#now I should make him one too and they’re kind of matching. well she’s wearing similar aesthetics to him at least

[swordmaid]

astarion knowing how to sew and making genuinely nice and wearing pieces that’s both functional and actually looks good vs shri’iia who - when she gets clothes - just starts shredding it to the point that it’s barely covering anything as per drow aesthetic standards

[livwritesstuff]

It’s late in the day when Sam Owens first approaches Eddie.

Eddie is sitting in a lawn chair on the edge of Joyce and Hopper’s backyard in Hawkins, Indiana, and sort of trapped there ever since his and Steve's daughter Moe had dozed off in his lap a little while ago.

For the record, Eddie and Steve don’t live in Hawkins. They’d have to be insane to stick around after everything this hole of a town put them through, never mind willingly choose to raise a child there. No, Hopper had bullied them into making the trek home to celebrate Moe's first birthday (Jesus H. Christ, she's one) and by the looks of how crowded the yard is, he'd done the same to practically the entire rest of the Party too.

Eddie isn't actually trapped either. It's true that he doesn't really want to tempt fate by waking Moe up from a nap that he and Steve had sort of resigned themselves to skipping that day, but he could get up if he wanted to. He's a whole sap in his big age of thirty-six though, and extremely aware of how quickly Moe’s first year of life had flown by. He'd be a damn fool to not relish in these moments, when Moe is a baby still, when she's little enough to fall asleep in his lap like this.

So he's sitting and he's letting his mind wander down whatever rabbit-holes it ventures upon because he's not just a sap these days, he's getting retrospective too.

Twenty years after all the shit that went down in his Hawkins, Eddie considers himself a secondary character in it all (even though it hadn’t felt like it at the time – that’s for fucking sure). 

Honestly, he'd really only been involved in about five days out of several years of that shit – not in the know yet for the first part, and unconscious for the end of it – secondary character stuff, in Eddie’s opinion (and as a two-time published novelist, he’d be the one to know).

It's probably for the best, to be honest. He barely survived even the secondary stuff — with a mostly-full picture of everything that happened over those three years he feels pretty positive that if he’d gone through anything more he wouldn’t have been so lucky. 

And these days, in July of 2002, he’s feeling pretty lucky too. 

“Doc,” Eddie nods as Owens takes the empty chair beside his own.

Owens is another one of these secondary characters in everything. Owens is…Eddie isn’t sure who Owens is, to be honest. A doctor in some capacity, he's fairly certain, and also a scientist too in some capacity given how he’s still in Hawkins doing research on all that shit — and he roped Dustin into it too (though as far as Eddie can tell, Dustin is a more-than willing victim in it and goddamn thrilled to be taking over his work someday too).

Someday soon, Eddie would wager, because Owens is well and truly reaching retirement age – he probably should have retired already, honestly, but Eddie can also sort of see why it might be difficult to step away from the kind of work he’s spent his life doing.

“Mr. Munson,” Owens greets him in return. Eddie watches his eyes flick down to Moe for a moment, “Or is it Pops these days?”

“That’s Steve, actually,” he replies, tipping his head in the direction of Steve, who’s standing at the grill with Hop (they’re listening to Dustin ramble about something and wearing matching beleaguered expressions).

Owens seems to understand the implication, because his only response is another one of those wry smiles and an exhaled laugh.

“Well, congratulations either way. I was very happy for you when I heard the news about the adoption.”

“Still keeping tabs on us after all these years?” Eddie asks, mostly joking because he knows the answer is yes. He knows they’ll have eyes on them for the rest of their lives for one reason or another (which he’s nearly made his peace with by now).

“Well, old habits die hard,” Owens replies somewhat tiredly, “Or something to that effect.”

Eddie doesn't really have anything to say in response, so he opts to say nothing, instead running a hand over Moe's hair — it's getting long these days, not quite long enough to style yet but long enough that she shakes her head to get it out of her eyes and knocks herself off-balance which is so so cute.

“I’ll admit," Owens continues after a while, "When I first met you, this isn’t where I thought you’d end up.”

“Yeah, you and me both, Doc," he laughs, because it's true.

“What I mean to say," he pauses, "It suits you.”

Moe chose that moment to finally stir, snuffling a bit as she lifts her head and looks at him with those beautiful brown eyes of hers.

"Good nap, bug?" he asks quietly.

She responds with a bleary, "Dada" (which she had only just started saying a few weeks ago and it goddamn kills Eddie every single time) as she nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder.

He hears Owens let out a soft chuckle.

“You’re really milking this, bug," Eddie says as presses a kiss onto the top of her head, "I think he gets it.”

[darling-i-read-it]

Stu w/ a hyperfemine reader

Stu Macher x reader

Author's Note: I'm trying a newwwww style <3 I think that having stuff like this being a mix of headcanons and scenes! mini fics and such. lemme know what you guys think and I hope you like it love! Thanks for being my guinea pig lol

Request: i’m hyperfixating on scream cuz 6 just came out and your list says you write for it so can i plz request stu macher x hyperfeminine!reader fluff like they’re kinda opposites attract type thing idk lol 😊😊

Meeting Stu in the typically girly girl attire with that perky smile on your face was like sending him straight over the moon

He watched you, eyeing you up and down, curious and over telling

You weren’t even talking to him but it was like you were there for him. Or maybe he was just being obsessive. He was probably just being obsessive. 

Stu was the kind of guy who dated someone for fun, because he knew that it worked within a friend group or because of sheer popularity. It was usually never because he loved them. 

Though lets be fair. The first time he saw you he was not thinking about love. There was something so dear to him about your eyes lighting up as you cheeirly moved about the friend group

You seemed to be a friend of Sidney’s, which worked well in his favor. After things ended the summer before with Tatum Sidney had all but forgiven him for their little fling

Maybe, if Stu tried hard enough…Sidney could give him the number of her friend. You. He wants your number. He should probably ask Billy who could probably ask Stu. 

Lots going on in his brain <3 so much <3 

Him getting you alone for the first time is such a fun little time it’s so good

His smile widened as he approached you. Now that Sidney and Billy had left he could talk to you by himself, without her getting in the way. You were sitting on a fountain near the school, still smiling from the goodbyes you had given to your friend. He scooted closer to you. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” he said, nudging your side. You rolled your eyes. You knew of him. Sidney had told you plenty. Though his eyes were alluring and you were all too happy to oblige that look. 

“I think you have,” you promised. 

“I would’ve remembered.”

“I’ve been Sidney’s friend forever.” 

“Well I’ve been Billy’s friend forever. Not Sidney’s,” he explained. You narrowed your eyes at him, a smile on your face. He pointed at the skirt you were wearing, a fluff of pink at the bottom. “That’s pretty.” 

You noted that he said pretty. He didn’t say cute or girly. You smiled gratefully. 

“Thank you Stu. I like to flaunt my femininity.”

“I love flaunting femininity.”

Dating Stu is like…there’s always gonna be someone touching you. Even when you think he isn’t in the room BOOM there’s Stu and his hands on your sides

He loves everything about the hyperfemininity. He would play into it as much as you let him. He would buy you things you desired (while also being fully aware he’s being a bit of a dick when he points it out) 

He probably makes awful jokes about your femininity linking to your ‘natural woman desires’ 

He made one joke about cooking and cleaning and you hit him with your bag. 

He was very offended. He also didn’t really wanna mention it again (so he didn’t thank goodness) 

Sidney didn’t particularly like that you were together but she didn’t hate it either

She thought your energies matched rather well (she was unaware that Stu Macher could kill someone in cold blood)

But the high intensity of Stu always needed someone who could tame it or feed into it

He found that he adored your very natural brightness

“Hey Stu?” He had his hand on your thigh but he wasn’t paying attention to you until you spoke. 

“Yeah sweetheart?” You sat on your bed, watching some scary movie he had showed you. You had no quarrels with it but you weren’t truly watching it. He always seemed enthralled and you could usually flip through a magazine unbothered but still together, a quiet understanding. 

“Are you aware that you’re cuddling my little piggy?” He squinted, not sure what kind of joke you were making until he noticed he was cuddling your actual stuff pig. It was fluffy and large enough to be a pillow. 

He didn’t move away when he noticed. In fact, he pulled it closer to his chest with his arm that wasn’t on you. 

“Not your piggy anymore.”

“Stu!” You reached forward to grab it but he pulled away, now clutching it with boht hands. You giggled. You attempted to reach around him but with laughter he fought you off. You giggled together until you were laying on top of him, the pig between you. 

He made a pouty face at you. 

It usually caused the both of you to be the life of the party

Billy thinks it’s rather annoying. Double annoying for the plans that he has for Stu and him 

Whenever Stu was with you it was like it never mattered, what Billy had planned

Well he still wanted to kill someone

But that was beside the point. He wanted to hang out with you and live his life with you. He didn’t quite know what he would be without that. 

You caught glimpses of that sometimes, when his face drifted off or when a joke Billy made landed a little wrong

But he never made it seem too overt

He was always more willing to talk to you about other things. Compliment your outfits, exist within the constraints of your room or his

It was actually really sweet <3 

Always the boyfriend (even if he’s the boyfriend who always has a stupid reason to kill his gf i guess!)

“Sweetheart. You’re a sweetheart.” 

“Thanks Stu.”

“You are. You’re my sweetheart.” 

“Oh Stu.” 

He looked down at you, poking your nose, smiling brightly, eyes narrowed in adoration. 

“You look really good in pink.”

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #8

Ren Faire 👑 / Plugged In 🔌

“I don’t know about this one,” says Falin as Marcille laces the corset for her. “It’s making me itch. I think it’s pressing my feathers in too hard.”

Marcille pauses. Outside the rough curtain of the dressing stall, the festival roars on jovially — cheers from the jousting matches, drunken off-key singing, clouds of happy chatter and laughter among friends — but it all dulls with Falin back in front of her. “Should I stop?”

Falin casts a glance toward where the shop owner is waiting outside the stall. “I don’t want to offend her.”

“It’s fine not to like it,” says Marcille, trailing her fingers through the soft white flocking at the nape of Falin’s neck before she begins to unlace the corset. “We’ll find something else. Maybe someone who makes clothes for kobolds? They might understand what materials will be more comfortable for you. Or we could find a blouse and a loose vest or something, so you’d have plenty of layers to wear, but nothing would be snug around you.”

Falin nods. “I like that better.” 

Marcille carefully folds the corset, then wraps her arms around Falin’s soft, abundant waist and pulls her in close. “All right,” she says against her cheek. “Just give me a minute here.”

Falin rubs against her like a cat, then rests her chin on Marcille’s shoulder and makes a soft sound. Marcille’s eyes flutter closed.

The shop owner hollers, “I’ve only got one dressing room!”

“Oh, come on!” yelps Marcille.

She lets Falin go and shuffles out behind her, and she mutters while Falin graciously thanks the shop owner for letting her try on the corset.

“Oh, shhh,” says Falin, taking Marcille by the arm and steering her away. “She has to do business too. We can’t take up her only dressing stall and then not buy anything.”

Marcille huffs. “I’d slip her a coin just to let me stay in there with you for another ten minutes!”

Falin laughs, and the sound melts any residual or even performative outrage from Marcille. She’s so lovely, and she looks so healthy and hale, so much more like she did at school. Her face is round, her cheeks pink and bright, and she’s eating normally again.

Well … she’s eating … more than normally. They’ve had Falin looked at by every doctor they’ve met even incidentally — Marcille’s personal favorite is the woman wearing a nursing cap they passed from the opposite side of the street, to whom Laios called, “Madam Nurse, will you please take a look at my sister?”, to which the nurse flashed him a thumbs-up and called back, “She looks great!” No one can seem to find anything wrong with her except that her metabolism appears to have shifted, which, given the ordeal her body has been through, isn’t exactly a shock. A few doctors have even said that they’ve seen it happen to adventurers after spending a long time in the dungeons; after so much physical exertion and relatively little food, some people’s bodies hang onto every spare calorie they can take in to prepare for such harsh conditions again in the future.

Falin is definitely one of those people. No matter what she eats now, it stays with her. Her hips have grown wide and plush, her belly overflowing her trousers in a soft, heavy curve. Each night, Marcille settles into their shared bedroll with one hand resting on the round swell of Falin’s side or gently stroking the silky softness of her plump upper arms. Her adventuring clothes don’t fit her all that well anymore, and although she’s been able to cobble together a scant collection of cast-off pieces from Laios, Namari, and the ogre girl from Shuro’s new party, none of them sit quite right, or the material itches, or they’re wrong in some other way. The trousers she’s wearing now are a few inches too long and too wide to stay cuffed, while her dragon leather jerkin has to be worn open since it won’t lace over her generous bosom. The shirt she’s wearing beneath is one of Laios’s old ones, and not only is it spattered in what Marcille suspects might be some kind of blood, but it’s also snug around her chest and arms, and she can tell by the way Falin keeps plucking and pulling at it that it’s making her uncomfortable. So today, Marcille is making it her mission to trawl through the festival’s many vendors until they can find some clothes Falin actually feels good in.

They lost the boys and Izutsumi long ago, and by “lost” Marcille means that Falin grabbed her hand and tugged her toward a display of insects preserved in amber, and by the time they turned back to the crowd, the rest of their party was long gone. Marcille’s sure they’re all off somewhere eating the giant roasted cockatrice legs she’s seen people carrying. A festival like this is probably paradise for someone like Laios. Every other booth is hawking some sort of obscene edible item.

That said, she also promised Falin a giant roasted cockatrice leg before the day is over. What was she supposed to do, ignore Falin’s big eyes and hopeful looks?

They meander along the cobblestone street, and Falin tugs her aside again when she notices a stall selling not only cotton chemises but light breeches to wear beneath. She rubs the fabric between her fingers and makes an appreciative noise, then takes Marcille’s hand and makes her feel it too. The cotton is soft and breathable, and she watches Falin sift through the selections, holding them up against her body to see if they’ll fit.

“Do you know your measurements, dearie?” asks the stall owner, an elderly ogre, and Falin ducks her head.

“I used to, but my body’s very different now.”

“No matter,” says the stall owner, pulling a tape from behind her till. “I can take them fresh, if you like.”

Falin meets Marcille’s eyes. Marcille gives her an encouraging little nod. 

“All right,” says Falin, shrugging off her jerkin and handing it to Marcille. The stall owner has her step behind a thin curtain and then pushes a quill and scrap of paper into Marcille’s hands as well. 

“Mark these down for me, lovie, or I’ll forget as soon as I’ve said it aloud.”

Marcille drapes the jerkin over her arm and grasps the quill probably too tightly. Through the curtain she can see Falin’s shape raising her arms for the stall owner to wrap the tape around her bust, then her waist, then the widest part of her belly and her hips — forty-eight, forty-six, fifty-two. Around her hips, down her inseam, then back up for the circumference of her neck and arms — fifty-four, thirty, twenty, eighteen. Marcille writes them all down, the bigger numbers making her feel a little weak: Falin’s waist is over a foot and a half larger around than her own.

The shop owner bustles out to take a few pieces off the rack, and Marcille listens to the small sounds of Falin’s exertion as she tries them on. From the sound of it, she’s pleased so far, and after a minute or so she steps out to show off. 

The chemise and breeches are simple, but already Falin looks so much more comfortable. The light fabric — not white, but a soft wheat color that’s just a few shades off from her hair — skims over her curves and allows her plenty of room to move and gesture. She spins in a circle for Marcille, and with her eyes closed and her pale hair framing her face, she could be some minor deity representing gentleness, or contentedness, or abundance.

“You look great,” says Marcille fondly. “How do they feel?”

“I like them,” says Falin, swishing the hem of the chemise around her plush thighs. “The breeches keep the feathers on my legs from rubbing together when I move, and the fabric doesn’t itch.” She nods to the stall owner, who’s hanging just behind her. “And she said she has them in other colors in my size, too. I might get a couple.”

“Of course,” says Marcille, taking her hands and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You should have things you like.”

Falin buys the set in the wheat color, in a warm lavender that’s as soft and lovely as she feels in Marcille’s arms, and in a deep indigo that Marcille could just swoon over, it makes her look so luminous. She changes into the lavender set before they leave the stall, bundling her old clothes in the rough-hewn bag the stall owner packs her other purchases in. Then the elderly ogre gives them a tip about another vendor who specializes in “leather goods for ample figures” and they’re off.

Arm in arm, they make their way through the cluster of booths and tents, and Marcille points out the back of a head that can only be Senshi’s several yards away, haggling over some kind of meat she can’t identify and will probably have to contend with eating later. Falin veers off course for a gnome selling scarves made from silk produced by hand-reared silkworms, though Marcille suspects she’s more taken by the silkworm terrarium than the scarves. While she talks animatedly with the gnome vendor, Marcille slips back to the amber insect stall and hands over enough coins for a long chain bearing a pendant of an iridescent green beetle. 

She tucks the necklace into her robe and weaves back to Falin, who’s combing through silk samples and asking questions about texture, grade, and worm diet, and taps her on the shoulder. “Hi,” she says, and Falin gives her a beatific smile, squinting in the afternoon sunlight. 

“Hi! Look at these little guys!”

Silkworms do nothing for Marcille, but she appreciates that they fascinate Falin. “They’re very busy,” she observes, and Falin beams. 

“I can’t decide between these two,” she says, holding up a silk scarf dyed in purples and golds and another in shades of blue, green, and pink. Both feature botanical patterns, flowers and vines and berries, and — ah. Yes. Both patterns also contain bugs.

“They’re hand-spun and hand-painted,” says the gnome. “All-vegetable dyes, set with magic so they won’t run whether you wash ’em in salt water or fresh.”

“I’ll take both,” says Falin after barely a moment of deliberation. “Is there any chance I could take a worm as well?”

The gnome turns her down, but it doesn’t seem to dampen Falin’s spirits. She knots the purple and gold scarf around her hair and ties the other around the strap of Marcille’s pack. 

“Okay,” she says, lacing her fingers through Marcille’s and swinging their hands as they walk. “Let’s look at the leatherwork stall, and then we should probably try to find Laios and the others.”

“Probably,” Marcille agrees. “But I think there’s another important stop we need to make.”

“What’s that?”

Marcille grins. “Melonpan.”

They each get a bun filled with ice cream, and as they eat them together in the shade of a cherry tree, Falin rests her head on Marcille’s shoulder. 

“Thank you for looking out for me,” she says, licking a drip from her bun. “And not in the way that you look out for all of us while we adventure. I mean — I know Laios cares for me, of course, and I know the others do too. But I don’t think it would have occurred to any of them that I might want some things that fit me properly if I didn’t say so directly. And you thought of that. You noticed. And that really means a lot to me. I know I’m not particularly fashionable and maybe the others just don’t think I care very much about what I’m wearing, and — I don’t, I guess, but it’s nice to have clothes that feel good. That feel like me. Especially for my — my new body.”

She ducks her head, cheeks pink, and Marcille wraps an arm around her and pulls her closer. 

“Of course. Of course, Falin. I love you, and I want you to be comfortable and happy. You deserve it, your body has been through so much! I’m really glad that you’ve found some things you like. And I think I found something else you might like, too.”

She hands Falin her melonpan for safekeeping and pulls the necklace from her pocket, maneuvering it carefully over Falin’s hair and around her neck. “There.”

“Oh, it’s perfect!” exclaims Falin, holding up the pendant to inspect it. “Look at the coloration! This is a fig-eater beetle, you can tell by the iridescent shell. They’re actually native to this area!” She turns and kisses Marcille, her mouth sweet and warm as the sun through the cherry blossoms. “Thank you! I’ll never take it off. And I’m going to put a spell on it so I won’t lose it as we travel.”

Marcille grins as Falin, glowing, finishes her melonpan and sighs happily, one hand resting on the mound of her belly. She covers Falin’s hand with her own and squeezes gently. 

“I love watching you eat,” she says with a smile. “You always look so happy.”

Falin jiggles her belly gently. “It’s really nice not to have to worry when we’re going to eat again. I forgot how much easier things are when you get to eat more than once every day.”

“I forgot how nice you look when you get to eat more than once every day,” Marcille teases. “You’d have melonpan every day if it were up to me.”

Falin wrinkles her nose in a little smile. “Good thing the clothes I bought run a little big.”

“Come on,” says Marcille, getting to her feet and helping Falin up. “We should get you a nice belt or bodice or something. Or a jerkin that actually fits.”

That, too, Falin opts to buy a bit oversized. She tries on two adjustable vests, one in her size and one that fits her well on its smallest set of hooks. “I think the bigger one might be better,” she tells a vaguely faint Marcille, weighing the two in her hands. “That way my body has more room to change, and it’ll still be comfortable.”

She buys a belt as well on the same principle, and Marcille stretches it between her arms, marveling at the size. It’s not just that Falin is so much rounder than she is, although that��s part of it too — it’s that she came so close to losing Falin entirely that she can’t help but see it as a miracle that she gets to have even more Falin than she started with. 

“You look beautiful,” says Marcille as they head back to their rendezvous point, having helped Falin into her vest and getting to drink in the whole picture of her. “More like yourself than you have since we entered the dungeon.”

Falin’s smile is sweet and earnest. “Thank you. I feel that way, too.”

The rest of the party is already waiting at the little picnic area where they’d agreed to meet up if they got separated. Senshi, loaded down with bags, is shelling peas into a small wooden bowl Marcille noticed on display at another stall; Chilchuck is busy fiddling with what looks like a new set of lockpicks, if their brand-new shine is anything to go by. Laios is slumped in the grass against the picnic table, legs spread out in front of him, his own round belly cradled in his hands. Izutsumi is perched above him on the table itself, tearing into —

“Are you eating a cockatrice leg up there?” asks Laios wearily, eyes closed. He shifts his weight incrementally and winces, pressing a hand to his gut.

“Yes, and you’re not getting any!” snaps Izutsumi, curling around the meat protectively. “You had yours!”

Laios hiccups miserably. “Don’t remind me,” he groans. Chilchuck snorts from the rock he’s perched on.

“Are you all right, Laios?” asks Falin, stepping toward her brother. 

“Oh, he’s fine,” says Senshi, the words punctuated by the patter of peas hitting the wooden bowl. “He just overdid it on the roasted cockatrice legs.”

“Eating two is overdoing it,” mutters Chilchuck. “Eating six is insanity.” Marcille pulls a face.

“Oh!” says Falin, brightening. “You also promised me a cockatrice leg!”Well, Marcille’s not about to go back on that.

[moonsanoverthinker]

Any tma jewelry headcanons? I love reading all of these, they are so fun

Funny you should ask because I was thinking about this earlier and also head cannons are so fun to make! (Feel free to ask for more!)

Most of these are purely off vibes alone with very little thought behind them x

Jon - Earrings type of guy for the most part, nothing too like ‘flashy’ but occasionally nice little dangle earring. Also kind of a rings guy, like just a couple but they’re pretty, and occasionally a necklace like those slightly longer ones but it’s usually tucked away. He’s got one bead bracelet that he refuses to take off and it happens to be a green one with a little M bead.

Martin - Bracelets type of guy but those beaded kind of friendship looking ones. He’s got a few with different colours and people in the office (Sasha and Tim) have now noticed that different colours mean different things. Green-Loved up (he also refuses to take it off and it has a little J bead) Orange-Feeling a little (a lot) bitchy // Pink-Pining (that was worn a lot) // Multicoloured-Crimes might be committed.

Tim - Again I’m getting earring vibes, at least one lobe piercing that’s either a little fun shape or is just a plain one (depending on which series) and there’s always this one necklace he wears and he will never take it off (Danny gave it to him for his birthday years ago, ouch) and then there’s this one beaded bracelet he wears which happens to be complimentary colours to one Sasha owns but he claims coincidence.

Sasha - A nose piercing of some kind, but I’m going with septum and she’s also got at least four ear piercings, probably both lobes and then two cartilage. She’s a layered necklace person, sometimes they match perfectly and sometimes they are a little all over the place but they always look nice. She also wears this one beaded bracelet she’s had for years which someone gave her for secret Santa (It was Jon, I’ve got no reason for it but I like the thought)

Melanie - Rings central, it’s a real mix and match type of thing but they seem to all pair well with each other. Also a necklace that she always wears, it’s just a simple silver one that doesn’t seem to match her rings and seems a little older, maybe a little dull compared to the silver rings (her dad gave it to her when she was younger, again ouch)

Georgie- Is either wearing a lot of jewellery or not a lot, depends on the day. Also she’s a gold jewellery person, always wears the same necklace just because she likes it and sees it as a little bit of a good luck charm (she doesn’t really believe it but she likes the thought)

Basira- Has a nose stud but it’s a little one, that she only really started wearing once she was working at the institute. Occasionally wears a couple rings, usually those slightly thicker banded gold ones, and one that looks like it should match someone else’s

Daisy- Piercings mainly, like three upper helix’s on one ear, both lobes stacked (I think that’s the term, those like three going up is what I mean). Also a couple of rings, one that looks kind of like it should match someone else’s (Basira also has one, they pretend they don’t notice each others)

Elias - Two rings, one that comes and goes (his wedding ring) and also just a thumb ring with an eye because he doesn’t understand subtle hints.

[k8epot8e]

Train in Vain: Chapter 8 Into the Fire

Summary:

Infiltrating the Donquixote family meeting was one thing but now that you got what you came for, how are you going to escape?

Notes:

Life is rough, friends! Sorry for the delay, but we're back on the tracks here. Here is Chapter 8, and I anticipate publishing Chapter 9 in the next couple of days. After that, I'm planning on returning to one a week as I've got big plans for Y/N and the boys to come.

TWs: Drug mentions, drug dealing mentions, cursing, alcohol mentions, drinking, sexual innuendo, anxiety, intimidation.

Trebol gestured you towards one of the open chairs on the left side of the room. All eyes were on you as you maneuvered into your seat, attempting to retain in your posture whatever confidence you could still scrape together. Trebol drooped his wide body into the last available chair just to your right. You sat like a princess with your legs pressed tightly together, discouraging any accidental contact that you could have with the man whose long legs were already slipping out from his chair in either direction.

“Why, she’s so demure. Like a little doormouse.” The woman with the gaudy necklace said, smiling over her shoulder devilishly.

“Not all of us can be as flamboyant as you, Giolla,” the man with the crew cut answered.

“You really should convince the precinct to let you wear better clothes, Vergo, the aesthetic of the entire police force leaves a lot to be desired.” Giolla huffed.

“I don’t think the pigs care about aesthetics,” the bicep-man laughed.

“Well, they ought to!” Giolla chuckled.

“Behehe” Trebol joined in.

“Alright everyone, cool it,” Joker said and the room snapped immediately into silence. “You all know there is no judgment on appearances in this family. I am a kind man. Everyone gets a fair shot as long as they’re loyal and get results.”

He paused. You could unfortunately sense that he hadn’t taken his eyes off of you since you’d entered the room. The chilling grin he flashed in your direction seemed to be a permanent facial feature.

“You’re Monet.” He said, more a statement than a question. Your head reeled. The blood rushing through your veins screamed DANGER to every neuron it could find but none would listen. Your animal instinct was trying its best to save your sorry ass but your brain won the battle, knowing it was far too late.

You nodded at the man behind the desk, trying to not feel faint as you looked at him directly. The intensity of his attention was making you woozy. You started to regret having Sanji’s cosmo earlier.

“Go along to the party. We’re starting business.” Joker said to the beautiful woman in his lap. She giggled and floated out of the room.

“Because of the” Joker paused, “delicate nature of our collective situation. Monet has spent her time with us undercover. Like you, Vergo.”

The man with the crew cut nodded.

“We are happy that both of you could join us tonight. Welcome.” Joker extended his long hands out in an inviting gesture.

You managed to give a soft smile in return despite the distracting rhythm of your pulse throbbing in your ears.

Joker continued, “I’ve asked you all here tonight as a little status report. Also, to highlight some new product you’ll be supplying in the near future. After we conduct business, we’ll all join the party in the parlor. Take tonight as a show of faith for all of your hard work.”

“Let’s start with introductions. Monet, since you were the last to arrive, I’ll direct these to you. You already know Trebol. He is my, shall we say, Chief of Staff.”

You looked to Trebol who matched your gaze with a sweaty grin.

“In front of him is Bellamy, he is my distributor for West Brooklyn.”

Bellamy, the bicep-man, shot you a wink over his left shoulder.

“Next to him is Vergo, my distributor for East Brooklyn.”

Vergo nodded at you.

“And last but not least is Giolla who is my distributor for North Brooklyn.”

“Charmed,” Giolla said to you with a cheshire grin.

“Nice to finally meet you all,” you said returning your gaze to Joker. You switched tactics from biting the side of your tongue to stabbing your palm with one of your fingernails. The sharpness of your nail piercing the warm flesh of your palm gave you enough focus to speak and to keep your breathing regular.

“And I, of course, am Joker. Here, there is no need for secrets. Tonight, you can call me Doflamingo.” The man behind the desk said, a long tongue snaking out of his mouth to lap at his upper lip.

You tried your best not to react when you saw his tongue but your eyes must’ve widened in surprise as you watched his smirk grow sharper in amusement.

“So, now that we’re all acquainted, has anyone run into any issues on their turf?” Doflamingo asked, leaning his head to rest against the chair’s high back.

Bellamy spoke up first.

“I found out a couple of weeks ago that some small-timers were operating out of a club over in Fort Hamilton. They were moving similar product to ours so I shut it down. Haven’t heard anything since.” Bellamy said confidently.

“Everything is going swimmingly in North Brooklyn. The Williamsburg art shows are as hot as the product I’m moving through them!” Giolla laughed.

“Captain Smoker has been a pain in my ass down at the station but my guys on the force have been moving product smoothly, no hiccups,” Vergo said.

Everyone turned to look at you.

“South is going fine. Coney Island has been slower because of the time of year but that’s normal.” You said. You weren’t sure where this lie came from or how you said it so nonchalantly but it was something you thought, you hoped, made enough sense.

Doflamingo paused. “Good. Seems like no one is having any real issues. Now, let me show you our new product.”

The man opened up a drawer on the right-hand side of the desk. His long fingers gently placed what looked like a piece of hard candy down in front of him. The candy was white and red swirled, like the pinwheel colors of a mint. It was wrapped in clear plastic and twisted into bowties on either side.

“This is the Doc’s new creation. It’s more addictive than our other products and more potent. Despite this, I got him to ease the come-down to make it better for club usage. I also got him to make it cuter looking to sell better to young people.” Doflamingo explained. He went on at length about the drug, its chemical composition, and its effects. You tried your best to concentrate, but your anxiety was making it difficult.

“This will be included in the product package you each pick up on your designated days next week. Market it to young people in your regions, primarily young women who go clubbing. Once it’s used in certain areas by your better customers, word will spread and increase the market.”

“Young Master, it’s adorable!” Giolla giggled.

“It’s some of Doc’s finer work, I will say, fufufu” Doflamingo laughed. “Now that we’ve chatted, let’s join the party, shall we?”

Everyone waited for him to rise from their chairs. He hoisted his enormous body from his throne and pocketed the drug into his pink silk suit pants as he sauntered out of the room.

The five of you remaining in the office began to follow him out into the parlor.

You couldn’t believe you’d survived. You rose to your feet, feeling somewhat lightheaded from your heightened pulse. As overjoyed as you were that you’d made it this far, you quickly started to realize that you didn’t know how you were going to leave.

You almost flinched when you felt a hand rest on your left arm and an arm wrap around your shoulders. Giolla had slid you into an embrace on her right side.

“It’s not ALL serious work, dear. Let’s have some fun.” Giolla giggled as she led you through the doorway.

--

You, Giolla, Vergo, and Bellamy had entered the parlor to find Doflamingo across the room, already chatting with various guests at a blackjack table. Vergo was walking away from our group when Bellamy called him out.

“You’re not going home yet, are you Vergo?” Bellamy asked judgementally.

Vergo paused. “I’m going to the buffet table and then I’m leaving. Some of us have other jobs in addition to our work for the family, Bellamy. Monet understands.”

He turned and made a beeline for the buffet.

“Old man.” Bellamy scoffed and headed towards the bar.

Giolla pivoted you in the direction of the bar after him and Trebol followed.

A new sense of panic began to take hold of you as you were steered towards the bar. You may have gotten the recording you needed but how were you supposed to escape? Also, Smoker had said not to get too talkative but now you were expected to drink and chat with people at the party. You swallowed hard.

Bellamy leaned one of his long arms on the edge of the bar. “Jack and coke for me, what do you want Giolla?” He asked.

“A sidecar, dear.” Giolla laughed. “She’ll have one too.”

You turned to see that Trebol had disappeared. You couldn’t see him from across the room and wondered where he had gone. While you were curious, you were happy that there were fewer people around you. You had to make your way to the other end of the room so you could slip out, unnoticed. One down, two to go.

The bartender handed the three of you your drinks. You took one of the sidecars and Giolla held hers up in a toast.

“To the Young Master!” She said.

“Hear, hear!” Bellamy said, raising his glass.

You raised your coupe glass and clinked with the two people next to you. You took a swig from the sidecar, it was refreshing to have something to drink after all this time.

“Giolla! Darling!” You heard from behind you. You turned to see that an older man with a mustache was calling out to Giolla with his arms aloft.

“You bad man!” Giolla squealed and immediately ran to join her well-dressed acquaintance leaving you and Bellamy standing together at the bar. Glad to be rid of her, you breathed a little more deeply.

Bellamy was leaning on the bar, looking lasciviously around the room. He eyed the ass of a woman in a red cocktail dress peering over a roulette table. Getting rid of him was going to be too easy.

“You like what you see?” You asked him slyly.

“Hmm?” Bellamy grunted, obviously not listening.

“I said, do you want to fuck her?” You asked nonchalantly.

This statement made the man snap out of his lusty gaze. He looked down at you in surprise before busting into a laugh.

“Yeah, I do. Hah. I like you, Monet. You don’t talk too much, but when you do it’s cause you’ve got something to say.” He laughed.

You weren’t sure if that was a compliment but you’d take it.

“You should go talk to her.” You goaded him, eager to get him gone.

“You think so?” He asked, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah. You’re with Doflamingo and you’ve got great arms. I’m sure she’ll take a liking to you.” You said, taking another sip of your sidecar.

“You’ve got a point. Well, thanks for the encouragement. Hope you get some, yourself.” He said, kicking off the bar and winking at you as he stalked away.

Cheers erupted in your brain. You’d played this so well. Maybe you should be a professional sting-person, you thought to yourself. You kicked off the bar and started walking along the side of the room towards the exit. You knocked back the rest of the sidecar as you moseyed around the people milling about. Home free, you thought just as you’d reached the other side of the room.

While crossing in front of the fireplace a long arm bolted in front of you to rest on the mantle, blocking your path. You stopped abruptly as you turned to your right to see the enormous figure of Doflamingo leaning over you. His glasses stared into your eyes.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

[im-out-of-it]

part 6 of season 1, episode 13 continued

103. once again staking Camille does nothing clary. so after dragging her out, she now is asking Simon if he’s well enough to continue. I honestly don’t think there isn’t anything Simon would do for clary. and I mean that in a bad way

104. “nothing matters but Jocelyn” someone give me an Advil. do they think they’ll wake Jocelyn and she will run to Valentine and convince him not to use the cup? like I’m sorry but what do they think will happen

105. “If you sign this thing, you’ll be sending her off to kill again.”- clary. does she not know what a vampire is? they are predators who desire one thing above all- blood. probably shouldn’t take it too far and I don’t know, kill the mundane but I don’t think clary even thinks with her brain. your bestie Simon may have things under control (which I think is bad development because you can’t be that tame after turning) but he is a vampire who craves blood the most

106. also I know it’s about shadowhunters and shit but why didn’t they make simons transformation more authentic and realistic? like I feel as if he just ran away and a second later, he was friendly with wolves and seemed as if his hunger was under control. this isn’t obviously about vampires but it seems super unrealistic to have your hunger under control that quickly and simply

107. “if Valentine has a weakness, she knows it or is it.”-Simon. once again, do they expect her to track Valentine and convince him out of pure love that he’s being a tyrant? honestly tyrant is too extreme because he’s not worthy of being a good villain (I vote Sebastian or azazel)

108. “I guess it’s not just me who needs my mom. it’s all of us” ADVIL PRONTO. now they’re acting as if Jocelyn is the key to stopping Valentine and a war. as if everyone’s lives depends on Jocelyn

109. MAGNUS AND HIS MAGIC ITS SO FUCKING BEAUTIFUL ✨

110. Camille: how can I get under his skin? (I believe his name was Alexei if I remember correctly)

111. Magnus: I couldn’t care less actually

112. oooooo 🔥 need some ice for that burn?

113. Camille: somethings up because I should be enjoying this more

114. CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW INSANELY HANDSOME MAGNUS IS (also *cough cough* the demon identifying necklace Magnus gave Camille that Izzy has now) (not that Camille cares about the necklace or remembers)

115. it’s actually kind of funny how much Magnus and Camille match. like their eye shadow, they are both wearing red, and wearing a resting bitch face. I see Magnus has a type and by a type, I mean a resting bitch face type

116. but can we talk about how hurt Magnus was by Camille? it’s not really spoken in the show but she really messed with not only his head but his heart. before he goes to Alec’s wedding, he mentions how maybe Camille is right and he’s immortal and can party to his hearts content. I feel that a part of Magnus started believing that Camille was right in a way. MY POOR MAGNUS

117. Camille: have I taught you nothing?

118!!!!!!!!!!!!!! moving onto part seven??????

[the-missann]

Previous Post

Next up is

Jax Barmen!

He's a super cute cutie and aside from his role in the story being related to the researcher who initially discovered 4th Dimensional beings (no, that's not a big deal in the story). Jax serves as the groups researcher.

He's extremely intelligent and enjoys theoretical research. Being a senior in high school, he has plans to go off to college and become a theoretical scientist.

Jax is also the pretty/popular boy of the school. Everyone loves him because he's personable and friendly. Jax is my sweet boy who tries his best to make sure the girls and women around him are taken care of and comfortable, and anyone else is met with nothing but kindness. I don't even think it's possible for him to even have bad thoughts.

Jax is also kind of the dad of the group being able to settle everyone down when they're feeling stressed or anxious about something. Outside of that, Jax often is the reasonable one of the group being able to make rational decisions and account for what they should or shouldn't be doing.

I actually just made this drawing randomly and it's not based on the excerpt. Here, Jax and Cassie are essentially having a sleep over where Jax is going to teach her something she's interested in. They're so cute too, they're suppose to he wearing matching PJs ☺

Also, his hair is different because I'm very bad at drawing 😄

Here's a snipit of him!

It was now silent in the car, Jax got to a stop light and spoke to the pair.

“You guys are arguing about this? Have either of you thought about the actual situation?”

Larson looked at Jax. “You must want to die.” Larson threatened. “I am thinking about the situation.”

“No, you’re only thinking about disagreeing with Cassie because you believe she’s wasting our time. You have yet to say any kind of idea you have.”

Larson looked off and let out an audible sigh.

Cassie smiled. “Yeah, at least I’m trying to come up with something!”

Jax looked back at Cassie. “And you are deciding things without concern about consequence.”

Cassie shrunk under his voice. “But I-”

“I know, Cassie, you think this will be good. So I have to ask you, why is it good?”

Cassie sat back. “Because… we’ll get to have allies if we help them?”

“That’s a good reason, but here you miss a major point—we could also find out more about rifts. If they know things we don’t then it’ll only benefit us, but at what cost?”

Cassie was going to say something, but remained quiet.

So Jax continued. “We don’t know if they’re stronger than you guys and they very well might be. So maybe next time just say you have a good idea and we can go from there…” Cassie pressed her lips together. “And Lars, maybe don’t doubt Cassie for every little thing she does. Have some faith in her gut choices and listen to her suggestions, but I agree with your concern. This might be a huge waste of time, but I believe we’ll get something out of it and that’s worth the risk.”

The silence continued after he finished talking. The frustrated pair sat with his words without a single retort. Eventually, when the light turned green, Jax started to drive again.

Larson let out a sigh and spoke. “Besides sounding like a parent who’s scolding his children, you…have a point,” Larson began, “but what are we even going to get from this?”

“As I said, we may be able to learn more about rifts. As well as other species that might exist within them.” Jax stated calmly.

Larson sighed. “Fine, we’ll consider taking this guy down…”

“Alright, we’ll go from there.” With that Jax ended the conversation...

Next post

Fun fact: his design still isn't what I want, but it's close enough that I'm willing to settle for this. Jax also does his own hair and at one point, I added a scene where Cassie doesn't know how to give herself cornrows and Jax helps her 😊

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Super 017

It’s baby time!

It's baby time

It's baby time It's baby baby time

It's baby time It's baby time It's baby time

Baby baby baby time!

So it’s been about six months since Vegeta left to train under Whis, and Videl has given birth to her daughter, Pan.  As a dutiful grandmother, Chi-Chi brings over a big trashbag to their house. 

Then she sees Gohan and Mr. Satan playing with the baby.  When I say “playing”, I mean “Gohan wears his Great Saiyaman costume and he playfights with Mr. Satan while they toss the baby back and forth to each other.”  Pan loves this, and they apparently do this every single day, but Chi-Chi is horrified.

This leads to an argument between Chi-Chi and Mr. Satan over Pan’s future.  She’s part-Saiyan, so getting tossed around is actually healthy for her, and Satan has big dreams of Pan becoming his successor as the World Champion of Martial Arts.  But Chi-Chi wants Pan to be a great scholar or whatever, and Satan (rightfully) asks who put Chi-Chi in charge.  So Chi-Chi barricades herself, Pan, and Videl in one of the rooms of the house. 

Okay, so this is really the first time there’s been any conflict between Chi-Chi and Satan, and it kind of ends in a standoff.  Satan doesn’t know what to do, and neither does Gohan, so they call in Goku, Krillin, and Bulma to help.  Bulma offers to play peacemaker if Krillin will tear up the ticket he wrote Bulma earlier in the episode.  But Krillin’s a cop now, so he won’t do it, because he only cares about eating donuts now. 

What I’m getting at here is that this might have been a chance to settle what would happen if Chi-Chi and Mr. Satan fought.  I’m pretty sure Chi-Chi would win.  I think most people agree on this, but I think Mr. Satan could make it competitive.  I guess what I’m saying is that we might know Chi-Chi has an edge, but they don’t know who would win.

I’m not saying they should have settled this with a fight.  Chi-Chi’s whole point is that there’s more to life than fighting, so settling this with violence sort of undermines her position.  And Mr. Satan’s too savvy to suggest it at this point.  I guess I’m just pointing out that this isn’t like when Chi-Chi or Satan deals with anyone else, and there’s an obvious power imbalance. In terms of physical strength, they’re somewhat evenly matched.  Anyway.

So, while Bulma commiserates with Chi-Chi, she mentions that Vegeta went to train under Whis six months ago, and Goku overhears this and flips out.  He wants to go too, but he has to wait for Whis to come back to Earth, as Bulma has no means of contacting him.  So he keeps bugging the shit out of Bulma, asking if she’s heard from Whis yet. 

Then Whis finally shows up, and Goku bugs the shit out of him.  He doesn’t start behaving himself until Whis warns him that Goku might not be trainable if he can’t show a little more restraint than this.

This raises Chi-Chi’s ire, as she thought Goku and Bulma were planning a surprise party or something, but it turns out Goku’s looking to skip the planet to train again.  She scolds Goku and puts him in some kind of joint-lock while their kids try to convince Chi-Chi to let Goku leave.  Then Whis gets up to head back home, and Goku runs off to grab on to him before he goes. 

And as soon as Goku’s gone, Chi-Chi is suddenly fine with it, like “Well, it’s Goku, whaddya gonna do?”  She asks Bulma about having an actual party and Bulma’s like yeah, why not.  In space, Goku assures Whis that his home life will be just fine, saying that Chi-Chi understands him better than anyone.  So I guess she just nags him for no real reason?  Like, is this a kink thing?  Don’t answer that.

I’m serious, don’t answer tha

[selfdiagnosedeyemotif]

Chapter Two (Tyrri):

This is gonna be a shorter one so sorry about that

Tyrri arrives at her university with little issue; Cunningsworth is a metropolitan maze, but she’s extremely familiar with all of the back alleys and little shortcuts

Traveling up to one of the higher floors, we meet Professor Elber, the head instructor for the Department of Magic

He’s looking a little worse for wear than when we saw him in the flashback but that couldn’t possibly be important

His office has an ass ton of goodies to inspect, all of which Tyrri has little comments on; think of an Ace Attorney style thing where you can just look at all of the things for silly dialogue

There is one thing that you notably can’t properly inspect: an open envelope on the professor’s desk, which he will stop you from reading if you inspect it

A little suspicious but moving on

Tyrri and the professor immediately start research on the water samples; they have little shards of crystals in them, which are still glowing with the same light as they were in the cave

The magic in them is determined to be non-elemental, which poses some interesting questions

After another research timelapse, the two agree to step back from the project for a bit

Tyrri heads off to her old dorm room, and Professor Elber says that he’s going to work on a personal experiment of his

Cut to the morning, and no one has seen the professor since the previous night

Notably, no one has checked his office because the door has been closed, so he’s probably in there

Should be fine, every single person in the building has become so engrossed in their research that they’ve pulled an all-nighter at least once

And then a loud bang is heard from the professor’s office. Definitely not fine.

Tyrri rushes to investigate, finding that the door is kind of messed up; it’s split horizontally down the middle and pulled slightly into the room

Breaking down the door via magic, air rushes into the professor’s office

Why, you might ask? The air pressure in the office had dropped rapidly moments before

You may ask why once more, to which I must introduce you to…

The Second Boss: Ever-Shifting Elemental

Why would this entity have dropped the air pressure? Well, it is presently an air elemental and formed by sucking all the air out of the room

But it’s not gonna stay like that for long

This guy has two actions each turn: one is set to always be at the beginning of the order, and is always used to shift forms

It has a form for each element, and will switch randomly between them, prioritizing the ones it has used the least

Each form has one stat that gets raised: Elemental Attack for fire, Elemental Defence for ice, Speed for lightning, Evasion for wind, Critical for light, and Defence for dark

There’s also gonna be changes to weak points based on form but I haven’t sorted those out quite yet

Heavy focus on elemental attacks, as one would expect

Weaknesses lean heavily on the magical side, as one would also expect

This would probably be either an easier boss or one of the harder ones depending on how far the gimmick is taken

Design-wise I’m thinking of going the route of making it vaguely humanoid with six different faces where the head would be, each of them corresponding to an element and growing in size when their form is active

The body would be prismatic light in a similar vein to the One True Magic, or maybe just match whichever form is currently up

Not a ton of notes on this guy I just think they’re neat

After the boss is defeated it blasts out multiple bursts of magical energy in a cool explosion (Yes this is necessary)

Tyrri rushes to the professor’s side and shakes him awake

He’s largely unharmed, but very rattled

“I’ll admit to you, Tyrri. I’m not qualified for this job. I’m a researcher, not a professor. It was acceptable for a while, but now it’s just… it’s too much. My students are growing beyond the point where I can help them, my experiments are a mess, and now someone’s disappeared, and-”

“I’m sorry, WHAT?”

“One of the students that went to the Farlands the same time as you, Ms. Catena Novi. The Aegir siblings contacted me a few days before you arrived that she had disappeared entirely from Seekersgate, and I don’t know what to do.”

Well shit

Tyrri helps the professor to his feet and says that we’re going to take this one step at a time and clean up a bit

He’s not a fraud, he’s not a hack or whatever he thinks about himself

He’s taught her just about everything she knows of magic

Even if he’s not officially qualified, he still has a talent for teaching and certainly a talent for magic

Case and point: how the hell did you summon that elemental

What was that thing

Maybe if its not never-before-seen, it’s certainly unprecedented and to be researched further

As the two start cleaning up, they notice a strange phenomenon: the vials of cave water, which initially had a pinkish glow to them, are now glowing red, purple, green, and blue

Notably, those are the colours of elemental Fire, Darkness, Wind, and Ice

After a little inspection, it appears that the magic in the water itself remains non-elemental

The crystal shards inside, on the other hand, have taken on elemental properties

Fascinating…

A bit more experimentation with the other two elements later (Tyrri needs some help with Light, she isn’t good with that magic), a few conclusions have been drawn

One: the crystals act as a conduit for magic, and could potentially act as concentrators or amplifiers; more research is necessary

Two: a LOT more research is needed on the source of magic lying in the Otherworldly Wellspring; it is strongly polar with elemental magic for some reason

Professor Elber is still a bit of a mess but promises Tyrri that he’s going to take a short leave of absence for a bit

Also, there’s someone that might be able to help with Tyrri’s magical conundrum, albeit not the best option: Headmaster Avery Tasslemore of the University of Whitecrux, in the Hearthlands

Is he a good person? No. No he is not. But he has a lot of tools at his disposal and is a gifted mage, so he might be Tyrri’s best bet.

Plus, the Hearthlands are due north of Cunningsworth, so it’s fairly easy to get to

As the intrigue surrounding the magic of this spring deepens, Tyrri heads north towards the fickle Headmaster Tasslemore…

[brokenhcrt]

HEADCANON DUMP ; STORM SIMMS

headcanons from previous blog

storm has been to a few warped tours

storm's main jewellery, ones you would almost always see him wearing. a pick necklace, it was originally just a plain silver one, but then the pick was lottie's favourite colour, he also has his mother's wedding ring on it too, his father said he could have it ( haven got their mother's favourite bracelet and engagement ring ), he has a black ring he wears on his left middle finger - it was given to him on his 18th birthday by his mother.

that is what he will always wear, he will wear other jewellery as well

the pick will change colour to what ever his so fav colour is

If you find out Storm's birth name, do not use it as you'll find it's one of the few things that set him on edge, and a constant useahe will result in him getting angry

honestly, the only time blythe, storm’s father, got very angry was when storm told him what had happened between him and haley. his father, called up haley’s father and yelled at him for raising a spoiled entitled brat who hurt storm, not long after storm’s mother had passed away at that

if i’m honest, if you end up close to storm. you could just rock up to his parent’s home, walk yourself in, and act like it’s your house - and his father and sister wouldn’t care. they’re use it already from his band members. you will not be kicked out of the house, just asked if you ate the last of the cereal

now....i’m not saying the simms family dressed up as the addams family one halloween..... but they totally did.... blythe - gomez, rebecca - morticia, storm - pugsley & haven - wednesday

date storm & you get a song. simple. he will eventually end up writing a song for you

His sister is a dancer, and he makes sure he goes to every recital he can of hers to support her even when the band kicks off and if he can't make it in person will call her and let her know he supports her and loves her and wishes her the best at the recital

Storm is the kind of person to call his S.O baby

Storm, instagram only: stormsimms

Storm doesn’t really have any social medias. He has an instagram but like, that is it and he barely posts on it. If he posts on it, it’s generally band related stuff, is friends, his s.o but extremely rare if it’s him himself ( unless promo for band )

while storm’s lockscreen is generally his partner if he has one, it’s his bandmates if he’s single. his homescreen will forever be his favourite photo of him, his dad & mum and sister. bc it���s with his whole family smiling and it is attached to a great memory.

when in a relationship. you can bet that storm’s phone background is his partner

storm 100% get’s his kind, caring nature from his mother

dating storm includes: him buying you cute little gifts. him buying things that remind him of you. him taking you with him to his mother’s grave with him. kisses and hugs a lot. kisses on the cheek, forhead, hand - everywhere kisses. hugs from behind. soft cuddles. him playing songs solely for you. him learning your favourite songs and playing them for you. matching jewellery.

Storm’s last serious relationship was when he was nineteen, not too long after his mother died in fact. It lasted nearly four months. It was a girl named Haley, she was an old friend, the daughter of his parents friends. Though, his parents stopped being friends with them because they were one of the sets of people who were judging Storm for his non confirming ways that they thought that the rich should look like and act, and what music they should listen too. The relationship ended when Storm found out that Haley was only dating him to piss of her parents and she wasn’t up front about it. Had she asked, he might have been okay with it. He didn’t like being used, so he dumped her. He’s been a few dates here and there since then, but nothing has stuck yet.

how he says 'i love you' without actually saying it: Helping out when he can, always lending ear for you to talk to and buying small gifts he knows you would love. He notes everything you say away in his mind, and does at times buy little gifts that remind him of you

storm writes a song - in later years, called heartbreak sisters. the inspiration is the daines’ sisters. he uses different names, but he knows both girls stories and thought it would make a good song. it’s about how these two girls who are so different from each other and the struggles they’ve gone through and how they despite everything the heartbreak sisters are just trying to be there for the other.

Storm has seven tattoos. He has a his sister ( tulips ) and mother’s ( desert rose ) favourite flowers over his heart. Stick n Poke star in the crook of his neck, near collar bone, left side done by Andy. A sword on his inner upper right arm. A crown at the base of his neck. “eat the rich” written on his left arm, at the wrist. Skull on his right shoulder blade. Mini Maze on his right thigh & ghost on his inner left arm

storm’s mother died when he was nineteen, it was from car accident, she was coming home from work, and she - just didn’t make it because a drunk driver hit her car, she had died on impact.

storm does like a few pop bands - one he loves is little mix. only people he allows to make jokes about it are his band mates and his sister. 

storm is a people pleaser... but literally only to those he cares about and close to him. he’s the first person to reassure you that he’s there for you, or just to tell you whatever you want to hear - even if it’s cheesy as fuck. he doesn’t care. because he wants everyone close to him to be happy. though this people pleasing doesn’t go without boundaries as in he doesn’t push his boundaries when people pleasing - and in fact can be quiet blunt, if the person needs to hear it too.

for one halloween storm dressed as slash

storm’s parents home isn’t the biggest, it has five rooms - three of which are guest bedrooms. his parents don’t like to flaunt their wealth as much as their old friends did. it’s part of the reason their children aren’t the ‘stereotypical’ rich kids. luxury ( a want not a need ) items were treated as such and everyone in the family worked hard to get the things they want. the only time their parents let them have the money without working for it was when it was to help a friend out.

storm’s family is always donating to charities. they always research the charity first as well.

storm would 100% wear a shirt that says ‘eat the rich’ and if you call him out for being from a rich / wealthy family he will say ‘i said what i said’

there was a moment, where andy’s drumkit had been broken, everyone suspected it was the guy harassing her. andy cried at seeing it. storm brought her a new one

radiates big brother energy. 

will not hesitate to step between you and someone bothering you

practically an older brother to andy

hates his legal name, you call him that - he won’t listen, call him storm

will let you play with his hair

[beantothemax]

chapter two is finally done, after many long years of work

Chapter Two:

This is gonna be a shorter one so sorry about that

Tyrri arrives at her university with little issue; Cunningsworth is a metropolitan maze, but she’s extremely familiar with all of the back alleys and little shortcuts

Traveling up to one of the higher floors, we meet Professor Elber, the head instructor for the Department of Magic

He’s looking a little worse for wear than when we saw him in the flashback but that couldn’t possibly be important

His office has an ass ton of goodies to inspect, all of which Tyrri has little comments on; think of an Ace Attorney style thing where you can just look at all of the things for silly dialogue

There is one thing that you notably can’t properly inspect: an open envelope on the professor’s desk, which he will stop you from reading if you inspect it

A little suspicious but moving on

Tyrri and the professor immediately start research on the water samples; they have little shards of crystals in them, which are still glowing with the same light as they were in the cave

The magic in them is determined to be non-elemental, which poses some interesting questions

After another research timelapse, the two agree to step back from the project for a bit

Tyrri heads off to her old dorm room, and Professor Elber says that he’s going to work on a personal experiment of his

Cut to the morning, and no one has seen the professor since the previous night

Notably, no one has checked his office because the door has been closed, so he’s probably in there

Should be fine, every single person in the building has become so engrossed in their research that they’ve pulled an all-nighter at least once

And then a loud bang is heard from the professor’s office. Definitely not fine.

Tyrri rushes to investigate, finding that the door is kind of messed up; it’s split horizontally down the middle and pulled slightly into the room

Breaking down the door via magic, air rushes into the professor’s office

Why, you might ask? The air pressure in the office had dropped rapidly moments before

You may ask why once more, to which I must introduce you to…

The Second Boss: Ever-Shifting Elemental

Why would this entity have dropped the air pressure? Well, it is presently an air elemental and formed by sucking all the air out of the room

But it’s not gonna stay like that for long

This guy has two actions each turn: one is set to always be at the beginning of the order, and is always used to shift forms

It has a form for each element, and will switch randomly between them, prioritizing the ones it has used the least

Each form has one stat that gets raised: Elemental Attack for fire, Elemental Defence for ice, Speed for lightning, Evasion for wind, Critical for light, and Defence for dark

There’s also gonna be changes to weak points based on form but I haven’t sorted those out quite yet

Heavy focus on elemental attacks, as one would expect

Weaknesses lean heavily on the magical side, as one would also expect

This would probably be either an easier boss or one of the harder ones depending on how far the gimmick is taken

Design-wise I’m thinking of going the route of making it vaguely humanoid with six different faces where the head would be, each of them corresponding to an element and growing in size when their form is active

The body would be prismatic light in a similar vein to the One True Magic, or maybe just match whichever form is currently up

Not a ton of notes on this guy I just think they’re neat

After the boss is defeated it blasts out multiple bursts of magical energy in a cool explosion (Yes this is necessary)

Tyrri rushes to the professor’s side and shakes him awake

He’s largely unharmed, but very rattled

“I’ll admit to you, Tyrri. I’m not qualified for this job. I’m a researcher, not a professor. It was acceptable for a while, but now it’s just… it’s too much. My students are growing beyond the point where I can help them, my experiments are a mess, and now someone’s disappeared, and-”

“I’m sorry, WHAT?”

“One of the students that went to the Farlands the same time as you, Ms. Catena Novi. The Aegir siblings contacted me a few days before you arrived that she had disappeared entirely from Seekersgate, and I don’t know what to do.”

Well shit

Tyrri helps the professor to his feet and says that we’re going to take this one step at a time and clean up a bit

He’s not a fraud, he’s not a hack or whatever he thinks about himself

He’s taught her just about everything she knows of magic

Even if he’s not officially qualified, he still has a talent for teaching and certainly a talent for magic

Case and point: how the hell did you summon that elemental

What was that thing

Maybe if its not never-before-seen, it’s certainly unprecedented and to be researched further

As the two start cleaning up, they notice a strange phenomenon: the vials of cave water, which initially had a pinkish glow to them, are now glowing red, purple, green, and blue

Notably, those are the colours of elemental Fire, Darkness, Wind, and Ice

After a little inspection, it appears that the magic in the water itself remains non-elemental

The crystal shards inside, on the other hand, have taken on elemental properties

Fascinating…

A bit more experimentation with the other two elements later (Tyrri needs some help with Light, she isn’t good with that magic), a few conclusions have been drawn

One: the crystals act as a conduit for magic, and could potentially act as concentrators or amplifiers; more research is necessary

Two: a LOT more research is needed on the source of magic lying in the Otherworldly Wellspring; it is strongly polar with elemental magic for some reason

Professor Elber is still a bit of a mess but promises Tyrri that he’s going to take a short leave of absence for a bit

Also, there’s someone that might be able to help with Tyrri’s magical conundrum, albeit not the best option: Headmaster Avery Tasslemore of the University of Whitecrux, in the Hearthlands

Is he a good person? No. No he is not. But he has a lot of tools at his disposal and is a gifted mage, so he might be Tyrri’s best bet.

Plus, the Hearthlands are due north of Cunningsworth, so it’s fairly easy to get to

As the intrigue surrounding the magic of this spring deepens, Tyrri heads north towards the fickle Headmaster Tasslemore...

TYRRI CHAPTER 2!!!!!!

god I wish this was an. actual thing so bad because the ever-shifting elemental sounds SO cool with the way you described it and hnnnghhb I wanna fight it….

I’m loving all the magic research-y stuff in tyrri’s story!!! it’s really cool seeing a scholar like. actually study magic

sorry if this answer doesn’t have my usual like. idk enthusiasm with it ive got a headache and the brain’s isn’t running on full capacity currently…

can’t wait to get tyrri’s chapter 3 in 2026 see ya then iris!/j

[steddiealltheway]

Disclaimer: NOT a stancy post.

After Hawkins is almost destroyed, Steve and Nancy go on a date. Not even intentionally, but Eddie and Robin are insistent on them going out to the point that they both call and cancel their group plans last minute with terrible excuses.

“My car broke down.”

“Robin, you don’t have a car.”

“Well, I’m vomiting but you and Nancy should still go together! Goodbye.”

“What about Ed-”

Steve hears the dial tone and immediately gets another call.

“I can’t make it.”

“Eddie? What-”

“It’s the bees again.”

“Again-?”

And once again Steve hears the dial tone. Nancy is already at Steve’s - where they had all agreed to meet - so Steve quickly fills her in. They both decide to still go to the movies and eat after.

Before the movie starts, they’re both sitting in awkward silence. Steve breaks it asking, “So you think Eddie and Robin did this on purpose?”

“Definitely.”

Steve hesitantly suggests, “Maybe we should make it a date. See what all their fussing is about?”

Nancy just kind of shrugs and smiles tightly.

Meanwhile, Eddie and Robin are definitely hanging out but are sitting in silence lost in thought. Eddie says, “So… we did it.”

Robin just hums in agreement. Eddie nods and fidgets with his rings.

“It’s weird, right?” Robin continues, “We’ve been pushing it for so long and now it’s… happening.”

“Which is… great,” Eddie says unconvincingly.

“So great…” Robin agrees with the same enthusiasm.

They both look at each other and hold eye contact, then they’re both gasping and speaking at the same time.

“Are you…”

“You too?!”

They’re absolutely giddy and high five each other. Then, they’re complaining about how stupid they are to set them Steve and Nancy up and why did they do it???

“Maybe we just want them to be happy, and we know we have no chance,” Robin suggests.

“Maybe we want this date to fail so we can see if we have a chance.”

Robin nods, “That one! That one.”

They both stare at each other and Robin gives Eddie a look.

“No… no,” Eddie says firmly.

“Come on!”

“We are not crashing their date!”

Robin sighs, “Not crashing it! Just… spying on them.”

Eddie pauses for a moment to consider it. Then he’s jumping up and down asking, “Do we get to wear disguises?”

And of course Robin agrees.

Back at the date, Steve and Nancy are watching the movie, but Steve keeps leaning over to talk about how a character reminds him of Eddie. Nancy agrees with him and keeps going on about how she wishes Robin were there because she’d love the movie.

As the movie goes on, Nancy and Steve find themselves arguing about a different character who Steve insists is like Eddie, but Nancy says they’re like Robin.

“But he’s so energetic like him!”

Nancy whisper argues, “But he rambles all the time just like Robin does.”

“Gosh, it’s embarrassing when she does that in front of people she has a crush on.”

Nancy laughs slightly confused. “What do you mean? She rambles all the time. I don’t know how it could get worse.”

Steve shrugs and goes back to arguing that another character is like Eddie, and Nancy shoots back that not every character can be Eddie.

“But Eddie’s like all of them in different ways! He’s kind, brave, energetic, sweet, ho-”

He’s cut off when the lady in front of him shushes him. Nancy holds back a laugh. Steve and Nancy stay quiet for the rest of the movie.

Eddie and Robin agree to go straight to the diner they had suggested going to after the movie. (They took a while to find appropriate disguises)

They walk in and get looks from everyone in the building. Luckily, Steve and Nancy aren’t there yet. They choose a corner booth that overlooks most of the diner.

Robin fiddles with her fake mustache and asks Eddie if it’s really necessary for them to keep their sunglasses on indoors. Eddie says yes and fights to keep his hair to stay up in his bucket hat. Robin has a matching one that looks unfairly good on her.

Robin fiddles with her black trench coat - curtesy of the deepest depths of Eddie’s closet. Eddie tugs at the flannel Robin made him wear with just a plain black shirt and no extra layers. He moves to fidget with his rings until he realizes they’re not there.

They both feel uncomfortable, but they’re buzzing with anticipation. A waitress comes by to take their order, not slightly phased by the weirdness.

When their food arrives along with two large milkshakes - they deserve it if they’re going to sit through this - Steve and Nancy arrive at the diner. They’re already laughing about something.

Eddie and Robin both go for their milkshakes needing the support.

Steve and Nancy sit at a table next to their booth without paying Eddie or Robin any attention.

“I’m just saying,” Steve starts, “Robin would be the first to die on a deserted island.”

Robin fights the urge to throw a fry at Steve.

“And I think it would be Eddie.”

Eddie aggressively shoves a handful of fries in his mouth to keep himself quiet.

“There’s no way Eddie would sacrifice himself for me so quickly. Robin would totally do it for you though,” Steve says causally.

Nancy shakes her head, “Robin would be more resourceful than that. If anything, I would be the one sacrificing myself for her.”

“I would probably do the same for Eddie.”

Eddie and Robin look at each other, not knowing at all how to interpret the conversation.

“I will say, Nance.” Eddie flinches at the nickname. “I was a bit offended when you chose Robin over me.”

Nancy laughs, “You chose Eddie to be the only one on the island with you first!”

“Touché,” Steve says and then the same waitress is taking their orders.

Eddie and Robin turn bright red and start shoving food into their mouths, not knowing what else to do.

“So, I was thinking about Eddie-”

“I was wondering about Robin-”

Steve and Nancy laugh and Steve gestures for Nancy to go first.

“I was wondering about Robin’s obsession to get us together, but I’ve never seen her with anyone. I was just… I don’t know. Wondering if we should try to set her up.”

Steve huffs out, “I was thinking the same thing about Eddie!”

Eddie and Robin exchange worried eye contact. This can’t possibly be happening.

Nancy comments, “I know someone that would be perfect for Robin. And someone who would probably be a great fit for Eddie. I could see what I can do.”

Steve smiles tightly and nods. The waitress arrives with their food. They both thank her and eat in silence.

Robin kicks Eddie’s shoe and cocks her head towards the door. Eddie throws his hands up trying to ask how they could possibly sneak past the pair without them noticing.

“Why does that feel so wrong?” Steve asks, effectively cutting off Robin and Eddie’s silent conversation.

“It does.” Nancy confirms. She fidgets with a french fry and quietly - but not quietly enough that Eddie and Robin can’t hear - says, “Because maybe you like Eddie.”

Steve replies, “And maybe you like Robin.”

Nancy looks slightly teary eyed and nods at Steve. He reaches out and grabs her hand and says, “I think we definitely do.”

Eddie chokes on his milkshake. Full on spluttering and coughing. Robin gasps and tries to put her hands over his mouth, but she ends up knocking her milkshake over in the rush.

Eddie’s coughing dies down and he winces at Robin. They both turn towards Nancy and Steve who are staring back at them with their jaws dropped.

The pairs hold eye contact for a few awkward moments.

“Wanna join the booth?” Eddie asks, breaking the frozen tension.

Steve groans and puts his head in his hands. Nancy grabs a plethora of napkins and wipes up Robin’s mess - luckily, Robin had already drunk most of it in a stress induced haze.

Steve and Nancy actually move their food to the booth.

Eddie sheepishly takes off his sunglasses and his hair tumbles out of the bucket hat when Steve takes it off.

Nancy peels off Robin’s fake mustache gently and says, “Really?” Robin shrugs and takes off her sunglasses but leaves the hat on.

Steve looks back and forth between Eddie and Robin and asks, “So you heard all of that.”

Robin looks down at the table and rambles, “I mean maybe not all of it. Just most. A lot. Maybe almost all of it...”

“We missed that last part though,” Eddie says with a big smile. “I think you’ll have to say it again.”

“Did you actually?” Steve asks sounding panicked and relieved at the same time.

Eddie reaches out for Steve’s hand and laces their fingers together. “No.”

Nancy leans over to Robin and says, “So I heard you ramble around people you like.” Which ends up making Robin ramble at the speed of light, and Nancy kisses her on the cheek which makes her short circuit and not able to speak. 

“So why did you guys try to set us up?” Nancy asks.

“Why did you guys try to set us up?” Eddie fires back.

Steve responds, “Because we wanted to see you happy. Was that the reason you two did it?”

Eddie and Robin make sheepish eye contact. “Yeah, for sure,” Eddie says and Robin just nods along.

Later that night, Robin tells Nancy the truth and she just rolls her eyes and kisses her.

When Eddie tells Steve the truth, dramatically claiming that he set him up for failure all along. Steve replies that it wasn’t truly failure if he got him in the end.

[dreamcatchers-husband]

Renewed

Male reader x Itzy Shin Yuna

Length: 7400+

Tags: Virgin, Facial

A/N: i need to give out to @worldsover​ for Co-writing this story, the amount of help he gave me for this one is massive so make sure to thank him for this one and check out his stuff as well. I am excited to post this one, not sure how many will want to read it but thank you ahead of time.

The school halls had this grating echo, and you were glad to be gone soon. All your fellow students talked about for the past few months was prom this and prom that. Girls went on about the dresses they bought and the limos they rented; guys rambled about their promposals and afterparties. Right now, a group of classmates is loudly arguing about table seating. You couldn’t care less. The one girl you wanted to go with was already taken. Inevitable. Shin Yuna was the girl of every guy’s dreams, a stunning visual, a kind soul.

Inevitable too was the fact that you would fall for her, even if it didn’t start that way. You were just neighbors at first, but then you became friends like no other. Considering how much time you spent with her, that friendship could only bloom into infatuation. So as the years went by, you held in your feelings, until senior year when you grew brave enough to confess.

That was months ago. You wanted to forget about it.

“Hey, Oppa, what’s with the flower?” Yuna tilted her head and of course, she looked adorable with such a simple gesture. “Actually, before you say that, I wanted to let you know something.”

“What’s up?” you replied.

“Well, I have a boyfriend now! I want you guys to get along.”

The flower might as well have withered right then and there as your heart did. Another guy walked up next to her and held her hand.

“This is Ryan,” Yuna said, “and I hope you guys can be friends.”

Safe to say, that did not happen. As her friend first, you tried getting along with Ryan but from what you heard, he seemed like the type to just date a girl and move on quickly, so you always had your reservations.

When you take your lunch out of your bag, you notice that you still have that flower in your backpack right now. You never bothered to throw it out, even as it’s rotting inside its plastic wrap.

“Oppa!” Well, there goes the peaceful meal. Yuna runs over to you.

“Hey, Yuna, what’s up?”

She puts a piece of paper on the table; you quickly recognize it’s a ticket.

“Yuna, I already said, I don’t care for prom. I don’t want to go, and I don’t even have a date!”

“Well… I found you one! So you will be going. I need my best friend at prom with me.” Yuna looks up at you with her famous puppy dog eyes, knowing your weakness and melting your resolve.

Your initial reaction to reject her becomes a slow nod.

Yuna jumps up and down in excitement. “Okay, so your date will be at your home an hour before prom. She will be wearing red so make sure to match!”

You’re brought to silence by her hyperactive energy, so before you can open your mouth, she’s gone. Looks like you’re going to prom then.

The next week goes by quickly: you get your tux; you find a tie that matches the red your date will be wearing; you buy a corsage with a red flower.

“I swear these things are a scam. I really paid forty dollars for a flower.” The worst part is that the red flower reminds you of something—you should really throw that thing out of your bag.

You stand alone at home waiting for your date to arrive. Your parents could not be at home to watch you go off with your date as they would be going on a trip with Yuna’s parents. What a coincidence. While they’re out having fun, you have to go with some other person and watch Yuna be happy with someone else. Yet here you are, enduring it all because of her.

Knock, knock, knock.

You rush toward the door—not too fast, don’t want to get sweat on your dress shirt. Then, you open it, finding yourself face to face with the rest of your friend group: Yeji, Lia, Ryujin, and Chaeryoung. You let them in, but you can’t get the image of one person out of your mind. 

“Hey guys, what are you doing here?” you ask.

“We’ll be taking your photos here at home. Now turn around and close your eyes,” Yeji says.

You turn around and close your eyes as told, only leaving you with the sound of the front door opening again. Then, you hear heels clicking as someone walks up behind you. 

“Okay, turn around and open your eyes in three, two, one!” Lia yells. At once, you turn around, making eye contact with your date.

The flower in red, Yuna. Her dress drops your jaw with how it hugs her perfect curves. As your eyes go back up, you focus on her lips, matching in vibrant color, turning into a smile.

Naturally, you’re dumbfounded. Your first reaction is a stumbling step backward. “W-wait, Yuna? What about Ryan?” 

“Can we not talk about him right now please?” Yuna steps closer. 

After you carefully place the corsage on her hand, trying your best not to get sweat on her, she puts a boutonniere on your tux jacket. 

“Alright, you two, let’s get some pictures!” Ryujin yells.

You and Yuna stand next to each other and smile at the camera. Even in the corner of your eye, you know her smile is dazzling; meanwhile, all you want is to avoid looking like a nervous wreck. Luckily, you do get the courage to at least hold her waist.

After a few clicks of the camera, Chaeryoung speaks up, “Hug her from the back! It’ll look amazing in the photos.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth between Chaeryeong in front of you, Yuna next to you, and the floor below you. Though Yuna has a subtle blush, she nods in approval, so you get behind her and wrap your arms around her waist. The group continues to take pictures, but you’re not focused on that at all. Not wanting Yuna to notice how fast your heart is beating, you leave a sliver of space as you hug her. 

You can only let go of your deeply held breath when Lia gives you an OK sign. 

“Alright, we’ll be heading home,” Lia says as the other girls put away the cameras. 

Yeji pushes the two of you out of the door toward the limo. “Have fun at prom!”

“Did I just get kicked out of my own home?” you ask.

Yuna giggles. “Oh, they’re probably gonna go to their own party later. Come on, let’s go!”

Reaching out your arm, you offer it to Yuna who grabs on as you make your way to the waiting black limousine. You both step inside, immediately amazed at the luxury of the interior. You’ve seen limos in shows before, but that doesn’t compare to the actual experience—sitting on leather seats with legroom for days, unlimited (soft) drinks in fancy glasses, the atmospheric lights. Though the two of you are giddy at first, gushing about all the features of the limo, you both fall silent. 

Can’t ignore the fact that Yuna hasn’t let go of your arm.

“Dad got the limo for us. It was supposed to be for just me and…” Yuna trails off, still holding on to you. Maybe it isn’t as big of a deal for her. She’s always been touchy with people she’s close to.

“What happened?” You pull back. “Sorry, I know you don’t wanna—”

“No, it’s fine. I caught that asshole with another girl when I went to surprise him at his house, so I ended things on the spot. So when I had an extra ticket for prom, I knew I had to bring my best friend with me.”

Right. Best friend. That’s all.

You feign happiness anyway—but it’s not even that feigned since you’re still going to prom with the most beautiful woman at the end of the day. With a smile and a hug, you say, “Well, screw him! We’ll have fun on our own!”

Something about the way Yuna said that… no, you're imagining things.

After the drive, you arrive at the venue with its tall doors and architectural columns. The driver opens the door and you step out first. You help Yuna step out, and you notice all eyes on the two of you. You and Yuna continue to walk toward the entrance and hear the whispers:

“Those two? I thought she rejected him?”

“Wasn’t she dating Ryan?”

Once again, useless echoes. You pay it no mind. Finally, you enter the banquet hall, passing the photoshoot area as the music grows louder. Yuna spots the table, so you follow her. You’re lucky that you two get your own table, not needing to sit with a random group.

The night starts as food is placed out for everyone, some well-presented salmon and vegetables. Despite all the people in the venue, you only pay attention to Yuna's smiling and laughing. You both reminisce about school, notably ignoring the last few months. Finally, music starts to play again, and people get up to dance while tables are being cleared. You’re both sitting and watching at first. You were hesitant to join the crowd because of your two left feet. However, you promised Yuna a fun prom, so you get up.

“Come on, Yuna. Let’s dance.” You offer your hand, and she jumps up, then pulls you to the dance floor. 

Fortunately, no one’s worrying about you bouncing and stepping around awkwardly since Yuna is killing it on the dance floor. Her impressive moves combined with her stunning beauty puts all the attention on her. Soon, she chills down with the dancing and gets closer to you as the crowd grows. Yuna grabs your hands and makes you hold her just as you did earlier during the picture but this time, there’s no space between you two. She starts moving seductively, swaying her hips, subtly grinding against you.

You’re shocked, but you go along with the flow. Spin Yuna around so that the two of you are face to face. She matches your huge smile.

After a few more minutes of dancing, a slow ballad begins, and more couples come out to the dance floor while everyone else makes room. You continue to hold onto Yuna and follow her pace. The deftness of her footwork doesn't surprise you.

To the side, Yuna’s ex is dancing with another girl, yet he continues eyeing Yuna.

“Hey,” Yuna says, grabbing your face, “forget about him. I know I did. This night is for us, Oppa.”

You look back towards Yuna, staring deeply into your eyes. Returning the gaze, your breath hitches. “Yuna, I just wanted to say thank you for even dragging me here in the first place. This really has been a night to remember.” 

“Oppa, I should be thanking you. Honestly, when all that happened before, I got nervous about coming here alone at first, but dumb me didn’t think about you as my partner until much later. That’s why I surprised you instead. I honestly didn’t pay much attention to our friendship, and I want to say I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s ok, Yuna. No matter what, I will always be by your side.” 

Left and right, she steps, and you follow. As you’re holding her waist, you can feel her heartbeat synchronizing to the same nervous rhythm as yours. Your faces naturally fall closer together.

Screech.

The music stops.

“Sorry about that ladies and gentlemen, we seem to be having some technical difficulties with our speakers, but we will get it up and running again in about five minutes, so go get a drink and get ready to keep dancing!”

The crowd moans in disapproval. Seems everyone was having some kind of moment.

You release your grip on Yuna and step back; the both of you are blushing. 

“Um, I'm gonna run to the restroom!” you exclaim. You sprint past everyone on the dance floor and quickly make it to a sink where you splash water on your face. “What was I thinking? She would never want to be with an idiot like me. I'm nobody.”

You wash your sweaty hands  and then head back out to the dance floor to look for Yuna, but after searching for a while, you can’t find her. Despite looking around the rest of the venue, you still can’t find her, so now you’re worried.

“Excuse me, have you seen Shin Yuna?” 

Everyone you ask shakes their head, so you keep going, asking more people till someone points out the side entrance of the gym. You run towards it and rush out as I hear some noise.

“Ryan, please stop! You’re hurting me!”

You run towards that noise and see Yuna and her ex, who has both his hands on her wrists. 

“Yuna, baby, I’m sorry. It was a mistake but we are perfect for each other, me and you.”

He then tries to kiss her, but Yuna pushes him away—not enough to release her from his grip. You rush towards them and punch Ryan on the side of his head. Immediately, he falls over, but you jump on top of him and keep hitting him.  “What the hell is wrong with you? She said to leave her alone! How dare you hurt the woman I love?!”

You even get blood on your knuckles with how many times you punch him but eventually, Yuna’s hand on your shoulder stops you.

“Oppa, it’s okay! Let’s just leave.”

You’re still fuming from seeing Ryan put his hands on her and you’re ready to hit him again, but Yuna grabs your face and makes you look at her. 

“Forget about him, let’s go home.”

When you see the worry on Yuna’s face, feel the grip of her fingers on you, you back away, holding her hand. Your breathing is heavy, though it slows down. “Fine. Fine. Home.”

Ryan lays on the floor in shock and luckily, the blood makes the scene look more exaggerated than it is since he’s okay enough to slowly try and get up. You keep your eyes on him, but when he collapses again, shaking his head, the two of you walk away.

You and Yuna head inside to clean yourselves up, then sneak out toward the front of the building to hop into your limo.

“Oh, you guys are early,” the driver says when you hop inside.

“Just take us home.”

“Of course.”

The drive back is silent with you just holding Yuna’s hand the entire time until you arrive home. After helping Yuna out of the limo, you tip the driver. 

Once you’re inside, Yuna sits on the couch in the living room while you go and grab two glasses of water. 

Silence.

You reach for one of the glasses at the same time as Yuna, and your hands touch, so you both pull back nervously. Something so simple as drinking water is made awkward by the tension in the air. 

“Go ahead, you first,” you say. “I’m… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so aggressive toward Ryan. But the moment I saw him put his hands on you, I just couldn’t hold it in. I couldn’t lead you.” 

“I know you had my best interests at heart, but you can’t lose it like that. What if I wasn’t there to stop you? You could have kept hitting him and really gotten into trouble.” Yuna looks down solemnly.

“I know, I know, but I just couldn’t see the girl I have loved all my life get hurt.” 

Yuna remains silent till she touches your hand. “You love me?” she asks. 

This is it. Years of you holding in. Months of bad timing. It’s all brought you to this moment. 

“Yes, Yuna. I love you. I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you. I don’t even have to say how stunning you are, but you also had a heart of gold and stayed by my side all this time. I watched as you became the beautiful woman you are now, but deep in my heart, I just don’t know if I’m the man for you. But I had to tell you the truth anyway.” 

Yuna remains silent yet never lets go of your hand.

“I’m not as popular as Ryan, or as handsome, I know that. so I know you would never feel the same way but I—”

Yuna plants her lips on yours, and your eyes shoot wide open, but you soon melt into the kiss, returning the passion that she gives. Sitting side by side on the couch, you both twist into each other and embrace tightly. You hold the kiss long enough that when you pull back, you’re both gasping for air as you look at each other.

“I felt the same way all these years,” Yuna says, “yet you never had the guts to confess, and well… neither did I.” 

“What?!” you exclaim. 

“The only reason I dated Ryan was because he asked me, and I wanted to try to get my mind off you. I thought you didn’t like me back either. Maybe you just didn’t notice my flirting.“

At that moment, you realize how much of an idiot you are. All the small things add up: asking for hugs constantly, visiting your room for late-night movie marathons, holding your hand for small moments. 

Your jaw is open. “Wow. I am such an idiot.”

Yuna giggles and hugs you tight. “You’re mine now, got it?”

There it is again. That dangerously seductive lilt in her voice, a whole different side of Yuna revealed in a few words. Her hands climb up your back, landing on your head to pull you in for another kiss which you happily reciprocate. You both relax your bodies, though your hearts are anything but relaxed.

Once the kiss ends, you look at Yuna and nod. “And you are mine from now on,” you say.

This time, you’re the one pulling Yuna in for a kiss. Finding the position uncomfortable, she repositions herself to straddle you. Like hungry animals, your lips and tongues dance while you settle into each other’s bodies.

You open your eyes and retreat from the kiss first, looking at how cute Yuna is when she gets entranced by the kiss. Pouty lips, eyes closed tight. You stroke the side of her face and she opens her eyes, blushing. You grab Yuna by the waist and remove her from your lap. She looks confused at first, but it’s so that you can stand up and carry her toward your room. 

After you open your door, you drop the giggling Yuna on your bed. You pounce on top of her and once again, latch your lips on hers, continuing the aggressive assault of escalating lust. Yuna’s hands may have started innocently, reaching around your neck to hold onto you; however, they’re anything but when they start to tug on your jacket and pants. As she unbuttons you, your lips travel from her lips to her cheek, down to her jaw, all the way to her neck. Yuna moans quietly, cutely at the pleasure. Through the sensual high, she manages to take your jacket off as well as your tie. 

You stop the kiss. “Wait, Yuna. This has been an amazing night already. We don’t have to rush into this considering we are just now official.”

“I have been waiting for years and so have you. It’s ok. Let’s make this night one we’ll never forget in our relationship.“

Exploring into Yuna's eyes, you ascertain her sincerity, that she truly wants you. You pet her cheeks before making out again. In this kiss, your tongue pushes forward, and she accepts, parting her lips. When your tongue enters her mouth, you start to chase her tongue. 

Yuna grabs your shirt while she starts to unbutton it leisurely. The build-up is killing you, but you don’t want to rush things so you let her go at her own pace. Finally, once your shirt comes off, you return the favor by intimately grazing her shoulder at the neckline of her dress. Your lips follow your hands, sucking at her collarbone while you pull the red fabric down. Yuna makes small moans, pulls you closer, and whispers in your ear, “Mark me as yours.”

To satisfy her, you add more suction, enough to leave love bites. Meanwhile, the tight dress hugs her curves as you pull it down, the cloth bunching up under her chest. Eventually, you focus on taking off the whole thing, so you pull away and finish taking the dress off Yuna. She’s left in just her bra and underwear. 

At the same time, Yuna undoes your belt, then tugs down your pants, putting you in a similar state of undress.

Under your breath, you say, “Wow. You're so gorgeous.” 

“You aren’t so bad yourself,” Yuna says with a smirk while pulling you on top of her. 

Your kisses end up lower and lower on her chest until your lips are tasting the space between her tits. You can feel her heart sprinting just like yours. Reach around to her back, and you fumble with the clasp—nope—nope—nope, still not right. Of course, you have to mess it up at this—

Yuna boops your nose. “Hey. It’s okay.” Her smile is too sweet not to fall into. She bends her arms back to remove the bra herself, and the impromptu pose only bunches up her tits more.

Saliva from the corner of your mouth.

Slowly, teasingly, Yuna lets her perfectly-shaped tits slip out from under the bra before throwing it to the side. Though that move is confident, a blush grows on her cheeks, and she instinctively brings her arms to her chest. “Are they too small—”

Your mouth latches onto one of her nipples without hesitation while the other gets loving attention from your hand kneading it roughly.

Yuna moans at the suction of your lips. While she shifts around underneath you, you stay locked on her hardening bud, your tongue swirling around to taste like the most delectable candy. For every small motion, a couple fingers focused on her other breast’s nipple, a bit more weight on top of her. As she loses more of her control below you, Yuna finds herself grinding her crotch into your knee.

Her words are interjected by sharp breaths. “Oh, god, ah, that’s so good, ah, babe.” 

At the new moniker, your heart sinks in the best possible way. You move to the next breast, noting how slick with your spit her nipple has become—you really can’t stop drooling, can you? Continuing your assault on Yuna’s chest, swirling your tongue and sucking, you reach for her half-soaked underwear while Yuna does the same to you. Just as she shimmies out of her panties, your cock springs out. Though it was achingly stiff essentially the entire night from the moment you saw Yuna in her dress, the sight of Yuna fully nude brings you to a new height of arousal.

No, wait, another height. Yuna wraps her fingers around your cock, and you’re immediately brought weak with a small moan and a shiver.

“Oh, does that feel good?” Yuna asks as she sits up, prompting you to pull yourself back. The two of you are both on the mattress, on your knees, face to face. She giggles when she sees your deeply-shut eyes, your open mouth, your shuddered breaths.

 You try your best to respond to Yuna yet barely manage to nod. Despite just being fingers around your shaft, something about being her fingers takes the air from your lungs.

Yuna looks down, her big eyes even bigger as she stares, and licks her lips. She sticks out her tongue and lets a glob of spit drip down to your cock. It gets her hands wet, which gets your dick wet, which lets her stroke faster. Your own hand truly cannot compare, especially when she looks back up and gazes into your soul. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” Yuna says with a dangerously lurid whisper.

“Do wh—”

A mouth around your cock—now you can’t talk even though Yuna is the one physically rendered speechless. With her lips wrapped, she makes some cute noises and looks up at you, almost pouting on your dick. She starts bobbing her head hesitantly, unsure exactly how to keep her mouth open, when to go faster, where to put her hands. If a word could leave your mouth, you’d tell her to do whatever she likes because you’re in paradise regardless.

In and out, further and further. Yuna’s tongue sticks out, flat along the side of your shaft as if she has much more oral experience, yet with the gagging and clumsy pushing, it’s clear she just excels the most with her tongue dexterity. A mayhem of choked noises and sloppy spit despite Yuna only being halfway down your length; she doesn’t care about the mess at all.

You can’t say you mind either, but you do want to watch how her eyes bounce around, so you brush her hair out of her face. With your dick in her mouth, Yuna goes from sheer lewd intent on your crotch to loving eye contact, then back to naughty when she winks—probably due to your tip hitting the back of her throat. Needing an extra breath, Yuna pulls back while still leaving her lips sealed around the head of your cock. All her attention is at your throbbing tip as she twirls her tongue around the ridge, which takes the very light out of your eyes.

Too soon, you’re already reaching your limit, but can you expect any more tenacity for your first blowjob?

“Yuna, baby, I’m gonna blow,” you say weakly.

You tap her head in warning, yet Yuna doesn’t seem to care. She builds up more speed, more spit around your shaft, more of her tongue swishing around. The last thing you see is her eyes, wide as ever, then the tension unfurls. Grab onto the sides of her head, and you feel guilty for a split second. One, two, three shots of cum fire straight down her throat, as you cum like never before. When you see a tear from Yuna’s eyes, you pull back while your cock is still pulsating.

However, she grabs your waist and dives back in, plugging her mouth tightly around your dick as more of your load cascades out. “Ohhh, my god, hnh,” you say in shudders. 

While you caress Yuna’s face, she sucks the last drops out before withdrawing of her own volition. She straightens up, smiles, and opens her mouth. An unfathomable amount of your pearly semen coats her tongue and cheeks, yet with the same smile, she swallows the whole thing. Yuna moans deliciously—“Mm, mmm”—then sticks her now clean tongue out—“Ahh.”

Deep breaths. You rub her shoulder while catching yourself and bringing yourself back to full awareness. “Damn. Phew. Where did you learn how to do that?” 

“I have plenty of toys to practice with. The amount of times I played with them and pretended it was you fucking me is more than I can count. I didn’t expect to like the taste that much though. Or to swallow that much.”

You’re shocked at her naughty playfulness, but it fits her too well. You quickly grab her and spin her onto the mattress as you kiss her whole body from her perky breasts, to her toned abs, to her long legs and milky thighs until you reach her pussy. 

“Sorry about cumming early,” you say, “but I’ll give you something in return.”

You crawl backward and place your face between your legs—you could live here forever. Yuna strokes your hair, and your pride is immediately soothed. Besides, it was inevitable with a woman as hot as her. You admire her pussy, not only with your blazing eyes (your seriousness reddening Yuna’s face) but also with your fingers which trace her folds. Methodically, as though your tongue needs to memorize every last fold, you lick and follow the same path as your digits. Around. Between. Every move you make earns a shiver throughout her body. 

Yuna’s moans are soft and adorable, only making you want to give her more pleasure. After giving her thighs a subtle tickle, you center your aim toward the dripping hole itself, pointing a rigid finger and giving her an intent look. Upon her nod, you push a finger inside the soft pink entrance. Though you slide in and out, you take your time so that you can learn her body inside and out. It’s a simple challenge in the whole scheme of things: the deeper you go, the wetter she gets.

“More, Oppa.”

So another finger goes in, spreading her pussy lips wider. Above your fingers, you give deep kisses, making out with the sloppily-soaked hole. Your sampling becomes sloppier too when that kiss becomes a one-sided French kiss as your tongue adds support by invading the needy entrance.

Yuna becomes more vocal with her noises and impales herself into your timid fingers by rocking her hips forward. You’ve been careful with the thrusting of your digits so far. It’s just like the blowjob; you’re slowly learning just how much more she can really take.

Even wider your digits spread, and you see the small nub at the top of Yuna’s pussy; your tongue gives it particular attention. Tiny whimpers turn into less restrained whines, so you become more assertive yourself.

Yuna pulls you closer by the hair, choking you with her thighs, and she can’t hold back her words. “Right fucking there! Eat my pussy, baby, make me cum!”

You’d love nothing more, so that’s the plan; however, you can only reply with actions now. One more finger.

“Mhm, mhm, that’s it!”

Though you don’t know much, you know that if a woman says to keep doing the same thing, you better fucking keep doing the same thing.

“I’m—I’m—Ahhh!”

Soft flesh clenches around your damp fingers while Yuna’s fingers now clench your sweaty hair. Her voice pierces the warm air. Legs dig into your neck—you’re perfectly okay with all the rough treatment. It’s all worth it. Juices from her pussy come out, flooding your mouth, and in rampant desire, you try to drink it all. Yuna is a quiver, yet all you can think about is sucking her pussy dry.  Sure, her nectar is musky, yet in your mind, it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever tasted.

When she’s finally wrung dry, her taut limbs slacking, you back away and watch her beauty in awe as she slowly comes down from her climax. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

Her chest falls up and down to take in as much air as possible. “Th-thank you. Ff… Oppa. So much better than any of my toys.”

You climb back on top of her. To kiss her cheek, to play with her hair, to repeat the obvious truthful praise of her gorgeousness, they’re all to show her how much you love her in the small gestures.

Yuna smirks. A big gesture—she grabs your cock to stroke it.

“As much fun as that was, there is still the main event. “

While keeping your dick in her hand, Yuna leans forward so she can place small pecks on your balls and lick them playfully before kissing her way up your cock. Once she reaches your tip, she twists her tongue around it, getting as much wetness as she can on your member.

“Fuck, so hard again?”

You didn’t even notice. It’s like you didn’t skip a beat.

“Such a perfect dick,” Yuna adds between licks, “and now you can last longer for me.” 

Yuna gets on her back again and spreads her pussy lips with two fingers while the other hand aligns your cock with her snug hole. She mouths the words “fuck me”, but every part of her is already saying that, especially her gaze. This Yuna shocks you since she’s always been the sweet girl next door, though that contrast turns you on even more. 

However, you realize something important. “Wait, Yuna. I don’t have a condom. We shouldn’t do this.”

“Why not?” she whines. “I’m safe today. And honestly, who cares? Just make me yours. We’ve already wasted enough time.” 

You hesitate for a bit but the lust in Yuna’s eyes spreads to you easily. How could you ever deny this woman?

The feeling of warmth from between her legs transforms into wetness coating your cock as you push through the resistance of her plush pussy. Yuna winces but nods at you to continue. Through the mind-bending pleasure, the disbelief of the whole situation, you bring yourself to the hilt. Your arms holding yourself up above her are weak, and you feel even weaker with your face only a centimeter away from her ethereal visage.

All grace is ruined by her words. “Oppa, your cock… it’s so good. I want you to fuck me until my pussy is wrecked, b-but you’re bigger than my toys. Sorry. Let’s just wait a second.”

“No need for sorry, baby. Take your time.” You acquiesce, halt the motion of your hips, then stoop down to kiss her again. The kiss seems to distract her for a bit as she tenses less. Though your cock can physically feel the way her inner muscles relax the more care you give, she’s still squeezing you enough to blow your mind.

“You can go now, enjoy yourself, baby.”

“I will—” Pull your shaft almost all the way out, then slide back in “—as long as you do too.”

Yuna gulps. You take note of that little bulge passing through her neck as she swallows her own saliva—because her tight tummy has a similar bulge that grows and disappears every time your cock plunges inside. 

Soon, you find a constant rhythm in your hips. Your hands explore down Yuna’s fit body, from brushing through her hair to massaging her tits and tickling her belly distended from your shaft’s size. Settling at her waist and grasping tightly, you urge her to move too. You pull her back and forth, and Yuna starts grinding into your crotch, accompanied by needy mewls.

“That’s right, keep fucking me, harder, har… derrr, ugh!”

Don’t need to be told twice. You burn through your stamina, through the enticing tightness, and pound into Yuna faster now, earning more short gasps.  Her walls tense up again as you continue to build up speed, but before your mind can process it, Yuna wraps her arms around your neck and greedily kisses you.

When Yuna releases the lip-lock, she shouts, “Right there! Don’t you dare fucking stop!” 

You realize your cock is pistoning into Yuna at such an angle that each shove pulls a yelp out of her. Whenever you graze that soft patch with your tip, her legs tremble: you’ve found her G-spot. Maybe. Whatever you’re doing is working, and every little reaction makes you want to impale Yuna with more strength.

“Fuck, Yuna, your pussy is the best!” 

Her hands are tugging on your hair hard enough to send tingles to your scalp. “I fucking love your dick too. Don’t stop till I fucking cum again.” 

Look into Yuna’s eyes. They’re not only mesmerizing but laden with perverse love. Of course, you have to keep destroying her pussy. But even more than that, you need to feel her cum around your cock. 

Your other hand reaches down to find her clit. Yuna realizes what your maladroit fingers are trying to accomplish, so she guides you to the tiny spot of pleasure. She gasps when you gesture miniature circles at the same delirious speed as your thrusting, the sum total of felicity overpowering her. 

“Fuck! Cumming! I, I, I’m…” Yuna’s juices flood down your cock while she shakes, her walls getting so tight you have to pull out. Luckily, there’s enough give that you can leave your cockhead between her lips while the orgasm rocks her.

When Yuna pushes your weight off of her, she’s still shaking, breathing like she’s lacking air. After a minute, she finally speaks up again. 

“Wow. Oppa, you really know how to treat a girl right. But I had my fun. Time for you to cum,“ Yuna says with a full determination that invigorates you. 

You pick Yuna up and spin her onto her tummy so her butt is facing you.  “This ass is amazing.” 

Yuna giggles when you peck at it just as much as the rest of her body, all around her asscheeks, down to her thighs—and a long kiss on her pussy with enough suction to make Yuna moan into your pillow. She lifts her butt up and shakes it before getting on her hands and knees. 

“I’m all yours. Use me.”

In spite of all that's happened tonight, Yuna's newfound intensity still confounds you. At the same time, it lights a spark within you. You get up and kneel behind her, lining up your shaft with her cunt again. 

At a torturously slow pace (you don't know for whom it's more torturous), you push your length back inside the slick, waiting entrance. 

Yuna looks back, her drunk expression accentuated with a deadly smirk. “You don’t have to hold back now, fucking make me sore. Make my legs hurt. Make my body remember your dick, dream about your dick.”

Grab Yuna by the waist, plunge all the way inside, no more damned waiting. Wasted months, wasted seconds—the fuck is the difference? Already, you’re thrusting into Yuna with enough force to make the mattress recoil. Her pussy is so wet that it squelches audibly, and that wetness collects to a white cream that dirties your cock, only to be cleaned by the snug fit of her pussy lips. 

Yuna did say to use her: You grab her wrists and pull her arms behind her back so that only her knees dig into the mattress. With your own knees, you spread her legs apart, and Yuna squeaks in surprise as she sinks into your cock more easily. Pulling her back further, you straighten Yuna's posture so that you can plant your lips on her neck. Each ass-rippling thrust of your cock is followed by a kiss deep enough to mark her. 

You let go of one of her hands so that you can wrap your arm around her chest and knead her tits again. “Fuck, I might get addicted to this,” you say through grunts.

“Me too! I, oh, god, oh, fuck, fuck! Nngh, I’m, so, you, cock, big, fuck!” The only intelligible words that continue to stream from her lips are curse words loud enough that the neighbors might hear. 

Finally, you start to notice that recognizable knot in your stomach. Despite your climax earlier, you know this snap will be much stronger, that your load is going to absolutely flood Yuna. It’s the sort of peak that you’ve never accomplished alone—the intimacy of fucking the most beautiful woman in your life turns you rougher, more primal than your wildest imaginations.

“Baby I’m gonna fucking cum soon.” Your hand grips her hair, the other on her midriff to keep her in place so you can pound her as harshly as you can.

“Where, mh—cum? Ass? Tits? Tummy? Just, fucking, whatever, hgh, you want.”

Gasping for a bit of air, you give Yuna your answer: “Get down, I’m gonna paint that pretty face.” 

“Of course.”

You stop posting into Yuna, your soaked cock comes out from her pussy. Stand on the mattress, and she quickly kneels and sucks your cock like there was no tomorrow. Yuna smirks, then brings your dick down her throat—you almost cum at that moment.

Luckily, Yuna stops in time, backs away, and strokes your cock in front of her face. She bites her lip.

“Paint this pretty face with your cum. Don’t leave any part of my face clean.”

Those were the words you needed to hear. You throb and explode like you never have before—that includes just moments ago. The first wave washes over you fiercely, making your shaft pulse and shoot out, hitting her forehead. Each subsequent spurt of your cum haphazardly stains different parts of her face: some goes in her eyes, some on her cheeks, plenty on her pouty lips, while the rest drips down her chin.

You nearly pass out from how hard you came, falling on the bed while Yuna shows off the sticky white mess you made on her face. A proud, ethereal smile, sullied by globs of semen.

Yuna wipes her eyelids, then scoops up some of the cum from her cheeks. She puts it in her mouth and drinks it happily. 

“Yummy.” 

Even though you're absolutely fatigued, you run to your bathroom and bring Yuna a towel. 

“Thank you, baby.”

Yuna cleans her face while you find something for her to wear. You find a pair of matching white t-shirts. When Yuna puts the shirt on, it fits much bigger on her. You lay down and sigh in fatigue, and she lays next to you.

You kiss her forehead.  “That was fucking crazy.” 

“You’re right about that. I’ve never cum like that before. I’m so glad I let you take my virginity.” 

You look at her, surprised at what you just heard. In the back of your head, you always assumed you were too late. 

Yuna sees your face and laughs. That bright expression is the Yuna you remember. “Yes, I was a virgin, I was saving myself for the man I loved, and I knew I had to be honest with myself, that it was always you. I’m glad I waited too ‘cause you sure know what you are doing.“

“Oh, I kinda got a bit… lucky but, yeah, thank you. I’m a virgin too, even though I wasn’t planning on saving myself for you—wait, no, I mean, I definitely was, I just thought I never had a chance because you’re too—”

Lips stop you from further stumbling. Yuna shushes you curtly. “We just had sex, babe. It’s okay.” You realize every part of her, from the lustful to lovely, is what makes her so striking, and all the love in her eyes lets your wandering mind slow down, lets you return the same sincerity.

Obviously, you love kissing Yuna’s lips, but there’s something about her whole face that you need to pepper with smooches, and she giggles as you go from her cheek to her forehead down to her jaw again. She hugs you tighter.

“You know what the best part is? That’s just the first of many times,” Yuna says, purring in your ear. The warmth of her breath and her body wrapped around yours is enough to bring you to rest.

Though somewhere in the depths of sleep, you hear the words “I love you.”

The next thing you see is the morning sun falling on the perfection of Yuna’s face while you cuddle her tightly. Any dishevelment from last night is gone. As you take deep breaths, you hear her stirring too. Though Yuna’s eyes are still closed, she hugs you back. You love the way that your bed, your pillows, your sheets now smell like her.

You hear small giggles from outside, so you look towards the door now ajar and see Ryujin there taking pictures. When Lia, Chaeryeong, and Yeji lean too hard on the door, it opens and they all fall over.

You whisper-yell “Yah!” as best as you can to not wake up Yuna, but she hears you and sits up, looking at you in confusion. The confusion is supplanted by anger when she looks at the girls.

Yuna yells much louder—“YAH!”—and the other girls run back to your kitchen. 

Despite her frustration, or more accurately because of it, you laugh, grabbing Yuna’s hand.

“Apparently, they don’t know what privacy is,” Yuna says with a pout.

You laugh with Yuna and grab her for a hug. Actually, when did they get in? Whatever. Your hands climb up to Yuna's face, caressing her adorable cheeks. “What a night to remember, huh?” 

When Yuna smiles back at you, you dive back into her lips and kiss her deeply, marking your new relationship. 

Guess life can work in funny ways.

A/N- So this was the fic I was teasing a bit. like I said earlier Levi was a massive help on this one and I couldn’t have done it without him. Yuna’s beauty was always something that amazed me so I was excited to write this one and be one of the first few to do it. if you made it this far thank you once again for reading and i hope to see you next time.

[yourmidnightlover]

letting go

summary - when spencer comes back from prison, there’s no doubt he’s changed, especially in the bedroom. 

warnings - cat-calling, inmates describing gross sex things, soft dom!spence, fem!reader, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (female receiving), hair pulling, fingering, aftercare, bit of subspace, fluff. *let me know if i missed anything*

wc - 3,758

masterlist

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

spencer had been gone for almost three months. in prison. he was in prison for three months. in hell for 84 days.

you had visited him as much as you could, remembering the times he would be bruised and beaten each time you would visit him. some days his bruises would be even worse than the previous time.

on your visits, the men in the back would holler and cat-call you. you didn’t mind, as long as you were able to see spencer. but spencer did mind. he minded that those criminals were thinking things about you that only he, as your boyfriend, should be thinking. 

but he couldn’t do anything about it. 

the few times he tried, he only got beat worse. he wanted to defend you, to let you know that he could protect your image, but inside of that prison he couldn’t. he had no power. he had no control. 

you told him it was okay.

“i can handle a few whistles, spence,” you reached your hand across the table to gently stroke his knuckles. “it’s alright,” you tried to ease the obvious tension in his body.

“no. it’s not alright,” he softly argued. “you don’t even want to know what they’re thinking about right now,” he turned his eyes to the table, avoiding your gaze entirely. 

“i don’t need to know. i just need to talk to you,” you whispered softly. “i just need you to know how much i love you.”

“i love you, y/n,” he finally met your eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. 

when he would go back to his cell, or to eat lunch he would overhear people talking about you. talking about the things they would do to you. the things they were thinking about you.

“she’s got a fine ass, too. i would slam it so fucking hard, shit,” a large man groaned, recalling the image of you walking out of the building.

“i’d make dr. fbi watch while i did it, too. i don’t know how he got a bitch that looks like that,” another one replied.

he could only try to tune it out. most of the time it wouldn’t work. he would be doomed to the psychological torture of hearing them mention the crude things about you, unable to do anything about it.

so anytime you came to visit, he would have to mentally prepare himself for the worst. he wanted to see you, he truly did, but them saying those things about you made him want to restrict you from seeing him as a whole. but he loved you too much for that, and as selfish as it was, he needed to see you.

he needed your light heart. he needed your kind spirit. he needed your lifted energy. he just needed you. and if he had to do that while taking a bit of the names and annoyances, he would.

and you knew he hated it. so every time you visited him after the first time you would wear sweatpants and a hoodie or anything that would hide your figure. you wouldn’t wear makeup, you would try to look as unappealing as you could, just to try and make spencer more comfortable. 

but it didn’t necessarily work.

the first time you ever visited him, you wore your normal work outfit. a charcoal gray skirt, a matching gray blazer, white button up blouse, and black heels. that was probably the worst it was for spencer. you heard them hollering from behind the glass, trying to get your attention. you played it off cool in front of spencer, in spite of feeling slightly uncomfortable. 

he knew it made you uneasy, but you kept up your spirit for him.

the last time you had to visit was to tell spencer he was finally coming home. he thought it was just another visit, but he was also in  private meeting room waiting to see you. 

you could wear your normal work outfit to visit him again. 

you walked through the door, a small smile on your face. your eyes began watering from the thought of actually being able to touch him again, to feel his arms around you. to feel his lips against yours.

“you’re coming home now, spencer,” you felt the tear leave your eye, now rolling down your cheek.

his face changed as he came to the realization that he was no longer trapped in that hell hole. his eyes went wide, watering just like yours had as he walked quickly over to you, enveloping you inside of his arms completely. 

the first hug he’s had since he got transferred to the prison. he was glad it was with you. 

his arms went around your waist as yours were over his shoulders, his face nuzzled in your neck, his sniffles muffled by your skin. 

he relished in the smell of your shampoo, the feeling of your soft skin against his, the warmth of your body he’d missed for so long. he relished in your presence.

he pulled back long enough to press a firm kiss to your lips, his hands trailing up to cup your face softly. your hands held his arms right where they were, not wanting to let him out of your reach again. 

“i love you,” he said once he left your lips long enough.

“i love you,” you returned. 

the sweet paradise didn’t last for long because there was still the matter with cat. spencer was troubled with what was going on with his mom. stressed from the realization that he might lose her forever. he leaned on you even more during that time, needing your strength to help guide him through the hurt. you were more than happy to oblige. 

once you had all found his mom, safe and sound, spencer was finally able to relax a bit. you both had decided to have a night in, just the two of you.

you turned on some soft music, and began making dinner together. you hadn’t had a moment to actually breath for so long, let alone spend quality time together in your shared apartment. 

making dinner with him was mostly just you doing all of the work. it’s not that he didn’t want to help, he really did. he’s just not the best in the kitchen. besides, you’d rather have his moral support than him to help. 

so as you hovered over the stove, stirring the sauce the pasta was just poured into, he wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling his head into your shoulder and placing soft, gentle kisses. you turned around into his embrace, placing a kiss to his lips in return. 

“it’s almost ready, bubs,” you said with a smile. 

“smells fantastic,” he complimented. “but i’m also in the mood for something else right now,” he said with a mischievous grin.

“oh? and what is that?” you countered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“i think you know what that is, darling,” he said, pressing a kiss to your jawline with a little nibble. 

“how about we save that for after dinner, yea? i don’t want it to get cold and i’m hungry right now,” you shrugged, releasing him from your grip and turning around completely. 

“well that doesn’t mean i don’t get to hold you while you finish up,” he argued, wrapping his arms around your waist again and resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“okay, well you do that, sir,” you laughed, stirring the pasta once more. “actually, can you hand me the plates, please?”

“of course,” he complied, handing you the plates that were on the already set table. “here you are.”

you both ate relatively quickly, you weren’t lying when you said you were hungry. after cleaning up a bit, which was spencer’s job since you cooked, you had both settled on the couch and were cuddling while watching a rerun episode of doctor who. 

he was laying his head on your chest, his arms wrapped around your body protectively as you stroked his hair softly.

then, he ran his hands underneath your shirt slowly, stroking the soft skin on your waist. his hands gradually went higher and higher on your stomach until the were right underneath your boobs.

“spencer?” you giggled. 

“hmm?”  he mumbled, lifting the shirt to reveal your stomach and lightly kissing it all over. 

“are you okay?” you asked, looking down at the man who was practically worshiping your body. 

“hmm, i’m perfect,” he hummed against your body. he let his hands go higher on your body, grasping your breasts through your bra. you let out a breathy exhale from his touch.

his lips traveled to replace his hands as they traveled to your back, looking up at you for permission before he unclasped your bra. you nodded eagerly.

“i need words, princess,” he ordered, his voice deeper than previous. 

“yes, please,” you squirmed, feeling the wetness pooling at your core as he undid your bra, revealing your chest to him as he threw it somewhere in the room. 

when his lips finally wrapped around one of your breasts, his hand went to the other one, playing with it gently. his tongue toyed with your nipple, his teeth gently grazing it occasionally.

“oh my god,” you breathed out heavily, your hips bucking up towards him for any friction. 

he brought his knee up to your core, giving you the perfect amount of pressure you needed. your hips ground against his knee quickly, begging for any kind of release you could get. his mouth switched breasts when he felt the other one was neglected. when he could tell you were getting close he snapped his knee away from your body, a low groan leaving your mouth.

“patience, princess,” he laughed against you, his mouth coming up to kiss yours fervently. “you’ll take what i give you, alright?” you nodded. “words,” he brought his hand up to wrap around your throat gently, not applying any pressure.

“yes, sir,” you moaned at this new found assertiveness. 

it wasn’t that he was never ‘in charge’ in the bedroom. it normally just took a while for him to get there. besides, he had also told you before how he kind of liked it when you were in control of him. you liked it either way, as long as you were with spencer you loved it. 

“i want you to go to the bedroom for me. you should be undressed by the time i go in there. no touching yourself. got it?” he asked, his hand moving from your neck to your chin, pressing it between his fingers.

“i’ve got it, sir,” you nodded eagerly as he allowed you to get up and make your way to the bedroom. you followed ever instruction he had given you, finding it even harder to not touch yourself while you waited for him. you sat in the center of the bed on your knees, facing the door.

after a few minutes you finally heard footsteps outside of the door. when he entered, he looked at you with such loving, caring eyes you weren’t sure what you had done to deserve him.

“princess,” spencer greeted you, “if you’re not comfortable with doing this you don’t have to act like it for me,” he said in his normal sweet tone as he sat beside you on the corner of the bed, his arm tracing down yours softly. “i need you to be totally and completely sure that you’re okay with this.”

“i am, spence,” you assured him. “i promise. if i don’t like anything i’ll say red like we normally do. i remember the stop light system,” you finished, leaning more into his touch.

“alright, i was just checking,” he leaned in, placing his free hand on the side of your face to bring you in for a tender kiss. “i love you.”

“i love you.”

“alright, princess,” he switched his normal tone into one of dominance. “ready?”

“yes, sir. i’m ready,” you agreed, clenching your thighs together to find any source of relief.

“good girl,” he leaned in, placing another kiss on your lips. when your hands went to wrap around his neck and in his hair he grabbed them in his own. “no. good girls ask for permission.”

“i-i’m sorry, sir,” you apologized. “i just-you’re so...” you trailed off.

“maybe i need to restrain these since you clearly have no control of them,” he wondered, moving to hold both of them in one of his hands.

“n-no sir, please. i’ll be good now. i promise,” you pleaded, trying to convince him otherwise.

“i don’t think so. sit against the bed frame,” he ordered as he moved to the closet to grab two ropes for your wrists. “now, maybe next time you’ll have half a mind to ask permission before touching me,” he began wrapping your wrists securely in the ropes.

“yes, sir,” you nodded sadly, your eyes reaching the bedspread.

“are these tight enough?” he asked as he pulled on one of the ropes.

“yes, sir. they’re tight enough,” you pouted.

“hey, princess,” spencer pulled his hand to your cheek, his thumb gently grazing your cheekbone as you nuzzled into his touch. “this is because you need to learn, alright? it won’t be forever.”

“alright, sir,” you smiled as he placed his lips to yours one more time.

“you’re my girl, right?” he asked as his hand began trailing down your naked body, tracing every curve you have.

“yes, sir,” you breathed out, goosebumps forming from his touch.

“mmm, you’re so beautiful,” he hummed as his hands traced from your hips down to your center, purposely missing the one place you craved his touch.

“please, sir,” you closed your eyes, hoping to feel his hand giving you some kind of relief.

“what did we talk about patience earlier?” he said as he moved his position on the bed.

“i-i take what you g-give me,” you recalled from your earlier conversation.

“so you’ll take what i give you now,” he said as he trailed kissed across your thighs in an upward direction. “i can’t even tell you how much i missed your pretty pussy. how often i thought about it late at night when i was alone,” he growled into your body. “i thought about,” he moved his hand to trail right above your clit, going all around it but never making any contact, making you squirm even more, “how responsive you are. i thought about how good you taste on my tongue,” he said as he trailed his tongue right over your entrance, a low groan leaving your mouth. “thought about that noise.”

“oh, god,” you mumbled as his tongue continued to move at your entrance, occasionally going in and out, eventually his tongue making its way to your clit and flicking it gently. “shit, yes,” your hips were nearly grinding against his face, your arms yanking at the bedframe.

the way he would groan into your pussy, just turned on from all the noises that emitted from your body was enough to send you over the edge as his tongue continued it’s attack on your clit. the only thing is, you needed permission.

“please, please, please, sir,” you begged.

“please what, princess?” he asked, his fingers taking his tongues place and continuing to move.

“please can i cum? p-pleaseeee?” you pleaded, tears pricking your eyes.

“cum for me,” he ordered. “show me how pretty you are when you cum,” he said as his lips connected with your pussy once more, finally sending you over the edge.

“fuck! yesss! oh my god,” you cried out as he worked you through the high.

the only thing is, he didn’t stop once you came down. he kept on going. he moved his fingers to your center and slowly pushed them inside of you, moving them rapidly in motion with his tongue on your clit. his fingers accompanied with his tongue and the way he moaned against your body was quick to bring you right back to that edge, you found yourself falling over it very quickly.

“oh my- please! can i cum? i’m so so close please?!” you begged once more.

“go ahead, princess,” he mumbled quietly against you.

you came with a string of ‘thank you’s’ as your hands pulled against the restraints violently.

“yesss, oh my god!” you yelled as you came down from your high once more.

“good girl, you’re doing so good for me,” spencer praised as his hands trailed up to your breasts, gently massaging them.

“mm, thank you, sir,” you relished in his touch.

“i’ve missed you so much, waiting to taste you like that again...” he trailed off. “waiting to be inside you again. to feel you cum all over my dick, god i miss that,” he growled.

“me too, sir. please,” you huffed out, squirming as he trailed kisses up your torso. “i-i want to feel you, please,” you pulled against the ropes. 

“does my princess want to touch me?” he teased, trailing his hand down the side of your face.

“yes, sir. please!” 

“since you’ve been so good, i’ll allow it,” he complied, finally undoing the restraints. you held your arms against your side as he massaged them, trying to bring the feeling back. “alright, princess. you can touch me now.”

“thank you, sir,” you said as you brought your hands to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you so you could kiss him. 

“on your knees,” you immediately rolled over to your knees, your ass waving in the air waiting for spencer. “good girl,” he chuckled, his hand tracing the curve of your ass before giving it a squeeze. 

before you knew it, spencer was pushing himself into you. it had been so long since you’d been with him, it felt like the first time you had been together. subtle whimpers left your mouth as he was fully sheathed inside of you.

“fuck, i missed your tight pussy,” he growled, his words causing more wetness to pool where the both of you met. 

“it-it’s too big, sir,” you cried as he pulled back out slowly, only to push himself inside once more. “ah!” 

“take it, sweet girl. i know you can take it,” he bent down to moan into your ear as he slowly thrusted into you again. “uh... just like that, princess. just like that,” he groaned. his hands found your hips, guiding them onto his cock even with his thrusts inside of you. 

“oh my god,” you huffed as your face began to turn into the bed, the pillows and sheets muffling your sounds. “fe-feels so full.”

“you’ve got it, sweet girl. be my strong girl, alright,” he said, noticing the way your head nodded in the pillows. he trailed his hand up your back and grasped your hair, pulling your body up to meet his. “words, princess.”

“yes, sir. i-i’m so s-sorry,” you stuttered out, your head leaning back on his shoulder as his hand trailed down the front of your body. his thrusts only sped up the longer he stayed inside you. “oh, yes, yes, please!” you begged, not sure what for.

“what is it? huh?” he moaned in your ear. “want me to cum inside of you? or do you want to cum all over my dick? which is it?”

“bo-both, sir. please!” you confirmed as he quickly pulled out of you just to flip the both of you over so he was on top of you.

his hand found its way to the crest at the center of your body, doing rapid yet gentle strokes to get you just where you needed to be. before you knew it, your third orgasm of the night had come and gone. your arms went around his waist and neck, trying to pull him impossibly closer to you. the warmth and pulsing of your pussy helped pull spencer over the edge soon after you, his release inside of you being something you didn’t know you missed so much. 

“fuck, you’re such a good girl for me,” he groaned as he fucked his own release back into you. “so good, y/n. you’re so amazing,” he praised, pulling out of you as you whimpered from the overstimulation

���spencer?” you asked, feeling a bit hazy. 

“yes, princess?” he asked as he rubbed gentle circles on your hips.

“mmm, i love you,” you smiled dizzily.

spencer noticed that look. the glazed over eyes, the way your smile seemed slightly faded. he knew exactly what to do for that, too. 

“i love you too, sweet girl,” he smiled, placing a kiss to your forehead. “why don’t we get you cleaned up, yea?” spencer’s hand found your hair, gently running his fingers through it.

“shower with me?” you asked, your hands trailing his jawline ever-so-softly, barely ghosting over his skin.

“of course, y/n,” he agreed, getting up so he could guide you to the bathroom. 

he gently sat you down on the toilet as he started the bath just how you liked it. he made sure to add lavender epsom salts to soothe your muscles, which were more than likely sore from the night’s activities. he added a few essential oils which were good for anxiety, worry, and body aches just to be sure. 

“alright, sweet girl. ready for the bath?” he looked over his shoulder to find you practically on top of him.

“yes, sir,” you nodded. 

spencer sat behind you as you leaned onto his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist as his palms rested against your stomach. you interlaced your fingers with his on your stomach as your head tilted to lay onto his shoulder. 

“i missed you, spencer,” you broke the comfortable silence. “a lot.”

“i missed you too, y/n,” he replied, placing a gentle kiss to your temple. 

“can i ask something?”

“anything.”

“what was that tonight?” you asked. “i loved it, don’t get me wrong. it was amazing. it’s just... you normally aren’t like that.”

“well,” he sighed. “i guess it’s because every time you would visit, the other inmates would say things. like... really bad things about you,” he felt tears welling in his eyes from the memories. “and while i was in there, i couldn’t do anything about it. so i guess i was just a bit pent up from the frustration, is all,” he shrugged.

“i’m sorry, spence. but,” you turned to look him in the eyes. “you’re not there anymore. no matter where your mind might take you, you’re here. you’re back with me,” you wiped the tears that he didn’t even know fell as he mirrored that of yours.

“i’m so happy to be back,” he pressed your foreheads together, not breaking the eye contact. 

“i’m never letting you go again.”

[scuttling]

Paper Rings

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 10,191 Tags: SFW, Fluff, Literature, Friends to lovers, Everyone thinks they're dating, There was only one bed, Some angst with a happy ending, Confessing love in the rain, TW fire and blood/wound Summary: Some of my favorite tropes rolled into one cute fic inspired by Taylor Swift's Paper Rings. (lyrics and music) Link to A03 or read below! “Good morning, my friendly neighborhood crime fighters,” Penelope says as she enters the briefing room, wearing a dress that is bright bubblegum pink, with fingerless gloves and glasses to match. You, Derek, and Spencer groan your replies, because you just got home from a case last night, with less than seven hours between arriving at your apartment and returning to the office, and that is everyone’s least favorite thing.

You can’t deny that her typical sunny disposition makes you smile a little bit brighter, but you’re still exhausted, and even your usual extra large travel mug of breakfast blend is barely taking the edge off.

That’s probably why, when Aaron enters with trays of steaming espresso drinks from the cafe down the street, and a striped box of donuts, you act like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh my god, I love you. Thank you, I love you.” He got an array of basic drinks based on everyone’s usual orders, and you scan for one that has something with latte, but he takes one out and hands it to you, smiling when you take a sip and sigh—okay, he’s smiling with his eyes, but you are well versed in his body language and facial expressions, and he’s practically grinning at getting your order (triple one pump hazelnut extra hot latte) correct.

You are not the only one to notice.

“Get a room, you two; it’s just coffee,” Derek says, taking the white mocha from the tray and drinking half of it in one sip. “Now if you tell me there’s a bear claw in there, I’ll confess my undying love too.”

“I don’t know; I asked for an assortment,” he says, and it’s clear he did, but your cup has your name on it; you cover the ink with your hand and take another grateful sip. “I do know there’s a plain glazed in there, though,” he says a bit lower, just for you, and you smile, give his wrist a squeeze, and dive for it before Jennifer Jareau can get her hands on it.

That’s all the morning meeting consists of—bickering and bantering and caffeine and carb consumption—and when the group disperses, you follow Aaron to his office and sit down in the chair across from his.

“Thanks again for breakfast. You definitely raised the morale of the troops,” you say with a sip of your perfect latte, and he shares the hint of a smile.

“You’re welcome. It helps that you’re all so easy to appease.” He flips open his bag, pulls out a small, worn, paperback book, tosses it toward you. You pick it up, run your hand over the well-loved cover, and hum.

“The Call of the Wild—this made it into the Aaron Hotchner Nightstand Collection?” He arches a brow.

“It’s so overrated that it’s underrated; no one ever actually reads it, they just assume they know what it’s about. It’s a great book, if you’ll give it a chance.”

“Hey, you’ve read all of mine without complaint; of course I’ll give it a chance.” You take the last, sad sip of your latte and stand up, point out the door with your thumb. “Speaking of, mine’s still downstairs on my desk. I’ll be right back.”

Exchanging books started as an offhand comment one night, on a flight home from Georgia, when he’d mentioned that he never buys new books, only cycles through the same ten or twelve he’s been reading since college. He knows what he likes, finds something different in the text each time he reads, and you’d found something so profoundly beautiful about that that you’d asked for the list. You wanted to know more about the books that tug at his emotions enough that he’s read them day in and day out for over twenty years with no boredom in sight.

He’d done you one better, said he’d be happy to lend them to you, if you’d like, and that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. Seeing college-aged Aaron’s notes in the margins of battered paperback novels was a prospect too good to be true.

Of course, you couldn’t accept the gesture without returning one of your own, so you’d offered to share your favorite books with him too, only... you don’t exactly give him your favorite books. You purposefully buy the cheesiest romance novels you can get your hands on, pass them off to him while he hands you poignant, classic novels that have won literary awards and Nobel prizes.

Today’s is called Lord of Scoundrels, complete with a shirtless man on the cover, kissing a woman with dark, flowing hair and a light blue dress; you snicker the whole way to your desk and back up to his office—earning curious glances from the rest of the team—and when you drop it on the desk in front of Aaron, you watch closely for a reaction.

As usual, he doesn’t really give you one, just flips the book over, skims the summary on the back, and nods.

“Sounds interesting,” he says, and your heart does a little flip.

He could easily hand the book back, laugh in your face, refuse to read something so clearly out of his wheelhouse, but he thinks these novels are important to you, and he never fails to read them, offering his favorite parts the same way you do for his.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t.

“I think you’ll really like it. Sebastian and Jessica start out kind of indifferent toward each other, but the more they interact, the more they find they have in common. It’s very acquaintances to friends to lovers, if you’re into that.” He looks up with an expression you place as uncertainty, even if you’re not quite sure the reason for it. You smile softly. “I should get to work, but thanks for the book. I’ll see you at lunch?”

It’s been so nice lately that you started taking your lunch outside, sitting on a bench beneath a huge, shady oak tree, and Aaron had taken to doing the same; you both quickly realized it was stupid to sit outside together, apart, so you meet up in the bullpen now and walk out side by side, spend the hour talking about your books or the team or Jack or life in general. He shakes the uncertain expression, nods his head.

“Of course. Thank you,” he says with a wave of the book, and you head back downstairs to start your day.

You’ve become mostly accustomed to the feeling, but it still surprises you a little when all that gets you through the day is thinking about your next conversation with Aaron. A week later, you’re on a case in Pittsburgh, and you and Aaron are paired up to room together. That’s nothing unusual—it seems like you’ve been rooming together more often than not lately, which is fine by you; he’s tidy, quiet, always interested in a late night snack, pretty much the perfect roommate—but when he opens the door and you step inside, the single king size bed in the middle of the room takes you by surprise.

“Uh… do you think it’s a mistake? Or maybe they just ran out of doubles?” you suggest; he's kind of frozen in place, and while it’s not ideal, you know it’s not actually going to be a problem. You’ve shared a bed with JJ before, and Spencer, and even though you don’t feel the same way about them as you do about Aaron, you think you can manage a couple nights in close quarters.

“Probably just ran out of doubles,” he agrees after a moment; he doesn’t bring up calling the front desk to ask for another room, so you don’t either, just hang your clothes and head into the bathroom to change into your pajamas and do your nightly routine.

It’s a little awkward at first, and you don’t know why; over the last six months or so, he’s actually become your closest friend on the team, and conversation usually comes easily, but silence settles over the room uncomfortably as you slip between the sheets on your side of the bed.

He goes into the bathroom, does his own nightly routine, then comes out in his pajamas and turns on CNN.

You take out your book, pay no attention to Aaron, but the longer he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the news ticker on the television screen but not actually watching it, the more you wish he’d just get over himself and come to bed. If he’s trying to wait for you to fall asleep, he’s going to be waiting a while.

“So you were right; I love Buck,” you say as a way to start some conversation, to bring some normalcy to this unusual situation. You hold up the book you’re reading, the one he let you borrow. “His struggle between remaining loyal to his owner and answering the call of the wild—I love dogs, but I never imagined a book about a dog could be so moving.”

He turns back with a soft smile, then switches off the tv and heads over to his side of the bed; he pulls back the comforter, slides between the sheets, meets you toward the middle of the bed.

“I told you you’d like it; what chapter are you on?” He leans over to look, so close it wouldn’t take much to lift a hand and brush it over his hair; it looks unfairly soft, and part of you wants to card your fingers through it, to tug on it and mess it up a little. He probably wouldn’t even mind if you did.

“Chapter 7—I only have a few pages left.” You snuggle more comfortably against your pillow, lean into his shoulder, and move the book so it’s more evenly between you. “Want to finish it with me?”

He does, and you read silently at a similar pace; he reaches up to turn the pages, and you think about how these hands have flipped through this book so many times before, what he might have been thinking, feeling, while reading. It’s a more intimate act than you’ve shared with anyone in a really long time.

When you finish the book, you sigh, let the feeling of reading a really great story envelope you; you turn to face Aaron, and he’s looking at you… and then there’s a knock at the door that startles you both.

He gets up, walks over and checks the peep hole, then opens the door.

“Are you sure?” you hear JJ ask, and he steps back so she can enter the room; when she sees you tucked snugly into the middle of the bed, she shoots you a soft smile and mouths you’re welcome, which makes absolutely no sense without context. You’ll have to bring it up to her later and ask what exactly you’re supposed to be thanking her for.

“So you said the detective called?” Aaron prompts her, and she looks away from you, nods.

“Yes, he wanted me to ask if we could have a few agents meet him at the second crime scene tomorrow instead of the precinct, figured it could save a little time.” Aaron looks confused, like he doesn’t see why this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, but he ultimately agrees.

“Sure. You, Reid, and Prentiss can head straight there, if that’s what he wants. I’ll let them know in the morning.” JJ nods, and looks over at you, and then back at Aaron, who makes a kind but curious face. “Was there something else?”

“Huh? Oh, no, that’s it. I just didn’t want to forget. I’ll let you guys go—enjoy the rest of your night,” she says with a smile and a wave, and when he closes the door behind her, you both exchange a look.

She’s definitely acting a little weird, but it’s late, so you give her the benefit of the doubt.

You scoot over to your side, put the book on the nightstand and switch off your lamp; Aaron climbs back into bed and switches his off, too, and he turns to face the wall while you lay on your back and stare at the ceiling.

It takes about half an hour, but he falls asleep first; you turn to face him, watching his back, following the rise and fall as he softly breathes in sleep, and the peaceful rhythm lulls you into submission, and you drift off as well.

When you wake up a couple hours later, he is on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow, and you are draped over his back with your cheek against his t-shirt. It’s soft, and warm, and smells like him, and you glance at the clock and realize it’s too early to do anything but get comfortable and fall back asleep, so that’s exactly what you do.

The next time you wake up, to light creeping in between the curtains, Aaron is no longer in bed, but you’re holding his pillow, still warm beneath your cheek. He doesn’t act weird when you get up and start moving around, just pops out of the bathroom with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

“Got you a latte,” he says around it, gesturing to the desk and the pair of paper cups that sit on it, and you grin.

“Seriously, you’re my favorite human,” you answer, and you grab your coffee and lean against the doorframe, sipping and sighing until you’re a little more clear-headed. “Sorry if I crushed you; guess I was restless last night. I usually don’t move around that much.”

He just shrugs, spits out a mouthful of foam into the sink.

“You didn’t crush me. I’m pretty solid, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed,” you tease, looking at him over the lid as you take another sip. “Now hurry up and quit hogging the bathroom if you want to leave here at a decent hour.” He rinses, zips up his toiletry bag noisily for dramatic effect, and slips past you, rubbing a hand over your unruly bed head as he goes. The day passes quickly, with lots of interviewing witnesses, following dead-end leads, and bad police station coffee. When Aaron calls it and tells everyone to get some dinner, you all split off into smaller groups—Spencer and Derek go for Chinese, JJ and Emily opt for pizza, and you and Aaron end up at a retro diner with burgers and milkshakes and a plate of fries between you to share.

“I think we should be focusing more on the docks,” you say, dipping a fry in ketchup and taking a bite. “Even if that’s not where the bodies end up, it seems to be where the unsub is meeting with the victims. We could stake it out tonight, maybe. If you want.” You never want to step on his toes, because he is the boss, the leader, even if you’re friends too; you try to be careful how you phrase things, especially in front of other people, because you don’t want your comfort to look like disrespect, however unintentional.

“That’s a good idea. You and I can head down there after this; I’ll let the others know to patrol nearby, in case we need backup.”

He dusts off his fingers and pulls out his phone, types out a text, and you look around the restaurant—the place looks like it was ripped right out of the 50s, with a checkered floor and lots of red vinyl, a shiny jukebox in the corner. Out of place is a flatscreen tv behind the counter; during the day, when it’s busier, it might play news or sports, but you two are the only ones here at the moment, so the staff is hanging out beneath it watching a movie. It’s Titanic, you realize, when the iconic ‘Rose floating on a piece of debris’ scene plays, and you snort, take a long drag of your chocolate shake.

“I always hated this part. They could have found a way for him to survive, too. Unnecessary death for the heartache factor,” you say, and Aaron looks up from his phone to the screen, makes a sound of contemplation.

“I always thought it was kind of romantic. When you love someone, you’d do anything for them to be okay, even at your own expense. Even if it’s stupid.” You look over his face, study the features you know like the back of your hand, and you guess you can kind of see that, but you can’t say that, so you just sigh.

“I suppose you think Romeo and Juliet is romantic, too,” you tease, and he looks back at you, rolls his eyes.

“It’s very much of its time; it's a lot harder to suffer a miscommunication like that these days. And there is something to be said for star-crossed lovers—people who shouldn’t be together, for one reason or another, but can’t help but drift close anyway.” You swirl your straw in the metal cup, thinking briefly of how that happens to describe the two of you, and when you look up at him, you think you see a hint of that same thought on his face.

More likely, that’s just wishful thinking.

“I like the sword-fights,” you say to lighten the mood, and he laughs, and you both polish off the rest of your food and then head for the docks.

Two hours in and absolutely nothing has happened, but just when you’re ready to complain, or suggest playing I Spy or something, there’s movement from one of the shipping containers to your right. You nudge Aaron, point to the container, and you both creep closer, trying to make out the situation.

When you’re just around the corner, it’s clearly two men fighting, but you obviously don’t know if this is your unsub, two random guys having it out on the docks, or what, so you mutually agree to wait until you have some kind of sign that this is your guy. When one of them pulls out a hunting knife that looks vaguely similar to your murder weapon—as close as you can tell in the dark, anyway—you raise your guns and identify yourselves as FBI.

The unsub drops the knife, but fists his hands in the other guy’s jacket, manhandles him to the edge of the dock, and shoves him into the water, then jumps as well. You swear, and Aaron takes off his jacket, throws it on the ground, then his phone on top of it, and looks back at you.

“Stay here and call for backup,” he instructs, and then he jumps in too; you call the team from your comms, get a response from Emily, and then toss your phone onto Aaron’s jacket and follow him.

He, of course, went for the victim first, so you look for the unsub, who is not visible above the water. You completely submerge yourself, feeling for more than looking for him, because the water is cloudy on a good day and pitch black at ten o’clock at night; when you pop your head up for air, you see Aaron getting the victim up onto the dock, and the unsub bobbing a bit further out. You swim to him, limbs aching, and he seems to know it’s time to give up.

He’s winded, gasping for breath, so you keep him above the water to your own detriment, dragging him by his wet jacket instead of cuffing him, because you’re not trying to kill the guy or lug his unconscious body back to shore. You just barely keep your own head above water most of the time, coming up for big gulps of air when absolutely necessary.

You finally make it to the dock, and your team has arrived, so Derek pulls him out of the water, makes sure he’s alright, and puts some cuffs on him. Aaron’s hands are on you right after, getting you up on the dock, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

Despite the warm spring breeze, the water was freezing, and you can feel your teeth chattering. He rubs your arms for warmth, crouches down to look you seriously in the eyes.

“Thought I told you to stay here,” he says with an arched brow, a scowl you can tell is more concerned than angry. You wet your frozen lips and try your best to smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack.”

He looks at you like you’re an idiot, but fondly, if that’s possible, then hugs you so tightly, guides your face to press against his warm neck. How he’s not teetering on the edge of hypothermia is anyone’s guess.

“Your lips are practically blue. Stupid,” he murmurs, but his mouth dusts over your temple in what is unmistakably a kiss, and when you’re able to feel your lips again, you reciprocate, press them a little harder against his throat while you shiver in his arms.

It doesn’t mean anything except I’m happy we’re both alive. Probably.

That night in bed, he faces the wall, and you stare at the ceiling, but you wake up with your nose against the back of his neck. The way he’s breathing tells you he’s not asleep, and when you wrap your arms around him, he holds them tight. Things don’t change after Pittsburgh, and that’s okay. You are comfortable with the way things are, and you love what you have—lunches under the oak tree, the exchange of books, late night texts when you both can’t sleep, hands brushing when you walk to the parking garage, glances shared across the jet. All those things make it easy not to focus on what you don’t have, what you’re not even sure Aaron would want anyway.

You exchange books again on Friday at lunch: he hands you Beloved by Toni Morrison, a book you already know and adore, and you hand him Ravished by Amanda Quick.

“Dubbed the Beast of Blackthorne Hall for his scarred face and lecherous past, Gideon,” Aaron shoots you a glance—“that’s purely coincidental”—“was strong and fierce and notoriously menacing. Yet Harriet could not find it in her heart to fear him. For in his tawny gaze she sensed a savage pain she longed to soothe... and a searing passion she yearned to answer.”

You hold back a smile.

“It’s a modern retelling of a classic story—Beauty and the Beast,” you add, taking a bite of your sandwich. He looks you over like there’s something he wants to say, but he just tucks it under his arm and steals a piece of melon from your lunch.

“I have Jack this weekend, so I probably won’t get to read much, but it sounds intriguing.”

“Well I hope you like it when you read it. Tell him I said hi; it’s been too long since I saw him. I bet he’s looking more like you every day,” you say, popping a piece of melon into your mouth. He smiles softly.

“A little, but Haley says she sees her father in him, and I have to agree. We may have to wait a few years until he looks like me; he’s too cute for that now.” He doesn’t sound self-deprecating, just fond, but you can’t let a comment like that stand, regardless.

“You’re cute; the difference is that kids are cute all the time. You’re an adult, so sometimes you’re handsome, sometimes you’re cute, sometimes you’re hot… it can be hard to reconcile.” This time, he looks you over with something light and playful in his eyes, and it’s something you want to explore, but the timer on your phone goes off, indicating that lunch is over, so you just exhale softly and pack up your things.

You don’t talk much after that—his Fridays are usually busy with meetings, and he leaves in a hurry to pick up Jack, which is understandable.

Emily, JJ, and Penelope invite you out for drinks and dinner—“because we know Hotch is busy,” Penelope says, which has literally nothing to do with your weekend plans, but you don’t correct them—so you don’t linger either.

You go out for Italian, so you are sleepy and full of wine and pasta by the end of the evening, and you smile at your friends.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, guys. I had a really good time.”

“Of course,” Emily says, taking her last sip of Pinot Noir. “We barely see you anymore; it was long overdue.”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I should really try to drag my ass out of bed more often.” You can’t help it, though, that after a long day, your bed and a good book just call your name. You’ve always been introverted in that way. JJ laughs softly, chin in her palm, elbow on the table.

“Honeymoon phase. Give it another couple months and you’ll be past that.” You do have a new memory foam mattress that has made sinking into the pillows and blankets all that more indulgent, but you didn’t think JJ knew about that. And you’ve never heard of a honeymoon phase for a mattress before.

“Eh, I don’t think so. There’s literally nothing more satisfying on this earth.” The three of them exchange an amused look, but your phone vibrates, and that catches your attention; you smile when it’s Aaron, sending you a photo of Jack with a toothy grin and his hands covered in fingerpaint. You look up to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.

“Alright, we’ve lost her. See you all Monday,” Emily says, pulling you in for a hug; when she steps back, she smiles. “And tell Hotch we said hi.”

“I will,” you promise as you hug the other two. You hang back a moment, type out a reply—Looks like you’re having lots of fun without me!—and get into your car to head home.

You change into comfy clothes, drink a glass of water, and climb into bed with Beloved, and at around 9:30 you receive a reply.

Having the most fun we can without you. Maybe next time Jack is over, we can tempt you with dinosaur chicken nuggets and fingerpaint?

You smile, the happiest you’ve been all night—and that’s saying something, because you really did have a great time—and send back, It’s a date. Come Monday, you’re feeling pretty good, well-rested and relaxed from probably too much time in bed, but Aaron looks upset when he walks into the morning meeting. He keeps it short and sweet, and everyone disperses quickly, giving you sympathetic looks as you hang back to try to have a word with him. He clears off the white board, tidies up the table that doesn’t need tidying, and you place a hand on his back, gentle and comforting. He sighs, and you can feel the tension leave him almost instantly.

“Hey. What’s bothering you?” you ask softly, leaning around to try to catch his expression; he looks tired, sad, and maybe a little conflicted, leans into your touch.

“Taking Jack back to Haley’s was rough last night; it always is, but yesterday was really bad.” You know a little about this from weekends past, how Jack always cries when Aaron has to leave, how he feels terrible about it for the rest of the evening, but it must have been extreme for him to still be so upset. “And Haley…” He sighs again, runs his hand through his hair. “It’s like it’s one step forward, two steps back with her sometimes.”

“Why don’t we go sit in your office and you can tell me more?” You want to continue discussing this—that’s what friends are for, and he’s clearly in a bad state emotionally, you think it could help—but he just shakes his head.

“No, I… it’s okay. I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.” You take your hand off his back, lean a hip against the table and look up at him.

“I’m not just your friend when it’s all easy breezy, lunch in the sunshine, talking about our favorite books,” you say with a sad smile; he reciprocates a little, which is more than you expected. “I’m here when things are complicated, when you have bad days, too. The Monday blues especially.” One of his hands rests on the table, and you cover it with yours, lean in to press your forehead to his shoulder. “Let me be here, okay? Even if all you need me to do is listen.”

It takes a moment, and his eyes are wet when he finally responds; he inhales deeply, nods, and brushes his free hand over your head in something of a hug, murmurs a rough, “okay.”

You sit in his office for an hour—which, again, is more than you expected—listening to him talk about his weekend with Jack, how heartbreaking it was to take him back to Haley’s, how he tried talking to her about taking him more often and she just wasn’t sure she could trust him to do what he says he’ll do. He understands where she’s coming from, knows he’s been unable to keep his word in the past, thinks he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt; he hasn’t asked for advice, seems to just want to vent, so you just listen.

“Then I mentioned you, that you might come for dinner next time he’s over, and she was worried about that,” he says, exasperated, and you frown.

“Why would she worry about that? I’ve been around him lots of times.” It doesn't make sense, because Haley has always been nothing but sweet to you; Aaron looks up at your question, and it seems a little like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that part, though you can’t imagine why.

“It’s just different now… because he’s older,” he says after a brief moment of hesitation. “She doesn’t want him getting attached to someone who might not always be around, you know.” You sigh softly, because if that’s all it is…

You lean forward, take his hand, squeeze it tight.

“I’m always going to be around, Aaron. I can talk to her, if you want, tell her that.”

“No, it’s—you don’t have to do that.” He squeezes your hand back, closes his eyes for a beat. “Just hearing you say it, it makes things easier. I’ll talk to her again next time.”

You talk a little more, and he seems a lot better afterward, even if he is a bit less expressive during lunch; you figure any progress is good, but it makes you sad to see him so down, so naturally, you formulate a plan to help get him back to the Aaron you know and love.

At the end of the day, when he makes his way to the bullpen, you spin around in your chair, take him by the sleeve.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” you say in no uncertain tone of voice. “For a few hours. I’ll bring you back for your car.” He agrees with a fond look, and you lose yourself in the expression for a moment, then stand up, grab your things, and walk with him out to the garage.

Rush hour traffic is what it is, and you leave Aaron in charge of the music, which means you get The Beatles and The Who, Rolling Stones and Neil Diamond, and you’re both singing along and so much happier by the time you pull into the parking lot of the bodega nearest your apartment.

“Just running in for provisions—be right back,” you say with a grin, and when you return with two paper bags of loot, he looks at you like you might be his favorite person in the world with an age in the double digits. It’s a look you love putting on his face.

“Do I get to see what provisions you’ve acquired?” he asks, teasing, but you shake your head and tell him he’ll see it when you get there.

With a pit stop in your apartment to grab a blanket and a few throw pillows, you take him up to the roof and get things ready for your makeshift picnic. There is white wine, still mostly chilled; cubed cheese, far from gourmet but no less delicious; crusty french bread that was fresh this morning but at this hour is a little extra crusty; blueberries, because they didn’t have grapes; dark chocolate, because you share a fondness for it; and paper cups for the wine.

Aaron takes a look at your bounty, spread over the blanket, and smiles the first real smile you’ve seen all day.

“Fancy,” he teases, and he takes off his jacket, gets on the ground with you. You pour each of you some wine, pop a blueberry in your mouth.

“No, but I thought a meal—and I do call it that loosely—under the stars might do you some good.” You lift your paper cup and tap it against his, brush your fingers over his hand. “To the best boss, best dad, best friend I could ask for.” You take a sip, but he doesn’t at first, watches you with something simmering behind his eyes.

“Do I get to make a toast?” he asks after a few beats, and you smile, nod, and hold up your cup. “To the only person stupid enough to jump into a freezing cold river after me. To the only person I would consider eating a bodega dinner with. To the only person who sees me the way you do.” You both take a sip, which is hard to swallow around the lump in your throat. He looks into your eyes, then breaks the dark chocolate into slivers and hands you a piece like he didn’t just say the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to you before.

You eat, and talk, and drink, and when you’re done with dinner you put everything back in the bags and lay back on the blanket, side by side, and stare up at the stars. The moon is high and full, shining while the stars twinkle around it, and you can’t think of a single time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“This was really perfect,” Aaron says, almost a whisper, after about twenty minutes of companionable silence. “I can’t thank you enough for being there for me today.” You turn to face him, hands curled up under your chin, and he turns toward you as well. He’s so handsome in the moonlight your heart almost aches.

“You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted to see you happy.” You feel your eyes well up with tears, because he deserves to be happy; you sigh, blink them away, and he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead, rests them there for a long time. When he eventually pulls back, you bring a hand to his hair, brush it back at his temple, and then the creaking of the door makes you pull back, sit up.

It’s your neighbor from 422, who you’ve seen on the roof a handful of times, sneaking away from his wife to smoke a cigarette. He squints in the dark, recognizes you, and waves.

“Hey, 418! You’re not alone tonight.” Aaron sits up too, and you laugh softly.

“Nope, but we were just leaving. The roof is all yours.” Aaron stands, pulls you up, and you grab the blanket and pillows while he grabs the bags, and the two of you head back down to your place.

It’s after ten when you get the groceries put away, and you stand next to Aaron in your small kitchen, contemplating what you want to say next. Your mouth betrays your brain, says what you’ve been thinking but weren’t quite sure how to approach.

“It’s late; I know I said I’d take you back to your car, but you could stay here if you want. I have a spare toothbrush, and I know you have a spare suit at the office, and it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve shared a bed before.”

You’d completely understand if he’d rather go home—you hate when your plans are changed at the last minute, and you prefer to do your full nightly routine for your sanity’s sake—but he only nods, and you lead your way to the bedroom, show him the master bath.

You are in your pajamas, tucked into bed, when he comes out in his boxers and undershirt; he hangs up his suit in your closet where you’d left him some space, then climbs in beside you. He looks over at you, then past you, at your nightstand, which has a stack of books on it—none of them romance novels. You grin, busted after months of book exchanges, and he leans over you to look at the titles.

“Persuasion, To Kill A Mockingbird, One Hundred Years of Solitude—Beloved.” He looks from your copy of the novel to his, which you hold in your hands, and you shrug sheepishly.

“I like reading the notes you put in the margins,” you say meekly, hoping he’s not angry, but all he does is laugh.

“Let me guess: you don’t actually like romance novels.” He leans back against your pillow, and so do you, resting the book on your lap.

“I mean, I don’t not like them… but I’ve been buying those just for you.” The smile on his face is brilliant, and only makes you yearn for him more; things you have been purposefully not feeling are flooding your heart and mind and body now, with him so close, laughing over this stupid secret you’ve been hiding for so long. “And you, sweet man that you are, have been reading them, and discussing them.” You put your hand on his shoulder, and he ducks his head to laugh again.

“Since we’re being honest… I didn’t read all of them. I tried,” he says when you act offended, shoving the shoulder you’re resting against, “but some of them were so bad. I just flipped through, found something I thought could pass as my favorite part, and hoped to hell you didn't ask too many questions.”

You both laugh until you’re breathless—he is so different from how he was this morning it makes you want to cry—and when your laughter dies down you look at each other, sharing breath, two heads on one pillow; is it any wonder you bridge the distance, pull him close for a warm, gentle kiss?

When you break the kiss, you are instantly worried about what Aaron will do—you aren’t drunk, aren’t even tipsy, so you know he can’t be, so much bigger and more solid than you, but will he think it’s a mistake? He kissed back, you’re pretty sure, but maybe that was an accident, something done on autopilot—

He leans in for a second kiss, mouth deceptively soft, and you curl your arm around his back, press into it with lips desperate not to let this end now that it’s started. When you separate, you are both looking into each other’s eyes again, breathing a bit heavily, and you meet in the middle for a third kiss, the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life.

That kiss ends when you yawn in his face, and he chuckles softly, leans over and switches off your bedside lamp; you smile at the ceiling, and he wraps his arms around you, presses his lips to your shoulder, and tells you good night. The next day, the two of you arrive at work early so he can shower and change into his fresh clothes without anyone on the team noticing—not that you think they would really care, but they’re nosy, and a little annoying, so you both agree that’s probably for the best.

You don’t talk about the kisses, even though they’ve been the only thing running through your mind since they happened; you promise to discuss it at lunch, though, and that’s such a sweet, romantic prospect that you think you prefer it better that way anyway.

Only, you don’t ever get to lunch, because there’s an urgent case in Minneapolis, an all hands on deck situation, meaning even Penelope joins you on the jet. You debrief on the flight, hunker down in the conference room, and split up to cover more ground; you barely get to speak to Aaron the whole time you’re there except to be given instructions and to fill him on what, if anything, you’ve learned.

You don’t even make it to your hotel that night, working around the clock to catch the people responsible for terrorizing the city. It takes not one, but almost two full days, and when you board the jet on Wednesday evening, everyone is dead on their feet. You barely remember the flight or the trip home, and you fall onto your bed fully clothed and crash just like that.

Thursday is your birthday, which you almost forgot, and so you assumed everyone else would too. You should have known better, because even if your team can be annoying, they are still your friends, and they love you, so you are well and truly spoiled.

You are treated to a latte and bagels from Emily, purple cupcakes with silver sprinkles from Penelope, a piggy back ride from Derek, a book of poetry you’ve had your eye on from Spencer, and a card from JJ—really, it turns out, from all of them.

“Enjoy a romantic getaway on us?” There’s some kind of certificate in the card, and when you flip it over, you discover that it’s for a hotel and spa that offers couples massages, mud baths, intimate aromatherapy? You arch a brow. “Uh, thanks, guys. Are you trying to tell me something here?” JJ’s face falls a little and she points to the card.

“It’s a romantic getaway. For you and Hotch? Since things have been so hectic lately,” she says, but your ears are kind of ringing and your brain is stuck on the for you and Hotch part.

“Oh. Um. Sorry—it’s just kind of soon, I think? How do you guys even know about that?” you murmur. The two of you haven’t had time to discuss Monday yet, and you haven’t spoken a word to anyone; you wouldn’t have guessed Aaron would have either, but there is a gift certificate for a romantic getaway in your hands, and you’re kind of spiraling.

“Well come on, we haven’t exactly been pretending we don’t know,” Emily says, and you can feel the confusion in your features when you look up at her. “And you guys haven’t been exactly secretive. We’re happy for you, though.”

“I mean, we haven’t been secretive, but we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet. It’s only been three days.” You are met with looks similar to the one on your own face.

“What do you mean, three days?” Spencer asks with a frown. “You and Hotch have been dating for almost two months. Right?” he says, looking at the others, and they nod, but it’s tentative. Your first reaction is to flush, and you close the card, fan your face with it.

“You guys think… You guys thought…” You look at them, then up at Aaron’s office; there’s no way he can know that you’re having a moment, but he chooses then to come downstairs, coincidentally. He’s smiling at first, but it falls when he looks at your face.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” He presses a cool hand to your hot cheek, flicks his eyes over yours, and JJ makes a noise; when you glance over at her, she’s gesturing between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, we were wrong? What were we supposed to think?” Aaron frowns, not following, and you take a deep breath.

“They got me a gift certificate for my birthday. To a spa. For you and I to have a romantic getaway, because they were under the assumption we’ve been dating… for two months.” The way he pulls back quickly makes your stomach ache a little, but you say nothing. You should have known.

“You say I love you,” Derek begins like he’s listing evidence. “You have lunch together every day. You’re always smiling at each other.”

“Seriously, some of the softest, gooiest smiles I’ve ever seen,” Penelope adds.

“You eat together on cases, you’re texting all the time when you’re not together.”

“I’ve been pairing the two of you up in hotels since I first figured out you were dating,” JJ says, and the whole ‘you’re welcome’ thing suddenly makes some sense. “I booked you that room with just the one bed so you’d maybe feel more comfortable about us knowing, so you’d see that we don’t mind.”

“You’re always looking at each other, always touching,” Spencer says. “In Pittsburgh—that was the first time you really hugged or kissed each other in front of us. We were trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was kind of a big deal.”

You look over at Aaron, try to gauge his reaction, but for the first time in a long time you can’t tell what he’s feeling. You can’t really tell what you’re feeling, either. Sadness. Worry. Loss? But what have you lost?

“We’re friends,” you say, even if it sounds weak to your own ears. “We’re… close.”

“We wouldn’t exactly make sense as a couple, would we?” Aaron asks rhetorically, and your heart clenches when he says that. He told you this morning that he’d made dinner plans for you, both for your birthday and to discuss the kisses, what they mean, where you go from here, but that doesn’t sound very promising anymore. “We’re just—”

“Star-crossed,” you say, but you feel like your eyes are vacant. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re stupid for kissing him, for letting yourself think he could feel the same way you feel, have felt for a while. Isn’t friendship enough? Don’t you already have this special bond so unlike what you have with anyone else in your life? Why press your luck? You know better than that. “We should get back to work.”

You don’t look at Aaron, so you don’t know whether or not he looks at you. JJ does, and you can tell she knows you’re upset, but she just nudges everyone on their way, and you take a seat at your desk—it’s covered in balloons and streamers, the Penelope special.

You’ve never felt less like celebrating.

At lunchtime, Aaron stops at your desk, and the two of you walk out to the bench, open your bags in silence. You’re almost halfway through the hour before he tries to speak.

“Uh. I. About earlier,” he finally gets out, looking down at his sandwich, and you shake your head even though he’s not watching you.

“It’s fine. We don’t have to.” You take a bite of your salad even though you don’t taste it. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. You are who you are,” smart, sweet, handsome, tender, caring, “and I am who I am.” Too quiet, too young, too impulsive, too silly, too emotional. He nods, looks at your face for the first time in a while, swallows.

“Right.” You’re due to exchange books back—his is on your lap, yours is on his—and he picks them both up. “I’m like this,” he says, holding up Beloved. “Faded cover, dog-eared pages, scribbles in the margins: middle-aged, divorced, a little broken, barely holding it together for the kid I don’t get to spend enough time with. You’re like this,” he says, holding up Ravished. “Fresh and glossy and shiny and new, with your whole life ahead of you, the whole world ahead of you. You could do anything, with anyone.”

You frown, because this is not what you meant, at all. How could he think that about himself, when the well-loved cover and the dog-eared pages and the scribbles in the margins are all the best parts of him?

“Aaron,” you say, but it sounds like pleading; you reach out to put your hands on his arms, but he pulls them back. His eyes are rimmed red, lips pressed together to hold back everything he’s not saying.

“I think lunch is almost over.” He packs up his things, leaves you with tears in your eyes and a wilted salad and a brand new romance novel you’re never going to read.

Later, he cancels dinner, says something came up, and you go home to your empty bed and watch Titanic and bawl your eyes out when Rose tells Jack she’ll never let go. Friday, you get another case. Weekend cases are no one’s favorite, but especially not yours, when you desperately needed that buffer of time away from Aaron to sort out your feelings and get back to some sense of normalcy. Instead, you’re flying to a small town outside of Nashville to catch a serial arsonist, and when you get to your hotel, you and Aaron are sharing a room.

At least there are two beds, this time.

You go with Emily and Spencer to a crime scene, walking around a house that was once picture perfect and is now all charred wood and ash, and you quickly tell yourself to get a grip and not look for metaphors for your own life while trying to solve a case. What kind of investigator are you? Pathetic, apparently.

You work until evening, and when it’s time to break for dinner, you buy a sad looking assortment of items from the police station vending machine and eat in the conference room by yourself.

It’s a good thing you do, because they get a call about the fire while everyone is still away, and you and a few locals are the first on the scene.

It doesn’t start out bad, mostly located in the back of the house, but you know how quickly these things can spread, and the fire department is working hard to put it out. One of the officers is talking to the family, and the mother is crying, so you come closer to figure out why.

“She said the daughter was supposed to be staying at a friend’s, but sometimes she changes her mind at the last minute and comes home. She can’t get ahold of her,” the officer says, and you nod, thinking.

“Where would she be? The front or the back?”

“Her room is in the front, second floor; if she’s here, that’s where she’d be,” the mother says, wiping her eyes with a tissue, and you tell the officer to stay with them, that you’ll take care of it. You talk to the firefighters—this town is so small there are only two that were able to respond, and they’re both busy trying to put out the fire, but they clear you to go in if you stick to the front of the building and get out of there as fast as you can.

Your team isn’t here yet either, too far out for comms to be effective, and you can’t get ahold of Aaron, so you make a judgement call and head inside.

The front of the house is so eerily normal it’s almost easy to calm your nerves and pretend the back isn’t in the process of being destroyed. You open the front door, run up the staircase, and call out for the girl; she answers, not from the front of the house, but the back—a bathroom maybe? Flames lick up the wall beside it, but you can get to the knob, and she comes rushing out, into your arms, terrified. You weren't expecting that, and you both fall back: your head hits off the floor, but she seems okay, so you tell her to run out the front door and find her mom.

You press a hand to the back of your head, and it comes back tacky with blood. There’s ringing in your ears for a couple of minutes, and then your favorite voice in the world comes through.

“Where are you? We’re here, where are you?” You’re getting hotter, and when you crane your neck up, you can see why: the fire is getting closer, creeping toward the staircase, creeping toward you. You inhale, cough, and press your walkie button.

“I’m upstairs in the hall; hit my head. It’s not safe.”

“I’m coming for you.” You groan. Stubborn man.

“It’s not safe, Aaron.” You hear the crackle of static, hope maybe he heard your warning and will wait until more firefighters arrive—but knowing him the way you do, that’s just wishful thinking. His voice rings out again, and despite the pain, you can’t help but smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack. Just stay put; I’ll be right there.” You close your eyes, drift in and out of consciousness; when you see him, all you can think is how ridiculously in love with him you are, and that you really hope you’ll be around to tell him. You are, of course, fine. Your head is the worst of it, even the smoke inhalation was mild, and the fire didn’t touch you, so there are no burns. Aaron doesn’t leave your side the entire time you’re being checked over, looks serious and concerned, though he smiles when the mother comes over and squeezes you so tightly you wince a little. It starts to rain, making the firefighters' jobs a little easier, and it feels oddly cleansing, after the day you’ve had. Someone offers you an umbrella, but you decline.

The fire is successfully put out, and the half of your team that didn’t respond to the scene responded to a call for suspicious activity, which ends up being your unsub. You are all happy no one was killed this time, and since you’re staying the night again, the group decides to grab a drink to celebrate. You don’t have a concussion, but your head still aches, so you pass, and Aaron passes with you.

You head to the hotel, park in the lot, but you don’t even make it halfway across before you stop, a hand on his arm.

“I need to say something,” you tell him, and he looks up at the dark sky like, right here? Right now?, even though you’re both already drenched. You nod, because if you don’t do this now you might never—almost dying always gives you an unhealthy amount of confidence, which you attribute to equal amounts of adrenaline and stupidity. “When we first met, I didn’t think we’d have a lot in common. We’re both quiet, but in wildly different ways, and I’m quick to trust and let people in while your guard is almost never down.”

He looks a little sad at that, and you realize you’re kind of doing what he did, putting the two of you into completely different categories, emphasizing the ways you don’t belong together. But that’s dumb, so you don’t give him time to focus on that for long.

“But being your friend, Aaron—the more time I spent with you, the more I came to feel like no one has ever understood me the way you do. No one has ever seen me the way you do.” Rain is pouring down all around you, beating against the pavement, flattening your hair against your head, but you don’t care. Regardless of his reaction, this is actually kind of perfect. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you—that was an accident, I admit. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You step closer to him, put your hands on his waist; he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t need shiny, glossy things; you're the one I want—faded cover, dog-eared pages, notes in the margins. I love you exactly as you are.”

He is gorgeous in the rain, water in his hair, dripping off his nose. His expression looks hopeful, and you pray to god that’s not wishful thinking.

“Say something, anything,” you beg, anticipation killing you, and he presses his hands to your cheeks and pulls you close for a deep, passionate, soulful kiss that says it all.

The words are nice to hear, though.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you either,” he breathes against your lips when the kiss breaks. “I told myself it was just a crush, because someone so young and beautiful was paying so much attention to me, treating me like more than just the guy giving orders. But the more time I spent with you, the more undeniable it became. You are everything good about the world—bright, optimistic, caring, funny, sweet. How could anyone not fall in love with you?”

You swallow hard, lean up to press your lips against his again.

“When you said we wouldn’t make sense as a couple…” He shakes his head.

“That was just me chickening out. After we kissed, I was all but ready to ask you to go steady,” he says, and you both smile, because he’s such an old fashioned dork, but god, do you love him. “And then we found out that the team thought we’d been together for months, and you looked freaked out, so I freaked out. I’m sorry. I should have made us talk about it sooner.”

“Classic pointless miscommunication,” you say with a laugh, and he chuckles too, kisses you again.

“Let’s go inside and get dried off; there’s a birthday gift in my bag I’ve been meaning to give you.” He takes your hand, and you head up, duck into the bathroom to change into dry clothes, squeeze the water out of your hair. There is a small, flat, wrapped present on your bed when you emerge, and you smile, sink down to open it.

It’s Romeo and Juliet, a brand new copy, but when you flip through it, there are blue inked notes in the margins. Aaron comes to sit beside you, touches your face like you’re something precious.

“The course of true love never did run smooth,” he murmurs, and you smack him on the arm with the book.

“That’s from A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I know you know that,” you say with a grin. He nods in admission, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, lean in for a warm, loving kiss. When you pull back, it’s with a soft smile. “Give me my sin again?”

“My pleasure,” he whispers, and you sink into his embrace and promise never to let go. The following week, you both leave work at noon on Friday so you can enjoy your romantic getaway. You drive to the spa, and Aaron reads over the brochure on his phone with a tone you find hilarious.

“Mud bath—I’m not bathing in mud. That’s counterintuitive.”

“It’s special mud; more like clay,” you say, but he snorts, scrolls.

“Seaweed wrap—nobody is wrapping me in seaweed. That sounds like a nightmare.” You laugh softly and take your exit.

“It’s supposed to be rejuvenating. JJ recommended it.”

“JJ weighs fifty pounds. It would take all the seaweed in the Atlantic to wrap me,” he says, and you roll your eyes, jab your finger into his ribs.

“But what if I get to unwrap you?” you ask, eyebrows raised; you briefly glance over and he makes a face of contemplation.

“Okay, that’s a maybe. Intimate aromatherapy—what does that even mean?”

“I think it means we do something that makes us smell good and then we go back to our room and kiss and stuff.”

“Now that doesn’t sound half bad,” he murmurs. “Foot massage? I’m not letting a stranger touch my feet, that’s weird.” You look over at him, squinting.

“You literally plugged someone’s bullet wound with your finger yesterday, but someone touching your feet is where you draw the line? Will you do anything on the list?” He scrolls down it, and his extended silence makes you laugh.

“Meditation. Couples massage,” he says, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh. “There’s a sauna.” You think of him, sweat-drenched in a fluffy white towel, and take a deep, calming breath. “I bet the room is nice; did you bring a book?” You smile indulgently, reach out a hand to brush through his hair.

“Yep. It’s called A Duke’s Wild Kiss…” He gives you a mildly withering look, and you lightly tap the bridge of his nose. “Just kidding. I brought To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.” His answering smile is brilliant.

“Are you serious?” You nod, and he gestures to the backseat, where your bags are. “That’s what I brought, too.”

You spend too much of your romantic getaway in your room, but it is really nice; you do the couples massage, though, and aromatherapy, and the sauna, and then you take turns giving each other a foot massage while the other reads To the Lighthouse out loud.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t, but somehow you get to keep him anyway. A/N: Though I snuck in a few parts of a few different lyrics, two lines in particular inspired this fic: 'Now I've read all of the books beside your bed' and 'I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this.' A lot of my fics lately have incorporated books... guess I better get reading!

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