#in his robe made from a fancy napkin

[vamprisms]

wizard mouse in his wizard mouse tower (chimney stack with a few loose bricks). pondering his marble. doing spells to make big cheese small sized. this is how they make babybels

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Celebrating Wins

Word count: 942

Pairing: Lando norris x girlfriend!reader

Summary: As a new couple landos girlfrined celebrates his polepostion with with a playful, intimate evening, marking the start of their relationship

Request are open

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The excitement from the day still lingered as we made our way back to the hotel. The buzz of the crowd, the thrill of Lando securing pole position in Q3—it was all still fresh in our minds. But now, it was just us, away from the cameras and the noise, and I had something fun and a bit silly planned for our own private celebration. I couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. We had only just gotten together, and this was my first chance to really show him how proud I was of him. I wanted to make the night special, something he’d remember—not just as a celebration of his pole position, but as a moment that marked the beginning of us.

As we stepped into our room, Lando immediately burst into laughter. I had covered the bed with orange and blue confetti—McLaren’s colors, of course. There were small, goofy trophies on the nightstand, the kind you’d find at a dollar store, with labels like “World’s Best Driver” and “Pole Position King” hastily scribbled on them in my handwriting. I’d even put out a cheesy plastic crown that said “Speed King” in glittery letters.

“Are you serious?” Lando asked, grinning from ear to ear as he picked up one of the trophies. “You really went all out, didn’t you?”

“Well, someone’s got to remind you how awesome you are,” I teased, reaching up to place the crown on his head. It was a bit too small, but he wore it proudly, striking a ridiculous pose.

“I feel like royalty,” he declared, holding out his hand for me to kiss, as if he were some kind of racing monarch.

Laughing, I took his hand and gave it an exaggerated, over-the-top kiss. “Your Majesty, the Speed King, shall we dine?”

He snorted, his eyes shining with amusement. “Lead the way, my loyal subject.”

We moved to the small table I’d set up near the window, where a simple dinner was waiting for us—nothing too heavy, just some of Lando’s favorite Italian dishes, including a massive bowl of pasta. I’d even ordered pizza, because who can resist pizza in Italy? And there, chilling in the ice bucket, was a bottle of his favorite champagne.

As we sat down, I grabbed a napkin and tucked it into his shirt collar like a bib. “Can’t have you getting pasta sauce on your royal robes,” I said, doing my best to keep a straight face.

Lando burst out laughing again. “You’re ridiculous! But I love it.”

We dug into the food, the atmosphere light and playful. Lando twirled his pasta dramatically, pretending to be a food critic as he took a bite. “Ah, yes, the perfect carbo-loading meal for a champion,” he said in a mock-serious tone.

“Only the best for you, your highness,” I replied, mimicking his tone.

As we finished eating, I brought out a small cake I’d hidden earlier. It was nothing fancy, just a simple cake with “Pole Position!” written in blue and orange icing, with a little toy car on top for good measure. I stuck a single sparkler in the middle and lit it, the tiny fireworks crackling and popping.

Lando’s face lit up with childlike glee as he watched the sparkler. “This is amazing. I didn’t think I could be this excited about cake.”

“Well, it’s not just any cake,” I said, grinning. “It’s the first of many celebrations this weekend, I hope.”

“Does this mean if I win tomorrow, I get another cake?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“Oh, you bet,” I replied, slicing into the cake and handing him a piece. “And maybe I’ll even throw in a victory dance.”

He nearly choked on his cake from laughing so hard. “Please tell me you’re not serious about the dance.”

“I’m dead serious,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. “It’ll be legendary. You’ll win the race and I’ll be the talk of the paddock for my sweet moves.”

He shook his head, still laughing. “Now I’m even more motivated to win, just to see this ‘legendary’ dance.”

After we finished the cake, we collapsed onto the bed, both of us a little too full and a lot too happy. Lando was still wearing the plastic crown, and I couldn’t help but giggle every time I looked at him.

“You know,” he said, turning to me with a grin, “this has been the best celebration ever. No fancy dinners, no big parties—just us, being goofy.”

I leaned in, resting my head on his shoulder. “That’s because it’s real. And you deserve to enjoy every second of it, without any pressure.”

He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close. “Thanks. I needed this. It’s easy to get caught up in everything, but tonight, I feel like I can just be me. With you.”

I reached up and took the crown off his head, placing it on mine. “Well, tomorrow, the Speed King is going to show everyone what he’s made of. And McLaren is going to be that much closer to winning it all.”

Lando grinned and leaned in to kiss me, his lips warm and soft against mine. “I couldn’t do it without you, you know. You make this all so much better.”

As the night wore on and we finally started to drift off to sleep, Lando whispered, “No matter what happens tomorrow, this is my favorite victory.”

I smiled, cuddling closer to him. “Mine too. But just so you know, I’m ready for another cake tomorrow.”

He chuckled softly. “You better start practicing that victory dance then.”

[rogue-durin-16]

AN UNUSUAL YEAR (Part I/V)

Summary: After having little to no interest on girls for five years, Fred suddenly feels the need to nag the shit out of a certain witch, completely oblivious to the reason behind it.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Slytherin!Reader

Genre: fluff (+ enemies to lovers)

Tags:

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog

Warnings: none

A/N: I'm currently going through a Harry Potter fever ('tis the damn season), so I thought I'll write something. I might write more of this story, (maybe turn it into a multipart) we'll see. If you'd like to be tagged in this, let me know.

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

I had always supposed that reaching the sixth year at Hogwarts meant subjects would get way more demanding and complex, and I to be proven right, only two weeks in were needed.

Added to the usual difficulties, we would be hosting The Triwizard Tournament. Having the castle be almost twice as crowded as the other years, when all you crave is a quiet spot to study, wasn't ideal.

As I said, the first two weeks were already hard enough.

During the third week though, believe it or not, things got even worse —and our guests hadn't even arrived yet.

The Slytherin common room was quieter than the library these days, that's the sole reason why, at 3:35 pm, my best friend and I were already making our way there.

To our luck, we arrived just in time to see the two redheaded troublemakers par excellence high-fiving each other besides my common room's entrance.

"What on Merlin's beard are you two doing here?!" Both of them jumped at the sight of two Slytherins.

"The question is what are YOU doing here?" One of them questioned back, probably attempting to distract us. "You two should be in the library."

"What did you do?" I squinted my eyes at them and, while one raised his hands in surrender, the other just shrugged.

"Nothing." He motioned at our door nonchalantly. "If you don't believe me, check it yourself."

My friend and I shared a reluctant look, and before I could say anything, she was heading to the door.

"Mathilda wait—" I gasped when she sunk into what appeared to be the stone floor.

"Okay now, I wasn't expecting her to actually do it." When I attempted to step forward, a hand on my forearm prevented me from it.

"Don't step further." He warned. "Just in case."

"I'm not stupid." I hissed before grabbing my wand, which made the tall redhead back off. "Revelio." Slowly, a swamp was revealed to be where the entrance hall to the Slytherin common room was supposed to.

Now that it was visible, both twins hurried to get my friend out of their giant prank.

"Get rid of this." I ordered as they pulled her up, her bottom half covered in mud.

"Pffft... no?" One of them scoffed, walking away from Mathilda and stepping closer to me. "It's a masterpiece. It stays."

"If it stays, I will throw you into your masterpiece." I threatened, putting my wand back in my pocket.

"Oh, I'd love to see you try."

I glared at him, partially because I hated that cocky attitude these two —specially him— always exhibited, but also because I had to look up in order to make eye contact.

"Listen Weasley,"

"It's Fred." Oh what would I give to wipe that stupid grin off his face.

"I don't care." Refusing to step back as he clearly wanted to achieve by towering me, I stepped forward, lightly pushing him back with one hand. "You will remove this from here or I will walk right now to the Potions Classroom and split on you."

The twins seemed to have a silent conversation with their eyes only. After a moment of silence, the one with my friend spoke. "We'll get rid of it right now and you won't say anything." I nodded, my eyes still fixed on Fred's. "Just so we're clear, this was not set up for you."

"The next one will be, though." Fred assured me with an almost wicked smile. "I'll make sure you can't use the revelio on it."

"Is that a promise, Weasley?" I asked in an unconsciously defying tone.

"You can be sure of it, Y/l/n."

"It's Y/n." I retorted, mocking him.

"I don't care." I rolled my eyes when he did the same, finally breaking eye contact with him.

"C'mon Thilda," I held out my hand to her "let's see if someone can sneak us into the Ravenclaw common room."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You think Fred meant it?" Mathilda inquired, the worry slipping through her words as she played with her breakfast.

"I doubt so." Angelina, who was sitting in front of us, replied without even looking up from her quidditch history book. "They seem more trouble than they are, really." I scoffed; it was easier for her to say that; she was a Griffindor after all. "Deep down they're nice sort, Y/n. They won't pick up on you for ruining a prank."

"I don't trust them."

"I'm not saying you have to—" Angelina jumped slightly when a wad of paper hit my face.

"You were saying?" I grunted, making eye contact with the red haired boy waving at me from the Griffindor table.

When I opened the wad, it read:

'miss me? —Fred ;)'.

"Look at his smug face." I hissed. "I'm gonna-"

"Ignore him. You're gonna ignore him." Angelina finished, fairly unconcerned. "I assure you he'll get bored in less then two days if he can't get a reaction out of you."

For the sake of having breakfast in peace, I only dedicated him a fake smile and did as my friend said. It seemed to work, until it was time to leave for class.

"We should get moving." Mathilda spoke, putting her plate aside and picking up her things as I did the same.

"I have a free period now." Angelina informed us. "Or as free as it can be. You?"

"Divination. Y/n?"

"Charms— Fuck." I whined as something dawned on me. "Those gits are in my class." I spared them a glare. "If they ruin my favorite subject I'm gonna—" a sudden splash of water on my face left my shirt soaked for at least the next hour. "You got the nerve—!" I yelled at the guy who was already making eye contact with me.

"I do, indeed!" He cut me off, winking at me from across the table, his chin resting on the palm of his hand with a teasing grin dancing on his lips as he asked, "what are you gonna do now, Y/l/n?" His twin brother, though I could only see his back, was clearly not enjoying this behavior.

Mathilda checked my gaze, dreading the worst. "Y/n, don't. You're gonna make Slytherin lose points." She knew the warning wouldn't do much, but at least she had tried.

Angelina, instead of backing our friend and try to calm me down, got up and walked to the table where the Weasleys sat.

FRED'S P.O.V.

"I hope you know you're dead." Angie stood in front of me, before using her book to tap my brother's arm. "George, move."

"What?"

The three of us spared a look at Y/n, who had, ignoring McGonagall yells, stepped over her table to get to us.

"Move. Now."

"Ssshit." My brother moved just in time for Y/n to repeat the same forward move on our table.

It's not as if I didn't have the time to move and run away, she hadn't rushed; on the contrary, she walked calmed and composed, and still I did not move an inch.

I guess a part of me wanted to know what she'd do to me.

"Look at you." I began to wind her up again when she climbed off the table on my side, sitting down on its surface with her shoes over the bench. "Doing the impossible to be near me, how romant—"

My sentence died off abruptly as a handful of scrambled eggs was mashed against my face.

I heard a burst of laughs around me. "Blimey! I'm sorry, Fred," she feigned worry, smearing what I assumed were the remaining rests of my breakfast all over my chest. "I hope you're not late to Charms because of this." She whispered near my ear, making a shiver go down my spine when her breath hit my neck. "See you there, yeah?"

Her hand squeezed my shoulder and her fingers ran over my shoulder blades as she walked away.

I felt a napkin placed in my hand and I was quick to remove as much scrambled eggs as possible from my face, just in time to see Y/n exiting the Great Hall with McGonagall jogging after her.

"You know?" Lee asked, drawing my attention. "Picking up on the girl you fancy is kind of a toddler strategy."

"Yeah, Fred," my brother agreed. "you're not an eighth year-old anymore."

"And you chose the wrong girl to nag" Angie added," if you keep it up, she will surely kill you." She held back a teasing smile. "And you should be careful" she nudged George. "I don't think she can tell you both apart, you can end up as collateral damage."

"But you wouldn't let that happen, would you?" I rolled my eyes when George scooted closer to our quidditch chaser.

"Depends on how annoying you are." She faked indifference as my brother searched for her eyes.

"I don't fancy her." I not-so-randomly stated. "But I can't stop pranking her now that she ruined my breakfast."

"You can and you will, Weasley." I jolted at McGonagall's voice behind me. "Twenty points from Gryffindor." At least I'm not grounded, I thought. "And you're grounded for the rest of the week."

"But Y/n— Ouch!" my brother kicked me under the table so I would shut it.

"Y/l/n has received her fair share of punishment, too, Weasley." The professor gave me a poorly masked, disgusted look. "Go and..." She waved her hand "Clean yourself up, Y/l/n will inform professor Flitwick about this incident. And Weasley," She stared at my brother. "Aren't you supposed to be heading to Charms too?"

"Yes ma'am." He replied, throwing everything into his bag, getting up and rushing out of there, not before grabbing his robe.

"The day's promising." I groaned, handing my things over to Angelina so I could go to the bathroom.

"You made the day promising by messing with a Slytherin, you twit." She pointed out, putting my things over hers. "Now go clean those eggs from your shirt."

"Aye, mother!" I headed off before Angie could add anything else to the conversation, loosening my tie as I moved forward.

As I cleaned off everything I could in the nearest bathroom, a random thought slipped into my mind.

Had Y/n been punished too? And if so, would we fullfil the punishment together? It seemed logical that if one of us got grounded, the other one would get grounded too; consequently, it would only make sense for us to—

Shut it. I mumbled to my own mind.

I didn't care. I did not care if she was punished or not. It was none of my business.

I don't fancy her, I thought to myself once again.

[ilikefandom]

Snowy Day Lovers

Request: Can i request Snape x reader fluff? Thank u <3 <3

Genre: Fluff

Synopsis: Professor (Y/l/n) is married and the golden trio don’t believe that it could possibaly could be Snape.

Pairing(s): Severus Snape x Fem reader

Warnings: A kiss, PDA

The snow was falling and the wind blew sharply in the winter sky. The last quidditch game before the winter break was to begin and the students were preparing for the last set of pre-break tests. Harry and Ron were in the library studying for the potions midterm when Hermione slid into a chair beside them.

The library sat quietly and resolute, as it usually did when exams were close and there were a few fifth years practicing herbology terms. Hermione scanned the library before pulling a stack of parchment out from her bag. It was placed between the three of them and was as thick as a book.

“What’s this rubbish?” Harry asked, holding up the thick booklet. It was as dense as the books that Hermione used for ‘light’ reading and it was as if the author had spilt a blot of ink on the cover.

“A set of mock exams.” Hermione said as she opened up the book to the potions section and began answering the questions on her own parchment.

“Snape doesn’t give mock exams.” Ron commented before copying down the questions. 

The writing was smaller and much neater than the scrawls that Snape wrote on the blackboard. It looped slightly and was written in deep blue ink, rather than the black that Snape used. 

Hermione laughed, “No, he doesn’t, but Professor (Y/l/n) gave it to me. She has copies for end of year and midterm examinations, and for every year.”

“Who’s Professor (Y/l/n)?” Harry asked, his head tilted. He had never heard of her and it seemed obvious that Ron hadn’t either.

“Are you both thick?” Hermione asked looking up from her question sheets. “She teaches us Astronomy. She replaced Professor Sinistra two years ago.” 

Ron looked up at her, “Astronomy? When did Sinistra leave?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Didn’t I just say that she came to the school two years ago?”

Harry shrugged and stretched his arms above his head, “Can you make a copy so that we can study later? Hogsmeade awaits.”

Ron chuckled and Hermione rolled her eyes, “Geminio.” Hermione cast the duplication spell and the book split into two copies.

The trio made their way up to the Gryffindor common room and got dressed to go outside. Hermione hefted the study guide onto her hip and the teens made their way to the astronomy tower, where Professor (Y/l/n) was setting up the telescopes for her class that night.

“Hello Hermione!” She smiled widely, her (Y/e/c) eyes sparkling in the sun. “Do you have my study guide?”

“Here you are professor,” Hermione said, placing the book into the teacher’s hands, “are you going to go to Hogsmeade?”

Professor (Y/l/n) nodded and gave a small smile. “Yes I am, it’s the first date I have been able to go on in awhile. My husband and I have very different work schedules and we thought we would meet up for a butterbeer and a pastry.”

Hermione gave a little squeal and asked, “How far did he have to come to make this work?”

(Y/n) wrapped a green scarf around her neck and made her way to the entrance of the Astronomy tower with the three teens. 

“That is for me to know Ms. Granger, and not for you. Now, I have to know, how are you three liking the new DADA teacher?” She asked the group and they all groaned as Professor (Y/l/n) laughed. “I’d heard she was bad, and a theory only teacher. Delores really has no idea how to interact with teenagers.”

“You don’t even know the half of it.” Ron whined, crossing his arms over his chest. Causing (Y/n) to start giggling again. 

The group of students continued to air their opinions on Professor Umbridge, all of them negative with no redeeming qualities, when Harry said, “She’s even lower than Snape in my book and that’s saying something!”

Hermione swatted at her friend and Harry sidestepped the blow. 

“You guys don’t like Severus?” Professor (Y/l/n) asked, “I know he’s biased and militaristic in his ways, but he’s not that bad, is he?”

“He teaches us everything we need to know and more,” Hermione interjected, “he just seems to take out his anger on Harry.”

(Y/n) laughed, “Maybe he expects more of you Mr. Potter. The only person that ever scored higher than him in potions was your mother, he might have hoped that you inherited her gift.”

Harry's eyes widened and he stared at the youngest Hogwarts professor in shock. “You knew my mother?” He asked.

(Y/n) nodded, “I knew her in my fifth year, her seventh, she was helping me with the charms portion of OWLs, I sucked at charms, still do as a matter of fact. It was only thanks to her that I passed at all. Speaking of OWLs, are you guys going to be prepared for the exams?”

“Thanks to your package we will.” Hermione stated, to which (Y/n) smiled a bit wider.

“I’m glad it helped. Would you mind if Severus joins us on our way to Hogsmeade? We need one more to fill the coach and he’s waiting at the door.” Professor (Y/l/n) waved at the tall mass of black standing next to the entrance to the castle.

The trio had no time to answer as the potions professor joined them on the journey outside of the castle. (Y/n) quickened her pace to keep up with Snape, and they stood close enough together that their robes touched. 

Harry was surprised when Snape reached out and took Professor (Y/l/n)’s hand helping her into the carriage before climbing in himself. The three fifth years scrambled for the seats opposite to their teachers and all five sat in awkward silence for the duration of the ride to Hogsmeade. As soon as the carriage stopped, the trio jumped out and started walking towards Zonko’s.

(Y/n) giggled, tightening Severus’ old scarf around her neck and grabbing his hand gingerly before tugging him in the opposite direction.

Hermione paused in her spot and turned around to see the two professors walking down the street, hand in hand. She tugged on Ron’s arm and both boys followed her gaze to the couple making their way to the Three Broomsticks.

“Didn’t she say she was meeting her husband?” Ron whispered, his voice hitching.

“She must be cheating on him,” Harry sputtered, “with Snape of all people.” 

“We have to go after them.” Hermione agreed, and all three of them took off.

When Severus and (Y/n) reached the warmth of Rosmerta’s pub, they quickly found a booth and slid into their respective seats, not knowing that the three teens had followed them in.

(Y/n) took Severus’ hand in her own and rubbed the back of it gently, causing the gaunt man to blush and look away. She beamed at him taking out her wand and casting a quick spell over his left hand. The invisibility spell withdrew, revealing the silver ring on his finger.

Snape was quick to hide it in his other hand, his embarrassed face too much for (Y/n). She gave a small laugh and brought her own rings out of invisibility, sliding her left hand into his right. 

After a quick glance around Severus took both of her hands in his and gave a slight smile, while looking into her eyes.

Hermione’s eyes widened, they had misjudged their teachers too quickly and now all three would be stuck watching their potions professor make goo goo eyes at his wife.

Rosmerta stopped by their table and dropped off a fancy looking fruit tart and two butterbeers. “I ordered them ahead of time Sev.” (Y/n) explained as she unwrapped two forks from a napkin. 

‘Sev’ huffed and looked his wife in the face with a smile, “This is nice, but we could be marking the assignments that need marking.”

“Knowing you all of the things that need marking have been marked.”

“Touche.”

The trio could no longer stomach this side of Snape and made their exit, running toward the other shops, in desperate need of mind bleach.

The group was lucky that they had decided to disappear at that moment as a mistletoe plant was dangled over the couple’s head by Minerva and Fillius who were laughing to themselves at the next table. 

Looking up, Severus cupped (Y/n)’s cheek in his sturdy hand and planted a soft kiss to her lips. 

And they stayed like that, under the mistletoe, enjoying a day that seemed made for two snowy day lovers, just like them.

Author’s note: Hey my wonderful readers! I hope you liked this oneshot. Please request new stories and I will get them to you ASAP. Also, please comment your reactions and criticisms, it means the world to me when you do.

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Aaron Hotchner / August Part I

Request: Hotch and reader become unlikely friends after a broken doorknob brings them together, and maybe start to feel something a little more? (College AU) 

Word Count: 8,224

Warnings: Fluff, angst, mutual pining, mentions of Hotch’s dad and difficult home life, Haley being jealous, a kiss (*gasp*), 

He was never yours, you thought, your fingers grasping at the pen, the same hands that had held his once. You knew that, but you let him in anyway.

Into your apartment. Into your life. Into your heart. 

And then you let him go. 

Out of your apartment. Out of your life. Out of your heart. 

You signed your name, placing it on the arrangement of fresh cut white lilies, wrapped in plastic, before handing it to the florist.

But you wouldn’t now, not again. 

~~~

A knock on your door roused you from sleep. A groan on your lips, you rolled over on your bed, kicking off what remained of your thin blanket draped over you. A cool breeze rolled over you, cutting through the thick, sticky August humidity, but it wasn’t enough to lull you back to sleep. And the sharp rapping at your door certainly didn’t help. You grumbled, stuffing the pillow over your head, hoping whoever it was would take a hint. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Apparently not. 

You threw yourself up, face twisted in a scowl, as your eyes flickered to your clock: 12:17 AM. 

Yet another knock, and you pulled on a robe over your tank and shorts, draping it over your shoulders, “I’m coming,” you growled, and the fourth knock stopped short, and you tripped over nearly every piece of furniture in your sleep, throwing open the door, “what?” 

He blinks, his dark hair as black at the night behind him, several locks falling in front of his forehead, “Sorry, I, uh—” 

“Hotchner?” you tilt your head, crossing your arms, “what are you doing here?” 

And it’s his turn to be confused, “I’m sorry, do we—” 

He didn’t remember you — how lovely, an unwelcome interruption who doesn’t bother to learn your name. You tell him your name, and it still doesn’t register, “We’re in the same criminal justice class? The one we literally started last week?” One of two summer classes that you seriously believed that you conned into taking, all in the hopes that you would be able to finish up your degree a semester earlier. If you passed, you would be done next semester.

Red runs across his cheeks, “I’m sorry, I sit in the front, I—” 

You wave him off, while fanning yourself with your hand, “I don’t care honestly, just why? Why are you here?”

A flush climbs his neck, “I just moved in next door, and I got locked out of my apartment. The door handle is rusted over, and my roommate is out of town—” 

“And?” you rubbed at your brow, your manners didn’t exactly shine at 12 AM. 

“Could I stay with you? Just for tonight,” he held up his hands, “we have that midterm tomorrow in Crim, and I really—” 

“So you remember the midterm but not my name huh?” and the flush bridges over his nose and cheekbones, “I’m kidding Hotchner.” you scratch your head — on one hand, you didn’t want to let a stranger into your apartment, but at the same time, you didn’t want him to sleep outside his apartment, you sighed, “take the couch, but I’m locking my door, and I don’t want you disturbing me unless I’m somehow sleeping through the exam tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, I—” you wave him off, “I really appreciate—” 

“Just come in,” you yawn, stretching your tired muscles, still heavy with the sleep you were deprived of, but just like that, you felt your mind rouse, sleep deflating from your head in a slow leak, “ugh fuck.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I’m wide awake now,” if looks could kill, you were sure your criminal justice class would be investigating Hotchner’s murder, “I have a hard time falling back asleep once I’m awake.” 

He raises a brow, “I thought you were exhausted?” 

“Well tell that to my brain,” you groan, collapsing in an armchair, covering your face, “now I’m going to be up until 5 AM.” 

He glances at your kitchen, “How about I make us some tea?” you look up, lips twisted in a frown, “decaffeinated, if you have it?” 

“Third drawer from the left,” you snuggle into the chair, hoping to lull your brain into a false sense of sleep.

  His voice cuts through your haze, the familiar click of the gas burner, “Can I ask you something?” 

“At your own risk,” you mumble, utterly too comfortable. 

“How did you know who I was?” the sink knob squeaks as he turns it, the rush of water, the quiet hum of the water as it filled the cups he was undoubtedly rinsing now, “there must be at least fifty people in that class.” 

“You make a hell of an impression, Hotchner,” you sigh, shifting in your chair, wiping the sweat from the back of your neck, “the first day of class, you argued with the professor about his opinions about criminal justice reform and the necessity of it, or as he put it, the unessential nature of it. ” 

“Well, his opinion was wrong,” you laughed, eyes still very much shut, “his opinion wasn’t even based on facts, he was just dictating to us on his own notions—” 

“I know, and you made sure he knew that,” you finally opened your eyes when you heard the tea kettle whistle, “that’s why I remembered your name — the way he asked you for it, and the way you replied—” 

He poured the hot water into each freshly washed mug, “With hopefully with an equal amount of respect,” 

“A very minimal amount,” you propped your head up on your elbow, watching him bring over the mugs. 

“So an equal amount,” you take the mug from his hand, pressing it against your lips, warming your lips, chuckling, “I give respect to those who deserve it.” 

“And what does that mean for me?” and he smiles. 

He raises his mug, a wry smile on his lips, “Well considering you could kick me out at any point, I have the utmost respect.” 

You roll your eyes, hiding the smile on your lips by taking a sip, “Smart.” 

~~~

And you soon learned Hotchner was very smart — when he touted his 100% on the exam a week later, next to your measly 98%.

“You owe me two points, Hotchner,” you would say to him, walking back to your apartment building, the humidity as thick as a fog. You tugged at your oversized shirt, hanging loosely around your torso, but somehow still sticking to your sweaty body. You felt like a drowned rat who hadn’t even had the pleasure of being in the water, “I would have gotten your score if someone hadn’t woken me up in the middle of the night.” 

“Well, how about instead of talking the professor into giving you two points, how about a coffee instead?” he offers, hands in his pockets, “on me.” 

You grin, “It better be.” 

~~~

“FBI track?” you whistle lowly, sitting across from Hotchner in a coffee shop around the corner from your building, “some ambitions you got there, Hotchner.” 

“I aim high,” he takes a sip of his drink, “What? Can’t see me as an agent?” You shrug, your eyes flickering over his form, biting your lip — well he would look good in a suit and tie, wouldn’t he? And the vest— “What are you smiling about?” 

“Just imagining you as a G-man,” you admit, a grin on your lips, “let’s just say I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“And what high aspirations do you have?” 

“Nothing too fancy,” you stir your drink, watching the liquid swirl, “law school is the plan, hopefully eventually landing at a corporate firm and then move into the nonprofit sector.” 

“You don’t seem so excited,” you shrug. 

“Not everyone has high hopes and dreams, G-man,” and he rolls his eyes, lips pressed into a purse, unconvinced, “well I would love to be a writer, but I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” he raises an eyebrow, “or you’re too scared to try?” 

“Cute mind games, nice try,” you sigh, eyes falling to stare at your drink again, “it’s hard to believe in yourself when you’re the only one who does, and I can barely manage it.” 

He leans back in his chair, black locks falling across his forehead, “Well, how about I pick up the slack?” 

“You don’t have to say that—” 

“I want to,” he cuts you off, and you glance up, his gaze utterly paralyzing and earnest, that you almost want to believe and maybe you do just a little — otherwise that thump against your ribcage is something else — some other feeling you are not ready to contend with. But you don’t get the chance. He breaks your gaze to glance at the clock, and curses, “I have to get home. My girlfriend is going to be calling me soon.”

Your heart twists, but you ignore it, because this was enough — this moment was enough, “Yeah, get home quick. You gotta tell that girlfriend of yours about that grade of yours. Nothing is hotter than a nerd,” 

“Speaking from experience?” you scoff, and he pauses, “can we do this again sometime? This was fun.” 

It was enough, right? 

You smile, “Of course.” 

~~~

“Fucking fuck—” you hissed the shattered glass all over the floor, and the hot liquid splattered across the wood, “Shit.” you stare at the mess, cursing, stepping over the broken glass, as you pick up the shards with a cloth napkin, grabbing the broom and dustpan from the closet. 

You sweep up the mess best you can, but now before cutting your finger on a shard, “Shit, fuck,” you wrap the cloth around the wound, digging through the drawers for a bandage. Fuck your roommate for going away for the summer, and also moving everything around while digging through the apartment for their shit. You slam the last drawer shut, no bandages, but you found a dozen condoms of varying shapes and colors — not exactly useful for treating a wound. 

So either you walk down to the corner to the store with a cloth wrapped around your finger, or you could tie this cloth around your finger while you studied. 

Well, you glanced at the door, there was a third option. 

You and Hotchner had seen quite a bit of each other over the past few weeks— June bleeding into July — studying, watching TV, grabbing bad coffee after class. He was one of the only people in three years who had made you comfortable to be yourself — to admit to things you would have never dreamed of telling, without guarantee of a memory wipe (well maybe if he joined the FBI). 

What was it about him anyway? 

He opened the door, a smile pulling at his lips, before he glanced at your hand, “What happened?” 

“Cut myself on some glass, do you have a bandage neighbor?” you glanced at the door knob, “I see the landlord finally fixed your door knob, so I won’t have any more late night visits.” 

“Come in,” he herds you in, shutting the door behind him, “give me a second, I have to find the first aid kit.” 

You grip the cloth, watching him dart around the apartment, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed in concentration — you particularly enjoyed the way his lower lip— no. No you could not do this. 

“You’d think a first aid kit would be easier to find,” you call after his disappearing back, “since ‘first’ is in the title.” 

“And where’s yours?” he asks, as he walks back into the living room, kit in hand, “I don’t think you’d be over here if you found yours.” 

“Ah, I like the company,” he raises an eyebrow, placing the kit beside you, “plus I don’t have to use my own bandages,” you watch him grab a paper napkin, running it under water, before returning. You reach for the cloth, but he brushes you off, taking your wrist, “you don’t have to—” 

“It’s fine,” his eyes remained concentrated, as he pulled the rag away from your finger, “it’s mostly stopped bleeding now, it’s not so deep.” 

“Really, Dr. Hotchner?” and you hissed a little as he cleaned the wound, red staining the nearly translucent tissue, “did you ever consider a career in medicine?” 

He clicked his tongue, his hand was so much bigger than yours, his touch gentle, sending warmth blooming up your body, “Biology puts me to sleep,” he raises his eyes, “no jokes. Plus,” he scrunches his face and pulls the napkin away, grimacing at the blood, “I don’t like blood.” 

You chuckle,  “Come on, Mr. FBI agent, won’t you have to deal with a lot of blood?” 

His lips twist in a line, “Actually seems like I may see you in law school,” 

You furrow your brow, “What do you mean?” he sighs, grabbing a bandage from the kit, peeling the backing off of it, “Hotchner—” 

“Law school is a safer option. I can still put bad guys away, I can be a prosecutor, and I won’t be at risk of getting shot—” 

“Bullshit,” you cross your arms, “it’s not what you want.” 

“It’s not always about me—” 

“This is your life,” you get up, and his shoulder sag, “we get one life, Hotchner — are you going to waste it doing what other people want?” 

“You’re one to talk,” he snaps, “you should be a writer, but you’re going to law school, just like me.” 

You know he’s right — you know you’re a hypocrite, but you don’t care, “Why did you change your mind?” 

Your question is quiet, but heavy — it hangs in the air, in the silence, and you feel as if you know the answer already, “I was talking to Haley,” and you hold your tongue, “it’s safer if I go to law school. It’ll be better when we start our life together.” 

“Hotchner—” 

“That’s not the only reason,” he swallows thickly, he slumps in his chair, “my father — he—” his voice broke. 

You shake your head, throat dry, “You don’t have to—” 

“He abused us,” he says quietly, “He worked a lot, and if it wasn’t for that, I…” he trailed off, glancing down, “but when he was around…” he scoffed, “nothing was good enough. No one could please him, not my mom or my brother. I never tried. He didn’t like that,” he ran his fingers across his face, flinching as if he can still remember the blows, “It wasn’t long after he gave me a black eye and broke my rib that he had shipped me off to boarding school. And I never looked back.” 

Your chest aches,“Aaron—” 

“I want a good job, and I want a good life,” his eyes are hard when he looks up, “ I don’t want to be the kind of husband that my wife isn’t happy to see. I don’t want to be the father who isn’t there. I want to give them everything I have, and if this is what it takes…” he shrugs, biting his lip. 

“I understand, I get it,” and he nods, taking your hand again to place the bandage over your cut, “But Aaron, one thing?” he smooths over the bandage with his finger, glancing up, “just don’t lose yourself along the way, okay?” 

Your fingers entangle with his, he squeezes your hand, “It’s a promise.” 

~~~

There’s a knock on the door, but you don’t bother to get up from your bed. Only twisting in the sheets, burying your head in the soft comfort of the pillow. And you hear the faint and familiar call of your name through the plaster thick walls and paper thin doors.

And you knew how this went. 

So you rolled out of bed, stalking over to the door, but instead of opening it, you frowned at it, rubbing at your forehead, “What?”

“Some way to greet someone who brought you today’s notes and assignment,” and you sigh, opening the door, plucking the assignment from his hands, tilting your head. 

“Thank you. Anything else?” 

He frowns, “What’s wrong?” you sigh, shaking your head. 

“You sure that you’re here to study criminal justice? Maybe you would be better off as a Psychology major,” you mutter, allowing him in, as you collapse on the couch in a huff. And you see him sit, waiting and watching, and you slump against the cushion, “what?” 

“Words are dangerous around you,” he shrugs, “I’m waiting for them not to be.” 

“I’m just having a bad day,” you cross your arms, words sharp, “have you ever had one before?” and then you crumple at the hurt that flashes across his face, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry — this is why I wanted to be left alone.” 

And he moves, sliding in beside you, grabbing the TV remote from the coffee table, “You up for something light?” and you furrow your brow, “or we could watch what I want to watch?” 

“What are you doing?” 

“You clearly don’t want to talk about it, but I’m not going to leave you alone,” he shifts next to you, gaze unverring from the now lit TV, casting the contours of his face in a low light, “so what are we watching?” 

He clicks on some medical drama, and you snatch the remote from him, hiding your smile from him, as your shoulder brushes his, “Not this.” 

~~~

Aaron doesn’t remember when he falls asleep, but he does. When he wakes up, the sun has already peaked over the horizon, the low hum of the TV rousing him from his sleep. And he stirs, before feeling a distinct weight on his shoulder, the mumble of his name near his ear, and fingers brushing his thigh. 

His eyes flutter open, and he realizes where he is. 

Shit. You both had fallen asleep. His neck aches as he turns to look at you, making him pay for the position the muscles were forced to contort to the night before. He glances at you, biting his lip. You snore softly against his shoulder, lips parted. A few strands of hair fall across your forehead. He brushes them back, tucking them into place. He should move. He should wake you. But he doesn’t. He watches you sleep a moment — you were so peaceful, unlike yesterday. 

There was a part of him that wished you would have told him what was wrong. Told him what was bothering you. Told him what was on your mind. Told him everything about you. 

But that was normal right? Friends always want to know everything about each other? And he would consider you a close friend, right? A friend, a good friend. Just a friend. 

You murmur his name again, under your breath, and he feels a small shiver run down his spine, as he shuts his eyes again, finding your hand and resting his on top. 

Just a few more minutes. 

~~~

“Hey Hotchner,” you knock at his door, clutching your binder to your chest, hearing only silence in return. “I wanted to give your notes back, and see you were free, open up,” still nothing, you knock harder, “come on. I know you don’t have class today, I really don’t want to go to that movie alone—” Your fist nearly collides with a person’s face as the door whips open, and you rear back, finding not Hotchner, but a very upset girl, “hi, uh—” 

“Who are you?” she crossed her arms across her petite frame, her blond hair tied in a loose pony, bangs hanging loose and framing her face. 

“Hi,” you say your name, plastering a weak smile on your lips — you weren’t used to this much hostility this quickly (usually at least took five minutes before someone hated you this much), “I’m Hotchner’s neighbor, we’re in the same criminal justice class. I wanted to return his notes and see if he was free—” 

“He’s not,” a saccharine smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, “He’s spending the weekend with me. I’m his girlfriend, Haley.” 

You nod, “He’s mentioned you before, it’s nice to meet you—” 

“And you,” her fake smile informs you that it very much has not been nice to meet you, as her eyes flicker to the bathroom, “Aaron’s busy, but I’ll let him know you dropped by—” and you open your mouth, holding the notes up, “I’ll take those. Thanks again. Bye!” 

The door shuts, as you stand mouth open, staring at the door. 

And that was Haley. 

~~~

You see Aaron the next Monday in class, as he slides in beside you, rubbing his eyes, hair askew, “What happened to you?” 

“Didn’t sleep very well last night,” he mumbles, pulling his book from his bag, and you frown, opening your mouth again, only to be interrupted by your professor. 

Class passes in a painfully slow haze as always, with one exception — Hotchner wasn’t taking notes. Usually each class he would be thoughtfully taking careful notes, while you scribbled every word the professor said, hoping your notes would be legible when needed later. But today, he wasn’t. Instead, he stared straight forward, his pen unmoving, lying flat against the page between his fingers, but he wasn’t looking at the professor. Not really anyway. His eyes were glazed over, his brow impossibly furrowed, expression twisted under a thick haze of anxiety and worry. Even when the professor adjourned the class for the day, he still sat, staring at the blank notebook page. 

“You planning to attend the next class? Heard that Immunology is a hot ticket,” and he jerks from his thoughts, blinking as he glances around the quickly emptying classroom. 

“Shit,” the expletive flies from his mouth, as he gathers his things, shoving them unceremoniously into his bag, following you out of the room as students for the next class begin to file into their unassigned assigned seats. 

He doesn’t say a word as you both schlep back to the apartment building, the only accompaniment the low buzz of flies, the too warm embrace of the sun, and the silence that hangs between the two of you, much like a funeral march. 

“Okay,” you said, standing in front of him, “what is going on?” 

“Nothing, I’m fine—” 

“So you don’t want the notes from today?” his mouth opens and closes, shaking his head, “Hotchner, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to — but I just want to know you’re okay.” 

“I’m having a bad day, you ever had one before?” he echoes your words, before a smile pulls at the corners of his lips, a heavy sigh following it, but your gaze is unwavering, “You really care, don’t you?” 

Your cheeks burn, ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat, helplessly exposed, scratching at your skin under his steady gaze. You hide it under rolled eyes and a coy smile, “That’s what friends do, isn’t it?” 

Friends, just friends. Because that was all you were. That was why you cared. 

And you don’t notice the corners of his lips falling or the dimmed amusement in his eyes, “Of course,” he sighs, “I’m fine, just long distance with Haley has been hard on both of us.” 

You nod, not bothering to bring up your tension injected meeting in the hallway, “I understand, it’s tough doing long distance,” 

And you see an unreadable look cross his expression, before it’s gone in a moment, and he just sighs, “Yeah.” 

~~~

Things don’t get better. 

When Haley isn’t here, Hotchner is constantly on the phone. And when she is, you could hear the faint sound of yelling through your all too thin walls, until you chose to put on headphones to drown out the noise. 

You don’t want to hear his heart breaking anymore than he wants it broken. 

He’s quiet in class, and snapping when he’s not. He comes out less. He declines your invites. He spends most of his time on the goddamn phone. 

And it stings. 

You stare at the wall you share, the apartment feeling wholly emptier than it did at the start of summer. You glare at it, a cross between huff and a sigh filling the silence for a moment. How did Hotchner weasel himself into so deeply in his life that you felt his absence? 

Three years at this school, and you had barely made a friend. It was hard in large lecture halls and even small classrooms lined with people who were nothing like you. It was harder when you often left class right after. It was difficult to connect to people, it was difficult to get beyond small talk. But it was never difficult with Hotchner. 

Not once. 

You supposed that’s what made this so difficult. And there was nothing more to it than that — right? The question lingered in the back of your mind, an unspoken thought that did not wish to be punctuated with a question mark, but nevertheless was. 

It was stupid. It was so stupid. You lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, pulling a cushion over your face — hoping it would be enough to drown out the “evidence” your mind presented as signs of his affection — it wasn’t. 

He stayed with you that night. Like a friend would. 

He always is looking at you, longer than necessary. You’re imagining it. 

He was so gentle when you got cut. You were hurt, he was trying to help. 

He told you about his dad and about his dreams. Again, a friend? He trusted you, but it doesn’t mean he has feelings. 

He fell asleep with you on the couch. And then went back to sleep. You paused. That was one thing you couldn’t explain. 

You were awake when he had woken up, you had felt him rouse because you had already awoken yourself, his name flying from your lips without a thought when you saw him, felt his solid presence, his head resting against yours. You panicked. So you pretended to be asleep, and you felt him awake, heard his pause, felt his touch, and then felt him settle back in beside you. 

But you didn’t know why. 

It was easy to explain things away, it was simple — but nothing was simple when it was him. Nothing was easy. 

~~~

"No I'm sure, I don't want to go to the party tonight." you waved off Alex, who still followed you instead, her arms crossed. 

“You shouldn’t be waiting for him to call,” you furrow your brow, as she jerks her head toward the wall you and Hotchner shared, “you need to move on.” 

“I’m not waiting, I’m just tired, and unlike you, I haven’t had the entire summer off, and just came back after a fabulous vacation,” you cross your arms, lips pursed, but you know that she sees right through you, “just go, Alex. I’ll come to the next one I promise.” 

She sighs dramatically, shaking her head, "I'll see you tomorrow." The door shuts behind you and you groan. 

What the fuck were you doing? 

Who were you kidding? You collapsed onto your couch, facefirst into the couch cushions. You knew what the fuck you were doing — the exact thing you promised to never do, you sighed loudly into the cushion, pulling a pillow over your head — canceling any plans in hopes a guy would call. A guy — a guy with a girlfriend who he was in love with, one who didn’t give you the time of day anymore, and one who was barely a friend now. 

But still, he wasn’t just any guy was he? He was Aaron Hotchner. 

And that was the fucking problem. 

But right now, you turned your head to glance at the clock, your main problem was that you were still conscious, and that meant it was time to go to sleep. You looked to the wall you and Hotchner shared — you weren’t going anywhere tonight, that was for sure. 

~~~

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

You groan, pulling the pillow over your ears, “This is a joke, right?” and again, you are stumbling out of bed, half asleep and half blind, eyes barely open, “who is it?” But a part of you knew the answer before you even asked. 

“It’s me,” Hotchner intoned, and you opened the door, frown on your lips dropping when you saw his face — even in the dark, you could see the tell tale sign of tear tracks on his cheeks, barely glistening in the dim light, “can I come in?” 

You step aside, shutting the door behind you, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, and he catches a glimpse of your hands crossed across your chest. He scrubs a hand down his face as he slumps down on your couch, “I just...broke up with Haley.” 

The words echo in your ears, as you gape at him, blinking, “You...what?” you shake the shock from your mind. He needs you right now. He needs your support. 

You slide next to him, “I’m so sorry, Hotchner, I—” the words die on your lips, as you see him stare at the floor, his gaze blank, “hey—” He finds your gaze, his eyes glassy but somehow still so steady, and your heart stutters in your chest, “It isn’t your fault.” 

He gives a bitter chuckle, “How do you know that?” 

“Because I know you,” you tuck one leg under the other, one hanging off the end of the couch, “and I know you wouldn’t hurt anyone, much less Haley, intentionally.” 

His expression is inscrutable as his eyes fall to his lap, his teeth grazing his bottom lip, and he looks back to you, “Are you sure?” 

And the question hangs in the air — words wrapped up in meaning, tucked away behind punctuation and subtext. And he’s looking at you — a look that you can’t pin down, but it makes your heart squeeze harder in your chest and your blood turns molten in your veins. Why is he looking at you like that? And why for so long? The way his eyes linger make you want to believe — makes your foolish heart want to believe — maybe, maybe there’s something more to his question, something he’s asking you without asking you. A question within a question, that only makes your head spin and butterflies bloom in your stomach. 

“Of course I am,” a statement within a statement, tentative and as unsaid as his, but the words were on your tongue like an ice cube, rapidly melting away like your hope was that maybe — maybe this was something more. But the moment is broken when he looks away, and silence encroaches once again, strangling and consuming — you have to say something, anything to break it. More than that, you needed to do something — so you said the only thing that occurred to you, “Do you want to go to a party?” 

~~~

You were surprised. 

And you weren’t sure by what more — the fact Hotchner agreed to go to a party on a weekday or the fact he was two shots ahead of you now. 

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived. The blaring music shook the fraternity house to the screws and joists holding the building together. The kitchen had been set up as one giant alcohol station — bottles of every kind of cheap alcohol lining the counters and shelves, much of which Hotchner was helping himself to. 

He was pouring himself another shot, and another beer into a red cup, as you watched him, eyebrow raised. 

“Pace yourself,” you tell him over the music, as he downs another, no chaser, the chaser long forgotten, but Haley seemingly wasn’t by the melancholy scrawled across his face, “have you eaten a single thing tonight?” 

“Isn’t the point of college parties to drink?” his words are more than a little slurred, his usual crisp intonation down for the count, and his balance was barely existent at this point, swaying as he spoke. 

“To drink, not to leave in a body bag,” you say, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder, and to your surprise he doesn’t brush it off — no, his hand rests over it, holding it there. His eyes flutter shut, as he leans against your hand and his, “You alright there?” your cheeks burn as his eyes open again, his gaze intense and steady, and you see something you hadn’t seen before — a look that you can’t decipher. 

“Let’s go,” he says suddenly, his hand around your wrist now, dragging you through the kitchen and the throng of people in the house. 

“Where are we going?” you call over the roar of the party, but you don’t know if he even hears you, his head still turned as he weaves through the crowd, and up the stairs, until he pulls you into an empty bedroom, the door shutting behind you. Moonlight streams in from the window beside the bed, what little light illuminating his figure in the inky black between the shutters, “Hotchner, what is—” 

“I just wanted to say sorry,” he shakes his head, sitting on the bed, gaze dropped to his feet, “sorry for pushing you away. I didn’t mean to— I didn’t want to— I just—” 

“It’s okay,” you find your way to his side, the creak of the bed beside him making him look to you, “It happens. You were going through something. I’m not mad—” 

“You’re important to me,” he shakes his head again, insistently, “I shouldn’t have— I was a fucking ass, I just—” 

“Hey, I know you’re a fucking ass,” and he scoffs, “who’s the bigger fool? The person who’s an ass or the person that’s friends with him?” 

“I always knew you were a nerd, but Star Wars, really?” he grins, elbowing you, “you are full of surprises.” 

“Takes a nerd to know a nerd,” and he leans back, palms splayed against the bed, “I am a person of many facets.” 

“I know,” he whispers, finding your gaze in the dark, “And that’s what I love about you.”

You blink, your heart stuttering in your chest, “Hotchner—” 

He leans forward, his fingers cupping your cheek, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes and back again. He’s so close, you can see his eyelashes flutter as he stares at you half-lidded, the heat from his body radiating off of him, as his chest nearly brushes yours now, “I’ve wanted— I want to kiss you,” he murmurs, his words sending warmth blooming across your cheeks — his scent consumes you — pine, musk, and mint, your breath stolen by his words — ferreted away in the night that covers you both. 

“Please,” you whisper into the night, and when his lips brush yours, you wonder if it is real. Or a dream of your own design in the dark. But no, it’s real as the forehead that brushes yours after he parts a moment, “Aaron,” you sigh against him. 

Your lips find his again, noses brushing, and he lingers this time — more sure, but still hesitant. Just as hesitant as you are. He’s sweet on your lips, sliding against yours softly, his thumb brushing at your cheek, before your fingers knot themselves in his hair, deepening the kiss. You want more, you need more. And you hear him moan against your lips, a deep rumble that sends a shiver up and down your body. 

Then his tongue runs across your lips and you taste it — the alcohol on his lips, and you remember — Haley, the drinking, everything — it had been just to get over her. 

And your palms press against his chest, stopping him, his quiet pants still warming your lips, “I can’t do this.” 

You couldn’t be his rebound. Not after all of this. Not after what you felt for him, what you still felt for him. You didn’t want to be something he’d used to forget, something he’d want to forget. You couldn’t be his second choice. You deserved more. You wanted more. 

But you also wanted him. 

A moment passes, another, and he pulls back, “I understand,” he nods, “I’m sorry if—” 

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t—” you cut off, “I’m sorry if I—” 

“You didn’t,” he rises slowly to his feet, rubbing at his eyes, “let’s go home?” 

The walk home was in silence, which was somehow more eruciating than the two hour of constant, deafening music you had just endured. Your head throbbed, and whether it was from the alcohol, the music, or the night — you glanced at Hotchner — that was up for debate. Your nausea burned at your throat in time with your headache hitting a crescendo —- just not at this particular moment. 

“Good night,” were the only words he managed when he dropped you at the door, stumbling into his own apartment. And you only realize as you slide into bed that you realize you didn’t explain why you couldn’t — why you couldn’t kiss him. But with your face pressed against the cool pillow, the memory of his lips on yours lingering, and the siren song of sleep, you couldn’t dwell on it. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, the sandman’s embrace too tempting. There was always tomorrow.

~~~

Or maybe there wasn’t, you realized as you stepped out of your apartment, at least, not a tomorrow that included him. After pacing for an hour, convincing yourself to talk to him — to say something about last night — after you had re-lived that kiss a dozen times, after you practiced what you were going to say to him, and after you realized he was worth the risk. 

But you weren’t to him. 

But Haley was. 

Her lips pressed against his, right where yours were last night, her bags dropped beside their feet. His arms winded easily around her waist, comfortable and familiar, pulling her somehow impossibly closer than she already was. Her fingers cupped his cheeks, evidence of tears gliding down her cheeks. He inhales her breath, as they part, murmuring things only the other can hear, until your door bangs against its frame, still helplessly open behind you. 

Their eyes snap to you, and you have to tuck away the hurt and pain quickly — quickly, your lips somehow finding itself in a small smile, even as your heart splintered to pieces in your chest. 

His mouth opens silently, eyes painfully wide a moment, while Haley greets you with a smile, your name from her mouth painful to your ears, “It’s so nice to see you again. Aaron told me he wouldn’t have been surviving class without you.” 

Painful because you can’t hate her, painful because it isn’t her fault, painful because maybe in another life you could have been friends, painful because you had to fall for her boyfriend — “Of course,” you manage to find your voice, “someone has to keep their head on straight.”

And you had to. 

“I keep mine on,” he withers under both of your gazes, “sometimes.” His eyes linger on you a moment too long, but Haley doesn’t seem to notice, instead, stepping over her bags, and pulling you aside a moment. 

“I just wanted to apologize for how I acted before,” she shakes her head, “me and Aaron have been having a hard time lately, and I think I took it out on you — but we’re okay now. I just don’t want any bad feelings between each other because I know you’re a good friend to him.” 

Friend, the word rings in your ears, “Of course,” friend, and you wonder if your ears are bleeding by now, “we’re good. Don’t worry about it.” 

You find him unable to meet your eyes, his stare fixed on Haley instead. 

Of course. 

You were just friends after all. 

~~~

You don’t see him much after that. 

And you prefer it that way. 

There was only one more class before the final, and you arrived late, slipping into the back of the lecture hall, tucked away — out of sight. 

You left before it ended, sparing one last glance at Hotchner. 

Out of mind. 

The exam rolls around soon enough, the study period relatively short for summer courses, and you find yourself packing as you finish studying. But still, your mind drifts to him in between moments of taping up boxes and trying to remember the answers you scribbled on the back of flashcards. You would have been studying with him — he would have quizzed you while you boxed up your kitchen, he would have teased you for your barely legible chicken scratch, and he would have been here. 

But he wasn’t. You folded the flaps of yet another box down, tape gun in hand, pressing it to the lip of the box. 

Out of sight, the rip of tape across cardboard, But was he out of mind? 

~~~

“You’re moving?” he catches you moving boxes out of your place, the van you rented outside, sticking his head out of his apartment, his brow furrowed. 

“I am,” you continue down with your boxes, and he moves forward to help you, but you brush by him, heading down the stairs, “I got it, thanks.” 

But he doesn’t let you go, “I thought you still had another year left—” 

“I’m finishing a semester early,” you reply, opening up the trunk again to place the two boxes in the back, “and next semester I’m studying abroad. That’s why I did summer classes.” 

“Studying abroad?” he blinks, “when—” 

“I’m going home for two weeks, and then I’m flying to Switzerland,” the thump of the boxes is loud in his silence, as you slide them into place, “that day I wasn’t doing well— It was because I had gotten rejected from the program. My financial aid hadn’t pulled through,” you pull the trunk closed again, locking it, before brushing past him and  trudging up the stairs again, “But last week, my financial aid office helped me to find a private lender. So I’m going.” 

You hear the slow clunk of his shoes following you up, as you grab another two boxes, and you finally glance at him, finding his lips in a thin line twisted in something resembling a smile, “Congratulations, I’m really happy for you.” 

“Thank you,” you nod, bite your lip — biting back the words burning on your tongue — hauling the last two boxes into your arms. You try to slip past him again, but he grabs a box from your hands. 

“At least let me help you with this,” at least let me do this if not anything else — unspoken words lingered in the air, his fingers grazing yours as he took it, hefting it with relative ease. 

“You know, I’m happy for you too,” you say when you slide the box into place, after unlocking the trunk again. His brows knit together, and it’s not from the strain of carrying your things down the stairs, “I mean it,” and his eyes meet your gaze — you see too many emotions to pull them apart — sadness, regret, worry — and a few you don’t care to pick apart. It doesn’t matter now, “for you and Haley, it’s great you worked it out. You’re good together.” 

And you know it’s true. He’s happy, lighter than he had been for weeks, but now, his shoulders seem so heavy, weights pressed upon the corners of his lips and against his brow. 

“We are,” he shakes his head, sighing, “I just wanted to say s—” 

“We’re good,” you cut him off with a small smile, and you shut the van up, locking it. You turn back to him, only to find his lips pursed, glancing between you and the van, “I’m not leaving until tomorrow morning, so this isn’t goodbye. Can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

He chuckles, “Intent on dragging this out?” 

“I’ll never make it easy for you, Hotchner,” your hands slip into your pockets, walking back up to your apartment, adding, “but you’ll always have my respect and my friendship.” 

“I know,” he says softly, over the low buzz of the hallway fluorescents, “you’ll always have mine too,” he frowns, looking at your door and his, a question on his lips. 

“I should get to bed early,” you turn to unlock your door, “I’m leaving at 7 tomorrow.” 

“Right,” he shakes his head, stepping back, before sparing one more smile, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I should too —  you don’t mind if I say goodbye tomorrow right?” 

You shake your head, “I expect it, bright and early,” and he rolls his eyes, “Good night Hotchner.” 

“Good night,” he says your name, and even as you shut the door behind you, you love the way his mouth curls around your name — achingly and annoyingly perfect. And you remember what else he could do with those lips, how your name felt whispered against your own lips — 

And you remember who those lips would be kissing for the foreseeable future — at home, at their engagement, at their wedding. You catch yourself, heart twisting unto itself, and you had almost forgotten that it was broken — for a moment. 

And you know — you know then that you can’t say goodbye to him. 

Not in person. 

Because you wanted him still, despite it all. And wanting was enough — for a time. But now wanting only hurt because you were wanting what you would never get. You wanted him — but he was never yours to begin with, was he? 

He wasn’t yours to lose — but you did. 

And he would lose you too. 

~~~

Aaron had woken up on time. 

He woke up before his alarm went off, eyes fluttering open to sunlight streaming in his bedroom window. And he tossed off his sheets, rubbing at his eyes. 

He couldn’t be sad — he was happy for you. 

You were graduating, you were moving on, you were doing something you always wanted to do. He sat up, throwing his legs over the bed, pressing his fist to his lips, elbow digging into his thigh. He only wished he was brave enough to go after what he wanted.

What he wanted, his eyes drifted to the picture of Haley on his bedside table, did he even know what he wanted?

He slips out of bed, brewing two cups of coffee — knowing you would be on the road for quite a while. He still had some time before you were leaving.

He opens his apartment door, finding your apartment door open. The landlord pokes his head out, “Hey Hotchner, that doorknob treating you well?” 

Aaron raises an eyebrow, “It’s fine, what are you doing?” 

“Just going over to see what the damage is and if I’m going to be returning that security deposit or not,” he fussed over the clipboard in his hand, pulling the pencil from behind his ear, “looks like the apartment was in relatively good shape so guess I’ll be mailing a check.” 

“Mailing?” Aaron blinks, and the landlord tilts his head. 

“How else do you suppose I give something to a tenant who has already moved out and split?” In that moment, he brushes past him, peering into your empty apartment — the only things left were those of your roommate’s, “Left about an hour ago in a rush, couldn’t even wait for me to do my walkthrough.” 

He was on time, he was early even, he stepped downstairs to only find the truck long gone. 

But he was still too late. 

Always too late. 

~~~

But always wasn’t always forever. 

“Hey, stranger,” you nestled the phone between your cheek and your shoulder, hands full with a bread dough you were currently trying to knead for its next proof, “it’s been a long time—” 

“Did you hear?” 

“Hear what, Alex?” her voice grows quiet on the phone, “what’s wrong?” 

“You know how I’ve been organizing in preparation for the reunion in a few months?” and you lick your lips, moving to wash your hands. 

“Yeah, you told me about that and said on uncertain terms could I refuse to attend, unless I’d like to risk certain bodily harm,” you shook your head, “I didn’t forget, so is that what—” 

“It’s Haley, Haley Hotchner?” 

You pause, “Yeah Hotchner’s gi— wife?” 

“She died, just a week or two ago,” her voice falters, “I just heard about it from Paul, do you remember him? He was in your poli-sci class. He’s in the FBI too. I wanted to get Aaron’s information, and he told me it probably wasn’t a good time. And I pressed him and then….” 

“Oh my god,” you rested your back to the counter, “How did she—” 

“He didn’t get into details, but it was pretty fresh it seemed like. He’s still on leave, and the funeral is soon.” 

Your hands shook, squeezing your eyes shut as your mind returned to that summer — his smile, his laugh, his touch, his care — “When is it?” 

She says your name slowly, “Why?” 

“I have to go,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “I have to go see him.” 

[flourishandblctts]

𝕬𝖉𝖎𝖊𝖚 || 𝓙ames 𝓟otter

-You received your acceptance letter to Hogwarts and your parents were so proud and happy for you -You headed to Diagon Alley to shop for your needs -It was fun and colorful unlike anything you have never seen before -You watched as you leave your teary eyed parents and headed to look for a vacant compartment -You saw a boy whose hair was wavy and wore a maroon coat -”Can I sit here? All other compartments were vacant if you don’t mind.” -The boy seem to be in a cheery mood as he extended his arm out in front of you as you sat opposite to him “I’m James Potter.”  -”I’m Y/n L/n” you two talked for hours until you both arrived at Hogwarts -James didn’t left your side as all of you first years were walking to a staircase -”Good Evening Children, I am Professor McGonagall.” You looked at her hat down to her dark green robes -As she continued on she opened two heavy doors only to be welcomed inside the Great Hall  -”Now I will be calling one student and you must sit here on this stool as I place the sorting hat to sort you into your houses.” “There are four houses,there are Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.” -She had the hat on her other hand and the other was a scroll  -”Sirius Black” You looked at a boy who had dark hair and pale complexion who seems to be rather intimidating. -You watched how it was going to be until the hat spoke “Gryffindor!” The table where the Gryffindor’s all sat roared out and welcomed at boy.  -”James Potter” you felt James’s hand squeezed your hand, his hand felt rather cold.  -”Don’t be nervous.” You whispered to him, he just smiled and released a heavy breath. -”I just wish we are sorted in the same house Y/n.” You felt your heart leap with what he just said and you smiled at him.  -He step up and sat on the stool, he kept his eyes on you and you just smiled at him in hopes this would help him ease up. Until the hat spoke again “Gryffindor!” -He smiled brightly and instantly bolted down and run towards the Gryffindor’s table. -”Y/n L/n” Your eyes went wide as saucers, but you remain calm and walk up sitting on the stool you couldn’t look up to meet anyone’s eyes you just stared down at your feet.  -”Hmm, I have never seen such as this as before. Very interesting.” The hat made you nervous and your palms started to sweat. -”SLYTHERIN!” You looked up to the table were Slytherin sat they all stood up and cheered for you, the prefect welcomed you and you smiled at them, you sat next to a black haired girl. You look in front of you to see James who was already looking at you and smiled at you. -”I guess were not the same houses.” you mumbled under your breathe. -Days passed on you and James would still be seen together, playing around, him always asking others if they have seen you, and times wherein he pulls you to sit next to him in the Gryffindor’s table. -years went on and you became close with Remus and Sirius and Peter, although you learned why Sirius was somewhat avoiding you first but he warmed up to you eventually learning the truth about his life and his family and he trusted you.  -But as years went on you realize you grew feelings for James and that he was in oblivion about it, you too would always be together despite that they bully Snape and other Slytherin you were the exception because to them you weren’t anyone like them Sirius even joked that the hat made a wrong choice to place you in Slytherin. -In your 7th year you just became miserable, you lost your father and your mother was too busy that in the holiday break you don’t get to see her  -You stay with the Potter’s even thought you insisted not to but James literally begged for you to join him and Pads -He still made you happy despite the lost you just had -In the Gryffindor dorm party only the Marauders and the other friends they had were invited and of course James tagged you along. -Surprisingly James didn’t sat next to you like he usually does but you just shrugged it off but it was hard when he seems to be having fun with this red hair girl, that every second he was whispering something to her ear and you felt jealous. -It was Remus who saw you watching them from the other side of the room. -”Ah James, fancy with all the ladies you know him but he doesn’t stick to long with them.” Remus just cracked up jokes to make you laugh to also divert your attention away from the two. -The very next morning came and you sat at the Gryffindor table because Peter, Sirius and Remus said so because James told them that he has an important news to tell. -”Good morning lads.” James said seemingly in a good mood in the morning you looked at him and he looked at you but he was smiling over something -”What’s with the smile Prongs?” Peter asked him while he took bites on his toast. -James cocked his head to the side as he just continue to smile to himself -”Your scaring us what’s with you and how are you even this happy we have double period in Potions that’s not fun.” Sirius said  -”I’m dating Lily.” He said out of blue which made you choke on your pumpkin juice -Peter passed you napkins and you thanked him, you look at him in disbelief but deep down you were hurt. -”Congrats Prongs!” Sirius said out loud causing the others to look at our table -”What? My best friend finally got the girl!” Sirius said to everyone as they all cheered just the right time Lily entered the Great Hall and I look down at my own food that doesn’t seem so appetizing anymore. -”I’m happy for you James, please excuse me.” You walked out of the great hall and passed by Lily. -You sat in the Black Lake, the tears kept falling down your cheeks and you were fully sobbing your heart out. -You clutched your chest and felt the pain in your heart. -Trying to silent the sobs escaping your lips you bit your lip as hard as you could. -Burying your face on your knees, you cried and cried until you stopped you know you missed a lot of your class period but you couldn’t careless when you feel like this. -”I guess if only I was in Gryffindor maybe things would’ve been different.” You mumbled to yourself.  -But now in present time, you look down at James and Lily’s tomb you released a sigh  -You still remember the days when you were all still so young, the fun, and laughter the love and memories you all had. Placing a hand on your lips and placing it on the tomb no matter how hurt you were you just knew it was never going to be. -”Farewell.” You stood up and walked away, unaware that Harry and Hermione would be in the same spot you were standing a few seconds after you just left.

the gif isn’t mine, credits to the owner

[silenceofthecookies]

William x reader: Birthday present part 2

Merry Christmas! This is a treat from me to me! It was written as a sequel to my scenario ‘Birthday present’. Ever since I’ve finished that one, I’ve been waiting to write and publish this one on the day after William’s birthday, being today, December 25th! Enjoy some extremely tooth-rotting fluff! 

Female reader, no warnings! 

The next morning, you woke up somewhere around noon. You heard a pleasant buzz of people outside, and the pale winter sun was peeking through the curtains. In your sleepy, half-awake state you remembered the party from last night and you almost felt as if you were still there. The people talking, Yami’s loud laughter after insulting Jack, William and you confessing in the moonlight,… Mostly that last one brought a smile to your face.

It was like a dream come true, but at the same time you felt so stupid. Both you and William had had feelings for each other already for such a long time, but neither of you had the confidence to speak up before. You imagined how different the evening would’ve gone if you and William were already together. You’d find out next year on his birthday, you guessed.

Then you remembered the date. This evening, you and William would have dinner together as a first date. A first date on Christmas, how romantic. You remembered telling William what inn you were staying at. He’d told you he’d come pick you up when it was time and that he knew a good restaurant not too far from there. Figuring you had some time left, you first decided to grab a light lunch and then explore the capital a bit until dinner. It had been a long time since you had been here after all, and you wondered just how much had changed over time.

While walking, you noticed most had remained the same. The streets and buildings were still the same. Some shops had changed owner and thus changed look or merchandise, but all in all, it was still the same old place. You were glad to see your favourite places were still there too. Like the bar where you used to go drinking with Yami, William and sometimes even Marx after a mission. Like the tavern you often visited to have dinner with them. Would William be taking you there? It would be nostalgic, but you kind of hoped he had another place in mind. This tavern was filled with memories of friendship with them, after all.

As you were walking, you passed a magic knight in a Golden Dawn robe with black hair and a little spirit on his shoulder. You recognised him from the party and greeted him politely. He looked a little surprised when he saw you, as if he had been lost in thought.

“Ah, good afternoon. You’re captain Vangeance’s girlfriend, right?” You were about to protest, until you realised that now, actually, you kind of were. “Yes, that’s right. Your name is Yuno, right? His current vice-captain?” “Yes. Are you on your way to see the captain? Do you want me to take you to our base?” “I’m just out for a walk right now, but thank you for offering.” “But you are seeing him today, right?” “Yes, why?” “Well, when I saw him this morning, he was very distracted and he looked a little nervous. I figured that was because he’d be meeting you.”

You were a little surprised at the information and tried to imagine William distracted and nervous, but you had a bit of a hard time. When he was younger, he acted like that sometimes, but for the past few years he had been very reliable. You smiled at the memory of William and you meeting when you were younger. He had been so nervous and could barely look you in the eye.

“I see, thank you for telling me. Don’t let me distract you any longer though, I’m sure you have better things to do on Christmas.” “Ah, you’re right. I was going to buy presents for everyone and head back to my hometown. I promised them I’d be in time for dinner. I’ll be leaving then. Merry Christmas, miss L/N.” “Merry Christmas, Yuno.”

The two of you parted ways and you realised you should probably head back to the inn and get ready for dinner. The plan was to put on the same dress as yesterday, with a little makeup and to do something nice with your hair. You felt a little bad for wearing the same dress two days in a row, but you had no special clothing. That’s just extra luggage when you’re travelling, after all. You really hoped William wouldn’t mind.

Once William picked you up though, you didn’t feel so bad anymore. He was wearing his uniform again, just like last night. It put you at ease somehow and you couldn’t help but wonder if he had done it on purpose or if he, just like you, just didn’t have any fancy clothes. You decided against asking it and instead opted to link your arm with his and follow him to the restaurant he had picked. Going in the opposite direction of the tavern you passed earlier, you were relieved to know he didn’t pick that place.

The restaurant he did pick, however, intimidated you a little. You knew this place. It was known for being the best restaurant in the capital. It was crazy expensive, and reservations were really hard to get. They didn’t just let anyone in either. You only agreed on this date yesterday night, there was no way he could’ve made a reservation, right?

Apparently, he could. William walked into the restaurant with a smile and the waiter didn’t even have to ask his name. The two of you were brought to a table with a bit of privacy and the waiter left to bring you your drinks and appetizers.

“William, how did you get a reservation here?” “I have my ways. Oh, and before you bring it up, I’m paying. No, that’s not up for debate.”

William smiled slyly as he spoke and you stared at him in shock before laughing. Of course he’d know how you’d react to him pulling a stunt like this. No matter, you’d get back at him somehow.

You were surprised how smooth this date was going. With how long the two of you had been friends, you expected this change to be awkward at the very least, but it wasn’t. It felt right. It felt as if you should’ve been doing this all along. And honestly, you should have.

After dinner William had some sauce on his cheek, and you could see him blush as you wiped it off with your napkin. Seeing his red cheeks, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight. You were sure many people would’ve liked to see the captain of the Golden Dawn blush, but this was just for you.

The two of you had dessert, which tasted like a little piece of heaven, before deciding to call it a night and leaving the restaurant. The two of you had taken your time in between courses, relaxing, chatting, catching up and mostly, getting used to the new situation. You didn’t feel like you’d need a lot of time to get used to it though.

William walked you back to your inn, his arm linked to yours. He knew full well you could perfectly head back on your own, but he didn’t want to part ways just yet. If he was really honest, he didn’t want to part ways at all, but he knew he’d have to. You had your things to do and he had his duties to attend to.

Once the two of you arrived in front of the inn you were staying at, William reluctantly unlinked his arm from yours.

“William, are you sure I don’t owe you anything for dinner?” you asked, still feeling a little awkward about the bill. “I’m sure, Y/N. I wanted to spoil you, so please let me.” “Okay… well, goodnight then?” “Wait, Y/N, before you go… may I kiss you?”

The last part was said considerably softer than the rest of this sentence, as if he was unsure of what he was asking. A few seconds of silence passed as you let his question sink in before you finally nodded. William placed his hand on your cheek and slowly leaned in, giving you enough time to turn away in case you changed your mind. Instead of turning away, you closed your eyes. You heard William chuckle before his lips connected to yours in a soft and sweet kiss. It was a careful one, neither of you were sure where the boundaries lied, but it felt perfect nonetheless.

William pulled away first. He looked as dazed as you felt. He flashed you a smile before wishing you a good night. You wished him the same and went inside, still barely believing what just happened.

[mirach]

Good Omens recs

Here are some of my all time favourite stories, but be warned that my taste is rather specific and can get into darker themes. I especially like hurt/comfort focused on Aziraphale, but that’s not the only thing you’ll encounter in this list.

The Strong Tower by @aziraphalelookedwretched  (M, 41,458)

After the failed executions, a vengeful angel takes it upon herself to neutralise the threat presented by Crowley and Aziraphale.

All stories by BuggreAlleThis are wonderful even if they get very dark in places. There (almost) always is comfort that’s more than worth the hurt and I love them all, but this one remains special to me as one of the first stories I read in this fandom and awaited every update eagerly.   

White Walls and Dead Air by BabyHoldMyFlower (G; 3,382 words)

It’s after the fourth day that he decides he hates God. He’s too tired to hold it back. Too miserable. Too busy dying. He knows he’ll go back on it later. He knows that he’ll repent later, and he’ll mean it, he thinks, once he gains some perspective, but there is nothing that could stop this bone-deep agony from churning and rising into something ugly. He’s not supposed to feel this way. He’s an angel, he really shouldn’t be thinking these things. Blind obedience is what they were created for. It’s in this moment that he can admit to a flaw in the Almighty’s design. If she wanted soldiers, she shouldn’t have given them the capacity to love.

Beautifully written and bittersweet, with lovely wing grooming and insights into the characters.

A Demon Would A-Wooing Go by @shinyhappygoth (G; 301 words)

“Heigh ho,” said Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway.���Good Omens

Filk of "A Frog He Would A-Wooing Go".

I just love a silly take on a silly folk song that was actually referenced in the book, okay?

Flaming Sword by Bookwormgal (T; 8,576 words)

A dark shape in the not-quite-empty darkness. Dressed in black robes. Humanoid. Skeletal. Then wings unfolded. Angel wings, but not ones of feathers. Wings of night. Wings that Aziraphale could sense more than see in this strange place. And even if the thin thread didn't truly exist except as a concept to better understand what was happening, one skeletal hand rested on the weakening connection. Waiting patiently.

Azrael. Creation's Shadow. The Angel of Death.

"Oh," he said quietly, his voice swallowed by the emptiness.

Aziraphale remembered what happened. He remembered moving. He remembered the blade sliding in, sharp and sudden. He remembered pain. And then…

"I died, didn't I?" he asked.

I like the exploration of the theme of self-sacrifice here. This is just my personal pick from several of my favourite stories from this author.

Courage by Anonymous (E, 21,595 words - WIP)

Ten years after the world didn’t end, Heaven and Hell want to punish Aziraphale and Crowley for their treason.  Gabriel decides that the perfect way to punish both of them is to torture Aziraphale and force Crowley to watch; Hell agrees to the plan.  Aziraphale and Crowley are kidnapped from their South Downs cottage and taken to a neutral location; Aziraphale is tortured and raped and Crowley is forced to watch; they are then returned home, Aziraphale critically injured.  

This is the Prologue (the first three chapters; all of the violence is confined to chapter 2, which can be skipped).  

The real story begins in chapter 4; it’s the story of how Aziraphale and Crowley recover from the trauma.  They are both profoundly traumatized; it takes a long time, but they work through it together, and their marriage recovers.  There will be a happy ending.  

Aziraphale and Crowley heal each other.

This story is a WIP, but it already got to the part where things are getting better. It’s very (very!) heavy, but absolutely beautifully written, it’s giving me goosebumps.

Love Seeketh Not Itself to Please by die_traumerei (T, 14,645 words)

After Aziraphale is left gravely injured by a summoning, Crowley must take him to heaven and bargain with the angels for his life. It doesn't go as he'd expect. 

A hurt/comfort story that’s focused on the comfort part, really satisfying to read!

Evolution by @lady-divine-writes (M; 1,455 words)

Five times Aziraphale wasn’t the most confident Dom, and the one time it finally clicked. 

Again I’m only picking one story, but there are so many more from this author that I love! I bookmarked this one because I don’t usually see Aziraphale as Dom, but here he is fully in character and gets there through conscious effort, and it feels very empowering.

The Longest Night by @charlottemadison42 (series rated T-E, 34,747 words)

The night the Apocalypse doesn't happen, an angel and a demon share a bus bench on the way home to face their fates. This is the story of their evening spun out line by line, all the little moments that carried them through the night they knew might be their last.

A wonderfully written series giving a detailed account of the night before the trials, complete with drunken talk, with wonderful grasp of the characters. Again just a personal pick from the stories by a really great writer.

Who Needs Heaven (when we have each other)? by Kat_Rowe (series rated G-M (so far), 48,057 words so far)

Now that they're independent of Heaven and Hell, Aziraphale and Crowley become even closer. Friendship eventually turns to romance, and emotional intimacy to physical. (Slow-burn friends-to-lover fic series.)

A very gentle series starting with wing grooming and continuing through the exploration of a relationship in which one of the partners (Aziraphale) is asexual.

Fancy Patter on the Telephone by @hotcrosspigeon (G, 12,854 words)

A series of telephone conversations between Aziraphale and Crowley during the Lockdown.

They get steadily more desperate and ridiculous as the weeks go on.

Featuring a moping demon, a teasing angel, a pub quiz, an explosion, extraordinary amounts of alcohol, a bubble bath, awkward flirting, several love confessions... and an ill-conceived bet on who can last the longest without seeing the other.

What could possibly go wrong?

HotCrossPigeon is an amazing hurt/comfort writer who writes absolutely delightful Aziraphale ahurt/comfort from Crowley’s spot-on POV, so definitely check their other stories as well, but I just had to pick this one that’s actually humorous and doesn’t contain even a drop of blood because I couldn’t stop laughing with it.

Feathers by @29-pieces (series rated G; 23,247 words)

Pre-Apocalypse shenanigans. In this AU, when an angel and a demon fight, the victor customarily takes a feather from their opponent signifying victory over them. Usually followed by killing them, naturally. But sometimes the defeated angel or demon is left alive, minus a feather, so that everyone KNOWS. Neither Crowley or Aziraphale ever took part in that sort of thing because it's really just a mean thing to do.

A series of three stories, two with hurt Aziraphale and one with hurt Crowley.

5 Times Aziraphale was Almost Discorporated and One Time He Actually was by @charliebrown1234 (series rated T-M; 29,011 words)

This series is an absolute match for my need of Aziraphale hurt/comfort, just like their more recent story Ex Infirmitas, Sinceritas. One of the authors I’m subscribe to and read everything they write.

The Whole Sky Fell by @thepaisleyelf (T, 9,692 words)

“Okay, Aziraphale, out with it,” Crowley said finally. “What’s wrong?”

Aziraphale blinked. He suddenly seemed very interested in looking anywhere that wasn’t at Crowley, fiddling with the napkin in his lap.

“I don’t -- I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”  

Aziraphale really was a terrible liar. Under other circumstances Crowley might have found it charming, cute even, but his concern had been growing ever since he’d picked Aziraphale up for breakfast that morning....

Same as above, Turcote just knows what I love to read. Definitely check their other stories as well!

Desperate Ground by @desperateground (M, 55,883 words)

After they prevented the apocalypse and escaped execution, Crowley and Aziraphale thought they were safe from the machinations of Heaven and Hell. But there are still some demons with scores to settle - and since the angel and demon have made it clear to the world how far they're willing to go for each other, Hell has plenty of leverage on them.

A breathtaking story with torture and unwavering loyalty of the characters to each other.

***

And if you find these recs to your taste, then you might also enjoy

Back to the Roots by me (M, 90,946 words)

"We always knew it would end. Like mortals know that they'll die." Crowley closes his eyes, finding the stare of his own reflection unbearable. "When you're immortal, you can afford to pretend and hide and go slow. And then, when you finally figure it all out, it turns out that what you have can end anytime. It's unfair..." ---------- The morale in Heaven and Hell is low after the failed Apocalypse. Punishing the traitors (effectively this time) seems like a good idea to raise it for both sides - the angels would see what awaits them if they dare to disobey and the demons could just use some fun. And then there is someone else as well - someone whose grudge is even more personal. 

Also torture and unwavering loyalty, breaking the characters and then putting them together with great care. This is the darkest from my stories, so if torture is not your thing, you can check my other ones (mostly Aziraphale hurt/comfort too).

[alaenawrites]

Falling For You (part 5!)

Part 5 of Falling For You!

Read part 1 here, part 2 here, part 3 here, and part 4 here :)

Ooooh small cliffhanger whomst?! ;) 

P.S. I’ll be away this week with no wifi... do scheduled posts work offline? Please lmk! Enjoy :))

~~~

Remus had taken to sitting with some other Ravenclaws in his year to distract himself from the growing gap in his heart, stealing the air from his lungs and replacing it with empty wishes. It had been four days since he had last seen Sirius, five if you count the morning he had left Remus alone and cold in his bed, and Remus felt as though he was hanging off a cliff, only the rocks under his fingers turned to ash and crumbled every hour.

That morning had been very eventful at the Ravenclaw table. Theo kept sneaking salt into Luca’s drink, and Grace and Sophie were trying to convince Theo that his shoelaces had tied themselves together all on their own (Remus had watched them jinx Theo right after he had sat down, but he wasn’t going to say anything). Elise was busy trying to catch Luca’s eye, but he seemed distracted. 

“Toast?” Ezra held up the plate towards Remus, who shook his head and kept moving around the scrambled eggs on his plate. “Come on, mate, you have to eat. Take some toast.” Without waiting for a second response, Ezra put two pieces of toast on Remus’s plate and began buttering them.

“Ezra, I don’t-”

“Eat up! Yummy yummy,” Ezra said cheerfully. He pushed the plate towards Remus, who resignedly began picking at the toast.

All of a sudden, Luca stood up from the table so quickly that he hit his knee on the table. Not even stopping for an ouch, he quickly walked around the other end of the table and exited the Great Hall with a napkin still tucked into his shirt. 

Ezra raised an eyebrow. “Did he look a little…”

“Red?”

“Yeah.”

Remus nodded. “Do you know-”

“Not a clue.”

Marcus arrived at the table and plopped his bag on the ground, sitting with a confused look on his face. As he reached for the sausages, he looked around the table, confusion growing. “Where’s Luca?”

Remus and Ezra exchanged glances.

“You mean you didn’t see him just bang his knee and leave the table?”

Marcus’s eyes widened, mouth full of food. He shook his head.

“Huh,” Remus took a reluctant bite of toast with a joking glare at Ezra. “Mabme oo hood ack do im.”

Marcus looked at Ezra, who translated, “Maybe you should talk to him.” Marcus nodded slowly, eyes flicking between Remus and Ezra.

“Yeah,” Marcus swallowed, nodding almost to himself, “Yeah, maybe I should. Thanks guys.” He got up from the table, seemingly in a daze, and started towards the doors.

Remus looked at Ezra, tight lips barely containing a smile. “D’you reckon we should go bring him his bag?”

Ezra looked down, eyebrows raised in surprise. When he saw that Marcus had, in fact, left his bag on the ground, he laughed loudly and shook his head. “Nah, we’ll just give it to him in Charms.” He gestured towards Remus’s still mostly-full plate. “Eat, mate. Starving yourself won’t bring him back.”

~

After classes were over that day, Remus headed back to the Ravenclaw common room, passing Ezra, Theo, Sophie, and a couple other Ravenclaws he recognized from class.

“Hey, Re!”

“Ez.” Remus smiled, “Having a parade?”

“Without you? Never,” Theo teased.

Ezra laughed. “Nah. We’re going to the kitchens, fancy anything?”

Remus shook his head. It had been a long day and all he wanted was to curl up in bed with a book, and maybe to fall asleep thinking about Sirius’s arms around his waist and his lips on his forehead. 

“No, I’m alright.” 

“Right, well, try not to get too sad, yeah? Night, Re.”

“Night guys.” Remus grinned at his friends, calling over his shoulder as he walked away, “Don’t bother the house elves too much!”

When Remus got into his dorm, he found James already standing next to his bed, holding a piece of parchment. Walking over to James, Remus dropped his bag on the foot of his bed and leaned against the post.

“What’s up?” Remus tucked his hands into his robe pockets. James hardly came to visit in his dorm, so it must be something important, or private. Or both.

“Sirius wanted me to give you this, mate,” James said.

“Thanks.” Remus smiled weakly, watching James walk out of the dorm room, only looking back once with a worried look. He disappeared through the door. Remus just took the letter, assuming it was because Sirius was one of James’s dormmates and he knew they were friends. Remus was starting to wonder what was going on, though. He had seen James talking to Sirius in the hallways between classes, hushed voices preventing Remus from overhearing, before Sirius inevitably shrugged him off and continued to class.

Sirius looked miserable. For some reason, that made Remus feel even worse; Theo and Ezra had said it was good, because it meant he missed Remus, but he couldn’t find it in him to be happy knowing that this boy who he cared so much for wasn’t. 

Remus looked down at his hands, holding the neatly folded note. He wanted to rip it in half, but curiosity got the better of him. He ran a finger over the familiar slanted letters, not sure if the corkscrew in his chest was tightening or slowly unscrewing. Either way, it hurt like hell.

I can’t do this to you. Please understand. This has to be over. I’m sorry. It’s better this way. Sirius

Remus could still see where Sirius had scratched out the I miss you in the letter, and he wasn’t sure what was worse: the pain of knowing that Sirius still cared but wasn’t here, or believing that he didn’t. 

He put his head in his hands and felt the hot tears escape down his cheeks as his brain fogged over and sleep took control.

~

There was a soft knock at Remus’s door. He looked up from the sentence he was staring at, closed his book, and stood to open it. Before he was even fully out of bed, it was thrown open, a hand catching the knob just before it hit the wall. James. Remus sighed in relief, collapsing back onto his bed. James’s hair was messier than usual and the smudges under his eyes were a darker shade of purple. Remus suspected he looked the same, if not worse.

“Have you talked to him?” James sounded worried. Remus shook his head and buried his hands in his hair. Why would Sirius be talking to James and not him? 

“Have you?” 

James nodded, looking down at the floor, “Can I…” he trailed off, gesturing at Remus’s bed.

“Wh- Oh. Yeah, sit.” Remus moved over on the edge of his bed and turned to face James, tucking his legs up to his chest and folding his arms over his knees. 

James traced the eagles on Remus’s bedspread in silence, eyes red.

“So… you talked to Sirius?” Remus prompted. He ducked his head to look into James’s eyes. They were red, as if he’d been crying. What in the world is going on? James nodded again, not quite meeting Remus’s gaze.

“Yeah.” He stopped tracing the eagles and started twisting the sleeve of his robes between his hands. Remus was starting to get worried.

“Hey, hey, is everything okay?” James nodded again. “You can trust me, you know that right?”

James looked up. “Sirius and I… We’re…” Oh no. James took a deep breath. “Sirius Black is my brother.”

[fanfictionfortheappreciative]

It's a Hard Knock Life

Drarry, oneshot, fluff, 1k

Ao3 link

"Love, you're drunk", I told him. It was kinda endearing, I had to admit that. A grown, tall and handsome man, on a couch, our couch, with a half glass of wine, belting along to the Annie soundtrack. The process of getting Draco to enjoy Annie had been a strange one, and surprisingly enough, he was absolutely sold after the first song. The little red hair of the small girl made him think of the Weasleys, still not his easiest connections, but after she sang her melancholic ballad out of the window, he loved it. We watched it completely, and it was just like the first time I'd watched it through the window on the neighbors television, just less alone. It was a classic for me. As far as you could call Annie a classic.

I always did, but when I first said that to Draco he had to fight all his impulses which would have punched me in the face. At that moment, our third actual date, he didn't tell me that, but a few months later, when we watched Annie again, he confessed his feelings from that evening. Apparently, if you're a high class pureblood with an extensive education on like, the history of everything, "classics" mean the Greeks and Romans. And the Egyptians. Or something. Not really sure, cause I wasn't the one with the extensive education.

It'd been an interesting mistake, though. I really wanted to talk to him about my favorite movies, and knew that when we were in 8th year, he started watching some muggle movies (who'd have thought). So, with my thoughts set on discussing Annie, Die Hard, and one of those movies with Jack Nicholson (the DVD cabinet of the dursleys wasn't big, and these were the only ones I could safely steal) I said to him, "how do you feel about classics?". Well, worked out differently then I'd expected. I got so much information about how Hellenism resembles the current ways of studying magic in parts of Europe, which Greek heroes were actually wizards, if Homer was secretly a vampire... And I thought I'd messed up so hard. Maybe we weren't meant to be together, and I know that it seems like a silly thing to question your relationship about; what movies do you like and why, but for me it was more. I wanted him to like me. Our history, our parents and friends, everything seemed to be against us.

It always did. We were sworn enemies from the moment we set foot in the castle. But when 8th year happened, after the battle, we tried, really tried, to see past the differences and look at the similarities. Two boys, traumatized, scared, scarred, and sexually confused. Well, you give it one year of school and secret sleepovers, and then you start dating. But it felt fragile. It felt like it could fall apart any second. We were both nineteen years old, freshly out of school, and madly in love but too scared to admit it. So, one day, after another sort of romantic sort of casual night we shared, I miraculously grew some balls and told him "We're going on a date. A real one. With a restaurant. And wine. And those fancy napkins that you're not really allowed to use." And we did. And it was fun. So we did it again. And again. That was when Annie happened, and when I, intoxicated, more drunk on bread sticks than on wine, said: "yeah but I mean like... Muggle classics.. Like... Annie, or Home Alone or something", and then burst out laughing, I thought I had screwed up pretty bad. I didn't. He thought it was endearing. And he really wanted to see Annie.

I should have known. Showing Draco Malfoy a movie-musical with easy sing-alongs, one and a half bottle of red wine, and the comfort of closed blinds and only me to see him. It was bound to happen. If I'm being honest, I got more time than I expected. I got 7 full minutes of couch, before he pushed me off and started screeching Hard knock life through our apartment. He didn't even throw me on the ground during the intro song. I'd consider it progress.

Here's the thing. Draco, I love him, honestly I do, but he can't sing. Not. At. All. I know you'd expect it, with the Fancy upbringing, and the robes and the classical music and the hair, but it's just, terrible. He, as expected, does not care. I'm not sure if he doesn't believe me, or that he does not at all mind how he sounds. It was fun, in the way 4 year olds singing Mary had a Little Lamb was fun; it gets less fun after a while. And four year olds, they had parents to tell them to shush, and go play with a doll or something. Not me. No, I, I had a drunk almost 20 year old in my small apartment screaming out that the sun would come out tomorrow. He wasn't wrong, of course, but the movie had ended half an hour before, and he was still "performing".

"Harry Harry Harry" he stated, with an air of confidence that made it seem like he did not acknowledge the fact that he was drunk. "This," he begun, "is a masterpiece. The sadness, the emotion, the yearning, the music. It's moving, I love it." After that proclamation, he finally sat down on the couch, and started mumbling It's a hard-knock life. I fell in love with him in that moment. Real, honest love, undisputed and deep. The little things, people always said.

And Draco did many little things that made me fall deeper and deeper in love with him. The precious tea ceremony he did every Sunday, the careful arrangement of a hundred different shower products, how he made my favorite Mac and cheese with mostly cheese when I had had a hard day at auror training, how the house smelled after his little potion experiments (don't get me wrong, he had very impressive potions that I would never call little, but the ones he did at home were mostly magical shampoos and baking products). It was everything that made Draco more Draco, and bad singing to children's musicals was a part of that too.

I then had the worst and also the best idea of the year. "Sweetheart, have you ever seen Mary Poppins?"

Ao3 link

Comments are the best, and so are reblogs and likes <3

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 21 Sneak Peek

Author’s note: Chapter 21 is all but done and I thought I’d give you a little sneak peek. :)

I haven’t been very active on this site lately (cause: work and new Hunger Games book spoilers!) but the chapter should be up next Saturday.

Really, I want to produce more content for the fandom and speed up my damn updates! At least one of my “Haymitch’s geese” illustrations is in the making and I hope to post it before the end of May. No promises but that’s the aim. :)

Chapter 21 The betrayal

There was still some broth left. Katniss slipped the flask into her jacket pocket and poured a second mug.

The storm seemed to have finally blown itself out, for now anyway, but just one look out the window made her abandon all hope for a hunting day. No point going out in the woods when the snow lay waist-deep.

She fed Buttercup her last piece of bacon and walked into the living room. Haymitch lay on his side. Cradled his knife against his chest like it was some scary version of a teddy bear.

“I’m going to the bakery,” Katniss said as she looped the muffler around her neck.

She couldn’t set the mug down. Wasn’t enough space on the coffee table for it. Haymitch grunted in annoyance at the sound of glass against glass when she tossed the empties in the cointer by the door, making no effort to be quiet.

“There’s scrambled eggs if you want it,” she said and placed the mug at arm’s reach. “And some bacon. I left it on the stove.”

Haymitch muttered something and pulled his arm up over his eyes to ward of the light from the one lamp.

“Drink the broth at least,” she said on her way out.

And she was gone.

It was almost a month now since Haymitch set up camp on their couch. One day in the middle of dinner he just staggered into their living room and he hadn’t left since.

He was decent enough to not completely trash the place but still, you didn’t want Haymitch Abernathy for a roommate. He was hard enough to deal with nextdoor.

Katniss was a very light sleeper but even without his nightmares, him lying on the couch staring a walls all day reminded her too much of her mother and she kept out as much as possible. If not the woods, then the bakery or the Hob or Hazelle’s. Anywhere but home.

When they finally asked him if it wasn’t time he moved back to his own house Haymitch just shot them a long look, like a dog they had just mistreated and rolled over so he faced the couch.

“She’s there,” that’s all he muttered.

And what could they do? Not tie him up and dump him somewhere. He was their mentor and they already owed him more than they could ever repay.

They knew something was off the moment they got home - the day before Christmas Eve. They walked up the old pathway, loaded with bags and the first thing they saw when they passed Haymitch’s house was the tree.

A big, fancy Christmas tree, still green and covered with ornaments, lying in the snow. Like someone had just thrown it out in a fit of rage.

And it wasn’t the only thing. In the ever-growing light they saw the ground littered with items. Bundles of towels and bed sheets and bath robes, all frozen stiff. There were old newspapers and magazines, blown apart by the frisk wind.

An infinate number of bottles and jars and other beauty products were also buried or half-buried in the snow. Plates too and tea cups. They found napkins and slippers, perfume bottles and pillows. Hairbrushes, kitchen tools, silverware, blankets, even anagrammed towel hangers clinging to chunks of the bathroom wall.

And clothes. Everywhere clothes.

Haymitch was like a closed book. He wouldn’t tell them anything but then of course they found Effie’s note, with words like “stop drinking” and “rehab” and “talk to you soon.”

And it wasn’t hard to piece together what had happened during their short absence.

[thewriterofmanythings]

Undercover

Day 3 of Widojest Week-Kissing as a Distraction or Mischief

The Mighty Nein are under hire to retrieve an item from a merchant. Jester and Caleb must go undercover to try to extract it, but the nature of the mission forces them to confront how they see each other.

Once again I kind of went a little wild with this prompt. It’s loosely based on the season 2 finale of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Also this is the longest non-multi-chapter thing I’ve ever written which is kind of wild. You can also read this on AO3. Once again the ever-lovely @3fling deserves all the love for the help and support. Please enjoy!

“Caleb, you should stop bouncing your leg. Everything is going to be fine, okay?”

In the history of the Mighty Nein’s plans, this was definitely low on the list for “Most Likely to Succeed”.  Caleb would be the first to admit though that he didn’t have a better one, so undercover date night it was.

When they had been assigned the mission of retrieving a special magic item from a merchant, it had seemed fairly simple. After two weeks of reconnaissance however, it quickly became clear that if they wanted to nab the item they were going to have to get personal fast, since the merchant would be leaving the Empire any day now.

Thanks to some clever strategy and a few dramatics, Nott and Yeza had managed to figure out that the merchant was planning on celebrating his last day in the city by dining at the fanciest restaurant this side of the border. Although the Mighty Nein hadn’t been able to pin down the exact drop off point, they knew he hadn’t yet gotten the item to its buyer meaning this would be their last chance to retrieve it without being forced to leave the Empire.

Thus the idea was born that they would sneak into the restaurant, try to get some information from the merchant, and attempt to follow him as he moved to the drop off point. There they could sneak away with the item before the other person arrived.

What it came down to next was the execution. The restaurant was known for catering mostly to couples, so it needed to be two of them, no more and no less. Beau had originally volunteered, but was quickly shot down after the group reminded her that looking human was not a benefit in this case. Shifting appearances would once again be helpful, but that left four contenders. After nearly an hour of arguing, the group voted in favor of Jester and Caleb. The two of them could shapeshift if needed and had the widest range of spells between the two of them on top of that. The others would be waiting in a rented carriage outside the restaurant, allowing Caleb and Nott to communicate if needed.

With all things settled, nothing was left but to do it. Jester hadn’t changed much of her appearance; as a tiefling she was already well off but she did lengthen her horns and change her hair to a long black elegant hairdo, making her a little less conspicuous. Caleb on the other hand needed to change quite a bit. He had modeled his new look after their Kryn friends, turning his skin dark and his eyes and hair a silvery-white. His normal brown clothes became freshly pressed black robes with silver trim to match the dress Jester had chosen. They were as ready as they were going to be for this mission.

“Ya, sorry Jester,” he said. He forced himself to stay still for a moment, letting the soft lamplights of the city streets wash over him as they made their way to the restaurant. “This will go well.”

“It better!” Nott’s muffled voice came from underneath the blanket in the floor of the carriage. Fjord had disguised himself to look appropriate as the carriage driver and Beau, Caduceus, and Yasha and secreted themselves at different points near the restaurant to make sure they could jump out at a moment’s notice, but Nott was on carriage duty. To avoid anyone peeking in and seeing her, she had brought a dark blanket to cover herself with, though she was prepared to use her invisibility if necessary.

“Nott, you worry too much. Caleb is like an honorary detective so we’ll crack the case in no time.” Jester smiled at Caleb, scrunching up her nose in a display of utter optimism.

Caleb felt his heart flutter and had to force himself not to begin his leg jittering again. To tell the truth, he was less nervous about the prospects of the job rather than he was spending the evening virtually alone with Jester. Even if it was all a ploy, they were technically going on a date. And the way her long hair framed her face, the silver of her dress complimented her soft blue freckled skin…. It was all too much for Caleb. He turned his head to stare out the window, to look at anything but Jester. “We are approaching the restaurant.”

“Remember the plan!” came from under the blanket. Jester tapped her foot gently on the floor to indicate she heard Nott as the carriage slowed down.

A half-orc gentleman walked up to the carriage window, dressed in elegant gold and purple robes. “Reservation?” he asked, with a smug smile.

Carefully, Caleb handed over the piece of paper that would give them access to the building. It felt much heavier to him then it actually was; the Mighty Nein had been forced to promise more than one favor in order to get not only a reservation at all but specifically a reservation for the table next to the merchant.

The host gave the document a heavy glance over, taking his time verifying its authenticity. With every passing second Caleb felt his body wanting to tense up more and more; as far as all of the Mighty Nein knew the paper was legitimate but there was always a possibility the party had been double crossed.

Finally the host returned the paper to Caleb’s hand. “We are pleased to welcome you to The Lagoon, Sir Phillip and Lady Fiona.” He opened the door of the carriage and stepped to the side to allow them to exit. “Enjoy your evening and do let us know if there is anything we can do for you during your time with us.”

Caleb stepped down from the carriage and turned around to offer Jester his hand. For a moment as she grasped his arm, Caleb’s mind drifted off to another world, one where this wasn’t a cover scheme, where he was able to take Jester out on a fancy dinner and enjoy her company, listening to her observations of the world and enjoying how she made him laugh. It was a dream world in every possible way but it was for a fleeting moment real to him and he savored the fleeting taste of it on his tongue, tucking away the reverie for another more appropriate time. Wallowing in self-pity and loneliness wasn’t going to help anyone on this mission.

As the host closed the door Caleb saw Nott’s tiny hand peek out from the blanket and tap the floor of the carriage three times to indicate they were proceeding with their indicated part of the plan. He sent a silent prayer out to the Traveler, the Wildmother and the Stormlord to protect the rest of the group as he and Jester walked up the steps to the entrance of the lavish restaurant.

Jester and Caleb had been told that the restaurant was incredibly expensive and therefore decorated to reflect this, but it surpassed both of their wildest expectations. Jester let a small gasp escape her as they stepped through the gilded doors into the enormous room before them. Directly in the center of the room was a tiered marble fountain, pouring water from the jar of an operatic elven figure perched on top. Gorgeous chandeliers made with glass, gold and gems hung from the ceiling, casting colored candle light across the expanse of the room. Tables were spaced evenly enough to allow each party their own comfortable area, and set upon each were crystalline wine glasses, napkins folded into the shape of swans and far too many gilded utensils than one person could reasonably use within a meal. Each step they took as they approached the second host echoed slightly, the heeled shoes clacking against the exquisite marbled floor.

“Good evening Master Phillip, Mistress Fiona.” A tall grey-skinned tiefling with golden eyes and long spiraling horns adorned with jewelry greeted them, her slender fingers beckoning them inside. “Your table is directly this way.”

The hostess brought them into the center of the room and indicated they should sit at a small table with two plush velvet chairs. Caleb pulled out Jester’s chair for her, tapping her lightly on her left side to make sure she had seen the table next to them. Their target for the evening, Augustine himself, was right here in their grasp.

“Are we celebrating anything tonight?” the hostess asked, circling the table to block their view of the merchant. Caleb immediately tensed up-they hadn’t gotten as far as thinking of an excuse for why they had come.

“Ya, we are… um, we are certainly celebrating a thing. It’s….”

Jester reached across the table and put her hand on Caleb’s, stopping his flustered muttering. “We’re engaged!” Jester gave an enormous smile to the hostess. “It was so beautiful, you really should have been there. We were on a hill and there were so many stars and I was in this beautiful red dress with all these bows that matched my hair and-”

“Sounds like a lovely night. I’ll make sure your server knows,” the host said, stepping away from the table. The look on her face barely disguised how uninterested she was in the engagement story.

As she shifted, Caleb could see Augustine and his date. The woman seemed to be whispering to Augustine, with her eyes glancing back and forth from Jester and Caleb to her partner. It made Caleb feel uneasy to have eyes on him like this; even though it was their mission to catch the dealer in the act, knowing he had his eyes on them escalated everything.

“Sorry to spring that on you, Caleb.” Jester began mixing up the utensil arrangement in front of her as she talked. “I know that’s kind of weird and all but you know it’s kind of cute and maybe we’ll get some free food out of it!”

Ya, you did good Jester.” Caleb found himself fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by fanciful thoughts of his friend, not tonight. A swallow managed to push down the lump in his throat and he felt increasingly grateful for the spell disguising his face.

A green-skinned humanoid dressed in black robes had made his way to Augustine’s table and was discussing in detail with the merchant. Caleb and Jester tried to keep an eye on the conversation without making it obvious, talking to each other and looking over the menu.

“What do you think they are talking about?”

“I do not know. Perhaps he has business with, uh, one of the chefs or something.”

“Oh no Caleb!” Jester’s menu flew up to her face to hide her expression but her wide eyes were clearly visible. “He pointed at our table! Did he recognize us?”

“Stay calm Jester, he might have been pointing at something just past us. If we do anything now we will give ourselves away without a doubt.” Caleb managed to keep his voice calm in an effort to reassure Jester but his stomach felt as if he had just swallowed an anchor. The tension eased for a moment as the server moved away from Augustine’s table and left their field of vision.

“Oh that wasn’t too bad… Maybe he just wanted to chat about how fantastic we look?”

“Ya, I am sure he was getting tailor recommendations from the server.” Caleb began muttering spell components under his breath in an effort to keep himself calm.

“Good evening, esteemed guests,” came a voice from the other side of the table. Both Jester and Caleb jumped in their seats as their heads whipped away from Augustine’s table to take stock of who had managed to sneak up on them. Somehow the waiter from the other table had gone from the door to their table in a matter of seconds.

“I hope the two of you are having a wonderful time, my name is Xandor and I will be your host for the evening.” As he spoke he set down a plate of gorgeously dressed oysters and began to open an expensive-looking bottle of wine.

“Ah, we have not ordered yet, perhaps you have mistaken us for another table ya?”

A dignified laugh came from Xandor’s throat. “Oh of course not. These are compliments of your friends across the way.” As he spoke he gestured to Augustine’s table. Augustine himself gave an acknowledging wave while his partner giggled and winked. Jester enthusiastically waved back at the two before catching herself. “They heard about your engagement and wanted to congratulate you.”

“Well, that is certainly a pleasant surprise. Please thank the couple for us and we will greatly enjoy.”

“My pleasure. Do you need more time to look over the menu?”

“Yes pleeaaasssee!” Jester gave Xandor a wide smile and pulled her menu up to her face. The host nodded at the two of them and walked off.

“Well this certainly got more complicated than we bargained for,” Caleb found himself pulling at a loose thread on the edge of the tablecloth. “Perhaps we won’t have to worry about them now that they have given us a gift.”

“I seriously doubt that’s the case Caleb,” Jester said, her eyes pointing to her left. As she said this Caleb felt a strong hand rest on his shoulder. He watched as panic briefly flickered across Jester’s eyes before her face settled into fake politeness.

“Congratulations on the engagement,” said a deep voice coming from behind Caleb. Turning his head slightly, Caleb saw Augustine towering above him. The orc was strikingly tall, especially in comparison to his guest.

“You two are just so cute!” The air genasi woman moved around Augustine to get close to Jester. “Sooo, where’s the ring?”

“Ooohh, uhh we actually had to get it resized so I don’t have it on me right now…” Jester gave the woman a big grin. “But it’s really pretty and it has a big sapphire surrounded by diamonds, trust me you would really love it!”

“Thank you for the wine, it was very generous of you to do that,” Caleb said, extending his hand to the merchant. Augustine’s grip was extremely firm and Caleb had to steel himself so as not to show how much it hurt his hand.

“It was my pleasure. You kids enjoy the rest of the evening and have a good honeymoon.”

“Ah yes, we will be going to Hupperdook.” Caleb winced internally as he said it, noticing the strange look that glanced across the genasi’s face. Regardless the couple made their way back to their table seemingly without a suspicion.

“Really, Caleb? Hupperdook?” Jester said, arching her brow at the man across from her.

“Sorry, I was just talking about it with Nott so it was on my mind…”

“Ooh he’s going to the kitchen!” Jester interrupted. Caleb carefully turned his head to see Augustine heading back into the kitchen with a leather bag in tow while his partner made her way towards the front door.

“He is going to be making the drop, we should follow him.” Caleb immediately stood up and began to walk towards the kitchen door, feeling Jester follow. The distance to the kitchen was small and the door was open, allowing them to watch as Augustine approached one of the cooks. The orc embraced the tall red tiefling and began talking animatedly about the dish in front of them.

“Maybe he really is just saying hello to cook?” Jester asked, her voice a whisper. The two of them weren’t exactly trying to hide but had naturally pressed themselves into the corner. Caleb was incredibly aware of how close Jester was to him, her hair tickling his chin. He was forcing himself to breath, to stay calm amidst the stakes of the mission and his proximity to the woman he-

“Oh no, he’s coming this way!” Jester whispered frantically. Augustine was indeed making his way out of the kitchen, towards right where the two of them were standing. Caleb couldn’t tell if he had seen them yet but there’s wasn’t enough time to move away from the door without him noticing.

Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Caleb knew he had to do something to get them out of this situation. His hands grabbed Jester’s waist and spun her around to face him before bringing her face up to his. He felt her body tense at first, but as their lips met he felt her pause before beginning to kiss him back. As Jester’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, Caleb felt his hands wandering up to her back, pulling her even closer to him. Her lips tasted sweet, the remnants of an earlier pastry lingering and he found himself kissing her harder, deeper….

The sound of Augustine clearing his throat pulled Caleb back to the present, wrenching him away from Jester with a deep breath. “Oh, hello, sorry to be in your way, we were just, uh, looking for a place, to uh…”

“Boink!” Jester yelled excitedly, fondly resting her hand on Caleb’s chest. Caleb was grateful to Jester for stopping his rambling but even more glad the disguise spell covered up what was sure to be a bright red face at his companion’s choice of words.

“Don’t worry, I understand. Young lovers. You two have a good night.” With nothing more than a smile, Augustine slipped past the two of them and made his way through the restaurant. He was still holding the leather bag which appeared to be full.

As soon as the merchant was a good distance from the kitchen Caleb abruptly pulled away from Jester. “Good job Jester.” He began to fidget with the wire he used to send messages back and forth to Nott.

“Good job Caleb,” Jester responded, straightening her dress. He could tell something about her demeanor had changed but through the disguise it was hard to tell exactly how she was feeling about the situation.

“It seems the cook was not the buyer then. But now we are back at square one.”

“Come on, let’s get back to the carriage.”

                                                    ***

Jester had transported the two of them back into the carriage, with Caleb messaging Nott to warn her of their sudden appearance. Fjord had eyes on Augustine from the minute he exited the restaurant and once Caleb and Jester were securely inside he had begun to follow the merchant from a safe distance.

Nott had emerged from the blanket on the floor and was now sitting directly across from Jester and Caleb, who had made sure to leave a healthy amount of room in the middle of the bench. “So, how did it go?”

“Fine,” Jester said at the same time Caleb said “Good.” The silence that followed was incredibly tense and Nott’s eyes darted back and forth between the two people in front of her, sensing that something was different.

“All right! Spit it out!! What happened in there?” Nott unleashed her best mom glare and crossed her arms, waiting for an answer.

“We kissed,” Caleb said, pointedly not looking at Jester. He could feel the tension and his mind began to race with the possibility he had ruined their friendship at the cost of a small move. No matter how much he might have wanted to kiss Jester, he would never have done it if he had known it would ruin how Jester viewed him. Even now the silence was crushing his chest, the weight of every breath making it hard to concentrate.

“You KISSED?” Nott screeched. Caleb could feel the carriage lurch as Fjord reacted to the sudden exclamation coming from behind him. Nott’s yellow eyes grew wide as she jumped off of the bench and into a standing position. “That’s amazing! How was it?” She latched on to Jester’s arm and glanced excitedly between the two of them.

“It was just a cover, Nott.”

Jester gave a half-hearted smile as she looked at the little goblin girl. “Yeah you know just a friendly kiss between two party members to keep from blowing our cover, it’s not a big deal Nott.”

“Hmm, all right well if you want to believe that then go ahead but IIII know better.” She hopped back onto the bench and narrowed her eyes at the two of them, barely hiding a smirk.

“Nott, we should focus on the mission first. You should come with us Nott in case we need help” Caleb poked his head just out through the window to see the carriage they were following slow down before pulling off to a set of shops on the right. Taking out his wire, he muttered to Fjord “Go down the street a little while longer and you can drop us off.”

“Yessir,” came the reply from outside the carriage. Caleb made sure to adjust the curtains and crouch down as they passed the merchant’s chariot.

“Caleb, we should change our disguises in case Augustine catches a glimpse of us.” Before Jester was even done speaking, she had transformed herself into a drow women wearing plain red robes. Following her lead, Caleb adjusted the look of his drow persona, shortening the hair, softening the cheekbones and changing the clothes to a more pedestrian style than what he wore to the restaurant.

The carriage finally slowed to a stop and Fjord knocked twice to indicate they should get out. “You two got this!” Nott gave Caleb and Jester a thumbs up as they stepped down into the quiet streets of the city. It was late and many of the shops had closed, but a number of people were roaming around still. The majority of people were singular, shady, trying to get in and out without being noticed, and Caleb and Jester made their best effort to blend in as they walked down to the spice shop they had seen Augustine walk into.

Nott had waited a few minutes before exiting the carriage and crossing the street. She was matching their pace along the shops opposite the road, wire in hand in case she needed to message one of them. Caleb kept an eye on her, checking occasionally across the street.

“Hey Caleb?”

“Ya, Jester?” He didn’t like how soft and nervous Jester’s voice sounded but now wasn’t the time to discuss it.

“We’re cool right? After the thing in the restaurant.”

“Oh. Ya, we are cool.” Caleb forced himself to swallow the lump that was building in his throat. They were getting close to the spice shop now and while Augustine wasn’t in sight the drop off would probably be happening sometime soon.

Jester stopped at the shop next to where their target was and mimed pointing at the carvings in the window. Caleb mimed along, using his peripheral vision to monitor the door.

A good five minutes passed, at which point Caleb was beginning to run out of ways to be excited about the same wooden carving of a duck. He was about to suggest to Jester that they move to keep from arousing suspicion when Augustine finally emerged from the store, bag in hand. The merchant glanced around and gently placed the bag on small bench next to the shop before walking back east towards town.

Caleb pretended to stroke his chin so he could message Nott. “He has left the bag on the bench, can you retrieve it?”

“I don’t think I can get to it without alerting that tiefling,” Nott responded. Even as she spoke, a red tiefling in black robes seemed to be slowly making her way over to the bench, attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible.

“If we cause a distraction, do you think you could grab it?”

“It’s worth a shot at least.”

“Jester, we need a distraction as we pass this woman.” Caleb grabbed Jester’s hand and began to pull her towards the bench.

“What? What do you mean?” Jester’s voice was a panicked whisper.

“Nott’s going to grab the bag but we need to think of something to distract her.” Her hand tensed up inside his and he was hoping, praying to Jester and to the Traveler that she could save them, like she always did, because she was competent and wonderful and-

“Well, this is happening,” he heard from beside him, and before he knew it she had grabbed his robes and pulled his face down to hers. She captured his lips with her, and for the second time in one night Caleb felt his mind go numb from pure adrenaline he received from kissing the woman he was so desperately in love with. Without a second of hesitation he began to kiss her back, his hands latching onto her waist, pulling her closer…

“Excuse you,” a stern voice came from behind Caleb as his back slammed into the tiefling. She was clearly upset, her solid black eyes shooting icy daggers at the two of them. “Watch where you are going.”

“Oh I’m so sorry!” Jester giggled and smiled at the tall woman. Caleb glanced over and saw that Nott had grabbed the bag and was already halfway across the street with it, so he gently elbowed Jester. “We’ll get right of your way. Also you’re very beautiful! Goodbye!”

With that the two of them began to walk at a brisk pace back down to where their carriage was parked. Once they got a decent distance between the spice shop, they broke into a run. Nott threw the carriage door open for them, and as soon as Caleb had climbed in the horses took off.

“Good job, Detective Caleb,” Jester said breathlessly, not looking at him as she collapsed into her seat. Nott was across from them, peeking into the bag she had managed to get away with.

“Good job, Detective Jester.”

                                               ***

Caleb entered the kitchen of the Xorhouse as quietly as possible. Frumpkin let out a “mrrp” as he hopped off of Caleb’s shoulder and onto the counter. He absentmindedly pet the familiar, exhausted from the ordeal of the day and overthinking every little encounter with Jester. Immediately after the Mighty Nein had dropped off the magic item, Jester and Caleb had immediately gone into their rooms. Nott had tried to get inside and talk to him but he refused to open the door, choosing instead to wallow in silence. After a few hours, Nott had left and Caleb heard the last few voices quit echoing inside the house, meaning it was safe to come out.

Caduceus liked to keep the kitchen well-stocked with food so he would have plenty of items on hand to cook with, but with the last few missions it had been a while since Caduceus and Nott could make it to the market. After some searching through cabinets, he managed to find a small jar of honey and a biscuit that didn’t appear to be too stale. He broke off a small piece of bread for Frumpkin and had begun to slather honey on the biscuit when he heard the soft sound of footsteps behind him.

“Oh, sorry Caleb. I thought everyone was asleep,” Jester said, standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Nein, it is okay Jester. You are not disturbing me.” He moved away from the icebox, knowing she would be getting a glass of milk before bed. She hesitantly tiptoed up next to him and pulled the jar of milk out before reaching into the cabinet below and pulling out one of the tankards the group kept on hand.

“Are you doing okay Caleb?” she asked, replacing the milk inside the icebox. He could hear the concern in her voice but felt a pang in his chest as he noticed she was refusing to meet his eyes.

“I am as well as I can be. And you?” 

“Of course I’m all right. We just pulled off a really cool heist mission!”

Caleb liked (he still refused to even allow himself to think about the word love, how could he when the last people he truly loved met such a fate) Jester for so many reasons, and one of them was the constant positive attitude that she kept, especially when the rest of the Nein were around. But with the familiarity also came the realization that so often the positivity was a front, a cover for issues lurking deeper. The party counted on her so much as an emotional crutch and she had taken that role on diligently, but that made her feel at times like she had to hide her true feelings from the group. Caleb wanted so desperately to sit her down and let her talk, let her cry all her emotions out and comfort her, but he was hardly the master of opening up about his trauma himself.

“Ya, we did a very good job tonight. You should be proud of yourself.” Caleb shoved the last of his biscuit inside of his mouth. As he chewed, he watched Jester stand still, holding her glass of milk, staring contemplatively into the liquid. It was quiet in the kitchen save for the soft sound of Frumpkin cleaning himself.

“Hey Caleb?” 

“Ya?”

“Are we okay? You know, after the whole, thing, in the restaurant, and in front of the shop?” She sat her glass down on the counter and leaned against the ice box. Finally, her eyes lifted up to meet Caleb’s and he could see the depths of worry that were just below the surface.

“Of course, Jester. We are okay.”

“Okay good because I didn’t want things to be weird between us since we kissed, I mean I know I joke about you being secretly in love with me but I really do like you Caleb and I don’t want to lose you and if anything happened I would be really really sad and….” Here Jester stopped and looked at the ground, shielding her eyes from Caleb.

“What is the matter, Jester?” He instinctively moved closer to Jester, resting a hand cautiously on her arm. She shook her head, her right hand moving up to her mouth to cover a sob. A tear fell from under the curtain of her hair and Caleb felt sorrow, anger and fear well up in his chest. “It is all right Jester, everything is okay…” Slowly, carefully he began to pull her in towards him.

After a tense moment when he wasn’t sure if she would accept or pull away, Jester threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and burying her tear-soaked face into his neck. Her sobbing was audible now and Caleb rested one hand on the back of her head in an attempt to comfort her.

“I’m so sorry, Caleb….”

“What is there to be sorry about, Blueberry?” Seeing Jester in so much distress was tearing at him, but he forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat. “You have done nothing wrong.”

“Caleb, I… I love you…” 

The words were like a slap in Caleb’s face. This confession, whispered into his neck softly, by the woman he… loved in return was so much to take in. It shocked him to his core, leaving him silent and unmoving.

“I’m sorry Caleb, I know you don’t love me back and I don’t want this to ruin our friendship, but I just couldn’t hold it in anymore. Please don’t be mad at me Caleb, I-”

Pulling away from her, Caleb removed his hand from her head, lifting her chin upwards. For the first time in years he was incredibly, inevitably sure of what he was doing. He felt her soft breath on his face, tickling the small beard hairs that were beginning to show themselves once again. Slowly but firmly he captured her lips with his, using his thumb to stroke her jaw. Hot tears landed on his hand and for a moment Jester hesitated, but after a second she had a vice like grip on his coat. Caleb was no longer in control; she was pulling him into her orbit like a comet into a star and he was ready and willing to burn up in her atmosphere if she wanted him this close.

He felt his lips being parted and her tongue made its way inside, playing with his own. Her hand had found its way into his hair, locking the ginger curls tight to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere. Caleb felt her other hand tighten its grip on his clothes and let out a moan at the thought of how needy Jester seemed to be.

The kisses before had seemed so enormous before, but compared to what they were doing now, telling each other how much they loved and needed the other with their hands and lips, the earlier kisses were nothing.

A soft meow from the counter finally pulled them apart, each of them gasping for air. Caleb, eyes closed, pressed his forehead against Jester’s and took her hands in his own. He let the moment exist, enjoying her presence and reveling in the knowledge that she loved him just as much as he loved her.

“I love you too Jester Lavorre.”

[isitgintimeyet]

The Ties That Bind

Thanks for all your feedback on the first chapter. I loved reading it all! I hope you enjoy the second chapter.

Once again thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta

Chapter 2 : A Recreational Activity (well, a few)

The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories, that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other. Yet it is in this way that love begins, and in this way only.  -Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

Jamie groaned and hoped that the banging inside his head would stop soon. This was the problem with drinking wine. Generally Jamie tried to steer clear of ‘grape’ and stick to ‘grain’. However, last night, he had supped copious quantities of both and now was suffering the consequences. He stretched his hand out hoping to find a glass of water and possibly even two aspirins left on the bedside table by his more responsible alter ego yesterday. There they were. Gratefully, he sank back onto the pillows and waited for them to do their work.  

Parts of his alcohol-induced dreams came back to him… miles and miles of hotel corridors and he was chasing, chasing... a woman with the most gorgeous legs he had ever seen. He kept chasing her, but she wouldn’t stop and she wouldn’t turn round. A flash of wild dark curls and…

The banging in his head seemed to be louder now. “Unca,” a cross little voice added to the general cacophony. “Unca, get up now. Mam says now. ‘Tis beckfast and then ‘wimmin’. Mam says.”

Jamie forced himself out of bed. Fastening the towelling bath robe, he opened his door. His little nephew rushed past him and started jumping on the bed. Jenny stood in the doorway, her eyes darting all round the room.

“I go ‘wimmin’ with ye, Unca, wiv Spideyman shorts. What ye shorts, Unca?”

Jamie sighed and looked at his sister. “She’s no’ here. She didna stay. Nothing happened.” He grabbed Wee Jamie round his middle, lifting him high up in the air. “And who said I would take ye swimmin’, ye wee fishie?”

“Mam said so, she did.”

Jamie gently set his nephew on his feet. “Aye, well, yer mam makes an awfa’ lot o’ decisions fer the men in this family. But I guess I canna refuse, no’ if I ken what’s good fer me.”

**************

Claire lay on one of the day beds next to the swimming pool and wiggled her toes, admiring the newly applied scarlet polish. She set aside the copy of Hello! she had been skimming through and turned to Geillis.

“This was such a good idea of yours, G. Total battery recharge today… and we’ve even had the whole pool to ourselves. I don’t reckon we’ll be seeing any of that wedding party any time soon. Not if last night was anything to go by.”

“I am rather full of brilliant ideas,” Geillis agreed. “Although I feel we may have missed an opportunity last night. So many men...”

“... And no doubt so many wives and girlfriends!” Claire interrupted.

“Och, well,” Geillis dismissed Claire’s interruption. “Guess we’ll never know.”

“Anyway, so I’ve a body wrap, then hot stone massage in twenty minutes. I’m going to head into the sauna for ten minutes first. You coming?”

“Aye, may as weel. I don’t reckon there’ll be anything worth hangin’ round here fer today.” Geillis gathered up her belongings and followed Claire into the sauna.

**************

Jamie sat in the male changing room, blowing up his nephew’s armbands (Spider-Man, obviously a theme here) while Wee Jamie hopped excitedly from foot to foot.

“Now, afore we go in the pool, are ye sure you dinna need a wee? Ye ken what I told ye, as how if ye wee in the pool, the water turns bright blue?”

“Nah, Unca, c’mon now. Wanna go ‘wimmin’.” The little lad pulled his armbands up, grabbed Jamie’s hand and headed for the door. “C’mon, c’mon.” He paused and stared intently at his uncle. “Ye no Spideyman shorts?”

Jamie looked down at his blue checked board shorts and tried to look sad about this. “Sorry lad, I’m too big fer such a fine pair.”

As they entered the pool area together, Jamie looked around. It was totally deserted, which, Jamie thought, was hardly surprising based on the amount of alcohol that had been consumed the day before. An abandoned magazine lay on one of the day beds.

Wee Jamie pointed to a small passage way on the other side of the pool. “What’s ‘at?”

“Ah, nothing for ye. Just the sauna... it’s awfa hot and no’ fer children and the girls’ changing room is down there too. That’s definitely no’ fer us lads, eh?”

Following Jenny’s instructions to “wear the lad out, we want him tae sleep in the car going home,” Jamie stayed in the pool, playing with his nephew until he noticed the lad’s eyelids start to droop. He scooped him up and carried him back to the changing room, intending to just wrap him in a towel and leave the tricky drying and dressing to Jenny.

Wee Jamie held tightly to his uncle’s neck. “You fib, Unca. Ye did. I wee’d and I wee’d but no blue.”

Jamie chuckled. God, he loved this little lad something fierce and maybe someday, God willing...

**************

Claire picked up the two whiskies from the bar and made her way to the table where Geillis was sitting. The pub was quite empty at the moment, just a handful of people, like them, having a quick drink after work before heading home.

Geillis looked Claire up and down appraisingly. “Ye ken I love ye, Claire, but could you no’ wear something a bit, weel, more alluring when we’re out?”

Claire gazed down at her old jeans and plain black tee shirt. “G, I’ve been on my feet in theatre for the past 8 hours. I’m so knackered, you’re lucky I managed to change out of my scrubs and into this! Besides, however can I compete with your alllllluuure?”  She drawled the last word out jokingly. “Maybe you have the allure for both of us? I can be your duff.”

Geillis raised a quizzical eyebrow.  

“Designated ugly fat friend.” Claire explained with a smile. “According to the movie, every friendship group has one. You and me, we’re a friendship group, ergo, I must be it.”

“Claire, ye may be many things but fat or ugly never.” Geillis said, “Yer hair’s a wee bit wild, mind. Do ye no’ fancy a Brazilian blow dry?” She ran her fingers over her sleek strawberry blonde locks.

“And here’s me thinking a ‘brazilian’ was about a different part of my anatomy altogether!”

Geillis smiled, then a serious expression crept over her face. “But, Claire, ye dinna think ye’re fat or ugly really, do ye?”

Claire stared at the beer mat on the table, her fingers picking at it, ripping it into tiny shreds of paper. She really thought she’d outgrown that nervous habit.

“Well, no, but, it’s difficult to explain. Frank...” She could hear Geillis tutting at the mention of his name. “Frank had certain… er, expectations of how I should be. How I should behave, how I should look. The disapproval on his face if I took an extra roast potato, ordered dessert, poured myself another glass of wine. There was always someone younger, more self-controlled, thinner. So, for a while I tried to become the person he wanted me to be. I tried to see myself through his eyes and I saw the fat arse, the lack of control, the not-really good enough...”

Geillis leaned closer and gently placed her hand on Claire’s. “Thank God ye got out of there. That wasna a healthy place tae be, Claire. Ye know ye’re worth a lot more than that.”

“I know. And I am joking about that duff business but occasionally, old habits are hard to break. That’s why I’m not after a serious relationship. I’m not sure I’m ready to let someone see me as I really am.”

“But a fling will do ye no harm at all. It will do ye the world of good, let ye see how another man treats ye. In fact, we need a list. A checklist. When ye’re in theatre, ye dinna start cuttin’ till ye know everything is in place, all the boxes are ticked. So we make a list of what ye want and ye dinna start, er, flingin’ till a man ticks all the boxes.”

Claire finally put the mangled beer mat down. “A list, really?”

“Aye, it’s scientific, ye ken.” Geillis picked up her bag and rooted around for a piece of paper. Finding an unused paper napkin, she smoothed it flat on the table, extracted a pen from the depths of her bag and sat poised ready to write. “Ok. Point one…” She scribbled something down quickly.

“Come on, Let me read it.” Claire laughed, turning the napkin round. “Must look good in, and out of, a kilt. G, you have a one-track mind.”

“Och, it’s a fling we’re talking about, ye only need one track, I reckon. So, what about point two?”

“Well, I may as well play along. Point two must be no complications.”

Geillis obligingly wrote that down. “Next point. Enjoys a drink. Likes to let his hair down.”

Claire took the pen from her friend and added another line. Geillis read it upside down. “Really, it’s a fling ye’re after. Ye’re tellin’ me if they dinna like the X-Files, that’s it? Is that a deal breaker?”

“What can I say? The heart wants what the heart wants.”

“Fine, but I’m adding this one then. Fancies ye as ye are. No changing ye.”

The pub was starting to fill up. Most commuters had already made their way home, to be replaced by those heading out for the evening, coming into the pub for a quick drink before their evening plans properly began. Even on a drizzly Thursday evening, it was getting to be standing room only. Claire noticed several people eyeing their table enviously. She drained her whisky glass and stood up.

“I think that’s me done for this evening. Any more and I’ll have to be put to bed right here.  I’ll just pop to the loo and meet you outside, G.”

As Claire crossed the room to the toilets, Geillis started to gather her stuff together to leave.

Immediately a woman rushed to the table, plonked herself in one chair, and stuffed her bag on the other chair. She eyed Geillis, willing her to hurry up and be on her way. Geillis ignored her and continued rifling through her bag, her movements deliberately slowing. Eventually, Geillis decided she’d had enough of the game, turned away and walked to the exit.

**************

Geneva caught Jamie’s eye as he moved away from the bar, drinks in hand, and pointed to the seats she had found for them. He sat down, taking a deep slug of his whisky as he put Geneva’s vodka, lime and soda on the table next to a tatty old napkin.  

“Someone’s shopping list, no doubt.” Geneva dismissed it with a wave of her hand as Jamie picked it up and carried on telling Jamie about the difficulties in trying to find the correct colour for a new bedroom throw. “...Not really a teal, but not quite a cerulean colour either…”

Jamie knew his role in this. It was just to nod and murmur appreciatively at appropriate points in the story. That gave him time to think… unfortunately. Thinking made him realise that Jenny had been right three weeks ago at the wedding. Geneva was not the one, he didn’t need to try again just to see. And she did talk utter shite.

He groaned, which Geneva seemed to take as indication of his deep interest in her tale of home furnishing trials and tribulations. He should never have slept with her. He hadn’t intended to but last night, as the blood left his brain and migrated south, he had lost the capacity for rational, coherent thought and had followed his baser instincts. Which had been a very bad idea.

Jamie glanced at the napkin he was still holding. Straightening it between his fingers, he began to read. A woman with long strawberry blonde locks suddenly leaned over and gently took the napkin from his fingers.  

“Thanks, it’s fer scientific research, ye ken.”  

He watched as she walked to the door, to her waiting friend. Her friend with the long shapely denim clad legs and mad curly hair and her face, so full of life with sparkling eyes he longed to dive right into.

“What an odd thing to want.” Geneva interrupted his contemplation. “That couldn’t have been scientific research. On a used napkin. Some people are just strange.”

Jamie felt his breath catch in his throat. Jenny had been right - he recognised it. What to do now?

[seenashwrite]

12 Days

Status: Complete Word Count: 4.7K Category: One-shot; Humor; Holidays; Christmas; Behind-the-scenes canon-compliant; Fluffersnark Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, Cas, You, special guest stars Warnings: None Author’s Note(s): Merry Christmas ya filthy animals; let’s use some tropes for good not evil; don’t sweat the word count, a good chunk of it is listing things (you’ll see); more post-story Overall Summary: It’s twelve days until Christmas, business is slow, but boredom has been chased away by the arrival of some very special gifts for two very deserving hunters.

1.

It started on the thirteenth, which - as all supernaturally-inclined people know - is a harbinger of doom. But Dean didn't see it that way, at least, not at first. Neither his hackles nor his suspicions were raised, and why would they be?

Sam pointed out that they should be, given the lack of postage or a “from” on the fancy tag attached to the fancy box with the fancy bow.

Here was the thing, though: pie.

The smell was heavenly; well, as heaven ought to smell, as far as Dean was concerned. And it should taste of whiskey. And it should sound of classic rock and classic engines. And it should feel of broken-in leather seats - hell, even just broken-in flannel. Anyone who knew Dean would presume such, and they would be correct.

And there, now, atop a library table, was a little piece of heaven. The tag had a "1" drawn on it in ornate calligraphy, a TO DEAN just under, and when opened, a charming drawing of the best of desserts, more fanciful handwriting proclaiming: A Fresh Homemade Apple Pie.

"Whoa," said Dean.

"Hmmm," said Sam.

It was beautiful, it was exquisite, it was delicious, and Dean ate it straight from the box, demolished it, nothing but crumbs in just under an hour.

"You don't think this is a bit weird?" Sam asked, watching as his brother leaned back with a contented sigh.

Dean brought his eyes to Sam's, then rolled them. "Our life is weird. Anyway, I know exactly who this is from - it's about trying to make up for that fight we had last week."

"Hmmm," said Sam.

Again.

2.

The next day, there were two boxes - the first was identical to the the prior day's, from packaging to content. The second was wrapped in kind, only bigger, the tag sporting "2", and featuring a tiny inking of brightly-colored shirts, though this time the tag read TO DEAN & SAM. Inside were plaid flannel button-downs, one for each of them, perfectly sized, in exactly the colors they would have chosen.

Dean was pleased, goaded Sam into trying his on; he begrudgingly admitted it was nice. But he had a question, so he asked it.

"I don’t get it - why? I mean, including me, if this is about your fight?"

Dean shrugged. "Got me. Who cares? I'm up for getting my ass kissed six ways to Sunday - if she wants to run The Twelve Days of Christmas gambit, she can knock herself out."

"Technically, the twelve days should start after----"

Dean interrupted as he picked up the box with the pie. "Before, after - I can handle twelve days of this whenever. So? You in this time?"

3.

Outside the bunker door on this day were three boxes: first, pie; the next, shirts; and the newest elicited a gasp from its recipient. TO DEAN, read the tag, Three Rocking Tapes. And there, just as the little drawing had shown, were three mix tapes full of his favorite songs, and his favorite songs only, no filler, no B-sides. He would soon find that one of the tapes was strictly live recordings, and the tunes were as crisp as if time had been rolled back briefly so as to capture the melodies in HD, sounding as if he were right there in the front row.

Dean put on his new flannel, stuffed his pants pockets with the tapes, snatched up the pie, and scurried to his room without another word. Or a fork. Or a napkin.

Sam sighed, and then he put away the shirts.

4.

Brought into the library were four packages - one pie, two shirts, three tapes, and now a box which held tiny bottles of top-shelf liquor. Four Shots Of Whiskey declared the tag, and Sam would swear that Dean erupted in what one could’ve interpreted as a squeal. A very manly one, naturally. 

It tasted wonderful, according to Dean, and he thought to offer Sam the fourth after pounding the first three. Sam tried it, happened to agree, and he drank his shot as Dean hacked into the latest pie.

An odd look crossed his face.

“What?” asked Sam.

Dean shook himself out of it. “Nothing. She tweaked the recipe, I guess.”

Sam nodded, set his empty bottle with the rest, but before he began to gather the shirts, he asked another question:

“Didn’t she always say she hated to cook?”

5.

Dean was singing under his breath as he tied his robe a little tighter, then opened the door. “It’s the most wonderful time of the---- Whoa!”

He’d yelled so loudly that Sam came rushing out of the kitchen and up the stairs. “What is it? What’s wr---- Wow.”

The morning had brought with it one pie, two shirts, three tapes, four whiskeys, and there, on a very large, very heavy box, a tag reading TO SAM.

As he flipped the tag open, he said, “I think she’s doing it wrong, I don’t think each gift is supposed to be repeated every----” Sam cut himself off with a massive intake of air once he saw it:

FIVE BOOKS OF LORE!

They were old, slightly yellowed, smelled ancient, and Dean wrinkled his nose, but Sam inhaled deeply, and his eyes sparkled as he laid each of the books out on the table almost reverently.

“These…. are…. AMAZING.” He looked to Dean, excited. “They’re really rare, I’ve been looking for a couple of these for forever!” A pause. “Something wrong with the shirts?”

Dean had opened the package, and was staring into it with a perplexed expression; he held up a sleeve for Sam to see.

“This look pink to you?”

6.

A hunt had taken the duo away from the bunker overnight, and on the front steps the evening of the sixth day, waiting for them to return, were: one pie, two shirts, three tapes, four whiskeys, five books, and six bags of salt.

“That woulda been useful last night,” Dean muttered.

“It was a big body,” Sam commented.

“He was a whale!” Dean snapped.

Sam frowned. “Why don’t you eat some pie and calm down.”

Dean grumbled something unintelligible.

“Huh?” Sam asked.

Dean didn’t answer, but did continue to grumble as they brought the salt bags - and the rest - inside.

“Will you please just tell me what’s wrong?” Sam tried again.

Dean sighed, and said, “Yesterday’s pie was… off.”

“Define ‘off’,” said Sam.

“It was really… I dunno, sour, or something.”

“Maybe it was a different kind of apple.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, now you’ll be used to it, if it’s in today’s.”

“You assume I’m gonna try today’s.”

Sam gave Dean a look.

Dean returned it in kind - then he shrugged, picked up the pie, turned to go to his room, thought better of it, turned around, and grabbed the whiskey, too.

7.

A suspect stomach prevented Dean from seeing the newest batch of presents until Sam had brought most of it down into the war room, the flush of a toilet echoing down the hallway heralding his arrival, and he stood by the stairs, watching as the job was completed.

“Nice of you to join the party,” Sam said with a grunt, depositing the last box onto the map table.

Dean studied his sweaty brother. “Why’re you so-----”

“Because, look,” Sam said, pointing.

The bags of salt had increased in size, tripling, in fact, from the few modest pounds the day prior; even for Sam, it was quite the haul. That made: six bags of salt, five books of lore, four whiskey shots, three rocking tapes, two flannel shirts, and a fresh homemade apple pie.

“Fresh, my ass!” Dean practically screamed at the package. But then his attention went to the newest arrival. “You or me?” he asked.

“You do it,” Sam replied, flopping into a chair, hair flopping out of his eyes as he did so.

Dean looked at the tag and grinned. “Ah-ha. Lucky you. Hopefully this time it’s something we can both----” Scanning further, he cut himself off, raised his eyebrows. “Welp. At least there’s the whiskey.” He gestured to the box as he took his own seat. “All yours.”

TO SAM ~ Seven Healthy Smoothies

As Sam removed the ornate wrapping and began to open the box, he jostled it, and his eyes met Dean’s briefly at the sound of clinking glass. He began removing the smoothies and setting them in a line. All seven were cool to the touch, all in crystal goblets, all piled high and with a dusting of peppermint flakes on top, all ready-to-drink due to the thoughtfully-included straws.

And all were an interesting shade of slightly neon green.

“It’s… festive,” Sam finally said, after several beats of silence.

“So? You gonna try it?” Dean asked, caution in his voice, a hand reflexively coming up to rub his belly.

“I dunno - you really think the pie made you sick? The pie itself - not the fact that you’ve been killing off a whole one every day for a week now?” Sam asked pointedly.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Then try it.”

“All right,” Sam replied, and picked one up, brought it to his nose for a sniff and, apparently satisfied that it wasn’t toxic in that regard, took a tiny sip. He grinned. He sipped more. He grinned more. And then he removed the straw and began to gulp it down. When he lowered the glass and his line of sight was clear, he found Dean eyeing him.

“Really?” Dean asked.

“It’s great!” Sam exclaimed, picking up another. “I gotta ask her for the recipe! Hey, have you talked to her at all? To say you’re sorry?”

“I’m not sorry,” Dean replied, smug, and stood - pausing briefly as his gut let out a horrific moan - then took the box with the tapes and retreated to his room.

Sam huffed, and shouted after him. “You’re not gonna help me with all this salt?!”

8.

“You need to call her.”

Dean and Sam were standing near a bookshelf, watching the box, both jumping in sync, startled when the shaking started up again.

“No.”

“Then go open it.”

“You open it.”

“Yesterday’s was for me, this one is probably----”

“It may be for both of us----”

“I can see your name on the tag from here!”

Rock, paper, scissors ensued.

Dean lost.

He flicked open his pocket knife as he walked to the table. The box suddenly went still when he gingerly raised the tag with the tip of the knife. “I can’t read what it says,” he told Sam.

“You could if you actually opened it!” Sam replied, growing annoyed.

“Fine, I’ll open it!” Dean declared, and used the knife to draw a large slit through the paper, enough to where he could get the flaps of the box open.

“I meant the tag--- oh, never mind,” said Sam.

Dean stood there staring down into box for so long that Sam finally walked over - and he found himself staring, as well, once he came to a stop by Dean.

The contents of the box were glowing.

Along with the seven healthy smoothies, six bags of salt, five books of lore, four whiskey shots, three rocking tapes, two flannel shirts, and a fresh homemade apple pie, it appeared the Winchesters were now the owners of eight canning jars, based upon the two rows of four metal caps, jars with minuscule holes pierced into the lids, jars whose contents pulsed gently with a warm amber light.

Rock, paper, scissors ensued.

Sam lost.

Dean backed away.

Sam reached in, removed a jar, snickered, then turned to show Dean that there, trapped inside the glass, was a fast-chirping, hard-glowing, wings-vibrating, bird-shooting, larger-than-usual-size, very pissed-off little lady.

Dean’s eyes grew wide. “But why?” he whispered.

Sam read the tag aloud. “TO DEAN - Eight Angry Fairies.” Then he burst into laughter.

“Sure, real funny!” Dean said with a sneer. “This is a total bitch move, even for her!”

Sam laughed harder. “We only have one microwave - you gonna go for the oven this time? What do you think, about three-fifty for a half-hour should do it, huh?” He set down the jar, still chuckling as he moved to the box containing his smoothies, took one out.

“You still have some in the fridge!” said Dean, coming back to the table, but hesitating briefly when the fairy threw herself against the inside of the jar, rocking it and causing a puff of sugarplum-scented glitter to waft into the air. He quickly picked it up by the lid - using his fingertips only - and deposited her back with her friends, closing the flaps for good measure.

Sam continued unpacking, said, “I know, but I wanted to see if she’d done anything new to these.” He took a sip, closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth turning up as it slipped down his throat.

“And?”

“They still taste great. Better, even. How’s the pie been?”

“Didn’t finish yesterday’s, it was mushy.”

“Mushy?”

“Yeah, mushy!” Dean exclaimed. “Why do you care?”

“Jeez, Dean! I’m just making conversation!”

“And the tapes suck, too, before you ask!”

“What are you talking about?”

“The first day they were great, and the second day, and then all of a sudden hair band rock started sneaking in----”

“You like----”

“NO, not ALL of it, and then there was grunge----”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh, and you know what was on the last one? Right in the middle of ‘Black Betty’? Friggin’ Bieber!”

Sam went back to laughing. “This is too good, you get what she’s doing, right? She’s telling you she’s not sorry, either!” 

Dean began to sulk, and Sam went back to drinking the smoothie, both still doing so when Castiel came into the room.

After a brief frown at the pile of salt bags - once more having increased in poundage since the last batch - he asked about all the packages. They explained. The frown returned.

“So you haven’t been helping her in any way, at all?” Dean asked.

“No,” replied Castiel, picking up a fairy jar and studying it. “I wager someone is, however, based upon the books Sam is receiving, and based upon these specimens - they’re quite reclusive and quite aggressive, that she managed to locate eight is… impressive.” He returned the jar to the box and turned to Sam. “Have the books continued to be rare tomes?”

Sam swallowed the most recent mouthful of his lime-hued treat, and answered, “In a way - they’ve all been different, and nothing we already have, but…. it’s just….”

Dean and Castiel raised their eyebrows, prompting him.

“Well, a few have been about cryptids, some about urban legend type stuff, things that she knows aren’t true. Maybe it’s some filler, since she’s having to come up with so many of them, or something.”

“And today’s?” asked Castiel.

“Open it up and see, if you want,” answered Sam, and Castiel did so.

“These are hardback copies of first-edition Chuck Shurley stories,” he said.

Sam just barely managed to avoid a spit-take. “This is great!” he choked out.

“Laugh it up, ass,” Dean shot back, and tore into the box with the shirts. He groaned. He yanked them out, threw them on the table, greeted with more of the same ol’, same ol’. Sort-of. Their sizes, yes; flannel, yes; pleasant-colored-plaid, no. They were patterned in pastel flowers.

A thought striking, he ran to his room, came back with a boombox, tested out the tapes. They were indeed classic rock. The elevator music version. Dean was fuming. The box of whiskey still held liquor, and it was still whiskey, though just a taste told him it was no longer top-shelf; not swill, but definitely well.

And then there was the pie.

Once the seal was broken, the smell was an assault, something sharp and pungent, all three men muttering “ugh” and “oof” and “ew”, and when Dean set it on the table, it made a belching sound, the slightly burnt crust sinking down, a thick grey ooze seeping out and over the edge of the dish.

“Man, she’s really nailing you, Dean!” Sam cried, laughing so hard this time that tears came to his eyes, and he had to sit down, Dean’s glare doing nothing to stop him, and when he settled, he was finishing off the last of his drink when Castiel directed a question his way.

“Why are you consuming pureed elf?”

9.

“This doesn’t make sense,” said Sam.

He held up one of the shoes. A left shoe, because they were all lefts. He had been gifted, according to the tag, Nine Missing Shoes.

Dean ran a hand over his face. “They’re not actively trying to kill us. Can we not look a gift horse, here?”

Sam tossed the shoe back into the box. “Let’s get started.”

Castiel had advised the fairies be kept in the dungeon - in their tightly sealed jars, of course - until he could determine what best to do with them. Dean and Sam, meanwhile, had a plan for the rest. Seven smoothies, flushed away. Six salt bags, piled in storage (after all, it would eventually get used). Five books, after being screened for usefulness, taken to recycling. Four whiskeys, after being tasted for quality, down the drain. Three tapes, after being checked for listen-a-bility, crushed underfoot. Flannel shirts, if not of plaid or plain flannel, donated. And as for the pie, into a trash bag it would go.

Their mission took the entire day, and after they pulled back into the garage and Dean cut the engine, he turned to Sam. “I think she’s trying to say something about bad luck.”

“With the shoes?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded. “Maybe she’s trying to say that it’s like the other stuff - nothing bad at first, but get ready, it’s coming.”

“Can you just… just get over it, and call her? I’m afraid she’s messing with some bad stuff, if she’s getting into cursed objects all because of a stupid misunderstanding---”

“I have tried, okay?! It kept going to voicemail, all last night, and when I tried earlier, it was disconnected!”

Sam blanched. “We need to do a locator spell, or get Cas to find her - she could be in real trouble, Dean.”

“She’s not in trouble, she’s being a dick,” Dean spat, and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him - and then he froze.

Sam climbed out, followed Dean’s gaze, and he was stunned - there, near the steps leading back into the bunker, was every gift they’d just disposed of, stacked and wrapped, not a bow out of place. They shared a serious look, then spoke at the same time.

“I’m getting the ingredients!” Sam announced.

“I’m getting Cas!” Dean announced.

The locator spell did not work, and the brothers, defeated, went to bed, but fell asleep with faith in their hearts, with faith in their angel friend, who was, at that very moment, out looking for the source of the mischief which had fallen upon them.

However.

They knew he was having no success when they were awoken at the same time in the middle of the night by footsteps running down the hallway. Sleepiness initially impacted aim, but a baker’s dozen of rounds later, and the shoes had been brought to a halt. The pair of gun-wielding, mussed-hair, pajama’d hunters looked upon the pile of hole-filled sneakers at their socked feet.

“Heh. Lucky thirteen,” said Dean.

Sam just looked at him.

“Thirteenth try’s the charm?” Dean suggested.

Sam rolled his eyes, shook his head, and went back to bed.

“‘This is too good, Dean!’ ‘This is great, Dean!’ ‘She’s really nailing you, Dean!’” Dean muttered in a high-pitched, mocking tone as he shuffled off to his bedroom. A squeak from behind caused him to whip around, fire a shot into the side of a shoe which had weakly tried to make a run for it. Its laces went lax.

Dean made sure to reload before his head met his pillow.

10.

A not-so-fresh homemade rotted-apple pie. Two lavender, paisley-patterned flannel shirts. Three rocking tapes filled with “Rock-A-Bye-Baby”, karaoke-style, by a singer who sounded a great deal like William Shatner. Four rancid whiskey shots. Five Hardy Boys books. Six twenty-pound sacks of salt. Seven pureed elf smoothies, with what appeared to be fingernails sprinkled on top. Eight angry fairies, whose flailing was beginning to crack the glass. Nine missing shoes, which squeaked out whines despite not making contact with the floor.

And now, ten tiny bubbling cauldrons of putrid purple, Ten Witches’ Fluids, all for Dean.

“I hate her,” Dean said.

“No, you don’t,” Sam said.

“I’m gonna kill her,” Dean said.

“No, you won’t,” Sam said.

11.

Dean crouched down, jaw dropped, putting himself on eye-level with the intricately-carved case, fixated on the row of eleven clown marionettes. He poked one in the tummy with his index finger. They all began to sway and giggle maniacally.

“Yep,” he said. “Eleven clowns-a-dancing.”

“Nope,” Sam said, and he fished his lighter from his pocket, then held it between his teeth as he began to drag one of the massive bags of salt toward the table. He managed to tear the corner of it open, spilling salt everywhere, scooping up two handfuls and stomping to the creepy diorama.

Dean shook himself out of distraction and stood in between his adrenaline-fueled brother and the newest gift. “What are you---- no, Sam, NO!”

Sam threw the salt in the direction of the snickering puppet nightmare anyway, but the lighter now resided in a tightly-clutched fist. “WHY NOT?!” he bellowed in response, his neck - his entire face - flushed.

“You wanna do a salt-and-burn inside? Are you insane?”

“SHE’S insane! Why would she do this, what have I ever done to her?!”

“Oh, because I deserve this? Because I’ve done something to her?!”

Sam was livid, and he’d be lying if he said a good portion of it wasn’t from fear. “What was the fight about?”

“Whadda you care?”

Now it was Sam’s jaw that dropped, and he wordlessly gestured to the clowns; they tittered and chanted “Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam!” in acknowledgment.

Dean sighed. “She got pissed because when she met up with us to help out, I said… look, she’s real independent, I get it, and I get that she’s been hunting a long time, but not as long as we have, and….”

“What. Did. You. Do,” Sam asked, voice low, teeth grit.

“I maybe said… suggested… that she hang back a little, because… well, you remember her leg? The time before last? When she wasn’t paying attention, and that rugaru shoved her into that rusty junk at the scrapyard? How nasty it was? How much she cried, I mean, I’ve never seen her cry, and...”

Sam crossed his arms, narrowed his eyes.

Dean opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find his next words, and when he did, they came out in a burst. “She could've gotten tetanus!”

Sam looked at Dean in disbelief. “Do you like her-like her?”

Dean gave him a look. “Are we in grade school? What the hell does----”

Sam quite possibly gasped. “You do.” Now he took a few steps in Dean’s direction, quite possibly poised to punch. “I heard you talking to her about staying safe, and giving her tips she doesn’t need, but you’re the reason she cut out early, aren’t you? You went and pulled a bunch of ‘Hey sweetheart, you’re gonna get yourself hurt, I’ll protect you’ crap, didn’t you?”

Dean’s silence was all the confirmation that was needed.

Sam shook his head, began backing away, pointing to the clowns. “Burn them!” he hissed, then continued in reverse out of the room, not turning his back on the pile of presents til he was halfway down the hall.

12.

So it was, on the twelfth day of Christmas, the exhausted and gut-churned brothers now had in their possession:

A troupe of tiny clowns who wouldn’t shut up; a now-quarantined med room because of witch fluid corroding anything in its path; shoes that screamed as they pounded against the door of the room into which they’d been thrown; a dungeon filled with escaped, definitely rabid fairies; a stopped-up sink of viscous elf; a storage room stacked with overflowing bags of salt that trickled into the hall; a kitchen table filled with bottom-barrel whiskey; a crate with un-spooled tapes that would re-spool each night; racks filled with garish flannels; and taking over the refrigerator, worm-laden apple pies.

"It's the 24th. That's it," whispered Sam.

"What could that mean for tomorrow? Since it'll officially be Christmas?" Dean whispered back.

Sam turned to him, seriousness coating his posture, his expression, his tone. "It means we should be the hell out of town."

Dean grabbed Sam by his jacket, eyes wild. "She’ll find us! It doesn't matter where we go! Cas is still out there looking for her, but he’s never gonna find her!"

“She doesn’t want to be found. And I know why. I know what I did,” Sam said.

A barely-there vroom prompted them to look warily upon the twelve glossy, innocent-seeming toys in the long, narrow box. Dean let loose of Sam, and then he snatched the tag off the box - TO DEAN ~ Twelve Classic Cars - ripped it in two, and tossed the scraps to the side. Not that it would do anything but it felt good. 

“So, what? What do you think? Will it help us get out of this mess?” he asked.

“I don’t know, because how am I supposed to apologize?” Sam asked in reply, and then he said, “I heard you being all patronizing with your hunter 101 tips, at the motel. I was right there, and I didn’t speak up. I could’ve changed the subject or pulled you aside and told you to lay off. That’s what I did - what I didn’t do.”

Dean grew solemn. “So that’s what I was being? Patronizing?”

Sam nodded. “You’d wouldn’t talk that way to me. I mean, you want me safe - I want you safe - and you sure as hell tell me when you disagree with me, but... you’d never make it seem like… like…”

“Like if you got hurt on a hunt, it’d be because you couldn’t take care of yourself.”

“Yeah. I think... I think all she needs to know is that you believe in her, and you’ve got her back.”

“And how I think she’s pretty freaking badass,” Dean added. “Because, I do.”

They stood silently for a few moments. Twelve tinny horns honked. They looked to the cars.

“Curse box?” asked Sam.

“Curse box,” confirmed Dean.

The curse box, while sturdy and appropriately chanted over, was - apparently - on holiday, as it were.

It was midnight when Sam was jolted awake by his door slamming against the wall, Dean jumping on his bed so hard it nearly rolled him onto the floor with the rebound. He immediately pulled his gun from under his pillow when he saw Dean’s shocked expression, the shotgun in his hands, aimed somewhere at the floor. Then he noted twelve pairs of headlights, heard twelve revving engines.

And eleven cackling clowns.

And nine pounding steps.

And eight flapping wings.

The clock on the bedside table flipped to 12:01.

Despite everything, Dean grinned. “Merry Christmas,” he said with a pump of the shotgun.

The grin was returned. “Merry Christmas,” replied Sam with a click of the hammer.

You leaned back, moving your legs to the side as Chuck took his seat, then passed two of the small popcorn containers he carried to you and Amara.

“Extra salt?” you asked.

“Got you covered,” he said in reply; to Amara, he said, “And there’s M&Ms, too, Sis."

“Oooooh, yes,” she responded happily.

“What’d I miss?” asked Chuck.

“Round one just started,” you answered, then ate a mouthful of the best popcorn ever created.

“Oh, I almost forgot to ask - did you want some elf poltergeists in the pipes?” Amara inquired.

You shook your head. “No, this is good. I think they learned their lesson. Besides, I’m glad they’re having some fun.” You pointed to the large movie screen at the front of the empty theater. “Look at those faces.”

“Pure bliss,” she agreed. “And I must say, you’re very creative.”

“Not really,” you said with a little laugh. “I just thought: how do I show them that even the best hunters can get wrapped up in a crazy situation? How sometimes it’s just bad luck? And that the last thing that’s helpful is to be babied about it? Plus, well, ‘tis the season of giving.”

“So do you think you’ll go for it with Dean, now that you’ve got some inside scoop?” asked Chuck.

“Ah. Well. What do you guys think I should do?”

“Can’t answer that,” Amara said.

“Free will’s the name of the game,” Chuck said.

“Fair enough,” you said.

A few moments of chewing on the parts of all parties, then:

“He’s a great kisser,” Amara offered.

“I wrote him to be fantastic in bed,” Chuck added.

You gulped, then coughed. “Good to know,” you croaked.

Chuck smiled. “Who says we don’t answer prayers?”

See Nash Write : Master  /  See Nash Write : Mobile

🏷️🏷️Wanna be tagged? Hit me up! 🏷️🏷️

Author’s Note #2: I know I took liberties with the 12 days dates, hope you don’t mind too terribly much 😉

Author’s Note #3: My trope comment means: Dean likes pie? Are you sure?! and Sam loves THE LORE?! OMG! and on and on and on, which often... often... offfften... we (and yes, I’m pointing fingers at myself, too!) beat into the ground in our stories. I thought I’d attack some of those. And granted, they attacked back.

Behold, the summoning of The Nashooligans:

  @butiaintgonnaloveem @impandagrl @waywardjoy @jalove-wecallhimdean @jame-sbarnes @just-another-busy-fangirl @amanda-teaches @fanforfanatic @salt-n-burn-em-all @idreamofhazel @cyrilconnelly @rozadolphin @theblackharrystyles @carryonmycobaltangel @ilsawasanacrobat @klaineaholic @helvonasche @ericaprice2008 @amionthetumbler @tankcupcakes @littlegreenplasticsoldier @emlostinwonderland @michellethetvaddict @theoriginalvicki @ellen-reincarnated1967 @copperseraphim  @mrswhozeewhatsis​  @crowleylovesyou  @bumbleball13  @anticipate1003  @sixtysevenandwhiskey @raspberrymama  @lastactiontricia  @babypieandwhiskey  @winchesterprincessbride   @gripmetight-raisemefromperdition   @roseblue373   @waterfeenix137   @thisismysecrethappyplace  @fandomismyspirit  @thedevilinthedetails​  @rainflowermoon

[kallura-icedcoffee]

one man’s trash is another woman’s love life

A/N: for @/princessstaryknight who asked via DM for a drabble inspired by a reddit post where a woman constantly takes her trash out last minute so she can flirt with her garbage man. I was also asked to include my oc Kallura daughter Mina. I’d link the post but I’d like this to actually show up in the tags (thanks a lot tumblr)

“All right class now settle down!” Ms. Arus instructed.

She should have never allowed the children to have some of their Valentine’s treats early as they were already bouncing off the walls. Luckily recess was soon and they could burn off that energy outside. She pursed her lips and blew a loose strand of blonde hair from her face before standing at the front of the classroom.

“No if you recall, as your homework in honor of Valentine’s Day I asked you to write a little report on how your parents met. Did you all complete the task?”

“Yes Miss Romelle!” they yelled in unison. They were still getting the hang of last names.

“Wonderful! Who would like to go first?”

The kids stole glances at each other, sunk down in their chairs. They were still getting the hang of public speaking as well. Romelle’s nostrils flared before she stood straight with clasped hands.

“Mina Kogane. Would you like to start?”

Everyone turned to the young girl at the back of the room who winced at the sound of her name. Her shoulders dropped and she reluctantly grabbed her paper and headed to the front. Once there, she took a deep breath and quickly brushed off her overalls, made sure her pigtails looked presentable.

“So Mina, where did your parents find each other?”

“In the garbage” Mina replied.

The class erupted into laughter and giggles which caused Mina’s cheeks to puff up in frustration. She clutched her paper in her fist.

“That’s enough!” Ms. Arus bellowed before chuckling nervously. “Mina, um, can you explain what you mean dear?”

Mina calmed her tiny rage and tugged the paper straight. She cleared her throat and began to read…

*FLASHBACK*

It wasn’t the alarm that woke her up, she already slept through that. It was the actual roar of the truck as it pulled up to her neighbor’s house, followed by the hum as it sat idle and then the loud whirring and clanging and buzzing at the arms came down and grabbed the can off the street to dump it into the back.

Her eyes shot open.

“Shit! Shit shit shit!”

Allura threw back the covers and scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over a pair of jeans strewn across the floor. She bolted into the kitchen and yanked the lid off the trash can, tying the bag as quickly as possible before snatching it out and sprinting outside. She didn’t even bother to put on shoes.

“Wait! Wait for me!” She yelled in an almost frantic state as the truck, which was now in front of her house, began to pull away.

She raced down the walkway to the curb when the truck stopped and a man got out of the passenger side.

“Wait for- oh it’s just you.” She sighed as her body slumped.

“Excuse me?” The man laughed incredulously, placing his hands on his hips.

“No, I mean, I’m sorry. Am I too late?” She held out the bag.

“Nah, I got it.” He smiled and took the garbage from her, tossing the bag in the back.

“Thanks” Allura said, disappointment evident in her voice.

“No problem” he smiled and absentmindedly scratched at the scar over his nose.

Allura pouted and slunk back into the house.

“She wants you.” He said as he climbed back into the seat of the truck.

“Shiro please.”

“I’m serious Keith. She practically recoiled when she saw it was me and not you.”

“She’s just forgetful getting her trash to the curb.”

“Every week? She forgets every week?”

“Maybe she’s a ditz I dunno.” Keith shrugged and continued to drive.

“A ditz who forgets her trash every week and comes running out with it often in full makeup at eight in the morning?”

“Maybe she has a fancy job.”

“Or maybe she wants your d-”

“Ok you know what?” Keith laughed, cutting him off. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“So you’re saying you wouldn’t?”

Keith licked his bottom lip as he pulled the wheel and turned the corner.

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t, of course I would, look at her. I’m saying that’s not what’s happening here so drop it.”

“Dropped!” Shiro put his hands up in surrender.

That night Pidge leaned against the doorframe of Allura’s bedroom, arms crossed and shaking her head at her roommate.

“Are you insane?”

“What?” Allura scoffed as she prepared for bed, putting the last of some large curlers in her hair.

“What is that?” Pidge motioned to her outfit.

“Pajamas.”

“Pajamas…” Pidge narrowed her eyes at Allura’s “pajamas” which consisted of a red silky nightgown with floral mini robe.

“Yes, I wear things like this to sleep all the time!”

Pidge eyes drifted to the shopping bag on the floor.

“Uh huh. Anyway goodnight lovergirl.” She rolled her eyes and returned to her own room.

Allura glared and paid her no mind, grabbing her phone and making sure her alarm was set, with a back up alarm and a back up for the back up alarm. She’d be ready this time.

The following morning her first alarm failed her but the second came through and sure enough she was outside, in her saucy nightgown, garbage in her grip, disheartened while handing it over to a highly amused Shiro. She sulked back to the door feeling like a fool and turned the knob.

It didn’t open.

Her lip curled and she tried it again. It was locked. Her face scrunched. That was odd as she didn’t recall being so careless. She rang the doorbell. When that received no response she banged on the door. Eventually it opened, but only slightly, the door catching on the chain lock.

“Morning!” Pidge beamed.

“Uh morning, let me in please.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Pardon?”

“For the past two months you have been disrupting my beauty sleep so you can go out there and flirt with the garbage man hoping he’ll notice you. I’ve had enough. I’m not letting you in until you ask him out.”

Allura leaned forward while closing up her robe tight, it was rather chilly.

“Pidge are you kidding me?! This isn’t a game!”

“Oh I know, so you better run now before they get too far down the block.” She grinned through the slot.

“Pidge!”

The door slammed in her face and Allura could hear it relocking. She cursed. She knew Pidge never gave empty threats. Allura exhaled loudly and begrudgingly walked toward the garbage truck, praying none of her neighbors were watching this early in the morning. The truck was two houses down and when she knocked on the passenger door the window rolled down.

“Hey.” Shiro smiled knowingly and leaned out the window.

“May I talk to him please?” Allura hugged herself and looked down at her feet.  She didn’t need to say more.

Shiro had to stifle a laugh as he rolled the window back up and turned to Keith.

“What’s going on?” Keith’s brow arched.

“She wants to see you.”

“What?!”

Keith nearly choked on his saliva as he gripped the steering wheel tight. He cleared his throat and slipped out, giving Shiro one last “don’t even start” glare. When he came around the truck he paused, halted in his steps by her rather…inviting nightgown.

“Uh, is there something I can help you with Miss?”

She shifted uncomfortably, partly due to nerves, partly from her bare feet on the concrete.

“I, well I, if you weren’t, I mean if you aren’t seeing anyone, would you like to go get a drink, or dinner sometime?”

Keith blinked and his heart skipped. Surely this was a prank. He was a garbage man. There was nothing thrilling or exciting about his work. Women simply did not ask him out on the job in their sexy nighties while he was collecting their banana peels and crumpled stained napkins.

“Are you serious?” he replied after a long silence.

“Quite. I wouldn’t be wearing this with curled hair and false eyelashes if I wasn’t which I realize now is rather silly.” She sulked.

“It is a little silly…”

He chuckled and her expression fell.

“…but red is my favorite color.”

She looked up and a light seemed to flicker in her face.

“How about we start with coffee.”

“I’d like that, um…”

“Keith.”

“Keith,” she said it with a relieved sigh. “I’m Allura.”

“Allura…that’s pretty.” He smiled and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Thanks.” She grinned with a blush.

*FLASH FORWARD*

“And then they went on lots and lots of dates and they kissed a lot which is really gross and then they got married and they had me and mommy is about to have my baby brother which I’m ok with I guess, but if I don’t like him I’ll ask if we can send him back. The end.”

Mina looked up, satisfied with herself. Ms. Arus looked at her wide eyed before giggling and clapping, which led the classroom to follow.

“Well that’s certainly an interesting story!”

“I told you they met in the trash I wasn’t making it up!”

“Yes of course.” She gently pushed the little girl by the back to urge her to sit down.

Romelle returned to the front of the room and sat on the edge of her desk.

“Ok…who’s next?”

[a-big-apple]

TAZ fic: What, What, What

Taako is mildly fucked up, but perseveres; Lup wonders if her brother might actually be part gerblin. Just another fancy dinner at Taako's Amazing School of Magic!

Apparently when I’m sad I cook all day, write fic about Taako and Lup all evening, and post it when it’s too late at night for anyone to see it? But I’m less sad, so...it worked!

Read on AO3

This comes after my Adventure Bang fic from last year, but you don’t have to have read that—just know that Taako has a cool house on school grounds, and Lup lives there too.

***

Lup doesn’t often bother coming home through the front door; her scythe makes doors basically irrelevant, and after almost a year in the Raven Queen’s service she still hasn’t tired of making a dramatic entrance with a badass plane-slicing blade. But sometimes when the weather’s nice, after a long hunt or a lot of paperwork, she’ll take a minute to come up the walk through the wild garden and let the enchanted birds carved over the doorframe sing out a full chorus of The Thong Song before she goes inside.

Today she stands in the sticky early September heat and listens through twice before she’s ready; breaking up blood sacrifice cults bums her out every time. If she does a little twerk for the second chorus, well, Merle never has to know she took his advice.

There’s an unusual bustle of school staff inside, cleaning, polishing, changing over the big event space to a fancy dining room with bursts of magic. Predictably, Ren is standing perched on a chair supervising these efforts; when she spots Lup, she gives her a frazzled smile and a wave.

“Can you make sure Taako’s on schedule?” she calls across the dining room. “He was in a weird mood this morning. Oh, no, Sam, let’s do maroon on the napkins? Fall colors. And velvet for the seat cushions.”

Lup doesn’t know specifically what’s going on, but she can guess; the school year’s about to start, this must be some kind of opening dinner. “I’ll check on him. What time’s he supposed to be ready?”

Ren crosses something off the list on her clipboard before looking back to Lup. “Six sharp. Thanks!”

Lup shoots her two finger guns and continues on to the door into the private wing, only to find it locked. It’s not a problem to Knock it open, but it is unusual, and as soon as she steps through she can smell food cooking and maybe something burning. Biscuit, who generally takes it upon herself to keep tabs on all entrants, darts through a wall to greet her.

“Hey, spooky girl,” Lup coos, bending to rub the underside of the cat’s mandible. “Who’s my favorite ghost cat? Hmm? Did you miss me?” Biscuit’s ribs rumble with a purr, and Lup grins. “Guess so. Let’s go see what’s cookin’, huh?” The cat follows her down the hall, twining around and phasing through her legs.

The kitchen looks like a five-star restaurant exploded; there are platters and tureens and baskets of food on every counter, and the kitchen island, and the dining table, and the seat of every chair; the sink is piled comically high with dirty dishes. In the middle of it all stands her brother, wearing nothing but a pair of Barry’s boxers and eating what looks like over-roasted brussel sprouts straight from the baking tray with his fingers. There’s a smear of herbed cooking oil in the shape of a handprint on his stomach, and a streak of some kind of sauce on his elbow. She’s getting a sense for what Ren meant by “a weird mood.”

“Yo,” he says, stuffing a fingerful of blackened leaves into his mouth. “How’d the cult thing go?”

“Fine,” she says, still staring around at the chaos; something crunches underfoot as she comes around the kitchen island. Some wayward Fantasy Corn Chex, if she had to guess, which hopefully means Taako ate something other than burnt reject vegetables at some point today. “You know. Blasted ‘em straight to the Stockade. You, ah...you have a thing tonight, huh?”

Taako holds out the baking tray. “The scholarship thing. I told you about it last week.”

Lup plucks up the last few sprouts and pops them in her mouth. Even burnt, they’re delicious, perfectly seasoned and sprinkled with No-Sodium Salt. “Scholarship thing?”

“I did tell you...didn’t I?” He blinks at her, something shifting in his expression; Lup takes the tray and balances it on top of the dish pile, then takes his greasy hands.

“Hey. It doesn’t matter. Tell me now?” she says, rubbing his knuckles with her thumbs. He lets her, mouth working. “You okay?” she asks, when he doesn’t speak.

“Yeah.” He squeezes her hands, and his expression clears a little. Then he grimaces and lets one hand go to grab a kitchen towel. “Yeah. I started a scholarship, this year. Forty free rides. They’re all comin’ for dinner. You too, if you want. I mean, whoever’s home.”

“Absolutely,” she says, grinning as he tries to wipe his hands and hers without actually letting go of her at all. “You’re disgusting, you need a shower. I think you have icing in your hair, did you make a cake?”

“Three cakes, they’re in the icebox. Also, shut up, I’ve been cooking for eleven hours.”

Lup kisses his cheek and shoves him out of the kitchen. “It shows. I’ll clean up in here, go get ready before Ren comes looking for you.”

***

Eventually Ren does come looking, bringing a line of staff to retrieve the food. When Lup heads upstairs at ten to six, she finds Taako in their shared dressing room, sitting at the vanity fussing with his hair. He’s tried to do a fishtail, but it’s crooked; when he sees her come in, he sighs and lets his arms flop into his lap. “Can you fix this? I fucked it up.”

At least he’s dressed, in high-waisted black trousers and knee high boots, and the shirt Magnus gave him for his birthday with the delicate embroidery on the frilled cuffs. He picks at them as she brushes his hair out. “So tell me more about this scholarship,” she says, watching her fingers as she starts to braid instead of giving in to the urge to examine his every expression in the mirror.

“What’s there to tell?” he says, letting go of his cuffs to poke through his jewelry box instead. “I picked forty kids from the applications who don’t have money, or don’t have homes, or don’t have families or whatever, gave them tuition and room and board.” He picks out an ostentatious ring with a big blue stone, clearly costume, maybe magical, and slips it on his pointer finger. “I’m calling it the Study it Up! Scholarship. Ren tried to get me to change the name, but it’s my money and my school, so.”

“Forty kids, huh?” Lup says, quiet, and Taako shakes his head.

“Lup, c’mon, I don’t wanna—”

“No, no, I wasn’t trying to—I just. You’re doing a good thing.” She holds the end of his braid in one hand, squeezing his shoulder with the other.

Taako smiles, finally, leaning his head against her arm. “Yeah, no shit.” He hands her a hair band, with an obnoxiously large purple silk flower on it. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, babe.”

He runs a hand over the fishtail as she ties it off; satisfied, he whirls out of the chair and throws on his academic robes, plucks a matching hat from the hat shelf, takes the Umbrastaff she made him from its hook. It turns deep blue as he touches it, to match his robes, and he holds out his arms. “Good?”

He looks smart; professorial. He looks like the kind of Somebody they always wanted to be. Then he points his staff at the record player in the corner, and The Thong Song comes blasting out of it. Taako points at her and laughs, and breaks into his Thong Song Dance, as only he can.

“You dumbass,” she shouts over the music, laughing, and joins him.