#including on greg's side

[tomwambsgans]

blink and you'll miss it scene of shiv revealing someone's closeted (but obviously not that successfully so) homosexuality to tom, followed directly by greg telling tom of homophobia he just experienced

to the first thing: tom's clear shock that doesn't involve asking further questions or saying anything, even, contrast to roman who repeats and laughs about it. tom looks like he may either be trying to distance himself from that kind of talk, even as it relates to his and shiv's base dynamic of "judging people together," and/or to be looking out determinedly for ron in the crowd. consider he just learned that a very rich and politically influential man on par with logan had an affair with a guy and even took the submissive role. and that that man is still rich and powerful.

to the second thing: i left it out of the clip but tom responds without hesitation, sounding almost relieved (but maybe that's subjective), with the famous "this is a safe space where you don't have to pretend to like hamilton" line. more or less giving greg advice on how to act and how to posture in a place like this. this is how you don't get called a soyboy, greg. aka this is how you avoid being clocked, greg.

it's notable then that tom and greg proceed to spend the rest of the episode attached at the hip, and to an abnormal enough degree, even, that roman overtly reacts. that very night tom does the most Affair thing he's done yet with greg and sneaks out of bed to go get dinner with him. and of course all of this is bc now greg also fears prison - particularly, just like tom, fixated on the notion of facing (nonconsensual) gay sex there. and tom changes the subject when greg brings it up. and he chooses to let greg stay up while he goes down.

greg also no longer needs the advice about prison but he follows the other advice. and to contrast his self-sacrifical satisfaction over protecting him from the dangers of prison, tom confronts him about this other success almost like it's a personal betrayal.

and i think that's truly how tom sees it and how we're meant to believe tom sees it, too. tom recognizes greg as like him, and he may have just been given major fuel to move past some of his internalized homophobia (or at least past the notion of it being impossible to be successful while pursuing what he wants), but he also doesn't want greg to be any more successful in the closet than he is.

[beansprean]

Familiar interviews continue...

My Familiar’s Ghost part 82

Masterpost Masterpost 2

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(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Upholstered chair on a mottled brown background. Sitting on it is a tall thin white man with short blond hair and a goatee, wearing a light blue leopard print suit over a white vee neck with white heeled boots and a chunky pinkie ring. He is lounging confidently, legs crossed, one hand poised up in the air as he says smugly, 'I graduated top of my class at New York Familiar College.'

2a. Reverse shot, waist up of Nandor and Guillermo sitting on the couch opposite. Nandor brightens and replies, 'Really? That is very impressive...' Guillermo glares at the applicant suspiciously, arms crossed and finger tapping rapidly. 2b. Reverse shot of the man on the chair as a stream of water sprays in from offscreen and hits him in the cheek. It burns and steams where it hits his skin and the man shrieks, rocking back and pulling his legs up from the floor in shock. His disguise immediately poofs away to reveal none other than... Simon The Devious! 2c. Reverse shot, full body, of Nandor sitting at one end of the couch, clipboard in his lap, as Simon rushes past and out the door, hissing and smoking. Guillermo has leapt up from his seat and is posed with feet shoulder width apart, holding a spray bottle in both hands like a pistol and pointing it at Simon's retreating back. He shouts after him, 'Get out of here, Simon! You're not welcome!' Nandor shrinks back against the couch to stay out of the line of fire.

3. Back on the chair, now featuring Sean, who is hoisting himself out of it by the armrests with a confused expression. He mutters, 'I was just, uh... lookin' for the bathroom...'

4. Reverse shot waist up of Nandor and Guillermo on the couch. Guillermo is slumped in fatigue, eyes closed, briefly removing his glasses as he groans, 'You live next door, Sean...' Nandor cups his hand around his mouth and turns toward the hall, calling out, 'Laszlo! Come collect your friend, please!'

5. Close up of Guillermo's clipboard, which has a few handwritten pages clamped onto it. The top page is divided in half by a line of ink, the left side labeled 'Applicant' and the right side labeled 'Recommended by'. Every line has been crossed out in red ink. The list of prospective familiars includes: Clara Tran, John Merkt (recommended by Nancy the Relentless), Farrah Baker, Sarah Colleton-Hampstead (recommended by Pamela), Kayvan Novak (recommended by Nancy the Relentless), Sky Velasquez, Marshall Vu (recommended by Elvis), Devon Simmons II (recommended by ???) scribbled out more than the others, Katie Blum (recommended by Greg Blum), and Muhammad S- before the panel cuts off. From offscreen, Nandor calls out, 'Thank you for your time; we will be in touch. Please do not get eaten on the way out. Next!'

6. Back to the chair, this time with Sam the cat sitting in it and letting out a polite mew. From off screen, Guillermo says, 'Well, that's disappointing to hear, Sam.'

7. Reverse shot, full body of Nandor and Guillermo on the couch as Sam walks toward the door, tail held high. Nandor is slumped toward the center of the couch, head propped up on his hand and clipboard abandoned at his side. Guillermo, clipboard in hand, waves after Sam with an awkward smile and says, 'Good luck at your new position! And let us know if anything changes?' Sam meows in reply. /End ID

[ssa-dado]

8.01 - Anaisthēsía

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff, with a touch of whump and teasing Summary: Hotch stays by your side after a near-death experience, grappling with guilt and relief as you recover. When you wake, disoriented from anesthesia, you hilariously flirt and praise him, including a playful obsession with his hands and teasing remarks about his voice. As the fog lifts, you groggily bicker with Hotch about philosophy and paperwork, ultimately losing a playful debate as he deftly out-argues you. Warnings: medical trauma, guilt, anesthesia-induced vulnerability, mentions of death, P***r gets mentioned once. GISSI GISSI GISSI Word Count: 13.5k Dado's Corner: This little flashback was inspired by the wonderful and ever-inspiring @cuddleprofiler. What was originally meant to be a short piece quickly spiraled into something far longer because, honestly, I missed their old dynamics way too much to stop myself. As always, I probably went overboard, so - just a heads-up: the sweetness in this one is seriously tooth-rotting. Writing this version of Y/N was so fun, it felt different, but I hope it still makes sense and resonates with you. KG, I hope it brings you as much joy to read as it did for me to write. And yes, I used yet again some pics from Dharma and Greg for young Hotch, sue me.

masterlist

Are you alright? 

Were there any complications? 

Is something wrong?

He watched as your eyes fluttered open, the focus still absent.

His stomach dropped. 

Every part of him screamed in panic, his mind racing through the events that led them here. 

It happened so fast, too fast. 

He had barely arrived in time, his steps too slow, his fingers fumbling with the phone to call for help. 

He was useless. 

If he had gotten there a second earlier, maybe it would have been different. Maybe you wouldn’t have been lying there, so fragile, so vulnerable. He couldn’t stop thinking of all the things he didn’t do, all the moments where he had failed to act. 

"Hey," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, careful as if the slightest sound might shatter your bones. "How are you feeling?" His chest was tight, his heart racing. 

That was his fault. 

He shifted nervously, his hands fidgeting in his lap. 

Was he standing too close? 

Was he in your space? 

Was his presence somehow making things worse? 

Every little movement you made sent a jolt through him, was this normal? He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t think.

He should have gone to med school. Maybe then he would know how to help you instead of just sitting there in his uselessness. 

Did you need water? 

No, you were too frail to drink because of him. 

You blinked again, slow and unsure, your gaze still too distant, lost in a fog he couldn’t reach. He could feel the panic rising in his chest again, breathing felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford just yet. Not until you were like that.

The memory of those moments before you woke up was still too fresh - the image of you, lying still on the operating table - probably the only time in your life you ever actually stopped - your body cold and unresponsive.

For a few seconds, he’d lost you.

No pulse, no breath.

Just the cruel, deafening silence that seemed to stretch on forever.

And in those brief seconds, he'd experienced something he hadn’t thought possible: the overwhelming, suffocating emptiness of nothing.

He was supposed to keep you safe. 

He was supposed to be enough. 

What kind of partner leaves their partner dying? 

If only he’d been faster, more decisive. 

If only he’d been able to do something, anything, to make sure you were okay. 

What if you had been a second too far gone? 

What if he had been a second too slow? 

You wouldn’t be lying there, resting on a cold metal table just a few floors-

"Who… are you?"  you asked with the quitest of voices.

What? 

He swore his heart dropped into his stomach. 

Was it because of the shock, the trauma, the anesthesia? 

Or had his existance really been so useless that you didn’t even recognize him? 

He had to say something, at least so he wouldn’t have failed you in yet another thing. 

Hotch. 

Just five letters, simple.

Easier than saying his name - or whatever you used to call him when you still had a reason to care about him – Lawyer - or back when he was still decent enough to be considered your partner. 

Hotch.

Just Hotch.

"It’s me, Aaron," he replied, forcing his voice to stay light, though it trembled under the weight of the tightness in his chest. His words came out strained, heavy with guilt, as if he had failed you even in something as simple as the tone of his voice.

You repeated his name slowly, the sound of it rolling off your tongue like it was a foreign word in probably the only language you hadn’t mastered yet. Who could blame you, after all? He wouldn’t recognize his own name either, if only he could. If only there were a way to erase his memory. "Aaron. That’s a nice name."

Nice? Him – nice?!

The words felt strange in his ears, as if they didn’t belong to him, as if you were talking about someone else entirely.

Nice wasn’t how he would have described himself, not when you were looking at him like that - distant, almost as though he were a stranger.

And just like that, the realization hit him, crashing through the fog of his thoughts.

Oh, you don’t remember.

The tight knot in his chest loosened, but only slightly.

You weren’t mad at him.

At least not in the way he’d thought.

It wasn’t his fault, not really.

It was the anesthesia, the drug that had clouded your mind, made everything feel far away, unreachable.

Now it made sense.

He could finally breathe.

That’s when he found out he had no idea how long he had been standing there, just staring at you, lost in his thoughts. He hadn’t noticed how tightly he’d been gripping the edge of the chair until he released his hold, his fingers sore, and then slowly pulled it closer to your bed.

“Yeah, I guess I’m pretty fond of it,” he said, forcing a soft smile, but it felt fragile, like glass about to shatter.

Your gaze, still unfocused, drifted to his face. Now he could see you trying to make sense of him, but the haze of anesthesia made everything about him blurry and strange in your eyes.

Yet he could feel that, despite the confusion, something shifted in the way you looked at him.

“You’re very… pretty,” you said suddenly, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. 

What? 

Hotch blinked. If you ever did offer him such a compliment - though you never did… why would you, after all? - he had always imagined it would be something far more complex.

Something pulled from the depths of the philosophy texts you cherished so much, or even an adjective so obscure and unique that it had only ever appeared once, buried in the pages of some forgotten manuscript.

Maybe it would be a neologism you created, one only you knew the meaning of, a word with layers of secret nuances and significance. Never something so common, so... "shallow" as "pretty."

He blinked again, wondering if it was just his imagination playing tricks on him, making him believe he was hearing something he’d always wanted to hear come from your lips.

Because seeing you – always so sharp, so composed, the kind of person who measured every word with precision - suddenly so soft, so shy, was surprising.

He couldn’t deny how it affected him, how hearing you speak so gently, in such a vulnerable tone, made his heart race in a way that almost felt like betrayal.

Was this what it was? Was this what he had been hoping for?

His mind scrambled, tricking him into thinking that maybe this was your way of showing him you felt the same. As if, for a fleeting moment, the barriers between you two had fallen, and everything he'd ever wanted from you could be real.

But rationally, he knew better - he knew it was just his own longing tricking him, his brain desperately filling in the gaps he couldn’t bear to face.

It wasn’t you, it was the anesthesia.

This softness wasn’t true to you.

Still, the pull in his chest, the warmth he felt when you looked at him with those eyes, told him a different story.

“Pretty, really?!” he said, trying to inject some humor into the situation, he probably got that from you. “I thought you were more into philosophy than, you know, looks.” He leaned in just a little, unable to resist.

You blinked at him, your brow furrowing slightly, and he could almost see the fog lifting in your mind as you tried to process the words that had just come out of his mouth. “Philosophy?” you mumbled, sounding almost genuinely curious. “What’s that?”

Hotch stifled a laugh, the sound escaping through his nose despite himself. “Oh, God. This is… this is going to be good,” he muttered under his breath.

And still, despite the absurdity of the moment, the karmic lesson finally coming full circle after all those hours you had him tangled in your philosophical musings, Hotch couldn’t help but find it amusing.

It was almost poetic, the way he had struggled to keep up with you, only for the roles to reverse now. Even though he’d never admit it to you, he could have listened to you talk about philosophy for hours, not just because of your passion, but because you had this way of making even the most abstract concepts feel so objectively interesting...

…And, of course, because he loved to hear your voice in any shape or form, whether you were unraveling complex ideas or simply informing him that the office coffee machine had broken down yet again and needed his help to fix it - as if he were some kind of coffee machine whisperer.

But still, as much as he found it hilarious, he couldn’t deny how profound it all felt. The fact that you, his Philosopher, were struggling to acknowledge philosophy itself felt like the most philosophical thing he’d ever heard you say.

It was as if the question itself was the answer, a perfect paradox wrapped in innocence.

“You really don’t know what philosophy is?” he asked, his voice dry, a little incredulous. “You? The one who still managed to quote Hegel while bleeding to death?”

You blinked at him, clearly still processing what he had said. “Who?” you asked, your face a mix of confusion and the tiniest bit of intrigue. "Hegel?"

“Never mind,” Hotch replied, though he couldn’t help the teasing tone creeping into his voice. "I thought you’d be spouting some philosophy by now, but I guess we're starting with the basics." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he watched you try to make sense of it all. “Okay, let’s see if you remember any of it,” he said, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. “Do you know who Plato is?”

You blinked slowly, your mind still a little foggy from the anesthesia. “No,” you said with such unshakable certainty that Hotch couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

 “Not even your favorite?! How about Schopenhauer?” Hotch asked, his voice a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

You looked at him for a moment, clearly trying to process his words, then shook your head. “No,” you said again, your voice so confident, with the perfect German accent. “And it’s pronounced ‘Shoh-pen-how-er’.”

Hotch stopped mid-laugh, blinking at you in mock surprise. “You don’t know who he is, but you’ve still got time to correct my pronunciation?” he asked, raising an eyebrow - thankfully, you couldn’t tell how your words made him feel like he was suddenly melted by your accent, something about the way you made German sound almost romantic. “How reassuring of you.”

You flashed him a grin, eyes sparkling just a little too brightly for someone still under the influence of anesthesia. “Sorry, you’re just so cute, especially when you butcher German like that”

Hotch shook his head, his lips curling into a smile despite himself. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he replied with a chuckle, though he knew the warmth in his gaze was unmistakable. “Alright then,” he said, still slightly flustered by your words, leaning in just a little closer. “Let’s see if you know Kierkegaard, maybe?”

You smiled sleepily, “No,” you mumbled, but then added, your tone suddenly more serious, “And it’s Kierkegaard... ‘Keer-geh-garh’. The ‘ie’ is pronounced like an ‘e,’ and the ‘aa’ is like the ‘a’ in ‘raw’.”

Hotch couldn’t help but laugh, rubbing his temples as if trying to alleviate the mounting amusement…and a bit of frustration. “This is exactly what happens when you mix a philosopher with anesthesia,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair with a bemused grin. “You forget everything you love, but somehow still manage to correct my pronunciation.” He shook his head, still smiling at the absurdity of it all.

 “I like how you say ‘Philosopher’. It’s... very nice.” you giggled softly before shifting in the bed, your eyes still locked on him as if he were the only thing in the room.

“Someone’s got a crush,” Hotch muttered to himself under his breath, though he was sure you couldn’t hear it.

Or maybe you could.

Either way, it didn’t stop the smile that kept tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Thankfully you two still were alone… in a hospital room.

His chest tightened just thinking about it.

He couldn’t still think about it.

He had to push it away. He had to.

You were here now.

You were awake.

You were alive.

But the fear - God, the fear - it still lingered, crawling in his throat, pressing down on his lungs. It was there every time he looked at you, still pale, still fragile in that bed. He needed to see that spark in your eyes again, needed to know you were really here, really with him.

The way you always looked at him, with that glint of intelligence and mischief that made everything feel alive. He needed to see that more than the oxygen in his lungs.

He leaned forward, pulling something from his bag, a small book he had picked up with the hope of cheering you up, and honestly, maybe even cheering himself up too. He’d been terrified, so now he just wanted to see you as you again. He needed to see the spark in your eyes, the one that always made him feel like he was seeing something brighter than the world around him.

“Alright, if you really don’t remember anything, maybe this will help.” He held up the book with a small shake, like it was some sort of weapon. “Nietzsche for Stressed People... I’m sure the title speaks for itself. No need for an explanation, right?” He gave you a wry smile, his eyes still holding a hint of worry behind the teasing.

He pointed to the picture of the man on the cover, raising an eyebrow, trying to focus on something light. "Do you recognize the guy with the mustache?" He wasn’t sure why his voice softened so much, he was speaking to you like this - so gently, so carefully - as though you were a child he was trying to explain something simple to.

But in that moment, it felt right.

He just wanted to see you smile.

You blinked at the cover, your mind clearly still foggy from the medication. You scanned the picture and looked up at him. “No,” you mumbled, with a slight shrug.

Hotch’s smile faltered for a second. He was really hoping this would work. But he recovered quickly, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “Well, I guess that’s okay. You don’t need to remember everything.”

You were already half asleep again, your eyelids drooping as you mumbled, "I think I liked him..."

Hotch paused for a moment, looking at you as you drifted off. "Oh no, you hate Nietzsche. That’s exactly why I bought this," he muttered to himself with a shake of his head.

“Aaron…” you said, your voice almost a whisper, soft and uncertain.

The sound of his name on your lips always made Hotch’s heart skip a beat.

Although this time it wasn’t the usual sharpness, the teasing sarcasm, or the biting wit that he was so used to. No, this was different.

It was tender, hesitant, he watched you, noticing the faint pink hue that spread across your cheeks as soon as you met his gaze, making them glow against the stark white of the hospital sheets. He could see how your fingers fidgeted nervously with the blanket.

What was happening?

"Yes?" he asked gently, leaning forward slightly, his voice a soft coaxing, encouraging you to say more. He didn’t want to rush you, but he could see you were trying to find the right words, something important you wanted to say but hadn’t quite managed yet.

Your eyes fluttered, struggling to focus on him, and he watched closely, noting the way your mouth opened as if searching for something to say but not quite finding it – definitely because of the anesthesia.

But then, almost hesitantly, the words slipped out, quieter than before, as though they were secret confessions. "I… think I like you.”

Oh, if only it wasn’t the meds confessing his attraction to him, but actually you...

“You like me?” Hotch repeated, his voice low and teasing, though there was something softer beneath it, something unspoken that made his words feel less playful and more genuine.

You nodded slowly, still not meeting his eyes fully, your gaze drifting down to the blanket in your lap. "I do," you murmured, the words shy as they left your mouth. Your eyes fluttered again, and as you smiled, the blush deepened, tinting your cheeks an even brighter shade of pink. “You’re so nice. So handsome. So… so lawyer-ish.”

Hotch couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him, the way you looked at him with such genuine affection, it was so disarming. “Lawyer-ish?” he repeated, his grin widening. “What a wise choice of words, coming from someone with such a vast lexicon like you.”

You blinked at him, your wide eyes still locked onto his. "You’re so… elegant, so smart," you said suddenly, your voice earnest and serious, as if sharing a secret. "I love lawyers."

Hotch laughed, almost startled by your sudden change in tone. “Oh, you’re lying,” he said, his amusement clear. “You’ve been calling me ‘Lawyer’ just to mock me for months. Don’t think I’m buying your ‘I love lawyers’ routine just because you’re a little loopy on meds.”

Hotch couldn’t help but notice how your gaze shifted downward to his hand, the one resting casually close by your side, although he continued  “You despise lawyers - you’ve always said we bend the law, are enslaved by it, and have no personal ethics, unlike…”

He swore as he talked there was still something about the way you looked at his hand. Subtle at first, like a flicker of curiosity behind your eyes, but then your fingers twitched, almost on instinct. Before he could react, you reached out and gently grasped his hand, pulling it closer as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Hotch froze, utterly bewildered. His usually steady pulse quickened as he watched you inspect his hand with an intensity he’d only seen you use on crime scene evidence. Your brows furrowed slightly, your lips quirking as if you were unraveling a mystery only you could understand.

He watched the way your fingers traced over the back of his knuckles, your touch so light and delicate yet managing to leave a trail of fire wherever your fingers traveled.

“Uh, what’s going on here?” His voice was a little shaky, the confusion clear in his tone. Then his eyes flicked back to your face, flushed a deep shade of red. He swallowed hard, trying to make sense of the situation.

You didn’t answer.

Not right away, at least.

Instead, You remained entirely focused on his hand, your fingers tracing the lines of his skin until his breath caught when you moved down to the curve of his wrist. Every nerve ending seemed to spark under your touch, and for the first time in years, Hotch felt completely, hopelessly out of control.

“I don’t want to alarm you,” he began again, trying to sound authoritative but failing miserably when his voice wavered, “but there’s a whole person attached to that hand.”

Still nothing.

You stayed focused, your fingers mapping every detail as though you were committing it to memory. Hotch let out a shaky laugh, a blend of amusement and disbelief. “You do realize this is kind of weird, right?” he teased, though the corners of his mouth twitched with a reluctant smile.

Finally, you looked up, blinking slowly as though you’d momentarily forgotten he was even there. “Hmm?” you murmured, your voice soft and distracted.

“A person,” Hotch repeated, arching an eyebrow, his tone tinged with both amusement and exasperation. “Me. Aaron Hotchner. Your-”

You didn’t even let him finish. How rude.

Your lips quirked into a small, almost mischievous smile, and you tilted your head slightly. “I know who you are, Aaron,” you said, your voice light and teasing.

What?

Hotch blinked, momentarily caught off guard. For a split second, he wondered if the effects of the anesthesia that somehow turned you into a completely different person had started to wear off.

But then, as he studied your expression, he caught another clue - your eyes. Still soft and dreamy, unfocused in a way that practically screamed drugged, he could finally lethis heart rate return to normal. False alarm.

“Your hands,” you said finally, your tone almost reverent, as if those two words held the key to the universe – or maybe they did for your ephemeral little dizzy one right now. You glanced down at them again, your grip tightening slightly.

Like that was enough of an explanation.

What happened to the woman who loved words more than herself?

“My hands,” he echoed, his brow furrowing. “What about them?”

“They’re… interesting.” Your gaze dropped back to his hand, your fingertips now grazing his palm. He couldn’t tell if you were studying him or if this was just some elaborate way to drive him insane. “You can tell a lot about someone by their hands, you know.”

“Oh, really?” Hotch chuckled, leaning back slightly, though he made no effort to pull his hand away from your grasp. If logic and anesthesia were a match made in heaven, he’d eat his tie. Clearly, reasoning with you right now was a losing battle. If he wanted answers - or at least entertainment - he’d have to play by your rules.

“And what, exactly, do my hands say about me?” he asked, his tone light but with a hint of curiosity.

You tilted your head, your expression turning uncomfortably serious, as if you were solving an ancient riddle. Hotch could almost feel the weight of your scrutiny as your eyes flicked from his fingers to his wrist and back again. “Strong. Dependable. But a little… rough around the edges.”

You paused, your lips twitching into a sly smile that made him raise an eyebrow. “And, you probably don’t moisturize, do you?”

What kind of drug did they give you for God’s sake?!

Hotch blinked, caught completely off guard by the comment. “I - what?” he stammered, a startled laugh bubbling out of him. “Moisturize?”

You nodded, your expression so matter-of-fact it made him wonder if this was something you genuinely cared about. “It’s okay,” you said breezily, patting his hand in a gesture that felt oddly consoling. “You’re a busy lawyer who works way more than anyone should. Classic workaholic move. It’s completely understandable.”

Hotch let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, I’m glad my hands pass your inspection, even if they don’t meet your hydration standards.”

And then, with a boldness that surprised him even more than your initial touch, your fingers slid between his, intertwining in a gesture so casual yet so intimate that it made his chest tighten. He stared down at your joined hands, his mind racing.

You had never been this touchy before. The woman he knew - strong, composed, relentless - had always kept a deliberate distance, a boundary he’d always appreciated because, truth be told, he was even worse when it came to physical contact. For him, touch had always felt too intimate, too exposing, like a crack in the armor he so carefully maintained.

But here you were now, completely unguarded and soft, your fingers tracing his hand with a tenderness that caught him off guard. And despite everything he thought he knew about himself - about his discomfort with touch, about his constant need for control - he couldn’t deny the unfamiliar warmth that spread through him.

It wasn’t just surprising, it was disarming.

For the first time in years, something about this moment felt… right. Like he didn’t need to pull away, didn’t need to overthink it. It just was, and he couldn’t bring himself to let it end.

“Well, this is certainly… new,” Hotch said with a laugh, his voice almost incredulous as he shook his head in disbelief.

You smiled up at him, completely unaware of the effect you were having on him. Then, in a whisper so soft it barely reached his ears, you added, “You’re very handsome when you laugh.”

Oh, you sly Hegelian charmer.

He blinked, momentarily stunned, before a dry chuckle escaped him. He had never been courted like this in his entire life. Which, honestly, made everything feel… hilarious. Or at least that’s what he told himself - it was the only way he could deflect the heat rising to his face.

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing even harder. “Oh, you’re going to pay for this,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m definitely going to remind you that you said you think you like Nietzsche when you finally make up your mind.”

At the mention of Nietzsche, your eyes lit up, darting to the book he had set down on the side table earlier. Without hesitation, you leaned forward, grasping his arm lightly. “Could you read me some?” you asked, your voice soft but insistent.

Hotch raised a brow, half-amused, half-skeptical. “You want me to read you Nietzsche?”

“Yes,” you said simply, your gaze earnest. Then, as if explaining an obvious truth, you added, “I like how your voice sounds. It’s so low and… buttery. But not too smooth, it’s got this rough edge, especially with your consonants. Like the way your /t/ and /d/ sounds have a little friction, and your /r/ is so restrained it’s almost elegant. And when you say certain words, there’s this… resonance. Like when you said Nietzsche. It’s perfect.”

Hotch blinked, completely floored by your unexpected - and highly technical - analysis. “I didn’t realize I had a special way of saying Nietzsche,” he said dryly, though his lips quirked in amusement.

“You do,” you replied confidently, tilting your head slightly. “Because it’s completely the wrong pronunciation. It’s adorable.”

Hotch laughed again, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called adorable before,” he mused, his tone dry. “But I’m not about to start taking pronunciation lessons from someone who just complimented my consonants.”

“Please say it again,” you prompted, leaning toward him, your eyes gleaming with curiosity.

How could he say no to you?

“Nee-chee,” he said, drawing out the word with deliberate slowness, his voice dripping with mock emphasis.

You giggled, a light, airy sound so unlike your usual self that Hotch had to glance away briefly, clearing his throat in an attempt to keep his composure. “See? So wrong,” you said, shaking your head with exaggerated dismay. “You completely butchered the ‘tz’ sound! Where’s the sharp little ‘tss’? It’s supposed to bite, Aaron. You made it sound like a sneeze!”

Hotch blinked, momentarily stunned by your critique, before letting out a low chuckle. “A sneeze?” he repeated, incredulous. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, pointing at him as if you’d uncovered a grand conspiracy. “It’s not ‘Nee-chee,’ it’s ‘Neet-ss-chuh.’ Say it with me - ‘tss.’ Like you’re flicking your tongue against your teeth. Not-” you waved dramatically, “-like a tired cowboy trying to name his horse.”

Hotch laughed harder, shaking his head. “I didn’t realize I was being graded on my pronunciation of 19th-century philosophers.”

He was so proud of himself for remembering the time period.

“You’re not being graded,” you replied, smirking. “But if you were, it’d be a D-minus for effort. Although,” you added with a dramatic pause, “you get bonus points for making it sound adorable. Like you’re trying your best but still somehow failing spectacularly.”

“Adorable,” he repeated dryly, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Alright, now I’m definitely reading this to you. But don’t expect miracles, I’m not correcting my pronunciation just to impress you.”

He stood from his chair, lifting it carefully and bringing it over to the right side of your bed. He placed it close enough that you wouldn’t have to strain to see him, then sat down, adjusting the book in his hands. He even tilted it slightly away from himself so you could read along if you wanted.

Hotch froze, his breath hitching as the warmth of your touch spread from his arm like a slow-burning fire. His mind raced for a way to keep himself grounded, to push aside the thought that your touch felt far too perfect, far too right.

It was the drug, not you.

You weren’t really fond of him.

Control, Aaron, control.

But still, it was impossible to ignore the way you fit so effortlessly against him, like two puzzle pieces quietly finding their place.

His lips twitched with the faintest hint of a smile, a small betrayal of the control he prided himself on, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted ever so slightly, angling his body just enough to make it easier for you to stay where you were. If he noticed how his heart thudded against his ribcage, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice a quiet murmur, the words far more tender than he intended. His gaze flicked toward you, and he found himself silently praying this wasn’t something he could get used to - that the sight of you leaning into him, fitting against him like you were made to be there, wouldn’t embed itself too deeply into his mind.

Because it would be impossible to let it go.

You hummed softly, your head resting against him as you snuggled closer, as if you belonged there. “Very,” you replied, your tone dreamy, filled with a sincerity that struck something deep inside him.

He gave a small shake of his head, and turning to the first passage, he scanned it briefly before speaking, his deep voice carrying a soothing cadence. “‘We should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once.’”

You opened one eye, staring up at him with a playful glint. “Are you secretly a dancer, Aaron?”

Hotch let out a soft laugh, his voice low and teasing. “I might know a step or two, but I sincerely hope you’ll never find out.”

“Oh,why not?” you teased, grinning up at him. “I bet you’d be great at ballroom dancing. Strong frame, steady hold… unless your footwork’s as rough as your hands.”

He swore he was going to buy some moisturizer the second he would leave that hospital room.

“My footwork is impeccable, thank you very much,” he shot back dryly. “And for the record, I’m reading Nietzsche, not auditioning for a dance competition.”

You giggled softly, the sound warm and light, as you gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “Sure, Mr. Hotchner. But if the FBI ever has a formal gala, I’m claiming the first dance.”

What?!

Hotch stiffened, his heart skipping a beat. How… how did you know that? He didn’t recall mentioning that he worked for the FBI. His gaze flicked to your face, searching for any sign that the fog of anesthesia might be starting to lift. But your expression was still soft, dreamy, your words carrying that loose, unfiltered edge that came with the lingering effects of the drugs.

Swallowing his unease, Hotch flipped to another page of the book, trying to redirect his thoughts. “‘Without music,’” he read aloud, his voice calm despite the sudden racing of his heart, “‘life would be a mistake.’”

“That’s true,” you said, your voice steady but still faintly slurred. Then, without missing a beat, you added, “But I think it’s the same with voices like yours. Life would be a mistake without those.”

Hotch froze, your words landing like a sucker punch.

His mind reeled.

Was your memory beginning to return?

Were pieces of you slipping back into place?

Or was this just another effect of the drugs, pulling fragmented thoughts from the recesses of your mind?

He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but the uncertainty gnawed at him in a way he hadn’t expected. You seemed so open, so unguarded in a way he’d never seen before, and it tugged at something deep within him.

And then, as if sensing his shift in thought, you interrupted him again, your tone light and teasing. “Your hair.”

Hotch blinked, momentarily thrown off. “What about my hair?” he asked cautiously.

“It’s falling on your forehead when you read,” you said with a soft smile, your eyes focused on him as if this observation was the most important thing in the world. “You have really nice hair, you know.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, caught completely off guard. “Thank you…” he replied, his voice unsure, his heart beating a little faster. “I’m not sure where this is going.”

You sat up straighter, your eyes bright and full of mischief. “I really want to run my fingers through it,” you announced, utterly serious, as if it was a completely reasonable request.

Hotch froze, the statement catching him entirely off guard. “You want to… what?”

“I want to touch it,” you said again, as if that would clarify everything. Your gaze didn’t waver, wide and pleading, your lips curving into the smallest, most endearing pout.

Hotch let out a startled chuckle, shaking his head. “You’ve definitely lost your mind,” he said, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward, betraying his amusement. He should say no. This was ridiculous. Still, when you looked up at him with those big, pleading eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to deny you. “Alright, fine. Go ahead.”

Your expression lit up like you’d just won the lottery, and the sight made something in his chest squeeze. You hesitated for a moment, as if savoring the permission, before gently reaching up. Your fingers threaded through his hair, moving carefully, almost reverently, as though you were afraid to hurt him.

Hotch closed his eyes, caught off guard by how… nice it felt.

Your touch was soft and warm, sending little waves of comfort through him. It wasn’t something he ever thought he’d care about, but now, with you, it felt impossibly good.

For a man so used to control, the way you handled him with such tenderness made him feel vulnerable in a way he didn’t entirely mind.

When you finally pulled back, you looked at him with wide eyes, a hint of worry crossing your face. “It’s… coarse,” you murmured, as though you’d uncovered some devastating secret.

Hotch couldn’t help it - he laughed, the sound rich and warm as it spilled out of him. “Well, I’m sorry my hair isn’t up to your standards,” he teased, his tone light. “But I wasn’t exactly aiming for shampoo-commercial perfection.”

You tilted your head, your expression turning thoughtful, and Hotch swore he could see the wheels turning in your mind. After a moment, a soft smile curved your lips, and with a gentle shrug, you murmured, “It’s fine.” Your voice was calm but sure as you shifted closer, your right hand delicately intertwining with his left. The book in his lap sat forgotten, replaced by the warm weight of your touch.

Hotch couldn’t help the soft snort that escaped him, though it was more fond than anything. He shook his head, his smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good to know my flaws aren’t total deal-breakers,” he quipped lightly, his tone teasing, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed him.

Your thumb brushed over the back of his hand, the touch so light it sent a wave of warmth straight to his chest. “Not even close,” you said softly, almost as if you were reassuring him.

As your fingers lingered against his, the air between you seemed to shift. It wasn’t just about the touch anymore, it was the way you were looking at him. There was something new in your eyes, a quiet realization, like you’d found something you hadn’t been expecting.

“Aaron?” you whispered, his name slipping from your lips so softly it felt like a secret. There was a vulnerability in your voice that caught him off guard, gentle but unshakable. “What are we?”

Hotch blinked, unsure how to respond.

Colleagues?

Friends?

Much more than that, he realized, but how could he put it into words?

This was something so new. Something he wasn’t ready to label just yet.

“Partners,” he said quietly, feeling the weight of the word settle between them. It was simple, but it felt right.

Partners, in every unspoken sense of the word.

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and impossibly soft, brimming with something he couldn’t quite define. It made his chest ache in a way that was almost unbearable. “You’re my boyfriend?” you asked, your voice tender, as if the idea was the most natural thing in the world.

Hotch felt the air leave his lungs. He swallowed hard, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly as he tried to find the right words. He knew what he wanted, what he felt, but he was certain you didn’t feel the same way, at least not when everything was clear and steady in the light of day.

“I hope you forget what I’m about to tell you,” he said, his voice low and trembling despite his best effort to keep it steady. “But… sometimes, I wish I was.”

Your gaze softened at his confession, your lips parting slightly as if the words had unlocked something inside you. For a moment, he thought you might drift off again, the haze of sleep pulling you back under. But then you blinked, slow and deliberate, your hand still lightly resting in his. Your thumb moved, tracing a faint circle on the back of his hand.

“Then why aren’t you yet?” you asked, your voice carrying the soft lilt of sleepiness but with an edge of curiosity that struck him to the core.

Hotch froze. The question hung in the air between you, impossibly fragile and yet so heavy it pressed against his chest. His heart skipped a beat, and he suddenly felt raw, exposed in a way he wasn’t used to. He met your gaze, his dark eyes softening, his defenses crumbling down without even emitting a single sound.

“I’m not sure the ‘sober’ version of you would agree with that,” he said, his tone laced with equal parts vulnerability and longing. His lips quirked into a faint, rueful smile. “And even if you did… it’s complicated.”

You didn’t look away, your sleepy smile only deepening as if his words had unlocked some hidden courage in you. Your gaze dropped briefly to his lips before returning to his eyes, your voice dropping to a whisper so soft it felt like a secret shared in the stillness of the moment.

“But I really want to kiss you right now,” you confessed, your voice laced with raw honesty, the kind that sent a shiver down Hotch’s spine.

His breath caught, his heart thundering in his chest as he fought tooth and nails to keep his composure. He should have pulled back, created some distance, but he couldn’t move. Not when you were looking at him with that soft, dreamy sincerity that left him utterly defenseless.

“You really are bold, aren’t you?” he muttered, shaking his head, though there was no mistaking the warmth in his tone.

But even as he spoke, something in him shifted.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Hotch brought your hand - the one still intertwined with his - up to his lips.

When his lips brushed against your knuckles, it was featherlight, barely a kiss, but the tenderness of it made your breath hitch.

It was an old-fashioned, almost chivalrous gesture, but somehow it felt perfect, like the most natural way to convey everything he couldn’t yet say aloud. The warmth of his breath lingered on your skin, and even in your hazy state, he knew you felt something as well.

As he pulled back, his hand lingered, still cradling yours, his dark eyes met yours, holding them for a moment longer than usual, as if he were silently asking if this was okay.

If this was enough.

Or if it was too much.

You sighed softly, your eyelids fluttering closed for a moment before you whispered, “I really like you, Aaron.”

“I like you too,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady, though his heart was anything but. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But let’s make sure you still like me when you’re not under anesthesia, alright? And even if you don’t…” He paused, his gaze unwavering. “I’ll always be here. You have my word.”

You nodded in agreement, your hand still resting gently in his. Hotch couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips as he returned to the book, his voice low as he began to read once more.

As he read on, he noticed your breathing grow slower, and before long, you were asleep, your head tilting against his shoulder.

Hotch stopped reading and let out a soft, relieved breath.

There was something about the way you’d fallen asleep on him that felt right, like the world had momentarily shifted.

He could still feel the heat of your hand in his, your fingers intertwined with his in a way that seemed so natural, so unforced.

He glanced down at you, his heart skipping another beat as he watched you sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this connected to someone.

To be fair he did, but still - this felt different.

As you continued to sleep, your breath steady, Hotch allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability. He wasn’t sure what the future would hold, especially when you woke up and all the anesthesia-induced softness would fade, but for now, he would cherish this quiet moment with you.

It wasn’t long before the door clicked open, and the soft but familiar voices of Rossi and Gideon filled the room. Their footsteps were quiet, as if they were approaching a crime scene instead of the sight before them: you, still fast asleep, leaning against Hotch’s shoulder, your hand loosely clasped in his.

“Everything okay?” Gideon asked, his voice calm but carrying the undercurrent of concern he never had to spell out.

Hotch glanced up, his expression carefully neutral, though the rapid beating of his heart betrayed the calm facade. “Yeah,” he said as he looked down at you, still peacefully asleep, your breathing soft and even. “She’s fine now.”

Rossi stepped closer, taking in the scene with an exaggerated grin. “Well, well,” he said, his tone playful as his eyes landed on you curled up against Hotch’s shoulder. “Look at this. Aaron Hotchner, human pillow extraordinaire. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Hotch shot him a look, but the hint of a smile tugging at his lips gave him away. “She drifted off like that,” he replied, aiming for professionalism but falling short as he glanced back down at you. The way your hand was still loosely intertwined with his wasn’t exactly helping his case.

Rossi raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “Drifted off? Sure. But you didn’t exactly move, did you? What’s next, Hotch? Tucking her in?”

“Rossi,” Hotch warned, his tone flat, though the faint flush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“Oh, wait!” Rossi’s grin widened as he pointed to the book resting on Hotch’s lap. “You’re already reading her a bedtime story, aren’t you? Nietzsche, no less. Real romantic, Hotch.”

Hotch sighed, shaking his head as he adjusted slightly, careful not to disturb you. “Do you have a point, Dave?”

“My point,” Rossi said, smirking, “is that you’re not fooling anyone. Honestly, it’s kind of adorable.”

Hotch found he much preferred that adjective when it came from your lips - even if it was accompanied by you absolutely roasting him for his pronunciation.

If he had to be humiliated, at least it sounded charming when you did it.

Before Hotch could retort, Gideon cleared his throat, cutting through the humor with a look that immediately sobered the room. “Aaron,” he said quietly, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “You’ve been sitting there for hours. Are you alright?”

Hotch stiffened slightly, his composure faltering just enough for the other two men to notice. He shifted in his seat, adjusting the way your head rested on his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he said, but the faint waver in his voice betrayed him.

Gideon’s gaze didn’t falter, he stepped closer, his tone quiet but resolute. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering down to your sleeping form. “It feels like it was.”

Rossi sighed, pulling up a chair and sitting beside him. “Hotch, you didn’t cause this. You got her here. That’s what matters.”

“Barely,” Hotch murmured, his voice strained. The image of you lying so still, so fragile, flashed through his mind again. He tightened his grip on your hand, as if anchoring himself to the present moment. “If I’d been faster-”

“If you’d been faster, what?” Gideon interrupted, his voice sharp but not unkind, cutting through the cloud of guilt that hung over Hotch like a weight. “Do you think you could’ve single-handedly stopped what happened? That you could control the universe?”

Hotch didn’t answer, his jaw tightening as the familiar ache of self-recrimination clawed at him. The words he wanted to say lodged painfully in his throat, and for a moment, the room seemed unbearably heavy.

Gideon sighed, the sharpness in his tone softening into something gentler, more understanding. “Aaron, I need you to hear me. The world is chaos. We do the best we can, but we can’t stop it all. What matters is what you do afterward. And you?” He gestured lightly toward you, still curled against Hotch’s side. “You didn’t give up on her. That’s what counts.”

Rossi chimed in, his voice lighter but no less firm. “And judging by the way she’s practically glued to you right now, I’d say she agrees. So when she wakes up, just let us know. We’ll be out here waiting for updates.”

Hotch managed a faint smile at that, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Rossi noticed, of course, and leaned in slightly, his grin turning into something more genuine. “You know, Aaron, if anyone deserves to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders, it’s you. But maybe let her carry a little bit of it for you next time, yeah? I think she’d be more than willing.”

Hotch’s gaze flicked downward to you, still asleep, your hand resting lightly in his. He swallowed hard, unsure how to respond.

Gideon, sensing the moment, clapped a hand on Rossi’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said with a hint of amusement. “We’re hovering. He doesn’t need two old men breathing down his neck.”

Rossi gave a theatrical sigh, standing up straight and shooting Hotch one last pointed look. “Fine, fine. But for the record, you owe us details later. Especially if this turns into something interesting.”

Hotch rolled his eyes, though the faintest twitch of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Don’t you two have better things to do?”

“Paperwork,” Rossi replied with a wink, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Speaking of which…” He stepped closer, holding up two thick stacks of case files. “Yours and hers.”

Hotch blinked, looking at the towering pile in Rossi’s hands. “You brought paperwork now?”

“Of course,” Rossi said, his grin widening. “Why waste time? And before you even think about it, don’t go filling out her share too. I’ll know. Your handwriting’s painfully neat. Dead giveaway.”

Hotch opened his mouth to protest, but Rossi raised a hand to cut him off. “Listen, Aaron, I get it. You’re a perfectionist, and you care. But trust me, if you do double the job, she’s going to know you didn’t let her handle her own part. And that? Not a great move. She’d probably chew you out once she’s back on her feet.”

Gideon, leaning casually against the doorframe, nodded in agreement. “Dave’s right,” he said, his tone calm but pointed. “The last thing she’d want is to be treated like she’s fragile. Like a victim. You know as well as I do, she values her independence. Let her keep that.”

Hotch frowned slightly, glancing down at the files in Rossi’s hands. “I wasn’t planning on treating her like a victim.” he said quietly, though his voice carried the faintest thread of defensiveness.

“I know,” Rossi said, his tone softening just a fraction. “But you’ve got a tendency to overcompensate when you’re worried. It’s not a bad thing, Aaron, it just means you care. A lot. But let her be the one to decide how much help she needs. Alright?”

Hotch glanced between the two men, his expression softening slightly. He knew they were right, but it didn’t make it any easier to sit back and do nothing while you recovered. “I get it,” he said finally, his voice low. “But it’s hard not to want to help.”

“And you are helping,” Gideon said, his tone measured. “Just by being here, Aaron. She’ll appreciate that more than you realize.”

Rossi, never one to let a moment stay too heavy, clapped a hand on Hotch’s shoulder. “And if you’re feeling too helpful, you can always do my paperwork instead. That’ll keep your hands busy.”

Hotch let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Nice try, Rossi.”

Rossi grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Well, we’ll leave you to it, then. Just remember: no doubling up. You’ve got your own pile to deal with.”

Hotch nodded, his grip on the files tightening slightly as he glanced back at you, still peacefully asleep against his shoulder. The softness in your features, the even rhythm of your breathing - it was still a reminder of just how close he’d come to losing you.

The two men turned to leave, but Hotch’s voice stopped them just as they reached the door. “Jason?” he called, his tone quieter now.

Both men paused, glancing back at him. “Yes?” Gideon replied.

“Thank you,” Hotch said simply, his voice carrying a sincerity that didn’t need elaboration. He looked between them, his composure briefly slipping to reveal the depth of his gratitude. “To both of you.”

Gideon gave a small nod, his expression softening. “Anytime, Aaron.”

Rossi smiled, his hand already resting on the doorframe. “Well, come on, Jason,” he said, his tone light as he gestured for Gideon to follow. “Looks like it’s just the two of us now… and all that paperwork.”

The words hung in the air for a beat too long, their unintended double meaning sinking in. Gideon raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. “Dave,” he said slowly, “you might want to reconsider your phrasing.”

“What?” Rossi asked, genuinely confused for half a second before the implication hit him. A sly grin crept across his face. “Oh, don’t tell me. You think I’m sweet on-”

Gideon held up a hand, cutting him off with a knowing look. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Rossi, undeterred, chuckled as he threw an arm around Gideon’s shoulders, pulling him into a half-hug. “Come on, partner,” he said with exaggerated warmth. “Let’s tackle this paperwork together. You know, make it a night to remember.”

Gideon sighed, shaking his head but unable to keep the faintest smirk from tugging at his lips. “Always a charmer, Dave, I’m telling your wife.”

If only you had been awake as well…

As the door clicked shut behind them, the room fell quiet again. Hotch glanced down at the files in his lap, then at you, still curled against him. He sighed softly, shifting just enough to make sure you were comfortable without waking you.

“Not fragile,” he murmured under his breath, almost as if reminding himself.

His hand brushed lightly against yours, and for a moment, he let himself relax. When you woke, there would so much to talk about, but for now, he was happy to simply be here, knowing you were safe.

--

The soft rhythm of your breathing shifted, and Hotch noticed instantly. His attention snapped to you as your head stirred slightly against his shoulder. Your eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused at first, but the fog of anesthesia burned away with startling speed.

And then came the realization.

Your head was on his shoulder. 

Your hand was intertwined with his.

The shock hit your face like a lightning bolt, and within seconds, you shot upright, yanking your hand away so fast it was a miracle you didn’t sprain something. You moved like his touch had electrocuted you, a mix of horror and mortification flashing across your features.

“Oh my God.” You sat up even straighter, as though sitting at attention would somehow erase the fact that your entire body had just been resting against his.

Your face flushed a brilliant, almost comical shade of red as you babbled, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you, I swear.” You flailed for the blanket, your hands tugging at it as though it were your last line of defense against the crushing humiliation.

Welcome back, Philosopher.

Hotch leaned back slightly, his lips twitching at the sheer drama unfolding in front of him. He hadn’t expected this level of theatrical self-reproach, but honestly, he couldn’t say he was surprised. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice far calmer than yours and laced with just the faintest hint of amusement. “You looked comfortable. How are you feeling?”

Comfortable?

You practically gawked at him, your expression hovering somewhere between mortified disbelief and outright horror.

Comfortable?

As if you hadn’t just violated every boundary you thought existed in your professional relationship. The nerve of him, to sit there, completely unfazed, while you were spiraling headfirst into the depths of social hell.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Instead, you let out a flustered groan and buried your face in your hands. “This is a nightmare,” you muttered, your voice muffled by your palms. “This is hell. Feels like I’m stuck in my own infernal loop.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, narrowing your eyes slightly in a half-hearted attempt at wit. “Waking up on your shoulder, really? I don’t think I was ready to see your face that close first thing when I woke up.”

Hotch’s lips twitched as he fought back a grin. “I believe it’s my duty to be the first face you ever see, given that I’m your emergency contact,” he replied with an exaggerated shrug. Then, with a teasing glint in his eye, he added, “Though, let’s be honest - I’m the one who should be shocked here. Why me and not Peter?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and attempting to brush off his question. “It’s easier for the bureaucracy,” you said breezily, though the flush in your cheeks betrayed you. “Definitely nothing sentimental, partner.”

Hotch’s smirk widened, the teasing gleam in his eyes sharpening. “Oh, you were definitely sentimental before, though,” he said, leaning back slightly. “I’ve got the receipts to prove it.”

You groaned, clearly trying to brush past his comment. “Please don’t tell me I started speaking in Slovenian under anesthesia again,” you said, trying to steer the conversation into safer waters.

Hotch’s smirk grew, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh no, even better,” he said smoothly. He tapped the book resting on his lap - Nietzsche for Stressed People - and your eyes immediately widened, horror mixing with bewilderment as you registered the title.

Exactly what he hoped for.

“You don’t remember?” he asked, his tone dripping with amusement. “And that wasn’t even the best part. You told me to read this to you. Begged me, actually.”

Your jaw dropped.

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond, your mind grappling with the sheer absurdity of his claim.

Where was all your philosophy now?

Where was your quick wit to rescue you from this intellectual assault?

Finally, you pointed an accusatory finger at the offending book. “This?” you said incredulously, your voice rising in disbelief. “This… oversimplified travesty? I’d sooner join a Nietzschean death cult than beg anyone - especially you - to read that garbage to me!”

Hotch chuckled, clearly reveling in your reaction. “Well, you did,” he said smoothly. “And not just once, you were very persistent.”

“Impossible!” you shot back, throwing your hands in the air as if appealing to some invisible jury. “Nietzsche already sounds like a cheap philosopher trying to sell used-car slogans. Why in the world would I beg for an even more watered-down version of his nonsense? And for stress relief?” You pointed at the title again, your disdain palpable.

Hotch leaned back in his chair, utterly unfazed, his grin widening with every word. “Your words, not mine,” he said with a shrug. “Though I’ll admit, that’s exactly the reaction I expected from you.”

His grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug, clearly enjoying himself. “But you did say - and I quote - that my voice was perfect for reading Nietzsche. Something about my consonants having a perfect ‘roughness’”

Your face burned with indignation. “I did not!” you snapped, though the way your voice wavered slightly betrayed a seed of doubt.

“Oh, you absolutely did,” he countered, raising the book in mock triumph. “You were very detailed, in fact. Said the way I said ‘Nietzsche’ - wrong, by the way - sounded so elegant it gave the whole thing a ‘melodic’ quality.”

Your head tilted back in exasperation, and you let out a groan loud enough to echo off the walls. “You’re messing with me. There’s no way I’d stoop so low as to say anything remotely positive about him. Nietzsche,” you added with a flourish of disgust, “is a blowhard hack who built his entire philosophy on misogyny, elitism, and insufferable word salads. He’s the philosophical equivalent of someone saying, ‘Actually,’ at the start of every sentence.”

Hotch burst out laughing, clearly unable to hold it back anymore. “Now that’s the reaction I expected,” he said, his tone smug. “You’re exactly as predictable as I thought.”

Your glare shot to him, sharp enough to cut glass. “Excuse me? Predictable?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a calmness that only further fanned the flames of your indignation. “That’s why I bought this in the first place. I knew it’d drive you up the wall.”

Your jaw fell open again, and for a moment, words failed you - again.

Recovering quickly, you crossed your arms over your chest, your glare sharpening as it zeroed in on him. “Let me get this straight,” you said, your tone deadly serious. “You bought an oversimplified Nietzsche book specifically to irritate me?”

Hotch tilted his head, an expression of exaggerated innocence plastered across his face. “Well,” he said slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, “I’d say it’s working perfectly.”

“You-” You jabbed a finger in his direction, your cheeks still pink with equal parts embarrassment and fury. “You are a menace, Aaron Hotchner. A calculated menace.”

Hotch smirked, clearly unfazed by the accusation. If anything, he seemed proud of it. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke in a low, teasing tone. “But you begged me to read it to you,” he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Which makes you my accomplice.”

You scoffed, practically sputtering as you pointed a defiant finger at the offending book. “I was drugged,” you shot back, your voice dripping with indignation. “Don’t flatter yourself. If I’d been even remotely sober, I’d have burned that thing before letting you read a single word of it.”

Hotch laughed, a deep, warm sound that only served to stoke the fire of your irritation. “Duly noted,” he said, lifting the book slightly before setting it aside with deliberate care. “But it’s staying on my desk. You know, just in case you find yourself needing a little Nietzsche to calm you down.”

Your eyes narrowed further, your arms crossing tightly over your chest. “If you think I’m letting this slide, you’ve got another thing coming. Prepare yourself for some German existentialism. I’ll quote Heidegger so much you’ll start questioning the meaning of every chair in your office.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Hotch replied smoothly, his smirk widening. “In fact, I might even get the audiobook version next time. I hear it’s narrated by someone with a particularly ‘buttery’ voice.”

You let out an exasperated groan, burying your face in your hands as if that would shield you from the relentless teasing. “This is a nightmare. I knew it was hell the second I woke up on your shoulder.”

“And yet,” Hotch said, his voice light and thoroughly amused, “here you are, still stuck with me. It must be fate.”

You dropped your hands just enough to shoot him a glare, though the faintest twitch of a smile betrayed you. “Fate is a lousy matchmaker, you’re lucky I don’t have the strength to leave right now.” you muttered.

Hotch chuckled again, leaning back in his chair with the kind of smug satisfaction that could make you want to throw the nearest Nietzsche book at him. “Then maybe Nietzsche was right,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

You grimaced, practically recoiling at the words. “Don’t you dare quote him at me,” you snapped, pointing an accusing finger in his direction. Your lips twitched, betraying the amusement you were desperately trying to suppress. “Nails on a chalkboard. Please, anything else.”

“Anything?” Hotch’s eyebrow arched, and the glint in his eyes made your stomach drop. He leaned forward slightly, his tone dipping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, Y/N, when will you learn technicalities are important? So, should I start with the part where you told me I was ‘handsome’, multiple times?!”

Your gasp was so dramatic it could’ve earned you a standing ovation.

Your hand flew to your mouth as you stared at him in mock horror. “I’d never,” you declared with as much conviction as you could muster. But the way your voice wavered, tinged with panic, made your denial sound a little less convincing.

“Oh, I wish I were making it up,” Hotch said, his grin widening like a cat toying with its prey. “But no, you were full of compliments. Called me handsome. Adorable. Pretty. Charming. And…” He paused for effect, his voice dropping lower. “Said you loved lawyers. It was probably the anesthesia,” he said, laughing openly now, his eyes gleaming with mirth. “But whatever the reason, it was very… entertaining.”

You let out a long, exasperated groan, burying your face in your hands like it could shield you from his teasing. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?” you muttered, your voice muffled but still filled with resignation.

“Not a chance,” Hotch said, his tone entirely too cheerful for your liking. He leaned back in his chair, clearly reveling in your misery. “But don’t worry. I’ll be merciful, this time.”

You peeked out from behind your hands, your eyes narrowing into a glare that could cut steel. “Merciful?” you repeated skeptically. “Oh, forgive me, Your Honor, for I didn’t realize mocking me relentlessly counted as mercy.”

“It’s all about perspective,” Hotch replied smoothly, shrugging as if it were the most reasonable explanation in the world. “Besides, you’re a Nietzschean now. Surely you can handle the struggle.”

Your groan was so loud it could’ve registered on the Richter scale. “This,” you said, pointing at him with an overly dramatic flourish, “is exactly why nobody should ever trust a lawyer.”

“And yet,” he shot back without missing a beat, his grin unfaltering, “you declared your love for one. Repeatedly.”

You groaned again, dragging your hands down your face like they could somehow erase the memory of his words. The faintest twitch of a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and of course, Hotch noticed. His smirk deepened, that maddening glint in his eyes growing sharper.

“Face it,” he said, leaning forward just enough for his voice to drop into that infuriatingly calm and self-assured tone. “You adore me, Nietzsche and all.”

“God help me,” you muttered, shaking your head in defeat. “This is actually worse than Nietzsche.”

“God is dead,” he replied smoothly, quoting Nietzsche again, his smirk growing impossibly smug.

Your eyes narrowed, and you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees as you mimicked his tone. “You know,” you began, your voice dripping with faux seriousness, “with all this quoting and smug superiority, maybe you should just replace me as the official philosopher of the BAU. Who needs my PhD when we’ve got you, Nietzsche Jr.?”

Hotch let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Not a chance, Philosopher,” he replied, his voice steady and full of amusement. “You’re irreplaceable. But I do appreciate the suggestion, it’s nice to know you recognize my potential.”

“Oh, I recognize something, alright,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow. “And it’s not potential. It’s your very lawyerly ability to twist anything into a win for yourself.”

He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he grinned at you. “Call it a skill set,” he said smoothly. “You’re just mad because you’ve spent months trying to out-argue me, and here I am, quoting Nietzsche to your dismay.”

You buried your face in your hands with a groan, though a muffled laugh escaped you despite your best efforts. “Hell isn’t fire and brimstone. It’s you with Nietzsche.”

Hotch laughed softly, and for a moment, the teasing glint in his eyes softened, replaced with something warmer. “Not hell, Philosopher,” he said, his tone dipping into something quieter, gentler. “Just your partner keeping you grounded.”

You glared at him, but you couldn’t stop the reluctant laugh that slipped out. It was infuriating, it was exasperating, and it was absolutely, unmistakably Hotch. “Grounded, huh? More like dragging me into an existential crisis.”

“Exactly,” he said, his smirk returning. “That’s what partners are for.” He saw your eyes drifted to the side table, landing on the rather ominous pile of paperwork stacked neatly to the side.

“What is that?” you asked, your tone a perfect blend of suspicion and exasperation, though you already knew the answer.

Hotch followed your gaze, his smirk returning like clockwork. “Ah, that,” he said nonchalantly, gesturing toward the stack. “Your welcome-back gift from Rossi and Gideon. They wanted to make sure you didn’t feel left out.”

You let out an exaggerated groan and let your head fall back against the pillow. “Apparently, everyone just loves me,” you said, dripping with sarcasm. “What a touching display of affection. Truly heartwarming, nothing says ‘we’re glad you’re alive’ like a mountain of bureaucracy.”

Hotch chuckled, reaching for the stack and flipping open the top folder with mock seriousness. “Oh, look at this,” he said, his tone carrying a teasing edge. “An incident report… about you. How poetic. You should be flattered, not everyone gets their own paperwork pile.”

You glared at him, though it lacked any real venom. “Flattered? Please. If they loved me so much, they’d have done it for me.”

“Careful,” Hotch said, raising an eyebrow and holding the folder in front of him like a weapon. “Say another word, and I’ll fill out every single one of these on your behalf.”

Your eyes widened in mock horror. “Don’t you dare,” you shot back, pointing a warning finger at him. “I’d rather suffer through it myself than let you turn it into some twisted legal thesis.”

He shrugged, his smirk growing. “I don’t know… my reports do get glowing reviews from the higher-ups.”

You groaned again, dramatically draping your arm over your eyes. “Let me at least pretend to be a martyr for five minutes,” you said with a heavy sigh, your free hand resting over your heart. “Sacrificed at the altar of documentation.”

Hotch laughed, setting the folder back on the stack as he leaned back in his chair. “Noted. I’ll make sure to let everyone know how valiantly you suffered,” he teased. Then, softening slightly, he added, “But don’t be too proud to ask for help. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is.”

The banter faded into a comfortable silence, the room settling into a peaceful lull. You glanced at him then, your eyes softening as you spoke. “Thanks for staying, Hotch,” you said quietly, the humor fading from your tone. “I mean it. I know you didn’t have to.”

His smirk softened, replaced by an expression of quiet sincerity. “It was the least I could do,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with something deeper.

You noticed the way his gaze dropped slightly, his dark eyes avoiding yours as he stared at his hands resting on his lap. His jaw tightened, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, tinged with raw emotion.

“You really scared me,” he admitted, the words landing heavier than you expected. “You… you were actually dead for a few moments.” He paused, his breath hitching slightly as he tried to steady himself. “I couldn’t bear the thought of all your endless research, all your questions, just… stopping. With all those answers left unspoken.”

Your chest tightened, your heart aching at the weight of his words. “Aaron…” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

He shook his head, the faintest trace of a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s okay now,” he said quietly, his voice steady but betraying a thickness that hinted at unshed tears. “You’re here, and that’s what matters.”

Your throat tightened as you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly over the back of his hand. “I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t mean to-”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he interrupted gently, his dark eyes lifting to meet yours. There was something raw and unguarded in his gaze, damp but steady, holding a depth of emotion that left you momentarily breathless.

The silence between you lingered for a moment, heavy but never uncomfortable. Then, Hotch tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing as he studied you. “Just tell me,” he said, his voice quiet but deliberate, “did you get any answers?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. Slowly, you shook your head. “No,” you admitted, your tone calm despite the weight of the subject. “But that’s okay. It’s never about the answers.”

Hotch’s expression softened, his curiosity evident as he leaned forward slightly. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice low, his focus entirely on you.

“It’s about the questions,” you explained, your voice slipping into that familiar, thoughtful tone he recognized so well, the one you used when you were diving headfirst into your work. “Philosophy doesn’t give you answers. In fact, it doesn’t even try.”

That sounded like hell to him, but maybe if you were there by his side he might even start to enjoy the process.

You paused, your gaze softening as you looked at him. “Philosophy makes you challenge the question itself, as if asking, ‘Why are you even asking this? Is this the right question to begin with?’ It’s not about solving the puzzle at all. It’s about the act of puzzling over it. That’s where the beauty is.”

Hotch sat back, his dark eyes searching yours, a quiet understanding dawning in his expression. He let out a soft breath, his lips curving into a small, reflective smile. “That sounds exhausting,” he said, though his tone was warm, almost teasing.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “It’s not, really. It’s liberating. Answers are… final. But questions? They keep you moving forward. They keep you alive.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor before lifting to meet yours again. “I think I get it,” he said quietly. “But I don’t know if I could handle that kind of uncertainty. I like knowing where things stand.”

“Which is why you’re a lawyer,” you replied, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Everything has to fit into neat little boxes for you, doesn’t it?”

Hotch smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching as he shook his head. “And you’re the philosopher, questioning if there’s even a box standing there in the first place.”

You both chuckled, the shared laughter easing some of the tension that had lingered between you. For a moment, it felt lighter, like the weight of the day was finally starting to lift.

But then Hotch’s expression softened, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. He hesitated, as if deciding whether or not to say what was on his mind. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter, tinged with a vulnerability that caught you off guard. “You know,” he said slowly, “you’re my emergency contact too.”

You blinked, his words sinking in as you studied his face, the sincerity in his dark eyes leaving no room for doubt. “I am?” you asked softly, the playful edge in your voice replaced by something gentler.

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. For a long time now.”

Your chest tightened, emotions swirling inside you - gratitude, surprise, and something warmer, something that made your heart skip a beat. Did he feel the same way you did? “Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hotch’s faint smile widened, and a teasing glint sparked in his eyes. “I didn’t think I needed to,” he replied, leaning back slightly as if savoring the moment. “You know, it was easier for the bureaucracy.”

Your jaw dropped, and you immediately narrowed your eyes at him, recognizing the echo of your own words thrown back at you. “Oh, very funny,” you shot back, though you couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Did you seriously just use my own line against me?”

He tilted his head slightly, his grin growing. “It felt appropriate,” he said, his tone light but carrying a warmth that made it impossible to stay annoyed. “After all, I figured it wasn’t anything sentimental, partner.”

You let out an exaggerated scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you fought to keep the smile from breaking through. “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?”

“Only when they’re warranted,” he replied smoothly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “And in my defense, it was a good line.”

“You know, repurposing my own words isn’t clever, it’s derivative,” you shot back, though you couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You might think it’s witty, but all you’ve done is recycle my brilliance.”

His smirk grew, and he tilted his head as if considering your argument. “Recycling brilliance is still brilliance,” he countered, his tone as smooth as ever. “And technically, isn’t philosophy itself just building on the ideas of others? Derivative by nature, wouldn’t you say?”

Your mouth opened, ready to retort, but you paused, narrowing your eyes. “That’s different,” you said, pointing a finger at him. “Philosophy is about expanding thought, not reusing it to make bad jokes.”

“Bad jokes?” he repeated, feigning offense as his eyebrows lifted. “I thought it was an excellent joke. Besides, I was a prosecutor. I could hold you on this point for days.”

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes at him as determination flared in your chest. “Hold me for days, huh? Well, let’s see if you can hold up under the weight of your own flawed logic,” you challenged, sitting up straighter. “Philosophy is about questioning assumptions, not recycling them. Your little quip? It’s not expansion, it’s plagiarism.”

Hotch’s smirk deepened, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Oh, I disagree,” he said, his tone maddeningly calm. “Philosophy thrives on reinterpretation. Every great thinker - Plato, Aristotle, Kant, even your best friend Hegel - they all built on the work of those who came before them. I’d say my adaptation of your words follows a long tradition of intellectual discourse.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how quickly he’d turned your own argument against you. “That’s a stretch,” you countered, though your voice lacked some of its earlier confidence. “Using my words to make fun of me isn’t ‘intellectual discourse.’ It’s… petty.”

“Petty?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Or pragmatic? You’re a formidable opponent, why wouldn’t I use the strongest tools at my disposal?”

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you scrambled for a counterpoint. “That’s - no. That’s not the same as reinterpreting philosophical ideas! You didn’t add anything meaningful to the conversation. You just-”

“Turned your own logic on itself?” he finished for you, his smirk widening. “Exactly. Which is precisely the point of Socratic questioning. To challenge and destabilize assumptions. Seems to me I’m following your philosophical playbook perfectly.”

Since when did he know about Socratic dialectics?

You let out a frustrated huff, leaning back against the bed as you glared at him. “You’re twisting the argument.”

“I’m clarifying it,” he corrected smoothly. “You said repurposing ideas isn’t clever. I countered by showing that reinterpretation is the foundation of philosophical thought. You might not like the application, but the principle holds.”

You groaned, throwing your hands up in frustration. “That is not the same thing! Philosophy expands understanding, it doesn’t... lower the bar for comedy.”

“Are you saying I lowered the bar?” he asked, feigning hurt. “Because I distinctly recall you smiling at my ‘derivative brilliance’ earlier.”

“That was pity,” you retorted quickly, though the grin tugging at your lips betrayed you.

“Pity or not, it counts,” he said smoothly, sitting back with a satisfied look. “And for the record, your counterargument so far has been entirely ad hominem. If we were in court, you’d be losing.”

“Court isn’t real life, Hotchner,” you said, pointing a finger at him. “Out here, people care about substance, not legal technicalities.”

“Substance?” he echoed, his smirk widening. “You’re defending philosophy, an entire field built on debating the substance of things that may or may not exist. Meanwhile, I’ve just proven that my joke exists and has substance because it elicited a response from you. Case closed.”

Your mouth opened, a retort forming on your lips, but nothing came out. His argument was airtight, and you hated how much sense it made. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

“And yet,” he replied, leaning back with a triumphant grin, “you keep debating me. What does that say?”

“That I’m persistent,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him. “Not that you’re right.”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head with that maddeningly self-assured smile. “Persistent, sure. But right? Absolutely. Even you can’t argue with the strength of my logic.”

You groaned dramatically, throwing your hands in the air in mock surrender. “Fine, you win this round. But don’t get used to it.”

“I’m already used to it,” he replied with a smirk that practically radiated smugness. “But don’t worry, I’ll keep giving you chances to catch up. It’s the least I can do.”

You pointed at him, narrowing your eyes. “You’re enjoying this way too much, Hotchner.”

“Of course I am,” he shot back, leaning forward slightly. “It’s not every day I get to witness you admitting defeat.”

“Admitting defeat?” you scoffed, sitting up straighter. “Please. This is just a tactical retreat. You know, like when a general steps back to regroup before utterly annihilating the competition.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Is that so? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like a full surrender.”

“You’re unbelievable, Aaron,” you muttered, shaking your head, though the laugh bubbling up from your chest betrayed your irritation. “Unbelievably infuriating.”

“And yet,” he countered, his tone smooth, “you keep coming back for more. What does that say?”

“That I have the patience of a saint,” you replied without missing a beat, grinning despite yourself.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression softening just a fraction, though the teasing glint in his eyes remained. “Or that you secretly enjoy this just as much as I do,” he said, his voice dipping slightly. “Admit it, Y/N - it’s never dull with me around.”

You scoffed, leaning back and crossing your arms. “Fine, you’re entertaining in a ‘lawyerly’ kind of way. But don’t get a big head.”

“Oh, too late for that,” Hotch teased, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. “But don’t worry, I’ll leave room for you to catch up in the next debate.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to keep me on my toes.”

He shrugged, his smirk softening into a warm smile. “What can I say? You make it fun, partner.”

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @cuddleprofiler ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

AAAAAAA FUN FACT - 'Nietzsche for Stressed People' is a foreshadowing for 'Hegel For Dummies' in the next chapter

[lqveharrington]

so high school with rodrick heffley, pretty please

congrats on 2k!! 💞💞💞

So High School | R.H.

summary: your romcom life with rodrick heffley <3

pairing: rodrick heffley x fem!reader

includes: fluff! reader’s last name is Reynolds, kissing, making out, underage drinking, mrs. heffley being a saint, greg being greg

a/n: this one was really fun 😜

You were Crossland Highschool's best girls tennis player. You were the number one player since sophomore year. Now that you were a senior, all eyes were on you to carry the team to states. You've been practicing all summer and had indoor practices during winter until it was finally time for spring sports.

The free time you used to have was all poured into hours of countless work toward tennis. But that never stopped you from being committed to a perfectly good rom-com relationship in high school. You found your mind wandering to him every so often whenever you took your water breaks, a faint blush tinting your cheeks every time.

After all, he kept you motivated to pursue the sport.

The sun was beginning to set as your team finished practice. You had a white towel wrapped behind your neck as your friends left the court one by one, each exhausted but happy with how they practiced.

“I’ll see you tomorrow — Mmph!” You got cut off with a loving yet bruising kiss, your hands coming to rest on the chest of the person before pulling away, eyes fogged with lust before you shook it off. You smiled brightly up at the boy who you learned to love. “Hi, R. What’re you doing here?”

He smirked and kissed your temple, reaching for your tennis bag. “I caught the last bit of your practice with Jen.”

You flush and rest your head on his shoulder as he lead you away from the courts and toward the van, intertwining your hand with his free one. “Gosh, my form was bad today.”

“I thought it was absolutely perfect.” He squeezed your hand softly and tilted his head when he recounted what he last saw. “Although, you were laughing a lot.”

You bit your tongue and held back another laugh. It wasn't your fault you kept laughing whenever you served. A stupid memory kept popping up and it made you cackle every single time.

“I was thinking of dinner last week with your family.” You grinned cheekily and shook your head at the thought. “When your father made a horrid joke and you mimicked him the entire ride back to my house.”

He snorted and pulled you closer to him, resting his hand loosely around your hips. “He sounded so corny. Talking about his mini figures like they aren't toys we found at Toys"R"Us.”

You hummed and let a small laugh fall from your lips, sighing when he pressed a kiss to your forehead this time. The warmth from him felt calming compared to your three hours of practice.

“When’s your game?” He asked and adjusted your bag over his shoulder, the rackets clinking together and the loose balls rolling around the inside.

“On the fifth. It’s the final match in regionals before we move onto state.” You smile confidently. Your team has worked too hard to just lose your final match, you wouldn't allow it. Still wearing your bright smile, you looked up at him, “You’ll come watch?”

Rodrick raised his brows at you and scrunched his nose, pulling the passenger side door open. “Duh. If I don’t, you have permission to slap me across the face.”

“And you know I would never do that.” You pat his cheek and turn to enter the van, putting on a sarcastic smile and gesturing toward the van floor. “Charming.”

“I cleaned!” He protested and entered the driver's side, starting the van up before resting his hand on your thigh. He gently massaged the space and began to drive, occasionally glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

You look down at his hand and the thick ring around his middle finger, blinking furiously to rid yourself of any thoughts before you arrived to his house. “Mhm, you say that every time.”

“Like you were judging the inside of my van the first time we met.” Rodrick squeezed your upper thigh, making you hold your breath before you recounted the first day you met.

“How could I ever forget?”

Flashback

“You’re drunk, Reynolds.” Alison carried you out of the house and stumbled down the stairs to stabilize your drunken figure.

“Am not!” You hiccup and giggle when she made a face at you. Taking a strand of your hair, you twirled it in front of your face, making you cross-eyed. “Okay, maybe just a little.”

“In truth or dare, you were dared to kiss the hottest guy at the party.” She sat you down and put her hands on her hips, eyebrows furrowed like you kissed the weirdest man in the room. “You kissed Heffley.”

You sigh softly and tilt your head back, giggling when you remembered his initial reaction to you kissing him. “What? He’s hot.”

“Luckily for you, he’s sober and driving you home.” Alison patted your head gently. You pouted and gave her puppy eyes, making her cover her eyes in affliction. “Don’t look at me like that! You have practice first thing in the morning and you would hate yourself if you couldn’t even get out of bed.”

“Fine.” You huff and cross your arms, wobbling again when you stood up from the stairs. You grabbed on to her arms and giggled when you poked her cheek. “Lead me to Heffley.”

Alison shook her head and lead you over to the white van, speaking to Rodrick quietly while you looked up the sky in awe of the stars and airplanes. You leaned against the van before you felt yourself being moved into the van itself.

You look at the person and gasp, cupping his face at pulling it close to your own. You looked at his features, smiling giddily at his reddened cheeks. “You’re pretty.”

His eyes widened and looked back at your friend with a flushed face. “Uhm— Am I supposed to—?”

“Yep! Good luck! She’s a clingy drunk!” Alison called out as she raced back inside the house, leaving you to be with the man you kissed merely an hour ago.

Rodrick gently removed your hands from his face and buckled you in, holding back a laugh when you pouted. He switched over to his side of the van and drove over to your place, which was written on his hand in messy ink. He kept watching you to make sure you didn’t throw up or fall asleep on him, but you kept reaching for his hand like a baby. It was like you needed to have physical touch at all time.

Eventually, he gave up trying to keep you at bay and gave you his hand, seeing you grin happily from the corner of his eyes. You played with his singular ring and looked at the intricate details, smiling to yourself.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask and hiccup, looking out the window to try and identify where you were even in you intoxicated state. “To your place?”

He gave you a surprised look, jaw dropping ever so slightly before shaking his head. “Wow, you really are drunk.”

You pout again and lean your head back on the window, looking out at the stars and dark sky. Your laughter filled the silence until Rodrick realized what you were doing.

“Hey hey! No, you’ll get hurt.” He tugged your hand and pulled you back inside the van, pulling your window up. Your pout deepens, huffing when he shakes his head at you.

After he watched you for a little longer, you looked around the interior of the van and hiccuped when he went over a curb. “Your van is nice. I like the paint on the outside.”

Rodrick hummed and squeezed your hand gently, “Thank you. I did it myself.”

“That’s amazing!” You beam and mentally praise him for his craftsmanship.

You looked back outside the window and you noticed the houses began to blur together, making you confused. You blinked a couple of times until your vision cleared up, giggling when you caught Rodrick's eyes again.

“Wait, are we going back to your place? I like talking to you. You’re a very secure person, Heffley.” You let go of his hand and fix your hair, humming to yourself.

He glanced at you before speaking, “Rodrick.”

Your head laid on the back of the seat, tilting it when he spoke. “Mm?”

“You can call me Rodrick, Reynolds.” He parked the car in front of your house and dug in his console for a water bottle. He uncapped the bottle and watched your drink the water before helping you out of the car.

“Well then you can call me…” You tap your chin and shrug, clinging onto his arm like a koala when he led you to the front porch. “I’m not sure. But you can always call me on my number!”

“Jesus.” Rodrick chuckled at your words and held you steady, meeting your glazed eyes. “We’ll talk when you’re not drunk and confusing words together.”

“Yay!” You giggle and push up on your toes to kiss his cheek before leaving him to enter your house. “See ya’ later, Rodrick!”

End of Flashblack

Rodrick helped you out of his van and sent you a teasing smile, kiss your cheek when you stepped out. “You so wanted to kiss me on the lips again when I dropped you off.”

“I did,” You link your hands with his as you made your way to the Heffleys’ front door. You look up at him and match his smile. “But not after you took me out on an actual date — “

“Then pulled me to the backseat of the van to make out afterwards.” He cut you off and pulled you into his arms, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips.

“Is it my fault you look handsome?” You pinch his cheek and laugh when he swatted your hand away from his face. “Besides, I know you liked it.”

He cocked an eyebrow up and crossed his arms at you, subconsciously reaching a hand up to his neck. “You gave me hickeys!”

You copied his movements and tilted your chin up, challenging his accusation. “So did you—!”

“Hi, kids!” Mrs. Heffley cut you off as the door jerked open at an alarmingly fast rate, causing the both of you to jump back in surprise.

You blinked at her before smiling brightly, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Heffley!” She pulled you in for a tight hug, loving you like you were her own child. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m doing well, don’t worry about me. How was your practice?” She brought you inside and gestured for Rodrick to close the door behind him. He grumbled as he did shut the door. His mother took his own girlfriend away from him the second they got home.

“It was great. I did individuals against Jen, then we did doubles with the other players on the court. I need to work on some of my backhand, but otherwise I should be set for my game.” You shrugged and moved to stand by Rodrick, feeling his annoyance toward his mother growing the more she kept you from him.

“That’s wonderful.” Mrs. Heffley reached over to squeeze your shoulder. “You two wash up for dinner, okay? I’ll call you down when we’re going to eat.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You gave her an innocent grin and make quick steps up the stairs, Rodrick's hand hot against your back as he led you up to his room. “She’s so delightful, I love your mom.”

Rodrick rolled his eyes and picked you up by the last step, tossing you onto his bed before crawling above you. “More than me?”

“When did I say that, Rodrick?” You murmur when he dropped his full body weight on you. You ran your fingers through his messy hair as he buried his face into your neck.

“Mm, just a few seconds ago.” He mumbled into your neck and slowly began kissing your more sensitive spots, earning quiet gasps from you. “Think I could skip dinner and get away with just dessert?”

“Rodrick Heffley!” You tried glaring at him but were met with a kiss to your lips instead.

He parted from you and looked into your eyes, planting extra kisses to your lips until you looked dazed. “Yes, baby?”

You mouth parted a little and you shook your head, pulling his face closer yours. “Never mind.”

In a blink of a crinkling eye, small kisses became a thirty minute make out session. You fell deeper and deeper into him as your kisses became more and more passionate. His lips covered every part of your face, neck, and above your chest, your fingers carding his hair every so often when you weren't busy reciprocating his kisses to your lips.

His hands settled on the curve of your hips, fingers thumbing the hem of your tennis skirt before you both heard stomps coming from the stairway.

“Rodrick, mom’s been yelling at you for the past whatever to get down for— Oh, my god!” Greg shouted at the sight in front of him and turned away, covering his face with both hands as he felt his face redden and warm.

Instinctively, you kicked Rodrick off of you and you gasped, looking over his bed to see him holding his head. “Sorry—!” You quickly fix your hair and adjust your top, not meeting the younger Heffley's eyes. “Greg, what are you doing?”

“W—well mom wanted me to get you both down for dinner.” He stuttered and began walking down the stairs when he met his brother's deathly glare. “I’m just gonna go!”

“You distracted me.” You pouted at Rodrick as he stood and thumbed your bottom lip.

He kissed your lips before you stood from your spot on his bed and grabbed fresh clothes of yours from one of his drawers, pushing his face away from you when he rested his head on your shoulder and met your eyes in the mirror.

“Look away, Heffley.”

Rodrick raised a brow and turned around, tapping his foot on the floor impatiently. “I’ve seen you in less—“

“Rodrick.”

“Whatever, fine.” He put his hands up, making you smile when you saw him through the mirror. You threw your skirt at him when you finished changing, making him turn around as you fixed your hair from its messy state. “Don’t sweep your hair to the side.”

“Why not?” You frown and look at your neck, eyes widening at how many hickeys there were. They were darker than you’ve ever seen on yourself before. It was like a vampire got to you. “I have dinner with your entire family soon!”

“I couldn’t help it.” He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed a kiss to your cheek, meeting your glare. “Ah, you’ll be fine.”

“Rodrick!” You rest your forehead on his chest before rolling your eyes. There wasn't much you could do now, you didn't even have any makeup to help conceal it. Sighing, you reached for his hand and crossed his room to head down to dinner. “We need to go before Greg wants to be a baby and snitch.”

“He’s just jealous.” Rodrick chuckled and earned a smack to the chest from you. He smiled and leaned closer to you when you made your way down. “Think my dad will make another horrible joke?”

“Probably.” You mumble and smile at said father as you rounded the dinner table, quietly thanking Rodrick when he pulled the seat out for you. “As long as your mom’s cooking is top tier again, I’ll be too busy to notice it and your parents will be too busy to notice the darkening hickeys.”

Rodrick grinned at you and rested his hand on your thigh. It was going to be a long dinner.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[senselessviolets]

being roman roy’s personal assistant (and his obsession) would include…

Rating M

WARNINGS:

Language, sexual tension, degradation, power imbalance, Roman being Roman weird.

Author's Notes:

Pretty self-explanatory. No uses of Y/N. Some brief RomanGerri. Very much inspired by @nanabrainrot's fic series with Pervert!Roman because it's divineeee. Highly recommend it!!

Roman never saw himself as the type to have an assistant. In fact, he was the only one of the Roy siblings to not have one. Kendall, of course, had Jess, Shiv had Sarah, and even though Connor never liked to bring it up out of fear of making him seem less earnest and hardworking to his supporters, he too had a “yes man” managing his personal affairs for him. 

It was following the Hungary company retreat that Gerri offered to set Roman up with an assistant. She knew of a trusted agency that would be able to help him narrow down candidates and find a person best suited for his needs. 

That person just so happened to be you. 

Roman absolutely wolf-whistled at the picture attached to your portfolio when thumbing through the candidates he was matched with through the agency. Gerri made him promise not to make any untoward or inappropriate comments to you during your interview for the job. Roman saw it as a ‘woman thing’ but Gerri being legal counsel saw it as a nightmare waiting to happen.

Upon meeting with you and the hiring manager, Roman scoured the internet for any information on you. Even though all of the important need-to-know info could be found on your resume or your fucking LinkedIn profile—that wasn’t enough for him. 

He tore through all of your public social media accounts, saving any particularly flattering images of you (swimsuit pictures, nightclub outings, etc.) and examining them throughout the day.

Suffice it to say, you got the job.

At first, Roman doesn’t know what to make of you. He sits you at a small desk on the opposite side of his own in his office.

Personality and demeanor-wise you’re in line with what he had wanted. Physically, he was already well-acquainted with your curves and the way certain types of clothes clung to your body. 

In the long stretches of silence of you two working in the same room, he imagined briefly what you looked like underneath your clothes. 

At home when it was just him and his right hand, he imagined what it’d be like to tear them off and leave them in tatters on the floor.

The better you get to know each other, the bigger his private album devoted to images of you grows.

Roman starts to pry into your personal life, asking if you have a boyfriend or girlfriend. Then he makes random passes at you throughout the day. Having worked with a wide array of smarmy, gross men in the past—you were hardly phased. Because a part of you sees through the facade. You know he just wants to rile you up—to get a reaction out of you.

You realize after a while that he wants you to be repulsed by him. 

This incites something within you.

Roman starts dragging you to one-on-ones with investors and having you sit in on board meetings, much to the annoyance of many.

Shiv tells you (jokingly) to run before you wind up being chased down the hallways with a chainsaw. 

While waiting together outside of a rather important meeting with many high-level executives, Greg informs you of a rumor that Roman has a dick pic circulating the office. But that in particular—he had meant to send it to you. 

You don’t know how to feel.  

These forced attendances at random meetings turn into becoming his designated armpiece for public events and parties. 

At one of them, Stewy taunts Roman, saying you’re not the only woman he pays to touch him. 

You laugh loudly at this joke which surprises them both. You crack a few of your own at Roman’s expense. Some are based on fiction, the others in fact. The shame floods his cheeks but the way he grips tighter at your waist tells you to keep going. To get meaner. So you do. You get a lot meaner.

Roman’s jaw clenches for a moment. Then his lips part. You convince yourself it's just a buzz from the drinks you’ve just had; that you did not just shit-talk your boss into arousal. 

But the clumsy way Roman adjusts his stance, the subtle outline of something forming at the front of his pants, and how he excuses himself to the bathroom says otherwise.

The text you receive moments later from his number confirms this; “You know what you did, you fucking bitch.”.

It’s your direct reply to that message though that makes his breath hitch; 

“Show me then, you sick fuck.”

{ Feedback is welcome! }

Follow me on twt: @endlessviolets

<3

[the-s1lly-corner]

Sorry to bother ya again, but my brain is literally on overdrive with this show and this clown who hws beckme my first kin and lives in my head rent free as she quietly sits there with a cup of hot chocolate and a warm blanket like she deserves, buuut

What if the gang found out the reader could abstract at will, including restricting it to certain parts of their body, ooor what if they found out you were a shapeshifter when you accidentally sneeze and turn into Wario or something

TADC cast x reader who can shapeshift!

i have returned from eating my silly dinner (sweet n sour chicken with rice!) it was very scrumptious i went ahead and did the shapeshifter idea since i feel that would be more fun to write (we can pretend they can still shift to mimic an abstracted body shhh) these ones are a little short i hope thats okay!

CAINE:

its not totally unheard of people getting unique abilities when they enter the digital world, its just not very common (this is a hc!), so when caine found out you could manipulate your appearance he wasn't all that surprised! i think he was more intrigued more than anything, because its not everyday you see something like that! he would be absolutely thrilled if you shifted into him; both from being amused of it and this man probably loves himself as much as someone can

will try to pop you if you mimic bubble, kind of feels bad for a second but your disguise was just so so convincing! say, were you by any chance an actor in your past life in the real world? you totally had him fooled!

POMNI:

pomni would be a little freaked out, especially if you just. suddenly sneezed and OH! now it looks like you're abstracting in front of everyone! first response is to run away before the transformation is complete, but when she notices no one else is freaking out (ragatha even blesses you!) shes more than a little confused

you offer to demonstrate your abilities to her, but she probably politely turns you down; she understands... for the most part... really its mostly just her trying to become used to the digital world as a whole

RAGATHA:

ragatha makes sure that you know that she thinks its cool; and as long as you're not morphing into a giant bug shes encouraging you to hone in on that cool power of yours! compliments whatever form you choose for the day

oh? you changed your hair color! she likes it, the new look is amazing on you! oh? you made yourself a little taller and gave yourself some new characteristics! points out nearly every detail shes noticed, no matter how small. ragatha pays attention, ragatha cares

JAX:

tries to drag you off to the dark side (ie being a menace to the others), whether or not you agree to be his partner in crime and 'use your power for evil' is fully up to you!

makes random requests to see just how far you can take your shapeshifting, usually listing off things at lightning speed to see if you can catch up.. if your shapeshifting takes a toll on you (like lets say it takes energy out of you) he might let up when he realizes how tired and pale you look all of a sudden.. at least for now

KINGER:

speedrunning to kinger for a moment before i forget this idea but imagine shapeshifting into him and hes just totally confused. leads to him making weird movements and you copying him (he thinks caine added a new mirror in the middle of the room for a solid minute before you break the illusion)

unless you have a set 'base form' hes going to keep thinking youre a new person if you drastically alter your appearance.. which, fair, since i think if you made yourself look unrecognizable, people would think youre a new person entirely. has probably introduced himself to you multiple times before realizing it was you

kinger gets a technical third bullet point but its not fluff. i just remembered the scene from steven universe where amethyst shapeshifts into rose in front of greg. but instead its kinger and instead of rose is queener/queenie. i hurt my own feelings. im gonna stew over this now

ZOOBLE:

honestly if you look just a mixmatched as them they would be into it and say you look cool. i had an idea that zooble has spare pieces and sometimes switches out their pieces for a new look, so imagine the two of you make matching looks or something, i think that would be cool

otherwise i dont think zooble would treat you any differently than if you were friends and couldnt shapeshift... though... i will admit, they think its funny when jax annoys you and change yourself in order to get him to back off. serves him right!

GANGLE

imagine she asks you to be a model for her art.. asking you to do different poses as well as different figures so she can better her craft. i absolutely love the idea of gangle being really into art, and this idea is just so cute to me

you have probably shapeshifted into her and pretended to be her when she needed someone to stand up for her... imagine how jarring it would be to see 'gangle' snap back at jax after he does something particularly mean

[rei-ismyname]

X-Men in the Marvel Swimsuit Special

I can't decide if this is ridiculous or amazing. Realistically, it's both. Here's the X-Men featured in Marvel's Swimsuit Special. There's sadly no Magneto or Professor X.

'Take a Wakanda wild side' jesus Christ. I *think* this is meant to be Storm, with a macaw (I think) on her shoulder.

Go boys! Imagine if Greg Land drew this issue, ugh. Bishop, Cyclops and Gambit having a frolic on the beach. I thought Wakanda was land-locked. Whatever.

Looking hot, Rachel/Phoenix. Nice volcano flex, too. This style of undergarment has always looked impractical to me. Like how hard is it to avoid a front wedgie? No judgement though, of course.

Fantastic leopard print bikini briefs on Colossus here. I'm sure everyone is looking at the sunset ;)

Not sure I'd call that a sexy smile. It looks painted on. Are you ok, Rogue?

Okay that's fire. I love the design. Good for Polaris!

For the first time ever, Psylocke is overdressed. Sequins on a bathing suit is 👌

Val fucking Cooper? What is she doing here? At least we know the answer to 'what's up her ass?' A turtleneck one piece. I love the MASSIVE pistol accessory on Domino, as well as explicitly small boobs.

Group shot! Who cares if Wolverine is hairy? I wanna see him in a thong. Gambit knows what's up (and has a pretty big dick by the looks of things.) Archangel looks like he's not interested and is bailing.

Not X-Men but I had to include 90s surf bro Thor Odinson. Those sunglasses are next level. This guy can get you Asgardian steroids.

[yerimbrit]

[flufftober day 11, wc: 1.4k] - murder mystery dinner : WWIB

“OH MY GOD!” someone screams, frozen in shock when the body turned over is revealed to be none other than y/n, the host of the whole dinner party. she’s unmoving, cold, and, wonyoung—or rather, the rising supermodel sarah coulter—gasps, “she’s been murdered!”

wait, wait, wait. let’s backtrack—how did we even end up in this situation? well, for starters, it’s basically halloween. maybe 20 days early, but regardless, basically halloween. and since y/n is such a genius (yes, clap all you want), she decided she wanted to host a dinner party involving everyone she talks to. which is a bit much for a dinner party, for someone who claims to not talk to too many people.

cryptic invitations were handed out mysteriously in a number of methods, including but not limited to: slipping it in the invitee’s locker, having a stranger pass it to the invitee, the invitee magically finding it in their pocket, and probably more—y/n doesn’t remember all that info. with the invitation were the details and an assigned role when scanning a qr code, along with a form where you would put your fake name to be addressed by. 

the location for the dinner party is a decently sized and lavishly-decorated party venue, with a small seating area near a bar top (serving non-alcoholic drinks, of course) and a short corridor leading to a locked dining room. guests arrived in their finest attire befitting of their assigned character, mingled for a bit wondering where y/n was, and when allowed in the mysterious locked area, were struck by horror to see the host herself on the floor and (supposedly) unconscious.

hyunseo makes brisk strides over to the body, her stethoscope shaking around her neck as she moves. as she kneels down on one knee, she presses two fingers against the pulse point on y/n’s neck and pats her face, sneakily glancing at a cue card she pulled out from her pocket a second ago. “blue around the mouth… and she’s super stuff-” she squints at the card, “stiff.” 

guests crowd and clamor around the physician, and she looks to them, “it could be poison, it also smells kind of fruity.”

minji side-eyes hanni who’s about to make some kind of joke, and it shuts her up. “but who could it be? it’s not like she poisoned herself.”

hanni raises her hand, suddenly poised and in character, “i, farandoliah von siegmeyer, have a statement to make.”

“okay, miss siegmeyer-”

“it’s farandoliah von siegmeyer, thank you, detective boonville!” she interrupts minji valiantly.

the detective replies curtly, “i am not calling you by your full legal name, miss siegmeyer. but do go on.”

everyone watches the heiress intently, curious to hear what she has to say in the midst of this tragedy; an alibi? or an accusation? “i saw eleonora and greg lingering over by the corridor,” hanni points to hyein and rei, or greg and eleonora respectively, whose faces twist into offense, “also, it wasn’t me because i was chatting up detective boonville at the bar.”

hyein adjusts her blazer which is sitting fashionably around her shoulders, her arms not in the sleeves. “this is extremely disrespectful, miss farandoliah von siegmeyer,” she spits out, “i’ll have you know i was just checking the venue out with eleonora.”

“i was only there for five minutes and left, greg was still there after i made a full lap though,” rei adds, taking her sunglasses off and folding them, tucking them into the breast pocket of her own blazer. the ceo turns to the bodyguard angrily, practically fuming. a cue card flies out of her hand and onto the floor, and everyone tries not to look at the fallen item.

“are you claiming that i murdered august!? believe me, i don’t even know why her face is blue, apparently because of poison, why would i murder august?” hyein defends herself, “if anything, miss madeline is suspicious because she kept glancing over; i could almost feel her gaze burning into my skin while i was over there.”

the guests’ attention shifts to jiwon, the librarian, who is wiping the lenses of her specs and then frowns. “i was staring because i saw lysithea going into the room.”

now they whip their heads to haerin, who furrows her brow. minji crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “what were you doing inside the locked room?”

eunchae puts a hand into her pocket and checks a silver pocket watch which was awfully familiar to the observant eyes of danielle who then glares at her. “why do you have her watch? what would the bartender have to do with august’s watch?”

the bartender shrugs, “i took it when i saw her before you guys came in, looked expensive. hey yura, i heard you and lysithea are quite close to august, am i mistaken?”

danielle purses her lips, keeping mum about the situation. haerin looks back at minji, who has been keeping the journalist under her scrutiny. “i was having a conversation with august, and then i came back out. miss hunter,” her eyes flit to danielle briefly, “then approached me and we exchanged some… pleasantries, and she went into the room after me.”

the artist’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, unable to think of something to use as her alibi. she tries to pull her own cue card out, but something else falls from her paint-stained apron pocket, clattering to the floor. it’s a small bottle of a car maintenance product, labeled with a sticker. minji picks it up before she can, and widens her eyes, “miss hunter, what are you doing with antifreeze?”

“i,” danielle gulps, “i forgot to put it back after i used it on my car before i came here.”

wonyoung’s snooping around y/n’s body, feeling around her pockets and finding two pieces of paper. her touch makes the (well, supposed to be) dead body giggle and then stop abruptly.

(“wony-unnie, stop, i’m ticklish!” y/n whisper-shouts, not opening her eyes. wonyoung grins at her and sticks out her tongue.)

“there’s two letters on august!” the model stands up, brandishing the papers in her hand, “they seem to be from yura hunter and lysithea melbme.”

she hands them to minji, who opens one with skepticism. “my dear love august, it is a joy to attend this dinner party that you host. i’ve missed you dearly; we’ve both been so busy, our work leaves no time to go on those escapades we had back in college nowadays… i’d like to ask if you’d be up to coming with me after dinner, just the two of us. i still love you, and i’d hope you’d feel the same after we met again last weekend. sincerely, lysithea.”

danielle is biting her lip in anger and what seems to be betrayal and hurt. minji opens the other paper and clears her throat, “hey august, i know we just saw each other a few days ago but i missed you. i’ll keep it short, but do you want to hang out after this? i’ve got something really, really important to tell you. fancy me for a few, yeah? best, yura.”

“you’ve been seeing august?” haerin faces danielle, “i thought you were the one who dumped her all those years ago.”

“we made up,” danielle grits her teeth, “and i thought you haven’t seen each other in years. so that lipstick stain was yours on her collar, wasn’t it?”

“that’s beside my point. look, just because you’re jealous that she loves me and not you, doesn’t excuse the fact that you gave her antifreeze!? she’s dead, yura,” the journalist grabs the artist’s collar in rage, “dead! this goes beyond any revenge. what happened to moving on like a normal person, huh!?”

the artist looks away, ashamed, but quickly sneers at haerin, “so what if i did? i knew i wasn’t going to have august. but most of all, i didn’t want you to have her, not after you stole her away while we were on a break.”

haerin opens her mouth, only to be stopped by ‘august’ herself, who has sat up in concern. “congrats on solving the murder…? that escalated really quickly, what the heck.”

everyone’s characters break, and the chatter starts up again. haerin and danielle exchange a look that y/n can’t quite piece together, so she stands up and dusts off her legs and walks up to them. “it was fun watching you two fight over me, you know. also, if you guys could sit down for the actual dinner, that would be great.”

“we get to eat!?” hanni exclaims and gets a hand slapped over her mouth by minji, “ow! what was that for?”

there’s five on each side, with y/n at one end of the table. she holds a glass of apple cider up, smiling at the mess she orchestrated a couple of minutes ago. “to the murder of august walter!”

“you still have blue around your lips.”

“shut up, greg.”

flufftober masterlist!

a/n : THAT WAS NOT UNDER 1K IM SORRY but wasn't that so fun lol is this foreshadowing (it's not) (no clickbait)

[shadesslut]

loving her was red, pt. 4

MINORS DNI

Pairing: (Dark!Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader)

Content Includes: (Slight smut, violence, Chad being a lil creepo)

Summary: After the killings of Jason and Greg, the group is on high alert, but luckily for Ethan, Chad gets a little distracted.

(a/n: kinda hate this)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7

✮

✮

✮

Y/N and Ethan desperately made their way through the crowded streets. Ethan held on tightly to her hand as she bumped into people, muttering quick apologies. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” She cursed as she swung the door open in Sam and Tara’s apartment building lobby. Earlier, at the party, they each received a text from the group; a simple text from Tara, telling them to get the fuck at their apartment. They ran up the stairs, stopping at their floor and rapidly knocked on the door. Chad immediately opened it, and he looked at the two with a hurt expression, but brushed it off. Y/N stepped around him into the apartment, but Ethan stood in his spot. 

“We were just talking, I broke things off.” Ethan lied, trying his best to not smile. Chad nodded at him and stepped to the side to let Ethan in. 

He walked in to see all the girls in the living room, watching the TV. Mindy and Anika were cuddled up together on the couch, Quinn next to them, and Sam and Tara arguing by the kitchen entrance. “What happened?” Y/N asked, stopping the two sisters from continuing any further. 

“Fucking look,” Sam said as she reached for the remote and turned the volume up. On the screen, a news reporter was outside a building, with pictures of two boys in the corner. Jason Carvey and Greg Bruckner, found dead in their apartment. 

Y/N looked over to Sam and Tara, who both furrowed their brows at the screen. 

On the screen, a Ghostface mask appeared, and Sam immediately turned off the TV. Everyone turned their heads at her, who was already grabbing things. “Pack a bag Tara, we’re leaving tonight.” 

“Woah, what?” Tara yelled at her, confusion lacing her tone. They both bickered at each other, and Ethan came up next to Y/N. 

He nudged her shoulder with his. “You okay?” He asked softly. She simply nodded and looked at Chad. Chad, who didn’t know what to focus on more, just shrugged at her. She gave Ethan a sympathetic smile, before walking over to Chad. 

“I’m sorry this is happening again, I can’t imagine how all of you are feeling.” She said as she put her hand on his arm. He rested his hand on top of hers and gently rubbed her skin. He gave her a gentle smile, and for a moment, a small moment but a moment nonetheless, he glanced at Ethan. Ethan saw, because he had been already staring at the two, but looked away once he felt Chad’s gaze.

“Thanks, being around you helps.” Chad spoke softly to her. 

Sam’s phone rang, stopping every conversation in the room. She answered, and she sighed as she walked out. Tara followed after her, leaving the rest of the group alone. They all looked at each other, Ethan and Quinn giving each other a look the rest of the group missed. “I think we’re gonna head out.” Anika said as she stood up with Mindy. Chad nodded at them as they gave their goodbyes, leaving.

Quinn retired to her room, leaving Chad, Ethan, and Y/N. They all shifted awkwardly, waiting for one of them to speak. 

“I guess I’ll stay here. For when they get back.” Y/N first spoke, sitting down on the couch. 

Ethan wanted to stay, but before he could say anything, Chad jumped at the chance. “I’ll stay with you. You don’t mind being alone tonight, right Ethan?” Chad asked as he sat down next to her. She looked at Ethan worriedly at Chad’s words. Ethan’s jaw ticked, but he forced a smile at Chad. 

“Yeah sure.”

–

Ethan was pacing his apartment floor. He needed to do something, he had to do something. He sent Y/N multiple texts, but no response. His face was red with anger, and he blamed Chad. He thought Chad would calm down after their conversation, he believed Chad when he said he would get over Y/N. He told himself that everything would be alright; Y/N was his now, he didn’t have to worry about Chad.

He was wrong.

Chad wasn’t going to stop. He wasn’t going to stop until the day he dropped dead. Ethan now knew this, and he knew he had to kill him. He texted Y/N one more time.

Ethan

Don’t trust Chad.

11:35 pm

He grabbed his black robe, holding onto it with a firm grip as he stared down at it. He had never worn it before; tonight would be the first night. He shoved it in his bag, along with his knife, and walked out his apartment. It took him a half hour to climb the fire escape, the right one, to Tara and Sam’s apartment. He was clad in his mask and robe, knife in hand, as he watched through the window. He kept himself hidden, he shifted watching Chad and Y/N talk.

They were in different spots from when Ethan left. He assumed Tara and Sam got back, from the pillows and blankets that covered Chad and Y/N. Y/N was stretched along the couch as she curled herself under the blanket. Chad was on the adjacent couch, his head diagonal from hers. 

Ethan reached in his pocket, grabbing his phone. He sent another text to Y/N.

Ethan

I need to see you rn.

12:56 am

please

12:56 am

He saw her phone light up on the coffee table. She sat her head up, reading the text, before laying back down. 

Uh, Y/N? What the fuck was that? Ethan thought to himself. Was she ignoring him on purpose? 

Inside, Chad and Y/N had been conversing about various topics. She brought up Chad’s childhood to try to distract him from the killings, like the best friend she was. They went from their childhoods to their exes, to their classes, and now they were talking about Ethan.

“So, the other day,” Y/N started awkwardly. She kept her sight on the ceiling. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Chad interrupted her, looking towards her. “Do you…trust Ethan?” 

She turned her head towards him, slowly, with a dazed expression. She studied his face for a moment, trying to find any hint of unseriousness. He was serious, no doubt about it. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you trust him? Fully? How well do you know him?” Chad asked sternly as he sat up. He rested himself on his elbows, the blanket falling down to his waist. His shirt was slightly raised and showed a sliver of his stomach. Y/N glanced at the skin, but quickly looked back up. 

She sat herself up and criss crossed her legs, situating herself. “I think I do.”

He nodded as he looked down. 

Ethan stared at the two intently in rage. He saw what Chad was trying to do; lifting his arms up to reveal skin, shifting his hips towards her, it was everything Ethan had already done. He played this game before, hell, he won. He had been inside her, multiple times, Chad can’t say that, right?

The neckline of her shirt slid off her shoulder, revealing the top of her cleavage. Chad was shameless to say the least. He was staring at her like a piece of meat. He glanced at her lips, then eyes, and he rested his hand on top of his crotch. She looked at him longingly, not seeing Ethan fully in front of the window behind Chad. 

Don’t do it. 

She moved towards Chad, as if she was reaching out to him. Chad, of course, started to move towards her. They almost touched each other, until her phone rang. She flinched and looked at her phone, seeing Ethan’s profile picture glowing on the screen. Chad groaned and sat back on the sofa. 

“Just-give me a second,” She rushed, grabbing her phone and walking to the bathroom. She locked the door and answered the phone. “Hey, what’s up?” 

Ethan kept his gaze on Chad, who was scrolling aimlessly on his phone. “Hi. I miss you.”

She giggled softly, cheeks warm from hearing his voice. 

“I miss you too.”

He couldn’t take it anymore; not feeling her body on his. Her voice alone was enough to tighten his pants. He slowly reached his hand down, fingers grazing his half-hard boner. 

“I miss you,” he breathed heavily into the phone. He started palming himself at the sounds of her breathing. She let out a deep exhale at soft whine Ethan accidentally let out. 

She sat herself down on the floor, hugging her knees. “Yeah? What are you doing?” She asked, already knowing the answer, as she slowly wrapped her thumb around the waistband of Tara’s shorts she was borrowing. 

He hummed softly, his cock now fully out. He slowly slid his hand up and down his shaft, tensing everytime his thumb rolled over his tip. 

“I think you know what I’m doing,” he moaned. She spit on her index and ring finger before reaching down and gently rubbing her clit. She imagined his rough fingers, touching her instead of herself. 

Ethan moaned again, and he looked back into the window. His hand stuttered and stopped, looking at Chad. He was now sat by the bathroom door, the bathroom where Y/N was currently in as she touched herself, with his hand shoved down his boxers. Ethan yanked his pants back up as he stood, glaring at Chad. What the fuck? Was Chad, creeping on her? Listening and watching from outside? What a fucking dirtbag. 

Ethan reached for his knife, white-knuckling his grip. “Ethan?” he heard her whine on the phone.

“I have to go.” he simply said before hanging up. He slowly started raising the window, keeping his gaze on Chad, who was now standing up. He stepped inside and creeped around the couches, and he saw Y/N open the bathroom door to look at Chad, but locked eyes with Ethan.

She screamed and pointed at him, which caused Chad to turn around. Chad’s eyes widened at Ethan, and Ethan jumped forward and sliced Chad’s arm. He let out a yell in pain as he clutched onto the wound. Y/N pulled him in the bathroom and slammed the door, locking it. Ethan stepped back, took a second, and started to kick the door. 

Chad pushed his back against the door, groaning in pain as blood seeped down his arm. He looked at Y/N who was rapidly tapping on her phone before holding it up to her ear. 

Ethan stopped, and he listened as she called the police. He felt something heavy hit his head and fell to the floor. He looked up and saw Tara, clutching a frying pan in her hands. He groaned as he held his head. She jumped at him as she swung again, but he ducked and kicked at her feet, her falling down. 

He jerked her across the floor by her hair and stabbed her in her stomach twice. 

“Fuck!” he heard Sam yell as she ran over to him pushing him off of Tara. Tara put pressure on her stomach as Sam grabbed at her. Chad and Y/N had come out of the bathroom now, staring in shock at the sight. Ethan looked between them, anger growing each time. He stood up and ran towards them, stabbing Chad in the side. He slid down the wall as Y/N held onto him. Chad grunted in pain, and before anyone could do anything, Ethan ran out. 

He heard them groaning and yelling at each other as he ran down the stairs. 

In an alleyway, Ethan leaned against a wall, chest rising and falling heavily. He gripped the material of his robe as he calmed himself down. He smiled, recalling the image of Chad as he stabbed him, the cries Y/N let out, all of it, felt so good. He knew his sister and father would curse at him for his little outburst, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to hurt Chad; the way Chad hurt him. He felt his phone buzzing, and he saw Y/N’s name pop up. He smiled at her concerned texts. He hoped Chad would back off now after tonight’s incident, he hoped Chad would bleed out before reaching the hospital, and he hoped Chad died knowing Y/N was never his. She would always be Ethan’s, and Ethan’s alone.

He looked down at his pants. He was still hard.

(Taglist: @leaveitbythewave)

[justwhisperingfantasies]

Girl At The Rockshow Part 4

Characters: Jensen Ackles (xreader). Mac(o.c), Greg(o.c), Tommy(o.c)

Warnings: Language, Fluff,  Ended abusive/controlling relationship. Let me know if I forgot any. 

Summary: Getting dragged to that live show might have been the best thing that ever happened to you. Now you get to spend the day with Jensen as he shows you around Austin. 

Word count: 6.950 words

A/N: I know this one is a little longer, but I couldn't stop. I had fun writing this one. Hope ya'll enjoy it. 💗

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

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{} Jensen’s P.O.V {}

His heart warmed as he watched her face light up with excitement.  Her eyes wide and that smile. Damn that smile, he would do just about anything to see that smile on her face.

 “Aw, look, how cute!” She pointed to the cowboy boot with hand-painted zip liners on both sides.

“Ya know, There’s an old wives’ tale. If you get your picture with the boot, you’ll have good luck for the rest of your days. “He said as he pulled into the parking lot.

 “Ackles, if you wanna take a picture with me you could just ask, you don’t have to make crap up ya know.” She giggled.

 He smiled. “Good to know darlin’, but I swear it’s a thing.” He found an empty spot and pulled in.  Ok Jensen, don’t chicken out again, he thought as he turned the car off, but he didn’t have time to. As soon as he looked at her, she grabbed his face and pulled it to hers. Electricity ran through his veins when her lips touched his He twisted his fingers in her hair and her lips parted. He accepted the invitation and felt her breath hitch as he rolled his tongue over hers. The small moan of hers sent shivers down his spine. He craved her, her scent, her laugh, her happiness, her touch, her mouth on his. He wanted all of her and wanted to give her all of him. At that moment there was no doubt that he was falling, and he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to.  He didn’t want the kiss to end, but his stupid lungs needed air. He rested his forehead as they both caught their breath.

 “Wow,” she whispered. Making him smile. He pressed his lips to hers again. Soft and sweet this time. He nuzzled her nose again. “We are going to be late.” she playfully said.

She pressed her lips to his again. “A couple minutes won’t matter,” he said as leaned over and grabbed the bar under the seat, and pushed the seat back as far as it would go. She slowly slid onto his lap, straddling him. His hands found her hips as she brought her lips down to his again. Not waiting for an invitation this time, he slid his tongue into her mouth, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. She knocked off his hat and ran her fingers through his hair. He let out a growl as she gently tugged. She started to rock. He grabbed her hips and stopped her movement. “Baby, you keep doing that, we won’t be going in at all.” She giggled.

“Fine, I'll be good.” ⁶She gave him another quick kiss and got back in the passenger seat.

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{} Reader’s P.O.V{}

 “You ready for this cowgirl?”

“I sure am, cowboy. Are you ready for this?”  You asked opening your door.

“Yes ma’am.” He put his hat back on and opened his door.  You got out and waited for him at the back of the Impala. He grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers.

As you walked up to the welcome center you noticed a sign that read reservations only and gave all the info. Including a 48-hour notice “Aw, looks like we can’t do this today.”  You pointed at the sign with a bummed expression.

“We have one.”

“How? You didn’t even know me 48 hours ago.” You gasped. “Are you really psychic?”

He chuckled. “No. I know the owner. I called in a favor.” He said as he opened the door for you.

 “Jensen Michael Ackles. You used your celebrity status to get special treatment?” you said in a playful tone.

  “Wrong on both, I know the guys from high school. He owed me a favor and he happened to have a cancelation today, so we slipped into their spot. He said as he opened the door. “And that’s not my middle name.”

“Jensen Paul?”

“Wrong again.” He smiled. You whipped out your phone and brought up Google. “Ok, ya freakin’ cheater. “

“Ok fine.” You put your phone away as you walked to the desk. “But I think I should at least get a hint.”

“Ok. Think your favorite...”

“Jensen!!” You both turned when you heard his name.

“Tommy, how’s it going man?” Jensen greeted him

“Good. I didn’t know you were coming in today.” Tommy said as he sat some equipment down on the desk.

“Greg owed me one and he had a cancellation today. So, I kind of broke the rules.” He grimaced. “Tommy. This is (y/n). She’s new to these parts. So of course I had to bring her here.”

 “Well, hello there little lady. Nice to meet ya.” Tommy shook your hand and then joked with Jensen. “You break the rules? Never.”

You looked at Jensen with raised eyebrows. “I have no idea what he’s talking about.” He said. You smiled and shook your head.

“Hey, Greg. Your guests are here.” Tommy said into his walkie-talkie. “I got some time. I’ll get them started for ya.”

“Oh, Thanks bud. I’ll meet you in the training room.”  The walkie said back.

“Alright, guys. I’m gonna get you started.”  Tommy grabbed some paperwork. “we are gonna go into the training room, we have a video, a small test, and some paperwork to fill out.  Then you can do the hike if you want. After that, we can do some practicing on the miniature zip line. Then we go to the big boys. Jensen, I know you have. (Y/n) have you ever zip-lined before?”

“Once, a while ago.”  You admitted.

“All good. If you follow the rules, you will be 100% safe. Follow me.”

You followed Tommy to the training room and sat down.  Tommy started the video and once the video ended he brought over the paperwork. He went over all the procedures and safety rules. “Any questions?” you both shook your head “Alright, sign at the x.” You signed your name and looked over to see Jensen’s fancy signature. “Alright turn the page.” Tommy went over the rest of the papers and had you sign where you needed to. You answered the questions at the end and Tommy took them from both of you.

You heard the door behind you open. “Jensen!” Greg said as he entered the room.

“Greg. What’s up man?” they did a little handshake. “(y/n)” Jensen said as he turned to you. “Greg, Greg (y/n)”

“Pleasure to meet you (y/n).” He stuck his hand out to you “Jensen, wouldn’t shut up about you on the phone.”

“Oh really?” you asked as you shook his hand.

“Greg shut it,” Jensen said with pink cheeks.

“All done with training?” Greg looked at Tommy.

“Yep, just finished looking over their questionnaire. Good to go.” Tommy said putting all your papers into folders.

“Did you guys want to go on the hike?” Greg turned back to you and Jensen.

“What ya say darlin’?” Jensen asked you.

“Sure.” You would take all the time with Jensen you can get.

“Alright, I’ll grab some water and meet you guys on the back patio,” Greg said as he opened the door for you. You gestured for Jensen to go first. He grabbed your hand and led the way.

You stopped in the doorway to the back patio. The view was stunning.

“Right?” Jensen said looking back at you.

You walked up to the half wall on the far side of the patio and took it all in. You smiled as Jensen came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you.

���You guys ready?” Greg said walking through the door. You let out a small yelp as Jensen picked you up and spun around. Greg shook his head and smiled. “it’s about half a mile worth of hiking. Sound good?” You nodded. “ S’go” he walked off the back patio. Jensen unwrapped his arms as the two of you followed.

 “So (y/n) where ya from?” Greg asked as you guys started on the trail.

“I moved here from Madison, Wisconsin.”

“Madison? That’s a pretty big city.” Greg replied

“Yeah, I’m kind of used to the big city life. Before that, it was New York City.”

“Oh, So a real city girl huh? Why’d you leave the Big Apple?”

“Ya know young dumb, met a guy thought it was a forever kind of thing, moved to Madison for his job. It wasn’t so now I’m here.”  You said, hoping he wouldn’t ask about your ex.

“So, Jensen told me you’re fixin’ to become a Physician’s Assistant.”

“Oh, did he now?” You looked at Jensen and he started looking up in the sky.

“You guys see that bird?” He tried to change the subject. “Pretty cool huh?”

You rolled your eyes and looked back at Greg. “Well not really fixin' to. There’s a P. A position open at my friend’s practice. I said I was gonna call about it.”

“There’s no way anyone would turn away a Columbia graduate.”

You turned back to Jensen. “Another really cool bird,” He pointed toward the sky.

“Did he happen to give you my social and credit score too?” you said in a playful tone.

They both laughed. “Uhh no and if you get notified of a new card, that totally wasn’t me.”

You chuckled. “What else did he say?”  you asked as you guys made it to the first hilltop.

 Greg’s phone started to ring. “Shit. I gotta take this. Sorry guys, enjoy the view I’ll be right back.” He answered as he started to walk away.

“So..” you said turning to Jensen.

“A lot of really cool birds out today huh?”

You chuckled. “Can you knock it off with the birds?”

“So, I told my friend Greg about you.” He said smiling

“Oh, you don’t say.”

“Yes, and I’m planning on telling my friend Jared all about you too.” He said as he started walking toward you.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep.” Taking your face in his hands as he got to you, he leaned down

“Sorry again,” Greg said walking back up to you.

“The king of timing everybody,”  Jensen said as he stared into your eyes.

You giggled and the three of you started hiking again.

There weren’t any more interruptions for the rest of the hike. Greg pointed out all the lines you would be going across. Your heartbeat quickened just thinking about it.

“Alright, any questions, concerns, comments?” Greg asked once you got to the end.

“Nope,” you said.

He looked at Jensen. “One. Has anyone ever hit a bird while ziplining?” Greg let out a belly laugh. You gave Jensen a puzzled look. “There was a guy, it was a thing. One of those you had to be there things.” He said as you guys stepped back on the patio.

“You guys want a snack or anything before we start practicing?”

“No thank you.” You told him and Jensen shook his head.

“Ok. Jay, help me grab this stuff, will ya?”

“Yep. Be right back, sweetheart.”

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{} Jensen’s P.O.V {}

“Dude spill!” Greg said when they got into the building.

Jensen sighed. “Greg.”

“Oh, come on. I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you look at her. Not even.”

“Alright, alright.” Jensen cut him off.

“I’m just sayin.”

“I know.” Jensen sighed “Well come on, tell me how crazy I am.”

“Well, it is kind of fast, but I guess when you know you know.” Jensen huffed and picked up the gear. “She looks at you the same way bro. “Greg picked up the rest of the gear and started to walk away. A wide smile spread across Jensen’s face as he followed.

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{} Reader’s P.O.V {}

Your phone started to ring as you sat down at one of the patio tables. You tapped the green circle. “Mac, what’s up?”

“Oh, ya know just making sure you’re alive since you haven’t checked in all day.”

“Sorry, I was a little busy.”

“So whatcha doin’?”

“Bout to go zip lining. How bout you?”

“Zip lining with Jensen Ackles? Lucky!!”

“I know. Oh, guess what?!”

She gasped “Oh my god!! You fucked him? Tell me everything!”

“McKinley Jane!!”

“Oh, come on. I won’t judge.”

“No.” you rolled your eyes “I drove baby.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“Are you having fun?”

“Yes.”

“Is he being nice?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Ok well be safe.”

“Yes, Mom.”

 “Wait, You’re on the pill, right?”

“I’m hanging up now Mac.”

The boys walked back through the door carrying harnesses, helmets, and ropes.

“I love you”

“Love you too.”  You noticed Jensen’s attention turn to you. You tapped the red icon on your screen.

“Mac, making sure my organs were still intact and not on the black market.”

“Well, the day isn’t over yet.”  He said bringing your gear over to you. "And I bet I could get a pretty penny for you.” He said with a wink as he held out your harness.

“Yeah, but then you’d never get to kiss me again.” You said, stepping into it.

“You’re right. Not worth it.” He clasped and tightened the straps.

“Alright, the practice area is right over here.” You both followed Greg. Climbing up the tower, your heart started to race. Greg went over everything you needed to know. “You wanna try it?” you nodded. He hooked you up to the line. Jensen was on the other platform to help you if needed. He showed you how to unhook and hook up. You got the hang of it pretty quick.

“You ready for the big ones, cowgirl?” Jensen asked.

“I think so.” You replied. You unhooked yourself and the three of you headed for the first line.

“There is water at every checkpoint. If you get thirsty just let me know.” Greg told you as you walked up the stairs. Your heartbeat increased with every staircase. As you reached the top, Grep asked.  “Alright, who’s going first?” You pointed at Jensen and they both smiled. Greg made sure his gear and hook-up were secure. He zoomed down the line. You watched with a smile. “He won’t say it out loud, but I can tell he’s got it bad,” Greg said as he hooked you up and checked to make sure everything was secure. “And I know I know I don’t know you that well, but I’d put money on you feeling the same.”

“Are we being stupid?”

“Darlin’ “It is fast, and it might be scary, but I haven’t seen him like this in a very long time. If you are both happy, I’m not judging.”

 You smiled.

 “Alright, You ready for this?” Your heart was pounding, and your chest was tight. You took a deep breath and nodded. “Go when you’re ready.”

You put all your weight on the zipline and suddenly you were zooming through the air. It was all so much to take in, the view, the adrenaline, the feeling of freedom. It was exhilarating. As you came up to the next hook-up area you noticed Jensen had his phone out taking pictures. “Really Ackles?”

“Yeah. You got to be the photographer at Barton. I get this. “He said unhooking your harness. He pulled you close and took a selfie of you two with the view behind you. He snapped another as he kissed you on the cheek. You turned your face and kissed his lips.

“I got first on the next one. If I have to take zip-lining pictures so, do you.”

“Deal.” He said with a grin. Greg came down the line and unhooked himself. “She’s going first, next boss.”

“You feel comfortable unhooking?”

“Yep,” you answered. Greg checked your harness, gave you a nod and you were sailing through the air again. You unhooked when you got down there. You got your phone out and started taking pictures of the view. When you could see Jensen, you started taking pictures of him.  His smile was radiant. Then he started making goofy faces. “You freaking goofball.” You said as he unhooked himself.

“Yeah, but you love it.”

“Sorry, we ran a little bit over Greg.” Jensen apologized walking into the welcome center.

“It’s cool, dude.” He helped you take off your equipment as Jensen took his off. “thanks for coming out. Jensen, let’s not make it so long next time, k?”

“You got it.”  

Greg turned to you. “(y/n) it was nice meeting you. Hope to see you again soon.” He raised his eyebrows and Jensen as you guys walked to the front door.

“Don’t worry you will,” Jensen said, winking at you.

Greg smiled. “Have a good night, guys. Be safe going home.”  He said opening the door for you.

“You too, bye bud,” Jensen said and you waved. He put his arm around your shoulders as you guys started walking back to the Impala.  Your arm automatically went around his waist. He tightened his arm as he kissed the top of your head. “So, you and Greg talk about anything interesting up there?”

“No, not really. Just you.” You giggled.

He chuckled  “Anything you want to share?” He asked opening your car door.

“Nope.” You said and got in the car. He shook his head and walked around the car.

He got in and turned to you. You looked at him with a puzzled look. He leaned towards you and put his arm around your waist, grabbed your right hip, and slid you to him until you were right next to him. “That’s better.”  You smiled and rested your head on his shoulder.

He started to pull out of the lot.   “Shit. The boot picture.”

“Really?”

“Yes, it’s a tradition.” He put the car in park and pulled you out of the car. You guys walked over and took a few selfies.

“You want the scenic route or highway?” He said getting back into the car.

“If I’m given the choice. Always scenic route.”

“Noted. “He turned right onto Country Road 1492. “So what game are we playing on the way back?”

“Hmmm.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket and googled road games. “There’s would rather, The compliment game, Two truths, and a lie...”

“What’s the compliment game?”

You scroll back up and in your best ad voice, you read the description “Ready to get all ooey-gooey with your partner? Begin with the first letter of the alphabet and compliment something you like about them, starting with that letter. Arms, boobs, zippers, you get the idea.”

He chuckled. “Well, that could get interesting. You go first.”

“Well, are we starting with A?”

“Whatever you want babe.”

“Ok. Your Arms.” You said.

“You can’t use the same thing as the description.”

“Oh, I didn’t know we were in a championship match where the rules matter,” you giggled, and he laughed. “Besides you do have really nice arms.”

“Well thanks, Banter. I love your banter.”

You smiled. “You’re Charisma.”

“You’re Delightful Personality”

 “Your enchanting smile. “

He gave you a goofy smile. “Your face.” He left onto Ranch Roach 12 N. “It’s pretty dang cute.”

“Thanks.” You said with warm cheeks. “Handsome.”

“Intelligent.”

“I wouldn’t say...”

“You can’t argue with the compliments.”

“Whatever you say Ackles.” you thought for a second. “Jawline.”

He chuckled. “Your kindness.”

“Your lips.” You said and he looked at you. “They are very nice.”

“Good Manners.”

“When you get nervous. It’s pretty adorable.”

He smiled. “You’re very optimistic”

You smirked at him.  

“Your personality”

“Oh, your quick wit.”

“Your rear-end.”

“Your smile. I love that freaking smile.” He confessed and your cheeks got warm again.

“You’re Talented... at everything apparently”

“You are unforgettable.”

“Your voice.”

“You are warm-hearted.” He said stopping at the right light and he stopped and turned right onto Ranch to Market Rd 3237.

“How did I get stuck with X?”  You pulled out your phone again.

“Quit cheating.”

“I’m not cheating. I’m making sure this word means what I think it means. “You searched the word. “Ah ha. I was right. Xenodochial.”

“That is not a word. “

“Yes huh. It says right here. From Greek meaning friendly to strangers, xenodochial is a highly intellectual-sounding word for friendly. Pronounced zeena-doh-key-ul.”

“Whatever. You.” You looked at him. “If you can use a made-up word, I can use the word you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Zesty.”

He stopped at the red light. “Well, that was a quick game.”

“Fun though.” He nodded in agreement.  “Would you rather have the power to never feel physical pain or never feel emotional pain?”

“Never feel emotional pain.” he thought for a minute.” Would you rather have the power of telekinesis or telepathy?”

“Oh, that’s a good one. Telekinesis. “

“You wouldn’t wanna fuck with people and read their thoughts?” He asked playfully.

“No there might be some thoughts I don’t wanna know.”

“Good point.” He slowed down for the car that pulled out in front of him with a sigh.

“Would you rather watch a sunrise together or stargaze under a moonlit sky?”

“Stargaze.” He slowed again as the car turned off. “Thank goodness,”

“You in a hurry, there sweetheart?” you asked.

“Nope just road rage.” he thought for a second. “Would you rather give up your favorite food forever or give up sex?”

“Food. That was on an episode of Friends once.”

“Interesting and I know.”

You smiled “Would you rather give or receive a lap dance?”

He looked at you with raised eyebrows. “Receive. Would you rather skinny dip in a lake or the ocean?”

“Ocean, would you rather tie someone up or be tied up?

“Oh, we getting spicy now? I’d rather tie someone up.” The way he looked at you gave you goosebumps.

“Maybe. You scared, Ackles?”

He licked his lips. “Would you rather be dominant or submissive in the bedroom?”

“Submissive.  Would you rather always be on top or always be on the bottom?”

“Top.” He slowed down for the roundabout. He took the last exit before making the complete circle onto Ranch to Market Road 150. “Would you rather have sex with the lights on or off?”

“Like pitch black?”

“Yep.”

“It depends.”

“On?”

“Who I’m having sex with.”

“Ok... me.” He said shyly

“Definitely lights on.”  You said, making him chuckle. “Would you rather only be able to have sex doggy-style or in missionary?”

“Missionary.  Would you rather have sex in the shower or in a car?”

“Hm, I don’t know shower sex can be great, but” you looked in the backseat. Jensen laughed,

“So. Would you rather watch someone masturbate or have someone watch you?” you asked.

“Depends on who we are talking about.”

“Me”

“Watch.” He slowed down to turn right onto Ranch to Market Rd 1826. “I wanna know your answers to the ones you asked me.”

“So, I’d choose never to feel emotional pain. Stargaze. I’d rather give a lap dance. Was the third tie up or be tied up?” He nodded. “I’d rather tie someone up. Um, top or bottom. Bottom, but I like both. Missionary. And be watched.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Yea Freud your turn. “

“Telepathy. I’d give up food. I’d rather skinny dip in the ocean. What was the next one?”

“Dom or sub?”

“I’m more of a dom, but don’t mind being submissive now and then. Lights on. And shower.”

“Interesting.”

“I do have a serious question for you.” He said.

“Ok? Shoot.”

“You don’t have to answer it if you don’t”

“Just ask the question Ackles.” You smiled  

“What happened with your ex?”

“Oh,” You sighed. “I met James in a very dark time in my life. At first, he was nice, thoughtful, and attentive. After my mom died, I had nobody, in New York and he took advantage of all that. We moved in together after dating for a while and he got promoted, but the job was in Wisconsin. I didn’t want to be alone again, so I went with him. We were together for 5 years. About 3 and a half 4 years in I started to see his controlling and mentally abusive behavior, but he had drilled into my head so many times that I was nothing without him I actually believed it. So, I was stuck. I emotionally checked out of the relationship, but still went through the motions. One day I came home from work early. I caught him and the neighbor in bed together, but of course, it was my fault, because I was so detached from our relationship I drove him to cheat. Weird thing I really didn’t care. That was my way out. So, I moved out and found an apartment in Stoughton closer to the bank I worked at and never looked back. Zoey bought a house about 6 months ago, Mac and I had already made plans for me to move in when she moved out. We were just waiting for renovations to get done. So, I was going to leave him anyway, me catching him just pushed it up.”

“What a stupid asshole. I’m sorry darlin’,”

“He was, but like I said earlier things are looking up. I am living with Mac, getting back into medicine.” he dramatically cleared his throat, and you laughed. “I got to spend the day with Jensen freaking Ackles. Things are better. So, I’m not gonna dwell on the past.

He smiled. “Your turn. Ask me anything.”

“Anything?” you asked.

“Yes. Anything.”

“Why did you get divorced?”

“No, there’s no big story, there were no scandals, and there’s no bad blood between us. I had known Heather for years, but we reconnected when filming a movie in 2011. We started dating, and after 4 years she gave me an ultimatum either I propose, or we break up. I really did love her.  So, I asked her to marry me. We were engaged for 3 years. Got married in 2018. The first 2 years were good.”  He slowed and turned right onto TX-45 E. “Then we decided we were ready to start trying for rugrats. After a year of trying and nothing happened, we went to a specialist. It turns out some couples are just not meant to have kids together. I think that’s when we started falling out of love.” He got on the ramp for the TX-1 Loop N. You started stroking your thumb on the top of his hand. He tightened his fingers in response. “She really wanted to be a mom, and I couldn’t give that to her, so I sat her down one night and gave her an out. Clean break, we worked everything out before we even got the lawyers involved. Like I said there wasn’t any bad blood, we just couldn’t give each other what we wanted in life.”

“So you can’t have kids?”

“Well, I haven’t tried since,” he chuckled. “The specialist we went to said individually we were fine. My counts were good, hers were good, they just told us something along the lines of her uterus didn’t like my sperm.”

“What a stupid uterus!” you blurted out.

He lifted his head and let out a laugh. “I got another question,” he said as he took the exit onto TX-71 E “Well 2 actually. First Are you hungry?”

“A little. I was thinking of ordering a pizza or something when I got home.”

“You sure?” he asked. You nodded. “Alright, second question. You have been cheated on, that’s what pushed you to leave him. Why were you so understanding when I told you about me?”

“One, you were honest about it. You could have just said no, although I probably would have found out at some point. I mean I do have Mac” you chuckled. “Two, when he cheated, he blamed me. You did the opposite; you admitted you fucked up. Three, I could tell you were remorseful about it.”

“Alright, then Freud.” He said making you chuckle.  He merged onto the highway. He slowed down for traffic and then came to a stop. “Ya know there’s one bright side to rush hour traffic.”

“Oh yeah? What’s.” you looked at him and your words were cut short as he touched his lips to yours. He gave you a couple more pecks and then turned back forward as the cars started moving.

He took the exit toward Woodward St. Then he continued merging onto E Ben White Blvd. “These exits are so confusing.”

“It’s not bad after you get used to it.

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re great at everything.”

“Most things, but not everything.” He joked.

“Name one thing you're bad at?” He looked at you. “Bet you can’t.” You said with a smile.

“I’m pretty bad at golf.” He said turning right onto Todd Lane.

“I don’t believe you.”

He laughed. “Well, darlin’ I am. I still have a lot of fun when we go, but I do suck.” You just stared at him and blinked. “Alright come with me next time and see for yourself.” He raised his eyebrows.

“I might just have to take you up on that Ackles.”

“I hope you do.” He said as he circled through the roundabout to E St Elmo Rd making you smile. He followed the curve where the road turns into Nuckols Crossing Rd and then slowed down to turn into the entrance of your apartment complex. “I’m gonna need that code again sweetheart.” He punched the numbers as you said them.

Jensen pulled into your driveway. The house was dark, and the driveway was empty. He put the car in park and brought his left hand awkwardly around the steering wheel to turn the key off. “You could have asked for your hand back.”

 “It’s just fine where it’s at,”  he said as he leaned his head against yours. “Where’s Mac at?”

“I’m not sure. She didn’t say anything about going out when we talked earlier.” You unlocked your phone and called her, putting her on a speaker.  

“Please tell me you fucked him.” Jensen let out a belly laugh, and your face turned red.

“Why did I think it was a good idea to put you on speaker.”

“Yeah, you should know better. Hi Jensen.” Mac said not skipping a beat.

“Hi, Mac.” He replied.

“So how was it?” she asked.

“Mckinley.”

“I’m just messing with you. Hey Jensen, how red is her face right now?”

“Pretty freaking red.”

Mac laughed.  “I don’t know why I’m friends with you.”  You teased.

“you love me.”

“Yeah, yeah, where are you?”

“Right here.” She pulled into the driveway beside Baby. She rolled down her window and you leaned and did the same. Jensen’s hand fell to your back. “I had dinner with my dad.”

“Oh, how is he?”

“Good. He said hi, he loves you, and he can not wait to see you.”

“I’ll have to call him tomorrow.”

“Yeah, unless you wanna hear it.”

You turned back to Jensen when he started to chuckle. “What’s so funny over there?”

“Nothing.” He said rubbing your back. You squinted your eyes at him. “It was cute how y’all were talking through your windows instead of getting out of the car.”

Your jaw dropped. “Jensen Andrew Ackles. Are you trying to kick me out of your car?”

“Wrong.” Mac and Jensen said at the same time.

“Well, that’s annoying!” you said loud enough for her to hear.

He chuckled. “Darlin’ I would never kick you out of anything. It was just cute.”

“Sure, sure.” You teased. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat. Are you inviting me in for dinner?”

“Well, I can’t eat a whole pizza by myself.”  

He chuckled. “How could I say no to that heart-warming invite?”

You smiled. “Come on,” you said as you started to roll the window up.

Mac stopped you. “Hey, I got something for you in my trunk. Help me grab it.”

You leaned back up toward Jensen and kissed the tip of his nose. “Apparently she has something for me.” He laughed as he got out of the car. He held its hand out to help you. You took it. “I’ll be right back.”  He nodded with a smile, and you started walking toward Mac’s trunk. You found a huge box wrapped in red and black buffalo plaid wrapping paper and a big black bow on top.  Your eyes watered when you saw the oversized nametag on top.  “Love Dad #2” you read out loud. “Mac, he didn’t have to.”

“Do you really think we could have stopped him?”  she asked. Then peeked around to Jensen. “Do you want me to scram? I can have Z call me with an emergency. “She whispered.

You laughed. “No. You don’t have to do that. “

“You sure?”

“Yes, Mac. I’m not kicking you out of your own house. And it’s the first date., I’m not fucking him. You said as you and Mac leaned in picking up both sides of the box. You guys started walking with it.

“Are you freaking serious right now?” Jensen said walking over and taking the box from the two of you.

“We could have got it,” you told him.

“Just go unlock the door, sweetheart.” You did as you were told and then led him through the house to the kitchen.  He sat down the box on the table as you pointed to it.

“What’s your favorite pizza place that’s close?” you asked him.

“Uh, Closest would-be Dominions.” He said walking towards you.

“That’s not what I asked,” you played your foot like you were gonna step back.

“The pizza den.”  You brought your foot back underneath you and stayed put. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

“What do you want on it?” you said wrapping yours around his midsection.

“Whatever you want.”

“Ok pineapple and anchovies it is.”

He sighed and you giggled. “If that’s really what you want.”

 “Bacon, sausage, and pepperoni?”

“Please,” he said and you searched for the number and tapped call. It started to ring when Jensen asked for the restroom. “You pointed to the downstairs half-bath, and he walked that way. Mac cleared her throat, catching you checking him out. A man answered and took your order, you gave him your address and card info.

“Give us about 20 minutes. We’ll have it right over.”

“Thank you”

“Thank you.” He hung up

“So, what did you guys do today?”

“Do you like my boots?” you walked around the counter and did a strut.

“Very cute. Allen’s?”

“Yep. How did you know?”

“That’s the best place to buy boots in Texas.”

“You want a beer?” you as

“Sure.” He answered.

“Mac?” she raised hers up. You got 2 bud lights out of the fridge and slid one across the bar to Jensen.

“Thank ya miss.” You tipped your hat at him again. “I’m gonna have to bring you some good beer from the brewery one day.” You rolled your eyes.

You completely ignored his comment. “Oh Mac, guess who we ran into today at Paperboy?” you said with a grin on your face. She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Freaking Jared Padalecki!!” you said very enthused. “Can you believe it? Dean Forester in the flesh baby.”

Mac laughed. “Oh my god!! What was he like?” Jensen closed his eyes and sighed.

“He was so tall and cute. I would hate to be the person who had to star in a TV show with him.  Anyone that had to stand next to him must look so short,” you both looked over and Jensen’s face was in his hands. You looked back at each other and started cackling.

“Are you done?” Jensen asked.

“Yes sweetie,” You took a drink “He does seem really nice though. A giant goober. His wife is gorgeous.”

“You got to meet Gen too?” Mac asked and you nodded, “If you tell me, you met Mark Sheppard, I am breaking up with you.”

You laughed. “Yeah, like you’d break up with me.” The doorbell rang and Jensen got up and reached for his back pocket. “Um no. I’ll get it and I already paid for it” You stuck your tongue out and walked out. You walked to the door and opened it.

“Hey there.” the guy said. “Last name?” you told him the name “Phone number?”

“Why do you need my phone number?

“Oh, it’s for me.”

“Sorry, I have a boyfriend.”

“Figures. Enjoy” he handed you the pizza and turned to walk away.

You turned around to Jensen in the kitchen doorway holding 2 beers. “Why haven’t I heard of this boyfriend?”

“Well come sit down, I’ll tell you all about him.” You put the pizza on the coffee table and Jensen sat down on the couch. “I’m gonna grab some paper towels. Do you need anything else?”

“Nope, I’m good. Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Do you want any pizza?” you said grabbing the roll of paper towels.

“No babe I’m good.” She said as she started towards the stairs. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Mac, you don’t have to.”

“It's fine. I don’t wanna be the 3rdwheel. But I want more details later.”

“Deal.” You said. She went up the stairs and you walked back into the living room.  

“Did you sneak a call to him?” you knitted your eyebrows. “Your boyfriend.”

“Oh of course.” You walked over and sat on the couch. “He’s good in case you were wondering.” You smirked, “And he isn’t my boyfriend yet, but fingers crossed.”

He grinned as he opened the pizza box and put his hand out. You reached in and took a slice. “Looks good.”

“So, tell me about him.” He said grabbing a slice.

“Well, he’s tall. Not Jared tall, but close.” He smiled. You took a bite. “mmmmm” you said as you chewed. After you swallowed you said “He is so handsome. Picture a Greek god in a t-shirt and jeans.”

He nodded as he chewed. “So, he’s got the looks, but does he have the car?” he asked after he swallowed.

“Oh yeah, she’s a beauty.” you took another bite and leaned back on the couch. “Do you wanna watch something?”

“I know of this great show.” He said, smiling.

“If I start supernatural with you and not Mac, she will kill us both.”

“Good point.” He picked up the remote and turned the TV on. He scrolled to the Netflix app and hit enter. There were 3 profiles. You, Mac, and Zoey. The 3 pictures were of ugly alien creatures. “Ok?”

“It’s a thing we do. We will go onto each other’s profiles and change the pictures to  the ugliest or strangest creatures we can find.”

He chuckled. “What have you been watching?” he asked opening your profile. “Selling sunset? The circle? Love is Blind? Really?”

“My guilty pleasure is reality shows. I can’t help it the cheesier the better.” He chuckled and opened Selling Sunset “Really Jensen?”

“I just wanna see.” You were only a few episodes into the first season. He ate his pizza and watched. “Well, she’s a real bitch.” He said when the episode ended.

“Oh my god. Jensen Oliver, are you getting into this?”

“Definitely not. Just making an observation.”  

You chuckled. “Oh, you know you’re going to binge it when you get home.”

“Oh yeah!” He said sarcastically.  “My middle name is Ross by the way.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”  

“Yeah, I would have never got that.”

You leaned up and kicked your boots off. You brought your legs up and then turned so your back was in his direction. You cleared your throat, and he smiled. He leaned back and raised his arm. You laid your head in his lap. He slid the scrunchie out of your hair and started running his fingers through it. “My hair is probably a ratty mess.”

“Nope. As soft as ever.” He said as he continued to play with your hair.  “What time are you getting your car tomorrow?” he asked.

“I think they open at 9.”

“What are you getting?”

“I’m not sure yet. A Lambo might be nice.”

He chuckled. “Does your not-yet boyfriend get to drive it?

“Maybe, if he plays his cards right.”

“Like playing with your hair?”

“And telling me how pretty I am. That nose nuzzle thing is pretty cute too.” He chuckled again. “Today was a lot of fun. Thank you.”

“Any time sweetheart.” He leaned up and kissed your forehead. “You look tired.”

“5 more minutes.”

“Deal.” He started humming as he played with your hair. “Alright, that’s it.”

“It’s not been 5 minutes.”

“You’re right it’s been 10 and you’re dozing.”

“Fine.” You sat up pouting.

He chuckled. “Don’t make it harder to leave than it already is.”

You stood up. “You want a water or soda for the road?”

“Water would be great.” You went into the kitchen and grabbed one of out the fridge. You walked back to him standing up stretching his arms above his head. You walked over and handed him the water. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You started towards the door.  You walked out on the porch and turned around.

“Call me after you get your car?” he asked as he pulled you into his embrace with his arms around your waist.

You wrapped yours around his neck. “I can do that.”   Stretching up on your toes you put your lips on his. His arms tightened around you and he leaned back lifting you off the ground.  He put you back down. Squeezing you in a quick hug before releasing his hold.

“Good night Mr. Ackles.”

He smiled “Good night darlin’ .”  He got in the Impala and blew a kiss as he started to drive away.

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[chasingcomets222]

I got bored and decided to decipher Rodrick Heffley's music taste to close this years-long debate once and for all.

This post will be on the lengthier side, but a TLDR is attached at the end of the post if you want the basic cliff-notes.

Disclaimer: this is a dissection of the film adaptation of Rodrick rather than his source material counterpart. Comparisons to the books are welcome but irrelevant to this analysis.

Soundtrack

During the roller-rink scene in the opening of Rodrick Rules, Rodrick and Bill take over the DJ table to sabotage Greg's moves on Holly. The song they play is "Cut Throat" by the all-female heavy metal band, Kittie. Aside from Löded Diper's music, this is the only song in the series explicitly used to establish Rodrick's music taste.

However, there's many songs off of the Rodrick Rules soundtrack alone that can be reasonably assumed to fit his music profile as well — for example, those used during the party sequence.

I wouldn't doubt if one or two tracks were intended solely as crowd pleasers, but let's not rule out the entire playlist.

In order of appearance, Rodrick's party mix includes: "Heart Heart Heartbreak" by Boys Like Girls, "Electric (feat. Miss Amani)" by The DNC, "Wait Up (Boots of Danger)" by Tokyo Police Club, "Shake" by Bikini Machine, "Move Like This" by Hammerwax, and "Jump In The Line" by Karl Zéro & The Wailers.

There's additionally three other, albeit more subtle, uses of background music to nod toward Rodrick's preferences.

The first instance is during the scene in Rodrick Rules in which Greg confides in Rodrick about his embarrassment from his failed "100 Years Ago" assignment. It's so quiet that it's easy to miss without a keen ear, but "Light Love" by Free Energy plays in the background, mixed to fit in with the ambience of Rodrick's bedroom.

The second is directly before the Löded Diper band rehearsal scene (somebody farted btw), in which Frank pulls into the Heffleys' driveway. "Rock and Roll Slob" by The Boneless Ones can be heard from the garage, once again mixed as part of the ambience.

The third again utilizes The Boneless Ones' discography, and is inserted during the opening sequence of Dog Days at the municipal pool. Rodrick explains it's "time to sell some CDs" for Löded Diper, and turns on his boombox (more on this later), blaring "Miss Fresno."

With the last two points in mind, one can assume the film universe is some twisted version where Löded Diper originally wrote and performed The Boneless Ones' discography (or something closely resembling it).

Band Tees

Rodrick mostly wears seemingly thrifted or upcycled shirts and graphic tees with witty/edgy prints, but there are outliers at times. For example, there's not one, not two, but potentially so much as five moments in Dog Days that he's seen wearing merch from Dead Kennedys, The Who, and Ramones.

While most of his band tees simply include the band's logo or iconography, the latter design takes it a step further by being specific to a particular song title: "Rock 'n' Roll High School" by Ramones.

There's another moment which this may be the case, but it's purely speculative on my end. The Ramones also have a song named "I Don't Care," which is a phrase featured on one of Rodrick's shirts. It's not an explicit reference, but likely a reference nonetheless.

Room Posters

Guns N' Roses, Brutal Truth (Evolution Through Revolution), Stars (The Five Ghosts), Buried Inside (Spoils of Failure), and Decibel are the most notable.

I assume Decibel is in relation to the 70's/80's Italian punk rock band, although I can't find any association between them and this particular artwork. If not connected to them, there's a possibility it may be to the metal magazine of the same name, but I have my doubts.

In this image giving an alternate perspective to Rodrick's room, just off-screen is a Metallica poster, based on the stylization of the ending A. Beside it is a Hanson Brothers poster, which was later replaced in Rodrick Rules with a duplicate of the Stars poster for some reason.

Among his collage of Löded Diper flyers, there's Danny Echo posters as well as Denounce and Billy Talent stickers receiving the Hidden Mickey treatment (also a cameo from the iconic cheeseburger phone on the table).

Of course, there are many other pieces of memorabilia scattered across Rodrick's room, but several of them are blurry from the camera's depth of field or are seen at angles which make them difficult to read or for reverse image sites to identify. So for now, this is the best possible analysis of Rodrick's room in regards to music.

Miscellaneous

An easy-to-miss detail lies in the infamous Löded Diper van. Within the final few moments of Rodrick Rules as Rodrick drops Greg off at school (01:31:52), there's a semi-clear shot of the van's dashboard. On it are a set of stickers, including one referencing Huevos Rancheros, an instrumental rock-and-roll group from Canada.

In Dog Days, Rodrick brings a personal boombox with him to the municipal pool. Along the top is a large sticker for Street Machine, a Czech hardcore/metal band.

Cut Content

In the second studio draft of Diary of a Wimpy Kid, on page 23, scene 43, more of Rodrick's favorite artists are revealed.

The nature of this may be written off as not canon, as it was added into the script while it was still a work in progress and the posters themselves didn't make it into the final product.

What sells it to me as remaining "silent" canon though is that TOOL and Slipknot are often lumped together with Kittie (previously mentioned) as they share an overlapping fanbase. This was more prevalent during the early 2000's within the mall goth subculture, but it's remained fairly consistent for other variants of metalheads over the years too.

TLDR

To recap, the various genres across all of the bands Rodrick is canonically into include indie rock, pop rock, punk rock, hardcore punk, hard rock, industrial, thrash metal, heavy metal, nu metal, death metal, sludge metal, and grindcore.

His musical preferences are punk, rock, and metal-centric but quite broad and inclusive of countries of origin and lesser-known underground artists (some don't break even 100 monthly listeners on Spotify). This leaves the door open for endless possibilities in terms of headcanons.

He's not emo despite popular fan belief, but I still think there's a chance some of his musical leanings could cross over with bands considered emo adjacent for their presence in the community. August Burns Red and The Devil Wears Prada come to mind with his music taste accounted for, but that's just my headcanon.

EDIT: 9/9/24

I've since made two Spotify playlists from my findings: one being what I imagine would be Rodrick's regular rotation, and the other being an extension of his party mix. I feel I've channeled him well, since a lot of his music taste is basically mine circa 2008/2009.

If you've read this far, thank you so much for your patience, and I appreciate any and all interactions left on this post. Happy listening!! <333

[thatgirloncrack]

GGY/Beckory Headcanons because why not

-In public Tony and Gregory don’t tend to “act” like a couple, but when they are alone they are all over each other! They hold hands, cuddle A LOT, and give each other kisses on the cheek and sometimes forehead. Tony likes kissing Greg on his nose because it makes the other giggle.

-Both Tony and Gregory have Autism, but are on different sides of the spectrum. Tony hyper fixates on topics he enjoys and likes to rant about them. He’s also extremely observant and notices body language more easily than most. But he also has a hard time interacting with people he’s not familiar with, and often comes off as rude or sarcastic when talking to people who don’t know him very well.

Gregory also hyper fixated on things, but unlike Tony he bounces off from one thing to another almost daily. He stimulates a lot. He tends to tug on the strings of his jackets or mess with the zippers. He also tugs on the end of his shirt, kick his legs back and forth, or tap his fingers against something. When Tony’s around he likes to play with his fingers or hair. He tends to go non verbal when in highly crowded areas and speaks through physical contact or sign language.

-When Gregory starts to shut down or gets overstimulated Tony is usually the first person to notice. Because of his ability to note people’s changes in behavior he is able to recognize Greg’s body language and is able to react appropriately to it and comfort him when he’s distressed.

-Even after Gregory was freed from the Glitchtrap virus he still maintained his hacking and manipulation skills. He uses his knowledge of coding to repair Freddy and as a hobby mess around with tiny robots he’s built. He doesn’t use his manipulation skills unless he has to, but their still very effective.

-Gregory has a slight British accent but it’s barely noticeable. Ellis likes jokey making fun of his accent while Tony finds it cute.

-Tony himself doesn’t have an accent, but his mom has an extremely thick Italian accent. Tony’s basically the only one who can understand what she says.

-Tony’s mother really likes Gregory, and when he’s over she doesn’t try to hide that she prefers him over her own child. Tony isn’t necessarily upset about this but he is confounded about it.

-Vanessa takes her job as Gregory’s big sister very seriously. So of course when Tony and Gregory started dating she started to not like Tony out of spite. Deep down she knows he’s a good kid and is good for Gregory but she’s also an overprotective sibling.

-Gregory, Tony, and Ellis met Cassie after the GGY but before SB/Ruin. Gregory met her first and then introduced her to Tony and Ellis. Afterwards she kinda became the little sister of the group because she’s a year younger than them.

-Both Gregory and Ellis let Cassie practice makeup on them, but not Tony because he doesn’t like how it feels on his face.

-Gregory is older than Tony by three months. But physically looks three years younger than him. This causes problems sometimes because people *Vanessa included* think that Tony is much older than Greg and start to assume stuff. The two often have to convince people that they are the same age and that Gregory is actually older than Tony. It’s awkward every time…

-After GGY Tony stopped trying to act like an adult and stopped looking down on others, including Ellis. Now Tony and Ellis’s friendship is as strong as it was when they were kids!

-Gregory likes taking Tony’s clothes even though they’re too big for him. Usually he’d have three of Tony’s jackets stuffed into his closet.

-Both Gregory and Venessa refuse to wear the color purple again for obvious reasons.

-Main four plus Vanessa sexuality’s

Gregory: Bisexual

Tony: Gay

Ellis: Aroace

Cassie: Straight

Vanessa: Bisexual

That’s all for now. I might make another post or sm about more headcanons IDK :)

[lqveharrington]

Rodrick heffley………better than revenge

Better Than Revenge | R.H.

summary: after years of friendship with rodrick, the one thing that came in between you was a girl.

pairing: rodrick heffley x best friend!reader

includes: use of Y/N, reader's last name is Johnson, pretty much angst, fighting, yelling, cursing, unspoken feelings, mentions of murder, not proof read

a/n: first time writing for rodrick, tell me how it is!

The one thing you didn’t think would get in between you and Rodrick was a girl. Sure, he had talked with girls who would give him the time of day, but they never really phased you. Not like Heather Hills. Her prissy attitude and selfishness somehow found its way under your skin, riling you up and causing a hitch in your friendship with Rodrick. You knew she wasn’t good for him but — of course — he never listened. It seemed as if you were merely a second thought.

And it didn't help that she looked at you like you were a waste of space. But who was the one getting all the college scholarships and going to college in the first place?

“Rodrick, she’s just using you as a rebound!” You huff and grab your keys from his bed side table, slipping your shoes back on.

You meant to spend an hour over at Rodrick’s before heading over to your cello lesson in preparation for the final concert before heading off to college, but he just had to bring up his date with Heather. You tried to fake a pretty smile for him and nodded politely — you really did. But as soon as he stopped everything to answer a dry text message from the woman herself, you decided you had enough of his nonsense.

Rodrick hastily tucked his phone in his back pocket and watched you with confused eyes, brow furrowing at your sudden desire to leave. “Heather likes me, okay? You know this has been the dream since—“

"Since elementary, I know!" You glare at him and stare at him a second longer before running your fingers through your hair in annoyance. "Whatever, I don't have time for this."

Swiftly, you raced down the stairs and nearly collided with Greg. You quickly apologized and did your best to make it to your car without being stopped by Rodrick. Did you really want to leave the house on a bad note? No, but god he was annoying you beyond all measures.

Rodrick pursed his lips and tapped his foot to the ground before chasing after you, colliding with Greg this time. He pushed his brother out of the way and blocked the front door, narrowing his eyes when you rolled yours.

You moved to the left and he followed. You moved to the right and he followed. Huffing, you crossed your arms and looked up at him in exasperation. “I need to head to cello, Rodrick—“

“Are you jealous?” He breathed out and looked over your facial expression, shaking his head when you sent him another glare.

Rodrick was used to your glares and your occasional arguments, but this one felt more personal. After years and years of friendship, this felt like a final blow to a precarious accord. Like one wrong move would completely change your views on each other.

“Why would I be jealous?” You crease your brows and frown, eyes flickering back and forth between him and the door behind him.

He shook his head and raised his arms in frustration. He didn't know what to say, so he said the first thing his mind thought of whenever he thought of you. “I-I don’t know! Maybe because I'll like her better than you?”

Your mouth parted ever so slightly before you felt your eyes glazed over in anger, shoving him to the side. "Fuck off, Rodrick."

Of course the time you decide to use foul language was when Mrs. Heffley entered the room. She took one look at the two of you and stood in between, hands pushing you two away from each other.

“Language!” She scolded and glanced at your teary-eyed expression, anger dissipating at the sight. “What are you two arguing about now?”

“Nothing.” You both speak at the same time, still staring at each other in glowering hatred.

Several seconds later, you pull away from Mrs. Heffley and move to the door yanking the handle hard like it was the one who insulted you. Mrs. Heffley looked at her soon in disappointment and opened her mouth to speak but got interrupted by you, pursing her lips at how distant your voice was.

“I have cello, so if you’ll excuse me.”

For the rest of the month leading up to your final orchestra concert in Plainview, you were in a sour mood. You would have thought a final goodbye to your childhood town would have been more mournful, but all you felt was annoyance. Even your cello teacher knew something was upsetting you. However she was only in her early twenties, so every so often you felt like she was your friend more than a mentor.

“Then he has the audacity to ask if I’m jealous and never reaches out afterward!” You pace around your cello teacher's office with a heavy heart. You had been complaining for the last thirty minutes of the lesson, and all you wanted to do was burst into tears at the thought of Rodrick claiming you were jealous of Heather. “I swear, he’s such an ass. Even more now that Heather has him wrapped around her finger. She thinks she's so innocent when really she's an actress and known as a w—"

You teacher put a hand up and stopped you, "Enough complaints about Rodrick. I'm almost positive tomorrows lesson will be about him anyway."

You sent her a sheepish smile and sat in your chair again, fiddling with the old friendship bracelet you and Rodrick made way back in middle school. You didn't think twelve years of friendship would wash away because of Heather, but you also didn't think you would end up in the situation you were in now.

"Besides Rodrick, have you hung out with anyone else this summer?" She moved around to wipe the dry erase marker off the board, tilting her head when your face flushed crimson. "So there is one?"

"Only Alex." You murmured and picked at your nails, more interested in the color than the topic.

Your teacher chuckled and gave you a lopsided smile, "Instead of dwelling on the Heffley boy, why not give Alex your time? It's better than whatever revenge you were planning in your head."

Somehow, you flushed an ever deeper shade of red and nodded, hating how she was able to read you so well. Your thoughts went back to the boy who caused all your grievances. If he didn't care how you felt any longer, why should you care about how he felt?

Rodrick didn't know if you even wanted him to come watch you orchestra concert. Since you first picked up a cello, he came to every single concert and in return, you came to watch whenever his band performed. But after the horrid argument he started, he wasn't sure if you would still welcome his family — more or less him — to the concert.

“Rodrick, let’s go! We’re going to be late!” His mother shouted from the bottom of the staircase, causing him to snap out of his stupor.

Grudgingly, he clipped on his tie and made his way to the foyer, groaning when his mother fussed over the dirt smudges over his face. He swatted her hands away and took care of the issue himself, grumbling in annoyance. Susan looked at her eldest and narrowed her eyes, knowing he had something to say.

Rodrick rolled his eyes and shook his head, unruly hair sticking out in various places. “I don’t think she’ll want me there.”

“Of course, she does!" Susan adjusted Rodrick's collar and patted his chest, giving him a reassuring smile. "Despite whatever — uh — conflicts you two have, she’ll still want to see her best friend in the audience for her big day.”

"And we already told her family to save seats for us at the front row." Frank muttered under his breath and earned a smack to the arm from his wife.

Rodrick huffed and messed with his cuffs, not meeting either of his parents' eyes. He didn't need his mother's sympathy or his father's military style attitude to ruin the rest of his already awful summer break.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” He shuffled to the door and swung it open, nearly knocking Greg off his feet. “Let’s get this over with.”

As always, your performance was flawless. From full orchestra to your solos, you were absolutely marvelous. Every time you went to play, you were completely immersed in your own world. You focused on your own instrument and listened for the cues. You were at peace and it was such a display each and every time.

Often you would open your eyes to scan the crowd in between the switching of instruments, almost like you were looking for someone. When you met Rodrick's eyes, he sent you an encouraging smile and only until you sent him a quick smile did his own felt real.

"See, she did want you here!" Susan whisper-shouted at Rodrick and nudged him with her elbow, earning a weak grin from him.

When the concert finally finished and the final applause died out, the institution was finally able to award their seniors as they were leaving in a little over a week. Rodrick had completely zoned out all the other awards, nearly falling asleep before his mother stood and cheered quite loudly when you were called up to the front.

“The Beatrice Huntington Award goes to… Y/N Johnson! Along with the George Barati Cello Scholarship! Congratulations Miss Johnson!” Your cello teacher spoke into the microphone and handed you a plaque, giving you a hug when you appeared by her side with a bright smile.

You beamed at the crowd as many of them knew you since you were only six. Your eyes watered as you took a final bow, earning a louder applause. You knew this would be your last performance for the institution, and when you came back, it would be completely different.

Your eyes met with Rodrick's one last time before the audience was dismissed. You could practically feel how proud he was despite his low effort in looking decent. He sent you a thumbs up and you laughed softly, wiping your tears before your makeup could run.

When you made it out to the auditorium foyer, you were immediately swept into the arms of Mrs. Heffley and felt her attack of kisses to your cheek. Laughing, you returned her hug with the same amount of emotion. She was the one who truly supported your decision in playing the cello at such a young age.

“Congratulations, sweetie!” She squeezed your shoulders and pulled you into another hug, smiling so bright it could out shine the sun. She sniffled and dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes. “Couldn’t be more proud of you!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Heffley.” You pull away and send her a grateful smile, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

Your eyes drifted to her family behind her, smile widening when Manny waved at you. You could see that the entire Heffley family was proud but nothing could prepare you for Rodrick trying to hide his own tears. You were unsure if they were for you or about you, but you were immediately pulled out of your thoughts when Mrs. Heffley offered to take you out for dinner with her family.

“Oh, it's quite alright, Mrs. Heffley!" You tighten your grip on your award and avoid Rodrick's eyes. "My... A friend is taking me out to dinner tonight and I wouldn't want them to feel like I'm ditching them last minute."

Her eyebrows shot up and opened her mouth to ask who, in hopes of inviting them as well when said friend walked up and wrapped an arm around your waist and kissed you temple, smiling down at you. She was even more surprised when you smiled up at the boy and whispered unknown words to him.

"I'll be there in a second." You murmur and meet his bright eyes, heart swelling when he pressed a kiss to your lips. "Alex..."

"Well you have to introduce me to them, yeah?" He whispered back and pressed one last kiss to your lips before winking at you.

You clear your throat and give the now shocked family a bashful grin, eyes only meeting Mrs. Heffley's wide ones. She continued to look between the both of you, doing her best not to verbally react to the new information.

"Uhm, Heffleys, this is Alex. Alex, this is the Heffley family." You gesture and nearly drop the plaque, Alex's hand coming around to help you balance the heavy glass.

When no one reacted, you awkwardly stood in front of them, smile faltering when they glanced at each other with confused looks. You were about to excuse yourself when Mrs. Heffley finally realized what had happened.

She began to introduce everyone in the family and nodded until you thought her head would fall off. You hid your laugh in Alex's shoulder and sighed softly before you heard Alex mutter something utterly shocking in your ear.

"Rodrick looks like he might stabbed me to death with his drumsticks."

You furrow your brows and look over him, frowning when he did in fact look murderous. He was happy just a few second ago, what happened?

"Sorry to interrupt," You cut of the rest of Mrs. Heffley's confusing rambling. "But we have to get going soon."

"Oh, yes, of course!" She quickly spoke and gave you one last grin. "Congratulations again."

"Thank you." You send her a happy smile before looking back at Rodrick one last time.

He shook his head at you and turned away, leaving you to ponder whether or not he truly was happy for you. But was it your fault? He didn't try and reach out to you the entire month and he expected you to just stay around him. It was unfair and you both knew it.

So without any sort of remorse, you let Alex sweep you away to the diner. It didn't matter what Rodrick thought anymore. Besides, he had Heather Hills to fall back onto.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[just-some-guy-joust]

Just Some Guy Joust - Side B: Round 2

Rules you must follow or you will be blocked:

do not diss on any of the characters. hype characters up, don't bring them down.

do not be mean to any other voters, either on a personal level or in general. if you are trying to joke around, you must clarify because we cannot tell the difference.

do not claim a character does not deserve to be here. this includes claiming a character doesn't count as just some guy. if you hate it that much, make your own tournament.

if i genuinely fucked something up and did not notice please GENTLY poke me about it. passive aggressiveness will be ignored.

if you are posting propaganda you have to @ tag us, including if your propaganda is in the reblogs. it is difficult to tell when something is or isn't propaganda. anything not tagging us will be missed.

we see practically everything you put in the tags. don't say some shit that you wouldn't say to our faces. be respectful.

[mellodazey]

DRTDMF REF 2: PETEY

this alternate Petey has also been through a lot, if not more, than the Petey you know, because this is a world where cats aren't "supposed" to be able to talk or walk on two legs or act like any other human. he, along with several others like him, suffered due to an organization known as A.N.T.I reinforcing this "anti-abnormality" ideology, stating that all abnormal creatures are "evil" and don't deserve sympathy, and locking him away in their prison. but Petey managed to escape, and now he's out for vengeance against those who wronged him by any means necessary. even if it means embracing this "evil" persona.

Petey didn't escape without scars, though. his trauma includes, but is not limited to, his time in the cells, his father abandoning him and his mother in order to save himself, and his mother passing away. but some time after, prior to escaping, he suddenly saw her again. she acted as a sort of "guardian angel", guiding him out. it was only when he decided to go down the path of evil that this facade faded. all throughout the time leading up to now, she would occasionally show up in his vision, sometimes as other people he knew, just to torment him until he eventually froze up. Petey tries to do whatever he can to prevent this from happening, but he still has yet to find a solution.

and then he found Greg. desperate after having lost everything, he had turned to Petey for help. and Petey would have refused if something inside him didn't tell him to let him stay. he doesn't know why, but being around Greg made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, so much so that he feels he needs him, no matter how much he tries to deny it. the good side of him wants Greg to be happy, but the evil side of him wants Greg to be just like him. can he really have both?

[fans4wga]

August 4 - Hollywood Food Insecurity Spikes Amid Strikes

The entertainment industry’s most vulnerable workers are increasingly unable to feed themselves amid a historic double strike with no clear end in sight, according to non-profits tasked with addressing the food insecurity crisis. They describe Hollywood’s ongoing work stoppage — prompted by the contractual impasse between the writing and acting guilds on one side and the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers on the other — as a humanitarian emergency broadly affecting the community, not just striking union members.

The Los Angeles Regional Food Bank, which runs pantries for those in need throughout the county, attributes a meaningful portion of its nine percent uptick in year-over-year distribution to the strikes’ impact. “When income stops immediately, the demand rises very rapidly,” explains chief development officer Roger Castle.

“This is happening right after the pandemic, which drained a lot of people’s savings,” observes Keith McNutt, executive director at the Entertainment Community Fund, which has distributed $3 million to more than 1,500 workers as of Aug. 1. “So, you have the financial burden on people who’ve already been depleted.” As a result, his organization — whose donors include Seth McFarlane, Steven Spielberg, and Greg Berlanti — has seen an unprecedented wave of immediate requests for basic living expenses, including groceries. “Before this started, we would do about 50 grants out of the L.A. office a week. Now we’re getting 50 applications a day.”

On July 28, below-the-line unions IATSE and the Teamsters Local 399 held a drive-through food drive for industry members affected by the strikes at IATSE’s West Coast headquarters in Burbank. It drew about a thousand vehicles throughout the day.

According to the relief nonprofit Labor Community Services, which helped to organize the event and is planning another in August, the organization distributed 1,740 food boxes, feeding an estimated 8,700 people, that day.

In California, striking workers are ineligible to receive unemployment assistance, while nationally, they cannot receive SNAP food benefits unless they qualified pre-strike — something Sen. John Fetterman of Pennsylvania is aiming to change with a new bill, introduced July 27. One place that striking actors in particular can turn to for help during the work stoppage is the SAG-AFTRA Foundation, which offers emergency financial assistance and other resources, including grocery store gift cards, to union members. SAG-AFTRA made a seven-figure donation to the Foundation early in its strike to assist these efforts. (The WGA West does provide its own members with emergency financial loans from its strike fund and Good and Welfare fund.)

Cyd Wilson, its executive director, has seen an explosion in demand for the organization’s help. “People are making these decisions: Should pay my rent, or should I put food on the table? Should I put food on the table, or should I pay my utilities?” she explains. “There’s a great deal of suffering that’s happening.” By Wilson’s estimate, the foundation is now handling 40 times its typical number of applications per week, and it has already distributed as much in grants since the beginning of the WGA’s strike three months ago as it typically would in the span of a given year.

Meanwhile, Groceries for Writers, a direct aid project administered by Humanitas, a non-profit focused on film and television writers, has distributed more than 1,100 gift cards to WGA members since the onset of its work stoppage in early May. Humanitas executive director Michelle Franke says that “many of these writers have left notes indicating they’re in very urgent financial situations. Writers describe struggling with student debt, falling into eligibility gaps with CalFresh and EDD [state unemployment assistance], eviction notices, writing teams splitting low pay, having only just moved to Los Angeles and not having a large local support network as a consequence, dwindling savings.”

Groceries for Writers is hardly alone in addressing the growing need. In July, L.A.’s World Harvest Food Bank founder and CEO Glen Curado estimated to The Hollywood Reporter that his organization, which is offering free food to striking writers and actors, was serving an average of 150-200 members of this group per day. That effort was inspired by The Price Is Right host Drew Carey’s gesture of paying for all striking writers dining at Bob’s Big Boy in Burbank and L.A.’s Swingers Diner for the duration of the work stoppage.

THR asked both the AMPTP and the talent unions whether they bear any responsibility for the worsening situation. In a statement, a spokesperson for the AMPTP said: “Like those negotiating on behalf of the guilds, representatives from the AMPTP and its member companies came to the table in good faith, wanting to reach an agreement that would keep the industry working and prevent the hardships caused by labor strikes.” SAG-AFTRA didn’t respond to a request for comment, while a WGA spokesperson said in a statement: “The public knows that working people are putting everything on the line in order to negotiate a fair deal with the studios who have caused this strike and the resultant suffering by refusing to address the reasonable proposals that writers brought to the table over 90 days ago.” Neither the AMPTP itself nor any of its major studio and streamer members responded when THR asked if the companies or their philanthropic arms had made any contributions specifically to address the industry’s food insecurity crisis since May.

Support staffers — early-career workers who fill roles such as assistants and coordinators and tend to be low-paid — are especially at risk at this time. “So much of the compensation that they receive is, no one’s going to say it, but it’s implied to be food-based,” notes Liz Hsiao Lan Alper, the co-founder of advocacy group Pay Up Hollywood and a WGA West board member. Alper says that support staffers are often paid the “bare minimum” but access complimentary food through writers’ rooms, craft services on sets or in agency kitchens and conference rooms. And so, when the strikes occurred, the need was “overwhelming,” she explains: “It’s invisible compensation that just went away when the work stoppages happened.”

For that reason, on June 7 Pay Up Hollywood relaunched its COVID-19-era Hollywood Support Staff Relief Fund. So far, the fund has distributed around $45,000 in one-time financial need grants up to $1,000 apiece, according to organizer and support staffer Alex Rubin, who says she’s encouraged support staffers to obtain free food distributed on picket lines. “I think that there is a little bit of embarrassment and insecurity about not being able to feed yourself,” she says. “It is the reason why we give our grants as just like, ‘Here’s a one-time grant. You don’t have to tell us how you want to use this.’”

Helping people in entertainment with food during work stoppages is a “tangible message,” says James Costello, a Teamsters Local 399 driver and an IATSE Local 44 prop master, who was volunteering at IATSE’s July 28 food drive. A second-generation Teamster, Costello still remembers a union strike in the 1980s that prompted his parents to warn their children that their Christmas holiday would be affected that year, and the Teamsters emergency relief that arrived in the fall, offering groceries and a Christmas tree.

As the strikes drag on and both the WGA and SAG-AFTRA have yet to formally reprise negotiations with the AMPTP (although the Writers Guild is set to have a preliminary meeting with the studios’ organization on Aug. 4), the non-profits on the front lines of the industry’s food-insecurity crisis are girding themselves for a long period of need. SAG-AFTRA Foundation’s Wilson says it’s pursuing a “very aggressive fundraising strategy” to meet the demand. (Already, it’s netted over $15 million in emergency assistance from stars like George Clooney, Nicole Kidman, Matt Damon and Dwayne Johnson, who are donating $1 million or more apiece.)

The Entertainment Community Fund’s McNutt notes that pocketbook pain will outlast the current conflict. “Just because the strike ends, it doesn’t mean the need will end. Everyone doesn’t go back to work the next week. We’re going to be looking at this [elevated] level of need for months afterward.”

Give to the Entertainment Community Fund

Give to Humanitas' Groceries for Writers

Give to the Green Envelope Grocery Aid mutual aid fund