowd of pirates. Then Pav and Miles stand beside him, chatting about something while Yuri and James walk past them with crates on each arm. Lyla crouches near the water, eyeing a frog floating beside the dock.

“Yeah, one less worry.”

“Does Hobie know about dad?” She pats your elbow.

“Yes, why? Worried that he'll throw him overboard?”

“No,” chuckling, she leaves the railing to help with carrying the bounty. “Is he worrying that I'll leave?”

“You know him well.” Smiling, you place your hands on your hips. “Yeah, he is.”

“Keep him guessing then, it's my revenge for all the shit he pulled.”

You can't help the grin on your face. “So you're staying then? And giving your captain stress?”

“Yes on both, landlubber.” Before she continues walking down the steps, she turns back to you. “And don't worry either, you can't get rid of me that easily.”

—

Placing the last crate on top of the other, you rub the sore part of your leg, neck stretching from the labour. A sudden yet familiar hand grasps at your nape, kneading it gently that has your strained muscles relaxing.

“Better?” Hobie whispers against the shell of your ear, other arm wrapped around your front protectively. Not even the hundred strangers milling about the port could stop him. He doesn't care when his blunderbuss and cutlass could do the talking to all the wandering eyes.

“Much.” Sighing, you lean against his chest. “So, what do we do with all of the loot?” You ask, head turning to face him as he gazes at you tenderly. “Sell it to some one eyed pirate with a pet parrot?”

Hobie snorts, hugging you closer as if there's still space between you. “We have a mate ‘ere who knows all the best places we could get a better price for these.” With the tip of his boot, he kicks the crate lightly. “Maybe even trade some for chocolates.”

“Oh, I'd love that. I miss hot chocolate.” Your wandering hands rub all over his arm as he smiles against your hairline. “And then what?”

“We use some of the coin to get our ship in better battling shape. Expand the deck by taking out a couple of balconies, get some red sails and—” he pauses then blinks and turns fully to you. “Are you sure you're alright with alterin’ the Osprey?”

“What's mine is yours, Hobie.” You peck his jaw, smiling against his skin. “Like I've told you a dozen times. You can do whatever you want with the ship.”

“Practically married, eh?” He stares at the man-of-war, expression faltering for a second. “It's your family's.”

Kissing him again until the crease in his forehead softens, you take his chin and turn him to face you. “You and the bloodsail pirates are my family now. If renovating the ship increases our survival out there then do it even if you have to break a few balconies and sell a bunch of plates. Do whatever it takes to keep our family safe.”

Hobie smiles, grey eyes twinkling as leans further to your lips. “Jus’ say the word if we're takin’ too much.”

“I won't but alright—”

His lips barely grazed yours when a booming voice echoes out. “Captain Hobart Brown!”

A chorus of swords are unsheathed, and a rouse of guns clicking in place as the crew behind you takes aim at the source of the call.

Hobie lifts up a palm behind him while he twists you around and shields you as he steps in front of your body. “What?”

The man with the handlebar mustache gulps down, hand hovering above his gun. He looks far too young to even have a moustache. “Captain Thorpe calls for you to meet him at the Tempest.”

“Who?” Hobie sucks in his teeth, still casual as you feel for the pommel of your cutlass.

The messenger grimaces but hides his annoyance. “Captain Thorpe Heinrick.”

“Ain't ringin’ any bells, mate.”

“Captain Thorpe ‘tide turner’ Heinrick—”

“Ah, that bloke!” Hobie has a shit eating grin on, hands flipping away his coat and places both hands on his belt that carries his blunderbusses, brandishing it to the man. “Maybe later.” With a simple look thrown at Gwen, she tells the others to back down and lower their weapons to the relief of the stranger. “As you can see, bit busy ‘ere.”

“But—”

Hobie shoos him away with a gesture, adding to the man's annoyance but walks away after a few seconds of thinking.

“What does Thorpe want with you?” Miles walks up to you and Hobie, still eyeing the retreating man.

“Fuck if I know.” He shrugs nonchalantly.

“Who's he?” You ask, heart steadying after the stare down.

“Jus' some bloke, c’mon and let's sell this bloody thing so we can get out of ‘ere.” Hobie waves the previous encounter away and throws his arm over your shoulders. “I'll introduce you to a mate of the bloodsail pirates.” You smile excitedly at that. “Lyla, George can you both guard the loot while we find a place to sell it?” George nods and sits on a crate while James breathes a sigh of relief that he wasn't given the duty.

“Sure—” Lyla starts.

“And no sleepin’”

“...fine.” Lyla huffs on top of a barrel, sitting cross legged. “Bring me a pastry, Yuri!”

Yuri gives her a thumbs up before excitedly running off.

“Where are we going exactly?” You ask Hobie as he leads you towards the inner streets of the Mermaid's head while the crew tags along, chatting happily amongst themselves.

“To the iron heart tavern, lovie.”

—

“So this is the place?” You ask Hobie beside you, squeezing his hand as you look up at the building that looks like it's about to fall from how tilted it is.

The logo of the iron heart tavern swings in the breeze, and inside is the rowdiest tavern you've ever had the displeasure of hearing. And you've been to a lot of taverns before. It's all brick and stone, damp with greenery slithering across the surface. The windows are long fogged up by the warmth inside, and the silhouettes of the patrons inside dance along the glass.

“Yeah,” Hobie grins, seemingly excited to see the place again. “This was our place whenever we port ‘ere. And Riri’s grandfather, a nice bloke, helped us get our sea legs out there.”

Yuri suddenly appears behind you, arms thrown around yours and Hobie's shoulders. “Hobie here is being too generous, this place was our home.”

“How so?”

“Lived, worked here—” a glass smashes inside as Miles doesn't even wince at the sound while he continues. “And Riri used to be a bloodsail pirate too, before her injury and retirement.”

“What happened to her?”

“Always the curious one, eh, landlubber?” Yuri shakes you in place and releases you as she squeezes in between you and Hobie to get inside the tavern. “You'll see!”

As you glance at Hobie, who just shrugs with a smile, you enter the place right after Yuri.

“Hey, Ri—!” Yuri dodges an oncoming axe thrown right at her head, it embeds in the wood beside her and you swear you almost saw the afterlife when it whizzed past you. “Is this how you welcome honoured guests now?!” She nonchalantly continues on, arms spread about as she yells above the crowd.

“You still owe me coin, Watanabe!” A woman tending the bar yells above the rowdy commotion of the tavern, hand holding onto another axe, ready to be thrown.

“Fuck me!” You grasp your chest, staring at the shiny axe beside you.

“You alright there, love?” Hobie asks, half concerned, half amused. “She does that.”

“Yeah, apparently, shit.” You heave, and Pavitr pats your shoulder, giving you an apologetic smile.

“She does that.” Pavitr repeats with a grin. “Don't take it the wrong way, and she never misses so that was on purpose. I think.” Pav says before joining the rest of the crew at the bar, all happily chatting with a brunette.

“Yeah, I heard. She's got great aim, I guess.” You sigh, hand still on your chest while Hobie yanks the axe out of the wall and places it beside his cutlass on his waist.

Hobie sighs, eyes soft as he brings his palm right above your heart, kneading gently. “If you give her your puppy dog eyes she might give you a free pint.”

“I'll keep that in mind. And that only works with you.” With a chuckle, you take his hand and place a kiss on the back of it before walking towards the bar, hand in hand with him. “Come on before she throws another one at us.”

You and Hobie navigate the rowdy tavern, dodging arms and glasses thrown across the room while a jaunty tune is playing on the piano beside the bar. The walls are all brick and mortar, old enough to have the wooden pillars buckling under the weight of the whole place. Each corner has a drunk pirate muttering sea shanties or admiring an anchor hanging from the wall. The whole place screams of pirates, from the jolly roger flag tacked above the bar, the classic skeleton and crossbones, to the tables made from various items from a ship— a giant wheel, a barrel and even a crow's nest that's turned upside down. Even the air smells of the salty sea with ale and rum filtering through the heavy air.

As you look up, you see a shark hanging from the ceiling, perfectly preserved with its maw opened and eyes open. It's a pirate's tavern alright, and they're not hiding their affiliation at all with the countless paintings and drawings of ships, the sea and islands all framed on the walls. There are even portraits of entire pirate crews and infamous pirates on the walls, their faces easily recognizable from when you saw them on bounty posters back in the day.

“Well, well, well what do we have here?” Riri eyes you down and you lift your chin up, not folding under her gaze. “The bloody duchess I see.” She glances at Hobie as you raise a brow at the title. “And the red spider, good to see you still alive, Hobie.” Flicking her eyes atop his head, she winces. “Can't say the same thing to your hair though.”

Hobie scoffs but his smile stays. “Good to see you too, Ri.”

“It's nice to finally meet you, Riri.” You smile, sitting in between Hobie and Yuri. “What's with ‘the bloody duchess?’”

“That,” she chuckles as she hands each of the crew their pints. James groans when the amber liquid hits his lips, Yuri licks the foam off the top of her glass, and the trio settle with clinking their glasses against each other before downing their drinks. “—Fucking hell, you're all thirsty.” Handing you a pint and a rum for Hobie, she continues. “Heard it from everyone, you're famous around these parts, you know?”

“Really,” you wrap your hands around the lukewarm glass, brows furrowed as you question her further. “Why? And why that title?”

“Sorry, about her, Ri.” Yuri says, wiping the top of her lip with her sleeve. “She's one of those people.”

Riri nods in understanding, hand patting Yuri's on the table. And you're scrunching your face at Yuri while the rest of the crew and their captain laughs against the mouth of their glass. You nudge Hobie with your elbow, and he splutters out some of his rum.

“Right, well, to feed your curiosity,” Riri puts her elbows on the counter, soft amber eyes that remind you a hearth stares you down with a smirk playing on her lips. “you did save the red spider from execution while wearing a bloody wedding dress right in the middle of the capital.” She flicks your glass, and the sound reverberates around your hands. “Add the fact that you did it in front of all the royals and navy. Word around here is that you killed Mathias too. Well, you're a fucking icon here, duchess.”

Hobie places his arm over your shoulders, proud of you as he pulls you in for a quick hug. “She's good, ain't she?”

“You sure do know how to pick them, captain.” She raises her own glass, filled with the same amber liquid, and Hobie clinks his drink with hers. You still have no idea how to feel about that title the people seemed to bestow upon you.

“Where's your grandfather?” Hobie asks, taking a sip and giving Riri back her axe, to which she hums in thanks.

“Dead.” Everyone stops and stares at her. “Dead on his feet, come on.” Riri laughs at their expressions while Hobie and the crew sighs, relief evident on each of their faces. “He's asleep upstairs, it's his age, you know. I'd wake him up but he'll just be cranky. So, what brings you all back here in our part of town? I heard about the shit you all pulled in the capital, making good waves throughout the land based on news around here.”

“Loot,” Hobie takes a final sip, emptying his drink. Riri gestures to refill it but he places his palm above the glass, indicating that he has had enough to drink. You can't help but pat his back for his restraint as he answers with a squeeze of your thigh. He's lessening his alcohol intake after you told him that it's not good for his liver in the long run. “You always know the best place to sell ‘em.”

“Ah, maybe this time you can pay your debt here, hm?” Riri wipes some glasses clean, and Hobie silently looks at his glass, avoiding Riri's shaking head teasingly. “The Jefferson's are still good for their money, better than our old usual. Or you could go to Chen's but that's across the island, but they still got Jefferson beat.”

“What d’you lot think?” Hobie turns towards the crew, asking for their opinion before handing Riri a coin for the information.

“Chen's,” Gwen and Miles say simultaneously as Miles subtly nudges her with a shy smile.

“Jefferson's.” James sighs, “my arms are tired, Hobie. I can't haul that stuff across the island!”

“I gotta agree with James,” Yuri adds, asking for another drink that Riri doesn't provide until Yuri bats her lashes that still doesn't work on the former pirate; so she shows her payment that she reluctantly gives to Riri's waiting hand. “Besides, that place is new, we don't know them.”

“Pav? Love?” Hobie waits for yours and Pavitr’s opinion. “We're two for two.”

“The second one.” Pav says while digging through the peanut bowl for dried raisins. “If it means we get more coin for doc's stuff then we go there.” You answer him by dragging a bowl beside Hobie that looks like it has more dried raisins towards him. Pav thanks you with a smile.

The rest waits for your opinion. Before you speak, you gulp down your drink and turn towards Riri, who has an impressed smile on her lips. “What do you think of Chen's? You've known them longer than us.”

“I once sold them a white gold brooch that they bought almost twice the price the Jefferson’s gave me.” She shrugs, refilling Yuri's third drink and fixing her stance as she shifts her feet. “They're new, yes, but that means they're trying to get ahead of the competition and other fences. They're reliable, and all you really need to do is haggle. That and you have to haul all your shit in yourselves.”

“Is there a chance that you have a wheelbarrow? Or better yet a cart with a horse?” You ask her, testing your luck with the new acquaintance.

A smile spreads across her lips, “we have both.” A round of sighs echoes around the bar. “You'll have to drive it yourselves though, I'd help, but y’know. Shit is hurting again.” She gestures towards her leg, and with your curiosity, you take a subtle peek, finding that she has a peg leg made of steel and wood. “Not bad, right?”

“Yeah, nice hardware.” You match her smile. Suddenly getting an idea, you rummage through your bag, finding the jar of ointment that could help ease the ache that she must be feeling. “Here, I've made extra a few days ago, it's for the pain from the prosthesis.”

Her eyes shine, slightly surprised by the gift. “Thank you, I appreciate that. I actually just ran out of these.” Opening the jar, she takes a sniff, chuckling at the familiar herb and menthol smell. “It's the same one, damn, thanks again.”

You feel Hobie's eyes on you, hand still gripping your thigh as you see him smile from your peripheral.

“No problem, take it as payment for letting us use your cart and horse.”

Riri leans against the shelf filled with liquor, hands rolling the jar around her palms. “Well, you surprised me, duchess. I haven't even let you use it, but since you're so nice.”

“Thank you, gorgeous!” Yuri exclaims, you have no idea if she's thanking you or Riri. She's probably already drunk after her fifth pint. “I'll drive.”

A collective “No!” Echoes out while James grabs Yuri by her arm.

—

You decide to wait outside the fence’s place while Hobie and the rest haggle their way into wealth. It took another ask for Hobie if you're alright with them selling things from the ship, to which you said yes once again. You're waiting by the horse, a big guy named Stark, who likes apples as he munches on the one you gave to him, courtesy of the fruit stall next door.

The ride to the other end of the island was rough, you had to go through the shambles and end up literally at the tail end of the island. With the roads being made of blemished cobbled stone, you can still feel your brain bouncing around your head. But you don't mind the view as the sea is spread in front of you in all its primordial beauty.

The island reminds you of the one you and Hobie were stuck in, with its white sand and lush greenery— the Mermaid's head is almost identical to it. It's just missing the waterfalls where you learned how to swim and the empty graves. Maybe not all of it were good memories. You exhale out the memory, hand rubbing along the scars on your palm.

Slightly further on your right, you see the twin island that's connected by a rope bridge. The shipwreck above it has you asking questions on what it is or how it ended up there in the first place. But as you see shadows up in the trees and the broken down bow, you look away, afraid that you might've seen some island god protecting the haunted shipwreck.

As you run your thumb across your necklace, you spot the same mustachioed man walking towards you.

“Not a good time, trust me.” You stop him in his tracks.

“But captain Brown is being summoned—”

“I know, and he's haggling to the death in there, you don't want to interrupt him.” Taking a bite of your apple, you shoo him away as politely as you can. Hobie's charismatic smirk that you saw through the window still has your legs wobbly. “Maybe come back later.”

The man shifts his feet, staring at the building behind you. Stark neighs beside you, huffing as he smells the apple in your hand. After a while of looking, the stranger clicks his tongue and leaves.

With a scoff, you turn around to feed the remainder of your apple to Stark, but as you give it to him, you see the same old man from the docks staring at you. He hides behind the fruit stall, white eyes shining and skin blanched as if he's looking at a ghost.

“Can I help you?” You ask, hand right on the pommel of your sword. The man scurries away once you ask him.

The doors open loudly, and the bloodsail pirates exit out with wide grins and cheering as Hobie walks out with a victorious smile.

“I'll take it that you got a high price—oof!” You're quickly met with his arms embracing you, twirling you around until you're a giggling mess. “Hobie!”

He peppers your face with kisses, and the rest of the crew makes gagging sounds as they climb up the cart, probably excited to spend their coin. And yet he ignores them, excitedly clutching you.

With your feet back on solid ground, he takes one final kiss on your cheek before settling for holding your hands. “Gwen and Pav still need to crunch the numbers but it looks like we got enough for the ship, payment for the new crew, and everyone's take. The old bloke said that he hasn't seen that kind of loot since he moved from the east.”

You let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding. “That's good. Really good.” Hugging him, he squeezes you back until you're the one to pull away.

“We need to find you new shoes, love.”

“With that kind of money maybe we can get everyone new shoes.”

Hobie pats your cheek, “aye, maybe we can.”

“Let's just go!” Yuri drunkenly thumps her foot against the floor of the cart. “I'm hungry!”

“Let's go before she eats the horse.” Stark kicks, huffing at Hobie's words as if he understood it. He helps you up on the driver's seat before he hauls himself over beside you. With a gentle whip of the reins, Stark trots back towards the tavern.

“The guy was back by the way, still looking for you.” The uneven road rattles your entire body. You look over your shoulder to check on the crew, finding that Yuri is dozing off on James' shoulder while he's also falling asleep. Gwen chats with Pavitr, all the while holding Miles’ hand as he juggles her hand while scribbling on his notebook. You smile at them before turning back towards Hobie. “And should I tell you about this weird old man who's stalking me?”

“What?” Hobie's head cranes quickly to look at you. “Who's stalkin’ you?”

You shrug, “I don't know, Gwen said he might just be some old pirate who has gone sea crazy.”

“Still, you can never be too careful.” Taking your hand, he weaves his fingers around yours as he continues to lead the cart along the road. “Tell me if he pops out again, yeah?”

“Give him a stern talking to, captain?” Resting your chin on his shoulder, he smiles at you while the mid-day sun shines on the side of his face.

“Aye, get him to leave you the fuck alone.” He noses the side of your cheek. “‘sides, an old pirate is still a pirate, they still know the tricks. You don't get that old in this life without knowin’ how to wield a weapon.”

“My hero.” You whisper right in his ear, blowing air as he chuckles, and goosebumps appear on his skin. “I'm sure I can handle an old man, Hobie.”

“I know you can, lovie, but let me know, yeah? I'll help you.”

“Thank you, I will.” Kissing his cheek, you lean against him amidst the lull of the ride towards the docks.

—

“Alright.” Gwen sighs, stretching her hands and the clinking of coins cease. The opened ledger in front of her is filled with calculations. Pavitr hides the abacus inside a drawer, probably never wanting to see it ever again. “I know Pav and I are right so,” she gives you and Hobie a big grin across the captain's table. “Here’s your cut, doc, cap.” She hands you and Hobie a bag of coins each.

You try not to show your excitement, but it's prevalent when you jiggle the pouch in your hand with giddiness. Hobie nods at Gwen and Pav, thanking them with a grin.

The sun is setting right outside the Osprey, pink and orange hues perfectly aligning with the large windows of the captain's quarters and drenching the whole room in the same shade. Hobie pushes Gwen's and Pavitr's share of the loot. And the two can't hide their equal exhilaration either.

Pavitr laughs, akin to a giggle as he shakes his pouch together with yours, making a tune. “I'm going to buy so much chai to share with everyone!” His soft locks bounce as he leaves the room without missing a beat, probably heading towards the market to spend his coin.

“Watch out for pickpockets!” Your voice calls after him, and he answers with a muffled ‘I will!’ You take a peek inside the pouch, not really counting it since you trust Gwen and Pavitr's calculations, but you look at it nonetheless and your eyes widen at the pile of coins. “This is so much!” Gasping out and kicking your legs about, Hobie gazes at you with endearment as he pockets his share.

Gwen does the same, tucking it safely inside her vest. “It's not much, really.” She shrugs, finding your giddy smile contagious. “Since we mostly set aside the coin for renovation and maintenance of the ship.”

“This isn't a lot?!” Chuckling, you dig your hand inside, feeling the cool metal around your fingertips. You've never had this much coin in your whole life, the closest you got was when Gwen handed you some once upon a time. Remembering your debt, you take out a handful and hand it to a confused quartermaster.

“What's this?”

“For the coins you gave me before.” You shake the pile in your palm. “I told you I'd pay you back.” Hobie's grey eyes stare at the two of you with fondness, watching the interaction with a soft smile.

“And I told you that you don't have to.” She pushes your hand away but you push back. “Doc.” Warning you, she raises a pierced brow. “It's yours, go buy something nice. You earned it.”

“This is plenty, Gwen. Besides, you've got your dad, treat him to lunch at a tavern.” Your determined eyes has Gwen sighing.

“You won't be able to sleep if I don't take this, huh?”

“Nope!” You grin as she opens her palms and you dump the coins on them. “Thank you, Miss Stacy.” Your teasing lilt makes Gwen roll her eyes with a subtle smile.

“Sure,” she pushes the captain's chair away from the table, the carved eagle moving back as the light grazes its wood. “I'll give everyone's share, make sure you lock the rest in the safe, Hobie.” Gathering the pile of coin pouches, she leaves the room with an armful of clinking coins.

“Yeah, yeah.” Hobie fights a yawn, standing up from his seat to hide the rest of the money away from a hidden safe tucked underneath the bed. Right where a string of laurels and violets are etched on the wood. You discovered it after accidentally hitting it with your toe during a lively night with Hobie. “D’you want to go to the market with me, lovie?” He asks, hauling an armful towards the hiding spot.

“How could I say no to that?” Standing up and taking the rest of the coins, you follow right behind him as he kneels down and opens the secret compartment with a click on the bulb of a violet flower.

Hobie hides his smile while he's placing the bags inside the compartment. “Good, I'll buy you those shoes I've been meanin’ to get you.” His voice is muffled, body half inside the safe.

“As long as it's not gaudy like the one Miguel got me.” Sitting down beside him, head leaning on the bed, you hear a muffled scoff.

“I've got better taste than O’Hara.” Hobie wiggles himself out, taking the bags of coins in your arms. “‘sides, we can make a day out of it, show you around the place.” He gets inside once more, and you hear shuffling and coins clinking.

“Did you grow up here?”

“Nah,” he sniffs, probably dusty inside. “‘m from the mainland jus’ like Miles and Pav.”

“How'd you even manage to get here then?” Your fingers play with the frayed edges of your trousers nervously.

You haven't asked him much about his past before he became a pirate, most of the stories he told you were all swashbuckling adventures in the sea. None of which were of his childhood, or his blood family. It alienates you slightly since he knows everything about you, your story, your family, but nothing on his side. All you know is that he's an orphan, raised together with Miles and Pav, bouncing from orphanage to orphanage. And that he met the rest of the crew on the way. In the end he found his family, that you know, but you're a curious one, and you love him for everything that he is, even his past that he so clearly guards away and seals deep inside.

“Stole a ship,” he groans as he scooches himself out. “A merchant one, then sailed ‘ere with the original crew while tryin’ to find if this place really exists. We found out quickly that it was when they shot right at us.” As he exits the hidey hole, his bandana is lopsided with dust clinging on his chin and eyebrow. You giggle at his appearance. “What? Is us gettin’ shot funny, love?” Teasing, he nudges your leg with his foot.

“No, it's horrible.” You say, still laughing. As you pluck out the dust bunnies away from his face, he gazes at you sweetly. “You just look adorable, captain.” Your breath fans his cheeks as you reach up to fix his bandana. “There, still cute but a lot more captain-like.”

Without warning, Hobie grabs you by the waist, tackling you on the floor as you let out a surprised screech. His hand protects the back of your head, ever prepared to shield you from harm.

“Hobie! What are you doing?” You smack his behind as he nuzzles the crook of your neck. “I thought we were going to the market together?” Your voice lilts, a giddy one that exudes excitement. His knee separates your legs, arms woven around you as he kisses your searing skin.

“The market can wait.” He lifts himself up by the waist, voice deep and saccharine. Shrugging off his vest before cupping your face and squishing your cheeks together while you look up at him with shining eyes and a lopsided grin. “‘sides, they never close. We've got all the time in the world now, lovie.” The sky paints him pink as he leans down.

—

Hobie was right, the Mermaid's head never sleeps. It's well past supper when you went to the market with him. The place is noisy and as bustling as it was when you and the crew passed by earlier on your way to the tavern. Shopkeepers call on you like seagulls fighting for a crumb of hardtack. Their stalls are either shining or edible. A pile of locket watches tick in one of the stalls, too many to count, mostly etched with different initials and the navy sigil. Another stall has different sizes of compasses in all the colours of the rainbow. Next to it is a larger stall that houses telescopes that you can see every pirate owning.

On your right is a cobbler's shop where you got your new pair after almost thirty minutes of haggling from Hobie. You can't lie though, that was entertaining especially when he flashed the old saleslady his most charming smile and told tales of his grand adventure with the bloodsail pirates. In the end she gave you a huge discount on the boots and even threw in new socks for you and Hobie for free. He's too good at haggling while you can barely decide what to buy with your newly acquired wealth.

Above you, the exotic birds fly about, squeaking and squawking about the canopy that shields most of the place from the heat in the morning and the cold at night. There are strands of fishnets draped above and under the canopy. Hobie said it's for a tactical reason and not just for aesthetics with its hanging charms chiming about in the breeze. He once told you that the navy tried to ‘liberate’ the Mermaid's head, but the force of everyone combined helped defend and keep the twin islands. The fishnets above are actually made of tougher material, capable of stopping a cannon ball or even a trebuchet from dropping on the town. The marks of the battle are still lingering on the walls of the place, dents on the stone walls, chimneys blasted in half and bullet holes on doors and windows. You can just imagine how it all went, you asked Hobie, but he said it was before his time.

The moon brings dappled silver light upon the noisy market while the lamps swing around their perches and the shopkeepers yell their pitches at you like they're trying to sell you air. You could get used to this, the hustle and bustle of the place, it reminds you of the town you used to live in with Jess. That reminded you how much you missed that life, but you're satisfied where you are now, beside him as he unabashedly holds your hand while strolling the market.

“Pretty pretty lady!” You hear a loud squawk on your left and you're stopped in your tracks. “Got you, got you!” A parrot, yes a parrot with its yellow and orange feathers speak to you in its high pitched mimicking tone. “Shells for the pretty pretty lady?” It asks, seemingly manning the whole stall by its birdy lonesome while it's perched on a stool.

“Holy shit!” You laugh, and Hobie mirrors your smile. “Do you see this?” Pointing at the parrot, Hobie nods, bringing your hand down.

“Careful, don't point or it might bite you.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “A talking bird, and here I thought I've seen everything.”

“Buy something something?” It tilts its head, beak opening and closing.

“Oh I might buy something something just because I love you.” Giggling and cooing, you peruse the parrot's wares. There must've been a hundred multicoloured shells laying neatly on the stall. Some are as big as your face, and miniature ones that are as big as the pad of your finger. You ooh and ahh at each piece, grabbing the big one and placing it right on the shell of your ear to listen to the sea.

Hobie wishes he could capture the moment, the giddy smile, the glimmering childlike wonder in your eyes. Where's Miles and his drawing skills when you need him?

“D’you want that one, lovie?”

“Shh.”

“Don't shush me.” Hobie chuckles, feigning offense. “What's the sea tellin' you?”

“I don't know because you're too noisy.” You fake a glare at him, earning a pinch to your side. “Wait, it's telling me…” he pauses, awaiting your next words. “...that it's too expensive.” You turn the shell and show him the hefty price tag.

Hobie laughs wholeheartedly, shaking his head at you. “Fuck off, c’mon we need to buy you a dagger.”

“In a minute, I need to look at the rest. They're so pretty.” You're mesmerized by the shiny surfaces.

“Don't get swindled.” He whispers to you, afraid that the parrot will lunge at him and claw his eyes out.

“I won't get swindled.” You wave him off, eyeing a pair of earrings made out of shells that might suit Yuri or Lyla.

Hobie grabs your head gently and kisses your temple. And the parrot squeeks out a ‘smitten! Smitten!’ that he chuckles at when the bird is right. “I'll be at the blacksmith, love, be back ‘ere in five, yeah? Don't leave the market without me.”

Meeting with his grey eyes that have softened to a pretty silver pair, you smile at him. “I'll be fine, Hobie.” You pat the cutlass on your hip. “Besides, I have to buy stuff for the crew so take your time. I'll meet you at the blacksmith.”

“I don't want to leave you too long with these scallywags.”

“Hey! Hey!” The bird squawks out in offense.

“I'm sorry that you have to hear the news from me but, you're a scallywag too, Hobie.” Giggling, you pat his chest lovingly, the marks you left still evident on his neck as you hide it by fixing his collar.

He scrunches his nose at you, and you pinch his nose in reply. You two must look like a couple of honeymooners in front of the other pirates. It seems like Hobie has thrown his reputation as the fearsome red spider behind his back in favour of holding you sweetly and brazenly in public.

Smiling, he squeezes your arm before reluctantly leaving your side. “I'll be back, the blacksmith is jus’ around the corner of the apothecary.”

“There's an apothecary here?!” Your excited exclamation barely gets people's attention. You're starting to love this place, especially when everyone minds their own business.

“Don't spend all your money.” He says, walking backwards with his hands inside his pockets while he looks at you sweetly.

“It's going to be hard, but I'll try.” You wave goodbye as the captain walks into the crowd and disappears in the sea of leather and tricorns.

“So, Mr. Parrot, how much for the earrings?” You eye the bird, maybe if you practice your haggling skills on him you'll get better the next time you make your purchase with a human salesperson.

“Poor! Poor!” It squawks out, dancing about his perch.

“Hey!” Maybe if you slyly pocket the jewellery it won't notice. But his beady eyes look like it can see through you as he flaps his wings at you. “Fine, I'll buy it.” The awful bird looks like he's satisfied, maybe that was his plan all along.

—

With your bag filled with purchases, a scrapbook and a new charcoal pencil for Miles. A new flavour of tea that Pavitr might like, and you even managed to find a jar of coconut oil for him. The shell earrings for Yuri and Lyla, which you only managed to get a pair since the bloody parrot was a tough one and didn't even let the price drop to a single coin. So they have to share each one, you guess. For Gwen you found a pair of pink ballet shoes tucked inside an antique store filled with bits and bobs you don't even recognise. The shoes don't look like they could be danced in, but it looks decent enough to be worn. You hope she likes it, but your doubts made you buy a pair of shears to help cut her hair that she's been annoyed about recently, just in case she ends up hating the ballet shoes. Even James got a new leather belt to replace the makeshift rope belt that he uses. All in all, they're all good purchases. Your coin pouch might weigh less now but you're happy that you got your family something as thanks for everything they've done for you.

You love them, and the things you bought can't compare to the amount of love you have for them.

Now onto Hobie's gift, one that you've planned on for weeks now. The silver spoon clinks against the jar of coconut oil as you practically skip around the apothecary that you took a quick peek at their window. Maybe you'll check it out sometime since you still have money to burn.

You spot the mustachioed man before you could stop Hobie from pushing the stranger away with his whole palm against the man's face. Your new boots thump against the rocky road as you quickly pass by people to get to him. Leg aching, you're starting to worry about an ensuing fight.

“I told you like before, fuckin' later.” Hobie gruffly says, sounding mad more than annoyed. “And tell Thorpe that—” He spots your concerned face from the crowd before you get to his side.

“You alright?” You ask, hand gravitating towards his bicep. “Come on, let's just leave.” Tugging him away, the stranger glares at Hobie, which he doesn't appreciate. “Hobie, come on, it's late.” The heat from the blacksmith’s fire sears your cheeks.

Hobie stands tall, eyeing the man, as if he's egging him on to take out his gun.

“Hobie!” You shake him.

The man scoffs, smirking, reminding you of a certain navy captain. “Listen to your girl, Brown—”

Your gun is raised and aimed at the man. Hand not even shaking as you look at him over the barrel of your blunderbuss. “Don't fucking test us. Leave.”

Hobie's eyes briefly widen before those stormy grey eyes flick towards the surprised stranger. “Trust me, mate, she will shoot.”

The whole marketplace seems to go at a stand still.

“Thorpe will hear about this!” He stomps his foot, moustache swaying side to side as he leaves and fades into the crowd.

You don't lower your gun until you can't see the man's red hair. Hobie slowly takes your arm, bringing your shooting hand down to your side as he shields you from where the stranger was.

“You good, scuttlebutt?” Cupping your cheek, you sigh and lean against his touch. Adrenaline rushing through your veins.

“I'm good, yeah.” You sigh, turning to look at the blacksmith before she shifts her eyes away from you, so does the half of the market. “Let's go home.” You don't even have the energy to ask him who Thorpe is.

“C’mon, the crew's waitin'.” Hobie weaves his fingers around your own, guiding you around the market.

—

“Hey, fucking finally!” Lyla exclaims from the deck, munching on a pastry. “They're here!” A rush of footsteps walk towards the railings while you and Hobie sluggishly climb up the ramp. “We thought you got into some trouble.”

“Sort of.” You sigh out, leg aching as you stretch it in front of you while leaning against the railing. Maybe you still need to break in the new shoes.

Hobie notices, helping you sit on a crate. “Thorpe really wants my arse.”

“Who’s Thorpe?” George asks, a question that you've been meaning to ask yourself.

“He's part of the pirate council here.” Gwen answers for Hobie while he's busy kneading your back.

“There's a fucking pirate council?” You gasp out, half annoyed, half surprised. “Why? I thought this place doesn't have rules—” Yuri opens her mouth. “— beside the pirate code.” She shuts her mouth. “Sounds like you have to meet with him, Hobie.” You look up at him, only to find that his brows are furrowed together with worry. Hand finding his own, you squeeze him.

“We have to meet him.” Miles says, leaning on the railing beside Gwen. “We got summoned too.” He gestures towards the original crew.

“Fucker.” Hobie curses under his breath.

“That guy scares me.” James adds, arms crossed over his chest.

“You and me both, buddy.” Yuri clasps his shoulder.

“What do you think he wants, Hobie?” Pavitr asks worriedly, hands wringing around his bangle. “Is it because of—”

“Hobart Brown!”

Hobie grimaces, and everyone runs towards the railings to see the source of the voice. You look over and see the same moustache. This time though, he brought cavalry.

“What?! Only my own crew can call me that!” Hobie yells, sensing the oncoming danger as he unconsciously shields you with his body.

“Captain Thorpe ‘tide turner’ Heinrick has summoned you and your crew.” The familiar click of muskets echo around the docks. “And the bloody duchess!”

“Motherfucker!” You stand up, peeking over Hobie's arm. “Why?!”

“You pointed a gun at me!”

“Fair enough.” You muffledly say, hand inching towards your blunderbuss. “Why don't you come up here and—”

“No, we know your tactics! You used that on Bradshaw but it's not gonna work here!” The mustache man yells back. “Come down here and talk! The captain just wants to see you!”

“How ‘bout we reschedule?” Hobie flashes his negotiating smile. “It’s late and maybe we could—”

“No!” The whole gang on the docks aim higher at your heads. “He wants to see you now!”

“No need to scream, fuck.” Hobie whispers, hand brushing along your back before putting his hands on the side of his head. “Alright, we're comin’, don't get your knickers in a bunch.”

The rest of the crew follows, and one nod at Lyla from you has her understanding what you meant as she grabs George's bicep, pulling him back on deck. The man tries to argue but Lyla whispers something at him that has him reluctantly agreeing.

Once on the dock, Hobie gets closer to the man casually even when the barrel kisses his chest. Your heart leaps, afraid while your instincts tell you to fight and shield him.

“Don't worry, he won't shoot.” Hobie waves back to the crew, sensing yours and their concern for the captain. “Thorpe loves me too much.”

A sudden metallic clang echoes on the far side of the docks, where another commotion is happening. You gotta hand it to the Mermaid's head, there's no dull moment.

“C’mon, we're all yours.” Hobie sneers. “Where to?”

As you turn towards the louder commotion happening, you spot a pair of familiar faces getting hauled off a ship. Their eyes strike a memory to you, green and blue, different but a mirror of the other. An apple scented air, cracked hazelnuts in your palms while you wait with them by a dark lake. And birds, hundreds of migrating birds flying out of the trees after yelling obscenities at them.

“Cousins!” You yell, quickly running towards them before Collette's face gets a fistfull from a pirate. “Collette, Jonathan!”

Hobie takes the opportunity to exact chaos.

[infiniteeight8]

Because the internet is full of amazing people, I received two solutions to this problem!

AO3 Work Templates Script link: https://github.com/existential-decline/AO3-Work-Templates

This was written by the awesome @existential-decline, who has given me permission to share. :D They emphasized that it's not super polished, but it works and that's all I wanted <3

How it works: It creates a little "Templates" box in the lower right hand corner of the New Work page. Clicking the box expands it. Fill out the new work page with your desired info, then go to the box and replace "NewTemplate" with a name for the template, then click "Create". The template is now saved, and you can cancel the new post. Note: I use Safari, and in Safari I had to add a placeholder title and work text in order for the template to save and the cancel button to work. This is probably not necessary in Chrome or FireFox.

Then when you want to use the template, go to the New Work page, click the "Templates" box, use the dropdown to choose a template, and then click "Load". Everything is now filled out for you!

I created both IronStrange and Steter templates and it worked beautifully. <3

How to install: This might be easier in Chrome or Firefox (the link might take you to an install page), but here's what I did for Safari:

First, install a userscript extension in your browser. I used Tampermonkey, so the instructions here are for that. Anyway, install and open the extension. Go to the create new script page (there's a few ways to do this; I clicked on the extension icon and chose "Create a new script"). Then go to the page linked above and click on the "raw userscript" link. A window will open with the script code. Copy it. Go back to Tampermonkey and paste it into the new script window. Choose "File > Save" from the menu. Done! If you click on the "Installed Userscripts" page, the AO3 Work Templates script should be listed and turned on. Now it should work as described.

AO3 Podfic Posting Helper link: https://lazycats.dev/ (with thanks to @strangefaninastrangeland for locating it!)

If you don't want to use the script above for any reason, this browser extension does a lot (but not all) of the work, too. Downsides: Since it is designed for podfics, there are some options (title, summary, inspired by) that you have to either choose blank or de-select (I think it'll remember some of your selections from upload to upload, but not all). It's also not available for Safari (it is available for Chrome, Firefox, and Microsoft Edge).

How it works: First, find a work that has the tags etc. that you want to reproduce. I used one of my own works. Copy the URL. Go to the New Work page. Click the extension button in your browser. A little window will pop up. Paste the URL of the source work into the "URL of work to import from" field. Uncheck the podfic options and choose "Leave blank" for the title format and summary format field. Leave the audio format options alone; if you select nothing, it won't add them. Click "Import". The tags will load. You can now click out of the little window. Remember to uncheck the "Inspired by" box; you'll have to do this every time. Note that this option does not import series information or who can comment preferences (the AO3 Work Templates script does).

How to install: It was so easy that I don't remember. 😂 Click the link above, click download for your preferred browser and go from there, I guess?

~~~

Thanks to everyone who reblogged this as a signal boost!

I still have 26 ficlets to upload, which is going to be much, much easier now. ❤️

(If you're wondering about the ficlets already uploaded, they're drafts right now. I want to post everything immediately and I figured it was better to blast people with one fire hose of 40+ ficlets than to blast them two or three days in a row with 15+. This is your warning, subscribers, it's coming soon. 😂)

AO3 script wish

I would absolutely kill for an AO3 script (or something) that lets you save an upload template for new works. Something that would let you fill out parts of the "New Work" page and then save that so that when you upload a new work you could press a button or something and the saved stuff would already be filled in and you could just add or edit the preset as needed.

I have 41 ficlets to upload, and nearly all of them have the same rating, warnings, fandom, category, relationships, characters, and a couple tags. A script would save me so much time.

If this is possible and there's a programmer out there capable of writing me one, I would happily write you a ~3000 word fic (IronStrange or Steter) to your specifications (subject to the same no-go list as my prompts) as a thank you.

This is not a time limited offer. Even once I get through all 41 fits, I would still want the script.

[ao3scrapesearch]

Alright! Sorry for being so absent today! I was building a tool so you can all check your own names on demand.

I am asking that you not talk about it on Hugging Face. I'm sure word will get there eventually, but I'd like to avoid them accessing this as much as possible. Feel absolutely free to spread around Tumblr.

AO3 search tool is here! Use page 1 to search scraped fics by username. Use page 2 to search by work ID (which you'll need to do if you're looking for an anonymous work).

In case this post breaches containment: this is a tool that only has access to the work IDs, titles, author names, and chapter counts of the scraped fics for this most recent scrape discovered in April 2025. There is no other work data in this tool. It originally also showed the number of hits at the time of the scrape, but I had to remove that since it was really slowing down the tool's loading. This never had the content of your works loaded to it, only info to help you check if your works were scraped.

Thanks to everyone who helped with the cost to host the tool! I appreciate you so so so much. As of this edit, I've received more donations than what I paid to make this tool so you do NOT need to keep sending money. (But I super appreciate everyone who did help fund this! I just wanna make sure we all know it's all paid for now.)

Please come yell if the tool stops working, and I'll fix as fast as I can. It's slow as hell, but it does load eventually. Give it up to 10 minutes, and if it seems down after that, please alert me via ask! Anons are on if you're shy.

The mobile view only works if you have the Power BI mobile app, which is kind of a silly thing for you to download if this is the only report you will ever load. The best alternative I can find is enabling screen rotation and turning your phone sideways. It's a litttttle easier to use like that.

At this time, I believe most of the fics that were missed were caused by deficiencies in the scraper's code. I will continue to research on that, and you guys will be the first to know if I find anything that seems to be an effective anti-scraping measure.

Some FAQs below the cut:

"What do I need to do now?": At this time, the main place where this dataset was shared is disabled. As far as I'm aware, you don't need to do anything, but I'll update if I hear otherwise.

"I don't want to know!": This tool is 100% optional. If you don't want to know, simply don't click the link. You are totally welcome to block me if it makes you feel more comfortable.

"Can I see the exact content they scraped?": Nope, not through me. I don't have the time to vet every single person to make sure they are who they say they are, and I don't want to risk giving a scraped copy of your fic to anyone else. If you really want to see this, you can find the info out there still and look it up yourself, but I can't be the one to do it for you.

"Are locked fics safe?": Not safe, but so far, it appears that locked fics were scraped less often than public fics. The only fics I haven't seen scraped as of right now are fics in unrevealed collections, which even logged-in users can't view without permission from the owner.

"My work wasn't a fic. It was an image/video/podfic.": You're safe! All the scrape got was stuff like the tags you used and your title and author name. The work content itself is a blank gap.

"It's slow.": Unfortunately, a 13 million row data dashboard is always going to be on the slow side. I think I've done everything I can to speed it up, but it may still take up to 10 minutes to load. It's faster if you can use desktop, but it should work on your phone too.

(Made some quick edits to the post on 04-May-2025 to update information a bit!)

[sugaredrhubarb]

A QUICK GUIDE TO AO3 CUSTOMIZATION FROM SOMEONE WHO KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT CODING

ft adding pink to everything and my secret to writing long comments

note: I originally posted this to twt but if that place burns in a fiery pit I spent too long on this for it to disappear, so I'm putting it here too :)

so many people know way more about this than I do, but this is a step-by-step walkthrough of the changes *I've* made, and hopefully it works as an introduction people can build from for whatever they'd like to do

There are a lot of images in this post! (click to enlarge)

to start, AO3 skins

site skins change how the AO3 website appears when logged in (even on mobile), mine is pink and blue!

I'll have my skin turned off throughout the post so the guides appear as they will for you

to create, edit, and view skins, go to the "skins" tab from the left-hand menu. you can also view public site skins from there or from the button in the preferences.

public site skins are made by other users. i would really encourage previewing and exploring them to become familiar with the possibilities (maybe you just want to use one of them and now you're done!)

to create your own skin

on the skins page, click "create site skin"

if you don't know CSS (same), use the wizard! clicking on the "?" will give more information about each option

I only use the colours section you'll see a link right there for hex codes I use pink as a header colour and bue for accent but lots of people change the background colour and that looks really cool!

submit

The next step (optional!!!) is to add CSS from a public skin to your own. I use "ByLine" by Branch. this separates the tag categories and adds spacing to make them easier to read.

here is a before and after using the fic "Landslide" by @roosterbruiser as an example

to see the CSS of a skin, click the title

copy all the text below the CSS heading

in the skin creator/editor press the custom CSS option and paste all the text into the CSS box

you can have both wizard and custom CSS settings, in mine you can see the header and accent colours as well as the CSS

level up: USERSCRIPTS

userscripts are small pieces of code that modify a website. for AO3, this may involve adding shortcuts and buttons or even advanced tagging functions (computer people, I'm so sorry if this is wrong, I'm trying). I use Greasy Fork and Tampermonkey.

This is how I write long and formatted comments!

Greasy Fork is an archive of userscripts and Tampermonkey is a browser extension and userscript manager. You don't need to use these two in particular. please use your common sense when downloading anything or adding permissions to your browser.

Greasy Fork guide on installing scripts

Install Tampermonkey on Chrome

there are TONS of user scripts for AO3. This is another good opportunity to explore all the possibilities. there are lots of more complicated options I haven't explored.

scripts for AO3

i use this floaty review box

and this comment formatting

EDIT: if you use chrome you might need to turn on developer mode in your chrome extension manager - you can google "tampermonkey developer mode" and it should explain that :)

to install (once you have Tampermonkey installed):

open the script you want in Greasy Fork and press install

Tampermonkey will open, press install again

clicking the Tampermonkey extension will let you toggle scripts on and off, and opening the dashboard will let you view, edit, and delete scripts

i find i can only have a few turned on at a time before they cancel each other out, but that depends on which ones you're using and someone more savvy might be able to fix that

how to use the floaty review box - write more comments!

there will now be a "floaty review box" button at the top of the work, it will open a floating text box you can move anywhere on the page. highlighting any text and pressing the insert button will paste the text with italics into the box

anything you type in the review box will appear in your comment at the bottom of the page!

if you have also installed the comment formatting script, you'll be able to highlight any text in your comment and use the new buttons above the comment box to format it

thats all ive got! Hopefully this is a good starting point to get familiar with some of the terms and basics for skins and scripts <3

if you want some inspo for how to comment on fics i made a whole fic rec list on twitter based on comments I've left, it's here. i have a masterlist of recs there mostly for darklina/reylo and similar ships.

the tag #reading with ru has cod recs and me talking about books

:)

[forjongseong]

anon if you go through my tags post on my pinned, and click on #nanareadinglist, scroll to the bottom and you'll find some enha x hogwarts work by sfw writers! there's one story for each member so I hope that could quench your thirst for a while

hi do you know someone who writes something like you do (hogwarts etc) but with other members as well?

smut, no, but I did find some fluff hogwarts writers out there! honestly I am dying for more hogwarts!au too but it just seems like not many smut writers are into it for some reason... the best I could find is probably just a hard thought that someone answered in their asks

[kiwriteswords]

Professional Distractions

AN: Alright, here's the winner from the poll!! It's funny; I wrote a multi-chapter years ago about Hotch x Secretary Reader, so this brought back some memories!

Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Secretary!Female!Reader

Word Count: 8.9k

Rating: Everyone!

Tags/TW:  canon-typical themes, fluff, flirting

Summary: Aaron Hotchner thrives on control, order, and precision in both his work and personal life. But when a new secretary is assigned to his team, Hotch finds himself facing a different kind of challenge. Confident, witty, and effortlessly intriguing, she quickly becomes a presence he can't ignore. As their professional boundaries blur, Hotch is forced to confront feelings he never expected, and the calm, controlled world he's built begins to shift in unexpected ways.

Aaron Hotchner had never been one for frivolities in the office. Efficiency was his religion, order his creed. So, when Erin Strauss approached him with the idea that the BAU needed a secretary—he needed a secretary—he balked.

"I don’t need one," Hotch had said firmly, standing tall with that no-nonsense posture of his. “It’s a waste of resources.”

But Strauss was unmoved. "It’s already done, Aaron. She’ll start on Monday."

He felt like he'd lost before the battle had even begun. Hotch couldn't shake the sense that this was an unnecessary addition to his already perfectly functioning team. But Strauss was Strauss, and her word was law.

The team gathered in the bullpen that morning, curious about the new hire. Hotch had informed them earlier, his tone curt and business-like as usual. “She’s just here for administrative support,” he had said. “Nothing more.”

Morgan, leaning back in his chair, raised an eyebrow. "Bet she's someone Strauss sent to keep an eye on us," he joked.

JJ chuckled, but there was an undercurrent of anticipation among the team. New faces were always a point of interest, even in the most serious environments like the BAU.

The elevator doors slid open, and you stepped out, heels clicking softly on the floor. The conversations in the bullpen gradually quieted as you made your way towards Hotch’s office with a steady, assured walk.

You didn’t have the overt sex appeal of someone trying too hard. Instead, it was the way you carried yourself—your professional yet perfectly tailored outfit, your calm but confident posture, and the intelligent glint in your eyes—that caught their attention. Your aura spoke of someone who knew how to command a room, someone sharp, witty, and perhaps even a little mysterious.

"She’s... something," Morgan muttered under his breath, watching you with a grin.

"Wonder if she can keep up with Hotch," Garcia added with a playful smirk.

You reached Hotch’s office, giving the door a polite knock before stepping just inside. The faintest hint of a smile touched your lips, like you already knew what to expect.

"Mr. Hotchner?" Your voice was calm, professional, yet laced with just enough warmth to make him look up from his work.

He glanced up briefly, bracing himself for whatever distraction this was. "Hotch is fine," he replied, already setting his focus back on the file in front of him.

"Hotch, then," you echoed smoothly. The quickness of your response wasn’t flirtatious—it was simply sharp, quick-witted. You stepped fully into the office, no hesitation in your movements, and he took a second to measure you, noting that nothing about your manner felt frivolous.

"Y/N, your new secretary. But you probably already knew that," you said, standing with a straight posture, your gaze lingering just long enough to create the smallest tension in the air.

He nodded, clearly already trying to return his attention to the work on his desk. "Yes. Welcome."

You smirked slightly, sensing his resistance. "I’m here to make your life easier, Hotch. You’ll see."

It wasn’t a flirtatious comment, not in the usual sense. It was matter-of-fact, confident, and entirely unbothered by his lack of warmth. You weren’t intimidated, and that threw him off just enough to pause.

She doesn’t back down, Hotch thought, his fingers tightening just slightly on the papers in his hands. Most people hesitated, unsure of how to navigate his cool demeanor, but not you. You took it in stride, as if his distance wasn’t something to be overcome but just another part of him to understand. He wasn’t used to that.

There was a part of him that appreciated your confidence, your ability to handle things without needing constant direction. But there was also the part of him that felt something else—a pull, an attraction that was more than professional admiration. He couldn’t afford to entertain it, not here. Not with everything that was at stake. Yet, the more you settled into your role, the more difficult it became to ignore that nagging awareness of you, the way you never seemed rattled, no matter how he tried to maintain distance.

He was used to people being intimidated by him, especially new hires. But you? You weren’t phased in the least. Instead, there was a kind of ease about you that made him a little uneasy, though he’d never admit it.

With that, you left his office, and for the first time in a long while, Hotch found himself momentarily distracted, wondering just what kind of dynamic you were going to bring to his carefully controlled environment. 

Aaron Hotchner liked things a certain way. He wasn’t unreasonable, but he valued precision and efficiency, especially in his professional life. His office was always meticulously organized, his schedule tightly managed, and his expectations of those who worked with him were crystal clear. So when Erin Strauss had informed him that you—his new secretary—would be joining the BAU, he had been prepared to explain exactly how he liked things done.

Except, you were already a step ahead of him. And that both intrigued and unsettled him.

Hotch stood behind his desk, hands resting on the back of his chair as you entered his office with a fresh stack of files. You were calm, collected, and that faint smile you always wore, the one that hinted at a quiet confidence, made him pause.

“I thought we could go over a few things,” he said, his voice steady and professional. “Just to make sure we’re on the same page about how I like things done.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in your eyes as you placed the files on his desk with an air of someone who already knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Sure thing, Hotch. Lay it on me,” you said, leaning against the edge of his desk, clearly at ease.

Hotch hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. He wasn’t used to this—someone who wasn’t fazed by his usual no-nonsense approach, someone who seemed completely comfortable in his presence. But he pressed on, his tone measured.

“I like everything to be organized by priority,” he began, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk. “Urgent case files go on the top left, and any paperwork requiring signatures should be grouped together. My schedule needs to be updated daily, and—”

Before he could finish, you cut in smoothly, nodding as if you were already familiar with every word. “Urgent on the top left, signatures grouped. Got it. And don’t worry, I’ve been updating your schedule daily since Monday. You’ve got a meeting with Strauss tomorrow at 10 a.m., by the way.”

Hotch blinked, caught off guard. “You’ve already... updated the schedule?”

You nodded, not missing a beat. “Of course. And I took the liberty of sorting through the files on your desk this morning. The reports you requested from Garcia are already at the top. You’ll find a few case notes under them that I flagged as potential priorities.”

For a moment, Hotch didn’t respond, his usual calm composure faltering just slightly as he processed what you’d said. He wasn’t used to someone anticipating his needs like this, certainly not after just a few days of working together. And while he was impressed—very impressed—he wasn’t quite ready to admit it.

“Efficient,” he finally said, his voice careful, but you could tell he was weighing his words. “More than I expected.”

You grinned, tilting your head slightly. “What, did you expect me to be a disaster?”

“Not at all,” he replied quickly, but you caught the smallest hint of a smile on his face, which only fueled your amusement.

“Well, I hate to disappoint,” you teased, stepping back from his desk, “but I tend to be pretty good at what I do. You’re just going to have to get used to it.”

Hotch’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, he felt that same unsettling sensation he had the first time you’d walked into his office—like you already knew him better than you should. And that both fascinated and unnerved him.

“I suppose I will,” he said quietly, his tone measured but with an undeniable undercurrent of admiration.

You smirked, sensing you had him right where you wanted him. “Don’t worry, Hotch. You’ll thank me eventually.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression returning to that familiar composed exterior, but you could see the faintest flicker of something behind his eyes—something that told you he wasn’t as unaffected as he liked to appear.

“You seem very sure of yourself,” he remarked, folding his arms across his chest.

You grinned. “Confidence is key, right? Besides, I have a feeling I’ll be a good fit here.”

Hotch didn’t respond right away, his gaze still lingering on you as if trying to figure you out. You weren’t like anyone else he’d worked with before. There was something about your calm confidence, the way you seemed to know exactly how to push just the right buttons without overstepping. It was... refreshing. Though he’d never say that out loud.

Finally, he gave a small nod. “We’ll see,” he said, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful.

You chuckled, turning to leave his office. “Oh, I’m sure we will.”

As the day progressed, Hotch found himself more impressed with you than he cared to admit. Every task he’d mentioned—every detail, every instruction—you had already taken care of. Without being told. It wasn’t just your efficiency that caught his attention; it was the way you seemed to anticipate his needs, the way you handled everything with ease.

And the teasing? He found himself... enjoying it. More than he expected. You weren’t afraid to poke at him, to challenge him in small, subtle ways that made him pause and reevaluate the dynamics between you.

By the end of the day, as you prepared to leave, Hotch caught you on your way out, standing by his office door.

“Y/N,” he called, stopping you in your tracks.

You turned to face him, that same playful smile tugging at your lips. “What’s up, Hotch? Need something else done?”

He paused, then shook his head slightly, a rare smile threatening to surface. “No. Just... good work today.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Was that a compliment? From you?”

He chuckled softly under his breath. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

You grinned, your eyes sparkling with amusement. “Too late.”

As you turned to leave, Hotch couldn’t help but watch you go, still wondering how you had managed to slip past his defenses so effortlessly. You were different from anyone he had worked with before—confident, witty, and always one step ahead.

And though he wasn’t quite ready to admit it, Hotch knew he was impressed by you. More than he would ever let on.

Sitting back at his desk, Hotch allowed himself a rare moment of reflection. You’d been right: you had gotten under his skin. Not in a way that made him uncomfortable, but in a way that made him want to see where this new dynamic would lead. There was something about you that he couldn’t quite figure out—and maybe, for the first time in a long time, he was okay with that.

He glanced at the perfectly sorted stack of files on his desk and let out a soft sigh, knowing that working with you was going to be anything but predictable.

And for once, he didn’t mind that at all.

It didn’t take long for the team to notice the shift in the air. You were a natural conversationalist, quick on your feet with comebacks that were witty but never overtly crossed the line. Your presence was felt in the small ways—how you remembered little details about each of them, how you had a knack for lightening tense moments without being overbearing.

"I like her," Morgan said one afternoon after you had walked past, easily sliding a stack of paperwork into Hotch’s office without batting an eye.

Even Reid found himself smiling more when you were around, though you were relentless in teasing him, asking if his hair always did “that thing” on its own or if he had a special routine for it.

"She’s sharp," Reid added, intrigued by how quickly you seemed to pick up on the rhythms of the team.

"Too sharp, if you ask me," Garcia quipped, though her grin suggested she approved."She's like… intimidatingly hot," Garcia added, wide-eyed. "And those jokes? Even I blush."

JJ raised an eyebrow. "You think Hotch is... okay with her?"

Morgan laughed. "Oh, he’s pretending to be annoyed, but I bet he’s secretly amused."

And that was exactly the case. As much as Hotch tried to resist it, he found himself surprised by how often you caught him off-guard with your clever remarks. He wasn’t used to someone challenging him—not like this, in such subtle, intelligent ways.

But Hotch? He remained a fortress. He didn’t engage in your flirtation, not at first. He was polite, distant, keeping things strictly business even when you blatantly teased him about how serious he was.

“Do you ever smile?” you asked one afternoon, leaning over his desk again in that same casual-yet-familiar way.

“On occasion,” he responded coolly.

“Hmm. I’ll make it my mission to see that someday.”

He said nothing, though the corner of his mouth twitched—just a bit.

It was during a late-night case review when you knocked on his door and stepped inside, holding a cup of coffee. "I figured you could use this," you said, setting it down with a small smile.

“Thank you,” he said, eyes narrowing as he assessed you, trying to figure out what your game was.

“Careful,” you said, your tone light but teasing, “I might make you smile if you’re not too careful.”

For a second, his lips twitched, but he caught himself just in time. “I doubt that.”

“I love a challenge,” you responded without missing a beat, walking back to your desk with a slight grin.

And despite himself, Hotch found that he didn’t entirely mind the challenge either.

After a particularly long and grueling case, the team decided to go out for drinks to unwind. You, of course, joined without hesitation, slipping seamlessly into their social dynamic just as you had into their professional one.

As the drinks flowed, the conversation turned to you. Morgan, ever the instigator, leaned forward with a grin. "So, Y/N," he started, "you’ve been working with Hotch for a while now. What’s your take on him?"

You smirked, taking a sip of your drink before responding. "Hotch? He’s… everything."

The table quieted, and a few eyebrows shot up.

"Everything?" JJ asked, a smile tugging at her lips. "Care to elaborate?"

You shrugged, your tone playful but sincere. "I mean, he’s intelligent, strong, capable… and really attractive."

Garcia let out a small gasp, her eyes widening. "Wait—Hotch? You’re into Hotch?"

"How could I not be?" you laughed, setting your glass down with a casual ease. "He’s literally my dream man. Hot, smart, and way more fascinating than most people give him credit for."

Rossi, who had been quietly nursing his drink, raised an eyebrow. "Dream man, huh? I didn’t see that coming."

Morgan leaned back, clearly enjoying this turn of events. "You’ve got it bad, girl."

You smirked at him, completely unbothered by their teasing. "I’m just honest."

Emily, intrigued by your boldness, laughed. "I gotta admit, I didn’t peg you for a Hotch fan either."

"Oh my God," Garcia whispered dramatically, eyes wide. "Does Hotch even know?"

You rolled your eyes with a grin. "I mean, he will."

The table erupted into laughter, the team clearly amused by your boldness. Morgan, however, wasn’t done teasing. "You’re telling me if Hotch were sitting right here, you’d tell him to his face?"

Without missing a beat, you raised an eyebrow. "Absolutely."

And as if the universe had a sense of humor, Hotch, who had been at the bar talking to the bartender, chose that exact moment to return, taking a seat next to you.

"Tell me what to my face?" he asked, his voice low and curious as he glanced around the table.

You didn’t even blink. Turning to him, you smiled. "That I think you’re the hottest, smartest man in the room."

The entire table fell into a stunned silence. Even Morgan, who had been leading the teasing, looked impressed. 

Hotch, however, raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard. He wasn’t used to being the subject of such straightforward comments, especially not in front of the entire team. There was a beat of silence, and in that moment, Hotch felt the weight of their eyes on him. Normally, he would brush off a comment like this, keep things professional, deflect the attention. But something about the way you said it—so casual, so unapologetic—left him uncharacteristically rattled.

She can’t be serious, he thought, though there was no mistaking the sincerity in your tone. For the briefest second, his mind raced—how could someone as confident, as intelligent, as you be interested in him? He was used to being admired for his work ethic, his leadership, but this was something different. Something personal.

The idea of being seen in that way, especially by you, was both unexpected and, if he were honest with himself, a little thrilling. But he couldn’t afford to let it show. Not here. Not in front of the team. So he did what he always did—he kept his face neutral, his words careful, even as his heart beat just a little faster than before.

"You’re serious?" he asked, his tone careful, as though he were waiting for the punchline.

You smiled, unwavering. "Very."

There was a beat of silence, the tension palpable, but not uncomfortable. Finally, Hotch’s lips curved into the slightest of smiles, something rare for him. "I see."

Morgan burst into laughter, clapping his hands together. "Well, damn, Hotch! I think she’s got you beat."

Garcia, still wide-eyed, leaned forward, her voice a loud whisper. "Do you like… like him?"

You turned to her, grin still intact. "Yes, Penelope, I do. I have good taste."

Hotch sat quietly beside you, a bit overwhelmed but also… intrigued. You weren’t like anyone he’d ever worked with before. You were confident, intelligent, and you clearly didn’t care about anyone’s opinions. You liked him, and you weren’t afraid to say it. 

Reid changed the subject, without even realizing so, but Hotch’s mind was still on your comments. 

Finally, he cleared his throat. "I think it’s time I head out," he said, standing and adjusting his suit jacket. His eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary. "Goodnight, everyone."

As Hotch walked away, the table erupted into more laughter, but you sat back, utterly unphased. You knew it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The next day, Garcia wasted no time in rushing into Hotch’s office with her usual enthusiasm.

"Hotch, I can’t believe you just walked away last night!" she exclaimed, eyes wide with disbelief.

Hotch looked up from his paperwork, raising an eyebrow. "Walked away from what, exactly?"

Garcia huffed, placing her hands on her hips, her bright and colorful outfit a stark contrast to Hotch’s meticulously organized office. “Oh, don’t play dumb, Hotch. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, his expression unchanging but his curiosity piqued. “Enlighten me.”

Garcia dramatically threw herself into one of the chairs in front of his desk, eyes wide and voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Y/N! Last night! She said you’re the hottest, smartest man in the room, and you just walked away like it was nothing! Do you realize how monumental that was?”

Hotch fought back the smallest of smiles, keeping his voice even. “I recall the conversation. I didn’t think it required a response in front of the team.”

Garcia stared at him, dumbfounded. “Aaron. You have to be kidding me. Do you know how many women would say something like that to your face? And in front of everyone? She practically handed you the keys to a brand new chapter of life, and you walked away!”

Hotch let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly. “It’s not that simple, Garcia.”

“Oh, but it is that simple!” she shot back, leaning forward. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my time here, but never in a million years would I have thought someone would be so bold with you—and that you’d find it amusing! You didn’t even try to hide it.”

Hotch paused, letting her words sink in. Garcia was right, in a way. You were different. You didn’t play the games others did, and your boldness wasn’t born of carelessness—it was confidence, intelligence. And that intrigued him more than he had admitted, even to himself.

Still, he shook his head. “We work together, Garcia. I can’t cross that line.”

Garcia rolled her eyes. “Please. If there’s anyone who could handle both a professional and personal relationship, it’s you two. You’re like... two perfectly matched puzzle pieces, and I never say that about people who work here.”

Hotch glanced at the door for a moment, thinking. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t replayed the conversation from last night in his head. The way you had so confidently and calmly told him exactly what you thought—right in front of the entire team. It had thrown him off, but in a good way. A way he wasn’t entirely used to.

“I’ll handle it,” he said after a long pause, looking back at Garcia.

Her eyes lit up. “Handle it? Do you mean like actually do something about it? Because if you don’t, she will! I mean, the girl literally told you she thinks you’re the best man in the room. Hotch, you have to act!”

He gave her a look. “I said I’ll handle it.”

Garcia stood, grinning as she made her way to the door. “You better, or I’ll handle it for you. And trust me, you don’t want that.”

As she left, Hotch allowed himself a moment to sit back and think. Garcia wasn’t wrong. If he didn���t make a move, you likely would. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t mind that idea. Maybe, for once, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to let someone else take the lead.

You were at your desk, typing away when Hotch’s office door opened. You glanced up to find him standing there; his usual composed expression softened just a fraction.

“Y/N, do you have a minute?” he asked, his voice steady.

“Of course,” you replied, standing up and following him into his office, your curiosity piqued by the sudden request.

He closed the door behind you, the soft click of the latch making the room feel smaller, more intimate. You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms casually as you stood in front of his desk.

“What’s up, Hotch?” you asked, your tone light but aware that something was brewing beneath the surface.

He didn’t immediately sit down, instead remaining on his feet as he faced you. “About last night—”

You smirked, cutting him off. “You mean the part where I told you you’re the hottest, smartest man in the room?”

Hotch’s lips twitched, the smallest hint of amusement flashing across his face. “That part, yes.”

You tilted your head, waiting for him to continue.

“I wanted to make sure you understand that... while I appreciate your honesty, there are boundaries we need to maintain at work,” he said, his tone even but not dismissive.

Your smirk softened into a more thoughtful expression. “I’m aware. But if I remember correctly, I wasn’t exactly talking at work.”

He paused, clearly considering your point. “That’s true,” he conceded.

“Hotch,” you began, stepping a little closer, your voice lowering just a fraction, “I’m not here to make your life more complicated. But I’m not one to pretend either. You’re smart, and I know you’ve noticed the way we work together, the way we... get along.”

He didn’t respond right away, his dark eyes studying you intently. You had always been direct, and it was something he respected, but now, standing so close, it was more than just a professional admiration. It was something deeper, something that had been brewing for weeks, if not longer.

“I have,” he admitted, his voice softer now, almost contemplative.

“So what are you going to do about it?” you asked, your tone teasing, but there was an underlying sincerity in your question.

Hotch took a deep breath, his eyes still locked on yours. For a moment, the air between you seemed to thicken, the unspoken tension finally surfacing.

“I’ll figure something out,” he said, his tone more gentle than you had ever heard from him before.

You smiled, stepping back just enough to give him space. “I’ll be waiting.”

With that, you turned and left his office, leaving Hotch standing there, wondering just when he had started to consider the possibility of more.

The days after your conversation with Hotch carried on much like before: cases, paperwork, and the steady hum of the BAU. But now, there was an unmistakable tension between you and Hotch, a thread pulling tighter with each passing day. It wasn’t uncomfortable; in fact, it was almost... fun.

You enjoyed testing the limits of his calm exterior, watching for the slightest crack in his composed demeanor. Though Hotch stayed focused, that flicker of amusement in his eyes gave him away.

The rest of the team noticed, too, particularly Morgan and Garcia. Morgan would occasionally shoot Hotch a sly look, silently encouraging him to do something about the growing tension. Garcia, meanwhile, gave you conspiratorial smiles, her curiosity clearly piqued by whatever she suspected was brewing between the two of you.

One afternoon, you couldn’t help yourself. You wandered into Hotch’s office under the guise of bringing him some updated case files. You knocked lightly, then stepped inside before he could respond, a habit you’d developed over the past few weeks.

Hotch barely looked up from his paperwork as you entered, his brow furrowed in concentration. 

“Y/N,” he acknowledged, his tone calm but not dismissive. 

He knew it wasn’t just the paperwork that had him distracted—it was you. You’d been working at the BAU for a short time, but you had already managed to throw him off his usual rhythm. He wasn’t used to this—feeling something more than just professional respect for someone in the office. It unsettled him.

He told himself that it wasn’t anything serious, that he could keep it under control, but whenever you were in the room, there was an awareness that lingered—something beyond the simple back-and-forth of a working relationship. He glanced up briefly, bracing himself for the easy confidence in your expression that always made him feel like you saw more than you let on.

“What do you need?” he asked, trying to keep his focus steady. He couldn’t afford distractions. Not now.

“Oh, nothing urgent,” you said, your voice light as you placed the files on the corner of his desk. “Just thought you might like a little company. You’ve been holed up in here for hours. Starting to wonder if you’re avoiding me.”

He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours briefly before returning to the document in front of him. “I’m not avoiding you,” he said evenly. “Just busy.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, stepping closer, leaning against his desk. “You say that, but I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me because I might be distracting you. Don’t worry, Hotch, I won’t take it personally.”

His eyes flicked up to yours again, this time lingering a little longer. “You’re not distracting me,” he replied, but there was the faintest trace of amusement in his voice.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You sure? I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if I was. It’s kind of my specialty.”

Hotch set his pen down, finally leaning back in his chair, giving you his full attention. “Your specialty?” he asked, a hint of curiosity creeping into his voice. “And what exactly does that entail?”

You smiled, leaning in just slightly. “I’m good at getting under people’s skin... in a good way.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile threatening to appear. “I’m not so easily rattled,” he said, his tone challenging.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you replied, your voice soft but teasing. “I’ve noticed that you seem a little... different lately. Less of that ‘stoic FBI boss’ thing you’ve got going on. Could be me, though.” You tilted your head, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Hotch didn’t respond right away, his gaze steady, his expression unreadable. But you could see the faintest crack in his armor—just enough to know you were getting to him.

“I think you overestimate your influence,” he said finally, though the amusement in his tone betrayed him.

You smiled wider, clearly enjoying the challenge. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just underestimating how much fun I’m having seeing if I can make you crack.”

Hotch leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, his eyes locked on yours with that intense focus he was known for. “You think I’m going to crack?”

You shrugged, unphased by his scrutiny. “Everyone has a breaking point, Hotch. Even you.”

He didn’t answer, but the way his eyes held yours for just a second too long told you everything you needed to know. You were getting to him, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Before the silence could stretch too far, you stood up straight, backing away just a little. “I’ll let you get back to your very important paperwork. Wouldn’t want to be the one responsible for you losing focus,” you said with a smirk.

“Appreciated,” Hotch replied, his voice low and controlled, but there was a new glint in his eyes. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

You gave him a playful wink before turning on your heel and walking out, leaving him sitting there, slightly amused but clearly rattled—just as you intended.

The tension between you and Hotch continued to simmer, but now, it was more playful than before. You took every opportunity to poke at him, using your wit and quick remarks to see how far you could push before he finally let something slip.

One day, you were both in the conference room, going over some reports. The rest of the team was out in the bullpen, busy with their own tasks, but you and Hotch were alone.

“Looks like we’ve got a lot of paperwork to get through,” you said, flipping through a stack of files. “You really should invest in a better system. Maybe hire a secretary... oh wait, that’s me.”

Hotch glanced at you, his expression neutral, though you could see the faintest glint of humor in his eyes. “You’re doing a fine job. No need to hire anyone else.”

You smirked. “Fine job, huh? Just fine?”

He didn’t bite, instead focusing on the papers in front of him. “You’re very efficient.”

You leaned a little closer, lowering your voice just slightly. “Efficient? That’s the best you’ve got? I’ve been called a lot of things in my time, but efficient doesn’t exactly scream ‘compliment.’”

Hotch finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. “What would you prefer?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully, pretending to consider the question. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something a little more... creative? Stunning? Irreplaceable?”

His lips quirked in what could have been a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Satisfied with your small victory, you leaned back, crossing your arms with a satisfied grin. “Good. I’d hate for you to hold back on my account.”

Before Hotch could respond, Morgan walked into the room, interrupting the moment. “Hey, Hotch, we’ve got a lead on the case. You ready?”

Hotch stood up, giving you one last glance before nodding. “Let’s go.”

You watched as they left, that familiar flutter in your stomach returning. You’d been teasing him relentlessly, but the way Hotch handled it only made you more intrigued. He never gave too much away, but there were moments, small cracks in his usual control, that told you you were getting under his skin in the best possible way.

By the time Friday rolled around, the team decided to go out for drinks again, needing a break from the stress of the week. You joined them, of course, slipping into your usual spot at the bar. As always, the conversation flowed easily, the team laughing and unwinding together.

But you couldn’t help but notice Hotch, sitting across from you, his attention shifting your way every so often. He wasn’t as reserved as he’d been in the past, and you found yourself wondering just how much further you could push him.

“You’ve been quiet tonight, Hotch,” you said, leaning forward slightly. “Something on your mind?”

He glanced at you, a small, unreadable smile on his lips. “Just thinking.”

“About me, maybe?” you teased, your voice light but with an edge of curiosity.

Hotch’s eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, something flickered in his gaze—something you couldn’t quite read. But instead of answering, he just took a sip of his drink, letting the silence linger.

“Careful, Hotch,” you said with a smirk. “You’re starting to look like you’re actually enjoying yourself.”

His lips quirked again, but this time, he didn’t deny it. “Maybe I am.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you leaned back in your chair, satisfied that you had gotten another small victory. This was becoming a game—one you were both enjoying far more than you’d anticipated.

And you had a feeling that sooner or later, Hotch was going to make his move.

The conversation shifted as drinks were passed around, laughter bubbling up among the team. You found yourself in easy conversation with Morgan and Prentiss, but every now and then, your eyes would drift back to Hotch, catching him watching you in those quiet moments between interactions.

It wasn’t long before Garcia, after a few drinks, leaned over the table toward you with a wide grin.

“Okay, Y/N, let’s get back to the real topic,” she began, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “What’s your move with Hotch?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by her boldness. “My move?” you asked, though you already knew where she was going.

Emily grinned, leaning in as well. “Oh, come on, you basically laid it all out there last time we went out. Now the question is, what happens next?”

You laughed, feeling the team’s eyes on you, and shrugged, completely at ease. “I think we’ll let Hotch decide that,” you said, glancing at him from across the table.

Morgan smirked. “You’re telling me you’re just gonna wait for Hotch to make the move? You know he’s not exactly the type to—”

“To what?” Hotch interrupted, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement as he joined the conversation, eyes now fully on you.

Morgan chuckled. “I was just saying that you’re not exactly the type to, you know, make a move in these situations.”

The table erupted in quiet laughter, everyone clearly enjoying the banter. But Hotch, ever composed, leaned back in his seat and looked at you, his expression soft but serious.

“Maybe I surprise people sometimes,” Hotch said, his voice low enough that only you could hear it over the chatter.

Your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade. You could tell there was something unspoken in his words, something that hinted at more than just a challenge. Your heart raced, but you kept your composure, offering him a small, knowing smile.

Before anyone could say more, Hotch stood up, drawing the attention of the team. “I think it’s time I head out,” he said, his gaze briefly lingering on you.

Morgan raised his glass. “Always leaving early, boss man.”

Hotch gave him a small, amused nod before glancing back at you. “Y/N, do you mind giving me a ride back to the office? I left my car there.”

There was no hesitation in your response. “Sure.”

The team exchanged knowing glances as you both said your goodbyes, and once outside the bar, the cool evening air hit your skin, but the tension between you and Hotch kept the night warm. The car ride back to the office was filled with comfortable silence, the kind that spoke more than words ever could.

You pulled up to the BAU parking lot, the building mostly dark except for the faint glow of a few security lights. Hotch turned to you as you cut the engine, his eyes reflecting the low light.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice softer than usual.

“No problem,” you replied, sensing that something more was on the tip of his tongue.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with the unresolved tension from weeks of lingering looks and quiet conversations. Finally, Hotch broke the silence, his voice steady but laced with something deeper.

“Y/N, about everything you’ve said—about me,” he began, his eyes holding yours. “I didn’t respond the way I should have before. I wasn’t sure how to navigate it, but... I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

You tilted your head, intrigued but calm. “And now?”

Hotch paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Now, I think I’ve decided.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he leaned in just slightly, his gaze never wavering from yours. “I’ve spent a long time keeping things... separate,” he said, his voice lower, more intimate. “But I don’t want to ignore what’s in front of me anymore.”

You smiled, feeling the weight of his words sink in. “So you’re saying you do make the move sometimes?”

A rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Maybe I just needed the right person to make me want to.”

And with that, Hotch closed the small gap between you, his hand reaching out to lightly brush your arm. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t impulsive. It was deliberate, intentional, and filled with the promise of something more. When his lips finally met yours, it was soft but firm, like everything you had been waiting for had just clicked into place.

Pulling back just slightly, he looked at you, the usual intensity in his eyes now tempered with something new. “Dinner next week?”

You grinned. “I’ll be waiting.”

And as he stepped out of the car, you couldn’t help but feel that the boundaries between you had finally shifted in the best possible way.

Hotch had always been the kind of man who liked things done a certain way—organized, thoughtful, and maybe a bit old-fashioned. So, when he offered to pick you up for your date, you couldn’t help but tease him a little.

“I could’ve driven myself, you know,” you said with a playful smile as you slipped into the passenger seat of his black SUV.

Hotch, ever composed, shot you a small glance. “I like to do things properly.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Properly? What, are you going to ask my father for permission, too?”

He smirked—just the barest hint of amusement playing at his lips. “I considered it.”

You let out a laugh, settling into the seat. “Old-fashioned, huh? I didn’t peg you as the type, Hotch.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a little tradition,” he replied, his eyes focused on the road, though you could see a glint of humor in them.

You leaned back in your seat, your voice teasing. “No complaints from me. But don’t expect me to be swooning over your chivalry.”

He chuckled under his breath, surprising you. It wasn’t often you heard him laugh, and when it did happen, it was always low, quiet—like a secret only a few were privileged to hear.

“Noted,” he said simply, but you could tell he wasn’t entirely unamused by your teasing. And that made you all the more curious to see how far you could push him tonight.

Dinner was a surprising success. You’d expected Hotch to be his usual composed self, always in control of the situation, but as the evening progressed, you realized there was more to him than the stoic leader you were used to seeing at work. He wasn’t exactly playful, but there was a dry wit to him, a subtle humor that came out when he was relaxed. And tonight, for the first time, you saw that side of him more clearly.

“Admit it,” you said, leaning forward slightly as the waiter refilled your wine glasses. “You’ve been looking forward to this.”

Hotch tilted his head, his eyes meeting yours. “I won’t deny that.”

He surprised himself with the honesty of his response. Normally, he wouldn’t have indulged in something so personal, especially not during a conversation with a colleague. But this wasn’t the office. Here, under the dim lights of the restaurant, it was different. He was different.

He watched as you smirked, your chin resting in your hand, completely at ease. You had this way of disarming him with a simple look, a shift in your tone that made him feel more like a person and less like the always-in-control Unit Chief he was used to being. It was unsettling how quickly you’d managed to make him lower his guard, even for a moment.

How long has it been since I’ve felt like this? The thought crept up on him, unbidden. He couldn’t even remember the last time someone made him forget about the weight of his responsibilities, even if just for an evening. There was something easy about being around you, something he hadn’t expected but found himself wanting more of, even if he couldn’t quite admit it to himself yet.

You smirked, resting your chin in your hand. “See, you can be fun.”

“I’m not as rigid as you think,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, I know,” you teased. “You’re just selective about when you let it show.”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze steady and thoughtful, and for a moment, you felt the familiar tension between you—the same pull that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks. But just as you opened your mouth to speak again, Hotch’s phone buzzed on the table.

The moment the sound broke through, you both knew what it meant. A case.

As you laughed together over the last few sips of wine, the soft clinking of glasses and the gentle hum of conversation around you made the world feel smaller, more intimate. Hotch’s eyes lingered on you a little longer, and you could sense that rare ease in his posture, a subtle but meaningful shift away from the controlled, composed man you were used to seeing in the office.

But then, his phone buzzed against the table, shattering the moment like a pebble hitting calm water. Hotch’s hand paused before picking it up, his gaze briefly flickering with something close to regret. He already knew what it was. So did you.

As he glanced at the screen, you saw the professional mask slip back into place, the rare vulnerability gone in an instant. His shoulders straightened, his jaw set, and that familiar intensity returned. 

"It’s from Garcia," he said quietly, the warmth from moments before replaced by the familiar seriousness of a case.

For a second, he didn’t say anything further, his eyes resting on the screen as if weighing the decision to cut the evening short. His lips pressed into a thin line, betraying the disappointment he wouldn’t voice. Finally, he glanced up at you, offering an apologetic smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

"I’m sorry," he said, his voice quieter now, as if reluctant to pull himself away from the moment.

You leaned back in your chair, letting out a soft sigh. "Comes with the territory, right?" you replied, understanding but equally disappointed.

By the time the two of you arrived at the BAU, the rest of the team was already gathered in the bullpen, their eyes immediately locking onto you and Hotch as you walked in together. You were still dressed in your dinner attire, and Hotch, though composed, looked far more relaxed than he usually did when coming into the office. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on.

Morgan, always quick to jump on any chance for teasing, grinned widely the moment you entered. “Well, well, well,” he said, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. “What have we here?”

Garcia, who had been standing by her computer, gasped dramatically. “No way! You two were on a date?!” she exclaimed, her eyes darting between you and Hotch like she’d just uncovered the juiciest gossip.

Reid, looking slightly bewildered but intrigued, glanced at Hotch. “Really?”

You, completely unbothered by the attention, flashed a smile as you walked over to the table, pulling your jacket off and tossing it over a chair. “Surprised? I thought you all were more observant than that.”

Morgan laughed, clearly enjoying the moment. “We had our suspicions. But I gotta say, seeing Hotch in date mode? Didn’t think it was possible.”

Emily, who had been watching with a sly smile, leaned in. “How’s he doing? All proper and stiff like usual?”

You grinned at Hotch, who was standing behind you, his expression calm but not quite unreadable. “Oh, he’s very proper,” you said, your voice laced with playful sarcasm. “He even picked me up. Very chivalrous.”

The team burst into laughter at that, and even Hotch, though stoic, didn’t seem fazed by the teasing. If anything, there was a trace of amusement in his eyes as he stood there, clearly aware that he was the center of the joke.

Garcia leaned forward, her eyes widening with curiosity. “Wait, hold on. Hotch on a date? This is... rare,” she said, her tone full of intrigue but tempered with playful restraint. “I mean, I’ve heard of such things, but to witness it—wow.”

Hotch shook his head slightly, though the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “It’s not as monumental as you’re making it sound,” he said with a small, almost sheepish smile, something barely noticeable but present.

You laughed, leaning against the table. “Sorry, Hotch. I think you’re stuck with this one for a while.”

Morgan grinned, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I don’t think she’s going to let you off the hook that easily. But I’ve got to say,” he added, glancing between you and Hotch, “I haven’t seen the man this... relaxed in a long time.”

Garcia smiled softly, her usual energy settling into something more genuine. “It suits you, Hotch,” she said with a wink, but there was warmth in her words, not just her usual excitement.

You shot Hotch a quick look, a playful grin tugging at your lips. “See? I told you I was good at getting under people’s skin.”

Hotch gave you a sideways glance, but the hint of a smile on his face didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team. “So I’ve noticed.”

Despite the teasing, the team eventually settled into their professional rhythm, focusing on the case at hand. Hotch shifted back into his role as Unit Chief seamlessly—his tone authoritative, his posture all business. But even as he directed the team, catching glimpses of you across the room, there was something new in the air between you, something that didn’t quite fit within the professional boundaries you’d both carefully maintained up until now.

Every now and then, you’d catch him glancing your way, his expression softening for just a moment before he returned to the task at hand. It didn’t go unnoticed by you. In fact, you could feel it—the subtle pull between you two, something the team had picked up on too.

You weren’t embarrassed about how the night had unfolded. Not even a little. You’d owned your feelings, and seeing Hotch standing there, the team playfully ribbing you both, only made you more certain of what was between you. If anything, it was fun. It felt natural. But as the case wore on and the work consumed everyone, the playful teasing fell away, leaving just you and Hotch standing side by side, reviewing files as you discussed the finer points of the profile.

At some point, Hotch’s shoulder brushed against yours, and it sent a spark through you—small but undeniable. The room was buzzing with the usual energy of the BAU at work, but between you and Hotch, there was a quiet that felt intimate, even in the middle of the chaos.

“You okay with how that all played out?” you asked quietly, keeping your voice low enough that only he could hear.

Hotch’s eyes met yours, his expression unreadable for a brief moment before he nodded. “It’s fine.”

You hesitated, sensing there was more beneath his calm exterior. Leaning in just a little, you lowered your voice even more, pushing a little, like you always did with him. “You sure? You’re not embarrassed?”

Hotch turned to face you more fully, his dark eyes steady as they met yours again. “Not at all,” he said, his voice soft but sure.

You studied him for a second, feeling that familiar spark of curiosity. “I can be a lot sometimes,” you admitted, your tone lighter now but with a genuine edge. “I know I get under your skin. And I’ve noticed you try to keep things professional, but... am I too much for you?”

His brow furrowed slightly as if the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He stepped just a fraction closer, his tone serious but gentle. “You’re not too much,” he said quietly, his eyes searching yours. “It’s not that. I’m just... not used to it.”

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a little bold. “Not used to what? Someone poking at your stoic FBI boss exterior?”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound almost surprising. “That, yes. But it’s more than that,” he said, his gaze softening as he spoke. “I’m not used to someone like you. Confident, brazen, and... beautiful.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Coming from Aaron Hotchner, they felt weightier than any compliment you’d ever received before. “You really think I’m all that?” you teased, though your voice was softer now, the playfulness balanced by something more vulnerable.

Hotch gave you a small smile, the kind that was so rare for him but meant so much. “I do.”

For a moment, you didn’t speak. You just stood there, his words hanging between you, the tension both professional and personal at once. You’d been used to teasing him, pushing his buttons, testing the boundaries. But this? This was different. This was real.

“Good,” you said finally, a smirk tugging at your lips as you regained your playful tone. “Because I plan on teasing you about this for weeks.”

Hotch shook his head, amused. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

You were about to respond when Morgan walked past, flashing a grin. “Are you two done having your little moment? We’ve got a case to solve.”

Hotch straightened, his professional demeanor snapping back into place, though you could still see the warmth in his eyes when he glanced at you. “Let’s get back to work.”

But even as you returned to the task at hand, there was no mistaking that something had shifted between you. The teasing, the banter, the sparks you’d been playing with for weeks—all of it had led to this. And you knew, even as you both focused on the case, that the connection between you wasn’t something that would just go away.

As the night stretched on, you worked side by side, the teasing and laughter from earlier fading into the background. But every now and then, when the room was quieter and the rest of the team was occupied, Hotch would glance at you again, and in those moments, you saw it—the acknowledgment of what was growing between you.

This wasn’t just another playful exchange, another round of banter. This was real. And as much as Hotch was still the consummate professional, always in control, you could tell he wasn’t uncomfortable or embarrassed. Not by you, not by what was happening. He was simply adjusting, learning how to navigate something new.

When the case was finally wrapped up, and everyone began to head home, you found yourself standing in the BAU’s dimly lit office with Hotch once again. The others had gone, leaving just the two of you alone in the quiet.

“Well,” you said, folding your arms with a grin, “we never got to finish that date.”

Hotch, still composed, gave you a small smile. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You tilted your head, teasing. “You better. I don’t usually let guys off the hook that easily.”

He chuckled softly, the sound making your heart skip again. “I’m not letting myself off the hook.”

You took a step closer, your voice lowering just slightly. “Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you go that easy either.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the night hanging in the air. And then, in a gesture that felt natural, Hotch reached out, his hand brushing yours before gently intertwining his fingers with yours.

“I’ll pick you up again tomorrow,” he said quietly, his eyes warm.

You smiled, giving his hand a light squeeze.“Old-fashioned, I remember.”

He smiled back, his tone soft but full of promise. “I think it’s growing on you.”

And with that, you both turned to leave, the knowledge that this—whatever it was—was just beginning.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @khxna @rousethemouse

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

“Fuck and kiss you...at the same time-!” . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

synopsis: NSFW headcannons of being Wanderers s/o.

tags: mentions of cum, riding, vision!play, semi-public, VISUALS (twt videos), vulgar, explicit

wrd cnt: 0.4k

a/n: this was an ask i was too quick to whip up

To quote the wise words from @astarionapologist , “dude would be the type to accidentally cum in his pants mid make out secession. He’s such a little loser he’d probably get hard if you held him for long enough.”

And you’d probably be his first too, which makes everything you do drive him crazy by default. You have way too much power in your hands and he’s incredibly susceptible to all your tricks.

Also, he’s a brat.

He’s definitely a switch, he can top but you didn’t expect him to be such a power bottom.

Imagine riding him, trying your best to keep yourself in a stable pace.

He’s hold your hips so tight as his furred brows and thrown back head yearn for more. He needs you, but the only way he knows to ask is to demand it.

He’d groan loudly, scooting further down as you sit on his cock, “you suck at this” he says, or “you’re moving too slow”.

His desperation for you might even make him use his vision to lift your body up and down with more easier, a cold flow of air caressing your skin as he lets his hands roam around your body to pinch your sensitive nipples, or graze the curve of your spine before he lands a smack on your ass to hear you moan.

…

His name is The Wanderer; intimacy isn’t just in your bedroom nor is it something he wouldn’t want to explore outside its prenotioned limitations.

He’s completely on board with taking you against a tree in Avidya Forest or a balcony overlooking Ardravi river. Though, he’d be much more concerned with the view in front of him at the moment. Be cautious if you’re traveling together taking a commision, it might run a little longer than expected with all the “breaks” you’d take.

Click here for a VISUAL (video).

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

💚The Goblin Queen Welcomes You!💚

ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏɢ! ɪ’ᴍ ʀᴏᴏ. ɪɴ 1992 ɪ ᴄʀᴀᴡʟᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀɪɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴏᴜʟ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ʜᴏᴀʀᴅ ᴍʏ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ʀᴏᴄᴋꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴛɪᴄᴋꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ʟɪᴋᴇ ꜱᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴍɪɴᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴛʟʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜰᴜɴ.

ᨒ↟ 𖠰My masterlist is @darkmasterlistyouneverasked for. For a direct link, click here: darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor𖠰↟ᨒ

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I have a community for dark writers on Tumblr. Feel free to DM to join if you’re interested in talking about what you have in the works and other ideas.

Feel free to ask questions in my asks or leave your thoughts on my works!

Below the cut you will find answers to commonly asked questions, useful information regarding dark writing and content, and a little bit about what kind of asks I’ll answer.

𓆣Tips on finding stories𓆣 

use the tags to help find chapters. I tag series by title [or try to] but always by pairing so if you hit character x reader it will help narrow down results or if you hit series or au or anything along those lines it will at least help. please, I do use tags to help y’all as much as me and i hope that you can find stuff easier)

Use my masterlist and the tags there; yes, it’s behind at times.

Google title + chapter number and my blog name; this is often how I have to update masterlists.

𓆑Tips for sending asks𓆑

No Celebrity Gossip

Please no asks about pregnancy, incest, or bodily fluids.

Do not ask if reader is virgin. Will specify in story if significant.

I do not will no longer answer questions about how many parts a fic will be, or how dark a fic is, necessary warnings will be included at the top of the fic, nor will I find a fic for you, there are blogs specifically for that. 

DO NOT ASK WHEN THE NEXT UPDATE IS.

I encourage you to ask about fics and chat and discuss plot points, characters, headcanons, and all sorts of fun! 

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𖧧Resources on Non-Consent and Fiction𖧧

The nature of women's rape fantasies: an analysis of prevalence, frequency, and contents

Why Do Women Have Rape Fantasies? 

Why Do Women Have Sexual Fantasies of Rape?

Need Some Help? 

Mental Health Resources 

Global Mental Health Resources

[edamameimei]

love me like a sailor (sophia laforteza x reader)

"i don't believe in God, but i believe that you're my savior."

synopsis: every school day begins with a reading led by father john. however, the note left by sophia that you've been using as a bookmark is the only thing you've been praying to lately. tags: angst with a bit of fluff here and there. hs!friends au. wc: 4659 CW: religious themes, blatant homophobia, secret relationship, depictions of abuse but not very explicit. please read with caution, this one is heavy.

⏯ now playing: sailor song - gigi perez

Father John continues his sermon, his voice deep and booming throughout the cathedral. He tells everyone about the gift of life, how every second counts, and it shouldn’t be wasted in sin. It’s the same testament he begins the day with and for you, it doesn’t get any easier to sit through. You feel your eyelids get heavier with every passing second, your head nodding off, begging for slumber. At some point, you succumb to your exhaustion and feel the bible in your hands slipping off your lap. However, you jump up in the pew, biting your lip to suppress a squeal when you feel a poke at your side. You turn your head and see your best friend looking at you with amusement in her eyes. Sophia looks back up at Father John, pretending she didn’t just save you from getting reprimanded by Sister Jun again. You sit back in the pew, your shoulders slouched as you try to pay attention to the sermon once more.

You feel Sophia slide something under your hands. Without taking a glance, you smile. 

Your hand fiddles with the note, strategically placing it into your bible so you won’t get caught by any of the other Sisters during the service. You unfold it quietly, sliding it into the spine so it looks like any other page amongst the others. Father John calls for a hymn and you and the other students stand up, opening their bibles to follow along. It was perfect timing and Sophia knew that. She is always two steps ahead and it’s one of the many things you love about her. You look down and as everyone sings along, you read Sophia’s words that were meant just for you and only ever you. 

‘We should go to the river after school. Meet me in the courtyard. 

Also, Sister Jun is going to ask you about Bible Study. Tell her you’re meeting with me for tutoring or something. Remember, I love you. 

Yours, forever <3’

You glance at Sophia who is singing along. As she does, she looks back at you, her eyes glancing down at the note as if silently asking if you accept the invitation. You subtly nod, looking back up at the choir. Without even seeing her face, you know she is smiling wide. 

“Did Sister Jun say anything to you?” You look up from your notebook at Sophia’s question. She stands in front of your desk, holding out a can of your favorite beverage. You take it from her with a grateful smile, opening it with a pop. You shake your head and take a sip from your drink. “No. I’ll talk to her right after school.” Sophia nods, propping herself up on your desk. She sits with her legs crossed and her hands in her lap. You put a hand on her back and smile. “You’ve been spending too much time with me. You’re slouching,” You say in a teasing tone. 

She immediately straightens up, fixing her collar in the process. She looks down at you, clicking her tongue as she reaches over to fix your tie. “It looks like you aren’t spending enough time with me. How does your tie always get like this in the middle of the day?” You allow her to undo it for you, her eyes dark and focused as she slides it out from underneath your collar. Your cheeks heat up when she gets closer to help you. “I oversleep in the mornings. Try putting on a tie half-asleep every day… “ You murmur, taking another sip from your drink. She finishes her knot, tightening it slightly and adjusting the tie to be straight amongst the buttons on your shirt. She tugs on it, causing you to smirk at her slightly. She smiles down at you, her bottom lip pulled back by her teeth. 

Your heart skips a beat at the way she looks at you. 

Sophia lets go of your tie, her hand moving to your face to push back a stray strand of hair that sticks to your forehead. She keeps her hand on top of your head as she whispers, “I love you, you know that right?” There’s an underlying meaning to her words that only you know how to decipher. It’s as if you two have come up with your own code that no one else is allowed to understand. You look at her, your eyes twinkling. You whisper, “I love you too.” 

Once the break ends, you open your notebook to start taking notes. Inside, you find a new neatly folded note. You glance over your shoulder, seeing Sophia who is already looking at you, expectantly. You turn your eyes back to the front of the room, waiting for Sister Jun to turn her back so you can read what Sophia has written for you. As soon as she begins writing something new on the board, your fingers fiddle with the note, unfolding it without your eyes leaving the front. You quickly look down and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. 

‘I love you. That’s all. I love you. 

Yours, forever. <3’ 

Sophia stands in the courtyard, waiting patiently for you to come out of the building. She lights up when she sees you, relieved that you seem to still be in a good mood after speaking with Sister Jun. She walks up to you and grabs your hands, her thumbs caressing the healing scars on your knuckles. To this day, she still doesn’t understand why Sister Jun is so hard on you. The students know of her strict rules and her strong devotion to God but Sophia has never seen her so tough on someone until you transferred to the school. 

She lets go of your hands, hooking an arm around yours to pull you close to her side. “It went well?” She questions, her eyes soft as she looks at you. You walk with her toward the front gate, allowing her to take the lead. You nod, keeping your eyes forward. There is a small smirk tugging on your lips as you respond, “Yeah. She was gonna blow a fuse though, I saw it. But then I told her I didn’t want to miss our study session and she let it go…” You turn your head to look at Sophia, your eyes glinting with mischief. Sophia’s hold on you tightens as she furrows her brows with concern. “If you keep pushing her buttons, you won’t make it easy for yourself, Y/n.” You scoff, shaking your head. Her words were true though. You often gave Sister Jun hell but it was only fair for what she puts you through on a daily basis. 

“What makes you think I wanna make it easy?” 

Sophia stops walking, letting go of your arm. She walks in front of you with her arms crossed and her expression serious. As you look at her, you can’t help but find her adorable like this. Sophia is always so kind to the students at school. She is often praised for her leader-like personality, always taking initiative and having a way with words that charms everyone around her. What you admire most about your best friend though is how humble she is. Despite the fact her father is the sole reason why the school still stands, she does everything through her own hard work. She is truly an academic weapon and teachers think very highly of her. The Sisters within the church would never admit it but everyone knew– Sophia was their favorite. 

But they don’t understand why she decided to become friends with someone like you. You’re nothing like Sophia and your devotion to God is questioned by the members of the church. 

Your parents forced you to attend this school knowing it was one of the best in the new area you moved to. When you first transferred, you had no intentions of making new friends. The only thing you wanted from high school was the degree and move on with your life. However, after a long and exhausting first day, you sat at your desk at home to read the passages assigned to you by Sister Jun. When you opened your bible, a note sat in between the pages. It was neatly folded and on the front was a red, lipstick mark. You curiously unfold it, being met with the prettiest handwriting you think you’ve ever seen. 

‘My name is Sophia. I sit behind you in class. 

Talk to me tomorrow. I think you’re really pretty. Let’s be friends. 

-S.L <3’

Since then, you two have been inseparable, attached to the hip against all odds. 

And now, she looks at you sternly. You know she is only looking out for you but there is only so much Sophia could do. Even her father doesn’t think very highly of you but his daughter is stubborn. If she wants something, she’ll get it. And she has told you and shown you how badly she wanted you. Your smirk remains on your face as she grabs your tie, pulling you closer toward her. She speaks with a slight annoyance in her tone, “I want it to be easy for you, Y/n. How many times do I have to tell you that?” You chuckle, shrugging your shoulders. “Not sure, I guess we’ll have to see.” Sophia lets go of your tie, turning around to walk away. 

You follow her like you always do. She allows you to hold her hand as you two walk out the front gate. When you reach the river, she pulls you by your tie again, but not to speak to you. She lets her lips against yours tell you exactly how she feels. Your hands on her hips respond wordlessly, pulling her closer to tell her that you understand completely. 

When you get to school the next morning, you quickly walk to Sophia’s locker as all the other students make their way to the cathedral for the morning sermon. You glance around the hallway, ensuring no one sees you as you work on the lock. Once you get it open, you place the note you’ve written on top of her textbooks, closing it before anyone notices. You take a step back and sigh in relief. When you turn to walk to the cathedral, you are met with Sophia giving you a soft smile. You jump back a bit, surprised by her presence. You were sure she would have gone to the sermon by now knowing how punctual she usually is. 

She tilts her head, pursing her lips to gesture at her locker that you were just “breaking” into. “Are you insane? You could have gotten caught by one of the Sisters.” You grin at her, leaning your shoulder against the cold metal. You bring a finger to your lips as if to shush her, whispering, “I didn’t though, right?” Sophia only rolls her eyes, grabbing your tie to pull you along with her toward the cathedral. You whine, “Soph! I just fixed it before walking inside! You’re gonna loosen it again.” She ignores you though, keeping her grip on the fabric. She teases, “Maybe later.” Her words cause your cheeks to burn, effectively silencing you from saying another word. 

Once arriving at the cathedral, she finally lets go. She turns around to face you, her hands immediately reaching up to your collar to fix it along with your tie. You murmur, “This is why it keeps getting messed up throughout the day, you know?” She pats your shoulders, looking up at you with a small smirk. She surveys the area before quickly getting on her tippy toes, placing a soft kiss on your cheek before skipping inside. Your cheeks burn even more, reaching up to wipe your skin just in case before meeting her inside for the long and boring morning sermon ahead. 

Although Sophia’s family speaks highly of her academics and fully expects her to become a part of some sort of medical profession, you knew deep down what she wanted. 

And that was to become a star. 

She was an active member of the theatre club at school. She shone brightly on the stage, playing every role as if she were made for it. Her mother was a famous actress so of course that in turn led Sophia to follow the same path. You are always in awe whenever you watch Sophia perform, going to every single one of her performances because you genuinely love watching your best friend do what she was born to do. Sophia loves seeing you in the audience but she especially loves when you volunteer your time to help build the set for the newest production being held at the school. She finds it endearing and secretly loves to watch you work so diligently along with the other backstage crew members. 

After the morning sermon, Sophia drags you to the auditorium, telling you that the rest of the theatre club will be there all day to practice and continue working on the set for their upcoming production of, “Little Shop of Horrors.” You chuckle at her excitement as she talks your ear off about the latest gossip flying among her other theatre friends. However, you stop for a second, realizing you were in fact not a part of theatre and that you definitely should be heading to class before Sister Jun unleashes her fury on you. Sophia looks at you, concern in her eyes. “What’s wrong? Did I say something?” 

You squeeze her hand, shaking your head with a smile on your face. “Soph. I’ve got class, remember? I’m not actually a part of theatre.” She rolls her eyes, tugging at your hand. She speaks in a matter-of-fact tone, “Come on, Y/n. You’re basically a part of the family without the label. I’m sure it’ll be fine, I’ll just tell Sister Jun I made you skip class.” For some reason, despite your words from the day before, the thought of making Sister Jun angry again makes you feel anxious. You know you should go to class for your sake but when you look at Sophia, her brown eyes shining and somewhat pleading, you can’t find the words to say, “no.” 

You allow Sophia to continue dragging you toward the auditorium. When you walk inside, you feel her tugging on your tie, leading you backstage where no one seems to be. You look at her, her eyes telling you her intentions. You can’t help the smirk on your face as you nod, following her as if you were a martyr accepting their fate. 

Sister Jun snaps the ruler against your knuckles. And she does it again. And again. And again. 

It’s as if she believes your sins would seep out of your wounds. 

When Sister Jun leaves the room, she slams the door shut. She leaves you alone at your desk, your knuckles bleeding and tears brimming your eyes due to the pain. In front of you sits your wide-open bible. The verse you repeated over and over again stares at you, tauntingly.  Your lips quiver as you read it over and over again, hoping maybe God’s words would begin to make more sense. You don’t know how long you sit at your desk. You look up at the cross hung up at the front of the room and allow it to haunt you in silence, the ticking of the clock behind you being the only sound in the classroom. Suddenly, the door creaks open once more and you close your eyes, your heart beating rapidly. 

“Y/n…” Sophia’s voice is quiet as she walks inside the room. She walks toward you slowly, crouching down next to you to analyze your hands. They were bloodied and bruised. Scars that were still healing from the last time are now back at square one. She grabs them carefully, mumbling an apology when she hears you wince slightly. Her bottom lip quivers and you know it’s because she’s thinking this is all her fault. You open your eyes, glancing at Sophia with a forced smile. You whisper, “Could be worse.” Sophia shakes her head, still looking at your hands. She murmurs, “Shouldn’t be happening at all…” You sigh in response. You lean forward, resting your forehead against the top of her head. 

“Come on. Let me take care of you.” 

You don’t respond and grip her hands with the strength you have left. When you don’t move, Sophia lets go of your hands, reaching to your face to cup your cheeks. She shifts back slightly to get a better look at you forcing you to pick your head up. There’s a pained look in your eyes and you are desperately trying to hide it for her sake, but Sophia knows you too well. She leans forward, capturing your lips in a chaste kiss. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest and you know you should pull away. You both were still in the school and anyone could walk in but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

Knowing Sophia would love you this bravely despite the consequences, why would you pull away? 

After a few minutes, Sophia pulls away and caresses your cheeks with her thumbs. She whispers again, “I love you, Y/n. I love you and I’m sorry.” 

You feel tears forming in your eyes at her apology. You reach up to cup her cheeks as well, your voice cracking as you respond, “I’m sorry, I love you too.” 

A few days later after school, you find yourself volunteering once again with the set. Your bandaged hands paint the background for one of the scenes in the show, blocking out all the chattering amongst the actors behind you as you focus on your work. Sometimes, you tune in for a second when you hear Sophia’s voice amongst the chatter. Her loud but genuine laugh rings in your ears causing you to smile every few seconds. At some point during their conversation, you overhear one of them asking Sophia about her plans after graduation. 

The event that is happening in only a few months. 

You stop for a moment, listening to the conversation. You feel bad for eavesdropping, but you can’t help it. Especially if it’s the girl you’ve been in love with for a year now. You hear Sophia laugh again, her response casual, “Going to college, you know, the usual.” Another one of the students spoke up, asking her, “Are you gonna continue doing theatre?” There’s a brief silence before Sophia finally responds and you notice the tinge of sadness in her voice, “Umm… We’ll see. I don’t think so since I’ll have to really focus on school, you know?” 

The students express their disappointment toward her answer and it takes everything in you to not walk up to her to provide comfort. You know it’s a sore subject for Sophia. You wish she had the ability to give her dreams priority but you knew she wouldn’t want to go behind her parents’ backs like that. Her parents being disappointed in her was the last thing she could ever want. Sophia could be stubborn all she wants but when it came to school, there was no fight to give. She simply just had to do it and that’s all there is to it. The subject changes to one that always has you rolling your eyes when it’s brought up. 

Everyone’s love life. 

You tune everyone out again once you hear one of the girls begin talking about how disastrous a date went the night before. You begin painting again, your interest no longer piqued. The conversation usually puts you in a sour mood when everyone begins to put the spotlight on Sophia. Her words are always the same, how she is waiting for the “right one” to come sweep her off her feet. You always roll your eyes, a bitterness festering in the pit of your stomach. If it weren’t for you and Sophia’s current circumstances, you’d tell the whole world Sophia Laforteza belonged to you. But unfortunately, she’s yours behind closed doors and it takes you convincing yourself every single day that’s enough. 

But her answer today takes you by surprise. You miss the question that was asked but you hear Sophia loudly announce, “I want a big family! I just want so many kids and have a big, happy family. That would literally be the dream.” Her words knocked the wind out of you, effectively causing you to freeze and stop whatever you were doing. You hear everyone tell her she will find the perfect husband one day, how she is so beautiful and any man would be lucky to have her. Before you can stop yourself, you set the paintbrush in your hand down, quickly walking away. You make a beeline toward your bookbag, grabbing it and swinging it over your shoulder. 

You’re not angry at her. You’re mostly angry at yourself. You’re angry that this is your reality. 

Sophia notices your absence. She looks toward the exit door and sees you leaving without a goodbye. She excuses herself from the group, worried. She quickly follows you out the door and into the hallway. “Y/n! Where are you going?” You ignore her, making your way toward the front of the school. Sophia quickly catches up to you and grabs your shoulder, pulling you back so you can look at her. She furrows her brow in confusion, “What’s wrong?” You sigh exasperatedly, looking everywhere but Sophia. You respond, “Nothing. It’s nothing.” But Sophia doesn’t take that as an answer. 

She steps toward you, grabbing your wrist gently. She holds your chin, tilting your head so you’d look at her. She whispers, “Tell me…” You look at Sophia, your eyes glancing down at her lips. They glance back up and into hers. Her eyes are pleading as if giving you a confirmation to lean in and close the gap between the two of you. You nod, leaning in, your eyes fluttering close. However, the sound of a door opening causes you both to jump away from each other. You’re once again brought back to reality. “I’ve gotta go.” You breathe out and before Sophia can stop you again, you’re turning on your heel to quickly walk away. 

You trudge into your room tiredly. Your body is aching and you want nothing more than to sleep so you could just do it all over again. 

You place your bookbag down, unzipping it. The least you could do is prepare for Father John’s sermon in the morning. You pull out your bible, placing it on your desk before sitting down. You rack your brain to remember the verses you were supposed to review before tomorrow, but you only groan, your brain too fried to do anything. You decide to open it, hoping if you scan the pages, you’ll be able to recognize what was written on the board before the bell rang. Your bible opens immediately to not only the passage but to a note that was neatly tucked into its spine. You pull it out, wondering when Sophia even had the chance to sneak it inside. 

You unfold it, the bitterness you were feeling previously disappearing as you read the newest note. 

‘Once we graduate, we should run away together. 

I think about it often. Sometimes when we sit by the river,

I think about grabbing your hand and just leaving all of 

this behind. Would you run away with me? I think we’d

live a good life together. I love you. 

Yours, forever. <3’

You take a deep breath, feeling stupid for pushing Sophia away. You fold the note again, placing it amongst the others that sit inside your desk drawer. You reach down to pull out a notebook and pen from your bookbag, ignoring your bible to write your response. 

The next day, you find yourself lying on the ground, your arm wrapped around your torso in pain. You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for another blow. Sister Jun towers over you, in her hands is a yardstick and the note you planned to slip inside Sophia’s bible. You hear the yardstick clatter onto the floor and suddenly, you are being pulled to your feet by Sister Jun, her hand gripping your tie. She forces you to look at her, shouting with venom in her words, “Who was this note meant for?! I’m not going to ask you again.” But, you remain silent. You would take all the pain in the world if it meant Sophia would be safe. You would do this over and over again if it meant Sophia would live the life she deserves. 

Because you love her. You love her unapologetically, you love her knowing God frowns upon it. 

Sister Jun throws you onto the ground, giving up on getting answers from you. You hear her walk toward the door and before she exits, she tells you something that sends a shiver down your spine. 

“Wait until Father John reads this disgusting note.” 

The next day at school, you hear whispers amongst your peers. They watch you as if you were the devil himself. Your hands are bandaged and the bruises from the day before were evidence for everyone to know that what was being said was true. 

During Father John’s morning sermon, Sophia sits three pews away from you. 

She doesn’t look at you in class. 

And she doesn’t wait for you in the courtyard. When you visit the river, she isn’t there. 

It’s like this until graduation. Your knuckles have healed well and it’s as if the bruises on your body were never there. 

But at what cost?  

After the festivities of graduation, Sophia walks into her room and sees a small box sitting on her bed. Her mother told her a gift would be waiting for her, telling her that a friend from theatre dropped it off. She tells her, “Apparently, they’re leaving today to go to the United States.” 

Sophia walks over to her bed, confused by the present. None of her friends from theatre mentioned they would be going to the States for college. She picks it up carefully, trying to figure out who the culprit could be. Sophia takes a deep breath, opening the present. She widens her eyes when she sees your tie neatly folded inside. She takes it out, feeling tears springing to her eyes when she holds it in her hands. Her fingers trace the fabric like she had done so many times before. She looks inside the box and sees a note neatly folded inside. Sophia sits down on her bed, bracing herself for the words she is about to read. She takes out the note, unfolding it. 

Her hands shake as she reads it. When she finishes, she covers her mouth, trying to stifle her cries. 

If God were listening, you’d be at her door. If he had any sympathy, you’d be there in her room with open arms. Father John often talked about how life should not be lived in sin, but why do your words seem more convincing than anything he ever talked about? Sophia’s tears fall onto the page as she grips it tightly in her hands. She rereads your note over and over again as the cross above her bed watches her silently. 

‘I will love you wherever you go next. 

I will love you when you find your soulmate. 

I will love you when you start a big family, 

with all the kids that will have your eyes and his. 

I will love you even if it’s wrong to. 

I will love you. I’m sorry, I will always love you. 

Actually. I’m not sorry. I will never be sorry. 

Yours, forever. <3’

a/n: i hope you all enjoyed. as someone who went to a catholic hs, i projected a bit while writing this. if this resonated w you, just know i see you. and i hope you heal from all things you dont talk about. <3

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

calendula | gaku (sakamoto days)

✮ tags ; afab + gn!reader, no dialogue, gakus perspective, established relationship, technically pre-canon but not relevant, tit worship, riding, unprotected sex / no prep, 18+

✮ wc ; 3.4k (???????????)

✮ a/n ; girl idk. guy i characterized off of vibes and a brief reread. this is kind of a character study. if you squint. if this characterization is completely wack im sorry i think i was overcome by lust

more importantly this fic is me attempting to practice my prose so there's no dialogue rip. i dont think it succeeded but that's why there's only one line of dialogue sdkjfhkjsd.

✮ synopsis ; gaku gives you whatever you want.

Gaku knows it’s you before he answers the door.  

From the weight and sound of footfall to the way you knock on the door—always twice in rapid succession. All of these details about you linger in his mind all day. He knows you’re going to knock on the door and waits for it. His attention is away from the screen. His avatar takes a hit and the weighted controller vibrates in his hand. He let it happen. It’d have been easy enough to dodge, since he’s got good reflexes and all. But if he takes a hit, there’s a brief second that makes it easier for him to pause his game.  

He clicks a few buttons to hit pause. Neon lights paint his bedroom walls, casting shadow on the wall behind him and dimmed by the pause menu. A simpler techno beat replaces the flashy, high energy background music of an intense boss battle. Gaku gropes his bed for the remote to turn the sound lower.  

You knock at the door just when Gaku expects you. He tosses his controller and remote onto the bed , landing with a barely audible thud.  

He opens his door to find you right where he thought you’d be. Leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest and eyes lidded—he stares at you, observing your expression. It’s not like he’s going to interrogate you, not really.  

He can just tell. You’re thinking about something. Could be anything. He knows a lot about you. All of things you say to him when you impolitely assume he’s not listening are kept in the same part of his mind all the other details about you are. He doesn’t think you’re upset about anything. He’s developed a sixth sense for that.  

You’re here for something else. Gaku has a guess, though he doesn’t voice it to you. Just looks on with lidded eyes and waits. Something else is on your mind, too he’s sure. He can tell you don’t want to talk about it. Or that it’s not worth talking about to you.  

You’ve got your hoodie barely zipped up, he notices. Gaku’s hoodie, actually. It’s too big on him, and falls even bigger on you, the shoulder slipping off of your frame revealing the skin underneath. Gaku lets his eyes run over the vision. Tugging at the front of your top and pulling it down, covering your shorts and making it look like you’re wearing nothing at all—you fidget conspicuously. Shifting your weight from one side to another. He gets a clear view of the set you’re wearing. Work-out clothes, he thinks.  

He feels his lips twitch at the sight of you. You pick your head up to look at him, expectant. You don’t want to say what you’re thinking, but you look like you figure he might pry anyway. Sometimes he does. In matters concern you, he often finds himself sticking his nose in places it doesn’t belong in general. He does want to know, but decides it’s fine for now.  

It’s not mercy. He just doesn’t think he needs to ask. Whatever it is, he can do it for you if needs to. He does a lazy glance in the hallway for sight of anyone. 

When he finds no one, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into the room all in one go.  

You let out a squeal as he grabs you. It’s easy to do it. All the strength he’s been building has its uses other than killing. He’s learned that lesson because of you. Your hands are fisted against his chest, arms folded at the elbow--as he shuts the door behind you and backs you into it. He uses his other arm  to cage you—resting his weight on his forearm as his hand clenched into a first.  

He should give you a second to breathe. Should play nice when you’re already looking for a way to wash your hands of your thoughts.  

But, he doesn’t want to let go of you right away. This close proximity—the slight tension in the air. Feels good because it’s you. Impossibly close with unspoken understanding. 

 Already close, he wonders if it’d be fine just to linger there for a minute longer than he would otherwise.  

With an arm still around your spine, Gaku presses into your space. His nose is milimeters away from yours. The only light faint from the TV screen, the atmosphere around you shifts in the darkness. Your face is shrouded, but up this close he can see you with perfect clarity. Like you’re the only two people in the world.  Your wide eyes, glimmering with expectancy. Mouth pressed into a flat line like you’re unamused—in a way that’s completely contrary to how you’re staring at him.  

He can see every detail. A part of him thinks he could trace them out with his eyes closed.  

Both things make him wanna kiss you. Both your stubborn desire to hold onto a petty grudge (that is, him pulling you in and surprising you) and the obvious, bone-deep devoted look in your eye. 

Before you can ask him anything, Gaku lets you go. With your back now pressed up against the door, he uses his free hand to to tip your chin up and kiss you.  

You relent easy. He knew you would. Always quick to forgive him when he gets on your nerves. Your arms loop around his neck and his hands finds your hips and you kiss. Your lips are soft and warm. They taste like cheap vanilla, the artificial taste that comes with whatever chapstick you use.  

(Gaku knows the brand. As in, he could get it for you if he saw it but he doesn’t know the name. Another unimportant detail he keeps tucked away for himself.)  

He’s fond of the way you melt into his touch. Your body slumped against the door, the lazy draw of your limbs and your arms around his neck - sleeves pulled your hands. The tension bleeds from you as kiss him back eagerly.  

You always kiss too fast. The first few times he had to tell you to take it easy. You never learned. He kind of hopes you never do 

Gaku prefers to draw it out. Pull away for a while with nothing but the threads of spit and bitten lips as proof  before kissing you again. But you’re eager, excitable. Your tongue laps at his lips hurriedly, brows furrowed -desperate and whimpering. Greedy. Wanting for more because Gaku can give it to you just fine if you want it.   

You never have to tell Gaku what you want. For the most part, he doesn’t how else to operate other than give you whatever. Never asks you for any favors, just gives it because it makes sense to him. Gaku likes kissing slow, but for you—it’s fine to kiss a little faster.  

His tongue slips against your mouth. The pace changes. The air in the room becomes thick around you and Gaku can’t breathe around it it. Seemingly, neither can you, but it doesn’t deter you.  

Doesn’t deter your eagerness. He’s fond of it. Lets you suck on his tongue and kiss him sloppy just because.  

It amuses him. He lets you do what you want. Gets him hard to see you act that way, despite knowing each time you come to him for something—its already yours. Puppyish to your own demise, Gaku squeezes your hips. His hands slip under the fabric of your hoodie until he can feel the waistband of your shorts.  

Your skin is bare underneath. Just a bra and shorts then. Good to know.  

You pull away panting. Face flush, mouth spit slick. Still so adoring in a way that makes his stomach flip. Excites him in a way so few things in the world do. It makes him laugh. If he had a shirt for you to tug on, you would.  

You’re not gonna ask for it directly. Gaku doesn’t exactly feel like making you, either.  

He nudges his nose against your jawline before he bites gently into the space below your chin. A breath of laughter passes through his nose as he slips his hand into your, fingers locked and tugs you further into his room. A silent confirmation.  

Yeah, he thinks. If you want it.  

Falling into bed with you is always easy.  

You crawl into his bed like you belong there. Get comfortable in his unfolded clothes, his blankets, his pillows. You’re never in the same place very long but Gaku likes the sight of you in his temporary bed, with his things.  

The lines between you and him blur when you’re tucked in with his other belongings and Gaku sort of likes it that way. He tries not to reflect on it.  

You sit on your knees, expectant. Reaching out to grab Gaku’s hand but holding his finger, you pull him into bed along side you. He looks at you amused, head tilted to one side. You put a hand on his thigh and Gaku gets the message  - scooting himself to sit up against a wall.  

Your eyes light up, just a little. You crawl into his lap like a spoiled thing. Your knees on either side of his thighs as he’s spread out, straddling his waist with his hoodie still on. He can feel himself get hard right away. It feels pathetic every time, but it’s the way it goes. Your ass is soft as you sit on his dick like its yours. He can feel the heat radiating off you. You grind back against him tentatively.  

He lets out a deep sigh.  

He can see you a little better this way. It’s the way you’re both sitting. Gaku with his back a side wall and you just over. The light from the TV is close enough to cast on your face. Your features are clearer this way. The subtle nuances of your expression especially visible.  

It’s so easy to tell when you want him to fuck you. Of all of things he likes about fucking you (and that list is long)—it’s this face that drives him most up the wall. Makes him want for it even when he thinks less of himself for being so easy.  

You’re vicious. And talented. You’ve got a knack for assassination like no one else, not motivated by blood lust but some strange desire to be the very best at it, if you’re going to do it all. 

But you’re so debauched like this. Eyes clouded in visible arousal. Wearing an athleisure fit that’s perfectly, seamlessly tight and so see-through in all of the right places. Wearing his hoodie.  

That look on your face like you want his dick so fucking bad, so desperately—that you’d go as far as begging him. He knows you would. You practically are. A sloppy, ultimately transparent attempt to get him to pound your pussy the way you like. The way you need.  

(The way he’s made you need)  

You don’t really have to do any of it. It’d be just as easy if you barged in and pulled his pants down. He wouldn’t say no to you. Might laugh, but wouldn’t turn you away.  

But you work for things you want. Like a compulsion. If Gaku’s gonna fuck you, it can’t just be because he’s whipped beyond words (he has enough self-awareness to know, but tries not to dwell.) 

 You would want him to lust after you just as bad, get him hard and excited since it’s not easy to accomplish. There’s nothing for you to earn but you’ll earn it anyway. 

Gaku ruts his dick against your ass, feeling the outline of his cock stretch the seam of your shorts. Like he’s trying to fuck you through it. He’s hard. It’s making him dizzy, just how much. All you’ve done is kiss, he remembers.  

It doesn’t make his hard-on any less severe.  

You urge him to do it again. Rub yourself against him as best you can, grinding at his lap for friction on your clit. Your body wracks with a shiver, mouth fallen open as you use your hands on his legs to keep yourself up and rut against him for pleasure—moving back so you’re pussy is sliding against him properly. Riding his hard-on. The sheer material of your shorts gives him a preview of how you’ve got nothing on underneath, your pussy visible in the thin stretchy material. So wet it’s dampening them. They seep through the fabric. Nylon and spandex and polyester. Too thin.  

It turns him on so much it makes his head throb. 

Gaku’s hands slide up underneath your hoodie again. Your skin is warm underneath the tips of his fingers. Even through bandaged hand he can feel you just slightly. They travel upwards, until he’s at the end of your sports bra. He gets underneath the stretchy band, pulling it up until it sits bunched up over your breasts— just underneath your neck and chin.  

Your nipples are hard from arousal, pert and begging for his attention. Gaku likes the way you feel in grasp. Soft and warm and supple, sweet and pliable under his touch. His palms squeezes the fat of your tits, playing with them as you grind yourself on his cock unabashedly. Head thrown back and not entirely paying attention—something he’ll tese you for later. He squishes your tits together, testing their gravity. His fingers brushing across your nipples, flicking lightly. Teasing and rolling them with the pads of his thumb.  

Above him you shiver. Moan out his name, still humping yourself on him. He figures you’ll tucker out soon. Beg him to put in it. He decides to wait it out more.  

He leans in close, placing a kiss under your sternum before his mouth travels upwards. Gaku is meticulous as his tongue laves over the soft patches of skin. He kisses and licks first, but always finishes with a bite or bruise. He can’t help himself. He loves the way his teeth sink in. Loves the mark it leaves in your skin when he bites hard enough, the indents of his incisors and canines that linger for a long while after him.  

(Loves kissing the yellowing bruises when you have sex in the mornings. On the rare slow and lazy days where the sex more sweet than anything. He tries to save it for when you’re sleepy. For his sake and yours)  

You moan loudly when his tongue flicks against hardened buds. Impatience flickers through him listening to you. His hands grip your ass hard enough to keep you in place - no longer content with just sitting. His mouth sucks and licks at your nipples while his hands change the pace from a shallow grind to a long, deep one. 

He moves you with intention against the outline of his cock. Slowly, steadily - at the kind of pace that lets him worship your chest with his tongue and teeth without risking a bite that’s too hard. Your hands fall around his neck, as you curl into him.  

Once Gaku gets control of you like this, you’re eager to let him have it. You give into the forcefulness of his touch, the demand of it. Your words are more whimpers and please against his neck. Your nails are digging into the muscles of his back—no doubt leaving red marks for him to admire later. He’s sure he’ll get a look from Kei when he sees them.  

Your shoulders are trembling. The first word to leave your lips is one Gaku likes hearing you say. Whined against the column of his throat, muffled but loud enough for him to catch.  

“Please,”  

It’s like a gut-punch. Makes the lust in him so urgent, so heavy, so daunting—he can feel it in the way moves. His breathing is labored. He presses his head against your chest and inhales deeply. Tries to mellow and keep composure.  

It just feels like he can’t get his dick into you fast enough. Feels like there’s no amount of time he’s willing to be patient for it. He needs his dick in you now, needs to take you by your hips and bounce you on his lap.  

You did say please. He’s being fair, is all.  

Gaku grabs the thin material of your shorts and rips it right along the seam. You gasp, but you’re too worked up to protest it. Soaked all the way through, your clit is hard and demanding attention. Gaku slips his his dick out from under his sweats quickly. 

He taps the head of his cock right against your clit, rubbing it with his tip - a mess of pre-cum making it sticky. Gaku moans low in the back of his throat, eyes rolling back.  

Fuck. Fuck. You feel so wet. So fucking good. Just thinking about putting it in makes him ache.  

It’s your hand that guides the head of his cock into your pussy. 

Without prep, you’re dripping wet but still so tight. You’ve taken him enough to know your limits, but you’re eager. Just as much as he is, for him to split you in half the way he’s good at. Your pussy stretches easily to the shape of him. Accommodates what it knows so well. Your body makes home for him. 

 Gaku can hear how fucking wet you are, each inch stretching you out further and further. He holds your hips and waits for you to sink down all the way.  

When you bottom out, Gaku’s jaw grits ever so slightly. He waits for you to get used to. You slide yourself slowly, up and down until the stretch of his cock isn’t achy. He can tell when it starts to feel good for you. 

 Your pussy opens up for him so well, gets slippery and soft and so perfect for him to fuck into, he isn’t sure what he was doing before that. You feel so fucking good to him every time.  

You stop, your arms wrapping around his shoulder blades and hugging him tight. You say his name that time to substitute for please, synonyms of each other. A testament to how easy he is when it involves you.  

Gaku gives you what you want. Of course he does. He takes both of his hands and holds onto your waist and fucks you exactly the way you deserve. You cry aloud, sobbing into his neck from pleasure. Your pussy squeezes around him in that familiar way and he groans. He knows you came without telling him. He knows that feel better than anything.  

It spurs him into action. Gaku builds it up but it takes practically no time for him to piston you. Half-way between holding you up so he can fuck into you and slamming you onto his cock with endless stamina and relentless desire. Whatever inbetween he finds is a good one, makes sure he knocks into your sweet spot in exactly the right way. 

The sound it makes each time he pounds into you echoes in the room. It’s filthy—the wet sound of skin to skin and his cock stretching you over and over and over. It’s good. It’s always so good with you. 

You sneak a shaky hand between your bodies. Gaku can tell you’re getting close, your fingers clumsy and twitching. You’re trying your best to match up to his brutal pace, but the thought only endears him more. Makes him harder, growing bigger inside you. 

It’s easy enough to hold off until you cum first. Until he feels your pussy clamp down on him tight again, feels you tremble and shake in his grip as you bite into his bare shoulder and cum hard. Your whole body curling into him, crying as Gaku fucks you through it.  

When you’ve fallen limp and come down from your high— that’s when Gaku finally lets himself go. His thrusts grow sloppy - fucking into your went cunt shallowly until he feels the muscles in your stomach tense. He cums inside, unable to pull out from the way you have him gripped. Thick ropes of cum paint your insides and slowly drip back out onto his cock.  

Gaku stays inside of you even as he goes soft. He can feel you in his arms, your breathing growing steady again as you both catch your breath.  

He uses a hand to pull hair away from your face, kissing whatever he can reach. A rare, quiet intimacy that makes sense to him in the moment. You let out a giggle,  a sweet sound from your lips and Gaku finds himself smiling just barely.   

Whatever you want, Gaku thinks. It’ll be yours if he can get it for you.  

[corviiids]

"i suck at summaries": a dubiously helpful list of tips for how to do a summaries

by no means am i an expert. but in the hopes that this is helpful.

fic summaries have two main purposes:

tell a reader what the premise of your fic is in one glance, and

provide a 'hook' that convinces them to click on it.

based on those two purposes, here's what you should aim to do:

pack the key information into something that can be read while scrolling, and

make your fic stand out.

how do you do that. there are many different ways. ymmv. here are some starting points which may help if you are really, truly stuck.

details under the cut. in summary:

know your premise

keep it short and sharp

demonstrate your style

1: can you describe your premise in maximum three lines?

fewer is better. im not saying your summary has to BE fewer than three lines, you just need to be able to describe the premise as concisely as possible. not the whole fic. not everything that happens. just your premise.

being able to condense your ideas this way will improve your understanding of the work and make it easier to summarise.

sometimes it's a bit hard to isolate what exactly your premise is, especially if you were just writing into the void. so here are some questions you can ask yourself to figure it out:

what was the idea that spurred you to write the fic?

what is the climactic action in the fic?

if the fic is an au, canon divergence, what if, etc - what is the point of difference between this and canon?

if the fic is based around a trope, a genre, a particular device - how did you apply it, what makes the work familiar, and what makes it different?

this is important, because:

2: brevity is the soul of wit

now that you know your premise, it's time to jazz it up. turn it into a one-liner or similarly catchy pitch. give it a makeover.

it doesn't have to be literally one line. however, do not make your summary super long. do not make either your summary or your tags a massive block of text. the reader is scrolling. they have not yet decided to invest time in your fic.

the ideal summary is stylish and concise. your reader should be able to take it in without pausing for too long. it gives them a good impression of you: you know how to be economical with your sentences, which means your writing is probably easy and enjoyable to read.

and on that note:

3: including an excerpt is always an option

an optional option. but if you're stuck, it's a free card to play.

readers want to know that your writing style matches what they like to read. showing off your style can help you stand out to an interested reader.

try and find a few lines which are representative of the premise, representative of your style, and sufficiently intriguing. an excerpt is a try before you buy. you just wrote a whole fic. you want people to read the whole fic and enjoy your work. so show them what you have to offer.

what is an example, postmaker

look im not more qualified to give this advice than anyone else, but here's what i do if it helps. i typically pick out a short excerpt and include a short pitch underneath it. that way the reader knows what i sound like and what the fic is about.

here is a baldur's gate 3 fic summary

shadowheart says, “kill l–” “not lae’zel, darling, it’s too obvious. in fact, both of you are banned from killing each other.” astarion thinks for a moment. “in the game, at least.” -- the gang plays fuck, marry, kill.

this fic has a basic premise and hinges on dialogue, so i picked some sample dialogue to demonstrate what my grasp on the character dynamics looks like and then added one line to explain what the fic is about.

here is a death note fic summary (death note spoilers) (i guess)

The night Ryuzaki dies, L appears in Light's bed. -- (every night when light goes to sleep, his dreams place him in a romantic relationship with his newly-dead rival. it makes him sick.)

this fic has a more abstract premise, so i picked a short excerpt to demonstrate what the tone of the fic is (a bit mysterious). then i added two lines: just enough information to explain what the catalyst of the fic is, but no more than that, so that the reader will be intrigued.

here is a persona 5 fic summary

Ren grins. “You want me to date Goro?” “Pretend-date Goro,” Ann corrects. “And make his crush jealous.” “This is not going to work,” Goro says. “Sure, I’ll do it,” says Ren, still grinning. He does his own rendition of Ann’s eyelash bat. “Go out with me, Goro-kun?” “I’m older than you, so show me a little respect,” Goro says crossly. “Our relationship is off to a bad start, Ren-kun.” -- (or: what not to do when you're fake-dating your real crush.)

this fic is based on a premise everyone knows well (fake-dating trope), so i picked dialogue that samples the tone of the fic and of the key relationship so that readers can decide if i write the dynamic in a way they personally vibe with. then i added a line to tell them what the trope is, so that fake-dating trope enjoyers know that's what it is.

anyway. hope that helps

[aromanceforthedragonages]

A Romance for the Ages: A Dragon Age Gift Exchange Signup Walkthrough

Signups are open! Here is a guide on how to sign up for the A Romance for the Ages: A Dragon Age Gift Exchange.

You MUST have an AO3 account to participate. If you need one, please reach out. I have several invitations I can give out.

To start your Signup, go to the Collection Page during the signup period and click on "Signup Form".

Requests

We start the signups with what you'd like to receive as a gift. After a general explanation about how the signups work (please read this first), you will get to the form itself. You must fill out at least TWO requests (each request must have 1 pairing listed- this allows for better matching). Each "request form" allows up to 5 separate relationships. List as many pairings you'd like.

Pairings can be platonic, romantic, multipairing, etc.

The form above is what it looks like when you scroll to the first request. (I filled one out as a sample for you to look at). You MUST choose a fandom (at least one, all fours games are listed separate for easier pairing) and then go down to relationships. You must choose what pairings you might want a gift of. I am not allowing an "Any Relationship" option since there are too many in the game to choose from. That will make things complicated for the gifter.

Please be as descriptive as possible about your DNWs and triggers. They cannot be enforced if they are not explicitly stated.

You can choose to receive fanart, fanfiction, or both. But you must click at least one.

Links: Links are for letters, prompt ideas, more detailed DNWs, information or tags for your custom characters and ship dynamics. Feel free to link your Tumblr, a Google Docs folder, or anything else you think is necessary.

Offers

For your offers, this is where you will choose what YOU will be GIVING. This helps the mods and AO3 match you to someone that you will be happy creating for. You must list at least two different pairings to be matched well. If you click "Any Relationship" in your offers, you are saying that you will make something for ANYTHING. Platonic, romantic or anything in between. Please be careful with using that option. If you truly do not like a pairing, please list the ones you do want to create for instead of using "Any Relationship."

You have to make TWO separate offers (with at least 1 relationship listed for each) but can list up to 5 pairings per offer. Please be descriptive with your DNWs again, this is where I will determine if you are matched with someone that won't upset your triggers. The additional tags are the most important part of your offers because it will determine what YOU ARE MAKING. Please, if you are writer, only choose fanfic. If you are an artist, only click fanart. If you do both, you can choose to offer one or both.

After you submit your signup, you can edit it up to the day that signups close, May 4th 2025. After the 4th, you will be unable to edit it as matching will begin.

To edit the signup, go back to the Collection Page, click on "My Signup" and then edit. You can also edit your signup through your personal dashboard by scrolling down the list on the left side of the page and clicking on "Sign-ups".

Any questions regarding signups, please message a mod or the main exchange blog. Someone will get back as quickly as possible.

Note: if you are fine with receiving “treats” aka extra gifts from your gifter or someone else involved in the exchange, please use this somewhere in your signup and specify your answers:

-Open to Treats: Yes/No

-Open to Treat types: Fanart/Fanfiction

-Open to Multi-recip treats: Yes/No

[s4nniebe4r]

the roommate

part eight: barely there

pairing: roommate! san x fem! reader

synopsis: your avoidance is evident, but it can only last so long

wc: 1.5k

tags: slow burn, roommates, enemies to lovers, angst, forced proximity, eventual romance

etc: a little shorter update, but, you'll like the end... promise! not proofread, liebchens! 

previous part next part

The avoidance starts unintentionally. Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

It’s not like you planned to spend every free moment outside the apartment. You suddenly have more work to get done at the library, more errands to take care of, more assignments that require your full attention; all of which need to be done anywhere but here. And when you do stay home, you suddenly have the overwhelming urge to clean. Not just a little tidying up, either. Full clean. Scrubbing the counters, organizing the fridge, wiping down the mirrors, sweeping even though the floor is spotless already. Anything to keep your hands moving, anything to keep your mind off him. 

It’s almost ironic how perfectly timed you and your movements have become. You leave the kitchen right before he enters. You slip into your room just as he steps into the hallways. The bathroom door clicks shut behind you before he can even round the corner. You barely see him at all. 

And the best way you have found to ignore him? Your Sony’s. The headphones are now constantly on you, filling the silence with music, drowning out every creak of the apartment, every potential sound that might make you wonder where he’s at. Because wondering means noticing, and noticing means thinking, and thinking means remembering. And you just can’t afford to remember. Not that night. 

San doesn’t actively avoid you, but he doesn’t make an effort to be around you either. If anything, he’s just quieter. And, you’re grateful? There are no more sarcastic remarks when you walk by. No more unnecessary commentary. He doesn’t challenge you anymore, no more pushing your buttons, he doesn’t give you any reason to push back. In some ways though, it’s worse than before. At least when he was annoying, it was easy to fight him. But, now? There’s nothing to fight now. 

Then there were the changes. At first, you didn’t even register them. But then, you start noticing. 

The sink isn’t piled up with dishes anymore. The couch is always clear when you go to sit down. The jacket from that night that was draped over the armrest? It’s gone. The bathroom counter isn’t cluttered with his stuff, the towels aren’t left on the floor, the small annoyances you’ve mentally kept over time start to disappear. Like he’s started to disappear. 

It’s almost enough to trick you into thinking he isn’t there at all. 

But there are the small things. 

One day, you reach into the kitchen cabinet, searching for a snack, only to stop dead. 

There’s a new box of the honey citron tea bags. Your breath catches slightly. You never bought this. 

You remember talking about it with Seonghwa at the cafe the other evening, mentioning in passing that you’d been meaning to try it, but never got around to it. San wasn’t even there. He couldn’t have heard you—except, he must have?

Your fingers hover over the packaging, tracing the label, stomach twisting into something unreadable, starting to hurt a little. You don’t take it out. You don’t even touch it. You just stand there, staring, pulse thumping in your ears. 

He was listening. He remembered. 

And you don’t know what to do with that. 

It happens again when you step into the living room one morning and realize that the thermostat is set higher than usual. Not too much, just enough. Enough for you to breathe a little easier. Enough for you to not wake up shivering. 

Once more when you go to put something away and realize that the broken cabinet you complained about weeks ago is suddenly fixed. The one that always jammed, that always annoyed you, that he used to sneer about not bothering to touch because it adds character. 

It happens again and again and again. 

And every time, your chest gets a little tighter. 

Because San isn’t saying anything. He’s not looking for a thank you, he’s not pointing out the things he’s done, not making some snarky comment about how he’s better than you. He’s just doing them. Without a word. Without acknowledgement. Maybe even without expectation. 

Silent. Unspoken. Things that mean too much to just be meaningless. 

Steam curls against the bathroom mirror, fogging the glass in front of you as you strip off your sweatpants, kicking them into the corner. The room is warm, like a sauna, and the heat seeps into your skin, and you stretch your arms overhead, sighing softly as the muscles in your back unwind. 

You’re exhausted. You’ve exhausted yourself. Not just physically, but mentally—this whole week has been an exercise in careful avoidance. You don’t even remember the last time you and San have been in the same space for more than just a brief moment. 

Maybe that’s why your guard is down. Maybe that’s why, when you reach for the shower knob to switch from the faucet to the overhead, hand hovering, you suddenly remember. 

Your towel. You left it in your room. 

You let out a quiet, annoyed groan, raking a hand through your hair. The bathroom is literally across the hall from your bedroom. It’s not even a two-second walk. You’ve done it a million times before, stepping out quickly to grab something you forgot. San is probably in his room, headphones in, completely unaware, per usual. 

It’ll be fine. So you move without thinking; opening the bathroom door, stepping into the hallway. The air hits you differently outside the steamy bathroom. The immediate change sends a shiver down your legs, a fresh wave of awareness crashing over you. 

You’re not even wearing bottoms. Just an oversized hoodie and underwear. 

You barely have time to process that thought before you’re already moving. 

Two steps into your bedroom, fingers reaching for the towel draped over your desk chair, and you’re already spinning back around—ready to return to the safety of the bathroom.

And that’s when it happens. 

You slam into something that wasn’t there before. Solid and warm. 

Your breath catches. The impact jolts through your body, your hands shooting up instinctively to brace whatever—whoever—you just ran into before you may fall back. 

San. 

The realization hits you right after your fingers splayed outward, spreading against the fabric of his hoodie, feeling the firmness beneath. 

His hands find you instantly, steadying you, one at your upper arm, the other hovering just slightly above your waist. 

And there it is again. Silence. The kind of silence that feels deafening. Neither of you move. Neither of you breathe. Your heart is pounding. You’re too aware. Of him. Of you. Of everything. 

And then, it happens. His gaze drops. You can feel it happen before you fully register it. 

A flicker—his dark eyes dragging downward, sweeping over the bare skin of your legs, the oversized hoodie hanging just long enough to leave everything else dangerously close to exposed. To the clothes that are barely there.

You feel your stomach tightening again.

Your skin prickles, every nerve ending is alive, your hair standing up. 

And then, just as fast, his gaze snaps back up. His fingers flex around your arm. It’s subtle, a reflex, like his body is processing what just happened a second slower than his mind. His face remains carefully blank, but you see the shift. The slight tension in his jaw. The way his lips press together. It lasts half a second, and yet, it stretches into what feels like eons. 

You swear, you feel the ghost of his touch even after his hand on your arm drops away—as if the heat of them lingers, as if the pressure is still there, even though it’s gone. 

And suddenly, you’re aware of everything. The way his hoodie smells just like him, close enough to catch the faint traces of his cologne, something warm, earthy, and deep. The way your hoodie barely covers the top of your thighs, and the cool air feels entirely too noticeable against the sliver of skin where his hand had been close to moments ago. The way your breath is shallower than it should be. The way his is, too. 

You don’t know who moves first. All you know is that suddenly, San is stepping back. His other hand falls away, the warmth of them vanishing too quickly. But not before his fingers graze against the side of your hip—just barely, just the softest ghost of a touch. It shouldn’t feel like anything. But it does. 

And without a word, without a single glance back, he walks past you. Disappearing into his room. Closing the door behind him. 

The silence slams into you all over again. Your breath shudders out of you. You should move. You should do something. Anything. 

Instead, you just stand there. Your fingers tighten around the towel in your grip, pulse hammering in your ears. The hallway feels too cold now. You swallow hard, but it doesn’t go down smoothly. Because you still feel where his hands were. Still feel the heat that shouldn’t be there. Still feel the weight of everything that just happened, everything that shouldn’t have mattered. The way that the touch felt the same as that night the two of you fought. 

It really shouldn’t matter. But it does. 

taglist:

@kryscent @randajjjad @yutapeaxh @barbielibra @sheadoreswalls @candied-czennie @decaffeinatedpandabread @sannieworshipper

(please lmk if you’ve been missed out or i’ve entered your user wrong!)

[midnightbluebells03]

I'm not sure if you write plus size reader but if you do I'd love to see what you come up with. If not, ignore this. Hope you're doing well. Night.

Abby Anderson x Plus sized Reader headcannons

Trying to get myself in gear on my bigger Abby/Ellie fics so have some headcannons x

CW - mentions of NSFW (oral, strapping, praise etc)

Leave me any requests and do your daily clicks!

Abby Anderson who purposely changes her work out routine so she can lift you easier.

Abby Anderson who loves that she can move you into any position she wants and that she gets to watch your look of suprise as she does. Will brag about it after the fact as she cuddles you and kiss your head.

Abby Anderson who literally CANNOT take her hands off of you!! Your shoulders, your stomach, your thighs. She is always touching a part of you if she can help it, gently rubbing her thumb over your hand under tables and all that shit. She's touched starved even while touching you.

Abby Anderson who buys you clothes that you would always tell her you liked but never bought because you were insecure about how they'd fit. Who would then spend the whole time you were trying them on complimenting you and showering you in kisses.

Abby Anderson who fucks you infront of the mirror because you just look so pretty she wants you to see it. Spilling praises and compliments with each thrust of her hips or movement of her fingers.

Abby Anderson who takes Polaroids of you CONSTANTLY!! her wallet is so thick because she can't decide what one to keep in there. Will pull them out if anyone so much as glances at them.

Abby Anderson who trails kisses down your whole body before eating you out. Carefully leaving a trail of hickies where ever you'd let her. Hands resting on the plush of your stomach or thighs as she eats like she's starving .

Abby Anderson who you have to stop from fighting anyone who looks at you the wrong way or makes a comment about your weight

"Abs just leave it I'm fine"

"No if patchy beard over here wants to say shit he can say it to me"

Abby Anderson who loves baking with you, her arms around your waist with her face in the crook of your neck. Humming softly as you ice cupcakes. You would let her do it but she's always ends up squeezing too much icing out.

Abby Anderson who will buy shirts/hoodies a few sizes bigger just so you can steal them. Insisting she's using them as pump covers at the gym if you ever get suspicious.

Tag list : @lonelylocallesbian @st4rluvrr @boobdrug @thegreatandlvable @icedsimpsayo @madds19zxl @jupiter-502

[lightseoul]

zeeeeee !! pretty please if you can, can you do number 13 ??? i love you so much and thank you in advance 🎀🫶🏻🥹🥹🥹🥹

anything for the love of my life @samtf <3 tagging also @irenne-stans, thank you for playing! this one was slightly out of my comfort zone but like i said, biodiversity is important or sumn like that...

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

warnings. minors dni, please!

13. "YOU DO KNOW THAT WE'RE IN PUBLIC, RIGHT?" (1.3k)

if you were to be completely frank, galas aren’t exactly your thing.

sure, the getting ready part can be extremely fun. there’s nothing like jamming to your favorite playlist while a full-on glam team bedazzles you with a shit ton of makeup and hairspray.

wearing designer gowns that cost way more than an arm and a leg for a night is great for pictures, too—pictures that you make sure to keep for days when the insecurities get to you more than they usually do and you need a reminder that you are a badass.

being able to reunite with your pro-hero friends is also an added bonus. you rarely get to see each other mainly because of their hectic and often conflicting schedules—usually, when most of the group are miraculously available, one or two are either assigned to an overseas mission or get called as an emergency contact.

but right now, as you’re moments from pulling up to the red carpet of the annual heroes’ gala, you wish for nothing more than to be in your comfy pajamas and baggy t-shirt, snuggled in your king-sized bed under a freshly washed duvet cover, finally making a dent on that new book you just picked up until you can’t keep your eyes open.

you take a shaky inhale, bracing yourself for the impending flash of cameras and the unfailingly overwhelming paparazzi experience.

your third year of this, and it’s still not getting any easier.

you sometimes forget why you endure this kind of torture.

but then that familiar, gruff voice reaches your ears.

“you okay?”

you look to your left and you’re instantly reminded of your why.

the smile that breaches your features is instinctive and not at all strained, despite the anticipatory anxiety stewing in your gut. you can’t help it—not when you’re met with the sight of him—all dapper in a freshly minted black suit with his usually unruly ash blonde hair styled and pushed back, revealing his handsome forehead.

you drink in the view a bit more, eyes roving over his face and down to his torso then back up.

you feel your smile growing.

“i am now.”

as if on cue, a tinge of scarlet shows up high on bakugou’s cheeks, and the man averts his gaze, evidently flustered.

“shut up.”

a delighted laugh erupts from you, which only causes the pro-hero who’s now staring at the road ahead of you, to flush even more.

relaxing into your seat, you sit in comfortable silence for a few more minutes until you finally arrive at the designated drop-off point, tens of cameramen and women pointed towards the car you’re in, all in anticipation for the arrival of #2 pro-hero dynamight.

you’re peering through the tinted window to your right when you feel a hand cover yours, and you shift to see bakugou looking at you expectantly.

“ready?”

taking your nod as the signal, bakugou opens the door to his left and gracefully steps out of the vehicle. almost instantaneously, the flashes and clicks of the cameras go off, and you find yourself having to squint from the waves of light that permeate through the barrier separating you from the crowd.

you’re shielded from all the ruckus in a matter of seconds, however, when bakugou arrives just outside where you’re sitting. he knocks on the door twice—in warning—like he’s done the last two times you’ve been his plus-one, before grabbing the handle and officially revealing you to the press.

a new surge of camera flashes greets you, and you fight the urge to scrunch up your eyes. the pro-hero offers you a hand, which you happily take, legs wobbly as you extend a heeled foot onto the pavement below. the gown you went with for the evening wasn’t the most forgiving in terms of movement, the high slit being the only reason why you even have mobility in your lower region in the first place.

once you’re stable on your two feet, bakugou completely encases the hand of yours he’s been holding with his, before dropping them low between the two of you and leading you toward the main red carpet.

you smooth down the nonexistent wrinkles of your satin burnt orange gown with your free hand as you walk, acutely aware of the tens of eyes on you. you hear a man shout your boyfriend’s name, then another, and another who throws in yours, too.

you plaster on a smile when you hear them call out your name, like you’ve been instructed to by bakugou’s pr manager.

eventually, bakugou stops right at the center of the photo-op area, and you follow suit, pausing to stand at his right. you put forward your outer leg, the one that’s revealed under the slit, in order to elongate your form. at least, that’s what mina advised you to do while you were getting ready together back then for your first-ever red carpet event.

the motion prompts bakugou to glance at you, or your exposed leg, really, before mimicking your movement and forwarding his outer leg.

and that’s when you notice it.

“babe,” you start, “your—”

you turn toward the man, deciding it’s better if you just do the job yourself, before bending down to quickly tie his shoelaces. it takes you a minute, what with the heavily restricting fabric you’re wearing, but you eventually get it done.

when you straighten back up, though, you’re not greeted with a thanks.

instead, bakugou’s looking everywhere except at you, and that shade of scarlet from earlier is now back, decorating his beautiful features.

“what—”

you pause when bakugou shifts awkwardly beside you, and you barely catch him just as he hastily adjusts his suit pants.

the suit pants that are seemingly getting tighter by the second…

…because of his growing bulge.

you couldn’t stop yourself even if you wanted to—you snort the second you see it, which immediately grants you a side-eye from the man.

“shut up.”

“bro,” you cough out, “are you being for real right now?”

“shut the fuck up,” he hisses, just imperceptibly enough so that your spectators can’t read his mouth.

you’re failing to fight the grin that’s threatening to take over your entire face. “you do know that we’re in public, right?”

“this is your fucking fault,” he spits, his body now angled a bit more toward you, maybe in an attempt to hide what little modesty he has left.

you gape at him. “wha—how?”

at that, he turns his back toward the cameramen just enough to shoot you a glare without them seeing. “it’s that fucking v-neck.”

he pauses for a second, red now creeping down his neck and his gaze dipping down to your chest before he spews, incredulous: “are you even wearing a bra?”

you’re about to tell him you had to forego the undergarment because of the relatively plunging neckline, but you decide last minute there’s something you want to try out.

shifting slightly so that bakugou’s somewhat facing the crowd again, you lean forward, invading his space just until your mouth’s a breadth away from his ear. the movement is so minuscule that you almost miss it, but the pro-hero shudders when your breath tickles his skin.

hook.

line.

and sinker.

“…i guess we’ll find out, huh?”

and just like that, you pull away and wrap an arm around the man’s waist, once again posing for the cameras.

and as you feel him turn and wrap his arm around your waist a few beats after, you find that, if anything, at least you’re sure of one thing that’s going to get you through the rest of this cursed evening.

and that’s seeing the exact look on his face later in the news.

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

Hi! Firstly, thank you for creating this blog and helping all of us out! Secondly, and sorry if this is such a silly question, but how do you write an engaging summary?

I find my own fic summaries are so… lackluster… and not even I’m interested in reading it — so how I can I expect others to be? Even if I like my story, when I write the summary in the start of my fic/in my masterlist, I’m like “Wow… this is not even remotely interesting! 😭”

So yeah, I was wondering if you had any tips/advice for that? 😭 Totally fine if not, I just figured I’d ask. Thanks and have a great day/night! 😘

HOW TO WRITE AN ENGAGING FIC SUMMARY THAT WILL DRAW IN AUDIENCES

Summaries are the bane of many writers’ existences, including my own. It’s already hard enough to get the words down on paper for the actual story, and now people want you to convince them to read it with something more than “I WORKED REALLY HARD ON IT PLEASE IT’S GOOD I PROMISE!!!!”

Squishing a ton of context into a small blurb seems impossible, but I promise it can be done!

Obviously everyone goes about things differently, and a lot of these tips may not work for everyone, but nevertheless, here are some tricks on how to write an engaging summary!

Here’s a simple template I like to use, which will be the focus of this post:

Hook (Draw the reader in!)

Context (What are the core elements of your story?)

Cliffhanger (Introduce a question/scenario that the reader will want to click to know more about!)

1. Start With a Hook

Just like with the first sentence of a story, the first sentence of your summary should immediately spark the reader’s interest.

A bold statement! A good (short) quote from your fic! A shocking discovery! A cool word definition/the definition of your title!

I always like to put the hook of the story on its own line/paragraph, just to emphasize it.

Examples of a hook (Note, these are rushed and off the top of my head. Just meant to give a general idea, not be literary masterpieces): - "It all started when Character A puked on their Uber driver." - "War was inevitable." - "Character A would be dead by sunrise. That’s what Character B vowed." - "By the time they got to the city, it was too late."

Your hook is probably the most important part of your summary; someone will know within milliseconds whether or not they will continue reading.

Once you’re past that initial hump, it’ll be easier to convince a potential reader to skim the rest of the summary. Giving something that jumps out at them will set your story apart from others and ensure it gets that click you deserve!

2. Give Some Context

For shorter one-shots, sometimes a single hook is enough! But if your fic is longer, with a bit more moving parts, you might want to choose a few highlights. Get the essence of your story on paper.

This can be super hard, so don’t feel discouraged if you feel like you’re not getting it. I’d suggest keeping your context to about 1-3 sentences depending on the length of your story, so make sure they count.

Buzzwords are a key factor in getting the main points across. Use ones that relate to your main plot to your advantage! 

For example, if I were to make a short summary of Game of Thrones for someone who has never watched it before, I would definitely include some of these buzzwords: - Dragons - Conquest - Succession - Revenge - Slaughter - Betrayal

Using powerful words (i.e. slaughtered instead of killed) can help draw in your audience!

I can't dictate exactly how you should write your context, since every fic is different and shouldn't be brought under an umbrella of the same rules, so it might help to find inspiration from other people’s summaries.

3. Pose a Question the Reader Will Want the Answer To

The biggest point of a summary is the “so what?” factor. You have all of these tags, but how does the fic make use of them?

A summary shouldn’t be giving all of the answers, but it should still leave crumbs for the reader’s imagination! This doesn’t mean that you literally need to put a question in the summary, but rather pose an unresolved scenario/problem that the reader will want to click to know the solution to.

Here are some example sentence templates that pose an indirect question, often put at the end of a summary to spark interest (Note, these are rushed and off the top of my head. Just meant to give a general idea, not be literary masterpieces): - "Everything changes the moment Character A makes a choice they can't take back." (What is that choice? How does it affect the other characters?) - "As the truth comes to light, nothing will ever be the same." (What is the truth? How does it change things?) - "A dangerous game begins, and only one can emerge unscathed." (Who will be that person?) - “It’s the first time they meet, but it won’t be the last” (What will be these next instances? How do their worlds collide?)

4. Some General Advice

If you don't think the above format works well with your fic, here's just some general advice that can help you out!

DON'T MAKE IT TOO LONG

The biggest mistake I see writers making when posting their work is having a giant four-paragraph summary for their story that takes up half of the feed.

Unfortunately, in an age of fast swiping and instant gratification, a reader may skip over a super long summary simply because they don’t feel like reading all of it.

(The reason why long summaries work for books is because people are more patient when they intend on paying to read something; they’ll take more time considering investments than they would with a free read, since they want to make sure it's worth their money. It’s not fair, but that’s kind of how it goes.)

In my opinion, a fic summary should be no more than one short paragraph, two or three sentences max for a one-shot and maybe five sentences for a long fic.

This isn't exact. It really depends on the length and complexity of the sentence, because no matter the how many you use, if there are enough words to make folks comprehend it as a big block of text, then they’re going to be more likely to skip it.

People looking for long fics will be more patient (since they’re making an investment with their time, rather than money) but if you want to appeal to a wider audience that may be casually browsing and stumble across your fic, definitely consider a more brief route.

PROOFREADING MATTERS!

Because summaries are often an afterthought, many writers don’t put as much effort into it as they would the rest of their story.

I wouldn’t recommend this; people are basing their ENTIRE initial opinion of your fic on this small blurb.

If you rush it and make spelling or grammar errors, people will assume that the rest of your fic is also riddled with errors and scroll past!

Make sure to proofread!

Hope this helped, and happy writing!