#much like three days grace reminds me of my painting class

[headphones-ct-09978]

Siren

Here is an original story I wrote for class. My first ever original work!

Tags: @lifeofroos @marisolinspades @tigerkay93

I always felt drawn to the ocean. 

Perhaps it was because I was raised near the shore and used to spend my childhood days playing on the sand.

Every morning I would wake to the cries of seagulls, and every evening I would be lulled by the rolling waves. 

My mother would say that I was baptized by sea water and blessed by Poseidon himself, given how much I loved the sea so much.

I remember playing in the crystal clear waters, feeding the multitudes of colorful fish that swam among the vibrant coral. 

I never went too far or swam too deep, however. My mother, the protective woman that she was, would see the potential danger and sense my curiosity, and she’d snatch me up in her arms and carry me back to shore. She told me never to leave the shallows for dangers lurked beyond the familiar waters.

I had always assumed that she was talking about the usual dangers like riptides or strong currents, dangerous fish and what not.

But it never occurred to me that she was protecting me from something else.

The ocean always reminded me of her, even before her passing. Every time I looked out my window while drinking my morning tea, I remembered her. If I stared long enough at the beach, I could almost see her, standing there by the water, dressed in her favorite peach hued sundress, her long black hair blowing in the sea breeze. 

If I looked hard enough, I could picture her smile as she stood there, admiring what she loved so much.

There’s no doubt that my love for the sea came from my mother. She taught me everything I knew and made me appreciate what dwelled below the waves. 

I missed my mother, and not many daughters can say that, truthfully. 

Even after three years had passed, the house just didn’t feel the same. It felt cold, empty, devoid of life. 

In an attempt to bring back some semblance of the past, I spent most of the money left to me on aquariums. Every penny went into the finest equipment and supplies I could find. 

No corner of the home was spared.

(Except for the bathroom. Just didn’t feel right to keep lil lives in there.)

I spent my days working, studying, and caring for my new little “family”. 

Fish always made my mother smile, so having them around made me feel extra close to her.

However, nothing really came close to what I felt while walking along the sand, especially under the light of the moon.

The tranquility of it, of the sea at night, it gave my heart peace.

But that peace was short lived. 

That night, that one night, changed everything.

“Keys? Check. Phone? Check. Wallet? Secured. Sanity? Debatable.” 

It was nine at night and the sun had set a while ago, giving way to a beautiful full moon, the silvery moonbeams streamed in from the open windows behind my fish tanks in the livingroom.

Once I was satisfied that I had everything I needed, I snatched my water bottle from the table that held my keys. But in my haste, I knocked over a ceramic mermaid figurine. It fell to the floor with a *THUD* and a *DINK* as the fragile fins broke off.

“Shit.” I hissed in frustration. With an agitated sigh, I put my water bottle back down, crouched to the floor and picked up the broken mermaid. “Dang it,” I grumbled as I held the finless statue and stood back up.

With no small amount of disappointment, I gave the figurine a once over. 

The figurine had been a “sorry-for-your-loss” type gift from a friend of the family. For a six and a half inch tall statue, the details etched and painted on her were immaculate. She had sculpted long, flowing raven hair. The black ,graceful, locks gave her appearance a certain fluid grace, as if she was below the waves. 

Her posture suggested that she was mid swim, which, being a mermaid, isn’t all that surprising. Added to the hair, and to her seashell bra and tail, were lil diamonds and pearls, giving her an added sparkle.

The figure’s eyes were a stunning sapphire and her pouty lips were a beautiful deep wine red. 

Personally, my favorite detail would have to have been her tail. It mimicked the tail of a betta fish, with it’s fanned out fins and bright colors. The paint used for the tail was a shimmering metallic navy blue paired with a bright fuschia near the tips of the fins.

The fins which were broken in my hands. 

“Dammit, I actually liked you.” I mumbled as the disappointment ebbed. I looked around, thinking of a possible place to store her until I had time to maybe fix her.

That’s when it came to me. Out of the many tanks in my home, one large tank rested on an old table which has drawers. Drawers deep and secure enough to hold a fragile figure.

I quickly headed over towards the living room where the tank was situated. 

In the dark, the bright blue lights of the tank lit up the living room quite well. The sound of the bubbling and water filters filled the area, making it feel very tranquil. 

Behind the tank I was headed towards was a large open window. Outside the window was beautiful scenery, the ocean just a few feet away. In the sky, a large rose-hued moon rested above the darkened waves, reflecting its light off the water’s surface. 

The stars above added to the elegance of the scene, twinkling without a care in the damn universe.

Before I spaced out, I blinked and turned my attention to the tank in front of me. 

Every tank was filled and decorated differently, according to the various ecosystems that belonged below the waves.

The specific tank I was standing in front of was, by far, my favorite of the lot. Of all the fish I had to choose from, I chose a classic little guy. The entire *harem was pricey, but worth every penny. 

The clownfish group was a bright addition to the collection I had accumulated and as I watched them swim about the brightly lit tank, my heart was filled with some small amount of joy.

After a few moments of observing my little pets, I opened one of the drawers, carefully put the statue inside, and closed it just as carefully.

I raised a finger and pointed to the nearest fish. At the sight of my finger, a handful of them swam over eagerly, possibly thinking they were going to get fed. 

I chuckled. “Okay you lot, I need you to guard that little statue with your lives. You got that?”

The little bright orange and white striped fish bobbed up and down happily, trying to get at my finger through the glass no doubt. But I took the gestures as acknowledgment to my instructions, in a joking mindset that is, and turned to leave. 

“I should’ve brought my other hoodie.” I said as I tugged my sweater tight around my form. It wasn’t inherently freezing, but the chill in the breeze was enough to make me shiver occasionally.

But after walking for a few more minutes, I soon grew more comfortable with the temperature. 

I took a deep breath, just basking in the glow of the moon and stars, feeling the rumble of the waves as they crashed against the shore.

I lost myself to my thoughts, dwelling on whatever crossed my mind. In sync with the rhythm of the waves, memories flooded my consciousness, filling my heart with a twinge of grief once again.

I soon found myself praying for something, anything, to distract myself from remembering.

As I walked in the sand, shoes in my hand, I put my face up to the wind, feeling it play with my hair and caress my face. When I felt the moment was right, I paused. I dropped my shoes in the sand and cast my eyes upon the heavens, taking in the sight of the glimmering stars above.

I can’t recall how much time passed as I stood there, but something settled over everything, casting the night in an eerie stillness. 

Everything seemed to hold its breath, falling silent. Even the waves seemed to hush themselves, leaving me in the eerie darkness.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that was clawing its way up my spine.

That’s when I heard it. 

It was faint at first, but the sharpness of the sound carried on the wind. I froze and swiveled my head back towards the ocean, facing the direction the noise had come from. My line of sight didn’t reach far into the shadows that rested over the waters, so I spotted no explanation for what I heard.

I waited there in the dark, straining my ears to hear the sound more clearly, but it faded after a few moments.

Thinking it was probably noise from the town pier three miles away, I shrugged it off and started making my way back to my house.

But I had only taken a few steps when I heard it again, this time louder and as clear as day. 

The voice, if it was even a voice, made my blood run cold and I could feel my heart pounding in my ears.

It was singing, for lack of a better way to describe it. Whatever it was had this high keening pitch to it, the vocals kept repeating the same whistling note. It sounded more animalistic than human, as if something was mimicking a human voice.

And the singing wasn’t singing, per se. It was…comparable to a hypnotic shrieking, high and piercing.

I fumbled for my phone and turned on the flashlight. I scanned the night blackened waters, slowly starting to freak out. 

“Hello?! Who’s out there?!” I called out, knowing full well there was no one, especially at this time of night.

Off to my left I heard a splash somewhere in the water. I swiveled around and in my terror, I realized that I was up to my thighs in the water. 

“What the-”

I couldn’t remember even getting in the water, let alone registering the coldness of my soaked pants. 

The singing became louder and I covered my ears as it got higher in pitch, dropping my phone in the sea, plunging myself back into the pitch blackness of the night. 

There was another splash, off to my right this time. And then, there in the shadows, alone with no help for miles, I felt something grab my ankle. 

With a shriek of my own, I kicked furiously until whatever had grabbed me let go, and I ran. 

I ran like I had never ran before, kicking up sand as I sprinted for my house, not wanting to stick around any longer.

The whole way, I kept hearing that voice. That shrill, eerie whistling vocal, following me from the water. 

I don’t remember the rest of the night. But I know it wasn’t the last time I would have an encounter with that creature. 

-End-

Sirens:

Since the beginnings of civilization, man kind has always told stories of an aquatic being called a Siren. 

For the Greeks, she first appeared as a half bird, half woman type creature. Her kind would sit upon rocky shores or outcroppings and lure in foolish sailors. The hero Odysseus ran into them on his long journey home, and knowing the danger they possessed, he gave his crew instructions that would later save their lives.

But in other civilizations, Sirens are another race of Merfolk, possessing the beauty and charms of a young woman and the tail of a fish. 

Sightings of her kind have been documented in various legends, often choosing different forms of allure. In some tellings, she uses treasure and promises of love to ensnare her prey, other times she uses magic. But in most popular and well known stories, she uses her voice. Her song lures sailors and any foolish mortal to their deaths, calling out to them from the depths of the ocean. 

As various as her techniques and forms are, one thing remains certain: She only sees humanity as prey.

[leonbloder]

Learning To Love It All

Many years ago, when attending Florida State University, I met with one of my favorite professors about a paper I was working on for his class on Modern American Literature.  

When I knocked on his office door, he ushered me in with joy, and gestured for me to sit opposite him as he resumed his post behind his severely cluttered desk.  

His office was a hodge-podge of books, random pieces of art, and an entire bookshelf dedicated to the author Joel Chandler-Harris, whose work my professor had studied extensively.  

I was absolutely smitten by everything I saw.  At the time, I was dreaming of being a professor one day, and I decided that if I did, my office would look exactly like the one I was sitting in.

A sign on his desk caught my eye more than anything else.  It was a small wooden sign with what looked like hand-painted words that read:  

Love It All.

I asked my professor about the sign, and he smiled as he explained.  The trick of life, he told me, was to love all of it.  To love all that is good and all that isn't.  To love the beautiful moments and the moments that bring us to our knees in despair.  To love the losses and griefs as much as the triumphs.  

He told me that one statement had served as a constant reminder of how his whole life had been filled with grace, and it also encouraged him when grace felt like it wasn't immediately evident.

I have never forgotten that conversation, and there have been moments since then when I've called my professor's sign to mind, especially when I was struggling to feel grace, experience hope, or feel any joy.  

It's not easy to say, "Love it all," when going through a challenging season.  In fact, it might be damn near impossible.  But I'm learning to trust that there will be days when I will look back on the moment I'm struggling to get through, and I will be able to say those three words with a sense of peace.  

The great theologian and author Dag Hammarskjold once wrote this powerful little poem:  

For all that has been. Thanks For all that shall be. Yes.

This is such a beautiful and challenging poem, isn't it? It speaks to the challenge of looking back with gratitude and love on all that has been, even the parts of the past that we regret or are too painful to call to mind.  

It speaks to how "all that has been" is integral to who we are and who we are becoming. This should enable us to look back in gratitude over all that we've experienced--grateful for the lessons we've learned and the wisdom we've gained because of them.  

This may take some work on our part.  We may need to resolve issues, repair relationships, let the past go, and do what we must to find peace, wholeness, and health.  But when we can look back in love and gratitude, we will find the path to peace much more quickly.  

And this poem also speaks to how we need to live in hope for the future.  The ability to say "Yes" to new adventures, opportunities, challenges, and newness is vital to a flourishing life.  

Far too many of us are "Yes, but..." people.  We qualify our "Yes" by adding caution and trepidation rather than just stepping forward in faith, trusting that God has us no matter what.  

May it be so for you and me and for all of us.  And may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with us now and always. Amen.  

[mildswearingat4am]

Time for a music tag game!!

Rules: We’re snooping on your playlist. Put your entire music library on shuffle and list the first 10 songs then choose 10 people. Tagged by: @jadedsoggy

For the record the playlist I use on a daily basis is something very different than my entire music library, which is more like an archive of all the music I’ve liked over the past 5+ years. Let’s see what comes shuffling out of the deep dark depths :p

1.  S.O.S -- Good Charlotte

2. Falling For The First Time -- Barenaked Ladies

3. Hot To The Touch, Cold On The Inside -- Fall Out Boy

4. What About Now -- Daughtry

5. A Matter Of Trust -- Billy Joel

6. Amsterdam -- Imagine Dragons

7. Anything but Ordinary -- Avril Lavigne

8. Bull In A China Shop -- Barenaked Ladies

9. Android -- Green Day

10. Letterbox -- They Might Be Giants

I’ll tag @albatris , @maramahan , and @claraowl -- you guys wanna play?

[boop-le-snoot]

marmalade taffy

Helmut Zemo smut & feels. Soft!Dom Zemo, non-superhero!AU, Zemo being the weird uncle of college!Maximoff twins. This was written on a whim so if someone signs up to beta-read, I will shower you with affection and reminders to drink water. The Reader is addressed as "you" and is not described - race/age/body type neutral. The language I used for Sokovian is actually Serbian. Word count 2,8k.

Fun fact: I have mild synesthesia. Emotions/feelings and some people have an assigned color (and sometimes smell) for me. That's how the name of the fic was born. This fic feels like the colors of marmalade and taffy, look them up. This fic is dedicated to my lovely @slothspaghettiwrites , the shining beacon in my misty, rocky beach. (You're a periwinkle for me, by the way. I thought you might ask.)

When you first see him all you do is raise an eyebrow. His sleek, well-maintained vintage car stands out almost grotesquely amongst the various sedans and mom vans on the campus and you can see the glint of his wristwatch even from afar. Wanda's and Pietro's sheepish smirk only makes the situation worse - the girl's attire obviously screams "liberal arts" and her twin brother doesn't seem to have anything better to wear than tracksuits.

The man behind the wheel is unfazed. He is calm and collected in that European way, not conceited, just waiting. For what? You don't know. His eyes trail over you but he doesn't smile, simply gives a tiny polite nod. If you hadn't had extensive conversations about cultural differences with Wanda, you'd say he was extremely rude.

Shy, quiet Wanda, who's eyes lit up seeing her favorite not-actually-uncle. In a surprising dash of energetic agility, she hopped right into the car, her numerous scarves a bright flash of saturation against the campus grayscale. You giggle and wave at the departing car, snorting when Wanda's hand reaches over to briefly honk the horn, causing the driver to swerve the tiniest bit, his eyes trained on you in the rearview mirror.

He comes and goes often. Almost always in a different perfectly restored vintage car, mostly with the same polite mask of bored contentment. You know he's royalty in his home country and can't help but wonder how frivolously the twins act around him - no, free. He gives all the appearance of a silent, strict man.

You're proven wrong rather quickly. Freshman year left behind you, you and Wanda decide to ditch the dorms for an apartment - she finds one rather quickly and it's just you two in it even though it is ridiculously huge and the rent amount she requests is equally ridiculously small. Not the one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you pretend nothing is out of the ordinary and buy yourself a new pair of shoes.

Helmut - Wanda finally formally had introduced you two - doesn't come by often, however the visits are always... Eventful. He's not at all what it seemed to be; in the quiet of your apartment, a witty, incredibly clever man resurfaces from under the stoic façade. The Slav in him easily lets him consume alarming quantities of alcohol together with Pietro, who opted to stay in the dorms with his idiotic football team, and - you couldn't believe your eyes at the time - dorkily dad-dance squat in the middle of your living room, unfazed by your and Wanda's cackling.

The way Helmut is absolutely unbothered by the audience and the laughter, pale face flushed from the wine and a little smirk stretching his thin lips into expression almost catlike. The maroon turtleneck stretches nicely across his chest, as thinly as your lip that you worry between your teeth.

Pietro raises an eyebrow. You shrug.

"Got something in your eye, no?" He teases playfully and you shrug again, taking another swig of your nice, European beer.

There are more gatherings, more parties and quite a few rides in his car, when the wind blows your hair in all directions possible and intermingles it with Wanda's as you giggle and squeal in the back seat. Helmut always indulges you two; the word 'no' simply does not exist in that man's vocabulary. He insists politely but firmly on a dinner with all three of them on your birthday and the gifts he brings make your eyes pop out and your face heat.

"A woman like you makes any sensible man want to shower you with the finest gifts," Helmut's voice is quiet and his accent is thick and somehow, it makes it all that harder to refuse. He smiles like usual - tiny and a little secretive, as he pecks your cheek, filling the air around you with the smell of his cologne. It makes your mouth water and your fingers clench helplessly around the half a dozen of silk paper-wrapped boxes.

The summer rolls in and it's hot and humid and finally you don't have to worry about waking up at the crack of dawn or classes or the annoying boys who can barely take a no for an answer. The invitation to Helmut's villa doesn't come as a surprise; Wanda had been riled up over it since early May and Pietro and his whole damn football team were equally as thrilled.

You pack flowy dresses, daisy dukes and swimsuits. The expensive jewelry and handbag Helmut had gifted you, too, since the villa is surrounded by a whole neighborhood meant solely for the rich and famous. Wanda is absolutely unbothered by her own bohemian chic and you quietly envy her; the longer you get to know her, the more you realise of how much actually she does not give a fuck about anything besides her paintings and sculptures.

It's admirable, really, because she is talented. And Helmut knows it, too, having had collected and kept every single work Wanda had made, showing it off in the various rooms of his two-story mansion. The abstract fits in well and is a great conversation topic for him and his equally important friends. There's an endless stream of them in the first days and Wanda isn't overtly happy, choosing to run away to laze around the pool with you more often than not.

Helmut's friends stop at the glass wall between the inner side of the house and the pool to stare at you two, too, causing something dark and tense flash across his features. There always had been a sort of tangy obscurity in him, you've noticed, but not nearly enough for you to grow concerned. It added the bittersweetness, the flavour and consistency to the modest man.

Although calling him modest might have been a mistake. The moment you can't shake off one of his friends after a polite chit-chat seems to never end, Wanda nowhere in sight, dread and unease digging their sharp, spindly fingers in the soft flesh behind your rib cage, Helmut is suddenly there, arm wrapped almost possessively around your waist.

"Draga mea, Wanda is looking for you. She says it's urgent," He stares the man down with the eyes of a vulture. "I believe we haven't been properly introduced," Helmut seems to not realize he's still clutching you in a grasp of steel as the man opposite you rumbles out his name, few syllables you'd forgotten seconds after he spoke them for the first time.

"Baron Helmut Zemo," the fingers brush and squeeze once, gently, over the valley of your waist before letting go. You miss the rest of their peacocking, walking away with a fight and fire inside of your hammering heart. Anxiety and longing and confusion mix and blend, combining into a cocktail that has you beelining for the bar like a woman parched.

The next day you're sleeping off the hangover, first in your bed and then by the pool - Wanda had run off into town for one thing or another, and knowing her, she'd be back home at the crack of dawn. It was blissful peace, the soothing balm for your troubled heart and your aching head.

"Hungover?" Helmut's voice was quiet and a little bit teasing. None of the Eastern Europeans had ever showed the signs of having any ill effects from the alcohol they drunk, unlike you.

You stretched, too blissed out to care about the skimpy strings and straps of your bikini, basking in the gentle morning sun. "Mmm, not anymore," a swim in the cold pool had done wonders.

Your soft pink float rocked as Helmut's footsteps quieted, giving way to a short splash and the sound of his breathing somewhere in your space. Just as you cracked open your eyes, he reached out a hand to steady himself next to you. "I wanted to apologize for the situation yesterday. That man was stepping out of line. He is not welcome in my home anymore."

You stare at him and then you snort. The blunt was he usually speaks is so easy, it flows oh so effortlessly. No mind games, just honesty. You want to pay him back in kind. "Don't worry, Helmut. I just had a bit too much to drink," that was the truth. Any other time and you wouldn't have hesitated to unapologetically steer clear of any creep. Heat and bubbly don't mix and that was your own mistake.

"No, printsesa," the man in front of you let loose some of the delicious darkness, eyes growing stormy, hand gently resting over yours. "Some men are fools, they are nothing but animals. You deserve to feel safe, especially in my home." His lips stretched into a smile, water dripping down his jaw and making tiny circles form in the azure of the pool.

"I can't argue with that," you replied, catching the stray liquid and following the trails it made with your eyes. His forehead, dripping down over his eyes, making Helmut blink the stray drops away until they landed on his lips, trickling down his chin.

You swallowed, opting to dip your toes into the cool pool water before you could make a fool of yourself. The water splashed towards him, making a mischievous grin grace his usually serious face, as me made a half-hearted attempt to splash back weakly, making the water sizzle on your sun-kissed skin. Never the one to back down from a challenge, you knitted your eyebrows in mock offense, eagerly letting the water wash over you as you abandoned the float in favour of creating waves with your whole body.

The temperature contrast was delicious and Helmut's laugh even more so as it echoed in between the high walls of the building surrounding the pool. The sun was nearly at its peak, shining over your head in a beacon of heat that almost matched the one inside of you, the one that had blossomed there months ago and finally grew into a steady smolder, shooting sparks whenever you were around the baron.

It was hot and wet, the same feeling chasing you two when you finally kissed. His hand firmly planted on the side of your neck, his nose softly brushing against the underside of your jaw, Helmut was in no rush to taste you, to savour every millimeter of your sun-kissed skin. The man left you with your fingertips trembling and heart scrambling for purchase somewhere in the deepest pits of your belly.

"What are you so hungry for, mmm?" Helmut's voice rumbled next to the shell of your ear; you could barely focus, skin singing underwater, where he held onto you like a lifeline. "You have hungry eyes, ljubavi, tell me what it is and I'll give it to you," your bodies pressed flush against each other, his eyelashes flittering against your cheek.

"You," the maximum capacity for your brain was one-syllable words and you used it sparingly, failing to suppress a gasp when Helmut's mouth latched around a particularly sensitive spot right under your jawline.

Teeth scraped over it before he soothed the sting with his tongue. "All the things in the world, I could give them to you. And yet..." He sounded almost disappointed. Perplexed, just as you were at the strange admission. "A woman like you would have men fighting for your attention yet you give it to me so freely," he murmured softly, capturing your lips in a slow, fluid kiss once more. "I will make sure you have everything you could ever want."

Helmut's touch grew bolder as he steered the two of you towards the shallow end of the pool. The taste of him was intoxicating, like the sweetest, most alluring poison you'd ever tasted: you knew that once you had one small bit, you'd be addicted, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. His words were clever and his mouth even more, making the short stumble upstairs last hours.

A wall, baroque tapestry, marked with the wetness of the pool water, where you allowed yourself to be pressed against as he leaned into you with the entirety of his broad frame, domineering the kiss effortlessly.

You panted as your back hit the soft, million-thread count, unmade sheets of the baron's bed, staring up into his eyes and finding your own reflection in his pupils, blown wide with lust. The tiny smirk was back but now his unexpressive face was marred by a gleem, accentuating his moist, puffy lips you'd licked into and bitten in a heated frenzy.

"Beautiful, printsesa," he stated with quiet firmness, leaning over into you to unclasp and toss away the upper part of the bikini. The bottoms followed suit, flung carelessly somewhere. His hands ran over your as it sang, every tiniest nerve hypersensitive, coming alive with a fervor borne of months of longing, complimented by the summer heat and cool waters.

"Helmut," your voice wavered, flowed on the syllables as his clever, clever mouth trailed hot down your chest, briefly submerging each nipple into the sear of it. Goosebumps rose over your exposed body, highlighting a trail for him, a trail he followed eagerly. Kisses were candy sweet and marshmallow soft.

Hot breath at the apex of your thighs had you mewling and arching into it, having abandoned all shame, and Helmut found it amusing. The petite chuckle made an appearance, his fingertips ghosting over the part of your lower lips; he was as amused by your impatience as he was enthralled by the youthfulness of the gesture. "Shh, ljubavi, I will make it feel better," his accent as thick as clover honey and just as saccharine.

The first movements were tentative, brief and so light, the demanding moan slipped out of your mouth along with a growl of frustration. You felt continuous chuckling, slight stubble rasping along the sides your thighs; you felt him pick up pace and steady his hot hands on your hips as you attempted to trash against the overwhelming stimulation your pussy was receiving.

His moans, loud and wet, drove you closer to the edge like a drunk drove a Ferrari; Helmut's skill was unparalleled but it lacked precision as he lost himself in the moment just as much as you.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm- I'm so close," you managed to grunt out before the crescendo hit, eyes rolling back into your skull as the influx of more, more, more hit every nerve ending in your body. You could do little more than rest your legs on his shoulders as the noble man, the quiet storm lapped up every drop of your release.

He made the inside of you weak.

In seconds, Helmut was back on top of you, grinding his arousal into you desperately, almost begging for it and all you could do was let your body respond, mimic your lover, clench around nothing just as you felt him twitch.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded hooking one of your legs over his hip, eyes boring into yours with everything in them plain on display. It was a terrifying thing: as if your heart had suddenly grown legs, stood up and walked out into the bare, wide world, open for all to see. "Ti moa, skaži eto," his native tongue made his voice even more hoarse, you couldn't resist anymore.

"I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours," you chanted the words like a prayer, hoping he'd be merciful - and he is. No, there's only a hidden tenderness in his hands as he drives into your with increasing force that shakes you and makes your core quiver, igniting your flesh once again like the color red; it's messy and it's sloppy and you're barely aware of Helmut muttering something into the crook of your neck as you feel yourself clench down on him with a choked moan.

"Fuck," hearing him, the polite composed man, bite the end of his own orgasm into a curse made a wave of magenta hot rush travel through your body at lightning speed, his cock pulsating and coating you, claiming you from inside out so sweetly you couldn't resist a shallow gasp into his cheek, a gasp he mirrored as his own oversensitive flesh was once more assaulted by your combined lust.

The tide of his breathing was high; both of you spent yet still drunk on the newfound sense of togetherness. It was clear as a summer's day that in your arms laid a man who'd once lost something important and you - you were a someone who's never had anything of significance and perhaps, this time each other's arms would let you both keep whatever it was that you missed.

[tender-rosiey]

☘︎︎ 𝔽𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝔻𝕒𝕥𝕖 ☘︎︎

ᴀ/ɴ: I KNOW THAT FIRST DATES ARE POSTED FIRST BUT I FORGOT ANYWAYS THANKS FOR YOUR SUPORT GUYS AND I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH 💘

Dᴀᴢᴀɪ ᴏsᴀᴍᴜ:

Stroll Outdoors 🏞

ఌ You know that river he jumped in when Atsushi found him?

��� That's it; you guys went for a walk near it and to the park.

ఌ Despite seeming too simple, it was actually really cute and enjoyable!

ఌ A lot of adorable stuff have happened in it an example of them is:

Dazai: Have you ever had a boyfriend?

Y/N: No

Dazai: *genuinely surprised* HOW?!

Y/N: *shrugs*

Dazai: *under his breath* but your are so beautiful and amazing

Y/N: what?

Dazai: chicken strips *panicking inside*

ఌ You guys also got ice cream and he did that cliche but gentlemanly move of wiping it from the corner of your lips with a handkerchief.

ఌ He walked you home and kissed your cheek as a goodbye.

"I hope you enjoyed our night, belladonna." said Dazai a soft smile gracing his lips.

ᴀᴛsᴜsʜɪ Nᴀᴋᴀᴊɪᴍᴀ:

Face Painting 🧑‍🎨

ᴥ︎ As a little childish as it was it's was a really adorable and wholesome date.

ᴥ︎ You guys bought a face painting kit and sat on a roof of a house and painting each other's faces laughters and giggles filling the air.

ᴥ︎ You painted a little tiger on his cheek while he painted a butterfly on yours.

ᴥ︎ Here is a glimpse of what happened:

Y/N: Atsushi, why did you paint a butterfly?

He started blushing like crazy and said shyly

"It's cause you are as beautiful as one."

ᴥ︎ Gave you a piggy back ride home.

"It was so much fun! Thank you for accepting to date me!"

ᴋᴜɴɪᴋ��ᴅᴀ ᴅᴏᴘᴘᴏ:

Cooking classes 🍱

✍︎︎ Ah yes, cute and beneficial.

✍︎︎ If you both didn't end up messing up the place.

✍︎︎ You were baking a cake together and accidentally knocked over the bag of flour which fell on the both of you.

✍︎︎ He got a little frustrated thinking you hated this but immediately relaxed when he saw you laughing.

✍︎︎ You wiped each other's faces and cleaned the place together.

✍︎︎ When adding the a decoration to cake he did something very cute.

✍︎︎ He hugged you from behind and guided your hand to how you should spray the cream over the cake.

✍︎︎ Of course he drove you home and made sure you are safe.

"I hope we can do it again soon and I will make sure nothing goes wrong."

Tᴀɴɪᴢᴀᴋɪ ᴊᴜɴɪᴄʜɪʀᴏ:

Picnic 🧺

☃︎ A lot of cute and simple dates we have here.

☃︎ Packed all your favorite snacks and food.

☃︎ You guys talked a lot and shared a lot of cute stories.

☃︎ You were teasing him most of the time leading to a very shy junichiro to appear.

☃︎ At the end of the night like the cutie pie he is, he walked you home and kissed your forehead and said

" Hopefully you liked it today as much as I did!" He said with a cute smile while holding your hand gently.

Rᴀɴᴘᴏ ᴇᴅᴏɢᴀᴡᴀ:

Five Minutes Craft Trial 📱

☕︎︎ Now our great detective knew none of this shit will work out except two or three, so why did he choose this to be your first date?

☕︎︎ He wanted to explore and try things you.

☕︎︎ A lot of jokes were exchanged as well as sweet words making the atmosphere ,despite being a little silly, loving!

☕︎︎ He enjoyed the excited expression whenever you saw something in the video you were interested in and wanted to try.

☕︎︎ You guys ate a lot of candy (mainly him but who cares).

☕︎︎ He asked you if you wanted him to walk you home but you declined so he bid his farewell to you with a letter.

"It was so much trying these with you! I am really glad you accepted my confession but I mean who wouldn't? Seriously though thank you for giving me a chance. -Ranpo/ Your Wonderful Boyfriend”

ɴᴀᴋᴀʜᴀʀᴀ ᴄʜᴜᴜʏᴀ:

Fancy Restaurant 🍾

➪ Just wow.

➪ He really went all out for this!

➪ Some might ask "Why is doing all of this?

➪ Well my friend you see, in this scenario you've known Chuuya since he joined the Sheep so he pretty much knows everything about you and vice versa.

➪ Anyways back to the date, so he chose a really fancy one and booked a private table on the roof.

GOD DID IT LOOK MARVELOUS!

➪ The light illuminating on the flowers decorating the room. A soft smile present on Chuuya's face as he was enjoying his meal with you.

➪ He got you a really cute necklace too!

➪ When all of this luxury comes to an end he drove you home and gave your hand a kiss.

"Hopefully this makes you see me in another light other than the apple with anger issues because I want you to see me as your lover."

ᴀᴋᴜᴛᴀɢᴀᴡᴀ ʀʏᴜᴜɴᴏsᴜᴋᴇ:

Zoo 🦥

☾ I KNOW ITS VERY UNPREDICTABLE AND EVERYTHING BUT HEAR ME OUT!

☾ You guys went around feeding animals (more like you did cause aku was busy glaring at whoever looked at you funny)

☾ It was really cute when you made him try and feed the ducks!

☾ He was so clueless about everything and how to act in a way to make them warm up to him

☾ Btw when he saw the tiger cage it reminded him of Atsushi so he went ╭∩╮(•_•)╭∩╮

☾ You hugged a lot too-

☾ Just pure wholesomeness 😔

☾ You ate together some sandwiches you made

☾ You fed him and vice versa

☾ When he walked you home he said

"I can say an idiot like you made my day somewhat pleasant today."

copyright © 2020 tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[kuroos-babie]

Falling in Love with a Single Mom HCs

Akaashi x fem!Reader | Daichi x fem!Reader | Oikawa x fem!Reader

[ Headcanons/MiniFic ]

Request:  🥺👉👈 if you could do more single mom headcanon-fic-things LOL SORRY IDK WHAT TO CALL THEM and w/ akaashi, daichi, and oikawa? THANK U i love u and your writing you're so sweet  —anonymous

a/n: okay so strangely enough, i thoroughly enjoyed writing oikawa's and it's probably my fav out of these three 😳 thank u for giving me the chance to write these and thank u for the kind words! i hope u like it 👉👈

❀ he’s been noticing you more and more — sat on the corner of the cafe he frequents during his breaks

❀ you would always order the same drink and sit on the same table by the window, he would occasionally glance at you, admiring the way sunlight hits your skin and the way the cafe music seemed to be playing solely for you

❀ but you always left too soon for his liking, 15 minutes before 2 in the afternoon to be exact

❀ he never knew where you went or what you did outside of the little cafe he sees you in everyday

❀ but soon enough, he was given a chance

“excuse me, is this seat taken?” 

he saw your eyes look up at him in surprise and your lips curve into a small smile, “oh! no, go ahead”

“sorry for the trouble, i didn’t expect it to be this packed today”, he said in an attempt to engage in small talk

“it’s no problem at all” you assured him with another smile, “i often see you here, do you work nearby?”

❀ the two of you continued to chat until akaashi needed to remind you of the time

❀ but of course before you could even leave he'll ask you for your number saying

"i'd really like to know you more, if that's alright with you"

❀ of course it's alright with you sjckskdks

❀ the two of you would meet at the café everyday, except the weekends — same spot and same time, until it became part of your routines

❀ keiji took his time getting to know you and openly expresses his admiration for you

❀ of course you liked him back, he was sweet and considerate, he was everything you would like in a partner

❀ but you just needed to make sure of one thing before diving headfirst into a relationship

"akaashi-san—"

"keiji", he corrected, reaching out for your hand

the warmth of his hand helped eased your nerves of bringing up something that may potentially be a huge deal breaker

"keiji, we've been meeting for a while and i thought maybe it's time i tell you,"

❀ when you said you have a daughter, you never would've expected him to say "can i meet her?"

❀ you almost cried then and there— it had always been a big deal to the guys you met before, you being a single mother

❀ keiji sensed your relief and squeezed your hand in reassurance that it really was no big deal to him

❀ well it was, but it wasn't something that would easily shake up his resolve of being with you

❀ meeting your daughter for the first time was set in the same café, on a saturday half past noon

❀ he smiled seeing the quiet four year old on your lap, curious eyes and a small smile as he held out the little bunny plushie he got for her as a gift

❀ weekend café dates became frequent with the three of you and soon became home dates— alternating between your and keiji's apartments

❀ your daughter loved when he read to her, having her sat on his lap with a picture book in his hands

❀ more often than not, you would catch him fast asleep on the couch— picture book on the floor and your child snuggled up against his chest

❀ during these moments, especially, you couldn't help but imagine spending every day with them both without having to part ways by the end of it

❀ and of course, when he wakes up, keiji can't help but think the same thing when he wakes up to you smiling softly at him and the little girl who kept a part of his heart inside her tiny little hands

❀ your son met him first

❀ he just got out of the police academy and was assigned near the elementary school gates

❀ kids would often come up to him with fascination in their eyes

❀ and it wasn't a different case with your seven year old son

"hey mister are you a policeman?"

"sure i am, why do you ask?" he answers with the softest smile, crouching down to the child's level

"that's so cool! mom said my dad was a policeman, maybe you're my dad?"

he watched the boy's eyes widen in realization and he couldn't help but chuckle

"sorry, bud, but i don't think i have a child yet neither do i have a wife"

"well do you want one?"

❀ that effectively painted his cheeks in red, standing straight up and ruffling the boy's hair, urging him to go straight home

❀ everyday your son would come up to him to ask him the same questions and saying the same things

"would you want to be my dad?"

"i think it'll be sooo cool to have you as my dad"

"let me ask my mom if you can be my dad"

❀ jesus help this man pls

❀ he found it all to be endearing and soon enough he looked forward to chatting with your son for a few minutes every afternoon on his way home from school

❀ your child would always brag about how nice you are, how pretty, and just how amazing of a mom you are

❀ an amazing lil wingman if u ask me

❀ it wasn't until one of his day offs that he met this wonderful mom that he always heard of— and boy was he stunned

❀ he was out grocery shopping, skimming the aisles when he heard the familiar voice of your son

"mama, it's the policeman i was talking to you about!"

before you even had the chance to react, your child bolted through the spice aisle and cling to this man's leg

you quickly caught up to him and was about to apologize to the stranger when you saw him get to your child's level and pat at his head

"oh hey, didn't know i'd catch you here"

"i'm with mama! now you can see just how pretty she is!"

❀ the comment made both your faces heat up but even moreso when daichi looked up at you, absentmindedly muttering a "she is"

❀ your son had the proudest grin on his face >:)

❀ the three of you went out for lunch then which you insisted to be for all the trouble your son has caused him— who so conveniently disappeared to the playhouse to leave you two to yourselves

❀ it didn't take a lot for daichi to be absolutely smitten by you— admiring how you could handle a child and a job all by yourself and still managing to have that pretty smile on your face

❀ he had to thank your son his little accomplice the next time they have their afternoon chat

❀ and maybe start planning on "Operation Get Mom and Daichi-san Together"

❀ started as students sharing a class and later on became inseparable best friends

❀ you two met in college

❀ tōru would rave on and on about how much better you were than "iwa-chan" whom he never lets you see during their facetimes bec you "might fall for him and choose iwa-chan over me"

❀ he was there to witness you going out with an orgmate, there to listen about the first time you got laid, and of course he was there to comfort you when your ex left the moment you told him you were pregnant during your third year in college

"do you want to keep it?"

tōru held you close as you cried, his soft voice mingling with your sobs

"i d-don't know"

you buried your face on his chest, prompting him to hold you tighter and rub comforting circles on your back

"whatever you choose to do, i'll be here", he promised "i won't leave you"

❀ the moment you decided to keep your baby was the moment it was decided that oikawa would co-parent with you

❀ during your pregnancy, he came to your apartment everyday and stayed over on weekends

❀ he kept his promise and never left your side even after you gave birth

❀ he practically moved in with you, staying up late at night to care for your child so you could get some rest, he changed schedules and skipped classes to let you continue going to yours

❀ it was alright, he said, afterall a pro volleyball team was already eyeing him— he was set even before graduation

❀ the both of you fell into a steady rhythm of domesticity

❀ eating breakfast together, taking turns changing your daughter's diapers, cuddling in the same bed and having sleepy conversations about the future and how you're both thankful of the other

❀ it was never established what you two were— you just knew that you were each other's constant and that you promised to stay with the other until god knows when

"what're you planning to do then?"

"i don't knoooow~ iwa-chan help me out here~"

"well, for starters, you should go and tell her— y'know, about argentina"

there was a moment of silence between the line, tōru mulling over his options

"i don't want to leave her" was his quiet reply

"i know you don't, but this opportunity may never come by again, don't let it slip"

❀ it was a few weeks before your graduation, your daughter now more than a year old, when he received the call inviting him to play for argentina

❀ on one hand he knew it was the chance of a lifetime, but when he looks at you in his arms with your daughter on your chest, he couldn't even think about leaving you

❀ it was less about the promise he made and more about how he couldn't imagine his everyday without the two of you

"y/n-chan~"

you only hummed in response but looked up to meet his eyes

"if i were to get invited to go to the other side of the world to play volleyball, would you come with me?"

he held your gaze with hesitation

"i'll go anywhere with you, tōru, i thought you knew that by now"

a small smile of relief graced his face as he exhaled, closing his eyes and rubbing his face against yours, "thank you"

the next few moments were spent in comfortable silence before he broke it with a chuckle, "is it too late now to ask you to be my girlfriend?"

"tōru, we're basically a married couple for the past two years"

...

...

...

"so will you marry me for real?"

[dandelionflower]

She’s not here

They were all on the bus, heading back to the hotel for dinner and rest.

It was hard work, fixing up a park, but the class did it well. By the end of the day, it was beautiful, all traces of trash had disappeared and they had even managed to give some benches a new coat of paint.

Lila beamed and clapped as it was over, promising everyone a scoop of ice cream, as was tradition when she finished a big project. However, when they found a place that was selling ice cream, she realized she left her wallet in her room.

Apologizing profusely, she swore that she’d get them a treat some other time.

“This has never happened before; I’m so sorry everyone!”

Alya patted her shoulder. “It’s okay, girl. You already helped so much to heal that park; let us do something for you.”

“At least let me order for all of you.”

“If you want, girl, sure.”

“Okay, I’m usually really good at guessing people’s favorite ice cream flavors once I get to know them, so I should be good for most of you, but since Marinette and I haven’t been on such good terms lately, I’ll probably need to ask her. Where is she?”

“I dunno. Mari!” Alya called into the meager crowd of students. “Come on out, hun, we need to know your pick for ice cream!”

Adrien piped up from the back, where he was chatting with Rose. “I don’t think she’s here. She must not have come back from her walk.”

Alya felt her heart race with concern. “Lila, I know you want us to have ice cream, but there’s no way we can just leave Marinette in the forest.”

“Of course not, Alya.” She placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll go look for her after I place our orders. I know these woods better than anybody; I’ll have her back in a jiff.”

“Okay, thanks Lila.” She let out a breath, leaning against Nino.

True to her word, Lila left soon after ordering for everyone, heading down the sidewalk to look for Marinette. Sure, she seemed to be going the wrong way, but it was probably a shortcut she forgot to mention.

—

The walk back to the hotel was lovely, with Alya and Adrien arguing over which picture of Ladybug should be the new header for her blog and Nino holding her hand the whole way.

It was only when she got back to the hotel and saw Lila lounging beside a cute boy, did she remember that her BFF was missing.

“Lila! Did you find her?”

Adrien jolted, mid-sentence and looked up at Lila with hopeful eyes. It seemed that he forgot about Marinette too.

Lila sat still for a moment, before a look of remorse crossed her face.

“I’m so sorry, Alya. I couldn’t find her. I scoured every path, but nothing.”

“I should probably check.” Adrien raised his hand. “After all, I’m her boyfriend.”

“That’s a great idea.” Lila stood and walked to clasp Adrien’s arm. “I’ll come too, so we don’t get lost like Marinette.”

An odd look crossed Adrien’s face, but he nodded nevertheless. They began walking to the exit.

“Ah!” Lila flinched, clutching her leg. “My leg! I must have sprained it while looking for Marinette.”

“Oh!” Alya rushed to Lila’s other side, helping Adrien hold her up. “Let’s get you to our room, maybe get some ice for that leg.”

“No, I know you and Nino probably wanted to spend some time together. Adrien can take me. After all, what are all of those fencing lessons for?” She nudged him with a teasing grin, which he shakily returned. Poor guy, probably so worried about Marinette.

“Okay, make sure you call me if you need anything.” She grabbed both of her shoulders. “Anything.”

“Of course.” She smiled and patted her arm before tugging Adrien to the stairs.

Alya turned to Nino with a beam. “Soo, wanna hang out?”

He rolled his eyes, slipping his headphones back around his neck. “Of course, it’s not like we’ve talked about it since we found out about the trip.”

She leaned into his side, pressing a kiss on his jaw. “I’ve looked up a map, and I’m ready to show you all the sights.”

“Hi!” An unfamiliar voice surprised them; it was chirpy like Rose, but not quite as high. They turned in unison and saw a willowy girl with a long ponytail trailing down her back. An odd headband was woven into the deep purple locks.

“Sorry to eavesdrop, but I heard you two were looking for a place to hang out? Might I suggest…” her eyes landed on Alya’s face before brightening up again. “The aquarium? In the evening like this, the lights turn on and everything seems to glow an incredible blue.”

“Really?” She glanced at Nino with a grin. “That sounds like an incredible thing to put on my blog! Come on, Nino, let’s go!”

“Okay.” He chuckled and allowed himself to be pulled down a random hallway.

“Just take a right, then a left. It should be two doors down!”

They both giggled like kindergartners as they ran down the halls. Nino stopped and cocked a brow when she continued pulling him past the door the girl mentioned.

“Let’s play a game.” She whispered. “We both get lost and try to meet back here. Video chat so we know we don’t cheat.”

He pulled out his phone and called her in response.

Once they had gotten thoroughly lost, Alya set a timer and began dashing back to the aquarium.

It took her three minutes. (she may have cheated a little bit, but it wasn’t her fault! Nino is really cute when he gets winded from running!) She stumbled into the room, listening to Nino complain about how much she was making him run.

It was incredible. The latent orange from the sunset and the blues from the aquarium blended in a perfect contrast that she almost dropped her phone.

“Whereisshe...”

“You say something babe?” She glanced down at her phone. It was blank; no service.

Oh well, Nino would tell her what he said when he got here. Meanwhile, she raised her camera app to capture the stunning sight before her.

“She’snothere...”

A flicker at the corner of her screen. She lowered her phone, but nothing was there. It was slipped into her pocket as she turned to the larger aquarium. The fish seemed to be missing, except for one bright orange angel fish.

“She’snothere...”

The fish swam in hypnotizing figure eights. Alya stared at it, entranced. It felt like with every figure eight, the fish was stealing a little bit of breath from her.

“She’snothere.”

The fish moved faster and faster, until the swift motions combined with her shortness of breath made it look almost like it was forming a circle.

“She’snothere.”

No, not a circle.... a face. A face with thick rimmed glasses and a mole just above her eye. A face that looked like hers, but not.

“She’snothere. She’snothere. She’s. Not. HERE.”

A body erupted from the water, and Alya flinched from the waved, but they didn’t even spray her with a mist. Almost like they weren’t there.

A girl stood before her, hair in knots, staring at Alya. She was in a fancy blue dress that looked like it should be poofy, if not for the water dripping from the hem.

Alya stood stock-still, chest heaving. “Who are you?”

“Where is she?” A voice hissed from nowhere.

The girl looked at her with hollow eyes. “She’s not here.”

“Who are you walking about? What was that voice?”

The figure jolted, like a glitching video. Suddenly, her hair was neat and styled. Her dress was dry and fanned out around her.

“Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Where is she?” The bodiless voice asked again, this time in a tone so sickly sweet, Alya felt like retching.

Her mirror image grinned at the ceiling, walking closer to the empty aquarium. She put her hand on it, like she was about to push open a door.

“She’s right here.”

Spectral waves rushed from the glass, assaulting and surrounding Alya. Her breaths became more and more shallow, it felt like her throat was closing up.

Like she was drowning.

—

When Nino came in, panting and just barely biting his tongue from cussing, Alya was curled in a ball on the floor, wheezing.

“Als!” He fell to his knees beside her, taking in her vitals like he learned in the akuma relief seminar. “You okay? It looks like you had either an allergic reaction or a panic attack. What was in that ice cream you ate?”

“Don’t...know... Lila ordered.” She gripped his hand tightly and pulled herself up, pulling out her phone and dialing Lila’s number.

“Alya!” She could hear the smile in her voice. “Adrien, come on over, it’s Alya.”

“Hey Alya.”

“What... was in the ice cream?”

“The ice cream I ordered? I can’t remember... hazelnuts, I think?”

She glanced at Nino with wide eyes. She was allergic to hazelnuts. Not enough to do anything serious, but enough that she had a little trouble breathing afterwards. That must also explain that weird stuff she saw too; oxygen deprivation.

Nino grabbed her arm, fully intent on taking her to her room to recuperate for the rest of the night. She allowed him to, still a little shaken.

—

A sleek fox sat in front of a broken-eyed ghost. So?

“She’s not here.” Anya replied, glaring at the ceiling. She looked back down, her defiant eyes turning sad. “She’s not here.”

Not true. She’s here, and she’s safe and sound in her room.

Her broken eyes lit up and she floated purposefully towards the best room in the home.

Not yet you don’t! Finny hovered in front of the ghost. She’s sleeping and you won’t bother her!

The ghost nodded forlornly and dissipated.

That settles it, doesn’t it? Grace asked once the ghost was gone

Yep, Allegra moved forwards. These students are helping them pass on. Once they impart their knowledge, and scare them straight, they get their free will back, to haunt or help who they choose.

It’s weird though, isn’t it? Finny mused. How just one word could have changed everything? If Anny had just lied to her, none of this will be happening.

But she didn’t. Allegra reminded him softly. None of them did, and this is the price they pay.

Yeah... Finny flew low. Hey Allegra?

Yeah, Fin?

She’s here. Giddiness oozed from his voice.

Yeah, Allegra stared at the hallway leading to the girl that gave their lives purpose again, she is.

………

The rest

………

@merry-madness @calliopeia @drama-queen-supreme @kaydenth3gayden @mcheang @nomiegnome @never-say-donuts @vixen-uchiha @miracul0us-multishipper @hauntedfreakdeputyhero @chocolatecustarddanish @iwantswifttoblessmysoul @digitalmagpie @ilseofskadi @nerdy-and-a-little-birdy @minty-goose @nataladriana9 @constellation-king @animegirlweeb @persephonebutkore @ahalloweengirl @r0sebutch @marinettepotterandplagg @beelzzebop @akalovelymaybe @pleasefollowmeuwu @angelost4r @constancetruggle @speaknowtome @some-oxymoron @nerdy-scifi-birdy @purplesundaze @aestheticnpoetic @neptuningkai @2confused-2doanything @goggles-mcgee @grumpy-kitten-vixen @atremisdragona @lookatthestars1 @demonicbusiness @toodaloo-kangaroo

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

the three of clubs and the portrait of a bluebird

act 3 scene 1: the palace of night

art credit: @/ruruina!

“What a pretty cake you’re carrying.” Juno clapped their hands, admiring the small confection the Heartslabyul vice dorm leader presented to them. “I’m sure Professor Crewel will be delighted with the gift.”

Trey shook his head, a tired expression overtaking his face as he let his eyelids flutter shut momentarily. “I hope so. It feels like I’m taking the cheap way out by trying to win him over with sweets, but… I’m not sure if there’s anything I can do personally to get him to ease up a bit.”

“Ease up a bit? Did something happen?” Juno asked, tilting their head in slight confusion. Even they were aware of Professor Crewel’s pointed attitude, but from what they had gleaned over years of listening to students and go so far as to share a few words with him—tease him about his student days, if they felt particularly daring—he didn’t seem like a man cruel enough to hold grudges over students. Yes, he was a tough person to befriend and win over, but everything he did for his students, he did out of love and a genuine want to see them succeed under his guidance.

Trey rubbed his temples with one hand, keeping the offering cake steady on the other. “Long story short… Some of the younger students in my dorm spilled something on his prized coat. Riddle and I made sure that they forked over the money to get it mended properly and made them apologize profusely, of course, but I still want to say something on behalf of those guys to him.”

“Oh.”

“Silly, I know,” he breathed out. Juno had no desire to taste confections in the way that perhaps their human peers did, but it was still evident that Trey had spent quite a bit of effort making the treat. Small enough to enjoy in a few sittings but ample enough to sate someone, the expertly puffed cream peaks as well as the generous dark chocolate shavings sprinkled across the snow-like landscape of the cake did a tremendous job at reminding the painting of Professor Crewel’s signature black-and-white palette.

Juno pressed a hand to their mouth, giggling lightly. “I don’t think it’s silly. Sure, it’s not your mistake to apologize for, but I do hope that your dorm mates don’t take advantage of your kindness. I doubt that many vice dorm leaders here would take the effort that you do to stay in someone’s good graces.”

“You give me too much credit. I’m not as kind as you make me out to be.” Trey clicked his tongue. “I didn’t make this cake out of kindness; consider the cake a bribe of sorts. This is the sort of school where you gotta do what you can to stay above the crowd, even if it means being a bit two-faced.”

Juno was speechless. 

“Haha, there’s no need to look so scared! I thought you’d be used to this kind of thing by now, being a painting in this school for so long and all. Don’t worry too much about it. Even if I did offer it to the professor with the intention of it as a bribe, I doubt that he’s the kind of person to be swayed by things like these,” the green-haired student dismissed.

Juno cleared their throat, coughing awkwardly into their balled fist. “R-Right. I apologize, I didn’t mean to make it look like I had taken the wrong impression of you.”

“I don’t mind. Those who seem the most harmless are often those who are the most capable of doing harm, after all,” he hummed, an unknowing smile creeping onto his lips. Sickly sweet and natural, as if he was used to putting up a “good older brother” act, but still nefarious nonetheless: a pit of vipers lying underneath in wait. “I’ll leave you alone and deliver the cake to the professor before he goes to his next class. It’s not good to leave cakes out in the open for too long.”

Juno waved farewell at him, keeping a relatively neutral expression. “Best of luck to you then, dear Trey.”

How odd… Perhaps they were growing senile and too comfortable where they were right now, unbothered and untouched. 

Such interactions never failed to leave them deep in thought for the rest of the day, as innocuous as they appeared.

“There are so many blue wings, so many feathers falling that one cannot see anything for them!”

[tobesobri]

Bust | Part One: Chisel (7.8k)

“Disappointed?” She tilted her head, smirking at him. She had no right to think he liked her better than Rose. She, herself, liked Rose better too. So she was sure he had to be at least a little bit sad to see Rose missing.

He smiled and the second she saw those dimples she was reminded of his Instagram all over again.

“A little,” he nodded, pinching his thumb and index finger together in the air and she painfully agreed.

“Well, you get me all by myself tonight.” She didn��t realize how it sounded until it was too late. Until she was cringing at all the sexual insinuations she’d just made for absolutely no reason. She could have said something else that wasn’t laced in an innuendo. But no, of course not. She had to continue her embarrassing streak when it came to Harry.

Instead of being creeped out by her, however, and pulling a confused and slightly terrified face, he laughed. And, on God, his laugh was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard. This wasn’t the first time the sound of his laughter graced her eardrums, but it was the first time he was laughing because of something she said that wasn’t about crooked penises.

“Lucky me.”

In which Y/N is an annoyance in Harry’s sculpting class.

story masterlist | my masterlist

It’s not her forte. Her hands don’t know how to hold onto things. They tremble under pressure. They mess things up no matter how hard she tries.

Not that she had really tried very hard to begin with.

Sculpting was just not something she saw herself doing. Ever. Not with her lack of agility and poor attention to detail. But to appease her whining best friend… she’d do just about anything.

The class was held in a little art studio with large windows for ventilation and tall ceilings to display the mass amounts of student artwork on butcher block shelves. She never thought she’d be back in a classroom type setting after graduating college, but here she was.

Learning, what she proclaimed as, a useless skill.

The studio was smack dab in the middle of an inclined street. Little quaint buildings that sat on an angle because why not pour foundations on a hill and make her weekly walks to the studio a little sweatier than she would have preferred. Even if it was winter in their little beach village town. Sweat still happened. It just happened underneath a scarf and a hand-knitted beanie from the sewing shop next door.

She could not deny, however, that the late afternoon classes every Wednesday and Saturday brought her way more joy than she’d anticipated. She looked forward to meeting up with Rose at the bottom-of-the-hill cafe, sharing the daily special with her before making their way up to the studio. It was calm in the middle and end of her hectic weeks that she most definitely needed.

What she didn’t need, however, what she most certainly did not look forward to, what she could have done without, what took her joy and smashed it against a wall was him.

The instructor.

Harry ‘I have nice hands and a misleading smile’ Styles.

It had only been two weeks into their classes and he had already told her one of her bowls was garbage. That the way she sculpted a face was terrifying. That she couldn’t draw for shit and that made her attempts at sculpting even worse.

So by Saturday of their second week, she didn't care anymore. He was a jerk and she would be the best pain in his ass she knew how to be.

While everyone called him Harry, like he’d asked them to the very first day, she called him Mr. Styles. Just to see the way his eyes rolled back into his head and his nostrils flared. While everyone asked him insightful questions, like what glaze was best to use or what tool sculpted eyes most efficiently, she asked him if she could use the bathroom.

She got a fucking kick out of irritating him. Knowing he went home after their classes just as irritated as she’d been. With clenched fists and a pounding headache.

It helped that he was insanely too attractive to be teaching a bunch of millennials about sculpting in his free time.

“You should really leave him alone, he might kick us out, you know,” Rose said on their first third week walk up Justice Hill. There was no justice in walking uphill, and most fucking certainly not in the humidity-ridden beachside town. She found the street name personally offensive.

“Oh fuck him. If he kicks us out, he’ll have to refund us.” Y/N did not, even for a second, bother to lower her voice as they neared the studio, knowing any one of the other students could hear her if they were to walk by.

“Refund us what? We got the class for free, remember?”

Y/N racked her brain like she’d completely forgotten that little detail before shrugging it off. “Whatever. He won’t kick us out.”

“How do you know for sure?”

Before she could make some stupid remark about how Harry secretly liked her pestering him or about how much he seemed much too impressed by Rose’s progress to ever get rid of them, the devil himself turned the corner in front of them.

He came out from an alleyway that connected the street to a tiny parking lot. And while they were going uphill, he was coming down. He was hard to miss and so were they, but still he attempted to not see them.

“What a prick,” Y/N mumbled under her breath as they got closer to each other. And almost as if he could read her lips, he rolled his eyes so fucking hard she thought maybe they’d finally pop right out of his head this time.

“Shush,” Rose warned as the three of them finally met in the middle, at the door to the studio that was decorated with a bright yellow ‘Open’ sign, children’s drawings, hand-painted hours of operation, and one too many polaroids of past students and their sculpting creations.

They all stood and stared at each other for a moment before he opened the door first, holding it as, to Y/N’s surprise, he let them go in first. And while she was still in shock at the gesture, his body language said it all. Like he was forcing himself to be nice to the dynamic duo, to the bane of his existence. While she was too distracted by Harry and his clay-stained trousers and cable-knit sweater with a cartoon deer embroidered on it, Rose walked into the studio first. Giving Harry a polite smile that he returned almost… genuinely.

And right when Y/N made a move to follow, Harry stepped in front of her. She jolted back as he just about let the door slam her in the face.

Today was going to be fantastic.

*                                              *                                 *

“Right, so,” Harry began, clapping his dry hands together as he took a seat behind his messy table at the front of the studio. “I know some of you haven’t finished your heads yet, but our focus today will still be on the bodies. We’ll have a catch up on Saturday to make up for it.”

Y/N sought out her head on the wall where she’d placed it last week beside Rose’s, realizing for the first time just how ugly it really was. And to think she’d been trying to sculpt Harry’s annoying face. Even more annoying that no matter what she did, he was always a lot more handsome than her hunk of polymer clay.

“... because, like I mentioned, we have special guests today who will be modeling for you.” Harry stood again while two very thin and very conventionally perfect people came out in white robes. Y/N couldn’t help but gag.

“This is Hope and Jordan.” Harry motioned as he introduced them, not getting any further in his instructions before Y/N raised her hand in the back of the class.

Rose attempted to get her to put it down, too, because Harry was clearly in the middle of something, but it didn’t really work out so well. Y/N was a stubborn son of a bitch.

“Yeah?” He pointed at her, sighing while planting his hands on his hips. He knew nothing she had to ask was going to be at all beneficial to the group.

She cleared her throat and just from the smirk on her face, he braced for impact. “Are they going to be modeling nude?”

She made just about everyone blush, except for Harry. He hated how she never took anything seriously. That the art he’d spent years perfecting enough to teach meant nothing to her. It was all just a primary school joke in her eyes.

“Yes, actually,” he answered bluntly and then returned to what he was going to say before Y/N’s interruption. “So I want everyone to get a piece of paper and while they’re modeling, do a rough sketch of what you might want the body of your sculpture to look like. The importance is to get the proportions down so that when you use the clay, you’ll know how much you’ll need for each part. Just like we did for the heads.”

Harry walked around the class once the models were stripped and the sketching began. Rose started immediately, concentration on her face as she flipped between the female model and her piece of sketchbook paper.

All Y/N had was a scratch piece of grey-toned mixed media paper she’d found laying on their table. And absolutely no clue where to even begin.

She stared at Harry instead of the naked models, watching as he helped others around the room, pointing at their sketches and where they could improve. His other hand behind his back that gave her perfect access to stare at his rings. Remembering how he’d taken them off guide their first few sculpting lessons. Remembering how his hands had so gently but so fucking firmly caressed the mound of clay into the exact shapes he wanted like he knew exactly what to do with those things.

“See it’s going just as I expected back here.” When his voice was at her ear, she jumped out of her skin and out of her daydreams. Twisting her head around to him as he stood behind her, she found him staring over her shoulder at her blank piece of paper.

She narrowed her eyes at him once she’d fully processed what he said. “Sorry I’m trying to figure out the best way to scale up that dude’s micro-cock, proportionally, if you don’t mind.”

He just about choked on his own spit, and rightfully so. But when he glanced to her eyes instead of her disappointing blank canvas, with his eyebrows furrowed and his cute little nostrils flared just the way she liked them, it was clear his reaction wasn’t for the reasons she’d intended.

He was quiet. Lips pursed, mind completely empty apart from hearing her say cock over and over again. Echoing against his skull. Making a home for itself in his hippocampus for later purposes. When he was not in a class full of students with their eyes on him, watching him get hard at the fucking way she said cock.

“Leave you to it then,” he cleared his throat and continued on.

“He may not kick us out, but killing you is still an option,” Rose whispered once Harry was a safe distance away from them.

Y/N leaned back in her seat to watch him walk down the rest of their row. His hands behind his back again, eyes wandering over shoulders.

As long as he had those rings on while he choked her out, she was okay with that.

*                                              *                                 *

Everyone had moved on to their bodies. Gathering the clay they needed from the front and using their sketches as guidelines to build around the pre-made wire and aluminum foil armature. Most everyone had some sort of a form being attached to the heads of their sculptures by the time Y/N even got started.

Because she decided on using Harry as reference after all and he would just not stand still.

With the models gone, they were on their own, with help from Harry of course. He played several videos and gave various demonstrations to aide them. It wasn’t supposed to be perfect, but after she gave it her all for about ten minutes, she was ready to give up. Her body looked like a very lumpy, very deformed version of Shrek.

She took a break again, watching Rose sculpt for a while instead. She watched Harry sometimes too as he walked around the class again in gloves this time. Smoothing out features and picking up tools to aid in the process of forming collarbones and wrinkles.

The studio was in its typical state of disarray. Random cups of milky water on every table, pieces of clay smushed into the tile floor, tools and used gloves strewn about with no rhyme or reason. Harry thrived in that kind of environment while Y/N well… she hated it.

She wanted organization and cleanliness. Her nine-to-five called for that kind of thing. But she was slowly getting used to it. To letting go and embracing the mess while she was here. She wasn’t the one that had to clean it all up anyways.

The only time she wasn’t daydreaming was when Harry started up their aisle again, walking in front of their table this time however. He helped a couple others at the end of their row, watched some of them work before eventually landing right in front of Rose’s station.

He cocked his head to the side while he watched her struggle to form an even pair of breasts on her headless lady. And even though Y/N was trying her best to look busy, she just couldn’t help it.

Rose handed her work in progress over to him with a frustrated huff after he offered his assistance. And like… no way was Y/N missing out on Mr. Harry fucking Styles fingering some clay into the perfect set of boobs. No way.

Especially fucking not when he removed his gloves and used those fingers in their bare glory the way she wished he’d use them someplace else. She watched while he slapped some more clay on Rose’s poor flat-chested model and proceeded to smooth it out with his expert fingertips. She watched the clay melt under his touch, watching him dip into their shared cup of water to aid the process. She looked away long enough to admire the concentration on his face, the way he bit down on his lip and furrowed his brows the way she was used to. She watched again while he fixed all of Rose’s mistakes just by gliding his thumbs over the two perfect little lumps on her sculpture that sure as hell hadn’t started out so perfectly.

She had no idea why Harry sculpting a tiny set of breasts on what would eventually become a mermaid got her so hot and bothered but… it did. It did so fucking much, she was almost salivating like a dog by the end of it, thinking about what his hands could do with the real deal. But then he handed it back to Rose with a content smile on his face and burst Y/N’s little bubble.

“Might be better,” he said softly and Rose nodded in agreement. She hadn't noticed before, but when he stood to his full height it was clear he’d been leaning over on their table. Closer to the both of them than he’d ever really been before. And she knew he was tall, taller than Rose, who was five foot seven inches herself. And not just that but his shoulders were broad and his arms were a humble amount of muscular. Almost like he was a sculptor that kneaded clay a hundred hours a week. Maybe that was why she was a soaking wet mess.

He stretched his gloves back onto his hands and glanced Y/N’s direction. Eyes going straight from her disaster of an art piece to her flushed face and back.

“Don’t even know where to start to fix yours up,” he commented while moving slightly to his right until he stood directly in front of Y/N this time.

She looked at her abomination, wondering if it would be her worst idea to push more of his buttons or not. But, she went for it anyways. Her lack of impulse control would definitely come back to bite her in the ass one day.

“It’s the penis. Still haven’t gotten that down yet.”

He nodded, amused rather than his previous reaction to her antics. “Can see that, yeah. He’s got a bit of a crooked willy there.” Harry poked at it with his index finger and she became hyper aware of his closeness this time while he leaned over her tabletop again. Because his hands were right there, almost touching her own. And they were big, bigger than she realized. She could see him perfectly through the transparent gloves, his long fingers with clipped nails at the end that were well taken care of, considering.

She would need to soak herself in holy water for a while after this.

“Oh, is that not what the male anatomy looks like?” She teased, not fully realizing they were getting along for the first time and it was because of dicks. Because she’d put an oddly shaped protrusion on her figure before she’d even done much else with the blob of clay stuck to her form.

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head at her and standing up straight again. “Maybe if you paid attention when the models were out here, you’d know that.”

“Maybe if you hired someone who’s cock I could actually see from all the way back here without a fucking magnifying glass.” She was only slightly aware of how fully immersed she was in the debate over this penis.

But all he heard was cock again. She really needed to stop saying that. Because this time his mind was a little more imaginative while he stared at her lips and thought about the way she might say that on her knees in front of him.

He shook his head clear. She was an insufferable nuisance that he just barely tolerated on a good day. He didn't need her clogging up his brain with her cock talk too.

“Just fix it.” He mumbled.

She huffed when he left her to her own devices, not even bothering to offer his help, but she really shouldn’t expect any less. If he helped her, he would be doing it all for her. And that was hardly the point of taking a class to learn how to sculpt if the hot instructor was just going to do everything for you.

“Is there a reason why you’re arguing with him about penises?” Rose asked, hushing her voice around the apparently taboo word.

“It’s fun. And if I’m going to sit here in this stupid class with you I’m going to have some fun.” Y/N, on the other hand, was not hushed or subtle at all, as she ripped off the phallic piece of clay from her sculpture.

Rose cringed when she glanced past Y/N to find Harry looking right at her. He had been helping someone a few seats down and clearly not far enough away to have missed what Y/N said. All of his features drooped and he looked genuinely upset. Rose wished she could put a filter over Y/N’s mouth to save everyone from her insensitive outbursts. Especially Harry. He always tried so hard and for Y/N to brush everything off and boil it all down to a ‘stupid class’ even broke Rose’s heart a little. So she could only imagine how Harry felt.

After their typical hour and a half was up, once everyone at least had some semblance of a body minus the legs and arms, Harry called the class back to order.

“Alright, that’s time. You can put your armatures back on the shelves, carefully. As always, I’ll be around for a little while after. Have a great rest of your night, I’ll see you all on Saturday.” He finished his spiel, turning away to help clean up before a lightbulb went off in his head and his voice rang through the studio again, “Oh, and make sure you bring your sketches back with you!”

Everyone worked on cleaning up, including Harry. And while Y/N took both her and Rose’s sculptures over to their respective spots on the shelves, Rose walked up to the front of the class without any warning whatsoever.

She tapped Harry’s shoulder and watched while his smile faded just the tiniest bit after he turned to find her. That Rose’s poor face had to be associated with the thunderstorm that was Y/N.

“I just wanted to say sorry… about Y/N.” Both Rose and Harry glanced at the girl in question near the back of the studio, playing with their two sculpted bodies like they were barbie dolls. “I forced her to do this with me so she hasn’t really taken it seriously. But I’m really enjoying the class, you’re a fantastic instructor.”

His smile returned again and if he was being honest with himself, it really did make him feel better to hear her say that. He had some sort of a reasoning for Y/N’s horrible attitude and while he wished it was her apologizing and not Rose, he figured it was good enough.

“Thank you. You’re doing really well so far. I’ll see you on Saturday, yeah?”

She nodded, giving him one last polite smile before trotting back to Y/N and helping her clean up the last bits around their workstation.

“Please do not tell me you were flirting with him.” Y/N gagged, using a ball of clay to gather the little pieces spread across their table like a magnet.

“No, actually, I was apologizing to him for your behavior.”

Y/N snapped her head up, first at Rose and then Harry all the way across the room from them. “You what?”

“He’s just trying to teach and you’ve been a fucking knobhead.”

Y/N gasped in fake offense, which was actually slightly real offense. “Excuse me, he made fun of my bowl the first day, you seem to have forgotten about that.”

“A toddler could have made a better bowl than that, Y/N, and you know it.”

She frowned, grumpily averting her eyes to the table with her arms crossed over her chest like she really was a toddler.

“I’m just saying,” Rose started, a bit calmer this time, “stop pestering him.”

*                                              *                                 *

Y/N thought about everything Rose had said. About how much she wished she could take things seriously and not constantly get on people’s nerves all the time, but she simply did not know how to. Taking the piss out of things and making jokes was how she got through her days.

But she did agree. Harry didn’t deserve her behavior. Maybe he was a bit of a jerk to her to begin with, but insulting his class might’ve been crossing a line.

Because she didn’t actually think it was stupid. She quite enjoyed listening to him. She liked learning something new and following his instructions as he walked them through some of his techniques. She liked being connected to all the people in the little studio, even if only briefly. Complete strangers all shared that one little thing in common and it made her all fuzzy and warm inside each time she met up with Rose at the end of every Wednesday and Saturday.

Hiding behind a bit of humor, however, was a lot more comfortable than admitting she found pleasure in anything as corny as sculpting classes.

On Friday night, boredom got the best of her and she took a chance upon searching Harry’s name on Instagram while she took her weekly bath. It had been Rose’s idea, the bath, not stalking her attractive sculpting instructor online. That decision was completely her own. But the baths at the end of stressful weeks had a little influence from her best friend, as did most aspects of her life. Baths were a waste of time, in her opinion, and she preferred the efficiency of showering. But Rose had given her nice smelling soaps and weird fizzy things for bath time and well… she couldn’t let them go to waste.

So, amid her regularly scheduled, once-a-week bath, she scrolled shamelessly through Harry’s feed. Because he did, in fact, have an instagram. And she only knew it was him because every fourth post was a video and in said videos were his hands. And, fuck, they were just as nice on film as they were in person.

He didn’t post much of his face, which she thought was an actual crime, but there was a lot about him and his sculpting. She found out it had been his sister’s birthday recently, who, when she smiled, looked just like him. He’d also just finished a piece he seemed really proud of, a clay head and bust of a pit bull, to which he linked in the caption about a local shelter who rescued the breed specifically and needed donations. Her heart nearly fucking melted.

Harry wasn’t much of an open book, though, unless he let his art do most of the talking. He seemed to enjoy sculpting women the most, which is probably why he’d been so good at de-lumping the breasts on Rose’s mermaid. But all the female sculptures he made weren’t sexual at all. They had meaning behind them. Like every single clay face she clicked on throughout his photos had a story. Like he was uplifting rather than fetishizing.

And not every single one of them was skinny and had perfect features. She was shocked to see at least half of the creations she’d skimmed through were of larger women with imperfect breasts at times and asymmetrical faces. Not sticking to typical European beauty standards as she may have originally assumed he might.

It made glancing down at her very much imperfect body feel a little less like an attack. Because Harry spent his time putting all his love into his little sculptures with diverse body types that she almost felt ashamed for ever hating hers.

Once she was done clicking on just about every single post he’d ever made, she finally found a selfie. Well… not really a selfie. Someone else had clearly taken it of him candidly while he had been working. But there was an awfully cute smile on his face and very familiar dimples poking into his cheeks that make her heart warm up again.

He wasn’t a damn thing like she’d assumed he was from the beginning. She thought his art centered around the ideal, and that maybe he was a little condescending because of it. But his Instagram told a different story about his art. And she wanted to know so much more about him.

She was completely lost in her dreams about him that just the smidge of distraction led to accidentally liking a photo of his from two years prior.

She’d have to move countries. Change her name. Delete everything. Never look back. Y/N? A distant memory.

Before dropping her phone in the tub and really making a complete ass out of herself, she threw it, instead, onto her furry rug in the middle of the bathroom and sunk herself down into the water. Wondering if it would really be so bad if she just drowned a little bit.

Because she desperately wanted to. There was nothing she could do. Not even unliking the picture would help. He’d still see the notification. Still click onto her page and realize who in the fuck had just liked a two-year-old post of his that he, himself, had probably even forgotten about.

She wanted nothing more than to sink her head under the pink-tinted water and never come back up. Her mind would not stop with the visualizations of what his reaction might be. Things he might be thinking. Like is this that fucking bitch from my sculpting class? Or whether or not she might find herself blocked by morning.

God, just make it stop.

But suddenly her phone buzzed and her heart just about stopped beating. It had to be the notification that Harry blocked her. Was that even a thing? Did Instagram notify you if someone blocked you? And why was her phone on silent? Because her Instagram notifications and her text messages made very different sounds. If it was just a text, she’d consider ignoring it. She’d continue marinating in all her shame a little while longer. But it ate her alive not knowing what the buzzing was from.

So, carefully, she pulled herself upright and reached across the floor until she had her phone in her hand. Before she clicked the screen on, though, she closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath.

But when she opened her eyes and found out why her phone had buzzed, she let that breath out and settled her ass down again. It was Rose.

Hey, I can’t make it tomorrow for class. Felt like absolute shit at work today and had to go home because as it turns out I have the flu.

“Fuck,” Y/N mumbled to herself. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to go alone because facing Harry after she just did what she did was one thing, but doing it all by herself was another. But a part of her did still want to go tomorrow. The part before her horrific accident when she was full on getting a love boner over Harry. She’d wanted to see him again so fucking bad.

Okay. I probably won’t go too then

Y/N physically frowned at the idea of waiting another five days to see Harry again. Her brain really needed to make its fucking mind up about him. Did she want to see him or not?

No! You have to go and tell me what I missed!

Y/N rolled her eyes, but felt relieved. Even after her embarrassing slip up, her desire to see Harry again still prevailed. And she hated it. How was she even supposed to look him in the eye tomorrow, both of them knowing damn well she’d been stalking his Instagram back to two fucking years ago?

*                                              *                                 *

It was beyond weird sitting in their usual cafe on Justice Hill alone, even without the whole Instagram fiasco of the previous night she was trying everything in her power to forget about.

However all the desperate attempts to bury that awful experience were fruitless when she glanced across the room over her latte and found a very familiar set of grumpy-looking eyes already staring at her. But once she did notice him, he immediately looked away, stepping up to the counter to order his own cup of coffee.

She nearly choked on her drink, having to set it down and wipe what had spilled onto her chin off with a napkin she’d already used to sop up another one of her messes.

Of the three weeks now they’d been going to classes and frequenting the cafe just before, she’d never seen Harry. It was like he didn’t have a life outside being an instructor. He just popped up in the studio and she always left before him so she had no idea what he did after class either.

But seeing him here was like seeing a fucking unicorn in real life.

She couldn’t help watching him either, even if she knew she shouldn't. But, in her defense, he was wearing beautiful wine-colored corduroy pants with a tight white t-shirt tucked into them and a beige coat thrown over his arm to match. And for shoes he had on his usual white vans that had gained a few more scuff marks since the last time she’d seen him. His fashion would look terrible on anyone besides him.

He glanced her way again, briefly, when he left the counter with his cup, fighting his legs from walking in her direction but not exactly winning that battle.

And to her surprise, he stood right in front of her, behind the chair where Rose usually sat.

And when she looked up at him, he completely forgot why he had come over. He had no fucking clue what he was doing there. But it was too late now for him to back away and pretend like it never happened.

“Your friend's not coming?” His voice shook, but she didn’t notice with the way he finally took his fucking eyes off of her and gave her a chance to breathe again. He glanced at his watch just to confirm that it was, in fact, only five minutes until class started and it seemed reasonable to assume Rose wasn’t meeting her before then.

She pulled herself together and pretended like his close presence wasn’t intimidating her in the slightest.

“Disappointed?” She tilted her head, smirking at him. She had no right to think he liked her better than Rose. She, herself, liked Rose better too. So she was sure he had to be at least a little bit sad to see Rose missing.

He smiled and the second she saw those dimples she was reminded of his Instagram all over again.

“A little,” he nodded, pinching his thumb and index finger together in the air and she painfully agreed.

“Well, you get me all by myself tonight.” She didn’t realize how it sounded until it was too late. Until she was cringing at all the sexual insinuations she’d just made for absolutely no reason. She could have said something else that wasn’t laced in an innuendo. But no, of course not. She had to continue her embarrassing streak when it came to Harry.

Instead of being creeped out by her, however, and pulling a confused and slightly terrified face, he laughed. And, on God, his laugh was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard. This wasn’t the first time the sound of his laughter graced her eardrums, but it was the first time he was laughing because of something she said that wasn’t about crooked penises.

“Lucky me.”

He left her so fucking speechless, that after he started backing away from her table, reminding her to not be late, she still ended up being late. Because she sat in her chair for what felt like a century repeating his two words over and over again in her head.

Lucky me.

She knew he was only teasing but the way he’d just gone along with her original joke and how his voice sounded when he said it, she could not believe it. She could also not believe how Harry had some kind of massive hold on her that she sat staring at a wall for ten minutes trying to figure out how to operate properly again just to get up out of her chair.

Lucky fucking me.

She could scream.

If she wasn’t in public.

There was an extra pep in her step as she took Justice Hill alone this time, partially because of how giddy Harry had made her and partially because she was late… right after he told her not to be. But how was she supposed to be on time after what he’d just done to her emotions. And to the throbbing mess between her legs, but that's another story entirely.

Everyone was all over the place when she’d finally arrived, though, so it made slipping in the back that much easier. Not that she got past Harry’s watchful eyes, though, but at least she wasn’t interrupting anything while the class readied their workstations for another full night of going ham on their sculptures.

Harry kept his eyes on her mostly the entire time she did the same at her empty little area, watching as she tucked her purse under the desk for safekeeping and threw a couple tools he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her use onto the table. When she wandered off to the wall of shelves to retrieve her absolutely horrifying work of art, he finally gave her some privacy again. But he couldn’t help the fact that he’d been worried sick when she didn’t show up on time after he’d just seen her at the cafe, thinking something horrible could have happened to her between there and here.

So making sure she was unscathed before he, too, got his area organized was essential.

She sat in her chair and stared at what she had made the past three weeks. They’d started with something simple on the first day, taking a pre-cut slice of clay and free-handing a bowl with a few tips from Harry thrown in here and there. Then they jumped straight in after he showed them a few clips of sculptors working, pausing to explain specific things about creating a head and face. They were given everything they needed to make sculpting a complete figurine of a human body as easy as possible.

And still, she managed to create a combination of Shrek and the abominable snowman.

She huffed, wondering if she asked nicely enough Harry would let her just start all over. But before she could even think to do so, he clapped his hands together and got everyone’s attention for today’s mini-tutorial.

He explained smoothing to them and how there were many different ways of doing it so that your end results weren't littered in fingerprints. He reminded them to use water to smooth out the initial shapes of the clay they wanted and if they were having a really hard time with too much warmth from their fingers to use the gloves.

He ventured a little into detail work of the bust, showing a short clip of another artist forming collar bones with just two tools and her fingers. He explained what tools those were and why they were the most efficient for details and went on some more about other detail tools that were good for different things.

And the entire time she was far too lost in his voice and how his eyes lit up passionately when he rambled to even think about the fact that she wasn’t taking a single note for Rose’s sake.

They’d done a few lessons on details for the face, but they had yet to really get that far, only having put on tentative eyelids, lips and a nose for their heads before he really dove deep into details in what she assumed would be a full class later on.

And when he finally took a break to ask for any questions, she was, of course, the first to raise her hand. He thought about ignoring it, knowing all too well that anytime Y/N raised her hand in the back of his classroom, she was up to no good. But he was too nice to do that to anyone, even her.

So he called on her by nodding his head and she cleared her throat while he grimaced, expecting the worst.

“So, um, for example if we were going to do bigger details like abs on a male figure, what would be the best tool for that?”

He could have sworn he was having a heart attack. He had to blink a few times just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. She was actually asking him a legitimate question, and a good one at that. He had to repeat what she said in his head first, just to make sure it was real, before he answered, completely unprepared.

“Um… well after you lay out the clay where you want on the body, you can use one of the knives to blend the edges,” he held up an example of one for her, “and then a large ball or oval tool like this,” he held up another, “to smooth everything out. You’d probably want a more blunt pointed end to shape them, though, after you blend the clay in.”

She nodded like she’d been fully absorbing every single word coming out of his mouth and then he watched as she dug around quietly in the tool kit on her desk, in search of the types of tools he’d mentioned.

He could not fucking believe it though. She finally showed a stitch of interest in learning about sculpting. And he had no idea why she decided to right now. Maybe it was because she was without her partner in crime, but either way he was stunned. Absolutely fucking marveled.

After a few more questions and some demonstrations, he let everyone go and continue working on their projects while he circled the room as he normally did. And he found himself glancing at her from time to time, all by herself in the back with a genuine look of concentration on her face as she attempted making her creature a little less loch ness monster and a little more human.

Eventually, after he figured she was giving it enough effort for him to step in and help if she needed, he headed her way. And just as she sensed him walking down her aisle, while she was busy shaving off clay, a piece of it went flying into the air, completely out of control.

He stopped in his tracks after almost being smacked in the face with a chunk of clay and bent over to pick it up before someone squished it into the bottom of their shoes. He leaned over the edge of the table in front of her again, setting the piece of clay down next to her gently while she bit her lips between her teeth and tried to hide her embarrassed red cheeks behind her hands.

“Sorry!” She squealed at him, further digging herself into a hole.

He shook his head, “S’alright. Not the first time that’s happened.”

She laughed at the thought of him actually getting hit in the money maker with a hunk of clay and it eased her worries a little.

“So how are those abs going then?” He asked.

She stared at her sculpture for a moment before she sighed and turned it around to face him. It wasn’t as bad as it had been before, but it was still pretty rough.

“Mind if I…?” He held his hands out and she, without a single hesitation, handed it over to him.

He immediately grabbed the shaving tool she’d been using, and since it still sat next to her where she’d put it down moments ago, his fingers brushed against her hand when he picked it up. Sending every one of her nerves in the general area on a field day to mess with her nether regions again. It’s just… his fucking hands were an art form in and of themselves. His knuckles prominent, stretching soft skin around the bone. His veins protruding every time he made a more delicate move that required precision. Even the ones on his arms underneath the ink when he was a bit more rough with her sculpture sent her over the moon, while he shaved off bits and pieces with firm pressure to define the shape of the body and somehow create a human-like figure from her mess.

Then he started smoothing down the surface with a little water on his fingers and she went batshit. His hands while dry were one thing, but sparkling, wet, slippery fingertips? Lord have mercy.

She watched him spread a chunk of extra clay onto what would be the figure’s chest to build it up a little more with the knowledge of their previous conversations about dicks and abs making it clear she was attempting to make a male figure. She couldn’t help but watch his muscles flex underneath his tight white t-shirt. From far away across the cafe it had caught her attention. And now right here, she was definitely not letting it go unnoticed. It wasn’t too tight that he looked ridiculous, but just the right amount to show off every curve of his biceps and triceps and whatever other -ceps he had hiding underneath the shirt. He was normally in oversized tops so she was taking full advantage while she still had the chance to.

When he handed it back to her, it was like he’d done some kind of magic spell to get it to look so good after what she’d given him to work with. He leaned forward a little more and pointed at the figure’s chest and she was only halfway paying attention to him when he spoke, mostly focusing on how close he was and every single time he accidentally brushed his skin against hers.

“So if you want to make the abs,” he paused to glance over and dig through her pile of tools until he found the one he was looking for. “Use this to kind of sketch out the shape like we did with the faces,” he took the ball tool and rolled it down the middle of the chest, making a short indent to separate where the pectorals might be, “then you can add on the dimension like I was saying earlier.”

She took over the tool when he flipped it around and gave it to her so she could try for herself. And he watched for a short while as she did what he said to do, sketching out tentative abs, but not really knowing exactly what they looked like to come to any sort of realistic end. Her figure started to look like a shirtless Johnny Bravo.

He just giggled and pointed his stupid finger back into her personal space, smoothing down her mistakes until they disappeared, “Have you never seen a six-pack that wasn’t on a cartoon character?”

She racked her brain, trying to say something funny, but once she looked into his eyes, nothing came to mind. “Of course I have. I just don’t know how to make them look realistic.” She couldn’t exactly remember the last time she’d been faced with a naked man’s chest, but she had seen them before.

“Well…” Harry sighed, resting his head on his hand and staring at her sculpture sideways, “he doesn’t have to have abs.”

And then she said it. Something worse than her earlier set of words back at the cafe. She had no clue what was going on with her tonight, but she needed an ass-kicking for it.

“Do you have abs?”

“Me?” His eyes flickered up to hers in shock and it was far too late for her to backtrack, she was here and she had to face what she’d done. Even while he looked at her like she was fucking insane.

“Uh, well. I mean…” She had no fucking clue what she meant. And even if she did, she sure as shit wasn’t telling him.

Then it clicked in his brain. “You’re not using me as reference, are you?”

After a solid three seconds of just staring at him, she laughed. “No, of course not.”

“Hope so after you gave him that wonky penis.”

She sighed once they were through it. Once he’d proved, yet again, that he didn’t make her embarrassing statements feel as bad as they really were. He kind of just... went along with it.

But then she made it even worse.

“So yours isn’t wonky and crooked, then?”

Jesus, fuck Y/N just shut up.

His smile never faded, however, and instead, he leaned close again and whispered, “Maybe one day you’ll be lucky enough to find out.”

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Hi I dont know if you want jercy requests at the moment but i had an idea for one :

Dark percy murdering calligula as a revenge for jason

Hello angel! Whew this request was willldddddd and I had soo much fun with it. There isn't any jercy per se (in fact Annabeth and Percy are together in this) but Percy is furrrrrious about Jason and he exacts a very twisted sort of revenge for his friend's honour. Basically this was an excuse to write dark!percy and by gods I hope I delivered!

CW: revenge driven, grief, graphic depictions of violence

Burning Maze Spoilers

he used to be nice.

He used to be nice.

Percy had been digging around the weapons room when his name had been shrieked like a dying animal. He had been looking for protective gear to give to little demigods in his sword-fighting class, when a scream like broken bones cracked through his body. He had been starting another calm, routine-controlled day at camp half-blood when he heard the news that made him snap.

*Two hours earlier*

“Jackson,” Annabeth knocks at his cabin door. He hears her voice carry through the open windows, and over the continuous sound of the ocean. “Pers, we have breakfast in half an hour and you have a sword class to teach today.”

The event had been printed on her wall of “to-dos” so that neither of their adhd brains would have the chance to forget. But he groans at the reminder, not wanting to escape his warm bed, or the duvet that wraps around him like a hug, or the pillows that hold his head as if he is a god. Sometimes he wishes he was a Hypnos kid. Their whole thing is sleeping . The knock sounds again.

“Seaweed Brain, come on,” His girlfriend sighs, “You promised we’d talk to Chiron about the—"

The loud and obnoxious cry of a harpy sounds somewhere in the distance and whatever she says next is drowned out completely. He knows though. Knows what she’s going to say and what they have to do. So he drags himself out of bed, like the last sack of potatoes on the crate. Heavy and bruised and discarded for the most desperate of the lot.

“I’m up,” He manages to rasp. He doesn’t like talking to people till he’s brushed his teeth, and eaten something, and spent at least half an hour staring at an empty coffee cup. A New Yorker through and through he supposes.

“Okay,” He hears Annabeth call, “I’ll see you at the dining hall then.”

He makes a sound half way between a grunt and a yawn and hopes she understands because that’s the best she’s getting out of him. The morning routine is quick, even done at the speed of a stubborn toddler. Soon he is sitting at the Poseidon table, scarfing down eggs and toast, and washing it done with a second cup of coffee. The buzzing in his veins is completely normal. And he’s definitely not speaking at a thousand miles an hour. This is how he always talks. Why on earth they allow coffee in a camp full of adhd kids, he’ll never understand. But it works in his favour so he isn’t going to complain.

By the time him and Annabeth are done talking to Chiron about introducing therapy to the camp, he feels like his eyes are moving faster than his sensory receptors can process and his thoughts are moving faster than his ability to process at all. So when his girlfriend, smiling at him about something, stops outside their training room he looks at her with furrowed brows and asks, “What are we doing here? Are we training for something?”

She frowns, “How much coffee did you have this morning?”

“Only three cups.” He shrugs, and clenches his hands in his pockets as if she can see through the fabric to the shaking body underneath.

Her grey eyes widen as if she’s about to scold him, a petulant child being chided by their ever tired caregiver. It makes the part of him still attempting to function slightly wild. He squishes that part down with the force of a thousand ships. Someone calls Annabeth’s name so with a quick peck to the cheek she leaves him in front of the training room and jogs towards the middle of camp and out of sight.

He stares at the room, trying to get his brain to stop focusing on things he doesn’t need to focus on right now, like the three lines of a song he heard at the grocery store a week ago that he hasn’t been able to get out of his head.

He used to be nice.

Entering the training room he scans the schedule and sees he’s teaching a class of small people, campers younger than ten who are just learning the ropes but should disaster ever strike will be ushered to the Cabin 9 bunkers to wait out the storm. It is a rule that no-one under the age of twelve be subject to war if they need not be. And he will make damn sure the need never ever surfaces.

He gathers swords of various shapes and sizes, along with a few daggers, and the straw dummies that have seen better days. It boggles his mind that they’re at a camp for children of literal greek gods but somehow there’s no funding for basic necessities like extra cots in the Hermes cabin, and better dummies to stab.

Muttering to himself he moves aside metal and stacks of straw, trying to find protective gear in the pile dumped at the corner of the training room. When he doesn’t see any he lets out a long suffering sigh... he has to go to the weapons room, which is more of a broom closet with deadly devices than anything else.

The room smelt musty, and the reek of rust slams into his nostrils at dizzying speeds. It reminds him of blood, and it made his skin itch with the need to get out. But still he bends down and searches through the mess of celestial bronze, and gold and—

The scream cauterizes his happiness. He is panic and pain and death and everything brutal in a single awful instant.

“PERCY!” His name has never sounded so full of agony, each syllable holds the stages of grief.

He is running towards the anguish before he’s even fully realises what’s going on. But what he sees when he crests the hill is enough to make the warmth of his heart run burning cold.

Annabeth is curled on the ground, tears like rivers of woe streaming down her cheeks and a purple flag clutched tightly in her fists.

“What happened?” His voice is soft. If he hears himself too loudly he’s going to shatter.

Annabeth cries harder, her whole body shuddering. Grief is overwhelming. Grief is all consuming. Grief will make itself known like thorns in your thumb or bullets in your heart.

“What happened?” He repeats.

And someone, far away, right next to his ear, inside his head, says, “It’s Jason, Jason Grace. He’s dead.”

He used to be nice.

It takes him three days. Three days of non-stop travelling, by foot, and air, and sea, to reach Caligula’s home. A palace. A grave. It is three days too long. Too long for a murderer to be walking free as if there are no consequences to his vile actions. But still he is here now and he will see the fall of a great, and watch how he bleeds just like everyone else. Not gold, the colour of the emperor’s one true love, but red, the colour of his victims.

Percy's eyes are almost black with violence, green so dark it reflects the night sky. His hands clench and unfurl as if practicing to wrap around a throat and squeeze till the symphony of breathing plays its last note. His body is strung taut, a bow string waiting to release. He is murder. He is nothing. He is your worst nightmare.

“Caligula.” He scrapes. It is the exact sound of a sword sparking against stone. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Nothing but scared silence greets him. He can feel the fear coating the walls of this burial ground like a fresh coat of paint. He will make a playground of the blood he spills, will invite all manner of creatures to use it as a park. He will revel in the slaughter he is about to participate in.

“Caligula!” His voice is the sharp edge of a small knife. Unassuming but deadly. ‘“It is no use hiding. There is no place you could go where I couldn't find you.” He feels the earth sway underneath him, and he grins. Oh this is going to be fun.

“Fine Emperor, if this is how you want to do it.”

With a shrug, he flings out an arm and turns three columns to dust. He watches the stone crumble, feels the sand on his palm as if he was crumbling the columns in his hands like soft cheese. With a small stomp of his foot a crack rivaling the river Thames splits the marble floor in half. The entire structure shudders, creaks right above him. His grin only gets wider, more dangerous.

“I will level this place to the ground. I will erase it from history as if it had never been. You will not exist Caligula, because you will go with it. Will be crushed under the weight of your own wealth.”

“You’re a fool,” A voice, reedy and nasalled in a way that has his soul curdling, shouts from somewhere on the far side of the room. “You will crush us both."

Percy laughs. He laughs and the sound widens the cracks in the floor. It is deep, and wild, but in the way a wild thing is caged: snapping at it’s bars, hissing to be free. He laughs.

“You are a fool Caligula. A fool if you think i am not willing to die if it means you suffer. A bigger fool still if you think it will not give me great pleasure to spend my last moments watching the life leave your eyes,”

The distant sound of bubbling starts to fill the room. Percy wonders if he can make blood boil. His mother has certainly said so enough times.

“Leave now half-blood,” The Emperor spits. There is still something of arrogant, misplaced bravery in his voice. It amuses Percy. “Leave now and you will not face the consequences.”

“And pray tell,” He contemplates, “Who you think will deliver your consequences if i leave?”

A scoff that echoes into the pathways of his brain comes from the back of the room. “I do not need consequences dealt. I have done nothing to deserve them.”

The sound of bubbling is getting louder. He looks curiously at the cracks still spidering around the room. “Ah Emperor,” He tuts, “That is where you are wrong. People who deserve consequences hardly ever get them. It is those who don’t think they deserve them that become the unlucky bearers.”

“What are you going on about, boy?” He snarls.

The bubbling is loud enough now that Percy almost checks to see if a small brook has carved its way through the floor. There is nothing there except ever growing cracks, turning to rifts and canyons before his eyes.

He used to be nice.

“We can do this one of two ways Caligula.” He starts, honey bees with a sting a little too sharp to be defence. “You can apologise and I’ll kill you quickly, or…” His smile is sickening. “And this is my preferred method, I could watch you die slowly, watch the life drain from your body and into the soil of blood-crops that will grow here, and your dying words will be the mercy you will inevitably beg for.”

The bubbling spills over the cracks, leaking salty water onto the dying marble floor.

“Better choose soon oh dear Emperor,” He giggles, “I am the only thing holding this room together. As soon as I let go the floor will split like your loyalties. You will be crushed to death by your own greed. And if that doesn't happen you will surely drown.” To emphasise his point water starts gushing from the floor, no longer a bubbling stream but a raging river. His laughter is carried along the ripples that hit the walls, already leaking with the all encompassing ocean. “Wouldn’t it be a pity Caligula? To drown in your own home, surrounded by all the things you killed for, watching as they drown with you?”

“Shut up half-blood,” He screeches, “You do not have the power it takes to kill me. You are nothing compared to the centuries I have been alive.”

“Do you know who i am honouring Caligula?” He asks softly, a stark and terrifying contrast to his smile a moment before. “In all your centuries can you remember but one demigod, a dear friend of mine, but just another victim of yours?”

“Does it matter?” He scoffs, “They are all the same in the end. All bleed, and cry, and piss, and die the same.”

The grin Percy lets loose starts hurricanes. It is the absolute wrong thing to say. ‘“If it is all the same to you Emperor,” He becomes terror. “Then i think i’ll spill your blood at his altar.”

And before the doomed emperor could react an invisible hand wraps around his throat and he was being dragged to the middle of the room. His eyes wide, popping out of his head; hands clawing at his neck as if trying to remove the grip they cannot feel; feet flopping helplessly underneath him.

“Apologise for killing Jason Grace.” It is a command.

Caligula glares, attempting to spit at his feet.

Percy tilts his head and with a single crook of his finger he slams the emperor into the wall. The crack is deafening. It makes him grin.

“Apologise for killing Jason Grace.”

Caligula produces an ancient roman gesture, passed through time as if centuries cannot dismantle the insults of humans.

Percy twists his wrist and the emperor’s body contorts into something unrecognizable, bones snapping and shattering to fit their new mold.

“Apologise for killing my friend.”

“Fuck you,” He manages to choke out.

A wave of ocean water alarming in its beauty rises behind him. He is its god. And with a wink he shoves all of it down the emperor’s throat. The column of that pale neck bobs as if attempting to take the water down. He can see the body trying to retch it all up, unable to handle the sheer amount, the salt that comes with it.

“Watch Caligula,” He motions to the palace sinking under the weight of his ocean, “Watch as everything you have ever cared to love drowns.”

Percy grabs a shard of mirror, uncaring of the gash it sweeps across his palm. He holds it up to the ancient powerful Emperor, who is convulsing into nothing. “Watch.”

He used to be nice.

Sometime later when Percy Jackson walks up a hill, and into the fading sun there is nothing but content mania lining his features, and behind him where a grand home once stood, is a trickling river and a single spear carved with the words, “Neo Helios”. The only sign that Caligula, Emperor and murderer, ever existed,

He used to be nice.

Until someone killed his friends.

---------------------------------------

[image id: printed text that reads, "I used to be nice." end id]

[cherrybracelets]

Politics & Violence (one)

masterlist | requests

summary: Your father is one of the most progressive presidents in history, and many praise you and your family for all the good you’ve done for the country. But there is a select group of radicals who plans to take the entire administration down, and the threat to you and your family is growing every day. Your father takes matters into his own hands when he hires individual body guards for each member of your family.

pairing: bodyguard!a. hotchner x presidents daughter!reader

words; 11.5k warnings: this fic will be 18+!!! lots of heavy stuff, drugs, alc, depression, sex, guns, violence, death 

song inspo: politics and violence by dominic fike

an: hey this is my first hotch piece and I’m super nervous so please let me know what u think!! i will be making a full playlist for this fic and a moodboard so keep ur eyes peeled; this is also obviously non canon and the backstory hotch has here is completely made up by me also this is gone be two parts ok bye

Being the daughter of the president was hard enough, it doesn’t make it any easier that you’re fucking your bodyguard. You wouldn’t trade Hotch for the world, but it was exhausting keeping up with this life sometimes. You never thought of yourself as someone who would get entangled up into a secret like this. You felt it weighing on you all the time. Every secret glance between you two in the hall, every ‘accidental’ touch at an event, the secret kissing in the closets with the door locked and the lights off. It was a thrill, but also added unneeded strain to your life. 

Hotch saw the effects he had on you, too. Both negative and positive. He knew that the love you two shared, the passion between you, would be unmatched with any other person. But he also knew how hard it was to keep that love a secret, to not hold hands in public, to lie to all of your friends and family. Most importantly, to lie to your dad. Loving him, being with him, it was a sacrifice. 

Your dad had spent the past 23 years of his life doing everything he could to protect you. He hated that he brought you into this life; he hated this life himself. All he wanted was to help people, and he thought the best way would be politics. But he didn’t know that with his more modern takes, many people would hate him. And it got so bad that last year you started receiving death threats. A group of radicals had recently started sending individual letters to your whole family, making it clear how much they hated you and what your family stood for. 

It was terrifying. And you were tired of it. You had been dealing with it your whole life, as he had been an important politician for a long time before winning the presidency. The cameras following you everywhere you went, never having real relationships with anybody because people just wanted the clout that came with knowing you. You were miserable, and were only finding happiness in the darkest of places, ironically. Partying, alcohol and drugs had taken over most of your nights, with a group of people who you wouldn’t really call your friends, but people who had allowed you to be miserable with them. 

You had never really had friends, besides your siblings. People always wanted to be your friend, but almost never for genuine reason. And when someone was being genuine, which was rare, you had a hard time trusting and ultimately hurt the person to avoid being hurt yourself. It was a terrible cycle that you’d been dealing with for... a long time. Twenty three years to be exact, because the night of your twenty third birthday was when it all changed. 

Your dad had called everyone to the house for a family dinner. At the time, you were living in some tiny studio across town, and your brother was shacking up with some girl he knew from college. It was pretty rare to get all of you together in one place, but for you and your brother, Matt’s birthday, it was extra important that everyone was there. 

Your father always blocked out his schedule for birthdays, they were a big deal to him. And although you were dreading having to put on your happy face for an evening of passive aggressive comments and awkward small talk, you did it for him. He was the only member of your family who deserved even a second of your time. 

So that night, you drove to your parents house, reminding yourself that it’s only a few hours and everything will be fine. There won’t be any issues, you and Matt won’t fight, the two younger siblings won’t fight, mom and dad won’t fight. No one will fight, you promised yourself. You’ll hold it together. You practiced your smile as you pulled in the driveway, hoping to not be too disingenuous when you saw everyone.  

None of them were especially bad people, they just all had a lot of problems, and were especially bad at dealing with them. But, so were you. Comes with the territory of being a high profile political family, apparently. You already saw Matt’s car there as well, which made you nervous. Matt and your mother being alone together for very long without you to interject was never good. It could already be a disaster as soon as you walk in. 

You got out of your car and walked slowly to the entrance, your head down. You didn’t like making eye contact with the secret service, they always made you incredibly nervous. They stood so still, but their eyes always followed you like a haunted painting. Someone opened the door for you, and you stepped through the entrance to an empty hall. You assumed they were in the dining room already, waiting for you. 

As you walked there, you noticed an unusual silence of guards and other employees. Most people at least said hi to you as you walked by, but there was nothing tonight. Every face you passed was buried in paperwork or their phones, looking worried. When you finally arrived to the dining room, you walked into an unusual silence. There were quite a few guards that you hadn’t recognized, one specific one watching you intently as you greeted your family and sat in between your dad and Matt.

“Thank you for finally gracing us with your presence, princess,” Matt grumbled, raising his eyebrows in discontent as he shifted in his chair. 

“I’m like, five minutes late dude, can you relax?” You protested, crossing your arms in frustration and avoiding looking at him. 

“Guys, please don’t do this, not tonight for God’s sake,” your father interjected, his teeth tightly clenched together as he stared daggers at the two of you. His forehead was sweating, and his nails were bitten down to the point of bleeding. It had been almost two weeks since you’d last seen him, but he was not like this before. Something was happening, and you felt your stomach turn as you looked around the rest of the table and realized you were the only one out of the loop. 

“What is happening with everyone right now?” You looked at your dad first, hoping he would step in and explain the obvious elephant in the room. 

“Someone is trying to kill us all,” your little brother, Charlie, blurted out. He was young, only ten, and clearly didn't understand the gravity of the situation. 

“Jesus, Charlie, way to freak her out,” your sister yelped, pushing him slightly. 

“Charlie, Dani, both of you shut up!” Your mom yelled, slamming her fists down on the table loudly and making you all jump.

“Everyone, relax, okay,” your dad instructed calmly. It used to be you, mediating every fight and solving every issue. But you couldn’t do it anymore, and your dad knew. He needed to step up and fix the shattered remnants of your family. Unfortunately, that was a harder job than being the president. 

“There have been some… issues, with this radical group based in Virginia. I get threats all the time, but, they are threatening each of you now. And I’m not going to put up with that. So, there’s going to be some changes around here.” 

“Yeah, go ahead and tell her about how we have to move back home,” Matt objected.

“What?”

“It’s only temporary, (Y/N). We are doing everything we can to catch the guys who are doing this. But for now it is safest for all of you to be home.” 

“I have a life, Dad. I can’t give up everything because you did some things that pissed people off.” 

“Don’t be so selfish, (Y/N), this is about all of us, not just you.” Your mom took a long sip of her wine and sat back in her chair, preparing for the yelling that was about to ensue. 

“You all each have a personal bodyguard as well, with high levels of combat training. They will be with you all day, everywhere you go. At night there will be a rotated shift of guards outside your doors.” 

“Oh, wonderful.” 

“Aaron, why don’t you come meet my lovely daughter,” your father muttered, motioning to one of the men standing behind him. As you suspected, the man who had not taken his eyes off of you since you arrived took a few steps forward, nodding respectively at you. 

“At least yours is hot,” your brother whispered to you, rolling his eyes. 

“My name is Aaron Hotchner, and I will do everything I can to keep you safe.” He stuck his hand out to you, and you grabbed it reluctantly, shaking his hand lightly. His touch was gentle, but his hands were strong and large compared to yours. He definitely looked the part. 

“What about my trip next week?” You questioned, turning away from Hotch and back to your dad. “I’m supposed to go do that college campus tour in California. I leave in two weeks.” 

“We all think you should still take that trip, it’s only a few weeks and Aaron will be with you the entire time. I don’t think the jet is a good idea, though. We’re going to have you fly commercial.”

“First class, I hope?” Your brother and mom both collectively rolled their eyes, and you just ignored them and continued to stare at your dad, awaiting his answers. 

“Of course, darling.” He smiled politely, hoping to end the conversation here and get on with dinner. You decided it wasn’t worth pressing it, seeing how clearly your dad was falling apart, you didn’t want to add anymore stress to him. 

The rest of the dinner was uneventful, for a change. You all made small talk, caught up on work and school- pretty boring stuff. The whole time, you felt his eyes on you. When you looked at him, he dragged his eyes away slowly, as if pretending he wasn’t watching your every move. You weren’t sure why he kept looking away when you noticed him- it was his job to watch you. It was almost as if the thought of your eyes meeting scared him. 

The most exciting part about a dinner with your family was when you could finally leave and go home- but tonight, unfortunately, you did not have that luxury. Your bedroom here was already prepared, and you always had a few spare pairs of clothes here. You knew there was no way you could convince any of them to let you go home. 

And you definitely could not go out with your friends. But they were blowing up your phone, talking about their plans to go out to some new club with some amazing new party drug. You looked around the room nervously, trying to plan an escape somehow. There had to be a way, you basically had a PhD in sneaking out. 

“Well, it’s getting late, I think it’s time for us to get Mr. Charles to bed!” Your dad teased, making funny faces at your brother, who just laughed in return. It was nice seeing him so full of joy, still loving life. He hadn’t hit the rough years, yet. You missed that feeling, the feeling of not knowing that every day, no matter what, would be miserable. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna head out. Breakfast tomorrow, Dani?” 

“Really,” she sat up, tilting her head in confusion. She was 16, now, and was more miserable than the rest of you. Being sixteen and living this life is utterly exhausting. She looked up to you highly, and you always paid her extra attention. You didn’t want her to end up like you.  

“Of course.” You kissed her on the head and hugged your dad, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone else. You walked through the doors quickly, a reluctant Aaron Hotchner following close behind. 

“I thought you left me alone at night.” 

“Once you’re safe and I’ve secured you in your room, I can pass my duties to another guard. I don’t see you safe in your room.” 

“Okay, dude, I got it,” you rolled your eyes, watching him get closer to you with every step. He was right beside you, now, your arms both at your sides, your hands accidentally bumping together as you walked. The moment his flesh touched yours, you felt your whole body fill with heat, your throat feeling tight as the forbidden flesh touched yours. That was the first time you knew you wanted him, the first time you felt like you could lose yourself in him. He smelled of strong coffee and vanilla, pulling you in like a flower shop in a Spring day. 

You stayed silent the rest of the walk, coming up to your bedroom door. “Honey is secure, send in the first shift.” 

“Honey?” 

“Code name.” He responded sternly.

“What does it mean?” 

“I don’t… I don’t know. I just picked it when I saw your picture.” He seemed caught off guard, as if nobody had asked him that question before. You were pretty sure nobody had a codename like Honey.

You saw the other guard approaching, and Aaron seemed to relax a little as he saw the man. This man was a lot younger, and you didn’t feel nearly as protected with him. Which was probably why he was the night guard, and perfect for your plan. Aaron and the other man spoke secretly for a moment, before he turned and walked away without saying goodnight. You felt a little hurt, but also knew that it was his job to protect you, not to get close with you. 

You went into your room and closed the door behind you, praying to God you had something cute to wear somewhere here. You searched around the closet, pulling garments off of hangers in frustration. Luckily you found an old dress that somehow still fit. You wiggled your way into it and fixed your hair a bit, hoping the low light of the club would cover for your bare face. You threw a robe on top of everything and shoved your heels into each pocket. You realized it was still pretty early, and decided to work on your presentation for your college tours. 

You were pretty proud of your program actually. You had created a program for colleges to help get students to care more about politics, helping them to register to vote, understand laws and policies, amongst a million other things. It ended up being very successful, and your dad even credited you for helping him to win the presidency. Most of your life felt like you were stuck inside the darkest cloud to ever exist- but when you were working on this, doing your presentations for people just like you… it gave you something to live for. It was one of the few reasons you had to keep going, in all honesty. 

And by the time you looked up at the clock, it was already almost 11, and your friends were on their way to the secret exit to pick you up. Yeah, there were plenty of hidden exit spots around the building that weren’t patrolled. You and Matt pretty much discovered that the first day you moved in here. You let your friends know that you’d be out soon, and you got yourself ready to go. You quietly opened the door to see the guard standing silently, turning towards you when he heard the noise. 

“Hey, super sorry, my mom just texted me to come to her room. I’ll be right back!” You smiled confidently, closing the door and trying to start walking before he questioned you. 

“I should probably go with you,” he requested.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. There’s a million of you guys on the way to her room. Plus, what if someone tries to sneak in my room. How will you know?” 

“Oh… alright,” he muttered, awkwardly. “Just don’t take too long.” 

You nodded in agreement and skipped down the hallway, people stopping to look at you momentarily before ultimately deciding they had something more important to do than worry about you. When you got to the back secret staircase, you dropped your robe and slipped your heels. Your friends were waiting for you at the door, greeting you with squeals and hugs. 

“The uber is right outside the gate, let’s go!” One of them said, sprinting to the exit. You all followed quickly, laughing and twirling in the warm summer air. That was weirdly easy. You had never had such an easy time getting out. You slowed down a bit, your friends brushing past you. Something felt off. But right now, you were out, and you could at least enjoy it while it lasts. You shook your negativity off and ran to catch up with them, exiting the gate and running up the street. You stopped at your Uber and slid into the back with two others. When the doors were all closed and the car started moving, your friend in the passenger seat turned around with a handful of small blue pills. 

“Have one!”

“What is it?” 

“It’s a whole lot of fun, that I know for sure.” He raised his eyebrows goofily, giggling as you shrugged and took a pill. You washed it down with a swig of vodka from someone’s flask. You winced at the sharp taste of the alcohol, feeling it burning your throat and descending into your stomach. 

The music on the radio was bumping loudly, each beat of the bass shaking the car. You felt everyone moving around you so quickly, but you were frozen. Your body wouldn’t move. You didn’t feel scared, though. You almost felt that if you couldn’t move, if all you could do was just sit there and listen, no one could possibly hurt you anymore. You were finally safe. 

But then a hand touched yours, and the reality of your pause in time came crashing down. Your whole body jerked, and you snapped back to reality to see your friend trying to drag you from the car and into the club. She hadn’t even noticed your temporary disconnect from reality, or if she did, she didn’t care. She, just like all of you, just wanted to party. The last thing you wanted was to come face to face with your problems. 

The club was dark and smoky, blurring the faces of those around you, everyone just becoming silhouettes of themselves. Someone passed you something to smoke, and you took a drag without hesitation. You got swept up into the crowd, your body moving with theirs like seaweed in a flowing ocean. Your feet were attached to the ground, but your body floated as if the wind was carrying it in her hands. Someone came up behind you, wrapping their hands around your waist and tracing their lips up your neck. Their body moved in sync with yours, the universe holding you together like a moon to it’s orbiting planet. 

“Shots!” A voice nearby called. You instinctively recognized the voice, and trailed off to find the rest of your friends passing around a bottle. You joined excitedly, wrapping your arms around one of them and reaching for the bottle. You took a long swig, not even tasting the overpriced tequila, just letting it pour straight down your throat and into your body. The walls around you turned into stained glass, the sunlight pouring in a shining a beautiful rainbow of light on the crowd around you. You remembered the blue pill you took in the car, and felt happy. He was right, this was a whole lot of fun. 

The music picked up a bit, and you felt each beat pulsing through your body as if it were your own heartbeat. You dragged a person from your group out to the dance floor, needing to move your body. Luckily the rest of the group followed, dancing with you, the blue pills pulling you all into the same universe. You loved moments like this, where you lost yourself, where you couldn’t even remember what real life was like even if you tried. The thought of that scared a lot of people, and you understood why. For many people, their reality was way better than anything a drug could create for them. But for some people, and for you, you needed to disappear into another existence in order to survive. 

You had no idea how long you had been dancing, it felt like only seconds but your body felt like it had been moving for hours. You were still slightly lost in your mind, the drug slowly wearing off and bringing you down to the harsh reality of the come down. You felt a hand grab tightly onto your wrist, and you yelped. You couldn’t see who it was, but they were tugging at you harshly, and you couldn’t resist much longer. Your body was tired and weak, and this man was strong. You finally felt yourself moving through the people and towards the exist, still no sight of who had their hands locked to you. 

If you someone snuck out and died, your dad would be so pissed. You started feeling scared, not enough drugs left in you to block out the reality of the situation. You panicked, trying to pull your hand away and scream. But no one noticed, everyone was lost in their own universes, completely away from reality, where you needed them. That was the downfall of this lifestyle, of course. Sometimes people could lose themselves a little too much. 

You managed to get pulled out the door, the fresh air smacking you harshly right in the face. You felt dizzy, the lights of the city around you spinning wildly. You sat down on the pavement, pulling whoever took you out down with you. You tried to look up at him, but felt queasy when you moved your head. 

“Just take a deep breathe,” a man whispered, placing his hand on your back and rubbing slowly. “Here’s some water.” He handed you an opened bottle, your fingers touching lightly and instantly making you feel better. His touch was almost healing, like he was pulling the pain right out of you. The longer he kept his hand on you, the better you felt. You sipped slowly on the water, the cold liquid flowing through you and cleansing your body. 

“We need to get going,” he instructed, pulling at your arm to get up. 

“Hotchner,” you muttered, finally realizing the mystery man that was stealing you away into the night. 

“It’s Aaron.” 

“I don’t like that. Doesn’t fit. I do like Hotch-” you hiccuped. “Hotch, actually, that’s pretty bad ass.” You giggled loudly, Hotch helping you into the front seat of the car and buckling you in. He went around the front and got into the drivers seat, starting the car with a grunt. 

“How did you find me?” 

“How long do you think Cooper would’ve waited until he realized you weren’t with your mom.”

“That’s not what I asked,” you sat up, taking a deep breath and looking over at the man. “I knew you’d realize I was gone. How did you find me?” 

Hotch moved his lips uncomfortably, his eyes shifting back and forth. 

“Why would you go out when you know how much danger you’re in? You’re an extremely intelligent woman on paper, (Y/N), but you are clearly so incredibly stupid.” 

You gasped in awe, your heart racing and heat flushing to your cheeks. You were blushing like a strawberry, digging your nails into your palms to refrain yourself from screaming at him, or punching him, or just getting out of the car at the next red light. 

“You don’t know anything about me, Aaron. Don’t pretend you know me from reading a few of my daddy’s notes.” You sat back in exhaustion, feeling your eyes fill with tears. You willed yourself to not cry in front of him, to hold it together until you were alone. The last person you wanted to break down in front of was him. 

“We’re stopping somewhere, before we get you home.” His voice was calmer this time, clearly realizing you were upset. He didn’t look at you the rest of the ride, staring ahead at the road, focusing intently on the cars around him. You recognized the street as he started to park, realizing you were at your apartment. 

“What are we doing here?” You muttered in confusion, looking around at the familiar buildings. 

“Let’s go inside.” 

He turned the car off and got out, walking around to you and opening your door. You reluctantly got out, and walked slowly to the front door of your building. You realized quickly you didn’t have your keys, and turned to him. As if he read your mind, he held up your keys in his hand and nodded at you. He walked to the door and typed in the code to unlock it, revealing the lobby of your apartment building. You were on the second floor, and the two of you walked slowly up the stairs to your place. He continued to stay silent as he unlocked your apartment door, opening it hastily as he braced himself to walk into your place. He shuttered uncomfortably as he stepped inside. 

“Can you tell me why we’re here now?” You insisted, shutting the door loudly behind you and locking it. You were still feeling kind of uneasy, and needed to reassurance of a locked door if someone happened to come look for you here. 

“Get your things. Everything you need.” He crossed his arms, a look of authority overcoming him. You realized now that he was dressed down- wearing only a t-shirt and jeans. His arms looked stunning in the cut off sleeves, the nicely displayed muscles in plain view. 

“Why… why do I need my things?” 

“Because, you’ve lost your privileges to privacy. Since you want to act out, you no longer have your own place. Take everything you need and say goodbye, because we’re not coming back here again.” He had raised his voice quite loudly, his arms uncrossed and at his sides. He had gotten closer to you as he spoke, now only a foot or so away from you. 

“Excuse me? Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I am trying to protect you. Do you not care at all about your own life, or your families? You are being incredibly selfish, you know that. You have an amazing family that loves you, millions of people around the country that adore you. If something happened to you, the world would be devastated, and yet you are so reckless with your life? It’s… I truly don’t get it, (Y/N).”

You stood in awe, unsure of what to say to him. You felt like a thousand pound weight just dropped on your chest. No one had ever spoken to you like that before, especially not someone who was hired to protect you. You stepped away from him, stumbling over your steps as you rested yourself against the wall. 

“What… what about you?” You muttered, looking up at him. “You want to talk about recklessness with life? You don’t know me, or care about me at all, and you’re here ready and willing to die to protect me. Don’t you think that’s a little fucked up? Or, what is it, Hotch? Do you have a hero complex?” You cocked your head at him, grinning. Your moment of sadness had passed, and now you were pissed. Nobody talked to you that way. And now you wanted to piss him off. 

“No, you’ve got me all wrong sweetheart,” he chuckled, walking closer and closer to you until he was inches away and you were completely backed against the wall. He moved his arms to the base of his shirt and ripped it over his head, revealing an unsurprisingly ripped body. He had multiple scars across his chest and abdomen. 

“I’ve been in and out of foster homes my whole life. Switched schools constantly so I never had many friends. Went right into the Marines after high school and kept to myself for the most part there, too. I have no one, (Y/N). If I die, nobody would blink an eye. If you die, the whole country would shut down. Do you see these?” He pointed to his scars, touching them gently as if taking a moment to remember each one. “I’ve taken bullets for many before, and I’ll do it for you if I have to, Honey. That’s why I do this. I’m not reckless with my life. I have no one, no life outside of this. I can give up that to protect someone like you.” 

His hand was resting on the wall behind your head, his body towering over you. He was breathing heavy, trying to relax himself. 

“That is so…” you took a deep breath, bringing your hand up to his flesh and tracing your fingers over his scars. You gently circled the rough skin, watching him look down in confusion as you touched him. “Incredibly sad.” You looked up at him, meeting his eyes as your hand still pressed against his bare chest. “I’m so sorry nobody has made your life feel worth it. You don’t deserve that,” you whispered, your face only inches from his. You realized now the vanilla scent that rolled so deliciously off of him was his cologne, because it was much stronger as you got closer to the base of his neck. 

“We need to get out of here. Get you home.” He muttered, turning away from you harshly, and looking around to find his shirt. 

“I’m… I didn’t mean to upset you, Hotch.” 

“It’s Aaron,” he barked, his eyes filled with fury as he scrambled around for his missing clothes. 

“Why don’t we just get my things tomorrow? I promise I’ll stay in the rest of the night.” 

“You won’t have the chance to sneak out again, I can promise you that.” He said sternly, putting his shirt on quickly and heading for the door. You followed quietly behind him, your head racing and your body flushing from being so close to him just moments ago. He ushered you into the car quickly and slammed the door behind you. His energy had changed so dramatically from moments ago, but you were still feeling so drawn to him. 

You remembered the way his bare skin felt to your touch. Even one small brush on your fingertips against his flesh made him melt, as if he couldn’t remember the last time somebody had touched him with such pure intentions. 

He was driving quite recklessly back to the big house, not saying a word as you stared silently ahead, replaying the moment over and over in your head. You wanted to say something, trying to come up with the right words to handle this situation. But your brain came up empty, and you continued to stay silent the rest of the drive home. 

Hotch parked the car in the garage, sitting back in his seat for a moment as if he wanted to get something off his chest before going in. “You’re lucky I didn’t tell anyone you’d snuck out. I’ll cover for you this time, but don’t count on it if it happens again.”

“I’m sorry I made you come get me,” you whispered, fully realizing how dumb and selfish your actions were. He was right, you were reckless with your life. But you’d never really cared about it, or even thought about it, until now. 

“That was, um,” he shifted, clearing his throat. “That was unprofessional of me to talk to you that way. I apologize.” 

“No… I… you were right. I kind of needed to hear it. And, again, I’m sorry that you feel the way you do.” You slowly reached your hand out and grabbed onto his, your delicate hand resting gracefully amongst his strong, tired ones. It was almost comical, the difference in the sizes. 

Your fingers intertwined in his, your palms meeting as you sat silently in the car. You looked up at him, his eyes staring deeply at your hand in his. His thumb grazed gently over your skin, his silent way of acknowledging your touch. You knew, in that moment, that your feelings towards each other were the same. There was an undeniable chemistry between the two of you, despite every element working against a relationship. And you both knew that. It could never work, and nothing could ever happen. 

He tore his hand away with haste and looked out the window, refusing to verbally acknowledge the moment you just shared. One of many moments you had shared since you met. 

“You need to get inside before anyone else realizes you’re gone. Cooper is inside the door. I’ll see you in the morning.” He refused to look at you, his body backed up into the door as far away as he could get himself. You nodded silently and opened your door, getting out onto the concrete and beginning to walk to the door. You turned back to look at him, and he was watching you, as always. 

“I want to make sure you get in safe,” he muttered through the cracked window of his car door. 

“Thank you, Hotch.” You smiled at him, and were hoping to catch a grin from him, too. But he didn’t seem like the type of man to smile very often, and this definitely wasn’t the right moment. He continued to watch you until you got in the door, an angry Cooper ready to lecture you as he walked you back to your room. You did your best to ignore his taunts, your mind still on Hotch.

You fell asleep quickly after you got back to your room, your body craving the healing powers of sleep. Your dreams were fluttered with thoughts of him, his touch. You could not even escape him in your solitude, your soul, your subconscious, was so encapsaleted by him. They would not let you forget him, even if your slumber.

You finally woke up around eleven the next morning, confused and dehydrated, your head throbbing. You clearly had a wicked hangover, and were still feeling pretty laggy from the drugs the night before. You crawled slowly out of bed and into your connecting bathroom, sticking your head under the sink and slurping down faucet water like a child on a hot summer day. The cool taste felt refreshing on your throat, but the minute it hit your throat you felt nauseous. You clipped your hair back so it was away from your face, which was still rocking last night's makeup. You finally opened the door of your room to a different man, one you hadn’t recognized. 

Seeing a stranger made you startled, especially standing right outside of your room. You instinctively wanted to call for Hotch, pleading for him to come sweep you off your feet and save you. But, there was nothing to save you from, as this man was just the third shift night guard. He confirmed that when he muttered, “Honey has left her room. Send in A3.” 

You waited for him to greet you, say anything at all, but he stood silent and waited for him commanding guard to relieve of him his duties. You started to walk towards the kitchen, the nausea you were facing earlier now turned to hunger. You were stopped by his arm, blocking you from going any further. 

“You have to wait until he gets here, Miss.” 

“Right, sorry.” He had already turned away, you weren’t even sure if he had heard your apology. You didn’t know how long you’d have to wait until Hotch came and released you from your prison cell, so you scrolled through instagram in annoyance as you waited.

“Good morning, it’s wonderful of you to join the living. Long night last night?” Hotch was smirking at you, a look of contempt as he clearly saw the misery of the previous night sweating right out of you. His mood clearly changed to despising you, again. And if that’s how he wanted to play things this morning, you were happy to play right along with him. 

“Not all of us have no life at all, Aaron. Sometimes people, ya know, do things.” You rolled your eyes as you walked passed him quickly, trying to get down to the kitchen before all the food was gone. 

“Not all of us have death threats hanging over our heads, either,” he snapped back, his voice sharp and stern. “Where are you going, (Y/N)?” 

“Breakfast. I’m hungry,” you shrugged, continuing to walk fast and not get too close to him. Everything felt so hot and cold, you honestly had no idea what he was feeling. The times where you were close, where you felt him, it was so genuine. You knew there was a chemistry between you. But his anger towards you also felt so real. If he was somehow faking, if it was an act or a defense mechanism for his true feelings, he was doing an incredible job. 

“All the food is gone. They won’t be back till lunch in another hour.” His smirk came back, as if he was excited by the idea that you now couldn’t eat. “We could go get food, though. If you’d like. If you can’t wait.” 

“Yeah, that’s a great idea actually. There’s a little diner right near my place that has the best chocolate chip pancakes I have ever had.” Your thoughts were racing, the idea of delicious food filling your brain. You did that, sometimes, just lost yourself in your thoughts or an idea. You caught him smiling, maybe at you, maybe at just a passing thought. But the feeling of him watching you, seeing your beauty, and smiling. It made your heart race.

“Let’s get to the car, we don’t wanna be gone too long. You’ve got a lot to prepare for your trip coming up.” Hotch motioned towards the stairs, and you remembered the current state of your wardrobe and stopped in your tracks. 

“I can’t go looking like this… I mean, this is bad,” you laughed, pointing at your messy hair and smudged mascara. 

“Maybe nobody will recognize you if you look that… well…” he chuckled, raising a brow as he looked you up and down. 

“Well that’s a little rude.” You both laughed together until silence ultimately fell on the room. You felt like there was more to be said, but you weren’t sure what. You stood still, waiting for some instruction on what to do next. Why was it that you could never figure out what to do with yourself in situations like this? 

“I think you look beautiful,” he observed, a slight comical tone to his voice. But the way he looked at you, the way he said it, for a slight moment, it felt real. His words felt real. And you would lose yourself in the chaos of it all if you had to spend every day decoding his words, trying to figure out what is real, what is truly him, and what is a facade. You couldn’t fall for him, you couldn't put yourself through that. But each moment with him drew you in more and more, you almost felt that you would be unable to escape him if things went any further, if the small flirtatious comments and slight forbidden touches when you were alone. 

“Let’s get to the car, go get you something to eat,” he instructed, beginning to walk away. You followed him close behind, not sure why you craved the security of him so much. It was his job, but he really did make you feel safe. You followed him down the garage silently, and hoped into the passenger seat of his SUV. 

“Where are we going?” He asked, trying to program the address into the GPS. He looked up at you for an answer, his eyes wide and childlike, the simple act of asking you for assistance making you melt. 

“Uh, Ruby Street Diner,” you stuttered, watching his hands diligently as he typed in the address. He turned on the radio and started driving, and you stared eagerly out the window as you drove. You weren’t sure, but you could’ve sworn you heard him humming with the music. It was those little things that reminded you he was still human, and that was the last thing he was supposed to do. The more human he became, the more he showed you of himself, the harder it would be for you to walk away. 

The drive was silent, but you didn’t mind it. It didn’t feel awkward. Neither of you had anything to say, and sometimes that’s okay. You watched him out of the corner of his eye, watching his face, the way he studied the world around him. Sometimes it seemed like he saw everything, like he saw you watching him. If he knew, he didn’t care. He would glance over at you ever minute or so, maybe to just check if you’re still safe, still breathing. Maybe because he, too, was wondering how he could walk away from you. 

He parked his car on the street across from the diner, and checked his pockets and gun before turning the car off. He looked around him, checking for anything suspicious and out of the ordinary. He clearly didn’t see anything to worry him much, because he opened the door quickly after and got out of the car. He walked to your side and opened your door, checking for oncoming cars as he did so. You were used to people opening doors for you, but something about him holding it open and grabbing your hand as you stepped out of the large truck was hot. 

You walked into the diner and were quickly seated at a small booth in the corner, per his request. It was never a good idea to be in the center of the scene, he said. You nodded in understanding, looking around at the crowd, which wasn’t anything to be worried about. The scene at a diner at noon on a Thursday was never very eventful. 

“Thanks for taking me out,” you whispered, your eyes lazily scrolling over the menu even though you already had your heart set on those chocolate chip pancakes. 

“It’s my number one duty to make sure you are safe and satisfied.” 

“Satisfied? I don’t feel like that’s really a part of your job description.”

“Of course it is. If you’re unhappy, angry, sad- you’re more likely to rebel, lash out, sneak out.” He chuckled softly, taking a sip of the hot coffee the waitress just poured for you both. You ordered your food, and Hotch ordered some wheat toast and a fruit bowl. You rolled your eyes at his order, knowing you were about to stuff your face. 

“So, are you saying the only reason I go to party is because I’m unhappy?”

“I don’t want to make any assumptions about your life. It’s just, in my experience, people turn to that life if they aren’t satisfied with their normal existence.” 

“Is anybody happy with their normal existence?” You questioned, sighing loudly as you sat back in the booth. He watched you for a moment, his eyes paying special attention to your rising chest as you started breathing heavily. He set his arm down on the table, laying his palm out as he looked up at you. 

You stared at his exposed hand, a sudden remembering of your fingers intertwined in his car last night. He needed your touch, then. He needed a pull back to humanity, a remembrance that nobody is truly alone in this life. And now, you needed it. You needed somebody to hold your hand. And he knew. 

You reluctantly placed your arm down on the table, looking around at the people in the place. No one was even paying the slightest attention to you. A rare moment where nobody cared who you were, or what you were doing. Your fingers moved towards his, and you grabbed on to him slowly. It was a slight touch, nothing that would be noticeable to anybody passing by. But it was enough for both of you. It was enough to mean something. 

“I would like to think that everybody has a chance to be happy. It’s just a matter of finding your happiness.” His fingers moved closer to yours, his thumb slightly rubbing your fingers. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, his illicit touch sending sparks through your whole body. 

“Alright, you guys ready to eat?” Your waitress cheerily interrupted, causing you to both instinctively rip your hands away and put them at your sides. It didn’t appear that she noticed anything but your heart was still racing and you could tell his was, too. 

You ate your food quickly, avoiding eye contact with him as he nibbled on pieces of toast. You only seemed to have two types of moments with him; ones where neither of you could think of any words, or ones where words flowed out of you like a poet. You felt like you could tell him anything, but at the same time you were afraid to say anything. 

“I think we should go,” he quietly muttered after you had finally finished a majority of your food.

“Um.. is everything okay?” 

“This… this is really bad, Honey. What is happening now. It cannot be happening. I apologize for any inappropriate actions I’ve made since we’ve met. I would offer to step down and let someone else take this roll but I spent weeks training on how to protect you, and I don’t think you’d be safe with anyone else. I hope that’s okay with you.” 

You stared at him in awe, a sick feeling overcoming your stomach. You shook your head for a moment, trying to think of the right words to respond with. He was right, this was stupid, and an extremely self destructive act. Besides, nothing had even really happened, and it was probably way better to shut things down now before it went any further. So much of you didn’t want it to end, didn’t want to not know what a life with him could be like. But you thought about your family, your life, and knew it wasn’t smart, or safe.

“You’re right, um, yeah. That's okay. I think it’s smart to keep you on, especially with the trip coming up.” 

He nodded in agreeal, pushing his food away in disgust. You wondered if he felt just as sick as you did, just as heartbroken and miserable as you were. You knew one thing, for sure. That he was just as lonely and disappointed in life as you were. He was living in the same boat you were, and maybe that’s why you connected so easily. Sharing a common pain, it was easy to feel drawn to him. But you had to draw the line, as terrible as it was. 

“Let’s go back home.”

The next few weeks went by uneventfully. There was nothing new to report on Hotch, or Aaron, as he now insisted you called him. There were no passing glances, no secret touches. You had both controlled yourself, and it was much easier than you thought. You were starting to wonder if the attraction was all circumstance, and there was nothing of real sustenance to your ‘relationship’. His touch still existed in your dreams, though. That was one place where you couldn’t control your thoughts. Every morning when you woke up, the thought of you in his dreams made you wonder. 

Today was the day you finally left your trip, and you were flying out to San Francisco now. You sat eagerly in the airport, a crowd of men surrounding you, Aaron sitting at your side. He would accompany you in first class, and the rest of your night guards would scatter around coach to keep an eye on anyone suspicious. You had your headphones in, trying to distract yourself from the upcoming flight. You were quite a nervous flyer, and you were feeling exceptionally overwhelmed today. You couldn’t wait to get seated and have a drink, something to calm your nerves. 

You were leaving pretty late, and would arrive pretty late as well. When you got in, you were all going straight to the hotel and preparing for your first presentation tomorrow. You boarded quickly, being one of the first allowed to get on the plane. Aaron held on to your carry on bags, and his, and followed you into the cabin. The rest of your guards stayed behind until it was their turn to board. Luckily, nobody had seemed to notice or recognize you on the flight, yet. You were hoping it would stay that way, as you were utterly exhausted and weren’t in the mood for small talk with a stranger today.

“You all buckled in?” Aaron asked as he placed your bags in the overhead storage bin. 

“Yep, all safe and secure officer,” you giggled, leaning your head back in the large seat.

“Sounds good,” he smiled, taking his seat next to you and buckling himself in. You sat and scrolled through your phone mindlessly as the rest of the plane boarded, watching your night guards pass you by and give Aaron a slight thumbs up when they passed each other. You faked your way through listening to the emergency instructions, pleasing Aaron as he urged you to pay attention. The plane finally started moving and you settled into your seat, your nails digging into your palms as you prepared for the ascent.

Going up was always terrifying, but what you weren’t expecting was the turbulence as you headed into the sky. There was a storm coming in, and the pilot mentioned it might be bumpy until you get high enough. The shakiness was torture, but an unexpected drop in altitude made you jump and latch onto Hotch’s hand in instinct. Your fingers were locked with his, squeezing tight as the plane leveled out and you caught your breath. 

“Sorry about that, folks,” the pilot spoke over the intercom, his voice light and cheery as if nothing just happened. “Should be clearing out of this storm in a minute or so. Keep buckled.” 

You looked over to him, your hand still clutched in his, your heart finally coming to a normal rhythm. He was staring down at your hands, the remembrance of your touch sending him somewhere he was desperately avoiding. 

“I’m… it was an accident, Aaron. I’m sorry,” you mumbled, trying to pull your hand from his, but his grip was locked around you. 

“Nervous flyer?” He joked.

“Yes. I hate it.” 

“I fly all the time,” he assured, your hand still in his. “You know you’re more likely to die in a car than a plane?” 

“I’m not so much nervous about dying as I am getting stranded on an island like Lost.” 

“Weren’t they all dead in the end, anyways?” 

“I never got that far, but that still doesn’t sound ideal. The whole point of death is to not have to deal with life anymore.” 

Your hands were still linked together, his thumb now tracing circles on the back of your hand. His leg moved closer to you until you were touching, the closest you two could possibly get while sitting in a plane. It was in that moment that you realized whatever you had been trying to avoid with him was no longer unavoidable. You had reached a new level of intimacy, a door was opened that could not be closed. 

“Aaron…” 

“I don’t like that. I like Hotch,” he teased, his eyes twinkling as they met the dim overhead lights of the plane. 

“Hotch… are you sure you want to keep touching me?” 

His eyes widened at your voice, and he instinctively ripped away his hand and pulled his leg from you. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather a thought. 

“Do you want a drink?” You asked, trying to change the subject. 

“I can’t, I’m working.” He turned forward and looked at the stared at the screen on the back of the seat. You decided not to say anymore, clearly realizing the moment had passed and there was nothing left to be said. 

A flight attendant came by shortly after and you finally got your well deserved drink. Hotch stayed silent, watching you sip the forbidden liquid and get slightly more calm with every sip. You had two more before finally falling asleep, the exhaustion of anxiety taking over. You woke up when you felt your ears pop as the plane began descending. You bolted up with alarm, Hotch watching you quietly. You couldn’t remember if he looked over at you after you woke up, or if he had been watching while you slept. 

“We’ll be landing soon.”

“Can I have some gum?” You motioned to your ears, cringing in pain. Hotch handed you a stick of mint gum from his bag, which you chewed happily as you watched your descent into the night. The lights from the city were beautiful, and you felt extremely happy to be back doing what you love, in one of your favorite cities. You had always wanted to move here, but your father would’ve had a heart attack if you weren’t within 20 minutes of him. 

The plane landed on the ground with a jolt, shaking you awake. You looked to Hotch, who was already turning his phone on to inform your family that you had landed safely. He spoke swiftly to your dad, assuring him that he would let him know when we arrived at the hotel. You watched his every move, the way his lips moved with such assurity at every word he spoke. He knew you, everything about you, truly. He was the one person in the world that was 100% dedicated to you. He would die for you. Holy shit. Maybe you had a bit too much to drink. 

“You ready to go?” 

“Uh, yeah, let’s.” You stood up quickly, without paying attention, and slammed your head right on the overhead. “Shit,” you groaned, holding on to your forehead in pain. 

“Oh man,” Hotch mumbled, grabbing your waist and pulling you close to him. He reached his hand to your forehead and ran his thumb over the bump. He moved his hand down to your cheek, and looked down into your eyes. 

“It’s a little red, but I think you’ll be okay,” he whispered, his lips dangerously close to yours. 

“That’s good,” you mumbled, the tip of your nose brushing against his. You had placed your hand to his chest, playing with the buttons on the hem of his shirt. 

He pulled away from you suddenly, shaking his head and taking a breath. He opened up the overhead and pulled out the bags, not looking at you once again. You felt your legs shaking, your heart beating, and your center throbbing at the thought of his lips. It took all of your strength to not pull him back to you and kiss him. But you couldn’t, not here, anyway. 

You followed Hotch off the plane and stood at the gate for the rest of your men. Hotch didn’t say a word to you, only waited in authority for his men to meet him. He was their leader, they did everything he said. Watching him boss them around was kind of sexy, and you felt your body aching more and more for him. Finally the rest of your team came out and met up with you. 

“I want you guys to wait for Honey’s bags then meet us back at the hotel. There will be cars waiting. I want her out of here as fast as possible, so we’re leaving now. Are we clear?” He nodded at them in clarification, and they all nodded back in agreement. They began walking towards baggage claim, and you followed Hotch the opposite direction. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Secret exit, there’s a car waiting for us there.” He walked steadily at your side, weaving through crowds and shielding you from oncoming people. A few people glanced to your direction with curiosity, most likely thinking “I know that girl from somewhere.” But Hotch rushed you out too quickly for anyone to fully remember you. You passed behind a guarded door, Hotch flashing his badge to the guards as they nodded at him and opened doors. You were rushed down a flight of stairs and out a back door, into the California night air. And as Hotch said, a black SUV with a driver you didn’t recognize was waiting for you. 

“Who’s that?” 

“One of my old men,Derek, a good friend. It’s not safe for me to be driving here. We're in good hands with him, though.” 

Derek rolled down the window and greeted Hotch, a large smile of the man's face. “Nice to meet you, Miss. (Y/N). Welcome to my ride,” he laughed. Hotch opened the door for you and you stepped in the back, him following close behind. Derek started the car and began driving, flashing Hotch’s badge as you went through various gates to get back on the road. The partition was up in the car, blocking Derek’s eyes and ears from you and Hotch. You weren’t sure why he had it up, as most of your drivers usually leave it down until asked. Maybe he just assumed you would be having a confidential conversation or something, right? 

“Thanks for getting me out safe, Hotch,” you teased, placing your hand playfully on his shoulder. 

“Of course, Honey.” He turned towards you, his head tilted as he looked down to you. He rested his hand on your thigh, his thumb teasing your exposed flesh. You shivered at his touch, his hands cold against the warmth of your inner thigh. His fingers continued to trail up your flesh, toying with you as they moved slowly to where you craved him most. You moved your hips awkwardly, trying to get closer to him, trying to get him closer to you. 

He started to play with the hem of your underwear, his thumb grabbing onto the fabric and brushing against your flesh. His other fingers slowly began to touch you, moving rhythmically over your clit. You sighed in relief, finally getting the much needed pleasure. You wanted more, you would’ve straddled him right then and there. But he quickly took his hand away, leaving you defeated and unsatisfied. You turned to him with a frown, only to find a smug grin plastered on his face. 

“Later, Honey.” He whispered, his eyes locked on yours. You nodded, excitement overtaking you as you thought of what could happen next. You turned back forward and straightened yourself out, trying to catch your breath. 

The rest of the drive was torture, craving someone so close. You didn’t know how much longer you could hold yourself together. Right as you were starting to convince yourself to just kiss him, you finally pulled up to the hotel. Derek parked in the entrance and got out of the car to open your door. He opened Hotch’s side, first, and shook his hand as he exited the car. You got out after him, declining for him to walk around and open your door, as well. Hotch had already grabbed the few bags you did have and was holding on to them tightly. You thanked Derek for driving you and assured him you would see him tomorrow. Hotch and him said their goodbyes, and then you followed him into the lobby of the hotel. You stayed behind as he checked you in, not trying to look too conspicuous. 

Hotch walked back over to you and flashed the room keys. “Let’s get to your room, get you settled.” 

You followed him to the elevator, which was an awkwardly silent ride. You rode up to the top floor, where the Presidential suite was, no doubt. Your father always insisted you had the nicest room in the place. It was a bit much, in your opinion, but it wasn’t worth arguing with him about things like that. The elevator finally came to a halt and opened its doors. Hotch left first and you followed him down the hall to one of the suites. 

“Alright, here you go,” he said, handing you your key and dropping your bags to the floor. 

“Uh, are you leaving me?” You questioned, your eyes wide with confusion. 

“Relax,” he chuckled. “I’m right across the hall. I’m just gonna change, I always feel so gross after a plane. Why don’t you get ready for bed and I’ll check on you in a few minutes?” 

“Alright,” you grumbled, disappointed that your night with Aaron was clearly ending here. 

You opened the door to your room and brought your bags in, Hotch waiting for your door to close until he went into his own room. You laid down with a huff on the bed, sulking into the covers in frustration. What a fucking tease, you thought. You shook your head in anger and jumped off the bed, willing yourself to relax a bit before tomorrow. 

You changed out of your clothes, stripping completely naked and throwing on your silk robe before you got in the shower. You started unpacking your toiletries, placing your obnoxiously expensive hair and skin care in the shower, ready for you to use at your convenience. You searched in frustration for your toothbrush, tossing things around your bags as you looked. You felt like you’d been searching for a half hour when a knock on the door through you from your search. 

You stood up uncomfortably, realizing you were almost naked. You looked around for clean clothes, but were worried if you didn’t answer the door immediately one of those big-head guards would knock the door down. You groaned loudly and ran to the door, hoping to god you weren’t too exposed. 

Hotch was standing in the doorway, a filthy grin on his face as you opened the door. You backed away from the door and he walked in, closing and locking the door behind him. He walked up to you, his body inches away from yours. He grabbed on to the sash of your robe, pulling at the end so that the loose knot would come undone. The front of the robe spilled open, exposing your nude front. Hotch brought his hands to your shoulders and grabbed onto the robe, pulling it completely off your body. 

He brought his hand up to your chest, slowly caressing your breast and toying with your nipple. He ripped his shirt over his head aggressively, and then wrapped his arms around your waist. He pulled your face close to his and kissed you, a much needed kiss full of desperation. His tongue invaded your mouth forcefully, his body taking complete and total control of yours. His lips tasted like scotch, which he clearly drank pretty quickly in his room before coming over. Maybe he needed the courage, or maybe he needed to take the edge off. Either way, the taste made you crave a drink. 

You started to push away from the kiss, planning to run to the mini bar and grab a bunch of bottles for the two of you. Hotch just chuckled, grabbed onto your wrist and pushed you on the bed. 

“Hotch, I want a drink,” you giggled, trying to evade his grip. 

“Not now, Honey. Now you want me,” he ordered, biting his lip as he looked down at you. 

“Yes, sir,” you teased, blowing Hotch a kiss. He moved down lower and spread your legs, looking at you with a hunger in his eyes. He spit aggressively on your pussy, and then dragged his tongue across your entirety. He was lapping at your clit sloppily, your body jerking with pleasure as he shoved two fingers inside of you. He started to focus more with the tip of tongue, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm, arching as they went inside to hit your spot. 

“Fuck,” you squealed, arching your back as your body was overcome with pleasure. 

“Are you gonna cum, sweetheart? Are you gonna cum for me?” He growled, pouting his lips as he looked up at you. 

“Yes, keep doing that,” you stuttered. A satisfied smile came over his face, and he went back to eating you out. He focused on your clit, his tongue stimulating it in ways you’d never experienced before. Your body was almost shaking as you finally reached your climax, Hotch licking you up as you finished. You went limp, for a moment, trying to catch your breath from your high. 

“Turn around,” he instructed, slapping your thigh. 

“I need a sec,” you muttered.

“Now. Turn around, now.” His glare was intimidating, but you could still see a gleam of light in his eyes. The dominance was something you hadn’t experienced yet, but it was turning you on wildly. You nodded at him, getting on your knees and bending over. He slapped your ass with a force, making you yelp with an equal mix of pleasure and pain. You could hear him chuckle behind your back, already feeling your skin raising where he marked you. 

You heard him unbuckling his pants, and you’d realized you hadn’t seen his dick yet. You wanted to be surprised, though. You wanted to experience him for the first time inside of you. You felt him placing himself at your entrance, the tip of his dick playing with you. He started to slowly slide in, and you were uncomfortably shocked by his size and girth. You winced as he fit all of himself inside of you, feeling his length overtaking your whole body. He was by far the biggest you’d ever experienced, and you were taking a second to adjust. 

“Oh, poor Honey,” he chuckled. “Am I too much for you?” 

“No, I can handle it,” you replied in defiance. “Fuck me, Aaron. Fuck me.” 

He laughed again, taking your instruction to heart and pounding himself in and out of you, fast. It was too much at first, feeling like he was breaking you. He was so much bigger than you, he could literally overcome you. You felt his presence watching your ass as he fucked you, realizing now how hot it was that he was so big. 

“You have such a tight little pussy, I fucking love it,” he moaned, his nails digging into the flesh on your hips. His pumps were getting sloppier, each thrust you could feel his body getting more tense. He was twitching inside of you, and finally you felt his warm release fill you up. He stayed inside you a moment, both of you catching your breath. He pulled himself out and sat on the edge of the bed. You turned around and laid flat, staring breathlessly at the ceiling. 

You heard the sound of a phone, and you winced as the comfort of the silence was broken. Hotch stood up, his naked body glowing like a statue in the low light. You took in his body, examined it like a piece of art, remembered every bit. You never wanted to forget him. You didnt think you could. 

Hotch grabbed his phone and answered quickly. “What’s going on?... Alright…. Sounds good.” He ended the call and set the phone done on the desk. 

“Get dressed, make the bed,” he requested, rather harshly.

“Ugh, cmon Hotch, can I just have a second?” You groaned, flopping to your side in exhaustion. 

“Do I need to ask again? Get up, put your clothes on and make the bed. Now!” He barked. He was already searching the ground for his clothes, trying to put himself back together after unraveling with you. You got up and did as you were told, putting your robe back on and searching for pants. You made the bed to the best of the ability, although it wasn't really your strong suit. You shrugged, apologetic as Hotch gave you a disappointed look when he looked at your work. 

A knock on the door prevented Hotch from lecturing you on your cleaning skills. He ran to the door and opened it to reveal the rest of your guards. They dropped your bags off in the entryway and shared a few words with Hotch. He turned to you and started to talk. 

“First shift will start now. I’ll see you in the morning?” 

“Of course.” 

Hotch grabbed his phone and dialed a number, holding it to his ear. He waited a few seconds before the person on the other end answered. 

“It’s me. Honey is secure. I’ll check in in the morning.”

[spine-buster]

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 13

A/N: We’re getting into some seeeeerious business now.  Thank you all so much for your anons and DMs about last chapter!  Hopefully you all enjoy this one despite the subject matter.  

Also, if you didn’t see my post, I created a Ko-Fi page in case you ever want to support my work / my writing: https://ko-fi.com/spine_buster .  I love all of you so much and appreciate the reader engagement I have with you SO much!

TW: workplace harassment

December 21st, 2019

Aberdeen Bloom was in a meeting.

Brendan was addressing the room, full of practically everybody who worked on the administrative side of the Leafs.  Because it was just a few days until Christmas, he wanted to address everybody before the holiday to thank them for their hard work.  It was also the day that Brendan decided to hand out the Christmas gifts for all the employees – a “swag bag” with a S’well bottle, candy and chocolate from Sugarfina, a coffee tumbler from Yeti, a Patagonia sweater with a Leafs embroider, and a Raptors toque.  Aberdeen knew because she helped assemble them – literally and figuratively, because Brendan had asked for her opinion on a few of the inclusions.  She was happy to see everybody loved the gifts.

As the meeting began to wind down, Brendan singled out some specific people who had earned a promotion.  She was glad they were getting the recognition they deserved, because she knew how hard everyone worked.  It was a great gesture, and a nice way to wind down the meeting – letting everybody leave on a good note—

“And my executive assistant, Aberdeen Bloom,” Brendan’s words completely caught her by surprise.  She could feel a blush rush to her cheeks as many of the eyes in the room focused on her.  “Just a couple of weeks ago, Aberdeen pulled off the nearly impossible – she managed to track down Niklas Lidstrom while he was in Toronto to get a signed Tre Kronor jersey from 2006 for our special guest, Colonel Richard Brant.  But not only did she get the jersey – get this – she got Nik to come meet the colonel backstage.”

There was a round of applause for Aberdeen.  Now she was really embarrassed.  There was no reason for him to single her out like this – like she told him, she was just doing her job.  She smiled awkwardly at everyone.  Even Brendan was clapping.  When it died down, he continued.  “So, even though she had a bit of a rough start – like everybody does when they first start with the Leafs – I’m so happy to see how much she’s grown and integrated herself into our family.  So…great work, Aberdeen!”

Another round of applause.  Aberdeen continued to smile awkwardly and even through in an awkward wave for good measure.  Brendan said a few more words before the meeting ended, everybody filing out of the room patiently.  When she approached him, as one of the last bodies to leave, she gave him a stern look.  “How’d you like that?” Brendan asked.

“Please never, ever do that again,” she said, giggling at the end.

“Why not?”

“Because I told you I was just doing my job.”

Brendan shrugged his shoulders.  “And you did a damn good job of it, so everybody should know.”

As they walked back into his office together, she saw a perfectly wrapped box lying on his desk on top of all his newspapers and other things.  It was very, very rare that things were delivered directly to him – usually it went through her first, and Brendan had no problem with her opening his work mail because it was part of her job and all his personal stuff got sent to his house anyway – so it definitely piqued her interest.  “What’s that?” she asked.

“It’s your gift.”

Aberdeen’s brows furrowed.  “But I got my swag bag in the room.”

“I know that, silly,” he smiled.  “It’s my gift to you.”  Aberdeen stopped dead in her tracks, giving Brendan another look.  “What?” he asked.  “Are you seriously surprised?  You think I wouldn’t get you something?”

“Sort of…” Aberdeen admitted.  “But also…I was going to give you my gift to you on Monday.  It’s underneath my desk,” she laughed.

Brendan let out a hearty chuckle.  “Why’d you get me a gift?”

“You’re my boss!”

“Go get it.  We’re doing it now.  I’ll be too busy with kids being everywhere on Monday.”

Aberdeen quickly made her way to her desk and retrieved the gift, hidden in her bottom drawer.  It wasn’t large by any means, but she did put thought into it and she did have to enlist her mom for some help.  When she went back into his office, he closed the door behind them.  “It’s not much…” she began, comparing the size of the box on his desk to hers.

“You should be saving your money anyway,” he quipped.

Aberdeen sat in one of the chairs and handed him his gift across his desk.  He unwrapped the Christmas wrapping paper to see something wrapped in tissue paper and a Prada box.  Taking off the top of the Prada box, he was greeted with a blue and white patterned silk tie.  He shook his head but smiled.  “Aberdeen…”

“I had to get you something from Prada one of these days since you always send me there,” she smiled.  

“I love it.  It’s very fashionable.  What are the kids saying these days?  It’s lit?”

“Please don’t.”

“It’s lit, Aberdeen.  Thank you.”

“Thanks.  Although I think you’ll like the other gift better,” she said.

Brendan placed the box with the tie on his desk and focused on what was wrapped in the tissue paper.  When he unwrapped it, he saw that it was a card, made out of thick construction paper glued together.  Along the front were the words “With Love from St. Leo”, and in the middle, a big maple leaf cut out and painted with multi-coloured fingerprints.  When he opened it, the card had been signed by every student from her mom’s grade one class.  A small message was printed out by her mom:

Dear Mr. Shanahan,

We love the Toronto Maple Leafs and we love you!  We heard you came to this school a long time ago.  You and the Maple Leafs can come visit our class anytime you want and we can show you how well we read!

Love, Mrs. Bloom’s grade 1 class

Aberdeen watched as Brendan read over the card, looking at all the names printed, and his eyes glossed over with tears.  He smiled.  “Well would you look at that…” he mumbled, nodding his head slightly.  He already knew he was going to display this forever in his office.

“She means it, by the way,” Aberdeen said, trying to lighten the mood.  She didn’t think it would get him so emotional.

“Oh, I believe it,” he nodded again.  “This is really, really special to me Aberdeen.  Thank you.  I…it’s always nice to remember where you came from, you know?  This will remind me,” his tone was so sincere.  

“You’re most welcome,” she smiled.  

Brendan moved to display it on his desk.  He composed himself before picking up the box that started this whole thing and handing it to her.  “For you,” he said.  “Although I don’t know if it’ll top that card.”

She unwrapped the pretty ribbon and beautiful wrapping paper – clearly Catherine or one of his kids had helped, because for all the skills he had, she didn’t think he was capable of this wrapping on his own.  As she tore it apart, a box with the embossed logo and lettering of Smythson London stared back at her.  Aberdeen stopped.  “You didn’t.”

Brendan only smiled at her.

She was already overwhelmed because she knew how expensive Smythson London notebooks were – the smallest, cheapest, and most basic notebook ran for around £40.  But when she opened the box to find three notebooks – two small navy blue Soho notebooks retailing at £195 each and a large gold Portobello notebook retailing at £235, each of them personalized with her initials which she knew cost even more – she felt even more overwhelmed.  “Brendan…” she whispered, running her fingers over the embossed calf leather.

“I hear writers write in notebooks or something,” he joked once he saw the look on her face.  “Anyway, I want you to have these.  And when you get published and become super famous and they display all your notebooks in museums like they do with Charles Dickens or Jane Austen, I want to see one of those behind the glass.”

“I hope I get published one day…” she said quietly, almost to herself.  

“You will,” Brendan said assuredly.

Aberdeen nodded.  The material part of his assertion was nice – the notebooks – but what obviously meant more to her was the sentiment.  Hearing his tone and the confidence in his voice meant that he believed in her.  He wanted her to succeed.  That meant more to her than anything.  “Thank you, Brendan,” Aberdeen said in the same sincere tone he thanked her with earlier.  “That means a lot to me.”

Brendan could only smile again.  “I like to think I knew what I was doing when I hired you.”

“Was it all part of the Shanaplan?”

“Do not,” he giggled, shaking his head.  He hated that term, and she knew it.  “Go on.  Get out of here.  Go start your novel on your lunch break or something.  Actually, before you do, can you go down to scouting and give them these for me please,” he said, handing her a stack of files.

She smiled.  All was right and normal in the world again.

***

It was a few hours later when Aberdeen found herself in the staff kitchen, warming up a croissant she’d gotten earlier in the day from Starbucks as a snack before she and Brendan had to start preparing for the game against the Red Wings.  She had a fresh batch of files from scouting in her arm for Brendan to look over as she stuck the croissant in the microwave.  It was then that Ethan walked in, no snack in hand but instead wielding a tea packet.  She ignored him.  She wasn’t going to grace his presence with a greeting and, though it was probably a bit immature, she didn’t care.  He’d said and done enough to her that she didn’t want to be the first one to engage at all.  

“Good afternoon,” Ethan half-mumbled, engaging first.

Aberdeen looked at him.  “Hello,” she said curtly.

“Nice swag bags, huh?” he asked, trying to engage more.  Aberdeen only nodded her head.  “Did you put them together?”

“Of course I did.”

She hoped her short responses and tone were getting across that she didn’t want to speak to him, but Ethan couldn’t read a room to save his life, so he kept going.  “You know, a lot of us were jealous in that meeting that Brendan was praising you so much,” he said.  “We couldn’t believe you pulled that Lidstrom thing off.”

“Guess I’m surprising a lot of people lately,” Aberdeen shrugged her shoulders, setting the files down on the counter.  He didn’t have to tell her people were jealous.  She had a hunch that it was only him who was jealous, and not anybody else in his department.  “Especially you.”

“He must really like you to publicly praise you like that.  He doesn’t do that often, you know.”

“Does that officially make me better at my job than you?” she asked cheekily.  “You know, after you told me I can’t do the job at the Major Donor Gala.”

Ethan threw his head back at the fact that she brought that up again.  He moved to stand behind her as she stuck her food in the microwave.  “Abbie, come on.  You know I rib you because I think you’re good at your job.”

Well that was news to her, because for the last three and a half months, all he’d been doing was making her job a living hell and telling her how much she couldn’t do her job.  This complete 180 was out of the norm, even for him.  “You’ve known me for three and a half months and you’ve consistently called me every name in the book besides my actual name,” she said, turning around to face him, bringing up the other thing that was annoying her about this whole interaction.  “Don’t try to suck up to me now just because you know for a fact Brendan actually likes me.”

“Aberdeen, do you realize how cutthroat the hockey world really is?” Ethan began.  It was at that moment that she realized how close he really was to her; how there wasn’t much room between the two counters of the galley kitchen anyway, but that he was closer to her than normal, than what anybody would consider normal, and it was starting to make her a bit nervous.  “Do you realize how much backstabbing there is?  How many people cross each other all the time just to get promoted or get ahead?  If the little guys like us are going to survive in this industry, or any other industry adjacent to this one, we’re going to need to stick together.”

Aberdeen shook her head.  “You’re trying to use me and it’s so blatantly obvious,” she said sternly, turning around so she wasn’t facing him anymore.  She didn’t want to face him anymore.  “You can’t fool me, Ethan.  Now get out.”

“C’mon, Abbie,” his voice was low, and extremely, extremely close to her ear.  She could practically feel him breathing down her neck.

Then she realized.

“Stop calling me that.”  She tried to make her voice sound strong but it only came out weak as she felt his body pressing up against her back.  Angry tears welled in her eyes as her emotions broke through.  Her chest began to rise and drop from her heavy breaths.

“Abbie, the hockey world is full of favours that help people move up and excel at their job,” Ethan said.

And then she felt it.  His hand on her ass.  Her mind went into overdrive.  She shifted and reached her elbow up and across to push it away, which she did, thankfully.  “Get your hands off me,” she said as firmly as she could.

She turned around quickly so he couldn’t do it again.  Her back leaned against the counter, and she saw he had taken a small step back, but they were still unnaturally close.  “Abbie—”

“Get away from me,” she tried again.

“Just listen—”

“Is things okay in here?” a deep voice asked from the door way.  Ethan took a quick step back further as the both of them looked to see Pierre Engvall standing in the doorway awkwardly, holding a protein shake.  He seemed to be assessing the situation, but Aberdeen had no clue how long he had been standing there.  She would have seen him, she thought, if he had been there long.  

“Pierre!  Good to see you up here buddy!” Ethan put a smile on his face, walking over to him.  Ethan left her standing at the kitchen counter, chest still heaving.  “Feeling good being up with the Leafs?” he asked, switching his demeanour completely.  Aberdeen felt sick to her stomach at how fast he could switch from doing what he was trying to do, to being so buddy-buddy with Pierre.  

“Is there a party going on in here?” another voice asked from out in the hall.

Aberdeen’s stomach dropped.  Right then and there, William popped into the doorway.  He looked between Ethan’s shit eating grin, Pierre’s serious stare, and Aberdeen’s face, red from trying to hold back her emotion as her chest still heaved.  His brows furrowed.  “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine!” Ethan said quickly, shifting to get out of the room.  He looked over his shoulder once more at Aberdeen, taking his phone out of his pocket.  “I’ll email you what Brendan was asking for as soon as I get back,” he called out as he left the room, walking down the hall and disappearing up the staircase.

William was trying to piece everything together.  He looked at Aberdeen.  “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she said, forgetting about her lunch and gathering the files folders quickly and messily in her arms.  

“Aberdeen—”

“Just leave me alone!” she whispered harshly as she shoved past the two large hockey players.

William and Pierre watched as she marched down the hallway, disappearing into the staff washroom.  When they couldn’t see her anymore, William looked at Pierre.  “What happened?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” Pierre shook his head, trying to piece together and remember everything that he saw – at least the tail end that he saw – with all the visual, emotional, and verbal cues that just happened.  “I…I walked in and he was really close to her and—and—you don’t think—”

William saw red.  He didn’t even wait for Pierre to finish his thought or sentence – he started marching down the hallway to Brendan’s office.  Pierre followed.

He was the eyes, after all.

***

Aberdeen didn’t know how long she was in the washroom for.  She didn’t know how long she’d been crying but also trying to keep herself from not crying and just making herself redder in the process.  She couldn’t believe that had just happened to her…that Ethan would do something so awful and so heinous.  It had happened to her at clubs before – a quick squeeze or a pat on her ass, unwanted grabs of her hips, or awkward leans ins to try to get a kiss – but in those instances, she was able to swat the boys away, scream at them or tell them off, or her friends would intervene and help.  She didn’t do that this time, for some reason.  She couldn’t, maybe.  Maybe because they were alone?  Because she truly felt helpless?  Because she really did feel like Ethan could get away with whatever he wanted – he had been for the past few months with her alone, she couldn’t even imagine what he was doing to other people, specifically to other women – so what was the point?

But as she kept thinking about it, she came to a conclusion: that she couldn’t let him ruin her life because she still had her whole life ahead of her.  That even though she’d just become another statistic – another woman sexually harassed at work – it wasn’t her primary identifier, and she would never let it identify her.  She was so much more than that.  She had to put it behind her and had to overcome.  

She looked at herself in the mirror.  Her eyes were red, but there was nothing she could do now.  All she could do was keep doing her job.  And all she had to do was avoid Brendan until she looked normal again.  She unlocked the door and stepped out, trying to walk inconspicuously down the hallway.

“ABERDEEN!” Brendan called out loudly from his office.

She stopped dead in her tracks in the hallway.  She didn’t even have time to go hide from him, let alone breathe, because Brendan popped his head out the door of his office and looked around feverishly.  When he saw her, he immediately noticed the redness in her eyes and cheeks.  “Aberdeen, I need to speak to you inside my office,” his voice went ten times softer than what it was.

She was caught.  She followed him in, trying to think of ways she could lie to him or make an excuse for why she had been crying.  But when she walked in and saw Pierre and William standing in the room, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to get out of it.  She sat down in the same chair she had been sitting in earlier in the day.  It felt different now than it had then, when they were exchanging gifts.  “Why were you crying in the bathroom?”

“I wasn’t crying.”

“Aberdeen—”

“I watched a sad video on YouTube and—”

“Aberdeen,” Brendan said firmly but calmly.  He looked her straight in the eye.  “Do.  Not.  Lie.  To.  Me.”

She took a deep breath.  She looked at Pierre, who had a sympathetic and extremely worried look on his face.  She looked at William, who looked ready to explode right then and there.  “Umm…there…there was an incident—”

“An incident?”

“In the staff kitchen.”

“With who?” Brendan asked.  “Was it with Pierre or William?”

“No.  God, no,” she shook her head vehemently.  “It, um…it was…I don’t…I don’t—”

“Was it with Ethan Baker?” Brendan filled in her stutters.  He could see how pained she was.  His hands gripped the armrests of his chair.  Aberdeen couldn’t look him in the eye.  She nodded her head once, bringing her hand up to wipe a tear away.  “If we check the cameras will we see that he touched you inappropriately?” Brendan asked again.  Clearly William and Pierre had told him what they thought happened.

Aberdeen couldn’t – didn’t – even register that Brendan mentioned cameras, that the entire thing was probably caught on a camera.  She couldn’t form words.  She could only nod her head.  Slightly, too.  Not even enthusiastically.  Pathetically.  

Brendan didn’t say another word.  He picked up the phone on his desk and called an extension.  “I need Gary to share the last hour of the security footage from the staff kitchen right this instant.”

Aberdeen shifted uncomfortably in her seat.  A few more words were exchanged before Brendan hung up the phone.  “You’re going to tell me what happened,” he said, before spinning his chair slightly to face Pierre and William.  “And then you are going to tell me what you saw,” he pointed towards Pierre, who followed Brendan’s finger and sat to the left of Aberdeen, “and then you are going to tell me what you saw,” he pointed towards William, who sat to the right of her.

Aberdeen recalled everything: walking in, the conversation they’d had, the things Ethan had said to her, where he moved and how he got there and the feeling of how close he was behind her.  Brendan wrote everything down.  When she recounted how she felt his hand on her ass, Brendan and Pierre visibly scowled.  William looked like he was about to punch a hole in the wall.  When she mentioned Pierre in the doorway, Brendan stopped her and let Pierre take over.  Pierre told her what he saw – he’d come in at the last possible second of seeing Ethan’s hand on her ass before she pushed it away.  When it was William’s turn, he mentioned how upset Aberdeen was and how she looked ready to cry.  A notification sound came through on Brendan’s iPad and she knew it was the video footage.

“Aberdeen…” Brendan tried to say softly, though he was saying it through gritted teeth.  “Have there been any other incidents like this one?”

She shook her head.  “No.”

“Has he even been inappropriate or demeaning in any other way?”

And there it was: the million dollar question.  She remembered everything Ethan had done to her and everything he’d said; she was hyperaware of his presence around her at all times since her first day of work, so she felt like she had to remember everything.  In her hesitation, she made eye contact with William.  The way he was staring at her, it was like he was begging her to say something.  But William.  Poor William.  He only knew about the bag incident because he had intervened.  Now the floodgates were about to open.  “Yes…” Aberdeen nodded her head, taking a deep breath.  

“What were they?”

Aberdeen reminded Brendan of the coffee incident from her first day, but then recalled the long list of others: the bag carrying incident where William stepped in; the “Girl Friday” and “Brendan girl” nicknames he’d given her; the slightly inappropriate flirting at the Major Donor Gala and the things he’d said to her when she didn’t reciprocate; the comments he’d made to her at the Christmas party.  Brendan kept writing everything down.  The more she told, the angrier his scribbles got and the harder he pressed down onto the paper.  The more she told, the more William looked like he was about to rip Brendan’s massive solid oak desk in two with his bare hands like Captain America did with that log.

“Anything else?” Brendan asked.

Aberdeen hesitated.  “Um…no.”

“Aberdeen.”

She could feel William look at her as she looked down to avoid any eyes on her.  “There was um…there was an incident where I was in the staff kitchen heating up a snack wrap, and he asked if I should really be eating it because nobody likes a piggy working for a hockey team.”

Time stood still as Brendan, Pierre, and William looked at her, completely and utterly speechless at the words that had just come out of her mouth.  She tried to fixate her eyes on something in the room, but she landed on William’s balled up fist in his lap, his knuckles white from how much anger he felt.  It took Brendan reaching over to his phone and dialling another extension for any semblance of time to pass.  “Can you let Ethan Baker know he needs to come into my office in ten minutes?  Thanks.”

Aberdeen knew what that meant.  “Brendan—”

“Don’t Aberdeen,” he grabbed his iPad and swiped to his mail to get the security footage.  Everything that Aberdeen had said, what Pierre had said, what Willy said – it was all corroborated by the video.  Ethan wouldn’t be able to get out of it no matter how hard he tried; no matter what charms he tried to pull on Brendan.  Not that Brendan would fall for them.  “He’s never working another day in his life for any professional sports organization,” Brendan mumbled.  “And I’ll make sure of that.”

Aberdeen was shocked.  “That’s—that’s ruining his life—”

“You’re right – I am the one ruining his life,” Brendan said sternly, lifting any feelings of burden off of her immediately.  

“And he deserves to have it ruined,” William piped up, his tone scathing.  Pierre nodded in agreement.

“You two can go back to the locker room and do what you need to do to prepare for the game tonight,” he said to Pierre and William.  Pierre got up first, and had to wait for William, who didn’t want to leave.  It wasn’t until Brendan urged him with a slight head nod that he got up out of his seat.  Brendan waited until they left completely to continue.  “You can go home, Aberdeen.  If you want to take the Next Gen day off I won’t mind at all—”

“I don’t want to.”

Brendan stopped.  “You what?”

“I don’t want to go home and I don’t want to take the Next Gen day off.  Just let me do my job,” she said.

“Aberdeen, I really think—”

“If I go home all I’m going to do is wallow in this feeling.  All I’m going to do is think about it over and over again until I cry some more.  I don’t want to let him get to me more than he already has.  Just…just let me do my job.  Please.”

***

William booked it out of Scotiabank Arena the second he was able to.  Despite the team winning 4-1 against the Red Wings, William’s mind was somewhere else.  He was able to keep focused, sure, and make plays and complete passes, but there were other things that occupied his mind.  He didn’t even change into his suit – after showers and media, he left in his workout gear.  There was no point in suiting up.  He knew exactly the places he needed to go and exactly what he needed to do.  

When he got to the lobby of Aberdeen’s apartment, he typed Kasha’s name into the call system and waited to hear one of their voices to let him in.  However, there was no voice – only an acceptance of the call, and a click of the door opening.  He rushed towards the elevators.  He remembered the floor number easily.  

The door was already slightly open.  When William showed up in the doorway there were three people in the apartment, and luckily, none of them were members of Aberdeen’s family.  He didn’t take her as the type to have her parents talk her through a crisis like this one – she was too independent and maybe a bit too stubborn for that – but he knew she’d already called Siena about it.  It was what he would do with his brother.  Aberdeen had already washed all her makeup off and had her hair in a bun, and was standing in a hoodie and pyjama shorts as she cradled Minerva in her arms.  He recognized one of the people as Kasha, but had no idea who the guy was.

Kasha was the first to see him.  Her eyes widened when she recognized him.  “William?”

Everybody’s eyes turned to him.  Aberdeen’s were bulging out of their sockets in shock.  He saw that they were red – that she’d been crying again, probably recounting everything to Kasha once she got home.  “Hey,” he said.

There was an awkward silence as they all stared at him.  Kasha noticed that William was shifting his focus between Evan and Aberdeen and knew she had to be the one to break it.  “Will, this is my boyfriend Evan.  Evan, uh, this is William Nylander.  Aberdeen’s…uh…work colleague.”

Evan moved to shake William’s hand politely.  “You guys work together?” he asked, his voice upbeat.  “Are you another assistant with MLSE?”

Kasha intervened before anybody else could.  “Evan, William’s a player for the Toronto Maple Leafs.”

Evan’s eyes widened at the revelation.  It began to sink in to him how…interesting it was to have a member of the Toronto Maple Leafs in the apartment of his girlfriend.  “Ooooooooh, okay,” he nodded slowly.  “Sorry.  I don’t watch hockey.”

“It’s probably better that way,” William quipped.

“I…that was you calling?” Kasha asked.  William nodded his head.  “I thought you were the Uber Eats we ordered.”

“I’m not Uber Eats but I brought Sugo for…uh…” he held up the bag.

“Sugo’s been closed for like, two hours…” Kasha furrowed her brows.

“They’re not when you’re…me,” William said.  He stared directly at Aberdeen.  “Can we talk?”

Aberdeen stayed silent.  She looked at Kasha and Evan first.  Kasha held her hands up in front of her.  “Don’t look at me.  He’s your friend.”

“Kasha—”

“I don’t mind him being here at all,” she said, knowing what the question would be.  If she had to push them together herself, she would.  “And you know I’m not going to say a word.  He won’t say anything either,” she nodded towards Evan.  “If you guys need to talk, then talk.  Evan and I will be in my room.”

“We will?” Evan asked as Kasha yanked his arm.  “We will.  Nice to meet you Will,” he said as he was dragged towards Kasha’s bedroom, the door slamming behind them.

Aberdeen and William looked at each other.  She’d barely moved since he walked in the door.  She knew with every fibre of her being that he wasn’t supposed to be here, but she couldn’t help but feel…solace? relief? gratitude? as he stood there with his blonde hair and blue eyes and that dumb but cute look on his face.  “I got some pasta and their giant meatballs,” he said softly, setting the bag down on the counter.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice a bit strained.

“What do you think I’m doing here, minskatt?” he asked.  “I needed to see if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” she tried to brush him off.

“Aberdeen…” he said softly.  “I’m trying to be here for you.  Will you let me?”

His words sounded so soft and so sincere that it almost broke her.  There was no way she could say no, no way that she could ask him to leave and deny him.  After everything that they’d been through, after everything he’d ever said to her, the hotel room visits, everything – she couldn’t deny him this.  He wanted to be there for her, and she was going to let him.  She swallowed the sob that threatened to escape her.  “Plate that pasta and bring it to my room,” she said quietly.

William’s eyes bulged in shock for a split second before he began moving around the kitchen trying to find an appropriate plate.  He kicked off his shoes before grabbing a fork and walking into her bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him.  He looked around, and it was just as he remembered it.  It had been a while, but the events of that night in June still played over and over in his mind.  If he thought about it hard enough, he could imagine the feeling of her bare skin underneath his fingertips.  

He found her sitting on her daybed, Minerva lying on her legs and her laptop on her desk chair that was placed at the edge of her bed like a TV stand.  He handed her the plate full of pasta and meatballs before climbing into bed beside her, sitting right next to her so their bodies were touching.  “He deserved what he got, you know.  After that piggy story I wanted to go to his office and strangle him with my bare hands.”

She nodded her head softly.  “I know.  I got that from seeing how white your knuckles were in your lap.”

“Do you want to know how Brendan did it?” he asked.  She didn’t respond, so he just went for it.  “He called Ethan into his office and he asked him what his dream hockey organizations were to work for.  As Ethan said them, Brendan wrote them down.  Then Brendan showed him the video, and in front of Ethan, called the president or GM of the teams he mentioned and blacklisted him.  He told them never to hire him because he was a sexual harasser.”

Aberdeen didn’t know what to think.  She knew William didn’t tell her that to get a reaction out of her, and she knew he wasn’t expecting one either.  It was harsh, very harsh.  Ethan’s career in the sports industry was ruined, that was for sure.  It was a fitting end to a guy who was such a dick.  And more than anything, she realized one important thing: Brendan cared about her.  He cared about her so much he’d ruin another man’s career for harming hers.  “Good,” she mumbled.  

“Why didn’t you tell me any of that was going on?” he asked.  “You promised me you’d tell me, Aberdeen, and you broke that promise.”

She shook her head.  She couldn’t deal with this right now.  She knew she should have said something earlier, but she was the lowest person on the metaphorical totem pole, and she didn’t think it was worth William’s time or effort.  “Please don’t.”

“I could have helped you, Aberdeen—”

“William, please,” her tone was strained, her voice begging.  “I don’t want to talk about it.  I don’t want to keep reliving it.  I just want to sit here with you and eat this giant plate of pasta with these giant meatballs, okay?  Please.”

William looked at her for a few moments, directly into her eyes, before he nodded his head.  It was all he could do.  He didn’t want to make her relive it any more than she had to.  And, quite frankly, he didn’t want to have to think about it, because thinking about what Ethan did to her made his blood boil and made him want to search every street and apartment in the city for Ethan so he could punch him.  She’d let her guard down, however minimally, and said she wanted to sit there with him.  If him sitting next to Aberdeen was going to make her feel okay, he was going to do just that.  If just being there, physically, was enough for her, then it was enough for him.  “What are we watching?”

“The Real Housewives of New York City.”

He smiled.  “Alright.  Real Housewives it is.”

With Minerva sleeping on her legs, Aberdeen downed the plate of pasta.  William couldn’t really keep up with the show, with all its drama and all the ladies gossiping over events he had no clue about, but that didn’t really matter.  All he was really focused on was Aberdeen.  And as her body language softened the more she worked through the giant plate of pasta, the more comfortable she became.  When she was done, she leaned forward and put the plate on her dresser.  She’d deal with it later.  

When she curled her arm underneath his, he rested his hand on her legs and she leaned her head onto his bicep.  Their bodies couldn’t be any closer, and now they were starting to intertwine.  It wasn’t long before her breathing steadied, and when the screen went dark during a scene, William could see through the reflection that she was sleeping peacefully against him.  He closed the laptop with his foot.  

He moved to lie her down in her bed.  The disruption in position made her grumble slightly, though she was still latched on to his arm.  “Willy?” she mumbled out.

The use of his nickname that everyone else called him but she never did until now brought a small smile to his face.  “Minskatt?”

She didn’t say anything else, but she made it clear she didn’t want to let him go.  And she showed it by grabbing onto him tighter.  When he lay down in her tiny bed with her – seriously, it was tiny and there was barely enough room for his body, let alone both of theirs – she closed her eyes again.  Comfortable.  Safe.  Protected.  

William closed his eyes too, letting his feelings of serenity overwhelm him.

***

Aberdeen woke up with the sun, which she was mad about because she had the day off and wanted to sleep in until it was an acceptable time to have brunch.  Her body still felt fatigued from yesterday, but her mind – even her mind still felt tired, like she’d barely gotten any sleep.  She saw Minerva curled up at William’s feet and smiled.

William.

William.

William was in bed with her.

The events of the night before came back to her – him showing up at the apartment with takeout Sugo; eating the giant plate of pasta and meatballs all on her own; sitting on her bed and watching the Real Housewives of New York; resting her head on his arm until she fell asleep.  He’d stayed the night.  For the second time in one month, she’d shared a bed with William.  The first time, they’d stayed on their respective sides because the bed was big enough – it was respectful and innocent, but she had still kicked him out in the early morning in complete fear.  But now, there was no respective sides.  She felt his hand underneath her hoodie on her bare skin.  She felt his body pressed up against hers, holding her delicately.  She felt his chest rising and falling softly.  But mostly, she felt the grip of his hand holding hers, cradling it near his chest.

For the first time, she didn’t mind.  And she didn’t pull away.

_______________________

Sexual harassment in the workplace resources:

from the Women’s Legal Education and Action Fund: Sexual Harassment at Work - What Can I Do About It?

from the Ontario Human Rights Commission: Policy on Preventing Sexual and Gender-Based Harassment 

from The Muse: Here’s What You Can Do If You’re Sexually Harassed at Work

from Workplace Fairness: Sexual Harassment Practical Strategies: How Do I Deal with Sexual Harassment?

from Canadian Labour Relations: Sexual Harassment Lawyers and Attorneys: a Legal Solution

from Workplace Fairness: Sexual Harassment - Legal Standards

[crimsonrae]

Disintegration

Chapter Four

Summary: He witnessed the worst night of her life, he just never expected for her to become the love of his life.

KlausxCami

Rating: Mature

A/N: So, I'm starting to delve into Marnie a bit - sorry her point of view seems erratic, but at the same time that's what I was going for... She's recovering from a concusion, untangling herself from a horrible relationship, and discovering that maybe her nightmares are over with yet. She's a little manic. More of Cami and some of her internal musing/recovering. Please don't hesitate to give feedback. I love hearing from you guys. Please read and enjoy.

Chapter Four

2009

The dean would have to excuse his quick departure. He had files to read, a woman to woo, another to find, and a curse to break after all.

If Klaus had paid more attention to his surroundings when he had been at the university then he would have been able to shorten his list by an item of one. Hell, he would have been able to shorten it before he had even set foot into the dean's office.

By the time he left his opportunity had been lost. Not that he was aware of an opportunity in the first place.

Timing had never been Marnie Taylor's thing. She had been born a week late and as her mother would say... she had been late to everything ever since. Usually, her knack for running out the clock was a fault. An irritation for those waiting on her, an inconvenience when she was trying to accomplish anything, but she firmly believed that for a few moments where she stood in the courtyard outside the doors that led to the lobby of the dean's office, it had been her saving grace.

Students moved past her, ignoring her presence as they made their way to class while she remained frozen stiff on the pathway. Her dark eyes had stared through the glass doors with a bemused intensity.

"...coffee, Mr. Mikaelson?"

Ms. Lankam's soft voice had carried startlingly far as the doors had swung briefly open to allow another administrator to exit. It had caused Marnie to glance up curiously as she shuffled down the pathway, hoping that her tardiness hadn't caused her to miss Camille.

Despite her abrupt exit from the hospital and subsequent purposeful loss of her phone, Marnie had still managed to hear whispers of what had occurred between her roommate and her boyfriend – ex-boyfriend... Ex.

She had to swallow convulsively against the spike of anxiety that skewered her heart and remind herself that Scott was miles away in a hospital bed if the rumors were accurate. It was why she needed to be here because if those rumors were true then Cami was in danger of losing everything because of her. She couldn't let her best friend and self-appointed protector lose her standing as a student, much less anything else. She needed to speak with the dean and at least try to straighten out some of this mess. After all, she had helped create it.

Sickening guilt swarmed through her stomach as she remembered the multitude of times that Cami had begged her to seek help. She should have listened. A dull thrum of pain laced up her side from her mending ribs as if in agreement.

Yet, no amount of guilt nor pain could make her move as her eyes landed on Mr. Mikaelson.

He had turned to the side in apparent boredom – his appearance in itself wasn't startling. In fact, he was rather handsome, not that Marnie had time to truly take note of his attractiveness. She was too distracted by the sudden awareness of something supernatural.

A prickling of the hair at the nape of her neck, an undercurrent of something powerful and ominous that made the air heavier... imbued with something dark, wrong - unnatural.

A vampire.

She had seen vampires rarely in her short life. She had been warned of them, told to stay away by those far older and wiser than herself. It was impossible to be raised by a witch, by a coven, and not know of the other supernatural entities that lingered in the world. She had never been able to get past the sense of wrong the few times she had been in a vampire's presence. As if someone had taken a sheet of sandpiper to scrape along her skin. The entire experience was abrasive and irritating.

But she had never felt it this strongly before... she wasn't even standing in the same room as him. Still a good fifty feet away. Even his name prodded at the recesses of her memory. He was important, but she couldn't remember precisely why.

He seemed to sense her as he started to turn toward the doors and Marnie felt her heart lurch to her throat in fear. Yet, she was saved at the last second by her roommate once again.

She blinked as Cami exit Shaln's office with her parents and was taken by surprise a second time as Cami approached the vampire with unflinching familiarity.

It made Marnie want to scream, to warn her friend away. However, as she moved toward the door, she caught Camille's strong voice as she mentioned the monster's given name, "Klaus - what?"

Klaus...

Klaus Mikaelson?

Horror grew into an avalanching pit within her gut as her memory found the relevance of his name. Niklaus Mikaelson, an Original.

She deftly staggered out of sight as her mind whirled, confusion bespelled her mind as she watched the brief exchange between Cami and Klaus. The press of his lips to her cheek, her subsequent pleased blush before her mother ushered her away.

How did Cami know an Original? Was she aware of what he was?

Despite three years of living together, Marnie suddenly felt uncertain about her friend. Had Camille known about the supernatural world all along? Had she known about Marnie being a witch?

The quieter, more rational part of her knew that she was missing several key pieces of information. That Cami – sweet, fierce Cami – knew nothing about her world... though she had the lingering impression that was all about to change. But the rational part of Marnie wasn't in control – hadn't been in control for quite a few days now.

And so, she found herself torn. Not sure if she should confront her friend and make her aware – if she wasn't already- of who and what exactly Klaus Mikaelson was and pull her to safety as Cami had tried so valiantly to do with her or if she should run. Because after everything, the last thing Marnie needed was to add an Original into her vast stew of problems.

Shaking from her unease, Marnie tugged her sweater tighter around her fragile frame and disappeared amongst the student body.

__________________________

"You know... you're not supposed to get into trouble without me? It's in the twin code."

Camille's head snapped up from her suitcase as she stepped into her family home. An exuberant smile painted her lips as she caught sight of a familiar pair of stormy eyes, "Sean! What are you doing here?"

"My sister gets arrested, and you think I'm just going to while away reading scripture?" Amusement coated her brother's mien lifting Camille's dampened spirits. He opened his arms for a hug and she all but fell into his embrace. She had missed her pain-in-the-ass brother – she really could have used his company the past few days. He tightened his arms around her in silent comfort as he whispered, "How are you doing, really?"

Cami pulled away with a grimace as she tried not to look too miserable, "Oh you know, I made a few new friends – one's named Bubba. Apparently, his sister is doing five to ten, but she'd be able to show me the ropes if I'm ever inside the pokey."

"I hear it's good to have an inside man – well, woman." Sean fought back a grin as he pointedly kept his gaze from flickering to the door where their mother was entering. It would only invite a weary retort as she was unamused by her children's words, "Hi mom."

"Hello dear." Vivian brushed a kiss to her son's cheek in greeting. As happy as she was to see Sean the morning had worn on her just as much as it had Camille, "I need an iced tea. Would you two like one?'

"Ac;tual iced tea?" Sean asked tentatively, as he caught his sister's eye.

"Long Island, dear." Vivian declared almost reproachfully. Camille smirked as she mouthed the words that her mother was about to speak, "Tea leaves should never be brewed cold."

"I'm good, mom." Sean intoned quietly as Cami iterated much the same. Vivian waved a dismissive hand before sauntering away for the sitting room.

Cami huffed a soft laugh as she watched her mother disappear. Another sign of much-needed normal, "Seriously, you didn't have to come all the way home for this. I'm sure you had better things to do."

He shrugged, "Please, I wouldn't miss counting the different shades Dad will turn for anything in the world. Has he reached that angry maroon yet?"

"Stop it." She murmured with a faint grin as she looked behind her to see if their parents had lingered. Callan was still outside it seemed, "I thought he was going to bash the Dean's skull in this morning. The whole experience has been mortifying... but you are now officially the saintly child with a delinquent for a sister. It'll make your sermons even more interesting when you finally get ordained."

"If I even get there." Sean murmured almost bitterly.

It was a tone Cami didn't hear from him all too often and it had her frowning in concern, "Has something happened?"

Sean shook his head in mild dismissal, "Nothing worth mentioning really. Don't worry about it, Cam. I think one twin having a crisis at a time is all the world can handle right now."

"Sean..." She quietly implored, but he rebuffed her again.

Cami found his reticence a little annoying, but not out of character. Sean wouldn't come to her until he was ready to, but that didn't mean she wouldn't nag at him until then. She considered it her big sister prerogative... even if she was only two minutes older.

He derailed the questions pressing on the tip of her tongue as his gaze moved back to the walkway with an inquisitive expression, "Is that Ian?"

She glanced back to see her boyfriend bringing the rest of her belongings in from the car and smiled faintly. He had been waiting for her outside her dorm-like he had promised her. She hadn't been sure that he would show. Things had been a little tense between them since she had called him on the way out of the jailhouse and she just hadn't had the time to pick apart where all this uneasiness between them was coming from; if it was her and she was projecting onto him? Or if he had a problem with the entire fiasco and just was withholding it from her... Cami wasn't sure and frankly, she really didn't have the energy or focus to figure it out with him.

Yet, this morning it was like nothing was wrong between them. He had greeted her with a soft kiss that warmed her veins and soothed her nerves. Had frowned when she had told him about the expulsion, but much to his credit had merely wrapped her in a tight hug before asking what exactly she needed him to do. It made her think that she had simply been projecting her insecurities unfairly onto him because something about their relationship hadn't been right for the past few days and Cami couldn't put her finger on what.

A small voice whispered that she did know, at least one small part of the issue, as an image of darkly amused cerulean eyes glimmered in her mind, and she had to shake off a twinge of guilt.

She was being ridiculous. Nothing had happened. She had done nothing wrong.

But maybe that was the problem. Something inside her wanted to do something wrong because beating the crap out of Scott hadn't felt wrong. And she hated that, and she hated that Klaus had seen that in her.

...but let's be honest here, love, while I may have enjoyed your spirited attack, you enjoyed committing it more.

She had enjoyed it and maybe... maybe doing something she knew was wrong – would feel wrong – maybe then she could feel justifiably punished for how much she had reveled in bruising her knuckles on that bastard's face.

Now that... that was not what she wanted to think about. Silently, she placed the thought of the beguiling Klaus Mikaelson back into his box and locked the lid. It was tempting to blame him for all her current relationship woes, but the truth was she was in a vulnerable state. She didn't want to acknowledge that she hadn't felt like herself in days and she refused to let a brief interlude with a stranger affect her... well, just affect her.

"Yes." She said abruptly realizing that Sean was looking at her strangely, she had been quiet for too long. She shook off her daze with a chagrined smile, "Yeah, apparently Christmas with the O'Connell's wasn't enough to make him run for the hills."

Sean snorted as he thought of the trial by fire their parents liked to put Cami's boyfriends through. Ian had held up remarkably well at Christmas he remembered and by the vague twitch of his lips, Ian was thinking of it too. Sean's grin grew, "I'll have to ask him which experience was worse. Dealing with our parents at the holidays or during a crisis."

"Christmas. I'm not under the microscope this time" Ian said soundly as he placed a box of her things against a wall.

"So, you think." Sean stated wryly as he reached a hand out in greeting, "Hey man, it's good to see you again."

Ian grasped the proffered limb with a quick nod, "You too. You going to be out here long or is this just a quick check-in?"

Sean shrugged, "Not sure. I'll be here for at least a week. Exams are coming up and I suppose I'll have to return for those."

There it was again. A shift of something disgruntled in her brother's expression. Usually, only their father could bring that look to Sean's face and Cami found herself frowning again, "You suppose?"

He shrugged, "I will. I think I'm just a bit burnt out. It's a good thing the end of the semester is so close."

"Tell me about it." Ian agreed with a commiserating groan, "If I have to look at one more graph on emerging markets, my brain is going to explode."

Camille rolled her eyes as she listened to their whines, "At least you guys will get to finish your year. I don't even know how this semester will reflect on my records."

Ian frowned at the reminder of her expulsion. He quickly laced his fingers through her as he tried to gently cajole, "Come on, you know Shaln was blustering. I bet you're back in class next Monday."

Sean nodded his agreement, "There's no way that mom is going to let any of this go and with the way dad is pacing with his phone right now, I wouldn't be surprised if he's calling every lawyer he knows to make this go away."

A sickening stone settled into the bottom of Camille's gut as she peered around her brother through the still-open door. And sure enough, there was Callan, burrowing a path into the front lawn. He was already the angry maroon color that Sean had been anticipating. A dull thrum began to spike up her neck at the sight... There would be no end to this day.

"Great." She murmured under her breath, "Mom's already spoken with Aunt Patrice and Uncle Fred. Apparently, she got them to agree to withdraw funding to the school. Shaln about had an aneurysm when she mentioned it."

"Damn... mom works fast."

While Patrice and Fred weren't actually blood relatives, they had been close family friends for so long that they may as well have been part of the larger O'Connell brood. Camille wasn't sure why it had surprised her so much that they were already aware of the latest family scandal. Maybe it was because Vivian usually played things close to the vest.

She missed the shared looked between her boyfriend and brother as she stared distractedly at her father. Both were concerned over the lines of tension and stress creasing her expression.

Sean took the lead as he nudged her, "Have I mentioned how badass it is that you took an abuser in hand? Cuz I'm pretty sure that it makes you a superhero."

"Definitely, Wonder Womanesque." Ian chimed with a faint smile. In truth, he had been at a loss on how to comfort Camille. She was usually very upfront about what she was thinking and feeling – she would tell him what she needed... but she had shut herself off from everyone. A wall had been erected, and he wasn't sure how to approach this withdrawn version of his girlfriend. Waiting for her to come to him had become his default option... and it seemed to be failing. It was a relief to let Sean take over.

"No way. Cami's too blonde for Wonder Woman. I think more Warbird." Sean disagreed as he smirked at his sister.

Ian's eyes lit up, "Carol Danvers? Hell yeah – I can get behind that."

Camille could only shake her head in disbelief, "Wow, this turned into a nerdfest really quick."

Yet, there was no hiding the glint of amusement behind her befuddlement, and that was all the boys had been aiming for as they tried to coax her into a better mood.

"There is nothing wrong with appreciating a strong female character. They're hot." Ian argued with a sly grin as he briefly tightened his hand over hers, "There's no denying you're a strong female which can only mean-"

"Uggh, I'm not listening anymore." Sean gagged exaggeratedly as he started to wander away from the blatant flirting display that he was currently witnessing, "I agree by the way. Not that you're hot – but yeah... strong woman."

Camille couldn't stop her snicker at the boys antics, "Where are you going?"

"I don't know, Wally's? You guys coming?" He called as he twirled his car keys around his finger.

Camille shared a glance with Ian as Sean waited down by his car. She didn't really want to go out. She had wanted to curl up in bed and shut the world away since she woke up that morning, but life had other ideas. At the same time, curling up in her bedroom at home and not at her dorm held less of an appeal. Sooner or later, she would have to have another painful round of discussions with her parents and figure out what her next steps would be. Being home assured that conversation happening sooner, especially as Vivian had espoused a few ideas in the car already.

Staying home seemed more tedious than necessary and Cami supposed that it wasn't exactly healthy to hide herself away, "I want to go out... but no bars. I've had my fill of them lately."

Ian smiled and nodded his head, "How about bowling? Think we could convince your brother?"

It was an odd suggestion and Cami had to raise her brow, "Bowling?"

"Well, its one sport you can still drink and perform with little effort. Plus, the added bonus of being able to throw a big rock ball at something without people saying you have anger issues." He explained lightly.

It was slightly inane how much allure that last bit held for Camille.

And ultimately, it's what won her over. She didn't regret her choice as she tugged on the used shoes offered by the alley twenty minutes later.

She procured a midnight-blue ball with shimmering specs; it was understated next to the flaming pinks and luminescent greens, but it felt comfortable in her hand. Ian had found a garish orange one that reminded her of Mars as it swirled into different shades while Sean had found one that reminded her of the candy jawbreakers, they would get from the corner market as kids. She was struck by a sense of surrealness. Hours ago she was ready to shut the world away, now she was leaning in to play a game.

Cami shook her head and took her place up at the end of the lane. She gazed for a long moment at the strangely ethereally glowing pins – it was as if the brightness was mocking her. It was stupid, but she took that moment to alter those ten pins in her mind. No longer were these pieces merely glossy-shaped plastic-covered wood, but every negative emotion she had been feeling.

Pin One – worry. Worry for Marnie, for her future, for herself.

Pin Two – rage. Rage at Scott and any person who was like him. Rage at the unfairness of everything. Rage for what she could not control.

Pin Three – confusion. Confusion over how quickly she had snapped. Confusion for Klaus and the odd calm he brought her...even as he annoyed her. Confusion for why that had her questioning her relationship with Ian.

She drew a long breath.

Pin Four – uncertainty. Uncertain of why she was so hesitant to let anyone in... let Ian in.

Pin Five – resignation. Resignation with Shaln, resignation with the fact that she could not go back and change...anything.

Cami pulled her arm back and lined her thumb to the middle arrow painted on the planks below her.

Pin Six –stress. Stress with...everything.

Pin Seven – frustration. Frustrated with being unable to understand herself. Unreasonably frustrated with every person she came into contact with... she was so sick of all the bullshit.

The ball slid from her palm and collided with a deliciously dull thunk to the ground before the rolling glide of smooth stone against polished wood echoed like a helical wave in her ear.

Pin Eight – fear. Fear of what the next days would bring, of how much she wanted to finish what she had started in that bar.

Pin Nine – sadness. Sadness of losing a part of herself that she had not even realized was there to lose.

The clatter of the final impact was like an abrupt roar of applause as those gleaming pins toppled with erratic swivels. All her pessimism gone in one fell swoop.

Yet one pin held strong – tilted and swiveled, teasing its fall before soundly settling on its bottom once more.

Cami blinked in curious astonishment at the ten pin. Of all the pins to remain standing, it had to be one pin she had assigned no negative emotion.

Pin Ten – hope. Hope that everything would be okay.

A beatific smile swept across her lips as she stared. For the first time in days a lightness swept over her, and she was actually able to let the small gleam of hope that had shrouded her every step, blossom a little fuller.

She may not have smiled if she had known about the dark-haired man observing her from the snack bar. No, Cami wouldn't have been smiling at all to know she had gained a stalker that day... but Maddox was nothing if not obedient to his master.

Previous Chapter

[brywrites]

Little Beautiful

Summary: In which Max’s art exhibit is a gallery of beautiful things, and Spencer Reid finds himself surprised by what it includes. Spencer Reid x Max Brenner

.......

Spencer Reid can name many beautiful things. He can talk in depth about the natural splendor of the Golden Ratio and why humans love symmetry. He can explain the history of the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa, recount the painstaking detail with which the Taj Mahal was built. He’s seen desert sunsets and shooting stars and the faces of parents reunited with children they thought they might never see again.

He loves all the great and beautiful things in the world. And nobody quite makes the world look as beautiful as Max does. She’s protective of her art, fiercely private about it, but the glimpses she allows him stun him. Then again, he figures he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, she’s beautiful.

Reid thinks he could never tire of looking at her. Her wide, brown eyes, her long eyelashes, the way her cheeks are painted pink each time he pushes her hair back from her face. Her smile just knocks him out. Her movements are graceful, elegant. And the sight of her bare body in the soft light of his bedroom makes him think that no word in any language could ever even hope to come close to describing this sort of perfection.

Everything about her puts a sunset to shame. Her laugh. The way she makes him smile on the worst days. The softness of her touch when her skin is on his. The warmth of her embrace. The kindness of her heart. There’s no doubt, Maxine Brenner is beautiful, in every sense of the grossly inadequate word.

But beauty has a way of reminding him of his own inadequacies. For all his love of lovely things, Reid knows the word is never one he could hope to claim. His face won’t ever inspire poetry. His hair is, at best, an unruly mess. His stubble is always a little scruffier than he’d like it to be. And while he managed to get physically stronger after Milburn, getting in shape didn’t quite happen. He can hold an unsub on the ground without worry, but he’s absolutely terrified each time he undresses before her.

But he loves her. Which is why when she hands him a flyer that reads, Little Beautiful, he knows he’ll say yes to whatever it is before she even explains.

“I have a confession to make,” Max says. “I didn’t want to tell you sooner because I was afraid I might jinx it, but now that it’s all official – I’m going to have an exhibition at Jolie Laide!” Jolie Laide is one of the District’s most revered contemporary commercial galleries, and Max is understandably over the moon.

“What?” he gasps. “When did this happen? How?”

“There was a call for submissions, and well I’ve been working on this idea for a while and I figured why not give it a shot? Spencer, they loved it! They actually loved my art!” she says, and the little hop of joy in her step makes him want to kiss her right there in the middle of the street. Is she even aware of how adorable she is?

“That’s incredible. I mean, I’m not surprised. Everything you do is incredible. But what’s the title mean?” he asks, pointing at the flyer.

“It’s a Van Gogh reference,” she says, and he smiles. Of course it is. The Dutch master will always have a spot in her heart, and in the small “Starry Night” tattoo on her inner arm. “Find things beautiful as much as you can,” she recites. “Most people find too little beautiful.”

She takes his hand in hers. Her hands are small and dainty. He could almost close his fingers around hers completely. It makes him think he must look so strange beside her, a mess of lanky limbs.

“I know that big parties aren’t really your scene,” Max says. “But the opening night is kind of a big deal and it would really mean a lot to me if you came.”

“Are you kidding me?” he laughs. They turn down the street to his apartment. “You’re my girlfriend. We’ve been dating for five months, three weeks, and five days. Of course I’m going to be there.”

“Well good. And tell your friends! The more the merrier. I think you’re really gonna like it,” she adds, with that mischievous sparkle in her eyes that makes his stomach flip.

“If you made it, I know I’ll love it.” Deciding the doorstep of his building is close enough, he leans down to kiss her.

Two weeks later, he finds himself standing in the lobby of Jolie Laide with the rest of his team. Many of them have decided to make a date night of the event, as it’s not often profilers have the excuse to attend a formal event. Reid shifts nervously from foot to foot as they wait for the doors to open. Somehow he still feels out of place in nice suit, wearing the “Starry Night” tie she bought him at a work trip she took to the MoMA. Everyone here looks so beautiful, and he feels like he’s playing dress up, like they’ll all be able to tell he doesn’t belong in a place like this. He’s all too aware of the way he hasn’t managed to tame his hair, of the way his shirt fits a little tighter than it used to, of the way the people around him exude an air effortless cool that he could never hope to.

To ease his mind, he takes comfort in counting the people waiting. They’re all here for Max, for the beautiful things she makes. The last time he was at a gallery opening like this he was standing in a sweater vest next to Gideon who was flirting with the artist while Reid tried not to stare too much at Lila Archer. The memory makes him want to laugh – how infatuated he felt at that time with her. And now with Max, he can’t imagine thinking such a feeling was love. It’s so different than the consuming warmth he feels when he’s with her, the way hearing her voice can bring him back down to earth when his mind moves too quickly, the way he he’s always hated touch but never seems to mind when it’s her. Rather he craves the feeling of her hand in his, her arms around him, her lips on his skin. He’s in love with her, and he’s in deep.

The clock strikes seven and the doors are opened. They step into the bright white gallery space. The moment he’s inside, he is in awe. He recognizes Max’s work immediately, and it’s everywhere. There are large canvas paintings of small objects that take up so much space. There are paintings that must be zoomed in, hyper-focused views of much bigger objects. And it’s all beautiful. Max’s work has the same mastery over colors as the Impressionists, but with contemporary details and precision. Her paintings don’t just look like something, they feel like something. There is a series of pieces of stunningly detailed school supplies – a crayon, a yellow pencil, a bottle of glue. They seem to reflect light, possessing colors far too rich for items so simple.

Max has made them lovely with her gaze, with her hands.

In one painting, a vibrant sunset is seen through a small window. In another, the trunk of a tree is made to look so close that the leaves the viewer stares up at are but a golden blur. Fruit, a butterfly’s wing, and a flower are made into a kaleidoscope of colors. He catches glimpses of familiar faces in portraits – her sister Michelle’s eye, her father’s hand, identifiable by his watch, holding a baseball with vibrant red stitching.

“Wow,” Simmons says, standing beside him. “This is amazing. I mean, I don’t always get art, you know? But damn. Max is talented.”

“She sure is,” Reid says. But he’s only half listening, because he’s taken in by it, by all of it. This is the world through Max’s eyes. All these little details, all the little beautiful things that she sees. And she has reflected them back to the world in a way that takes his breath away.

The unfamiliar voice of an man calls the gallery to attention through a microphone, and Reid makes his way back towards the entrance where all the guests are slowly gathering.

“I now have the pleasure of introducing tonight’s guest of honor, Maxine Brenner,” a man with tiny wire-rimmed classes says.

Reid joins the crowd, falling into place beside Garcia and JJ just in time to see Max walk over in a white lace dress. She is utterly radiant, resplendent. His heart quickens at the sight of her. She takes the microphone and thanks the man with a dazzling smile. “Thank you all for being here,” she says. “It’s truly an honor to share this night with you, and I’m thankful to Jolie Laide for the opportunity to do so. It’s no secret to anyone who knows me that Van Gogh is my favorite artist. He once said, find things beautiful as much as you can. Most people find too little beautiful. The concept for this exhibit was to find all the beautiful things that we overlook. I wanted to pay attention to their little details and find new ways to show the world what beautiful is and what it could be. Every painting is of something I’ve found lovely – whether it’s a natural phenomenon seen through a new lens or an everyday object that just needs someone to notice it or a person–”

She pauses and her gaze moves over the crowd until she spots him. And that mischievous glimmer returns to her eyes. “– who doesn’t realize how beautiful they are. I hope that tonight helps you all to see the beauty around you and in yourselves, and maybe encourages you to see things a little differently, and to find the world a little more beautiful.” As she bows, the room bursts into applause and he swells with pride. This is her moment, and she’s beaming, and he couldn’t be more happy for her.

He wants to go up and hug her, but a swarm of admirers immediately descends upon her with enthusiastic questions and curious remarks. This is her night. He knows that when she wants to talk to him, she’ll let him know. For now, he’ll let these strangers have their moment with her – he can have all of the time in the world with her. The team opts to take a break to help themselves to the refreshment table and Emily offers to grab him a drink, but he politely refuses. He wants to keep walking around.

He can’t help but smile as he does so, hearing the praise and wonder in the words of the other guests. Yes, he wants to tell them. Yes, she’s that talented. Yes, she notices things nobody else does. And she’s hilarious and generous and gorgeous and somehow, somehow I am hers. But how unsightly it would be of him, in his suit and crooked tie, with his messy hair and off-balance gait to interrupt these strangers reveling at the beauty before them. So he stays quiet, happy just to be here. Happy to have the privilege to even witness such beauty.

When he turns the corner, he’s grateful he declined that drink because if there were a glass in his hand, he surely would have dropped it. Many of Max’s pieces are gathered on walls or in corners in groups based on themes or subjects. And in this particular nook, he finds himself uncomfortably familiar with the face staring back at him from one of them. The same face he has stared down in the mirror a thousand times.

It strikes him – Max has painted him. Reid steps closer and realizes it’s not just one painting. The whole wall is him. There is a painting of just one honey-colored eye, gazing down. A hand on the spine of a book. His lips, slightly parted, just a little uneven. His shoulders and collarbone, the slope of his neck and the curve of his chin, a few wild curls visible in the narrow view of the painting. And two portraits where his face is fully visible.

The brushstrokes are so careful, the colors so soft. She paints him in curves and edges and tiny hints of unexpected hues. She paints him with such detail, as though she has tried to memorize every inch of him. She has painted him beautiful.

And for a thirty-six seconds he can’t breathe. He just stares. Because this is how she sees him. And she’s put it on display for all the world to see.

“There’s a level of precision in these that I didn’t see in the other portraits,” an older woman says to a young woman beside her. “I can’t explain it, but it somehow feels like they were more… lovingly painted.”

“Like she knew exactly how they should feel,” her companion agrees.

“The subject has such a striking jawline,” a man says to the woman holding his hand. “And I like the way she painted his hair. Every curl is so careful.”

“It’s really beautiful,” she says, pointing to one of the portraits. Max has painted him smiling, gazing upwards, and he isn’t even sure if he’s capable of looking that way. “I think this one might be my favorite overall.” When they step aside, he can read the small placard on the wall naming the paintings. It reads, “And if I asked you to name all the things you love, how long would it take for you to name yourself?” Series. Oil on canvas. 2020.

Reid swallows hard, past the lump of emotions lodged in his throat, and turns quickly to walk to another corner of the gallery, both to avoid recognition and because if he keeps looking he thinks he might cry. But when he turns, she’s standing right there. Looking up at him through her long lashes, her graceful hands clasped in front of her as she waits in that lovely lace dress.

“Do you like it?” she asks him, nodding at the corner.

“I don’t understand,” he says. “Why did you paint me?”

Max smiles. “I told you, Magic Man, I wanted to paint pretty things.”

He shakes his head. “But I’m not – I mean, look at me, I’m–”

“I am looking.” She reaches up to brush her fingers against his cheek, having to stand on her toes even in heels to do so. “And you are beautiful. My beautiful. I wanted to show you the way I see you. Because of all the beautiful things, none of them make me feel quite like you do.”

Max takes his hand and walks up to the paintings. She says nothing, just waits as he looks at them close up, unafraid of someone realizing he’s looking at himself. He stares at the light and shadows created by her paintbrush. The bright colors that draw attention over painted skin. The soft gaze, the eyes that seem to look so alive. Stray freckles, flecks of tan and gold. It feels so astonishingly intimate. There’s no denying that her work is remarkable. It is beautiful.

And this is how she sees him. Worthy of that sort of attention. Capable of bringing those kinds of colors to life. And when he faces her, he realizes – the painting with the smile. He does look that way. He can feel the movement of the muscles in his face forming a near mirror image as he realizes he only ever looks that way at her.

“Thank you,” he says. Max pulls him down to kiss him, her lips so sweet, and it feels beautiful. He thinks that if they were not here, surrounded by other people, that he would love nothing more than to avail her of that beautiful dress and paint patterns of her skin with his fingertips, give every inch of her the same level of attention with his lips that she did with her paints, and whisper over and over to her just how lovely he finds her.

But they’re not alone, not yet. “Well I’ll be damned,” Morgan says. All of his friends are there, having discovered this nook of the gallery. “Look at that! She somehow managed to make you look even prettier than usual, Pretty Boy.” Reid flushes crimson as they praise Max’s work. She joins them to walk around the rest of the gallery, her hand in his, and from time to time he swears he can see someone staring at the two of them, and he knows they recognize his face. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care how the rest of the world looks at him, so long as he knows the way he looks through her eyes. For the first time, he can see himself the way she sees him. As he is, not as he fears he is.

Somehow, this has become his life. Walking through a gallery of paintings made by his favorite person, while she gazes at him like he’s her only muse, telling him that he belongs among lovely things. Somehow believing it all. Somehow at home surrounded by strangers and a few of the people he trusts most. This is his life. And what a beautiful life it is.

[random-mha-thoughts]

Mama’s Boy/Lover’s Boy (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Inspo: “Down for You” by Cosmo’s Midnight/Ruel

Summary: Bakugou hates being dragged to fancy parties for many reasons, but only one thing makes it all worth it.

Word Count: 2,322

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ @bunnythepipsqueak​

a/n:  I absolutely adore this picture, ngl that was the whole inspo for this.

It's not fair that a whole Katsuki exists while I'm bleeding out and my hormones are out of whack.  I'M A LOYAL SHOUTO HO, STAY IN YOUR LANE KATSUKI!  DON'T TAKE ADVANTAGE OF MY INSTABILITY LIKE THIS!

When I was at the last few paragraphs, I realized I would've loved to let Baku lose his shit and almost crash the entire thing like in Murphy's Law (man I loved writing that), but that wouldn't be good.  We love a good chaotic fluff monster.

This turned out a lot longer than I thought it would, but I really like how it turned out!  Definitely more fluff than I expected, but who's mad at that?  I'm bleeding out of my uterus and my mom and dad got me feverish and sick and I definitely needed this, so I KNOW you Baku stans are gushing at this too.  Thanks to @rubyred-imagines​ for one of the story beats here!

Spice might be incoming in the next day or two ;3  Not sure which character yet, but it's gonna happen!

"Babe, your face."

"What about it?!"

"Stop looking like you want to kill everyone."

"But I do!"

"I know you do, but don't look it."

Katsuki walks into the grand hall, muscular arm linked through his dazzling girlfriend's slender one.  He really doesn't want to be here; he hates these high-class, uptight gatherings, he hates this constricting tuxedo he has to wear, he hates how he barely knows anyone here, and he especially hates that he could've been on a date with her alone instead of being surrounded by these suffocating faces.

His lovely girlfriend announced this unfortunate outing a few weeks ago right before Katsuki was going to suggest the idea of having a date night, since they haven't had any quality alone time together in a while.  Her eyes lit up when she reported that she RSVP-ed for both of them to attend her company's fancy dinner.  And his plans were crushed like that.  He wanted to grumble and refuse, but she'd yell right back at him anyway, being the stubborn person she is.

She reminds him of his mother.

"You're just like my mom," Katsuki rolls his eyes.  "She used to drag me to her company dinners all the time, too."

"We won't stay for long, I promise," she pats his arm with her perfectly manicured fingernails.

"She used to say that too, and then we'd be out for hours," he mumbles to himself.

The girl looks up at him sweetly.  "And you'll be a good boyfriend and stay here with me the whole time, right?"

The blond growls low in his throat.  "I don't even belong here, you were invited, not me."

"Katsuki, you're my guest, of course you belong here."  She leans up to whisper in his ear, "Besides, you're more handsome than any of the guys here, show them all up."

That makes Katsuki smirk.  "Damn right I am, babe."

The couple find their table after an irritating amount of time.  Every few steps, some other pretentious stranger from his girlfriend's company sweeps over to exchange empty kisses and the same empty conversation.  Katsuki thinks it's some kind of script everyone practiced from, no one deviating from the script or else the entire simulation might fall apart.  Actually, he would like to say something inappropriate just to relish their horrified or disgusted faces, but he for the sake of his precious girlfriend, he keeps his mouth shut, teeth grit, and smile plastered each time he's introduced to a new face.

"Do you really know everyone here, babe?" Katsuki mutters in her ear as they finally approach the table.

"Not everyone," she hums in response, "I don't know most of the employees from the other two companies here, but I know the higher-ups through my boss."

He briefly remembers her saying this dinner was for a big merger deal between these three companies.  His girlfriend works tirelessly for her boss, usually taking on more than she can handle and coming home late most nights.  She'd been promoted from just being a regular company worker to being in a near-the-top position right under the main board managers.  He admires her dedication, but he's always worried about her health and energy level.  He may be a Pro Hero, but she's the real superhuman in the relationship.

Katsuki does the gentlemanly thing of pulling the chair out for his lady and pushing her back in before settling in his seat next to her, purposely shifting closer to her than the person on his other side.

"What manners your boyfriend has," one of the older ladies at the table coos at the couple.

"Thank you, I'm very grateful to have him," the girl smiles politely in response.

Katsuki's heart melts at the pride dripping from her voice as she compliments him.  "And I'm very lucky to have her."  It felt like the right thing to say as he squeezes her hand under the table and briefly glances into her eyes.

The two don't tear away from each other until someone else approaches his girlfriend and she stands to greet him briefly.  Katsuki surveys him in case he would do something ballsy to his girlfriend.

She turns and places a hand on Katsuki's shoulder.  "This is my boyfriend, Katsuki Bakugou."

Hell yeah, I am, you better not pull anything, dumbass.  He stands and shakes the other man's hand, polite but stiff.

"Nice to meet you.  Your girlfriend is honestly a powerhouse, she's amazing," the man gushes.

"Yes, I'm aware," the blond replies tersely.  He's on guard because he doesn't get a good vibe from this man.

Sure enough, he goes on a little too animatedly about how much his girlfriend does for the company and the rest of the company.  It comes off to Katsuki as fake and kiss-ass.  Nonetheless, his girlfriend accepts all the compliments like the graceful goddess she is.  He realizes this boy is one of his girlfriend's juniors as they descend into a conversation surrounding work and future projects.

After dismissing him, another group of his girlfriend's underlings rushes over with compliments and "Oh my gosh, senpai!  You look amazing!" and the like.  Each time, she would accept the praise, introduce him, before launching into more work-related subject matter that Katsuki learned to tune out eventually.

Honestly, he's annoyed at how everyone here is overwhelmingly toxic.  All the subordinates or peers are kiss-ups and her superiors are pretentious stick-up-their-asses that look down on his girlfriend.  He can't stand that his lover is surrounded by this atmosphere all day.  They don't know the genuine type of person she is, other than that she's kind and easy to walk all over.  No one seems like they care enough to carry genuine conversation, and he'd rather not tune into that energy.

Instead, Katsuki directs his attention to his lovely girlfriend.  Staring at her face, he recalls how painstakingly long it took for her to paint her face with makeup to look this flawless.  He's sure she would've had a mental breakdown while doing her eyes, especially putting on her eyeliner.  She was chanting to herself cutely to get them even, almost coaxing her shaky hands in front of the mirror to perform some kind of magic.  If he had done the wrong thing and hurried her or teased her habits, she would've unleashed all her anger on him.  He's learned that the hard way.  In the end, she was able to achieve this masterpiece on her face without making herself look like a completely different person, highlighting her natural beauty.

Scanning downward to her dress, he remembers fondly going shopping with her last weekend.  Her hair was in a topknot as she fumbled through the racks for a dress to wear.  She had dragged him along because she trusted his opinion on fashion choices.  While he would've liked for her to choose a scarlet red gown, Katsuki knew she'd look infinitely better in the sapphire blue number she's wearing now.  The skinny straps holding the dress up leads down to a not-too-plunging neckline that suits her shoulders, collarbone, and chest perfectly.  The dress cinches in at the waist to emphasize the figure he knows she has before falling straight down from her hips, and the mid-thigh slit on one side is subtly sexy without having her risk overexposure.  Finishing the entire outfit is a classic pair of nude pumps, a dainty gold necklace, matching dangling earrings, and a clutch matching her shoes.  Her hair is curled in waves cascading down her back with some stands hanging over one shoulder.

Katsuki can't help but smile unconsciously.  He can't wait to someday place the finishing touch she deserves: a simple but elegant ring on her left hand.

After all the formalities, the two finally sit down and start eating the dinner courses that have started gracing their place settings.

"I know you wanted to go out for date night today," his girlfriend begins gently, "But we can imagine this is a fancy restaurant with just us two, and everything else is just a backdrop."

"Shouldn't you be paying attention to what's going on?" Katsuki quirks an eyebrow.

She waves her hand and takes a refined sip of her wine.  "I've already heard them practice this speech too many times."

The devilish blond smirks and slinks closer to her.  "That's not something a good employee would do, is it?"

"I'm not working right now," she smoothly responds back, replicating his energy.

The organizer of the dinner finally takes the stage and starts his speech.  Katsuki keeps his gaze on his beautiful girlfriend, admiring her delicately picking and eating at her plate.  She's so precious to him, he doesn't care if he's making heart eyes and everyone can see.

When the speech finishes, his girlfriend's glass also empties and she indicates that she's going to get another.  It leaves him on edge, he hates being alone with all these strangers even for a few minutes.  He doesn't want to tell you this, but if one of these people try to small talk him without you here, he might actually break something.

"So, Bakugou, what do you do?" the same lady from earlier chirps at him.

He whips his head up.  For fuck's sake.  "I'm a...public safety worker of sorts."  He tries so hard to sound polite for his girlfriend's sake.  He also can't resist scanning the room for her as a safety reflex.  With all the shady people around, he doesn't trust that something bad won't happen.  And he also wants your comfort in these uncomfortable situations, but he'll never admit that either.

"Oh, I see."  The old lady seems satisfied with his tone, barely noticing his fidgeting as she launches into a whole story about her grandson wanting to do something like that, and all the tangents related to that.

Katsuki is relieved that he doesn't have to talk for the rest of the time, just nodding along  and humming to prove he's passively listening.  He finally spots his angel a few tables away, groaning internally that she was stopped by someone, keeping her from coming back to him.  It seems they were having a deep conversation at first, but suddenly the man cracks a smile and a joke that makes her cover her mouth in respectful laughter.

Katsuki's annoyance is cut through at her wholehearted display of emotions.  The entire night, he's been complaining about how much he hates everyone here, but it's only now he realizes how relaxed she looks in the entire situation.  She's completely in her element; he'd get easily drained by all the suffocating small talk, but her?  She thrives off this, she gains energy from it.  Although she comes home late, overworked and tired, she still faces every day with a smile on her face.  She makes it look so easy to talk to people, striking up and following conversations with everyone in the most endearing and poised way possible.

Katsuki smiles to himself, warmth washing over him.  Yes, just like his mom, but it makes his girlfriend all the more stunning and admirable in his eyes.

His girlfriend finally returns to the table, her recently-acquired glass already half empty.  "What did I miss?" she asks, buzzing with both energy and alcohol.

Katsuki leans his head on his palm.  "Nothing much."  He's still basking in the glow of his wonderful girlfriend, casually sipping his own wine absently.

She turns towards the clearing in the center of the room and takes his free hand.  "Let's go dance, babe!"

Any other time, Katsuki would have sternly declined, but he can't resist her today.  Without a single complaint, he rises and lets her drag him by their entwined hands to the dance floor.  Guiding his large hand around her waist as her one hand plants to his shoulder, she raises their joined hands and starts swaying them to the classic orchestral ensemble's upbeat performance.

The man doesn't know if it's the overwhelming feeling of pride he recently uncovered, or the way their bodies press together gently as he inhales her floral perfume, but he can't find the words to describe everything he wants to say. He settles on simply smiling warmly down at her as he whispers, "You're amazing, you know that?"

His girlfriend's cheeks flush and she erupts into giggles.  "What's with the sudden compliment?"

He shakes his head.  "I just realized it, that's all.  Just like my mom."

"You sure are a Mama's boy, aren't you?"

He scoffs at the idea.  "I love the old hag, but I'll never tell her that.  Besides, I'd say I'm whipped for a different woman in my life."  He brushes hair behind her ear, her earring glinting against the light, and places a kiss on her perfect temple.  "You look stunning tonight."

His girlfriend's eyes close in half-lidded affection.  "I'm sorry this isn't the perfect date night you wanted."

The blond leans his forehead on her's, slowing their pace to allow time to pass much more leisurely around them.  "I get to dance with you, I think that's a definite win."

"I guess so."

Katsuki comes to realize that he can be forced to come to all of these events.  All that matters is his enchanting lover and her smile.  When the night is over, he can't wait to let her take her heels off and carry her bridal style to their car as everyone watches in envy and awe.  He'd let her recline and rest her weary feet, telling her stories of his adventures of night outings with his mom to lull her to sleep in his passenger seat.  And then he'd carry her sleeping figure up to their bedroom and wake her gently so she can clean herself up and change into her cute pajamas, just so they can cuddle in each other's warmth until they fall asleep.

Maybe he's not a Mama's boy anymore.  More like he's a Lover's boy.

[elatedmarvel]

Arms

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky learns to accept all parts of himself, even the vibranium parts. 

Word Count: 5,353

A/N: This is the longest one shot I’ve ever written, and it took me like a month. (I’m very slow lol). In keeping with BLM and inclusion, please let me know if you feel the reader is described a certain way that is not encompassing of all. I’ve tried my best, but I’m only human and editing is hard. Hope you enjoy!

He remembers when he first woke up with it. 

He could have sworn that he was dead, and he was in hell. All he could feel was pain everywhere, but specifically in his left arm. Pain he had never felt before and now he thinks he’ll feel forever. His parents always joked him that he would go to hell if he didn’t stop flirting with every skirt he saw, and now he wishes he could tell them they were right. 

Voices float above him, but he can’t make out what they’re saying, everything sounds garbled and distorted to his ears. 

It takes a moment for him to realize that the men are speaking in a different language. 

Blinding white lights greet him as he opens his eyes and squints against the harshness. Silhouettes of shapes is all his brain can comprehend, and he blinks a few more times before he is able to actually see.

The dingy room has seen better days. The walls are lined with tile, with mildew and mold in between them. It’s dark everywhere else, except the bright light that shines down on him. 

It’s hard for him to move his head side to side, let alone move the rest of his body, but he tries to wiggle his toes and fingers. 

A metal appendage lays at his left side.

He stares at the foreign object, trying to make sense of the fact that he can feel his left arm, but what he sees is not the limb he remembers.

His brain commands him to lift it, to see if this was real. When it not only moves where he wanted, but he can see his fingers wiggling, he realizes that this is worse than hell. 

He runs his right hand up the entire metal limb, and he can feel the dull sensation. His panic increases the higher he can feel metal. He gets to the edge of his chest before he feels flesh and bone again. 

Gasping, he claws at where the foreign object meets his chest, trying to get it off of him. The more awake he becomes, the more pain radiates from the arm, like his body was rejecting it. 

His sudden movements and noises of pain alert the men in white coats around him. He’s sure his eyes are frantic; he must look like a caged and frightened animal. 

They rush to him, trying to undo the damage he has clawed in.

When they get close enough, he grabs them both by the neck, trying to protect himself. This only causes them to start shouting and the doors burst open.

It’s hard for him to process what is happening, all he feels is adrenaline pumping through his body, and it reacts accordingly.

He can feel the pop of the bones before he hears the sickening crunch. If he was more aware of what was happening, he’s sure he would have thrown up.  

The man he grabbed with his left hand falls to the floor in a heap, unmoving.

In all his time serving with the howling commandos, he’s killed a few people, but never as intimately. He could just pull a trigger, throw a grenade, or stab someone. He’s never had to look them in the eye, and feel the life drain out of him. 

Sweat and fear pour out of his pores now, he didn’t mean to. His hand moved faster than he could react. 

Not his hand, the weapon attached to him now. 

The shouting only gets louder around him, but it’s muffled now. He stares in horror at the metal fingers, and the lifeless body on the floor. 

He can’t even feel when they prick him with a syringe filled with tranquilizer.

The image burns itself into his mind as everything grows dark.  

The next 10-15 years follow the same pattern. 

He wakes up slowly out of cryo. In his groggy state, he panics every time he sees the arm. He goes to claw at his chest where it is connected, but he’s eventually stopped when they realize he’s awake. 

They try to break him. 

Hydra does everything they can, any form of torture. But he’s strong. He resists every attempt, and finally they have had enough.

One day, they plop him in a metal chair and run currents through his skull. 

It takes 2 more years of this before finally he stops scratching at the arm. Before he fully loses himself.

~~~

When he finally escapes from Hydra’s grip, he hates the arm with everything in him. He tries anything he can think of to remove it from his body, short of just cutting into himself more. 

The arm only causes death and destruction. It is synonymous with Hydra and the evil he unwittingly committed. 

He still remembers how they thought they bestowed a great gift upon him, making him into the fist of Hydra. They think they saved him, but they chipped away at his soul until there was barely anything left in him. 

When Shuri was kind enough to erase the trigger words from his brain, she had offered him a new arm. One that was not tainted with the bloody memories of Hydra. 

It took him months of therapy, and many long, late night talks with Steve, Natasha, and Sam to accept the arm. He wanted to repent for the blood he has spilled, intentional or not, and he couldn’t do it with one arm. 

It was beautiful, gun metal grey with gold intertwining the plates. It reminded him of the exhibit that Steve had dragged him to at the Met. 

Kintsugi, Steve had told him. The art of repairing something with gold.

“It was never broken to begin with, just being made whole and better” Steve had said to them as they wandered around. He pretended the tears in his eyes were from the dust in the museum, and lightly punched Steve on the arm. 

~~~

You were in the ring with Sam. 

Someone new, and that scared Bucky. He had slowly built a relationship with the rest of the team in the last few months he had been at the compound, and trust didn’t come easy. Countless nights he would be invited to movies, or dinner and drinks. He turned them all down the first few weeks he had been there. It wasn’t until Sam and Steve literally dragged him to the bar that he started to open up.

You somehow got along with everyone on the team, and had won everyone over in a matter of weeks. You geeked out over the newest electronics with Tony, and tried to help Bruce with his research. Wanda and you had holed up in a room for days binging the newest season of some reality show you loved. Natasha and you had survived multiple Barre classes, something that even made Sam cry. You and Steve had even started painting to Bob Ross videos together. 

It was like there was a you-shaped gap waiting to be filled on the team. 

He watches from his sparring dummy as you tease Sam. You dance around him easily, and dodge out the way of yet another unsuccessful punch. 

His sensitive hearing picks up on Sam’s heavy breathing, but anyone could see the exacerbated rise and fall of his chest, and the buckets of sweat gleaming under the fluorescent lighting. 

You laugh as he tries to distract you with a kick and punch from opposite sides. 

“Nice try birdy” you call out as you evade him once more.

“Stay still!” Sam huffs, he hasn’t felt this out of shape since he was a chubby 13 year old with a love of cheetos and hate of exercise.

In his last effort to take you down, he swipes left and right, never giving up. You move further and further back, unsure how to handle the sudden change in tactics.

You don’t notice how close to the edge of the ring you are. 

Tony, being the dramatic shit he was, decided to build the sparring ring higher up then normal. Like a pedestal he once proclaimed. He wanted all to be able to watch.

Sam and you had forgone putting up the side ropes, wanting to get in as much sparing as possible. 

The fall was probably only a few feet of the ground, but definitely enough to sprain something, or even worse, get a concussion. 

He sees you near the edge, Sam still swinging a way. His lust for revenge prevented him from seeing you were about to fall.

Bucky leaps the 10 feet in between him and you right as your foot falls off the edge. He reaches up and puts most of your weight on his left arm, catching you before you fell to the floor, holding you for a few seconds before slowly bringing you to floor level.

He sets you down gently and almost laughs at the comical expression on your face. Eyes wide and jaw dropped, unable to comprehend what had just happened in the span of a few seconds. 

“I-I… thank you” you stuttered. Stilled flustered by the fall, but even more flustered that it was Bucky that caught you. You two had maybe exchanged 20 words total in the 2 months that you had been on the team. 

Bucky does a once over at you before nodding and walking back to the sparring dummy.

Sam watches this all with amusement, before coming down and offering to buy you ice cream to make up for the fall. 

~~~

Hit. Block. Punch. Duck. Repeat. 

Watching you take down your opponents was like watching a ballet. You were graceful, and lithe. Moving with your counterpart, they never even realized you were a threat until they were out.

Since your fall a month ago, you and Bucky have been growing closer. It was hard not to when you were so light and bright. It blinded him slightly, before he grew accustomed to the warmth he felt when he was near you. Now he never wanted to be parted from it. 

Naturally, when this mission had come up, Bucky had begged Steve to pair you with him. He knew he would only have peace of mind if he was with you at all times.

Not that you needed the help.

About a dozen men lay sprawled around you, and the last three were soon to join their colleagues on the floor. If they weren’t such vile men, he would almost feel bad for them. Being laid to waste by someone who didn’t look like she could hurt a fly. 

He registers the movement about a second too late, his mouth won’t connect to his brain and shout what he wants it to. One of the men you had already taken down lifts his head and arm, he just sees a flash of silver in the man’s palm before he sprints the length of the room. Your back is to him, and you still have 1 more attacker to take down, he takes all of your attention.

It happens in a second. You take your final shot at the henchman and then you see Bucky running to you. You feel the warmth of him as he embraces you, pulling you forward. The momentum causes you to stumble and brings you both down, you on top of him.

The ping of the bullet is thundering in the echoing, concrete room. He barely even registers the feeling before pulling out his gun and shooting the attacker. Watching for a moment to make sure he was actually dead, he looks down at you.

“Bucky” you stutter out, and he can feel your slight tremors. The whiplash must be settling in and the adrenaline wearing off, not a fun combination.

He looks you up and down, and even though he knows he blocked the bullet with his vibranium arm, he can’t help the anxiety that rises in his chest. He doesn’t see anything wrong besides the bruises and small scratches.

Meeting your eyes, it instantly takes the breath out of him. The look of pure awe spread on your face, but he can feel the admiration that is in your eyes,

It takes everything to not close the 5 inch gap to your lips and see if they are as soft as he’s imagined. 

“You ok?” he asks one more time, voice cracking from the dryness in his throat.

You nod up at him, keeping eye contact. 

Without a warning, you press your face into his neck and wrap your arms around him. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you” you say profusely. You move to sit on top of him in a flash and grab his left arm. He’s powerless underneath you as you examine the shiny appendage. 

“Does it hurt?” you ask, wonder in your voice as your fingers graze the sides of his arms. He’s glad for the pain he endured when they fitted him with this new arm, he can feel the softness and warmth of your hands, almost like if it were his own flesh. 

“No” he replies, eyes locked on where you hold his wrist.

Gently, so gently he can barely feel it, you press a kiss to the slight dent where the bullet impacted. Now he swears he’s died and gone to heaven. 

There’s a lingering heat where your lips touched, maybe even burning. 

If his mouth was dry before, it’s now the desert, and he clears his throat before looking away. His face is hot, and he’s thankful for the dim lighting in the basement. 

He misses the sly smirk on your face before you get up and offer your hand to him. 

~~~

After the mission, you had gone with him to get his arm repaired. He tried to tell you that it would take a few minutes at most and you didn’t need to go with him, but you just smiled and led the way. You held his flesh hand while they fixed some wiring issues and un-dented the hand. If he squeezes your hand more often than necessary, then who would know?

One month passes and he is always at your side. He goes more often to movie nights, team dinners, and outings. There’s always a spot right by your side, and it takes only a few days for everyone to know it was reserved for a certain brunette. 

The second month rolls around and it finds him as your permanent partner. Missions for two would always be assigned to you and him. You two would spar for hours on end, touches lingering for longer than needed. If you needed to run errands, he would be right there with you. 

Month three passes in a loving haze. It’s rare to see one of you without the other. Even nights were spent in your room after you had both fallen asleep while watching Star Wars. You made him come with you to your yoga classes, and he made you go with him to cooking classes.

It’s like the sun had finally come out. The permanent scowl and dark circles were replaced with grins and smile lines. He can’t remember the last time he was as carefree as he was around you. 

It was hard to ask you out. He was nervous. What if he misread the hand holding and cuddling? Could he go back to being just your friend if it didn’t work out?

But the moment he saw you across the gym, sweaty and heaving but with a giant grin on your face as you box with Steve, he knew it would be worth it.

So here he was, your favorite flowers in hand, buttoned up shirt and nice jeans adorning his body, walking to your door to pick you up for your first date. 

In the back of his mind, he mocks himself for being so scared to ask you. Your face had lit up when he had.

Knocking on the door, he steps away and gives himself a once over. He tells himself he’s not nervous, but the erratic beating of his heart tells a different tale. 

The door opens, and there you are. A vision in your favorite dress, small smile on your face. 

All he can do is stare dumbstruck at you. While you were always gorgeous to him, the fact that you had dressed up for him makes him want to cry.

“Bucky?” you ask, waving a hand in his face and giggling. 

“You’re stunning” he says back, hand coming up to rub his neck. He suddenly

remembers the flowers when he feels the water drip on the collar of his shirt.

“These are for you” and the smile on your face grows. You take a big whiff of them

before sneezing 3 times in rapid succession. 

“Guess I got carried away” you giggle, and just like that the nerves fade. 

The drive to the restaurant he had reserved was filled with would you rathers that made you laugh so hard, you couldn’t breathe. Your impression of the stuffy waiter had him choking on his water.

Everything was going so well, he let his guard down.  

The men in ski masks that came from the kitchen to round everyone up were a shock to both of you. Instantly, people scatter, some making it out of the door in time, and others being held hostage and led to the kitchen.

You can both tell when they realize they have avengers in their midsts when the guns turn to aim at you. He flips the table to its side as you move to duck behind it. Drawing a gun from your clutch, you hand it to him. Bucky was always the better shot. And you arm yourself with a widow bites and click the button on your Stark Watch 3 times in rapid succession. 

He hears the panic in their voices as they radio to each other. Obviously, they were not expecting any resistance, let alone 2 highly trained agents.

You look at him, and he knows exactly what you have in mind.

The moment you leap sideways and engage, he pops over the table and aims at anyone with a gun. You move quickly and gracefully around those that were foolish enough to actually engage you. He takes down as many as possible with the gun, and when the clip runs out, he engages the targets closest to you. 

Soon there is only 1 left, shaking and yelling at you both to back up. Bucky is pretty sure he’s new, the tremor in his voice and hands gives him away. It wouldn’t be that difficult to take him out.  

Bucky joins your side, and you both approach hesitantly, not wanting to spook him. 

“Stay back” he yells. Bucky sees the glint of green before the man fully pulls out the grenade. His heart sinks into his stomach.  

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret.” Bucky states, already wedging himself between you and the man. He calculates if there was anyway to get you out of the building. 

“Just stay calm, we’re not going to hurt you.” You say, laying the widow bites at your feet. Bucky does the same with his empty gun. 

His wild eyes keep glancing between you and Bucky. He slowly tries to inch his way towards the man, hoping he makes it to the grenade before he throws it. 

The stand-still comes to an end when the man pulls the pin and launches the grenade in the air.

“No!” Bucky shouts, and he pulls you both under the nearest table, his body covering yours. The deafening blast goes off right as you both get under the table.  

He feels your fast breaths against his chest, and he pulls your head into the crook of his neck. Arms in a braced stance, supporting him as he tries to keep his weight off of yours. He’s pretty sure the table above them cracked with the weight of the rubble falling on it. 

He looks down to your face and sees the fear in your eyes. It was one thing to be shot at, but another to be buried alive.  

“It’s gonna be ok” he whispers, and you nod. You know that Bucky would do everything he could to get you both out. Forcing yourself to take calming breaths, you knew it wouldn’t help to panic right now.   

Once he feels the dust settle, he braces himself against the broken table, trying to see if he could lift the ruble off of you both. There’s a groan as the concrete settles more firmly in place, but nothing lets up. 

The Stark watch on your wrist vibrates, and though he can’t see the screen, he knows it means the Avengers are coming. 

“Bucky” you say, voice trembling. It brings him back to the conversation you had about your biggest fears. Being buried alive was at the top of the list after falling into a pit when you were 7 years old. 

“It’s going to be ok” he tries to reassure, but the fear in your eyes has him trying to break you out. 

Slowly, he shifts his weight to his right arm, and braces the broken table with his left. Putting all his weight behind the vibranium arm, he pushes up. He’s not sure if the groans are from him or the concrete slabs, but he feels something pop and then shift above him. 

Suddenly, the weight feels lighter and he can hear the concrete falling. Hope bursts in his chest as more light floods into the burrow and space starts to expand.

Moving his knees and feet, he gets into a crouched position to give himself more power as the rubble starts to fall away. 

Your voice and encouragement gives him a surge of energy and he finds himself standing in the dusty opening of what used to be a restaurant. 

“Y/n!” he calls as he moves back down and cradles you in his arms, lifting you on top of the pile of rubble. 

“Bucky that was incredible!” you shout as he comes to join you and helps you down. Your arms come around his neck and before he knows it, he feels your lips against his. It takes a second for his brain to compute, and by the time he realizes that it was a kiss, you had already pulled away. 

“Thank you!” you shout again with glee as he chuckles. 

He tries to move in and capture your lips again, but the moment is ruined when a certain blonde super soldier clears his throat.

You both pull away, faces warm, to see the captain dragging to handcuffed criminals out of the wreckage. 

“Glad to see you’re both alive.” Steve states smugly, shooting Bucky a not so subtle wink.

“It’s all thanks to Bucky and his amazing arm.” you tell him brightly, pressing a kiss to the vibranium bicep before jumping into to help apprehend the rest of the men. 

Steve had never seen Bucky turn that shade of red before, and lets out a laugh as he escorted the men out of the restaurant and into the cars waiting outside. 

~~~

You’re not sure what triggers it.

One moment you're laying on the couch with your head in Bucky’s lap, content and happy while watching a movie. You’re half awake, no idea what’s going on in the movie, instead paying attention to the way Bucky’s fingers glide through your hair.

It happens suddenly, and you jump up. 

You pace for a moment, before breathing is hard, and the world starts to get blurry. A cold sweat breaks out all over your body and you swear you could throw up at any moment.

Lowering yourself onto the floor, you put your head between your legs and slowly start to rock. Blood rushes to your head, and all you can hear is the loud thumping of your erratic heart. 

Everything is reduced to the few inches in front of your face, you almost don’t notice the cool hand on your forehead, pushing away hairs and trying to soothe you.

You focus on the cold hand moving from your head to the back of your neck, and then going down to stroke and pat your back, before starting the cycle all over again. 

Bucky.

Slowly, you start to break through the surface. 

It takes a few moments, but you start to hear his voice calling to you, and you want to follow the warm sound. 

He moves your hand now to his chest, the gentle up and down continuing to bring you back, and it registers that he wants you to follow his breath pattern.

The first few are too shallow, the next few are too fast, but soon you match his calm in-and-out to a tee. 

Your name, smooth and gentle in his voice, finally reaches your ears. You listen as he tells you how great you are at matching his breathing. He switches between compliments, random, one sided small talk, and humming. 

The heat from his embrace and the coolness from his left arm creates a cocoon of warmth and safety, making you lose sense of time. The cramping from your legs is the only indicator that a significant amount of time has passed.

Sluggishly, you lift your head from Bucky’s chest and look up at his face. Intense blue eyes stare back at you, it’s not hard to tell that he’s trying to stay calm, but the slight worry in his eyes wasn’t hard to pick up on. 

Laying your head back on his chest, you feel his arms start to slide under you. Soon enough, you’re lifted up and he’s walking to what you assume would be your room. 

You close your eyes, when he doesn’t take the right to go down to your room, but continues straight into his wing. 

“Thanks Bucky” you mumble as he sets you on his bed and gets in himself.

Face to face, you use your finger to trace the slope of his nose and the edge of his jaw before bringing your finger to outline his lips.

Pressing a small kiss to the tip of your finger, he smiles before leaning in kissing your forehead. 

“I love you, doll.”

“Love you too.”

~~~

He can feel the drool on his face as he comes too. His face squished into the pillow underneath him, so hard, he’s sure he’ll have indents in his face.

One arm slung around a sleeping you, he breathes in, slowly waking up. Moving his arms, he can feel the soreness that settles in after a good night's sleep. 

A small sniffle from the nightstand catches his attention, and he realizes why he woke up. 

Gently, he crawls out of bed, and tucks in the remaining comforter around you, and grabs the device from the nightstand. He hopes you can get a little extra sleep, he’s pretty sure he fell asleep long before you got into bed. 

Bare feet meet carpet as he paddles down the hallway, a short walk to his destination. He waits outside of the door for a moment, listening for movement in the room. When he hears shuffling, and another small screech, he opens the door.

Against the adjacent lilac wall, a white crib is placed. A sleep dischevaled baby stands, clinging to the bars, blowing spit bubbles and babbling to herself.

As soon as she sees Bucky, her arms extend towards him and makes whining noises.

“Hey baby” he chuckles as he steps fully into the room, and picks her up, nervous that she’ll start screaming if he doesn’t.

“How did you sleep?” he asks, patting her back, and checking to see if she needed a diaper change.

The raspberry she blows answers the question.

Gently and efficiently, he sets about changing her diaper, talking to her all the while.

When he sets her upright to try and find a new outfit, preferably one that doesn’t have stains but the options are slim, she squeals again.

Quickly, he picks her up and sways her against his chest.

“Shh shhh shhh, don’t wake up mommy, you kept her up half the night.” Bucky implores. She tilts her head up at the sound of his voice, her eyes slightly wet and he knows she can’t help it. 

Rebecca was a good baby, usually did not fuss, ate like a champ, and slept well. But lately, she had been colickly. 

It had panicked Bucky at first, thinking she was sick or he was doing something wrong. You had quelled his fears by showing him the small bump on her gums, signalling that she was teething. 

Switching his right arm for her support, he brings a vibranium finger up to her mouth. Immediately, she latches on to the finger. 

He can feel the nubs of teeth about to break through the surface, and lets her chew on his cool finger for relief. 

It had started as a joke one day when the teething ring had melted and Becca still wouldn’t stop crying. In your half groggy state, you had stuck one of Bucky’s vibranium fingers in her mouth to let her chew on while you grabbed something else, he couldn’t quite feel the pain the same way his flesh fingers could. But, once Bucky’s finger was in her mouth, Becca happily chewed on it until she fell asleep. 

It was well known now that wherever Bucky was, Becca followed, gnawing on his fingers. 

“Does that feel better Becca?” she couldn’t even spare a second to look at her father, too busy drooling all over his hand.

With Becca in tow, he sits down in the rocking chair, hoping that he could get her to fall back asleep.

Holding her close, he hums some forget tune and rubs her back, moving them back and forth slightly.

The rigid dark grey was such a contrast to the soft baby skin around it, it startles Bucky sometimes.

The same arm that killed people and caused so much destruction was the same arm that his baby daughter used as a teething toy. She would never fear it, or see it as anything other than a part of him. 

He’s unfamiliar with the emotion that bubbles up in his chest and the tears that build up. Sniffling himself, he presses a kiss to her downy soft head, and cradles her underneath his chin.  

“You know, if it hurts that much, you can take it out of her mouth.” you say, startling him slightly. 

Padding into the room, you perch yourself on the armrest of the rocking chair and tuck your feet under his legs. You reach a head out to caress Becca’s perfect cheek, brushing away a few tears with your thumb, as her eyelids start to droop. 

“What are you doing up?” Bucky’s gravely voice cuts through the silence a few moments later. 

“I had a feeling you were getting sappy with her again” you tease. There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by without Bucky marveling or crying about Becky in the short 7 months of her life. 

“I can’t help it, she’s perfect.” he whispers back, getting choked up again. 

“Oh babe” you coo at him. Dropping to sit in his lap, you place your head on his chest, just above Becca, and wrap your arms around him. 

He sits there for a while longer, slowly rocking back and forth. Every once in a while, Becca will snuffle and snore in her sleep and you both chuckle at the cute noises. 

Sitting there, arms wrapped around the loves of his life, he feels calm. 

He can feel your breathing start to even out as you follow Becca’s lead to slumber. 

It still amazes him how much you both trust him. Never looked at the thing that made him a killer with anything but love, and never treated him with any differently. 

There will always be scars, physical and emotional, but slowly falling asleep in his baby daughter's room, he knows everything will be ok. He’s not afraid anymore.

~~~

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