#reputation is so much more than that and always will be

[justmymindandstuff]

Would thou spare a mere peasant a moment??

Imagine Targ!reader visiting the wall with Cregan (similar moment he had with Jace, and maybe Jace is there too, it’s up to you)

And reader forces her dragon to go beyond the wall by jumping off the top of it

I’ll leave the rest to you 😚❤️

jump scare - Cregan Stark x TargaryenReader

summary: you and your twin Jacaerys follow Cregans invitation to the wall. As your Dragon refused to fly over the wall he sees a glimps of your temper. At that moment he knows that you, as the future Lady Stark, will bring trouble into Winterfells halls.

words: 2.691

warnings: kissing, Cregan has a crush (but he doesn´t know it)

a/n: Reader is Rhaenyras daughter and described with black hair and purple eyes// no use of Y/N// English is not my first language // not proofread

I love this idea so much, soo thank you anon🧡, but I had a hard time writing this, so it´s a bit short and I not completely like how it came out

anyways I hope you like it.

Have fun and be kind 🧡

requests are open// main masterlist// hotd masterlist

Cregan shifts from one foot to the other as the elevator slowly jerks up the Wall. The brothers of the Night's Watch and Castle Black grow smaller beneath him. His breath forms white clouds in the cold air. The Warden of the North tries to get rid of his inner restlessness. He wishes the elevator would go faster, while at the same time hoping this ride would never end.

At the top of the wall, he will soon meet the Prince and Princess of the Seven Kingdoms again, of course with their two dragons.

Jacaerys and you landed in Winterfell's courtyard a few days ago with Vermax and Veraxes. And you brought war with you. At the thought, Cregan's insides twist.

Jacaerys made him an offer on behalf of his mother: Cregan and his men would ride south for the queen and support her claim, in exchange for a marriage with the princess. Rhaenyra Targaryen gives him her only daughter as a wife.

Cregan knows he can't refuse such an offer. Nobody turn down a Targaryen offer.

And he could have done worse.

He doesn't like the thought, but he knows he could have done worse. His future wife is beautiful. Long black hair that stands in stark contrast to your pale skin, delicate features, and those sparkling eyes. There is something in it, Cregan can't quite put his finger on it yet. You have a fire, a wildness behind your eyes that Cregan has never seen before.

A woman like you is actually worth his entire army. Cregan would theoretically have to arm every man, woman, and child in the North and send them south to redeem his debt.

But he can't.

He can only send 2,000 men, Greybeards. Cregan cannot spare more, he needs his men here for the coming winter. And like his House words are saying: winter is coming.

That's the reason why you are here, that's the reason for Cregan's invitation to the Wall. You and your brother need to understand why he can't send more men. You both need to see it. Before Cregan takes you as his wife in a few days at Goodswood of Winterfell and thus seals the pact of ice and fire.

"It is an honor for me to be able to fulfill my duty, and Winterfell is very beautiful. I look forward to making it my home."

More than that, you haven't said about your marriage. Cregan doesn't know if you really mean it or if you have memorized these words, because your mother told you so. He hopes you meant it.

He can't figure you out. In the past few days, Cregan was able to spend a little time with you, but he hasn't really gotten to know you yet. Also because Jacaerys was present at each of your meetings, of course Cregan would never do anything that would endanger your honor and reputation. He is a Stark, a man of honor. That's why you two always have your brother as achaperone.

What Cregan has learned in the short time is that you are definitely not a little princess who needs to be rescued from a tower.

You train with swords, fly almost daily on your dragon, can curse like a sailor, and are not too shy to give your brother a piece of your mind everytime he gets on your nerves.

On the other hand, you have a razor-sharp mind, smile kindly at Cregan, dance skillfully and make every move with an elegance that only a Targaryen princess possesses.

You attract him like light attracts a moth. Your attractiveness has captured him, and the fragments of your being that you show him only make him more curious about the rest. He wants to get to know you, everything about you. Cregan can hardly think of you without his thoughts and feelings swirling around inside him like a storm.

A loud crack next to him makes the Warden of the North flinch and snaps him out of his thoughts. Cregan looks to the side. Veraxes slams his claws into the ice of the Wall with full force, her body crashs against it, and the Wall seems to tremble under the impact. Cregan hears you curse loudly in a foreign language, high valyrian, he is sure. Jacaerys' laughter rings out above him and Vermax flies over him before the dragon lands on the wall, noticeably gentler than Veraxes.

Cregan takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. He pushes all thoughts of you and your future marriage aside. One step at a time. First he must show you what the Night's Watch and House Stark do for centuries, protecting the realm before the dangers beyond the Wall.

The elevator stops at the top, the doors open. Cregan allows himself two more heartbeats to gather himself, then steps outside onto the Wall.

Immediately, the cold wind whips around his ears, but apart from a brief shiver it doesn´t bothered him.

Veraxes climbs the Wall, her claws break off large pieces of ice that fall down. Cregan hopes that no one gets hit. You and your dragon arrive at the top and you place Veraxes next to Vermax. You slide down her wing and land next to your twin brother, snow swirling around your boots.

Cregan's gaze shifts from you to the dragons. Vermax and Veraxes, twin dragons you told him on the first evening, both dragons hatched from the eggs in you and your brothers cribs.

The dragons make whistling sounds, turning their heads. They seem nervous. The young Lord finds his own thoughts ridiculous in the next moment. What could possibly make dragons nervous?

Cregan has to swallow and takes the last steps towards his royal guests. The siblings are completely engrossed in their usual bickering.

"I told you she wouldn't fly over." laughs Jacaerys, you jab him in the stomach and then jump two steps to the side so his counterattack doesn't hit you.

"She'll do it." you say as you look over the edge of the Wall.

"Please don't go so close to the edge." the prince's voice sounds alarmed.

"Don't be such a coward, Jacey."

"Don't call me that. I'm not a little kid anymore." the prince snaps.

"Then don't act like one." you say dry and still don't take a step away from the edge. On the contrary, you push your feet a little closer to the edge, the tips of your boots no longer have any grip.

Cregan cleared his throat to get your attention. "My Lady, your brother is right. You shouldn't stand so close to the edge of the wall."

You tilt your head slightly, a hint of a smile dancing on your full lips. "Good thing you'll only be my husband in three days My Lord and only then you can give me orders." you say, your cheerful tone doesn´t match your bitter words.

Cregan feels as if you had hit him in the stomach and looks helplessly at Jacaerys, but he just shrugs and gives him an apologetic smile.

Suddenly, the dragons move. Cregan manages at the last second to prevent himself from flinching as Vermax's claw strikes the ice beside him. The dragons make whistling noises again, Veraxes restlessly lashes her tail back and forth.

Cregan looks at the twins. "Is something wrong with them?" he can't manage to suppress the concern in his voice.

You look at him, smile again as if your last comment had never been made. "Do you know the story of Queen Alysanne Targaryen?" you ask instead of answering.

Cregan tries not to show his confusion about your behavior and nods. Everyone knows the story: The queen wanted to fly over the wall with her dragon, the dragon refused. That has never happened before.

"My dearest sister here thought she was better than Queen Alysanne and wanted to fly Veraxes over the Wall."

"I didn't think I´m better than Queen Alysanne." you interrupt your brother, but he simply ignores you. The prince turns directly to Cregan.

"You saw how well the attempt worked."

Cregan furrows his brow. "So the dragons refuse to fly over the Wall?" he asks just to be sure.

"Obviously. They don't like it here." you say, again your gaze goes over the edge downwards. "7000 feet, right?"

"Yes, My Lady," Cregan confirms. He doesn't know if his uneasy feeling comes from the fact that you are half leaning over the edge of the Wall or from the fact that the dragons refuse to fly over it. It doesn't matter right know. The young Lord has to swallow and suppress the urge to go to you and pull you away from the wall.

The dragons also lean further forward, but their noses never go beyond the edge of the Wall. You and Jace watch your monsters closely as they move. While Jacaerys looks worried, you are curious.

Cregan seizes the moment and looks at you. The winter sun shines on you, makes you glow, and gets caught in your dark braids. Your cheeks and nose are slightly reddened from the cold up here. Cregan's fingertips tingle slightl as the desire arises to caress the soft skin of your cheek.

Would you lean into his touch? Or slap his hand away? Cregan has no idea, but he's eager to find out. Again, he has to pull himself together to come back into the moment. Again, he reminds himself: one step at a time.

"Forget it, sister. Silverwing didn't fly over the Wall, Veraxes will do it neither." Jacaerys sounds annoyed. Cregan sees out of the corner of his eye as he shifts his weight slightly forward, ready to catch you if you trip.

"Just because you can't get Vermax to do it." you say, the challenge clear in your tone and the way your eyes sparkle. Cregan has the feeling that you are hatching something, and the way your gaze goes from him to your brother tells him that it won't be anything good.

"Veraxes won't fly over it either." Jacaerys insists.

A mischievous grin appears on your face, your intentions now clearly visible. "Bet?" you ask, turning to your brother. You say something in high valyrian that Cregan doesn't understand.

The next second you wink at him, spread your arms and let yourself fall backward from the Wall.

Cregan's heart stops for a moment, Jacaerys calls your name, his voice trembling. Both men run forward, but of course, neither of them manages to hold onto you anymore. Cregan looks over the edge and sees you falling quickly. His entire body tenses up in fear. Not only is he watching you fall to your own death, but it's happening under his watch as well. The Dragon Queen would probably turn the entire North to ashes if she hears that her only daughter has met her end in the North.

And he would never hear your melodic laughter again, Cregan immediately gets annoyed by this inappropriate thought.

Suddenly, he is caught by a gust of wind and almost falls off the wall himself as Veraxes flies just a few centimeters past him and throws himself after you. The dragon lets out a cry that sounds angry and desperate. The sound reminds Cregan of a mother weeping for her frozen baby.

"I'll kill her." Jacaerys murmurs quietly next to Cregan as they watch your dragon catch up with you, fly under you, so you land on her saddle. Cregan is sure that must have hurt.

Veraxes spreads her wings and catches her fall, the Lord of Winterfell isn't quite sure how much space there is left to the ground but from up here it doesn't look like much.

He has to take a deep breath, relief flooding through him. Thank the gods you're not dead.

You turn your dragon vertically and fly steeply up the wall. As you shoot past Cregan, he flinches a step back but can't take his eyes off you.

You throw your head back and laugh a loud, joyful laugh. The wind tousles your braids, and the winter sun makes your eyes sparkle. And there it is again, that freedom, that wildness in your gaze. Cregan's heart skips a beat at the sight. By all the gods, he knows in that moment that you are fearless, maybe a little insane, but definitely fearless. You will fit well in the North, you will fit well with him.

Cregan is impressed, he can't help but stare at and admire you as you let your Dragon land right next to Cregan at the edge of the wall. You are still laughing.

Veraxes stands so close that the sulfur smell rises to his nose and he feels the warmth of the dragon. Your dragon blows hot air from its nostrils, accompanied by a rumbling noise from its throat that makes Cregan's neck hairs stand on end. Her tail crashes against the ice on the other side, causing the ice under his feets to tremble. You are sitting on her back and sticking your tongue out at your twin.

"I told you so." you say, still laughing at Jacaerys and his shocked face.

"I swear to you if mother..." begins the prunce, but you raise your hand to interrupt him.

"You're just angry because you lost the bet." you say. "And besides, in a few days I won't be Mother's concern anymore."

Jacaerys opens his mouth to say something, but no sound comes from his throat. Then he looks at Cregan, and his neck turns slightly red.

"My Lord future husband." you break the silence with a gentle voice, and Cregan immediately turns to you. "A helping hand?"

His feelings are completely mixed up, still he steps closer to Veraxes without thinking, extends his hand to you and helps you dismount from your dragon. Even though you all know that you don't need help.

You land right in front of him, so close that he can make out the different shades of purple in your eyes. Your pleasant scent envelops him, for two heartbeats Cregan forgets everything around you. He recognizes that wild sparkle in your eyes again, and before he can react you stand on your tiptoes place your hand on the back of his neck and pull him in for a kiss. When your lips meet, the brief moment of surprise is dispelled by a hot shiver that runs through his body. Instinctively, his hand reaches for your hip and he pulls you closer to him. Your soft lips move perfectly against his, and his heart begins to beat faster at the sensation.

You part breathlessly from each other, for a brief moment you look deeply into his eyes. A smile dances around your lips. Cregans can't help but smile with you, this time it's him who winks. He is rewarded with a radiant smile from you. Cregan blinks, and the moment is gone.

While you turn back to your brother, Cregan has to take a deep breath to calm his heartbeat.

"Brother. It was nice to beat you again." you spit at Jacaerys and lift your chin. But when you turn back to Cregan there is a soft smile on your face, which makes his heart stumble again. "My Lord. Please excuse me. I want to look at the rest of the Wall." you nod to him and then turn away.

The Lord of Winterfell can do nothing but stare after you as you walk along the wall. You don't even have to call Veraxes, she takes off again and flies north of the Wall beside you.

Cregan looks at the prince again, fearing for a heartbeat that Jacaerys will now burn him with Vermax. After all, Cregan has dishonored his sister.

The prince, however, appears more annoyed than angry. Jacaerys bites the inside of his cheek and shakes his head slightly. "Good luck with her, Lord Stark. She only causes headaches." he says then.

"Aye, probably." says Cregan, but can't suppress a grin. Yes, you mean trouble, but Cregan is ready for this journey. He is looking forward to it.

[kqutie]

EPIC : THE FAIR MAIDEN (not so platonic ver.)

CHAPTER FOUR : THE WASHED-UP STRANGER

relations. : platonic various epic characters/reader -- platonic odysseus/reader ; polites/reader ; platonic eurylochus/reader ; platonic elpenor/reader ; platonic perimedes/reader ; platonic odysseus' crew/reader ; hermes/reader ; poseidon/reader

chpt. sum. : The crew get acquainted with your villagers while you discover a stranger washed up on your sandy beaches. You know exactly what to do... poke, poke, poke!

tags. : reader continues being a disney princess ; female, mute reader ; pure comfort ; animal crossing new horizons game mechanics ; the villagers are here! ; the crew are simps ; poseidon makes an appearance ; poseidon is kinda slimey... ; hermes to the rescue, kinda? ; hermes is still a flirty menace ; protective crew ; very protective odysseus ; poseidon tried to shoot his shot and failed ; isekai and transmigration ; fix it fic ; characters know their future ; happy ending for everyone!

length. : 6.8k

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Marshal hops over, along with Filbert and Poppy, all three squirrels snuggling up to your form in an effort to express how much they missed you. Their affectionate words swirl into a cacophony of voices you hear directly in your mind. Were they communicating with you telepathically? 

“How did you all get here?” you ask without a voice, simply keeping the question in your head and experimenting with the communication. 

“We’ve always been here, silly. It’s our island home, after all,” Shino adds, coming up to your sitting form and nuzzling her nose into your hair. She looked majestic with her white fur, pink nose and red horns, you can still see the reddish colour brushing the edges of her eyes, highlighting her amber gaze. 

“But it’s strange,” Mitzi comments, licking at her paws adorably, “something feels different, somehow, especially after that flying man urged us into the storage shed. Is this really our same island?”

Hermes... you think, supposing they’ve been sent here through him. It makes you wonder if he’s also the reason you arrived. No, that can’t be. He didn’t know of you when you first met, so how could he possibly be responsible for bringing you into this world? Perhaps the appearance of your villagers was a part of his blessing. 

“All that matters is that we’re finally together again,” Filbert cuts in, snuggling further into you as the others join with hums of agreement. It makes you smile to see such familiar, sweet faces. You miss their adorable character designs, but it was fascinating to see them as normal animals, though they didn’t quite look the part. Their atypical colouring remained, so they look more like fantasy creatures to you. Perhaps that was fitting; you’ve grown quite the reputation amongst the crew so your villagers’ unusual appearance may lend to them believing that they are your close friends. 

“Cha-chomp! We missed you,” Fang snaps his jaws in an almost intimidating display, but you know he’s a sweetheart. Rather than shrink back in fear of his very sharp teeth, you smile and reach up to lovingly scratch at his ear. In his true form, Fang was a menacing size, but his beautiful grey coat looked so fluffy — you couldn’t help cooing at him and the way his ears flicked in delight from your scratches.

“It’s a relief to find you again,” Gaston comments, hopping up to your legs, where he brings a small furry hand up to pat your knee. He’s sweet for saying that but the obvious mustache the yellow rabbit retained was hilarious to you. He’s accompanied by Chrissy, however, who no longer adorns her pink and white polka dot head garment and leggings, leaving her looking like an ordinary white bunny. It was quite unusual, but you suppose they all look unusual without their clothing. 

“Don’t laugh! We thought we lost you!” Chrissy, huffs crossing her arms. 

“I’m sorry Chrissy, I missed you too,” Chrissy, ever the kind-hearted bunny, immediately unfolds her arms and smiles happily at you. You’ve already been forgiven; she’s never one to hold a grudge. 

“If you’re all here, does that mean—” You’re cut off by a hoot, and you look up to smile widely at a familiar-looking pair of owls perched along a tree branch. The owl siblings are accompanied by a pigeon whose feathers make it look as though he has a moustache and is wearing a suit. “Blathers! Celeste! Brewster!” The bushes shake below and out pops Tom Nook, accompanied by Timmy, Tommy, the Able sisters, and Isabelle. Timmy and Tommy looked adorably miniature, standing next to Tom, who stood high and greeted you with a friendly wave. Isabelle also waved at you, her tail contentedly swishing from side to side. “I can’t believe you’re all here,” 

“We’d follow you anywhere,” Isabelle comments, and you smile at each other. 

“So good to see you, my dear,” Blathers greets with an accompanying hoo. 

“Yes yes,” Tom Nook agrees but scratches at his head almost nervously, “but what’s happened to the island?”

Giving him an apologetic look, you try your best to explain, “I’m sorry Tom, I know it looks quite different, but I assure you that everything’s okay. It’s well taken care of, we actually have an amazing amount of visitors settled here currently.”

“Oh?” Tom and Isabelle share a proud look. “That’s brilliant! Business is booming!” You giggle at his words and nod along, happy to have settled him down. 

“Have you seen the stars? They’re so beautiful tonight!” Celeste comments and you look up in anticipation for any shooting stars but there are none. There was an unusually still, opaque cloud hovering above you, however. Peculiar…

“I suppose they do look extra bright tonight.” Looking around, you smile at the sight of everyone and slowly stand with your squirrel friends still tucked up in your arms. “How about we have a sleepover at my place?” you suggest, earning a cheer from everyone. 

“Hoo-Hoo! That would be lovely!” Blathers comments, a dreading look overcoming him for a moment, “I do so hate the outdoors but can’t find my museum anywhere!” 

“Mi casa es tu casa,” you invite them all inside as Marshal shivers in excitement before pulling a smug look. 

“I see you’ve picked up some of my speech habits. Of course you would. I’m quite the influencer. And you’re too kind, Sulky, thank you.” Marshal instantly recognised the phrase you used and wiggled in happiness from his positive impact. 

⊹ ࣪﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

The next morning, you make your way to the crew with breakfast already prepared and stored from your home kitchen. All animals trail along behind you, eager to meet the new friends you told them of the night before and this morning: all 600 men of Odysseus’ fleet. It might be overwhelming for them at first, but you know that their sweet disposition will make them fast friends with the crew. Hopefully, the men wouldn’t be too put off by your villagers’ odd colours. The only normal-looking villagers you have are Fauna, Chrissy, Fang and the Nook family. 

“Fair Maiden!” came a shout, and you turn to gasp at the image of Odysseus aiming his bow and arrow at Fang (a large, grey wolf) while Eurylochus points his large sword at Boots (your gym-bro alligator). Rushing forward, you open your arms out in defence, shielding your harmless villagers from harm. If you could shout in protest, you would, but all you could manage is a frightful look that immediately makes the two lower their guard ever so slightly. 

“Wh-wha—?” Odysseus voices, unable to comprehend what’s happening, but Polites rushes to your side, opening his arms beside you. He knows exactly what you’re trying to convey.

“Captain! The Fair Maiden doesn’t want these animals harmed!” Polites’ voice is loud and firm, an immediate assurance to you that he was on your side, no questions asked, “Please lower your weapons!”

“But—!” Eurylochus tries to protest, knowing the potential danger that you could be in. Seeing the conflict in the sword-wielding man’s eyes, you shake your head insistently and gesture to your villagers and yourself before pointing between you and Polites. Everyone then watches as you end your non-verbal statement by tucking yourself into Polites’ chest, who wordlessly wraps his arms around you, his resolve solidified. It’s easy to understand what you want to express. 

“See? She’s trying to say that these animals are her friends. Please do not harm them.” Polites voices for you, bringing a smile to your face. You kiss his jaw and hug him tightly to show your gratitude. Polites’ cheeks bloom with a radiant blush but he doesn’t draw attention to it, not even when Odysseus and Eurylochus give him a teasing smirk. The two finally lower their weapons and apologise with a bow of their heads. 

“We apologise sincerely for over-reacting and causing you distress, Fair Maiden. We won’t bring harm to your animal friends, I assure you,” Odysseus looks at you, his eyes flooded with resolve to keep his word. 

“A-are you sure they’re friendly? They don’t seem it at all,” Poppy squeaks and hops over to your leg, hugging your ankle in her short height as her sweet face presses into the folds of your skirt. She’s joined by Filbert, who hugs your opposite ankle with a tearful whimper on his lips.

“S-so scary...”

“How unusual,” Odysseus observes, taking in Poppy and Filbert’s unusually coloured fur. He quickly moves on to observe the strange appearance of the other animals that have followed you as well. Some looked normal, some looked magical, and then there was a yellow bunny who looked like he had a very thick moustache, and Odysseus had to stifle his laughter.

“They are not like any other creatures I’ve seen before…” Eurylochus adds as the rest of the crew strain their necks to get a look, all of them humming in agreement as soon as they realise how different the animals appear. They coo over your squirrel villagers, Chrissy, Mitzi and Fauna, for their sweet appearance. They gasp in wonder at Shino’s divine being. They shudder at Fang and Boots’ intimidating presence. And many had to stifle their laughter when seeing Gaston’s prominent moustache as well. 

“No wonder you protect and care for them,” Polites comments, looking down at you with a kind smile. “Are they also as otherworldly as you?” his words make you look away bashfully, earning a laugh from the headband-wearing third commander. At least he managed to get you back for flustering him only moments earlier. That soft kiss isn’t escaping his mind any time soon. 

“We’ll make sure your animal friends don’t come to any harm,” Eurylochus assures, setting out to warn the back of the crew himself after you introduce him and the first few rows of the Odysseus’ men to your villagers and the other occupants of the island: Blathers and Celeste snoozing away in a nearby tree while Brewster keeps a close eye on them; the able sister nestled together adorably in the bushes; Tom Nook travelling together with Timmy and Tommy, who’ve climbed onto his back. To surmise, all animals that aren’t fish or bugs are under your protection.

After that frightful first impression, you’re happy to find the crew getting along with your villagers and vice versa. Your animal friends are truly so friendly; it’s in their nature to be kind, so it took no time at all for them to find new friends in the crew. It was a fun sight to see. The villagers still tended to gravitate towards you, however. And it took a while for the crew to get used to seeing such animals keeping you company, usually finding them trailing close behind you, the squirrels often hopping about your feet as you walked by. 

At times, it was heartwarming to see you interact with the cute animals. A beautiful lady, smiling, cooing and petting the sweet furry creatures was an image that had soul-healing properties. It made you feel all the more magical to them, floating about the island with a sweet deer following after you with adorable squirrels and bunnies close behind. However, it was more than unnerving to witness you being accompanied by a large grey wolf, a snapping alligator and an albino deer with pointed, red horns, an uncustomary appearance for such a graceful species. This was an initial fear you treated by showcasing how friendly and sweet Fang, Boots and Shino actually were. 

Waving Perimedes over, you smile brightly as he brings Elpenor with him. The two were truly inseparable.”Y-yes, Fair Maiden?” Perimedes asks nervously, eyeing Fang and Boots, who flanked your sides and quite politely so. Though that didn’t matter to Perimedes or Elpenor; all they saw were teeth, teeth and more teeth!   

“That one looks like he goes to the gym!” Boots praises Elpenor as he happily gazes at the man’s broad frame. Unfortunately, Elpenor wasn’t aware that the alligator’s interested gaze was one of admiration and not of hunger, and he tenses up in fear.

“You want us to make friends with them?” Fang asks, holding back his excitement as his tail begins to swish behind him in happiness. “Cha-chomp!” Fang snaps his jaws gleefully, unaware of his effect on the fearful, slightly shaking Perimedes, “Any friend of yours is a friend of ours!” 

Taking Perimedes’ hand with the utmost care, you slowly bring his sweaty palm and shaking fingers to Fang’s soft fur. Fang’s delighted response is instantaneous. The large wolf leans into Perimedes’ touch and urges him to continue petting and scratching his ear with a tilt of his head. 

“Oh...” Perimedes releases the breath he was holding and laughs in relief, eagerly scratching at Fang’s ear. The smile that grows on the blonde’s face is contagious.  

“That’s a good scratch. Mmm~ A little to the left please...” Fang snaps his jaws happily, leaning further into Perimedes’ hand, who quickly grows accustomed to Fang’s habit of chomping his jaws to express his happiness. 

“Good boy,” Perimedes whispers, his gaze softening with fondness. He’s made a new friend.

One down, one to go. You look at Elpenor, who seems to be having a staring contest with Boots. Behind him, Boots’ tail swishes from side to side, and you smile at his eagerness to make a new friend, too. Gently, you also take Elpenor’s hand and softly coax him into petting Boot’s head. The look you give Elpenor says everything he needs to know to follow your lead with confidence and trust in your actions. ’Everything will be okay,’ your eyes say to him. 

“I-If you think it’s safe, Fair Maiden...” Elpenor nods and allows himself to be guided into petting Boots, who eagerly leans into his touch. 

“His hands are calloused and strong!” Boots observes with a toothy smile, “That is evidence of his prowess in the gym! I think we’ll make good friends!”  

“It seems everyone has a favourite!” Odysseus laughs, walking up to you as he’s accompanied by both Fauna and Shino. He looks at them fondly, “Curious how an archer has become good friends with deers of all creatures.” Fauna nudges his hand with her nose, urging him to pet her as Shino playfully butts her horns against his forearm. Odysseus complies by rubbing at the base of her horns and succumbing to Fauna’s gently prompt for pets, “It seems I’ve found their weak spot.” You smile at the easy expression that takes over Odysseus’ countenance. In the days that pass, you find that the crew have grown an eagerness for petting your villagers, who make no complaints; they love the attention and the company of new friends. The crew smile more easily and laugh much lighter than ever before. You liken it to the effect therapy animals have on veterans. 

The hardened men can often be found taking care of and spending time with your villagers in various ways. It’s also clear that many have their personal favourites, as the captain had helpfully observed for you. 

Odysseus is often followed around by Fauna and Shino. Fauna, your sweet and graceful deer with her gentle disposition, reminds him of the elegance his wife, Penelope, often holds herself with. Shino, however, makes him think of his son; she’s more playful and adventurous compared to Fauna, much like his boy, Telemachus. Their presence is familiar, but also not. Nevertheless, they gave Odysseus some much-needed comfort and vice versa. Fauna and Shino adore being treated with such care and especially love the stories he tells them absentmindedly, his guard lowered by their presence. 

Eurylochus, you’re surprised to see, has become good friends with your trio of squirrel villagers. All three have expressed to you how much they enjoy resting on his shoulders and even his head as he walks around. His height makes them feel tall and powerful! Marshal likens it to being perched on a walking tree. Poppy simply loves curling up in his large hand. She tells you it makes for the perfect bed to rest comfortably in. It also helps that Eurylochus often feeds them a share of his fruit rations. Filbert loves it especially; he’s a great lover of food. The tall, intimidating second commander can be seen resting against a tree as the three squirrels play about his gently smiling form. He looks at peace, fondly watching as they play around and on him — he’s become their personal playground. 

“You feed them too much, friend,” Polites laughs while passing by with Mitzi in his arms. “I’m afraid that blue one will become too chubby.” It seems everyone’s picked up on Filbert’s food-loving tendencies. 

“But don’t you think they look especially cute with their chubby cheeks chewing away at the fruit? It feels even more satisfying when I feed them by hand,” Eurylochus points out, and the two admire the way the three small squirrels eagerly stuff their faces with slices of apples Eurylochus hands them, making their cheeks puff up adorably.

“I suppose you’re right.” Polites grins and sits beside Eurylochus with Mitzi in his lap. 

“I see you’re a cat person,” Eurylochus smirks at his friend.

“I’ve always been a cat person,” the two share a laugh. 

Mitzi and Polites have a very calming friendship. The two often fall asleep together wherever they may be. It all starts when Mitzi sits herself in Polites’ lap, and the kind third commander can’t help but coo and pet her adoringly. When enough time passes, Mitzi can be found gently purring in his lap as Polites lightly snores over her, the two of them finding the best rest in each other’s company. 

Elpenor has grown a bond with Boots, thanks to your introductions. Boots had even helped him prank other crew members by patiently lurking in the bath waters and jumping out with a snap of his powerful jaws when a group of crew members came in to take their baths. Elpenor was chased around by those few traumatised men, but he found the prank worth the trouble. He laughed the entire time he was chased about. Perimedes was commonly seen with Fang, the two having immediately bonded thanks to you. They enjoyed each other’s company no matter what they may be doing together, whether it’s fishing, sitting around, sleeping under the sun or eating, they’ve become the best of friends. Together, the four of them have become quite the fearsome quartet.    

⊹ ࣪﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

“Look! What’s that?!” a crew member shouts, and you look to see them pointing up at something in the sky. “It’s a bird!”

“No, it’s a floating red thing carrying a white box!” The helpful description provided by Lycaon makes you pull out your slingshot and take aim. You fire at the balloon three times, but it’s no use, and you watch as the balloon floats further away. With a huff, you shake your head miserably. Why were shooting balloons always so difficult for you? It’s even more difficult now that you’re having to shoot it down in real life. Before the balloon could get too far away, however, an arrow helpfully shoots it down for you. The shooter was Odysseus, who slings his bow over his head and wears it while bringing the gift box over to you. Smiling gratefully, you open the gift before handing him its contents.

“For me?” Odysseus asks, surprised, as he points to himself. You nod, and rather than urge the gift into his hands, you place the purple hyacinth crown onto his head instead. It matches his purple toga. Odysseus laughs and affectionately pats your head as Fauna and Shino prance about around you in celebration. “Thank you.” He silently vows take special care of your gift. He hopes it never wilts.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

You’ve already made the dresses and more for Penelope and Ctimene following Odysseus and Eurylochus’ request, and now you were collecting pretty shells for a little something extra. It would be nice for Odysseus and Eurylochus to craft something personally for their wives too, something pretty to gift them when they arrive home again. It’s not an official recipe you know from ACNH, but it’s a simple craft. An unfussy but heartfelt accessory showcasing the pretty seashell collected from your island’s shores, lovingly prepared for their beautiful wives to wear. How romantic would that be?~ You want to help Ody and Eury be good husbands,so today, you’re trying to find the prettiest seashells for them to craft into necklaces or bracelets. 

“My Fair Maiden,” Polites calls, approaching you on the beach with a kind smile, the ends of his headband swimming in the sea breeze. “What are you up to out here?” he looks at the small collection of sea shells you’ve managed to collect so far, your hands carefully cradling the precious beach decorations. “Those are very beautiful.” he admires your selection, leaning forward ever so slightly as he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose. When he straightens again, Polites softens his voice as he looks at you with a fond stare. “May I join you? I’ll help as best as I can.” Unable to say no, you nod your head instantly. It would be nice to have company, anyway, and Polites was always good company. For a while, you two collect sea shells together with only the waves. There were a lot of shells available, but you were very selective about which ones you kept. Playing ACNH on your switch made the seashells look identical to one another, but now that you were looking at them personally and not in a game, each one was distinct and unique in its own way. Yes, there were similarly shaped ones, but looking closely, they were all very different. It was fascinating, and the adoration was visible on your face. 

That admiring visage of you as you stare down at the shells was something that Polites couldn’t help but admire. You’re too precious. How could he not feel for you? He loves it, especially when you find a particularly beautiful shell and run to share your discovery with him. You’re the good in the world that makes life worthwhile. Once again, the two of you split up to look for more shells separately. Polites looks into the distance when a glimmer catches his eye and moves to collect the shimmering glass bottle buried in the sand. There was a trinket inside that looked like something you would know what to do with better than him, so he kept the bottle closed and immediately returned to you. 

“I don’t have a shell but...” Polites offers the glass bottle sheepishly, not knowing what to expect from your reaction. With a silent gasp, you store away your collected, approved shells and clap in glee, happily receiving the bottle from Polites before hugging him as thanks. Polites laughs and hugs you back, his strong arms wrapping around you tightly as he buries his nose into your hair, where he affectionately presses a kiss into your crown. With you around, the harrowing memories and scars he acquired in the war are pushed far behind him. You bring a rare and precious peaceful quietness. And Polites can confidently say you have the same effect for Odysseus, Eurylochus and the crew too. You’re truly a blessing.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Poseidon has felt a strange disturbance in his ocean for quite some time now. It wasn’t threatening nor dangerous, so he didn’t initially feel the need to investigate. However, the disruption to his waters has remained such a prominent irritation to the point that he could no longer resist ignoring it. He sets off to investigate the peculiarity in the early morning, hoping to finish his search as soon as possible. 

When he approaches, Poseidon raises a brow. He doesn’t remember such a large island being located in this part of his ocean. It’s not even one he recognises; he’s never seen such greenery or landscapes. Suddenly, there’s movement behind the trees lining the perimeter of the island, beyond the shady beaches, and the sea god ducks into the ocean. Perhaps glimpsing a creature that occupies the island will give him some idea of its mysterious origins. 

Stepping out of the tree line, you move to the sands to continue your sea shell search for Odysseus and Eurylochus just before you meet the crew for breakfast, blissfully unaware of the fascinated stare pinning you down from the God of the sea. As Poseidon stays hidden amongst the waves, he smirks to himself, his eyes tracing your delicious curves, sweetly dressed in the loveliest dress he’s ever seen. He appreciates your silhouette thoroughly until his gaze finally lands on your beautiful face. What a beauty you are. Such a fine treasure he’s found within his ocean. He should have investigated the mysterious island sooner. You appear so sweet and kind too, delicately picking up different seashells, appearing very selective of which ones you should keep for your precious hoard. 

The new island no longer annoys him for disrupting his oceans; rather, Poseidon has found something else to be intrigued by. And he’s determined to make you his. 

You don’t know how much time you spend picking seashells, but when you look up, all thoughts of your mounting sea shell collection are forgotten. On the shore was a washed-up man in nothing but a simple cloth wrapped around his waist. His brown hair is long and wet from the salty ocean water, his skin a healthy sun-kissed colour, and his muscles prominently sculpted. From what little glimpses you see of his face hidden behind the strands of hair that fall over his features, you can tell that he’s handsome with a light shadow of stubble shaping his jaw. As you approach him, unaware of his intentions and very conscious state, Poseidon wills his features to stay undisturbed. A fair maiden such as yourself will surely wake him gently and with a sweet voice; when he pretends to finally rouse from sleep, he’ll work his charms to lure you into a passionate night together. He will enjoy you thoroughly and savour your sweet sounds, for an angel like you is capable of creating nothing but dulcet tones. 

Poseidon has gravely misjudged you, however. As soon as you were kneeling beside him, rather than gently seduce him out of his slumber and kindly ask about his wellbeing in the soft voice he imagined you to have, you begin to incessantly poking at his cheek instead. It was completely unexpected, and he couldn’t help the annoying twitch of his brow. The subtle action makes you temporarily stop your ceaseless prodding. But before Poseidon could breathe in respite, you start poking him again, this time, with much more force and speed. If he wasn’t a god, he’s sure you’d have made the skin of his cheek bruise already. Is this really how you go about waking an injured man?! It’s not at all what Poseidon expected, ignorant to your experience with washed-up seagull pirates. The only way you knew to wake Gulliver (the seagull pirate) or Gullivarrr (the seagull pirate captain) was to constantly pester them, which obviously meant poking their unconscious forms until they wake up. 

“I’m awake! I’m awake!” Poseidon sits up with an irritated grumble, swatting at your hand and squinting his eyes at you. He’s sorely misjudged you. Perhaps he should leave?

(Distantly, a giggle can be heard, and your ears perk up ever so slightly.)

However, Poseidon is struck once again by your beauty. Up close, you’re stunning, especially when you’re smiling so kindly at him and him alone. Because of your bewitching image, Poseidon was willing to forget about your rude, unending poking. 

“What a beauty you are...” the handsome stranger’s brown eyes examine your face, slowly tracing your features with his eyes as he slowly brings a hand up to cup your cheek. His touch was so unexpected that you startle ever so slightly. The stranger appears to take pleasure in your surprise however, chuckling to himself as his hand leaves your cheek to pick up your hand and bring your knuckles to his lips, “Tell me,” his lips don’t leave your skin as he looks up to meet your eyes with an impassioned stare, “what is your name, my lady?”

Smiling apologetically, you shake your head and point to your throat. “Oh? You cannot speak?”Poseidon frowns as you confirm his supposition with a nod. He was so looking forward to hearing your voice and relishing in the beautiful melody you would sing for him under his touch.

“No matter.” Poseidon eventually accepts the fact and leans forward, inching his face close to yours as you lean back slightly. “I remain grateful to you for saving my life.” the stranger’s eyes briefly glances down at your prettily shaped lips, “Allow me to convey my gratitude,” your eyes widen as the bold stranger closes the gap between you, managing to brush his lips against your own before you’re swept up by a pair of strong arms that fly you into the air. Gasping silently, you wrap your arms over your captor’s shoulders and push your face into his neck, fearful of the height he’s flown you to. 

“I should have known you were nothing but trouble~” A familiar voice teases as a pair of lips press a kiss against your temple. Hermes! Pulling away, you gape at the Messenger god who smugly grins at you. His arms carry you like a princess, ensuring that your dress doesn’t fall and reveal more of yourself to the men below. “Not only have you entrapped me, but you’ve captured the attention of my Uncle as well.” his words make your brows fly up in surprise before you hurriedly look down and gasp once more at the scene happening below. His uncle?! Did he mean...? 

Odysseus is pissed. You had taken longer than usual to meet everyone for breakfast, and they had grown anxious about your whereabouts. Initially, your safety wasn’t much of a concern as they knew your island to be incredibly safe; however, those foolish thoughts were immediately swept away as soon as they found you at the beach with a stranger, who was getting far too close for comfort. 

“Allow me to convey my gratitude.” At those exact words, Odysseus had fired his arrow, narrowly missing the strange man’s feet. It was a warning shot. Odysseus wasn’t one to miss his target, especially not one that is so unsuspecting and easy, but he would endanger you if he aimed straight at the man — you were far too close to him, and Odysseus didn’t want to risk you getting injured too. 

“Captain!” Polites points him towards your form up in the air and in the arms of another familiar god, “The Fair Maiden is safe,” his third commander hands him another arrow, “You’re free to take a second shot.” Polites’ voice grows chilly, deprived of his characteristically warm friendliness. He generally wasn’t the type to encourage such mercilessness, rather, he would have encouraged everyone to hear out the stranger. But Odysseus won’t complain; he knows the level of affection Polites and the rest of his crew had fostered for you — of course, this level of protectiveness was to be expected. 

“Aim for his throat,” Eurylochus strategised, his tone stern and calculating as he readies his sword, “While he chokes on his blood, I’ll move in to severe his head clean off his shoulders.” Odysseus didn’t appreciate being ordered around most of the time, but he didn’t mind it for right now. At least you were safe for the moment. He’ll deal with Hermes later. 

“Wait! Wait!” Odysseus freezes in place, along with everyone else who recognises the plea from the musical quite some time ago but still remember it so vividly. The same musical that had revealed their potential future had made it easy to recognise such a voice. It couldn’t be…

The stranger’s very human features slowly melt away to reveal the God of the sea. The man’s brown hair becomes an opaque black as the skin of his neck grows gills and his ears become fin-shaped. The cloth around his waist falls away to reveal the beginnings of a fishtail. Looking down, his tail can be seen seamlessly merging with the ocean waves lapping at the sandy beach, which pulls him into the ocean and stands him tall, held up by the sea below. 

“Poseidon...” Eurylochus acknowledges as everyone takes on a battle stance behind him, their faces weary but determined. 

“You made an oath not to interfere with my journey home!” Odysseus snaps at the sea god. His words making Poseidon grit his teeth in annoyance. 

“I know...”

“Why aren’t you keeping it?”

“I am keeping it! You have had easy oceans so far, and when you set out to sea again for the rest of your journey home, they will be safe also. The girl is different; she has no association with you—” The look Odysseus sends him makes the god stammer ever so slightly. You are associated with Odysseus. What a mistake this was.

“If you touch her, you will be interfering with our journey home. She is our Fair Maiden and has been a wondrous blessing on our voyage so far! Touch her, and you’ll be breaking your oath!”

Poseidon looks up to see you in the arms of his nephew, whose usually smiling countenance disappears as soon as they meet eyes. You are a precious being not only to the man who tormented him in a potential future but are also held dearly by his nephew. This doesn’t spell well. You appeared to be such an innocent lady; how did things turn out to be like this?  

“She’s off limits, uncle.” Hermes states firmly, his arms tightening their hold on you, “And she has my blessing. I’m sure you know what that means...” Even Hermes’ words make Odysseus and the crew’s eyes widen in shock. Just as surprised as Poseidon. When did Hermes bless you? Had you been associated with the Messenger god this whole time?

“Fine!” Poseidon concedes, his reluctant acceptance punctuated by the momentary violent action of the ocean waves below, “I will leave you be.” As he disappears into the sea, Poseidon gives you one last, longing glance. Yet again, he was at a loss. How disappointing…

As soon as Poseidon vanishes into the ocean’s depths, you look to Hermes with a smile, a small thank you for his help. “You’re very welcome, darling~” he coos but appears reluctant to let you go. It isn’t until Odysseus and the crew have fixed their eyes on you that he finally descends. “My my~ what a surprising turn of events.” Hermes brings a light-hearted air with him, doing his best to distract the crew so he can keep you in his arms for longer. He quite likes the feel of you tucked up against his chest and solely held up by his strength as your arms wrap around his neck. You look very adorable this close to him, your head easily tucked up under his chin. 

“Thank you, Hermes,” Odysseus smiles gratefully to the god. He was one of the only gods to be of help to him in the musical, and it appears he’s sustaining that reputation. It only irks the King of Ithaca that Hermes seems to have made contact with you already, without him or anyone else knowing, and given you his blessing.

“Don’t thank me, friend~” Hermes turns his full attention to you, gently setting you down, “I didn’t do it for you particularly...”

‘Thank you for your help, Hermes,’ you voice in your head, knowing the god can hear your words clearly. 

“Of course, my fair lady~” Levitating several inches above the ground, Hermes bows graciously at the waist for you, smiling an easy smile. “But don’t you suppose that I should be rewarded for my efforts?” he teases, offering his cheek for you to kiss. That was his reward. His actions make Odysseus splutter in disbelief as several crew members, Polites and Eurylochus especially, do their best to keep their protests behind clenched teeth, silently begging you not to yield to the god. 

As you give him a skeptical look, Hermes laughs. He planned to shrug it off, knowing that he wouldn’t have received anything from you. He even made the effort not to ask you for a kiss outright, knowing the disadvantage mortals have against a god’s will. Hermes only meant to get a rise out of the crowding audience, his devious nature wouldn’t permit him to leave otherwise. However, he was surprised when, rather than wave his silly request away, you place your hands on his shoulders, stabilising yourself first before closing your eyes and gently puckering your lips, aiming for his offered cheek — a cheek kiss was innocent enough. 

What a pleasant surprise~ Hermes grins deviously.

Taking the opportunity, Hermes wraps his hands around your waist and pulls you impossibly close—to the point where you can feel his toned muscles far too sensitively. Once securely in his arms, he tilts his head to meet your lips with his own, shooting the two of you up into the air as he does so. He likes an audience, but he’s sure you wouldn’t be the biggest fan. Nor will you be happy if he lingers above the crew such that they could look up your dress skirt so he pulls you with him to perch atop one of your lush trees, far from the crew. Your surprised gasp gives him the perfect opportunity to steal more of your breath away. His tongue swoops in and pulls yours into a heated dance as his hand trails up to press against the back of your head and deepen your embrace. Unable to resist, you fall deeply into the kiss, reciprocating with your heart racing in your chest as heat crawls up your neck to settle over your cheeks. How is he such a good kisser? His lips, his arms and hands confine you to him, making the rest of the world disappear — you’ve barely registered that you’re no longer on the beach but rather cradled in the branches of a tree with him. 

Odysseus and the crew were too shocked to react as they were left behind. The last image of you that they saw were your lips connecting with Hermes’s own. Their nerves had been frozen up from being in the presence of two gods and at such close proximity, but those same nerves were quickly thawed by the heat of their rage. Immediately, they go searching for you, not needing to look for long as they see you lying against Hermes in the branches of a tree not too far into the island. 

“My my~” Hermes pants after pulling away, smirking at your breathlessness and unwilling to let you go. The mischievous nature in him spots the infuriated crew in his periphery and immediately decides to play with them. Levitating the two of you once more, he dangles you before the crew tauntingly before slowly descending, your feet finally touching solid ground again, but his arms remain secure around you. The crew doesn’t dare jump forth and bring you to safety, no matter how much they want to, especially when Hermes dares to giggle at them. Spurred on by the fury on their faces, Hermes dips you down and nuzzles his nose into the base of your neck, his eyes pinning the crew down sharply while his lips tenderly kiss the soft skin of your upper chest area, “you taste divine, darling~ So sweet. Just like the first time...”

Odysseus choked on air as his eyes bulged out. “THE FIRST TIME?!”

Hermes laughs and lifts into the air slightly, bringing you with him and making you twirl with your arm raised and your feet lifted several inches off the ground. He pulls you back in again, just as tightly as before, emphasising his affection for you. “This certainly won’t be the last time, either.” he looks into your rounded, glittering eyes, cooing in adoration at your precious image. Everything was happening so fast that you could barely comprehend it all, your mind still stuck on processing the kiss you shared with the mischievous god. “You’re truly far too tempting for your own good. I’m but a hungry, helpless beast at your service, my lady.” Hermes finally (finally!) sets you down and bows, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles before finally biding his farewells for the time being. 

When you finally turn around, Odysseus had come dangerously close, his eyes wild with barely restrained rage and stern protectiveness. “You have some explaining to do, young lady.”

But…But I can’t talk! You wail internally, pulling a helpless expression, but Odysseus is undeterred. Hermes… you jerk! 

navi. | series m.list

next | five. ...→

a/n : once again, I couldn't stop writing until I finished, even if it means sleeping at 3am -- but I'm just as addicted as anyone else to this series so... here you darlings go... i'm going to bed now!

For those of you who need/want the reminder, these are my villagers: Fauna ; Shino ; Poppy ; Filbert ; Marshal ; Chrissy ; Fang ; Boots ; Gaston ; Mitzi

taglist : @bluepanda08 @doodle-with-rhy @sunshinedaisy21 @jolixtreesunn @ellaprime7 @marcelemry @nishayuro @hijinkxy @kerosene-demon @windrosesrasta @keikeiluvyou @darling-eos @iamapotatoe @yuzxi18 @woncloudie

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽

VERSION IV.

(a/n: Hey everybody! Really sorry for not updating this week's been VERY hectic, but im back and ready to post new eps again 🙏 thanxx for your support ❤️)

WARNING!-none

wc: 1.1 k words

ALSO: tags-@ttheggrimrreaper ❤️ bear with me, ur episode is coming i swear

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

“Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…

…11, Isagi Yoichi."

The icon of an unknown person appeared on the screens. Looking closely, you tried to recall if you had ever heard of him during your training, before realising you didn’t interact with the male species for months so you definitely can’t remember the boy.

‘Maybe someone mentioned him a few weeks ago?’

Heading to the assigned room and getting there, Anri immediately gave you a bunch of stuff while telling you about some of Ego’s newly adapted annoying habits. Minutes later, she finished her complaining and let you go you to find your new player.

Imagine being the manager of Isagi Yoichi, the heart of Blue Lock.

——————

Isagi Yoichi, with whom you immediately click moments after you first meet him, the conversations going surprisingly smooth. His attentive and kind nature made you much more talkative than usual, feeling lucky that you somehow managed to get a normal boy. The nightmares that tortured you for the past week, anxious about who you were gonna end up with were also nowhere to be found. Between the breaks of practice matches, Yoichi would always come to the benches, eager to continue your little chat from earlier, seemingly taking genuine interest in you. And when he had to go back to the field, you simply watched him in silence while quickly reading through his data sheet.

——————

•Isagi, who you notice that literally every day, during all the matches tends to think and analyze a lot, which surprised you a bit, didn’t expecting to get someone who actually thinks before he acts.

•In the first few days he would mostly keep his thoughts to himself and although he does share some of them regarding soccer with you, he still remains a mystery.

•Isagi, who has been really curious about you from the start, and because of that you two talked a lot. From telling him how you ended up in Blue Lock, to him being silly and secretly imitating some of his teammates for fun. He also shared his own goals and how he hoped to be a good player, so you wouldn’t have to deal with all his shit in the future.

•He's also the one who's been holding whichever team he’s been part of together since the beginning and has slowly but surely earned a reputation within the facility. That wasn’t the problem, but rather the fact that your player was known for his harsh words and slurs towards his opponents and for being a completely different person on the pitch instead of the usual respectful guy, making you worry a little.

•The cherry on top however is that he somehow always manages to piss off the biggest, most skilled, clearly not in the mood to be insulted type of players.

•Dealing with this is probably the hardest part of being his manager. Apart from that, you have a pretty normal, simple routine, compared to the others, because well…you don't have to do much other than the standard work schedule, since Isagi is just easy to deal with. He doesn’t break the rules, eats what he’s given and always gets up on time.

•This is usually how your days go until the unexpected U20 match announcement comes, which makes the boy much, much more motivated making you basically fight to be able to keep up with him. Your tasks suddenly also multiply, having to give more detailed reports to the boss, monitoring Yoichi’s food portions and supliments way too carefully all while trying to help him achieve the perfect build for the upcoming match, hoping he gets selected.

•Your secret stash of snacks that you keep hidden in your room specially for him is also prohibited to touch, knowing damn well if Ego or Anri notices the few more calories on his data list both of you will be punished.

“So no more sneaky sweets?”-he asked one night, to which you just nodded regretfully.

“Nooooooooo…”

——————

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

•Isagi changes. A lot. You would say he has improved and currently still is at a frighteningly fast pace. From the very first match he plays with his ‘new’ team to way he thinks and acts is different. This probably earned him one of the best players title as of now.

•He recently also began to follow a stricter training plan, and although the few chocolate bars you secretly try to give him are reeeeaally tempting, he always rejects them, saying that when he feels like he deserves one, he will accept it, resulting in you having to eat all of them alone before they expire.

•Changing places, didn’t necessarily mean new teammates. Yet, the people in Blue Lock he was the closest with all chose different countries, only some of them going on the same path as Isagi.

•Fortunately, he had no problem finding new and old friends to hang out with, so you thought at least you didn’t have to worry about that. Wrong. You should have.

•Because although Isagi may have gotten along with the Japanese players, the Germans were different. First you thought, maybe it was because of his duality while playing, but it seemed like his mere existence was a problem for specifically 2 German people. They were extremely bothered by him, the murderous look in their eye every time, made you try to keep your player away from them as much as possible.

•Isagi changing meant your nightly routine had to be adjusted as well. Instead of an hour, you now sat with him in front of the big monitors for 2, carefully analyzing his movements every second, papers full of notes and comments to discuss later.

•He also gained immense popularity all over the world with his goal against the U20 that day, receiving comments and praises from fans on a daily basis with them saying how humble and good he is. Yet, despite all this, for some reason he’s need to get a compliment or praise only from you, rises drastically.

•“I’m with you all day, you know me best. I’m just simply curious about your opinion!”

•He, with whom you focus quite a bit on learning the basics of the German language, yet somehow the pronunciation, even the rules have no place in the boy’s puzzle anymore. Still, he tries hard because talking to Bastard München fans and mocking Michael Kaiser in his own native language seems so tempting.

•Over time, you guys became much closer to each other, and even though he has thought about asking you out on a date, he still doesn’t do it because he’s afraid that if things don’t go well, you’ll quit and he simply wouldn’t risk it. You’re the best manager and if necessary, he will continue to try and see you as a friend, as long as you’ll be by his side until the end of his journey.

[colorlessjay]

A Little Elbow Grease

“You have a name to uphold”

That’s what Castiel’s father told him when he was old enough to understand and comprehend words. He was the third youngest of 9 kids, who were known to be on top of everything.

Doctors, Scientists, Business Owners, Lawyers. The Shurley's have a legacy of intelligence, dedication, and greatness, with the stray rebel here and there who eventually succumb to the family name and fall in line

All except little Castiel, the unplanned angel of Thursday who, despite his hard work, constant note-taking, and obsession with studying, has never gotten higher than a C- in his entire life. And that was because his teacher took pity (And maybe because they feared the Shurley name)

His family was generally understanding, if not a little condescending. His older sister Naomi had called him 'special'. Anna tries to be more encouraging about it, saying Castiel has a spirit like no other. Balthazar had tried to get Castiel to do more recreational hobbies, but none of it ever stuck. None of it he was ever good at or remotely interested in.

They never saw any evidence of Castiel straying from his studies, in fact, even his brother Gabriel voiced his (mocking) concern for Castiel's lack of social life. Michael tells him not to read so much in the dark, or else his eyes get worse. Raphael merely chastises him when he catches the young boy in the kitchen in the dead of night, nose-deep in notes and textbooks.

But no matter what Castiel does, he always ends up last in his class, just above the delinquents who barely go to class in the first place.

Ironic given how early Castiel gets to school every day

So Castiel takes drastic measures - asking for Lucifer's help. Despite being the black sheep of the family, Lucifer has achieved great things as a lawyer (Regardless of how... questionable his morals may be)

Lucifer's idea was... classist to put it lightly, but Castiel was desperate to ensure his last year of senior high saw him at the top of his class.

It took a bit of convincing (Lucifer was a very good lawyer) but by the start of spring, Castiel found himself enrolled in a no-name public school whose reputation was good enough to make sure Castiel wouldn't get kidnapped on the first day

What Castiel didn't account for, were the students that riddled the place. Demons of pure teen angst and rebellion

He definitely didn't expect to chase after the most stubborn, hard headed, but incredibly intelligent boy in the entire school, trying to convince him to be his study partner.

Castiel will not give up now. He's failed and fallen far enough.

Dean Winchester will be his wings

—--------------

“Get your GED and get out”

That’s what Dean's dad told him when he was old enough to pick up a wrench. After that? Nothing else really mattered anymore. His dad had a point, John couldn’t put both Sam and Dean through college, especially after they had lost everything to that damn fire. And Sam has so much more potential as a lawyer than Dean could as an engineer. The choice between who gets the college treatment was a no-brainer

John was too stubborn to ask for help beyond having Uncle Bobby and Aunt Ellen watch his kids while he ‘busted his ass for extra bucks’. Dean is beyond asking what his dad actually did when he goes off for weeks at a time to who knows where. He’s learned the hard way that you don’t ask a man where he gets his money.

The day after his 16th birthday, Dean practically begged Bobby to let him work part-time at his garage. He refused any gift, saying all he wanted for his birthday was steady pay and a warm bed for Sam. And like his dad, Dean was a stubborn bull. And besides, Bobby would rather Dean work somewhere he can keep an eye on the boy

During summers, Dean takes extra shifts at the garage and the Roadhouse Diner, often trying to charm his way for extra tips here and there. After school (the days Bobby forces him to go to ‘watch over Sam’), Dean would go straight back to work, even begging both Bobby and Ellen to give him a shift. And when that didn’t work, he would go around town offering to mow lawns, tend gardens, walk dogs, just about anything for an extra buck.

And all that money always went to Sammy’s college fund. Stanford ain’t cheap, and Dean was determined to give his baby brother the best opportunity he could

Rumors went around that he was an addict of some kind, willing to do anything for cash for some kind of fix. Someone even tried to offer him money to do their bidding, do their homework, be their boyfriend, and some more unsavory offers.

One suspension, two bloody fists, and three trips to the nurse’s office later, Dean made it very clear he wasn’t that type of gal.

Dean wasn’t desperate. He was hard-working. He had pride and dignity as much as anyone else who grew up with enough money to put food on their plate. Unlike any of them, Dean saw school as nothing more than an easy roadblock he had to get over to get a steadier job.

Like his dad said. Get his GED and get out

Too bad the new kid seemed to wanna put a wrench in his plans

With impossibly blue eyes, a gaze of steel, and a voice too deep and monotone for his age, Dean thinks the guy was a prototype for RoboCop.

Castiel Shurley just won’t leave him the fuck alone

-----------

I had this idea for a while

idk what to do about it but ya'll can have it

[urbeachboy]

O1 — World’s Best Detective ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⋆˙⟡ — synopsis : you take up a co-worker’s shift, nearly get stabbed, and Red Robin’s losing his flair.

⋆˙⟡ — content : gn reader, violence, mugging, threatening, attempts at sexual assault, alcohol, knives, someone’s wrist is broken and depicted a bit vividly, i attempt (miserably so) to write accents, gotham. . .

Gotham is a hell-hole.

It isn’t like you weren’t aware of it, for you were, and anyone else (especially your family members) was also aware of it. And they’d tried to warn you, they always tried to warn you. Warn you of the supervillains that invoke a sense of incredulity (seriously- what’s a ‘condiment king’?), and superheroes who surpass them in that very field.

But it was cheap, and it was - well.. sufficient. Though there’s cobwebs in the corners of your apartment, it’s.. sufficient. You’ll clean it up- you’ll manage- it’ll suffice. As a matter of fact, the mess and the grime and the several health code violations isn’t quite the biggest issue, which says a ton.

It’s the crime rates. You’ve gotten past getting mugged five times, kidnapped two and assaulted six. It’s almost impressive, considering it has been no more than a fortnight and you almost always stick to a crowd, and refrain from going out past 12. Goodness, it’s like you’re a teenager all over again.

Thankfully, you’ve avoided danger almost completely so far. There’s no reason you would’ve gotten caught in the spider’s web- you’re a fly that sticks to its business. You get up at seven in the morning, eat the fastest breakfast you can, go to your classes (you're in Gotham Uni; the only reason you’re here), work your part-time at the local coffee shop, go home as quick as you can after clocking out, collapse in your bed, repeat. Bathing is fitted in there somewhere, too.

See, yesterday, one of your co-workers, Elise, had asked for you to take over her shift.

She’d approached you yesterday afternoon when you were wiping a bead of sweat away from your forehead (Gotham was especially humid in summer- figures, with it being New Jersey and all). She had sauntered up to you with all the suaveness of a siamese cat, with her dark hair done into a high ponytail.

Elise called out to you when she was barely a few feet away, a smile gracing her lips. “Could you do a favour for me, please?”

You quirked an eyebrow, but just before you could have parted your lips to ask, she was quick to speak over you. “You know, I’m asking you this because you’re like, the nicest person here. Honestly, you’re the only one I can talk to, haha! I know you’ll understand.”

You weren't gonna understand. Not when it's Elise--she's somewhat infamous round the workplace for her... behaviour.

Then, you were tempted to respond with a sharp ‘what do you want, Elise?’ and that’s just what you went to do until, despite yourself, you change it up last-second. “What is it?” you end up saying, and it sounds much more polite than you’d have liked it to sound. Your reputation precedes you, you think.

“Well,” she leaned back against the counter. There weren’t many customers then, most people were at work or school, so you had a little moment of respite. “It’s my sister’s wedding tomorrow,” you don’t recall her ever mentioning a sister before, “and I was thinking maybe you could take my shift for me?” Tough luck. “Just for tomorrow, I promise. I won’t bother you about anything after that.”

It’s a horribly difficult decision to make (note the sarcasm), but with great effort, you open your mouth to deny her request when she cuts you off. Again. “I knew you would, sweetie! Thanks!” And she’s gone.

So you had taken her shift- it’d be a one-time thing. It’d be fine.

Though, unexpectedly, it'd been especially busy today and you seemed to have completely zoned out while making coffee after coffee that, when all the customers are satisfied and have left, you drag your weary eyes up to the window and see darkness. You do a double-take-- still darkness.

You’re late.

It’s 12:30, you see it when you glance at the quaint clock on the pastel-coloured wall. It’s 12:30, and, looking out the window once more, it’s sans any life. You can hear a few strays howling, but that’s about it.

You may have called yourself paranoid in any other situation, but right now? In Gotham? You’re not taking those chances. You weren’t taking those chances, you had been avoiding those chances like the Black Plague but now the chances are shoved into your open palms very so generously.

Yes, there are vigilantes, a plethora of them- but you’re not sure if you trust your well-being in the hands of these mysterious masked individuals who go by strange aliases. Red Hood? Seriously? Maybe he’ll have a dainty little basket, too, on his dainty little self. Maybe he’ll give you a loaf of bread and a pot of butter or whatever it is that Little Red Riding Hood was taking to her grandma if you ask nice enough.

So, your distrust towards vigilantes aside, now you’re in a dilemma- you’re certainly not staying the night at the café, it’ll get you fired for sure. And even if it doesn’t, what would you tell them? That you were far too chicken to walk home because it’s past 12:00? They’re locals, lived here for years. You’re clearly not.

In the end, after a few more minutes of contemplating, you picked up your bag, holding it close to yourself while your eyes flicker up to the clock once more- 12:40. Okay. You can do this, no big deal- you’re an adult.

Walking out the café’s door on wobbly legs, you’re shrouded by the darkness. The moon barely aids you, meagre light shining down on you from the great crescent in the sky. It’s thankfully just enough to see, and while you could take out your phone’s flashlight, you don’t want to risk grabbing any unwanted attention.

The streets are, for the most part, empty—save for the few pigeons or stray dogs that you see in the alleys—which is unusual for these parts of Gotham.

Then, you hear it- a loud ‘clang!’. Like metal.

Instinctively, your head whips around only to find that it’s.. a cat. A calico, barely anything save a kitten, messing around atop some trash can.

You’re not sure what compels you then, but like an idiot, you take a final glance around and, upon reconfirming that the streets are vacant of people, you inch towards the cat.

“Hey, kitty,” you coo, slowly reaching a hand out once you’re in the alley. It’s not that far from the road, you’re barely halfway in the alley, only just outside it for the cat. The calico reacts positively to your approach, letting out a small ‘meow’ and nuzzling its nose into your palm. You could’ve melted then and there. It’s evident, really, from how you continue to blabber sweet nothings underneath your breath, barely on the brink of squealing because the little thing just seems to revel in your affection.

It seems alone. You wonder where its mother is. It’s mewls sound pitched, and it’s definitely supposed to be feeding still. You can’t help but feel pity as you take in the orange splotches of colour on the otherwise black and white cat, and it’s blue eyes. Suddenly, in the midst of your discerning, it jumps off the trash can and hurriedly rushes away. “..What was that all about?” you mumble to yourself.

Footsteps catch your attention. Your eyes shoot up from the ground and dread fills you. You’d forgotten your rule. It should’ve been well past 12:00 now, and you’re in immediate danger.

Sparing a glance to the cat who was now trotting away, you almost wish you could’ve blamed it on the animal, but you’re very well aware whose fault it is that you’re about to get murdered.

“Hey,” a man calls out. He’s imposing, and he’s got grizzly brown hair and mutton chops. He’s wearing a worn T-shirt and some jeans, and his voice? God, his voice. It’s gruff and heavy and unsettling- it makes you feel unsteady, as though your knees are about to give out. You don’t dare respond. Instead, you decide to do the next best thing.

You pick flight over fight, and you flee. Or at least, you attempt to. It was almost embarrassing how fast his hands wrapped around your wrists, and even more so how you tried to wretch your hands away to absolutely no avail. It barely registers in your head, but he’s cussing at you, mumbling, something about calming down. Like hell you’re going to calm down. No, in fact, you may have the survival instincts of a fawn, but hell if you’re calming down. Instead, you scream- as loud as you can, at the top of your lungs, when he cuts it short by placing his palm over your mouth, positioned meticulously so you wouldn’t be able to bite down on him as much as you’d liked to.

You thrash and flail, and he lowers himself down to your ear. “Listen here, babe. Yer’ gunna give me yer’ cash, or ah’m gunna take somethin’ else.” He has an accent, and you’re not sure what kind (though you’re not very eager to find out), but it’s thick as a bush. More than his accent, though, you fixate on his words- you know sure as gravity what he's talking about. What he’s insinuating. You want to gag- you feel the bile travelling up your throat, but you swallow it back down, tears pricking at the ducts of your eyes. With how loud you screamed, you’re sure some vigilante must’ve heard you, but alas, nobody comes hither.

It’s stupid, you’re aware, but you can’t think of anything else. Spite and disgust and hatred and adrenaline, all at once, fill up your being and you shake your head, thrashing about some more. Writhing, squirming, wriggling, anything. You kick your legs back, aiming for his feet, but you stop when he holds his other hand up to your neck. He leaves his hands free, and noting this, you’re about to use them to fight back- but you stop cold in your tracks.

You stop. You stop when you realise he’s holding something in his hand. It glints under the moonlight, and you realise it’s exactly what you feared- a knife. Far from dull. The exact opposite, really. And it’s held up to your rushing pulse, threatening to draw blood.

You’re not sure what to do anymore. You need to pay your rent, you’re barely hanging on by a thread. You’re also not giving up your dignity- you’re also not going to die. The safest option is your money. Slowly, you raise your shaking arms into the air, as if to surrender. “Good,” he drawls. When he removes his hand from your mouth, you can smell it- the sickening stench of alcohol. Of-course he’s drunk. It’s likely why he’s so bold.

Just as you’re about to reach for your wallet, your aggressor jolts.

“What the fu—” His knife is knocked out of his hand, and his hand? Oh, his poor hand. You hear a very discernible ‘crack!’ paired with a scream from him as his hand is twisted into a position that isn’t remotely human. There’s a hand on his wrist, his assaulter- they’re clad in black leather (or some other sort of shiny, smooth material) gloves, and you follow it up to their arm (red sleeves), and their neck, and then their face. You glance down at their chest- and lo and behold; Red Robin.

He’s just like you’ve heard (or like how you’ve seen from the few blurry, low-quality videos that made it onto the news time again), his black hair parting at the centre, forming a sort of arch. Ah- wait, right. You’re not supposed to be dwelling on his appearance- not when your perpetrator is in immense pain. You almost want to cheer for the vigilante, but you hold back.

“Drop the knife,” he says to the man, his voice seeming far too familiar. Though you haven’t heard Red Robin before. His voice is near boyish, and though he’s younger than you assumed, he seems far from a teenager.

Backing up slowly, you’re unsure what exactly to do. So instead, you lean against a wall of the alley, trying to compose yourself, trying to get your breathing to slow down because you’re not sure when all the oxygen entering your lungs started to become too much, too fast. You trail a hand up to your chest, and you close your eyes and focus and, sure enough, your heart is beating at the speed of a Jackrabbit’s. It was understandable, to you, at least. Because, oh my god, he just broke that guy’s wrist. Holy shit.

You try to focus on anything else but your nerves, eyes landing on Red Robin and your assailant (you’re not certain how many words you’ve used for him by now). The latter is scrambling to apologise, the knife on the floor and one of his hands holding the other (which was limp by now. Your wrist feels like it’s faintly aching too, merely at the sight). He’s shaken, and you’re sure you would’ve been, too, if your wrist was snapped in half like nothing.

You can’t register what any of them are saying. It’s not that you’re far away, no, you’re close enough. But all the words are slurring together in your mind and you can’t bring yourself to focus. You see Red Robin nod his head towards the streets after a while, and your assailant hurriedly rushes off, leaving his knife there on the ground. The vigilante in red picks it up promptly, observing it for any stains and stashing it away in his utility belt. Then, his gaze is drawn to you from beneath the mask.

You always thought the masks were odd. Especially when you could see half their faces- save for Batman, of course. He says something, and you can hear his lips move, but it’s all Greek to you when it comes out. Then, his brows knit together the slightest bit in concern, and he takes a step forward. You can hear it now. “You okay?”

You nod. It’s almost embarrassing, the amount you’re shaking. But he doesn’t seem to judge you. Thank god for that, even if you’re not sure why you assumed he would. You almost had your neck sliced in half as if it were a watermelon in a game of Fruit Ninja.

Then you stare at Red Robin. You really stare at him. You squint your eyes, falling over his frame. His voice was familiar, you recalled telling yourself that not a few minutes ago. But why? Was it just one of those voices? It wasn’t. You realised it when you looked at his hair again. Black, silky locks that fell in waves, an arch formed at the centre. Holy shit. Holy shit. No, no it’s not. It’s not.

No, it so is. So you tell him, you tell him like it is. Or like you think it is, at least.

“You’re Tim drake.” It comes out breathy, like a gasp. Like you don’t believe yourself.

Then you stare at him some more. Because he’s doing the exact same thing, staring at you like you’d said something obscene, like you were from another planet or all your teeth had fallen out. His nose scrunched up only for a second, before a small snicker escaped him. Like he’d forgotten himself. His facade.

“I’m Red Robin.” It was confident, clear, crisp- every syllable. He knew who he was, he was self-assured. You almost doubted yourself, just for a second. But with you, instinct was always stronger than wit.

“Yeah, but—”

“It’s late. Do you need me to walk you home? Looked a bit dazed earlier,” he cut you off with the beginnings of a smile on his lips, acting like he didn’t even hear you. Which, yes, you started quite softly, but you’re sure he was close enough to hear.

You narrow your eyes. Ultimately, you decided it’d be best not to budge. There’s shivers that wrack your spine as images of that man’s twisted wrist invade your head. That could be your neck. No.

The bats and the birds don’t kill. The bats and the birds are, however, not above beating you to a pulp so much so that you wished that they kill. And then maybe they’ll leave you at some dingy hospital.

Slowly, you nod your head, moving up and off the wall you were slumped against previously. He smiled. It seemed so genuine, but you’re certain it’s not.

“Lead the way, then.”

⋆˙⟡ — a/n : i’m sososo sorry it took this longggg :( been a bit busy and also writer’s block hit HARD <//3 but i’ve prevailed !! 2nd chapter soon !!

. fin ˗ˏˋ ᯓᡣ𐭩

[kiwriteswords]

congrats on your 2k 🎉

for missing scene Monday, could we get bearded Hotch's new gf he met on his secret assignment in Pakistan?? I'll leave it to you if you want to extend it back to the US and the BAU team!!

Just begging for anything with bearded Hotch and yes this was inspired by your 2k celebration gif choices ❤️ love ya!

Let It Be [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||Main Masterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 8k|| AN: Thank you so much for sending this request so early for day one! I was able to get a head start on this last week, and I really love how it turned out!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, canon-divergent, beard!hotch, canon-typical themes, hurt/comfort, banter, Hotch in Pakistan, non!BAU reader, kinda left tbc?

Summary: Hotch meets you on assignment in Pakistan, and you're exactly what he was looking for...someone who's just there without pushing.

The sun was relentless, bearing down on the barren expanse surrounding the base. Sweat collected under your tactical gear, but you barely noticed. It was the kind of heat that stripped away all distractions, leaving you focused on the mission ahead--or at least trying to be.

You adjusted the strap of your duffel bag and glanced around the bustling camp. This wasn’t your first special operations assignment, but the tension in the air felt different here. Heavier. 

It could have just been you dragging the weight of unresolved emotions halfway across the world, or it could have been the stakes of the mission--a dangerous operation involving an international terrorist cell that required precision, discretion, and teamwork between agencies not known for always getting along.

“Agent Y/L/N?”

The voice was deep, cutting through the camp noise. You turned and found yourself face to face with a tall man, his sharp features etched into a permanent state of seriousness. His gaze was steady, and his presence commanded attention without effort.

“That’s me,” you replied, clipped but polite.

He stepped closer, extending a hand. “Aaron Hotchner, unit chief for the BAU.”

The name was familiar. You had read the reports and heard the stories--his work on high-profile cases, his leadership, and his reputation for being unflinchingly methodical. You shook his hand, noting the firm grip and how it matched the intensity in his dark eyes.

“Special Agent Y/L/N, CIA Directorate of Operations,” you said, introducing yourself with the same straightforward efficiency. “Behavioral analyst and covert operations specialist.”

His brow shifted slightly, just enough for you to notice. He nodded, acknowledging your credentials with a quiet respect.

“Briefing starts in five,” he said, his tone all business. Then he turned and walked away, leaving you with the distinct impression that there was more to him than the stoic exterior he projected. You had worked with people like him before--people who carried their burdens in silence--but something about the weight in his eyes made you wonder if he had brought his own ghosts to this mission, much like you had.

….

The first few days were a blur of briefings, strategy sessions, and late nights poring over intel. You didn’t interact much with Hotch beyond the occasional exchange of information, but you caught yourself noticing him. The way he carried himself--calm and composed, but with an edge of tension that never seemed to leave him. You recognized it because you felt it, too.

As you reviewed reports in the command tent one night, he walked in, filling the space. He set a folder on the table and glanced at you.

“You’ve been here for hours,” he said, not a question but an observation.

You shrugged, keeping your focus on the documents in front of you. “So have you.”

“I’m used to it,” he replied, his tone neutral.

“So am I.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, he pulled out a chair and sat across from you, his gaze steady.

“It’s easier to keep busy,” he said quietly as if he was sharing a truth he rarely voiced.

You glanced up, meeting his eyes. There was something there--something raw and unspoken. You wanted to ask what he was running from, but you didn’t. You weren’t ready to share your own truths, so you didn’t ask for his.

….

The nights were the hardest. The quiet gave your mind too much room to wander, dredging up memories you’d rather forget. One evening, you found yourself outside, staring at the vast expanse of desert under a blanket of stars. You didn’t expect company, but the sound of footsteps behind you made you turn.

It was Hotch.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked.

He shook his head, stepping closer until he was standing beside you.

“Me neither,” you admitted.

For a while, you just stood there, the silence between you feeling strangely comfortable.

“I read your file,” he said eventually, his tone careful.

You glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “Did you now?”

“You’ve handled some difficult assignments. Made a name for yourself.”

There was no arrogance in his words; it was just observation.

“Guess you could say I have a knack for throwing myself into the fire,” you replied. Something flashed across his face like he was going to respond with something, but he didn’t.

Neither of you spoke for a while, but his presence was steady, almost calming.

“Why are you really here?” you asked, breaking the quiet. Nobody in their right mind would have volunteered for this unless they either A) had nobody to go home to at night, or B) were trying to forget about something else. You could tell by the small photo Hotch carried around of, presumably, his son it wasn’t option A.

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was low, almost reluctant. “Because it’s easier than being back home.”

You nodded, understanding more than you cared to admit. “Yeah. Same.”

He glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression. “What are you running from?”

You hesitated, the question hitting too close to home. “A mistake. One I don’t want to repeat.”

He didn’t press for details, and you were grateful. Instead, he said, “Sometimes running is the only way to keep moving.”

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure if you agreed.

……

As the mission dragged on, the weight of it started to press down on both of you. You began to notice how Hotch avoided certain topics, not that personal topics frequently came up. You noticed how his eyes darkened when the name "Prentiss" came up from the communication specialist on the special ops team.

You didn’t ask--he didn’t offer--but the pieces slowly started to come together. You had to be living under a rock in this field not to have heard about the major loss the BAU took this past year.

One night, after another tense meeting, you found yourselves in the makeshift kitchen, both reaching for the last cup of coffee.

“You take it,” you said, stepping back.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“I insist. I’ve had worse days.”

Something shifted in his expression, a flicker of understanding. “I doubt that.”

You smirked, the slightest crack in your guarded exterior. “Careful, Hotchner. That almost sounded like empathy.”

His lips twitched--the closest thing to a smile you’d seen from him. “Don’t get used to it.”

….

A sudden sandstorm sent the entire team scrambling for cover. The wind howled outside the command tent, shaking the canvas walls as you huddled with Hotch and two other agents.

“Typical,” you muttered, brushing sand off your gear. “Mission’s hard enough without Mother Nature making it worse.”

Hotch sat across from you, his expression unreadable as he tightened the straps on his vest. He was scruffier than he was when you first arrived. It wasn’t a bad look, but you brushed down that thought.

“You’ve been through worse,” he said matter-of-factly, not a question but a statement.

You let out a short laugh. “Don’t give me too much credit, Hotchner. I’m not invincible.”

“No one is,” he replied, his tone softer than you expected. “But you’re resilient. I can see that.”

The compliment, if you could call it that, caught you off guard. You didn’t reply, unsure how to. Instead, you focused on the storm outside, the roar of the wind drowning out everything else.

But later, when the storm passed, and you stepped out into the eerily quiet desert, you found yourself glancing at Hotch. He met your gaze for a moment, and something unspoken passed between you--a mutual respect, a shared understanding.

….

It was late, and the compound was finally quiet. You were seated at a makeshift table, cleaning your sidearm, when Hotch approached with two cups of coffee.

“You’re a lifesaver,” you said as he set one down in front of you.

“I doubt that,” he replied, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

You took a sip, wincing at the bitter taste. “God, this is terrible.”

“It’s coffee,” he said with a small shrug as if that explained everything.

You glanced at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Do you ever lighten up, Hotchner?”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. “On occasion.”

“Define ‘occasion.’”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze drifting to the weapon in your hands. “When it’s earned,” he said finally.

It was a cryptic response, but it made you smile anyway. “Well, I’ll consider this progress.”

He sat with you in silence, but it was comfortable. The company was more needed than either of you realized.

….

The day had been relentless, the kind that left your muscles aching and your mind frayed at the edges. You had lost count of how many hours you’d been awake--thirty, maybe forty. Every bone in your body screamed for rest, but the tension from the mission had settled into your chest, making sleep impossible.

You found yourself outside the command tent, slumping onto an old crate with a half-empty water bottle in your hand. The distant hum of generators buzzed like a white noise machine, masking the desert’s eerie quiet.

Hotch appeared a few minutes later, wordlessly lowering himself onto the crate beside you. His presence, steady as always, should have been comforting, but tonight it only made the lump in your throat harder to ignore.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You told yourself you liked the silence, but the truth was, it gave your thoughts too much room to spiral. Your chest felt tight, and despite the coolness of the night, your face burned with exhaustion-fueled frustration.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your mouth before you could stop them.

Hotch turned his head toward you, his face unreadable but his attention sharp. “Why do you say that?”

You let out a shaky breath, staring out into the endless darkness of the desert. “Because I’m running. I didn’t know what else to do.” You hesitated, feeling the weight of your own admission. “I thought putting space between me and...everything would help, but maybe it just makes it worse.”

The words sat heavy in the air, and you instantly regretted saying them. You felt exposed, as though admitting it aloud would make it all the more real. Your hands fidgeted with the bottle, and you kept your gaze fixed ahead, unwilling to meet his.

You thought about the way your life had pretty much unraveled around you back at home. If it wasn’t for work, you’re not sure you’d still be standing on your two feet. Here you could be the strong, independent person you aspired to be. At home, you were heartbroken without an end in sight. 

The silence stretched long enough that you thought he wouldn’t respond. But then, in that low, even voice of his, he said, “It doesn’t make it worse. It just makes it...quieter. And sometimes quiet is all you can handle.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the quiet vulnerability in his tone. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, distant and heavy with something you couldn’t name.

“Is that why you’re here?” you asked softly, the rawness in your voice betraying how fragile you felt.

He nodded, barely perceptible, his gaze never leaving the horizon. “I thought being here might help me make sense of things. But some things…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing. “Some things don’t have answers.”

There was something about the way he said it--not defensive, not self-pitying, just honest. It broke through the dam inside you, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you might cry.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat tightening. The weight of his answer settled between you, tangible and heavy, yet somehow reassuring.

For the first time, the silence felt like a shared space rather than an empty one. You didn’t push for more. You couldn’t, not with your emotions already threatening to overflow. But as the desert night pressed in around you, you realized you didn’t need to.

Whatever walls you both had built were starting to crumble, and neither of you seemed inclined to stop it.

…..

The air in the abandoned warehouse was stifling, thick with the smell of rust and dust. You moved carefully, your weapon drawn and your eyes scanning every shadow. Hotch was just behind you, silent but steady, his presence grounding you in the tense atmosphere.

The intel had been solid: a potential threat against the local embassy was being planned here, and your team had been tasked with gathering evidence. But now, as you crept deeper into the maze of crates and machinery, something felt off. The place was too quiet.

A faint creak made you freeze. You glanced back at Hotch, and he gave a subtle nod, his dark eyes sharp with focus. He gestured for you to take the left while he veered right. You obeyed without question, trusting his instincts as much as your own.

You edged around a stack of crates, your pulse quickening. The sound came again--a faint shuffle, followed by a whisper of movement. You tightened your grip on your weapon, adrenaline flooding your system.

Then everything exploded at once.

A figure lunged from the shadows, slamming into you with enough force to knock you off balance. Your weapon clattered to the floor as you struggled against the assailant, their grip bruising as they tried to pin you down.

“Agent Y/L/N!” Hotch’s voice cut through the chaos like a lifeline.

You twisted, freeing one arm, and drove your elbow into the attacker’s side. They grunted, loosening their grip just enough for you to push them off. But before you could retrieve your weapon, another figure appeared, this one heading straight for Hotch.

“Behind you!” you shouted, scrambling to your feet.

Hotch spun just in time, deflecting the attacker’s blow and delivering a calculated strike that sent them stumbling. But the odds were quickly stacking against you--more figures emerged from the shadows, their movements coordinated and purposeful.

“Fall back!” Hotch ordered, his voice calm but commanding.

You grabbed your weapon and fell into step beside him as the two of you retreated toward the exit. The sound of footsteps echoed behind you, growing louder with each passing second.

“We’re not going to make it out clean,” you said, your voice tight as you scanned for cover.

Hotch’s jaw clenched. “We don’t have to. We just need to slow them down.”

He pointed to a stack of crates near the exit, and you understood immediately. You fired a few shots, not aiming to hit but to force your pursuers to take cover. Then, together, you pushed the nearest crate, toppling it over and creating a barricade that bought you a few precious seconds.

“Go!” Hotch barked, motioning for you to move ahead.

“No way,” you snapped, falling into position beside him. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

His gaze flicked to you, something unspoken passing between you. It wasn’t the time for arguments, so he didn’t push it.

The two of you moved as one, covering each other as you navigated the narrow corridors toward the exit. Your heart pounded in your ears, but you didn’t let it distract you. Hotch’s steady presence was all you focused on, his calm precision a stark contrast to the chaos around you.

Finally, you burst into the open air, the sounds of shouting and gunfire fading behind you. You didn’t stop running until you reached the safety of the extraction point, where reinforcements were waiting.

You doubled over, hands on your knees as you caught your breath. Hotch was beside you, his breathing heavy but controlled.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

You nodded, straightening up. “Yeah. You?”

“I’ve been worse,” he replied, a faint flicker of dry humor in his tone.

You couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. “That’s one way to bond, I guess.”

Hotch glanced at you, and for the first time since the mission began, you saw something close to a smile on his face. It was brief, but it was real.

“Good work out there,” he said simply.

“Right back at you,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

In that moment, you realized just how much you trusted him--not just as a colleague, but as someone who had your back, no matter what. And from the way he looked at you, you had the feeling he felt the same.

….

The day had been unusually quiet. The base hummed with its usual activity, but the weight in the air seemed heavier that day. You had noticed it the moment you walked into the briefing room. Hotch had been there, as he always was, but there was something off.

His usual sharp focus felt dulled, his replies curt even for his standards. He spent more time staring at his tablet than actually reading it, and the lines etched into his face seemed deeper somehow.

You weren’t a profiler, but you didn’t need to be to know something was wrong.

Now, hours later, you found him alone in the makeshift command tent, the harsh glow of a desk lamp illuminating the strain on his features. He was seated, elbows on the table and his hands clasped in front of him, staring at a map as if willing it to make sense.

“You’re still at it?” you asked gently, stepping inside.

His head lifted slightly, but he didn’t look at you. “There’s a lot to prepare for.”

“There always is,” you replied, pulling up a chair across from him. “But it’s late. You should take a break.”

“I can’t afford to.”

The edge in his voice wasn’t aimed at you, but it still made you hesitate. You considered leaving him to his work, but something kept you there.

“Hotch,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the tense quiet. “What’s going on?”

He finally looked up, his dark eyes shadowed by something heavy. For a moment, you thought he might tell you, but then his expression hardened, his walls slamming back into place.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said, his tone measured but distant.

You didn’t believe him, not for a second. But you also knew better than to push.

Instead, you leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “You’re allowed to have off days, you know. Even you.”

His lips twitched, almost a humorless smile. “I don’t have the time for that.”

“You’re human,” you countered, your tone steady but not pressing. “It’s not a luxury. It’s just...life.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze dropping back to the table. But his hands, usually so still, were fidgeting now--his fingers twisting the edge of the map absentmindedly.

You let the silence settle between you, giving him space. After a few minutes, you stood and moved toward the coffee pot in the corner of the tent. You poured two cups, setting one down in front of him without a word before returning to your seat.

Hotch stared at the cup for a moment before picking it up, cradling it in his hands like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment.

“It’s fine,” he said abruptly, almost as if he was telling it to himself, though his tone betrayed him. “I just--” He stopped, shaking his head as if to dismiss whatever he’d been about to say.

“You don’t have to explain,” you said quietly, your voice steady. “We all have those days.”

He let out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “This one feels heavier.”

You didn’t know what he was carrying--something about him always felt impenetrable, as though he kept the world at arm’s length. But you didn’t need to know the specifics to recognize the weight he was under.

“You’re allowed to let it feel heavy,” you said after a moment, watching his reaction carefully.

Hotch’s hand tightened around the coffee cup, the faintest flicker of vulnerability flashing across his face before his walls went back up. “I shouldn’t let it distract me,” he muttered.

You leaned forward, resting your arms on the table. “Maybe letting yourself feel it for five minutes wouldn’t be a distraction. Maybe it’d just be human.”

He didn’t respond, but his jaw shifted as though he was grinding his teeth. His silence didn’t bother you--it was enough to just sit there, letting him know he wasn’t alone.

After a while, he spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not digging,” he said, finally looking at you. His gaze softened just enough to make your chest ache. “For just...being here.”

You offered a small smile, reaching across the table and resting your hand lightly over his. It wasn’t much, but the way his shoulders relaxed told you it was enough.

“I’ve got your back,” you said simply. “Whatever it is, you’re not alone.”

Hotch nodded, his grip tightening briefly on the cup before setting it down. He didn’t say anything else, but the tension in the room felt lighter somehow.

The two of you sat there in silence, the night pressing in around you. And while the weight of whatever he was carrying didn’t disappear, you could tell it didn’t feel quite so unbearable anymore.

…

The sun blazed mercilessly overhead, reflecting off the shallow, winding river that cut through the barren terrain. You adjusted your gear, sweat dripping down your temple as you followed Hotch’s lead. The mission had gone sideways--nothing catastrophic, but the extraction point was now miles further than planned, and the only route was straight through the rocky riverbed.

“Watch your step,” Hotch warned as he leaped from one jagged boulder to another. His movements were precise, practiced, but you could tell the exhaustion of the day was catching up with him.

“I was planning to fall flat on my face,” you replied, the edge of sarcasm in your voice lighthearted enough to soften the tension.

His lips twitched, that almost-smile you’d grown accustomed to. “Let’s avoid that.”

The river wasn’t deep, but the current was deceptively strong. The rocks were uneven; some were slick with moss, and others were barely stable. The whole setup was a sprained ankle--or worse--waiting to happen.

You made it halfway across before your boot slipped on a loose stone, your footing completely giving out beneath you. You stumbled, and the weight of your gear made it impossible to regain your balance.

Before you could hit the water, a substantial hand shot out, grabbing your arm and pulling you upright. The force of it brought you chest-to-chest with Hotch, his grip firm and steady.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and close, his breath warm against your temple.

“Yeah,” you managed, your own breath catching as you looked up at him. His face was inches from yours, and for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of you.

His dark eyes searched yours, something unreadable flickering in them--concern, maybe, or something deeper. He didn’t let go right away, his hand lingering on your arm as though he needed to make sure you were truly steady.

“I told you to watch your step,” he said finally, his tone softer than usual. His words did not match the gentleness in his tone.

“And I told you I was planning to fall,” you shot back, the corner of your mouth quirking up into a wry smile.

His lips twitched again, but this time, it felt closer to a real smile. His hand slipped away reluctantly, the warmth of his touch lingering long after he stepped back.

“Let’s keep moving,” he said, his voice all business again, though you caught the slight shift in his expression--something unguarded, fleeting, but unmistakably there.

…

The day’s trek had left you both bone-weary, but the setting sun brought with it a chill that seeped into your skin. The fire crackled low between you as you sat on overturned crates, the glow casting flickering shadows over the rocky outcrop that served as your makeshift camp for the night.

You had stripped down to your undershirt, your jacket drying on a nearby rock after the river crossing. Hotch sat across from you, rolling his stiff shoulders and rubbing his neck, his usual stoicism slightly cracked by the day’s exhaustion.

“You’re going to be sore tomorrow,” you commented, watching him massage the tension from his muscles.

“So will you,” he replied, his eyes flicking to your bruised forearm from the earlier stumble.

“I bounce back quickly,” you said lightly. “You, on the other hand, might want to consider a hot bath.”

His lips quirked, and he shook his head. “I’ll add that to the list of luxuries I’m missing out on.”

“Right after edible food,” you added, holding up the protein bar you’d been gnawing on. “This is basically punishment.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rare, and it made your chest tighten unexpectedly. You leaned back slightly, letting the warmth of the fire and the rare ease of the moment settle over you.

“You’re not always so serious, are you?” you asked, half-teasing but genuinely curious.

Hotch glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression. “Depends on the company.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and for a moment, you couldn’t look away. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting the lines of exhaustion and something deeper--something you couldn’t quite name but felt pulled toward.

“Well,” you said finally, breaking the tension with a small smirk. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze lingering on you before he nodded slightly. “You should.”

The fire had long since burned down to embers, but neither of you had moved. The quiet was comfortable now, a shared understanding that didn’t need words.

“You’re different,” Hotch said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. His tone was thoughtful, not heavy, but it made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t expect.

“Different how?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t push,” he said simply. “Most people do. They want something, even if they don’t say it.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening at the vulnerability in his words. “Maybe I just know what it’s like to need space.”

Hotch nodded, his gaze dropping to the glowing embers. “It’s rare,” he said quietly. “And...appreciated.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and you realized with a startling clarity that you didn’t want this moment to end. The mission, the chaos, the fleeting moments of quiet connection--they’d all built to this, and you weren’t ready to let it go.

You didn’t say anything, but you shifted closer, just enough that your knee brushed against his. He didn’t move away, and the warmth of his presence felt like an anchor in the cool desert night.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. But when he finally looked at you, the guarded distance in his eyes had softened, replaced by something you couldn’t name but felt deeply.

“Get some rest,” he said eventually, his voice low but gentle. “Tomorrow will come too soon.”

You nodded, standing and brushing the dust from your pants. But as you turned to leave, you paused, glancing back at him. “Good night, Hotch.”

“Good night,” he replied, his gaze following you as you walked away.

And for the first time since this mission began, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t let yourself feel in a long time--something you weren’t sure you could name but couldn’t deny was there.

…..

The air in the base felt heavier than usual. The usual hum of activity buzzed in the background, but your focus was locked on the figure in front of you--Aaron Hotchner, standing by the transport vehicle, his duffel slung over his shoulder. A stark contrast to how he had shown up so long ago. Now, slimmer and with a face full of facial hair.

You hadn’t expected the mission to end like this--not with him leaving before it was over. The news had come down hours ago: he had been called back stateside. No explanation, no warning. Just orders.

“Something urgent?” you asked, keeping your tone steady even as you struggled to meet his eyes.

He nodded, his expression unreadable but his jaw tight, a tell you’d come to recognize. “I have to return to Quantico. The team needs me.”

Of course, they do, you thought. You had known from the beginning that this wasn’t his world. His world was back home, leading the BAU, carrying burdens most people couldn’t fathom. Still, the abruptness of his departure left a hollow ache in your chest that you hadn’t prepared for.

You stepped closer, your arms crossed, not out of defiance but to keep yourself grounded. “We’ll manage here,” you said, the words feeling both true and hollow.

Hotch’s gaze flicked to you, his dark eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. “You will,” he said, his voice low. “You’re good at this.”

A faint, humorless laugh escaped you. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“It was,” he replied, a faint ghost of a smile on his lips before it disappeared.

The silence between you was heavy, filled with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t. You weren’t naive. Whatever had brought him here was bigger than the mission, bigger than you. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch him leave.

“Will you be back?” you asked finally, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

Hotch hesitated, his gaze shifting to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I don’t know.”

The honesty in his answer hit harder than you expected.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and nodded. “Well, in case you don’t…you know, good luck, Hotch.”

He studied you for a moment, as if committing your face to memory. Then, to your surprise, he stepped closer. His hand reached out, resting lightly on your arm.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For everything.”

The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through you, but you didn’t pull away. “For what?”

“For being here. For making this easier,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You searched his eyes, the words catching in your throat. Instead of speaking, you reached up and squeezed his hand where it rested on your arm, the small gesture saying more than words could.

His hand lingered for a moment before he pulled back, his professional mask sliding into place once more.

“They’re waiting for me,” he said, his voice steady but distant.

You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Go. They need you more than we do.”

He hesitated again, his eyes flicking to yours one last time. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely audible.

And then he turned and climbed into the vehicle. You stood there, watching as it pulled away, the ache in your chest growing heavier with each passing second.

When the dust finally settled, and the vehicle disappeared from sight, you let out a shaky breath, the reality of his absence sinking in.

You hadn’t expected this assignment to change anything. But now, as you stood alone under the relentless desert sun, you realized just how much it had--and how much he had.

You weren’t sure how you’d get over missing him the way you felt the minute he left your side. 

…

The harsh glow of the tent's fluorescent light was a poor substitute for the sun. You rubbed your temples, trying to chase away the dull ache that had settled behind your eyes after hours of pouring over intel. The mission dragged on, one step forward and two steps back, and you were beginning to feel the weight of it pressing down on you.

The faint crackle of the comm system startled you, drawing your attention to the communications officer stationed at the other end of the tent. His head tilted, listening intently before he turned and called out, “Y/L/N, secure line for you. Priority channel.”

You blinked, confusion flashing across your face. Secure lines weren’t uncommon, but they were usually pre-arranged. Rising from your chair, you crossed the tent, curiosity buzzing in the back of your mind.

When you picked up the headset, the officer handed you a notepad with a string of verification codes scrawled across it. “Verify the code,” he instructed.

You input the code into the secure terminal, and after a moment, the line cleared. “This is Y/L/N,” you said cautiously.

There was a beat of silence, then a familiar voice. “It’s Hotch.”

Back in Quantico, Hotch leaned back in his chair, his fingers gripping the phone tighter than necessary. The bullpen below his office was dim and quiet--most of the team had left for the night, but the stillness did little to ease the weight pressing on him.

The fallout from the Ian Doyle case was still reverberating through the BAU. Emily’s return had blindsided the team, and though he had tried to justify the deception, the cracks in their trust were impossible to ignore. Strauss’s scrutiny had sharpened, and his every decision seemed to be under a magnifying glass.

He hadn’t called to talk about any of that. He couldn’t.

But the familiar tension in his chest--the suffocating combination of guilt, stress, and isolation--had driven him to dial the secure line. He wasn’t even sure you’d pick up, but when your voice filtered through the line, steady and sure, it was like a knot in his chest loosened.

You straightened instinctively, surprise rippling through you. “Hotch,” you repeated, unable to keep the astonishment from your tone. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“You’re not…no,” you assured him, leaning against the edge of the table. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause, the kind that stretched just long enough for you to sense the weight behind it. “I just wanted to check-in. See how things are going on your end.”

You frowned slightly, his words not matching the tension you could hear in his voice. “Things are...as expected. Slow, frustrating, and complicated. But manageable.”

“Good,” he said, the word clipped, almost distracted.

You weren’t a profiler, but the exhaustion in his tone was unmistakable. He sounded like a man carrying too many burdens, with no room to set them down.

“You sound tired,” you said gently, knowing better than to pry.

He let out a soft exhale, the kind that felt heavier than it should. “It’s been a long few weeks,” he admitted, though his words felt like an understatement.

Hotch closed his eyes for a moment, your voice cutting through the static in his mind. He could still see the look on Morgan’s face when Emily had walked into the room, the betrayal simmering under the surface. He could hear the edge in Strauss’s tone as she grilled him about his decision to keep the team in the dark.

But here, with you, there was no judgment. No interrogation.

“You’re taking care of yourself, right?” you asked, keeping your tone light but genuine.

A soft scoff met your ears. “I’m trying,” he replied, the words carrying a note of dry humor.

You smiled faintly, leaning back against the table. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

His silence stretched again, but this time it felt less heavy. You knew he wasn’t the type to reach out without a reason, but you also knew he wouldn’t say more than he wanted to. And you weren’t going to push.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm.

You blinked. “For what?”

“For picking up,” he said simply. “For not asking.”

Your chest tightened slightly at the honesty in his tone. “Of course,” you replied softly. “You don’t have to explain anything, Hotch. You know that.”

For a fleeting moment, Hotch considered telling you. About Emily. About the team’s trust--or lack of it. But the words felt too heavy…too complicated to put into the space between you. He didn’t want to drag you into the mess, especially not when you had your own mission to worry about.

And yet, knowing you were there, steady and unwavering, brought him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in weeks.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the faint hum of the secure line filling the silence. Despite the distance between you, the connection felt tangible--grounding.

“I should let you get back to work,” he said finally, although his voice sounded reluctant.

“Yeah,” you agreed, even though you didn’t want the call to end. “But Hotch...don’t wait so long to call next time, okay?”

There was a pause, then a quiet, almost imperceptible, “Okay.”

And then the line disconnected, leaving you standing there with the headset in hand and a heaviness in your chest you hadn’t felt in weeks.

Across the ocean, Hotch set the phone down, his hand lingering on the receiver. For the first time in days, the storm inside him felt a little less suffocating. And though he couldn’t explain why, he knew that calling you had been the right choice.

….

Throughout the remainder of your mission in Pakistan, Hotch’s calls came sporadically, never announced, and always brief. Each time the secure line connected, his voice carried a steadiness that seemed to ease the tension that surrounded you. The conversations were simple--updates on the mission, quiet exchanges about the weather, or mutual remarks about the relentless grind of your respective work.

Yet, beneath the surface, those calls meant more. 

They weren’t about the words exchanged but the connection that had grown between you. Somehow, through the static of secure lines and the distance of continents, you felt you knew him intimately. 

Not in the way of shared stories or confessions, but in the quiet understanding of someone who had seen the same kind of pain.

Hotch never spoke about what weighed on him, and you never pressed. He didn’t need to. The heaviness in his tone, the pauses that lingered too long--they told you everything you needed to know. And you, in turn, found comfort in the silence he offered, in the unspoken acknowledgment of your own burdens.

It was a strange closeness, one that felt both fragile and unbreakable. You knew so much about each other, and yet nothing at all. He never asked about what had driven you to this mission, and you never asked about the strain you could hear in his voice. Yet, you understood each other in a way that words couldn’t capture.

In those stolen moments on the phone, it didn’t matter that the world outside was relentless. It didn’t matter that neither of you could put your pain into words. What mattered was that, for a few fleeting minutes, you weren’t alone. And somehow, that was enough.

It was those moments that patched up the pain in your chest, almost making you forget about the heartbreak you left at home. The failed relationships, the loneliness…you wondered how it would continue on--or if it would continue on once you were back home. You hoped. 

…..

The bullpen at the BAU was its usual hive of activity, with agents moving between desks, typing up reports, and chatting quietly between tasks. But today, there was an undercurrent of curiosity rippling through the team--one that centered on Hotch.

Seated at her desk, Garcia spun her chair toward Morgan, a playful smirk on her lips. “Alright, Derek, spill. What’s with the boss man and those secretive phone calls he’s been making?”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “What makes you think I know anything, Baby Girl?”

Garcia raised a skeptical brow, gesturing dramatically toward Hotch’s office. “Because every time he steps in there and picks up that phone, he looks...different. Like, not his usual stressed-out-because-the-world-is-burning look. It’s something else.”

JJ, passing by with a file, paused to join the conversation. “You’re not wrong,” she said thoughtfully. “I noticed it, too. He’s been...quieter lately. More introspective. Not that Hotch is ever exactly chatty, but it’s different.”

Rossi appeared from behind them, holding his ever-present coffee mug. “And you’re all assuming that a few phone calls mean he’s seeing someone?” His tone was teasing, but there was genuine curiosity behind it.

“I mean, it wouldn’t be the craziest thing,” Morgan replied with a shrug. “The man deserves a little happiness. Maybe he finally found someone who gets him.”

Reid, seated nearby with his tablet, looked up. “It could be related to the fallout from the Doyle case. He might be reaching out to someone for professional advice or support.”

Garcia shook her head dramatically. “Oh, boy-wonder, that’s far too clinical. This is Hotch we’re talking about. If he’s calling someone regularly, it’s personal.”

JJ frowned slightly, leaning against her desk. “Whoever it is, I just hope they’re good for him. After everything with Haley, and now the strain with the team...he needs someone who can be there for him.”

Rossi took a sip of his coffee, his gaze flicking toward Hotch’s closed office door. “Maybe it’s not about what they say. Sometimes, it’s just about having someone who listens. God knows that man doesn’t let anyone in easily.”

The group fell into a contemplative silence, their gazes drifting toward the office where Hotch was currently on a call. Inside, his expression was characteristically composed, but the slight relaxation of his shoulders and the faintest twitch of a smile betrayed something softer.

Morgan broke the silence first, smirking. “Well, whoever this mystery caller is, they’ve got our fearless leader smiling. I say we let him have this one.”

Garcia gasped dramatically, clasping her hands together. “Smiling? You saw him smile? Oh, this is bigger than I thought.”

JJ and Rossi exchanged amused glances, and even Reid couldn’t suppress a small smile at Garcia’s theatrics. But beneath the playful banter, the team shared a collective hope--that whoever was on the other end of those calls was helping their stoic leader carry at least some of the weight on his shoulders.

….

Hotch sat in his office, the low hum of activity in the bullpen barely reaching his ears. His personal phone buzzed on the desk beside him, an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen. He frowned, picking it up cautiously. It wasn’t often he got calls from unlisted numbers on this line.

“Aaron Hotchner,” he answered, his tone brisk.

“Well, that’s formal. Do you always answer like you’re being interrogated?”

His breath caught, the familiar voice pulling a genuine, if fleeting, smile to his face. “Agent Y/L/N. I didn’t expect to hear from you.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” you teased. “Just because I’m not in Pakistan doesn’t mean I’ve vanished. I still exist, contrary to popular belief.”

“Good to know,” he replied, leaning back slightly in his chair. “I heard you finished the mission. Back stateside?”

“For now,” you said, your tone carrying the same measured ease he remembered. “It’s just a pit stop, though. The CIA doesn’t let its covert operatives sit idle for too long.”

“Sounds familiar,” he said, the faintest trace of humor in his voice. “How’s it feel to be back?”

“Strange,” you admitted. “Like I’m not entirely here, you know? You get that, don’t you?”

He did. More than he cared to admit. 

“I do,” he said simply, his voice low.

“And you?” you asked, your voice softening. “How’s the BAU treating you?”

He hesitated, the weight of recent weeks pressing heavily on his chest. The fallout from the Doyle case, Emily’s return, the team’s shaken trust--it all simmered just beneath the surface. But he wasn’t ready to unpack that. Not now.

“Still busy,” he said instead, his voice even. “But you know how it is. Work doesn’t stop.”

“I do,” you replied, a knowing edge to your tone. “Sounds like you’re carrying more than just case files, though.”

He stayed silent for a moment, his grip tightening slightly on the phone. “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said finally.

“You always say that,” you said, a note of fond exasperation in your voice. “I’m starting to think it’s your catchphrase.”

“I don’t have catchphrases,” he replied, his lips twitching in the faintest of smiles.

“Sure you don’t,” you shot back. “Next, you’ll tell me you don’t ever crack a smile.”

“That’s a rare occurrence,” he said, his tone lighter.

“Well, I must be one of the lucky few then because I swear I’ve seen it.”

The warmth in your voice caught him off guard, but he didn’t mind it. Not one bit. “You’re in a unique position.”

“Unique, huh?” you teased. “You make it sound so exclusive.”

“It is,” he admitted, his voice softening. “Not many people see past the job.”

Your tone matched his now, the playfulness giving way to something more sincere. “That’s because the job is easier to focus on. It’s harder to look past it.”

He let out a quiet sigh, nodding even though you couldn’t see him. “You’re not wrong.”

The call buzzed with a quiet warmth neither of you acknowledged outright, but both felt. Hotch leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment before letting out a breath. He stared at the phone in his hand, debating whether to say what had been sitting in the back of his mind.

"So, this call," he said, his voice measured but holding a thread of something lighter. "Official business, or are you just checking up on me?"

"Can't it be both?" you asked, your teasing tone doing exactly what you intended--it made him relax, even if just a little.

He let out a soft laugh, surprising himself. "I suppose it can."

"I don’t know," you said, your voice playful. "Can it?"

He hesitated just a moment before admitting, “I actually thought about calling you too; I wanted to see how you were doing. And…I guess I needed to hear a familiar voice.”

The silence between you settled softly, comfortable, and filled with an understanding neither of you needed to articulate.

“Well, I’m doing okay,” you said finally, your tone calm. “Work’s the same. Chaos, classified details, long hours. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” he replied, the weight of shared experience clear in his voice. “Too familiar.”

“And you?” you asked gently, your tone softening. “How are you, Hotch? Really?”

He hesitated again, the instinct to protect himself battling against the trust he felt when speaking to you. “I’m…I’m managing,” he said at last, quieter than before. “But it’s...been a lot.”

You didn’t push. You never did. That was one of the things he appreciated most. 

“Well,” you said, the warmth returning to your voice, “if you ever feel like you need to step away from saving the world, give me a call. I’ve got plenty of experience in chaos management.”

He let out another rare, quiet laugh. “I might take you up on that.”

“Good,” you said lightly. “Don’t be a stranger, Hotch.”

He let the words settle, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. He wasn’t sure what prompted him, but before the conversation could end, he spoke again.

“Actually,” he started, his voice betraying a hint of nerves that even he couldn’t suppress, “have you ever thought about meeting up?” The question lingered, and he immediately wondered if he had overstepped. “I mean, if your schedule allows it,” he added, his tone faltering slightly. “I know how demanding your work is.”

You paused, clearly caught off guard. “Meeting up?” you repeated, a smile audible in your tone. “You mean in person?”

“Yes,” he said quickly before he could second-guess himself. “I just thought…you’ve been a consistent voice through everything, and…” He trailed off, realizing he didn’t know how to explain it without giving too much away. “It would be nice to catch up.”

“I think that sounds...great,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now. “Though I should warn you, Hotchner, I’m still terrible at small talk.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he replied, his lips twitching into a smile.

“Well,” you teased, “I don’t know if I should be flattered or worried.”

“Flattered,” he said, surprising himself again with the sincerity in his tone.

The brief pause that followed carried an unspoken weight, a quiet understanding of the connection that had been building between you since the mission in Pakistan. Neither of you said it outright, but it was there, tangible in the way you lingered on the call longer than necessary.

“I’ll check my schedule,” you said lightly, breaking the silence. “But don’t think I won’t hold you to this.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he replied, his voice steadier now.

When the call ended, Hotch sat back, his thoughts circling the conversation. He realized that while he still didn’t know the full scope of your personal life or if there was someone waiting for you back home, he felt compelled to try--to find out, to see where this connection might lead. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself the thought of something beyond the weight he carried every day.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @superlegend216

[eclipixels]

Literally love your page, like seeing your fic is a immediately read!!!!!! Idk if you do request or not so ignore it if you want

Can you do like Isagi x reader where there like going on a date, and some fans stop them to take pictures with them but one of the fans let slip they like reader more cause she their favorite WAG or something like that, thank you in advance!!!!!<3

Your fans?

Yoichi Isagi x Reader

[1,563 words]

      You two had always made time for dates, no matter how hectic life became. Ever since your relationship turned serious, prioritizing each other had been an unspoken promise. No matter how grueling Isagi’s training got or how deep you found yourself buried in your personal research projects, you both carved out moments just for the two of you. Those moments had once been frequent. Late-night strolls, cozy café visits, spontaneous weekend getaways, but lately, they have become frustratingly scarce.

      Between Isagi’s ever-demanding soccer career and your growing recognition in your respective field, finding time together was beginning to feel like a luxury rather than a routine. You had earned a reputation for yourself at a remarkably young age, and Isagi’s talent had propelled him into the spotlight more than ever. It was exhilarating, yet exhausting.

      And when you finally did find the time to go on a date, it hardly felt like one anymore. The quiet, intimate moments you craved were constantly interrupted by eager fans. At first, you didn’t mind. It was sweet seeing little kids approach Isagi, their eyes brimming with admiration, their excitement barely contained as they asked for autographs or a quick picture. Those moments warmed your heart, knowing how much he inspired them.

      But the fangirls… the relentless, wide-eyed admirers who seemed to forget you even existed—those were starting to wear on you. The way they giggled, clung to every word he spoke, and completely disregarded the fact that he was clearly on a date made your patience run thin. And the older fans, the ones who treated him like a celebrity first and a person second, weren’t much better. It was draining, watching your time with him slip away bit by bit, stolen by people who didn’t understand how rare these moments were for you.

      You never wanted to resent his success. You were proud of him, so incredibly proud. But sometimes, you wished you could go back to when it was just the two of you, uninterrupted and unbothered. Was that such a bad thing to want?

      "Y/N-channn!" Isagi came bursting in through the door.

      "Ichi, what the hell?!" you yelped.

      "What?" he asked, blinking innocently.

      "Ever heard of knocking? I could've been naked!"

      "You say that like it’s a bad thing." His lips curled into a smirk.

      You shot him a glare, and he laughed before changing the subject. "Anyway, why aren’t you ready yet?"

      "For what?"

      "Our date!"

      "When did we plan that?" You asked, not that you were complaining. You hadn’t been on one in awhile.

      "Right now," he grinned, completely unbothered. "Go get ready!"

      You stared at him, waiting expectantly. He stared back. Is he stupid?

      “So you gonna change or…?” He finally spoke, coughing awkwardly.

      "With you in here?" You looked at him with bewilderment. Since when did he get so bold?

      “Yeah.”

      "I’m not stripping while your perverted ass is staring."

      "Nothing I haven’t seen before," he shrugged, eyes twinkling with mischief.

      "Out!" You grabbed a pillow and chucked it at the thirsty man. “You fien”

      He dodged, laughing as he backed toward the door. "Only for you, love!"

      You shut the door behind him, shaking your head with a small smile.

      -

      The evening air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of city life as you and Isagi strolled through the streets, hand in hand. The glow of streetlights bathed the pavement in a warm, golden hue, and the faint scent of roasted chestnuts from a nearby vendor filled the air. It was peaceful, just the two of you, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s presence. These were the moments you cherished most. The quiet, stolen fragments of normalcy. Laughter bubbled up between you two as your dorky boyfriend spouted some random nonsense he knew would make you laugh. It was sweet, the way he was so tentative towards you.

      But that tranquility didn’t last for long.

      You felt it before it even happened. Familiar, lingering glances from a small group of middle schoolers standing nearby. Their hushed whispers, barely concealed excitement, and the way they kept shifting their gaze toward Isagi made it all too clear. You sighed inwardly, already knowing what was coming.

      Sure enough, three of them finally gathered the courage to approach. Their steps were hesitant at first, their hands fidgeting at their sides. One of the kids, probably the boldest of the group, cleared their throat before speaking.

      “U-um… excuse me! You’re—You’re Isagi Yoichi, right?” Their voice wavered between nervousness and awe, their friends standing just behind, eyes wide with anticipation.

      You stole a glance at Isagi, who offered them a small, friendly smile.

      And as much as you wanted to be patient, to remind yourself that these were just people who admired him, you couldn’t ignore the twinge of irritation settling in your chest. Your time with him was so limited, and yet, even now, it wasn’t truly yours.

      "Can we take a picture? We're really big fans!"

      You sighed, prepared for the routine of Isagi smiling for the camera while you played photographer. But then, something unexpected happened. Instead of handing you the phone, they positioned themselves between both of you. You blinked. They wanted a picture with you, too? Isagi and you, not just him.

      Your boyfriend grinned as he wrapped an arm around you, all too amused by your shocked expression. You managed to smile for the camera, still processing the fact that, for once, you weren’t forgotten.

      Then, to your even greater surprise, one of the middle schoolers turned to you, practically vibrating with excitement. "C-Can I get a picture with just you, L/n-san?"

      Your jaw nearly dropped.

      "Huh? Me?"

      "Yes! You're so cool!" they beamed before handing the phone over to Isagi to take the picture.

      Your face went hot. Isagi, meanwhile, couldn’t help the fireworks in his heart at the sight of your expression. The way your eyebrows were raised, your cheeks flushed and your eyes all wide and doey. You looked like the epitome of the expression, ‘deer in headlights’.

      You tried to regain your composure, posing for the picture.

      The middle schooler grinned, clutching their phone like it held the most precious treasure. "You're so smart and pretty, and you and Isagi are, like, goals!"

      Isagi chuckled under his breath, watching as your flustered expression deepened. His grip on your hand tightened slightly, a silent reassurance as you blinked in surprise at the unexpected compliment. You weren’t used to being recognized, at least not in this way. It was always about Isagi, about his incredible skills on the field, his rising fame, his career. But to hear someone acknowledge you, your intelligence, your looks, and your relationship caught you completely off guard.

      “You follow my work?” you stammered, blinking at the middle schooler, who grinned and clutched their phone like it was holding the most precious treasure.

      “Of course!” they chirped. “Your research is so cool! I read that article you posted last month—well, I didn’t understand all of it, but it was still amazing! And your social media posts? Super inspiring! You’re always sharing interesting stuff, and the way you talk about your work is just—ahhh, so cool! You’re, like, super talented!”

      Your lips parted, struggling to find the right words. “Oh! Thank you!” you finally managed, offering them a small, bashful smile.

      The kid practically beamed, rocking on their heels as they stared up at the two of you with starry-eyed admiration. “Seriously, you guys are amazing!”

      “It was nice meeting you, bye!” They said before running back to where they were, giggling.

      You watched them go, their excitement still bubbling over as they rejoined their friends. A small smile tugged at your lips. Despite the initial interruption, you had to admit, it wasn’t the worst encounter.

      Isagi let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned to you with an amused grin. “See? You’re famous too,” he teased.

      You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the warmth in your expression. “Hardly. But… it was kind of nice,” you admitted, glancing down at your intertwined hands. “I’m just not used to it. People always recognize you, not me.”

      Isagi tilted his head slightly, squeezing your hand before placing a soft kiss on your lips. “Well, they should. You work just as hard if not more.”

      Your heart fluttered at his words, the sincerity in his voice melting away the remnants of your earlier frustration. He always had this way of making you feel valued, of reminding you that your work, your passion, that you were just as important as everything else.

      No—you were the most important to him. You just didn’t notice it. You didn’t see the way he’d always steal glances at you, the way he needed to constantly be touching at least some part of you, the way he needed at least (if not more) a kiss a day, the way he needed to hear your voice just to get through the week, the way he just needed you.

      You sighed, leaning into him slightly as you resumed walking. Isagi hummed softly, draping an arm around your shoulders as he pulled you close once again. You smiled, letting yourself sink into the warmth of the moment. Even if the world would always pull at him, demanding his time and attention, it all belonged to you.

[kquil]

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER NINE

09 : REPUTATION

CHPT. SUM. : Sirius and his close friends build up a reputation at school leading up to their return home for the winter holidays 

LENGTH : 10.7k

TAGS : domestic fluff ; marauders origins ; pranking shenanigans ; james is crushing hard ; reunited ; sirius comes home for the holidays! ; investigations lead to a shocking discovery

← PREV. 08 : PASTRIES | SERIES M.LIST

9th October 1971 | 12 Grimmauld Place

You didn’t need to help Ruth or Damocles on Saturdays or Saturdays as they strictly wanted to keep the weekends to themselves. They've also been feeling very guilty about taking too much of your time. You argued against it but appreciated that they understood how important it was for them to spend time with each other and for you to spend time with your son. Regulus wasn’t one to complain, either. He loved spending time at the Potions shop and talking with Ruth, but he loved spending time with his mother most. Regulus often stayed in the study with you, reading, drawing or chatting while you worked at your desk. Sometimes, you’d write letters to Sirius together, talking about mundane things that happened throughout your day or week.

Surprisingly, you haven’t heard of any mischief from Sirius. You’re confident that he and the marauders would already be causing some sort of trouble, so you were quite confused. However, whenever you look at Regulus reading Sirius’ letters with such concentration and a hidden smile, his eyes glittering with excitement, you can hazard a guess as to why your letters are much milder than the ones Regulus seems to receive from his brother. You suppose Sirius doesn’t want to out himself as being a troublemaker in school. And, although you appreciate his consideration of you and his want to come across as a well-behaved son, you’re itching to know about all the trouble he’s caused. The fandom hardly knows anything about the Marauders and, now that you have the chance to know what they were up to personally, you’re eager to be let in on all of their secrets.

Nevertheless, after a mostly quiet day with Regulus spent on decorating the halls and rooms of the house with the dried lavender sprigs you had bought off of the Belby’s, you leave him to his own devices before dinner while you investigate the parlour room once more. You’ve left it too long out of your own cowardice and fear. Confrontations were something you were used to, but more so in the business sense; however, this was something entirely new to you. Walburga was the proud matriarch of the ancient and most noble house of Black. Her reputation made the room and its appalling contents all the more concerning. Dark magic was definitely at play, something you had no experience in, and confronting that will always be terrifying to you. Regardless, you remember spotting some books strewn about the room and in your search for answers to help Belby with the Wolfsbane potion, you were willing to get your hands on those books for the research. It’ll be like hitting two birds with one stone; your investigations will also bring you closer to figuring out what the original Walburga was up to.

Taking a breath, you absorb the sound of the grandfather clock striking 5 pm and watch as the secret parlour entrance appears before you once more. This time, you know what to expect, so you came prepared with some spells in mind as well as something to cover the sacrilegious, bloody ritual placed at the very centre of the room. You open the door and wrinkle your nose. It’s dark and musty. With a swish of your wand and a small incantation uttered under your breath, you will the wall lamps to liven up the space with a warm glow. You step in as the heavy doors shut behind you and frown at the dismal room despite the lamps’ touch of light. This time, you aim your spell onto the heavy curtains across the room. The thick, heavy drapes gently pull apart, allowing sunlight to flood the space, and you happily go about fixing up the disorderly area. First, you open the window, encouraging the fresh breeze to sweep inside and wash away the old mustiness suspended in the air.

Tidying up where you can, you leave the central ritual largely untouched, wanting to investigate it later on. The rotting owl carcass was the only thing you handled, magicking it away and relishing in the peace that floods you as soon as it disappears. That poor creature must have suffered a lot from Walburga’s hands; you felt horrible for simply throwing it away, but the suffering and poor intentions it symbolised were too overwhelming to ignore and keep. If you wanted to be productive about the room, it needed to go. Other than that, your main objective was the books and the loose pages that were carelessly strewn about. With a helpful swish of your wand, you collect all the papers and books into neat piles. Another flick shrinks them to a miniature size that you step forth to easily pocket.

That’ll do for now.

Satisfied, you hurry out of the room and shut the door firmly behind you after turning the lamps off and shutting the windows. Despite the rotten owl carcass being gone, the claustrophobia clung to you like a parasite unwilling to part. It weighed heavily on your form and made breathing far too difficult to withstand for a long period despite the fresh air filtering in. You’ll happily investigate the books and pages in your home office. It’ll help to analyse your evidence with a clear mind and in a space you can easily associate with unfaltering focus.

Shaking off the bad energy that still clung to you from the parlour, you make your way into your home office and take a seat behind your desk. The strange fact about these books, you find, is that all except one don’t have any distinguishing covers. The only book with a cover was the one left wide open at the centre of the writing desk and had its pages scornfully ripped out. Tracing the vintage leather cover of the defiled book, you frown at its obsolete title. These were symbols you couldn’t read, and you dread to think that the pages were written with the same indecipherable words. Flicking through the pages, a brief examination, you groan.

“Great...” you sigh at the offending symbols that stare at you mockingly from the decrepit pages of the ancient book. As you suspected, the book’s contents were also written in the same illegible language as the front cover’s title. Until you can find a way to decode the foreign language, you’ll keep the book and its loose pages in an empty drawer at your desk, one with a helpful little lock on it. Optimistically, you hope that the blank-covered books didn’t have the same issue. The random book you grab weighs heavy in your hands but in an oddly familiar way. Peculiar… Thinking nothing of it, you flick to the first page and gasp.

‘CHAPTER ONE’

‘OWL POST’

‘Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. For one thing...’ This was the third Harry Potter book — one of your favourites in the series.

With a shake of your head, you hurriedly flick through the pages as the pebble in your stomach grows into a boulder and fixes you to your chair. Rushing to open another book, you’re, again, met with more familiar passages from the beloved book series you grew up loving and often turned to for comfort in your adult years. All seven blank-covered books were the seven full books from the Harry Potter series! You think you’re going to be sick… she had the books… Walburga had the bloody Harry Potter books! How did she get them?!

“You’re unusually quiet today, Walburga...” you utter to yourself, urging the standardly shrieking witch in the back of your mind to step up and answer your racing questions. “I know you’re in there somewhere. Are you scared I found you out? What were you planning to do with all this new information, huh?” You drum your nervous fingers along one of the book’s blank hard covers.

“Well?!…” you wait for a response you weren’t going to receive, “Answer. Me. You. Ugly. Scheming. Pretentious. Bitch of a mother!” you spit and grit through your clenching teeth, trying your best not to raise your voice too loud. Getting Regulus or Orion’s attention now wouldn’t be ideal. You don’t know how long you wait for a response, but it was clear that you weren’t going to receive any. Begrudgingly, you lock away the Harry Potter books as well, ensuring that they couldn’t be accessed without a key; if these books got into the wrong hands, it wouldn’t end well for anybody, lest the very characters you were fighting for. What a heavy burden this will be.

There was a positive to this, however. You can rely on these books for information on the world and the Horcruxes.

16th October 1971 | Hogwarts, Gryffindor Common Room

Sirius couldn’t believe how content he felt in his current environment. He worried that with the recent changes at home, he would miss being with Regulus and his newly changed mother; however, due to the constant stream of letters they exchanged, he lacked that sense of homesickness. And, although he spent the same amount of time on writing letters back as he did writing up his homework, leaving his wrist terribly exhausted, he was content.

Hogwarts and Gryffindor house had become his second home, especially with the people he had surrounded himself with and the few he established as his close friends, especially James. Unlike his brotherhood with Regulus, Sirius had found a camaraderie with James that isn’t based on any blood relation, making their immediate bond that much more special to him. They veer to one another like binary stars, both gravitationally bound and orbiting each other. Sirius, with his aristocratic upbringing and rebellious nature; James, with his untamed energy and proneness for attracting the attention of those around him. However, it wasn’t only them. There was Remus, their shy and quiet friend with bibliophile tendencies. Sirius found that the best way to get him talking was to speak on books, something he was well-versed in, thanks to Regulus. And then, there was Peter, who made his eagerness to be part of the group known, always trailing after them, cracking his hilariously unfunny jokes, enchanted by James and Sirius’ boundless charisma, desperate to replicate it and make it his own, while also captivated by Remus’ smarts and bookishness, always looking to him for academic inspiration.

The first couple of months consisted of typical school things, making friends, getting into a routine and indulging in education. However, after the trouble they had found themselves in when trying to follow Remus the night of that haunting full moon, the boys have grown a tendency to create and find trouble.

Late one evening, James and Sirius were taking advantage of the mostly deserted common room, observing the only other people there, a pair of older students arguing over a wizarding chessboard. With a cheeky smirk and his round glasses slipping down his nose, James leaned over to whisper in Sirius’ ear, “Do you know what would make this more entertaining?” When Sirius looks to his friend, he sees the contagious glimmer of mischief in his hazel eyes.

“What?” Sirius can feel the swell of impishness infect him and pull the edges of his own lips up into a smirk. He knows that, whatever James suggests, he’s going to like what he has to say.

“If their pieces started arguing back.” They share a silent, maniacal laugh between them, expressed purely through their eyes.

“Let’s do it!” Sirius whispered back with an air of eagerness. It was so tempting to laugh aloud, carefree and raucous, but he was wary of the prefect standing close by. “How did that animation spell go, again?”

Not knowing the spell wasn’t a big obstacle for the two, they remained undeterred and went to enlist Remus. Typical of their prim and proper friend, Remus looked horrified at the suggestion, but there was a level of intrigue in his eyes that Sirius eagerly pointed out and used to convince him enough to indulge them. Together, they scoured their charms books for potentially helpful spells and were pointed to the correct chapters by Remus. Peter, poor Peter, was also roped in for the extra labour, unable to resist James and Sirius’ convincing arguments and twinkling smirks. Remus sends the portly boy a disappointed look but blushes when Peter returns the same disappointment towards him as if to say, ‘You volunteered to help first, mate. Don’t look at me like that.’

‘Well, they targeted me first,’ was what was conveyed in the look Remus had sent him back. Nevertheless, it was all in good humour, and the two smiled about it to themselves for a moment before Sirius and James complained that they were hardly helping and pushed their noses down into the pages with them. It took several nights, but they believed they had found the perfect spell. Thankfully, the two argumentative Gryffindors routinely played their game of chess on weekend evenings. James and Sirius practised the spell several times in their dorm room before they were confident in its execution. On the day of their grand chessboard prank, Peter stood by the Prefect on duty, nervously keeping watch as Remus pretended to read a book by the fireplace, and James and Sirius went in for their rehearsed stunt.

Despite their endless practice, however, their first attempt was a disaster! Rather than the pawns coming to life, James pointed the incantation and made it explode instead. The chess piece went out with a puff of black smoke. The only thing left of was its sooty remains, forever marking the chessboard. As the two chess players gasped at the sudden explosion and argued to death, firing accusations at the other for being the one to make it happen, Sirius shook his head disapprovingly.

“Brilliant one, James,” Sirius sarcastically comments, clapping his friend on the shoulder as he grumbles to himself. “We’ll try again, though. And we won’t stop until there’s success.”

Not so easily dissuaded, the two continued their attempts until the chess pieces became an incoherent mess of chatter that rivalled the chess players’ own arguments. It had become such a recurring spectacle that the common area had gradually filled up with other students throughout the weeks, eyeing the chess game for anything interesting that had been rumoured to happen. However, in their attempt at success, they had abandoned all caution for getting caught in the act, leaving them face to face with a very unamused, very irate fifth-year with flaring nostrils.

“Why don’t you find something more productive to do with your time?” the fifth-year lashes out, barely able to contain their irritation. “This isn’t very funny!”

“Au Contraire~ my friend,” Sirius sings playfully as James chuckles beside him, “It was very funny, right guys?” he asks the audience, who cheer wildly, prompting him and James to bow at the waist. Both were happy to provide the entertainment of the night. From his usual seat at the fireplace, Remus rolls his eyes but hides his smirk behind his book as Peter snickers to himself, quite proud of having participated in the background.

And so began the group’s reign of harmless, silly pranks. In the following weeks, the Gryffindor common room became the group’s testing facility for experiments, much to the amusement and irritation of their fellow Gryffindor housemates. It was a double-edged sword; they managed to earn equal amounts of love and abhor for their efforts.

One week, they had enchanted the cushions into making flatulent sounds whenever someone sat down, a surprising suggestion from Remus, who was well-versed in muggle pranks and had introduced them to the concept of a whoopie-cushion. Another week, they enchanted pages to appear blank in borrowed books from the library that were haphazardly left out, a lesson they wanted to teach those who were careless with books in Remus’ place. Another evening, they had enchanted the dining hall goblets to sing ‘God Save the Queen’ whenever someone tried to take a sip of their pumpkin juice, pushing everyone to drink simple water instead. The pranks weren’t sophisticated, but it was enough that they managed to draw out waves upon waves of laughter from their peers and even some teachers. Professor Flitwick was especially impressed with the prank purely from a charm-casting perspective. Remus, however, was stubbornly pouty about the whole thing, constantly muttering on about how irresponsible and silly they were being.

“Come on, Lupin,” James pleads playfully, cosying up beside the bookish brunette, “You can’t deny helping us with that chessboard prank. Don’t pretend you’re above it. Why, I’d go so far as to say that you’d be quite brilliant if you actually put in the effort. You’d have Sirius and me beat!”

Remus buries his nose further into his book, avoiding the contagious mischief in his friends’ hazel eyes, “I only helped because leaving you two to your own devices only spells trouble,” he huffs, lowering his voice to murmur to himself, “you would have blown up the entire common room, otherwise…”

“Exactly!” Sirius claps and points to Remus, settling down on his other side and draping an arm over his shoulders, “You’re morally obligated to keep us from doing something truly catastrophic. You’re the good to our bad Lupin—”

“So you admit that what you did is bad.”

“And you admit that you’re doing the good~” Sirius was such a stubborn wall. “Consider it a public service.”

“Oh, don’t roll your eyes again at us; do that too often, and they’ll get stuck back there—” James comments off-handedly but comes to a stuttering stop when a devious thought comes to mind, “Say... there’s an idea~”

“No, James! No!” Remus protests, quickly purging the thought of yet another prank from James’ mind. He knew exactly where James’ thoughts were trailing towards from his words, and he didn’t like the notion one bit! Peter snickers to himself with Sirius at the display. James held his hands in surrender as Remus pointed a narrowed stare at him, a silent warning against committing such a cruel prank.

Soon enough, however, Remus also became a willing participant. At the ripe age of eleven years, he was more fascinated than repelled by James and Sirius’ creative antics, stemming from the perversity of James’ natural prankster nature and glamourised by Sirius’ likeness to flamboyance, giving the otherwise amateurish pranks a vivacious flare. It wasn’t only Remus, however; Peter was also roped in, easily swayed by his friends’ characters, somewhat addicted to pleasing them and being part of the group.

While James and Sirius spearheaded the misbehaviour, coming up with endless pranks, Remus suggested they set aside a separate notebook to document every idea, establishing himself as the group’s moderator. He was the one to suggest modifying elements of their plans and encouraging them to test the spells beforehand, personally doing so himself most of the time. Meanwhile, Peter had the space to become emboldened by James and Sirius’ encouragement. However, there remained a hesitance that Remus deeply understood in Peter whenever their portly friend pulled away from playing any of the daring roles in their schemes.

“Sirius and James are better for it,” Peter excused and was happy for his excuse to be so easily accepted.

Their dynamic was gradually being set: James and Sirius were the primary driving forces, dubbing them the ringleaders by many. They were constantly pouring out their many prank ideas into the notebook Remus had provided them with. Remus was the strategist who safeguarded their plans and affiliated spells. He liked to think that he was doing public service, ensuring that his friends didn’t get carried away and making certain that their plans didn’t spiral out of control. Leaving Peter as the loyal accomplice, always the first one to step up and prove his willingness to share in the daringness and mischief. They had become a solid group with a mounting reputation of being equal irritants and entertainers to the professors and students. Their friendship was ossified by shared laughter and devious plots whispered amongst them, their loyalties to each other as hard as diamonds.

Other than their pranks, however, James had other occupations, one that flooded his mind with the image of a beautiful red-haired girl, who had the most striking emerald eyes. Her name: is Lily Evans. As beautiful as the flower of her namesake. He was smitten the instant he saw her on the platform, smiling widely, her eyes sparkling with rapture as she waved her family goodbye and stepped onto the train with her luggage. Not only was she the most beautiful girl James had ever laid eyes on, but she was also brilliant. As a muggleborn, he didn’t expect her to be so bright and well-read on the wizarding world, but that only made him fall even deeper for her. In one of their early Potion classes, she had brewed the cure for boils with such effortless grace that their potions professor (Professor Slughorn) was brimming with pride, his eyes taking a shine to her already. James, on the other hand, wasn’t so talented. Despite his father’s success in potions, he had managed the impossible task of melting his cauldron, which earned him a thorough scolding from Professor Slughorn. He had been so distracted by the red-haired beauty in his periphery, that he barely registered the heat of the fire, and Peter was too hesitant to voice anything. From across the room, Sirius and Remus snickered under their breaths at him, earning them a narrowed gaze, but what had killed James was the unimpressed look Lily had sent his way.

So much for a good first impression.

As determined as he was to succeed with his pranks, however, James had the same stubbornness when it came to his newfound love. No, this wasn’t a mere crush; this was love. The same love his parents shared and were never shy about displaying. He wanted a soft, everlasting love like them, and he knew— deep down —he knew that it had to be with Lily Evans.

From afar, he watched her with longing, adoring eyes, admiring her subtle habits and dazzling smile, blown away by her viridescent stare. Her laughter easily fills up a room, and he finds himself eager to draw out as much of the sweet sound from her as possible. However, there was a conflicting emotion when James quickly realised the astonishing amount of time she spent with Severus Snape, a Slytherin boy with greasy black hair, paper-pale skin and dark, dark eyes. They appeared to share an interest in potions, always becoming the most efficient potion partners whenever they shared a potions class with the Slytherins. However, that doesn’t account for how often James sees them together outside of class, this simple fact making a bitter dislike fester from deep inside him, immediately and viscerally so.

“What does she even see in him?” James scoffs, muttering to himself resentfully as he struggles to come up with any new pranks; his mind is too preoccupied. Even the heat of the fireplace couldn’t tempt him into indulging in the cosy atmosphere that evening.

Sirius, who had been plotting beside him, shrugged, “Maybe Evans just has a thing for greasy hair.”

James makes a disgusted face, “No way! Not her,” he refuses to believe she would have such an unorthodox preference, “I’m going to do something about it,” Sirius raises a brow in silent question, his interest piqued; he’s always up for a good prank, no matter the target. With a devilish smirk, James pulled Sirius in by the shoulders, and the two began to scheme.

The following morning, it quickly became known that the Slytherin table was bewitched. Another prank. Whenever someone tried to eat their breakfast, their utensils flew out of their hands in protest and began sword fighting on the table. It caused such a ruckus that James and Sirius earned themselves a week’s long detention, but James couldn’t care less. Despite seeing her supposed friend’s misery from across the table, the defeated look Snape had sent her was enough to make Lily Evans laugh—really laugh— the sound so beautiful and twinkling like the stars, James felt no guilt. That was his reward, and it trumped any punishment. He would do it again and again just to hear her laugh once more.

The Christmas holidays were fast approaching, and the boys had made quite the reputation of themselves, their pranks only having grown bolder as the days went by. It was equally exciting and apprehensive all at once to everyone except the four, as anybody could be their potential, new ‘victim’. Even professors weren’t exempt from their schemes; McGonagall could attest to that when she had to suffer having vivid blue hair for an entire afternoon following an ‘accidental’ charm they had cast during her transfiguration class. That wasn’t escaping her, however, and they landed themselves another evening of detention with Filch.

Despite the chaos they caused, however, it was never mean-spirited. The end goal for their antics was always laughter. James was adamant about earning it from Lily Evans, his love. Sirius was adamant about earning it for himself, wanting the most from his school experience away from home, just so he always had something to write to Regulus about. Remus was adamant about ensuring that everybody was laughing, holding onto the belief that the pranks weren’t funny if only a select few had the privilege to laugh. And Peter was just happy to be surrounded by laughter and high spirits. The group’s ‘prankster’ reputation was sealed. They had fostered an unbreakable brotherhood.

James still had a long way to go before he even had the chance to earn Lily’s affection and heart. But, for the moment, he was content with the brothers he had found and bonded with, brothers he didn’t have the pleasure of growing up beside but eventually managed to find in his dorm mates and friends.

18th December 1971 | Hogwarts, Dining hall

Sirius was eager to get to breakfast, and considering James was the only morning person around, the two of them went to the dining hall at a good time despite it being the weekend. Remus and Peter weren’t as willing to get an early breakfast; however, favouring sleep and groggily ushered the other two away, promising they’d meet them at the dining all in their own time.

“Just save our seats,” Remus asked them to promise, his voice dripping with sleep.

“Funny how you’re not the typical morning person on the weekdays,” James begins after stretching his arms up and giving a resounding groan, “but you always get really excited whenever it’s Saturday morning.” Despite stating this, it was obvious what James was getting at.

“Oh, shut it,” Sirius huffs with a roll of his eyes, “it’s just routine, is all.” The eldest Black brother didn’t lie. It was routine for your letters to arrive on Saturdays, whereas Regulus liked to keep a steady flow of letters coming throughout the week. Although this could demonstrate a lack of interest on your part, Sirius understood that you were busy with the household and taking care of Regulus; he was only happy that you had yet to miss a single week. That amount of dedication was more than enough for him. He’s also very happy about the news he received from you and his favourite uncle, Alphard. His uncle had expressed his concerns in letters following his sorting ceremony, but Sirius was quick to reassure him, promising that his mother was just as happy about his sorting as he was. Sirius could tell that his Uncle wasn’t convinced and patiently awaited the day he would see for himself that his mother had changed for the better. And what a brilliant day that was. He received letters immediately from Regulus and his Uncle. he had to wait for his mother’s Saturday letter, but the good news was consistent throughout the different dialogues, proving its truth.

Good news seemed to be the only thing Sirius reads in the letters he receives from home. And he’d like to reciprocate that, especially for his mother. He wants to do well by her despite her assurances that she will always love and support him no matter what. He omits a large portion of his letters’ contents for you, not out of malice but in consideration for your standing as his mother. You’ve made such a turnaround for him and Regulus, he owes it to you to be a good student. So he writes all about his good grades and excellence in class, especially for his flying lessons, where things could easily become dangerous. He wouldn’t dare write a single word to you about the amount of mischief he and the boys have been up to. Yes, he felt guilty, but he was only sparing you the worry. He wasn’t even the only one omitting such details; he knows for a fact that James, Peter and Remus were also doing the same.

“Finally, breakfast!” Sirius regales, sitting at his usual seat and quickly piling up his plate. James, who sat across from him, mirrored his actions with the same amount of enthusiasm. Both had a bottomless pit for a stomach, a similarity they enjoyed sharing. They enjoyed sharing many similarities, actually, differences too. All throughout breakfast, James would see Sirius look up constantly, searching the enchanted ceilings for any owls, his eyes sharpening and glowing with eagerness at the sight of a familiar gold ribbon that would streak through the air with a letter written just for him.

“Mother’s letter~” James says in a mocking, airy tone, mimicking his friend’s common practice as soon as he receives a familiar, wax-sealed envelope addressed to him in your swirling handwriting.

“Bugger off, James!” Sirius laughs, playfully kicking his friend in the shin from beneath the table, earning a small exclamation of pain. But the grins on their faces haven’t slipped off. This was normal teasing, not worth getting offended over; a great way to start their day.

“What does it say?” James asks through a mouthful of toast, butter and strawberry jam — he's almost completely incoherent.

“Like I’d tell you.” Sirius rolls his eyes, unfurling the letter within and reading to himself with a smile. In his head, he imagines your voice reading the words to him personally. He often does this. He does it for your letters, for Regulus’ and for his Uncle Alphard’s too.

‘My dearest son, Sirius,’ He smiles at your usual opening. It never fails to make his chest flood with warmth at your affectionate address. He still can’t believe he receives such letters from you despite not being in Slytherin. You were once so adamant that he be sorted into the House of Snakes, but not anymore, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Because, you not caring about which house he gets into, shows that you accept him for him, and that’s all he could ever wish for.

‘It’s not long now until you come home. We all miss you terribly, Regulus and I, especially so.’ Sirius scoffs at the subtle mention of his father. He appreciates your delicateness on the matter, but he couldn’t care less; he gets enough familial love from you and Regulus, and even his uncle. Despite his father being largely neglectful, Sirius’ days are filled with warmth and happiness, knowing that he has you and Reggie and Uncle Alphard— his version of family is complete. Nothing else needs to be added or subtracted, it’s perfect as is, no matter how small compared to the rest of his family tree.

‘The Yule holidays will be a special one, I have so many fun activities planned for the family.’ Sirius’ eyebrows fly to his hairline, his eyes widening with excitement at your words. The winter holidays were always a dull affair, with the celebrations mainly consisting of soirees and events with the other pureblood, sacred 28 families. For the first time, Sirius was allowing himself to feel actual elation for what may come. Now that you’ve changed for the better, he wonders what sorts of fantastical things you’ve planned. He recalls the fun extracurricular lessons you meticulously put in place for him and Reggie, lessons that weren’t tedious to get through or spiritless in nature; rather, he always looked forward to them and often found himself bouncing around in anticipation for what you may have planned that day. From that judgment alone, he knows he’s in for a real treat.

‘Regulus doesn’t know anything, only that I have something special planned for all of us. And you will be just as clueless as him until the day finally arrives.’ With a grin Sirius, shakes his head, eyes filled with amusement. He doesn’t mind waiting for a surprise he knows will be anything but boring. It’ll be better than any of those soirees and stiff dinners. He’s heard many tales from his close friends about how they spend their winter holidays with their families, and it always made him a little jealous when theirs seemed more fun than his. James had hot chocolate every night and decorated the tree together with his parents, who also allowed him to fly outside on his broom so long as he dressed well. Peter baked gingerbread with his mother, and they assembled a house together for the little gingerbread men to live in. Remus would watch muggle Christmas films with his parents every night leading up to Christmas day and get up early to unwrap presents, after which they would cook and eat breakfast together. It was all quite mundane, but it sounded so magical to Sirius. He wants that for Regulus. He wants it for his family. Maybe this year, their winter holiday, their Yule, would feel a lot more magical.

‘I can’t wait to hear all about Hogwarts from you in person. I’ve missed you so much. All I want is for you to hurry home so we can all be together again. It’s truly not the same without you here.’

As he finishes off the letter, James begins to laugh, filling in Remus and Peter as they groggily take their seats beside them. “This loon was all giddy over his letter again,” James teases, pointing a finger at Sirius, who huffs but fails to hide his smile and simply returns the letter to its envelope. It was a careful ritual he did to preserve each and every letter he received. He’s eaten out an entire tin of the biscuits you had baked with Regulus and sent him, and he used it to store all the letters he has received from the two of you. It was his most precious treasure at school. Sirius didn’t care for much, and he’s been able to better reign in his temper, but if anyone were to touch those letters, he’d go on a blind rampage.

“It’s good to know that his Mother cares so much about him,” Remus comments, smiling through his tiredness as he piles his plate on with a helping of scrambled eggs and a few slices of bacon.

Sirius smirks and gives James a look, “That’s right, why aren’t you happy for me Jamie?~” Peter begins to snicker as James splutters a response, “Are you jealous I get more letters from my Mother than you?”

“Shut up!” James flicks a splatter of jam at him from across the table with the bread knife he had been using to spread it over his toast.

Shielding himself with his hands, Sirius laughs, “Oi! Watch it!”

“…Wanker…” James utters under his breath, but there’s no lingering malice between them. This was as peaceful as breakfast can go between the four.

Another regular occurrence at breakfast is James’ wandering eyes and his longing stare at a renowned, witty and otherwise disinterested redhead. A fellow Gryffindor who had a close and unusual friendship with a Slytherin. They made for an unusual pair, but Sirius had no problems with them. His main focus was on James’s obvious crush.

“Evans again, eh?” Peter pipes up through a mouthful of scrambled eggs, only to snicker when James hurriedly shushes him. Sirius wasn’t the only one interested in James’ transparent puppy love, it seems.

“Shut your gob, Peter; she’ll hear you.” There was an evident blush on James’ cheeks, and the entire group giggled at his expense. The playful banter, however, evaporates as soon as James sees Lily stand to head out with her supposed friend, Snape. His expression falls so drastically, the tension in the air becomes palpable, “I don’t like him one bit...”

“Why? Because he’s with your girlfriend?” Sirius snickers, trying to keep the atmosphere light-hearted only to duck out of the way when James sends another splatter of jam his way. The next time he does that, Sirius swears he’ll try to aim the jam into his mouth just to be silly and rile James up more.

“No! I don’t!”

“Liar liar! Lying to your friends isn’t a very good habit Jamie~”

James rolls his eyes while Remus and Peter giggle to themselves, “I’m serious—”

“I thought you were James? I’m Sirius,” Remus and Peter begin cackling, sharing high fives between themselves and Sirius as James grumbles lowly. Suddenly, his friend reaches over the table to swat at his hair until Sirius pleads for him to stop. The two of them share an amused grin until James sighs, seemingly having reigned in his bitterness.

“He’s a Slytherin…and she’s a Gryffindor, it just doesn’t make sense.”

Sirius raised a brow, “What’s wrong with Slytherin?” his lips had moved before he could stop himself, and he looked around cautiously for a moment, knowing the rivalry between the two houses well, “It’s just that… I could have been in Slytherin.”

“But that’s just it; you weren’t sorted into Slytherin, he was,” James expresses, clearly speaking about Snape.

Sirius stays silent as Remus quickly picks the conversation back up, not wanting the tension to continue needlessly, “Just admit your crush and that you’re jealous James,” This earns a smirk from Sirius and Peter, and they all simultaneously give James a singular, teasing look.

“I’m not jealous of him!”

“Seems to me like you are~"

James groans and decides to leave the subject altogether. “My breakfast is getting cold because of you. Leave me alone.” They share another light-hearted laugh and finally focus back on the better subject of food.

21st December 1971 | King’s Cross Station, Platform 9¾ 

Standing at the platform with Regulus vibrating with excitement at your side and Orion standing off near the brick walls of the station, together, as a family, you await Sirius’ arrival. It was a cold winter’s day, but you could barely feel the chilling temperatures through your eagerness. You wonder if Sirius had grown much taller since the last time you saw him, you wonder if he still has the same preferences in food, and you wonder if he was happy to reunite with you all again. None of that mattered, however, not when he would be arriving soon, safe and sound — you just couldn’t wait to have him in your arms again.

Regulus has been especially excited for today, eager to dress himself for the occasion — in fact, he was the first one at the door this morning. You were second, and Orion came trailing behind as the third. Kreacher was helpfully staying behind to finish up the grand lunch spread you had begun making for Sirius to come home to. He must be terribly tired from the long journey. But it’s nothing some good food and family time at the table could help.

“How much longer do you think he’ll be, Mother?” Regulus asks, looking up at you with starry eyes.

“I don’t know, little love,” you express honestly, observing the congregating families around you, “but I hope he’ll get here soon.” The two of you share a smile and look back onto the tracks once more, fervidly awaiting the arrival of the train.

“I…I think I hear something,” Regulus comments softly, straining his ears and stretching his neck out to better see the path of the potentially arriving train.

“Regulus, be careful!” you fret, hurriedly pulling him back to safety, but he had no care for it, already bouncing in place.

“It’s coming! The train is coming!” His elated exclamation can be heard throughout the platform and makes all the surrounding families straighten in anticipation for their sons and daughters, who are finally coming home for the holidays.

“I know it’s exciting, but there wasn’t a need for you to put yourself at risk, alright? Regulus?” you look into his eyes meaningfully as he nods, “Promise me you won’t do something so silly again.”

The soft pink cheeks of your youngest, due to the biting cold, become all the more pink from your worry, but he nods agreeably. “Yes, Mother. I’m sorry.” Smiling satisfactorily, you kiss his crown and pull yourselves back even further as the train finally arrives at the station. It arrives with a flurry of smoke and an echoing horn. Sirius is here. You try to keep your heart at bay, feeling as though it would fly out of your chest, just at the idea of Sirius being so close. Glancing behind you, Orion leant against the brick wall, looking around impatiently and with such dull disinterest that your excitement was momentarily overcast. What an unpleasant attitude to have. Was he not happy for Sirius to be home after so long? He can stay back there for all you care. For now, you focus on searching the globulous crowds flocking to the train entrances for your eldest son.

You made sure to clearly inform Regulus about your plans for collecting Sirius at the station. Rightfully predicting the large mass of people, you warned him to keep his distance and stay close to you. It was important that he not let his excitement get the best of him, or else he would be putting himself in danger by carelessly mixing in with the crowds of people.

“Stay close, Reggie,” you remind him, and he gives your hand a reassuring clench.

Searching the crowds carefully, you try to find Sirius as quickly as possible. You try to pick out his pale skin, his angular features, his glittering grey eyes and his mess of black hair. The search was made rather difficult because of the bustling crowds, but you stood your ground, only cursing the masses in your head for keeping you away from your son longer than needed.

“Mother!” came a distant but approaching shout, and your head snapped to the voice’s direction, “Reggie!” Sirius breaks through the crowd with an adoring, toothy grin that you had long missed.

“Sirius!” Regulus shouts and runs to his brother with open arms. From your place, you watch their reunion with fond eyes, doing your best to wait patiently for when Sirius would make it the rest of the way to you.

“I missed you so much!” Sirius laughs into his little brother’s hair.

“I missed you too, Siri…” Regulus sighs into his older brother’s chest. It’s been too long since they’ve last seen each other. Those letters weren’t enough. “Come!” he grabs his older brother’s hand and leads him back to you. “Mother’s missed you too!”

Sirius looks up and grins before running into your wide-open arms, sighing into the thick fabric of your jacket. You use one hand to shrink his luggage and have Regulus pocket them while Orion begrudgingly carries his owl’s cage. You’ve knelt to meet him at his height, pressing his face into your shoulder as you prop your chin over his own.

“Oh! My darling, my darling~” you coo, finally allowing yourself to savour the feel of him in your arms, “I’ve missed you so so much!”

“I missed you too, Mother!” Sirius grins, his spirit bright and shining through his beautiful grey eyes, “Thank you for picking me up.” his politeness makes you awe and begin peppering his face with kisses. “S-stop!” he chuckles, clearly not opposed to the affection in the slightest. “You’re embarrassing me in front of my friends.”

“Friends?” you stutter, pausing as you look behind him to see the young marauders holding back devious smirks at the sight. It appears as though they have already introduced themselves to Regulus, who finds his way back to you with a wide smile.

“They all sound nice, Mother,” Regulus comments, positioning himself beside you and facing the three school boys who arrived with his brother, doing his best to ignore Orion’s displeased expression and narrowed gaze. His father had been very irritable and impatient this morning. It was very disappointing to see, but Regulus didn’t allow it to pollute his personal delight over Sirius’ return.

“Let me introduce you,” Sirius starts with a messy-haired young man with round glasses, standing at a healthy height and with the faintest dimples showing in his cheeks. “This one is called James,”

“This one?!” James blanches, making you all laugh before he finally greets you properly, “James Potter, here! Good afternoon, Ma’am,”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, James,” you smile kindly at him, trying to temper your racing mind and heart as best as you can. The marauders were right in front of you. How surreal! So distracted were you at keeping your reactions reasonable that you completely missed the slight shock that crossed all three boys’ expressions before they melted into a soft look of admiration — one similar to puppy love. You’re pretty... was their silent but unanimous conclusion. They only caught a glimpse of you from the dining hall on the day Sirius had been called to see Dumbledore, but seeing you up close made them realise how small of a glimpse they caught of your beauty. Perhaps it was also because of how loving they knew you to be through Sirius that their puppy love blossomed so easily.

“This is Peter,” Sirius gestures to a portly boy with sandy blonde hair and chubby cheeks flushed red from the cold.

“H-hello, Madam, it’s Peter Pettigrew,” Peter greets shyly, finishing off his introduction whilst avoiding your eyes.

“Hello, Peter.” You can’t help but admire how adorable-looking Peter appeared. Right now, he’s just an innocent child who’s only beginning to figure out who he truly is as a person. Hopefully, you can help him avoid getting pulled into the darkness and help the boys form a stronger bond that keeps him on the right side. You’ve seen the online discussions of how Peter could have been the parallel for Neville before it all went wrong; in this reality, you were determined to make them exact parallels. You won’t allow Peter to be led astray.

“And lastly, this is Remus Lupin.” Sirius corrects himself to make a full introduction this time and turns you to a brunette with faint scars marring the skin of his neck, jaw and face, his sweet features all bundled up in the cosiest grandpa jumper you’ve ever seen.

“A pleasure, Ma’am,” There’s a shyness in Remus’ smile that makes you want to coo at him but manage to hold yourself back. Taking in his precious appearance makes your determination to help Damocles with the Wolfsbane potion grow all the more. A kind, innocent boy like him didn’t deserve to suffer the consequences of such a terrible ailment, especially one that was forced upon him at such a young age.

Smiling sweetly, you give a small nod, “The pleasure’s all mine, Remus, hello.” You take a moment to meet each of their gazes individually. “It’s wonderful to finally put a name to the face. Sirius has written so much about you in his letters,” The three share a teasing grin as Sirius goes a soft pink beside you.

“Mother!” he hisses under his breath, but you ignore him with a light laugh.

“My~ It feels as though I’m meeting celebrities,” James’ chest visibly puffs up as Remus and Peter tuck in their chins bashfully.

“It’s really nice of you to talk about us, Sirius,” Peter comments softly, his words genuine and his eyes grateful.

“Of course, I would,” Sirius defends, his embarrassment turning into smugness. He sees the perfect opportunity to poke fun at them and jumps at it, “I had no one else to rant about you sorry lot,”

“Excuse you!” James huffs, his hands leaving his hips to reach for Sirius, who ducks behind you with a laugh. Peter, on the other hand, pouts exaggeratedly while Remus shakes his head.

“Goodness,” you giggle to yourself as Sirius looks over your shoulder to make a funny face at James, who returns the gesture, soon being joined by Remus and Peter, all of them now pulling silly faces at each other. Regulus was tempted enough to join in, “You lot are a bunch of goofs.”

Regulus nods in agreement beside you, pretending that he hadn’t just joined in and giggled along, his eyes glittering with the idea that he may make the same fun friendships when he finally gets to go to Hogwarts next year. He’s never seen his brother so energetic and laid back before. If this was the effect Hogwarts had on his disposition, then he couldn’t wait to join in on the fun. Regulus has read about the group’s many pranks during school in Sirius’ letters, and although he was hesitant to indulge his elder brother’s misbehaviour at first, he soon fell into the wondrous magic such a brotherhood fostered. He wanted to be a part of it, too. He wanted to create his own.

“We need to get home. Hurry it up!” your husband demands from a step or two behind you, impatiently carrying Sirius’ owl in its cage.

“Really, Orion…” you huff, slowly standing and shooting the stone-faced, bitter mana scowl, “aren’t you the least bit interested in your eldest son’s close friends?” you ask, willing yourself to restrain the amount of bite in your tone, aware of the suddenly quiet and tense atmosphere between you. Orion has the most horrid habit of disturbing the peace.

“I’m interested in getting out of this cold. Hurry. Up!” he snaps once more before turning around to lead the way home. Sighing, you turn to the marauders and your two sons with an apologetic smile, hoping to ease their tense shoulders and tight expressions. “I’m sorry dears, but my husband’s anxious to get home,” they nod their heads in understanding.

“It’s okay, ma’am,” James offers a smile, helping to ease the tension even more. “I should really go find my own parents, too,”

“Of course, thank you for understanding,” reaching out, you softly begin petting Sirius’ hair as he stood at your side. “Perhaps we can invite you over for a get-together over the holidays? It would be nice to spend some time with each other over some tea and games.” The boys look at each other excitedly, their eyes and smiles wide with anticipation. Sirius and Regulus, however, look up at you in surprise. They didn’t expect this at all, but they should have; you’ve changed so much already. Naturally, you would be more willing to allow them to befriend and spend time with those they made their friends. Your sons’ chests filled with warmth at the thought and they couldn’t keep themselves from smiling widely.

“That’ll be great! Thanks!” James cheers.

“Yeah, it’ll be fun,” Peter adds, his shyness disappearing into a bright-eyed smile.

Remus nods along happily, “I can’t wait!” You watch fondly as the 11-year-old marauders share a group hug before waving them off.

“Aren’t we going yet, Mother?” Regulus asks, tugging gently on your skirt. Both sons look at you with curious eyes.

“Of course, I just want to make sure your friends get to their parents safely,” your answer makes Sirius smile gratefully, and you all patiently watch and wait. It didn’t take long for James to greet his parents. He points you out, and you wave at him while his parents stare in shock. Their jaws dropped in surprise at the sight of the Black family’s matriarch happily waving at them with an uncharacteristically kind smile. The same happened with Remus when he reunited with his parents, too. Peter’s mother also shared the same astounded look but was unwilling to stay longer than needed and hurries him away.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔݁ ˖

“Your friends were very lovely, Siri,” you comment sweetly as you all arrive back at 12 Grimmauld Place, dusting yourselves off as the green flames of the fireplace subsided “I wish we could have stayed longer.”

“It’s alright.” Sirius smiles up at you, appreciative of your open kindness to his friends, the complete opposite of his father’s judging stares. “They had their families to get back to—”

“What Took You So Long?!” Orion’s voice boomed and shook the walls of the living area, instantly riding the light-hearted nature of the atmosphere.

As Sirius and Regulus stiffened up and inched closer to you, you answer Orion calmly, leaning down to help the boys out of their coats, “We made sure Sirius’ friends returned to their families safely before leaving. Is that so wrong?” Orion scoffs, clearly annoyed that he was kept waiting around for you. “We didn’t mind the cold all that much but I know it was getting to be a lot for you, dear, we understand,” your husband flushes red at the cheeks and stomps off to his office with his tail tucked between his legs. It was hard to suppress your victorious smirk.

“I won’t be joining your lunch! Have the food be delivered to me in my office!” Orion’s reverberating voice disappears up the stairs with him. Good riddance.

“As you wish,” you then call for Kreacher to help you put the boys’ clothes away and serve Orion his helping of the lunch you had prepared for Sirius’ return.

“Right away, Mistress,” Kreacher smiles, magicking the coats to their rightful places once Regulus took Sirius’ shrunken luggage out from his pockets and finally turned to Sirius with a warm look, “Kreacher is most happy to have young master Sirius return,”

Sirius smiles back happily, “Thank you, Kreacher. It’s good to be back too,” giving his young master a nod, Kreacher disappears to deliver Orion’s plate while you usher the boys upstairs to unpack. Sirius can see the visible growth in Kreacher’s once anxious and gloomy nature. The house elf looked much happier now and it was a good sight to behold, a welcome change. Gone was the house elf that perpetuated the torment his mother and father inflicted onto him.

“I’m sure you two would want to have some time to catch up, but you don’t have to fully unpack just yet, lunch is waiting.” the three of you step into Sirius’ bedroom together, where you un-shrink his luggage for him.

“Thank you, Mother.” Sirius turns to you only to be pulled into your warm embrace once more.

“Not at all, sweetheart.” You pull away and lovingly caress his features. Starting from the top of his head, your soft touch drifts down to rest against his cheek. “It’s so good to have you back, Sirius. I missed you terribly.” Gently, you press a kiss to his forehead and move to his bedroom doorway. “I’ll be setting up the table downstairs. Try not to take too long, my loves, we don’t want the food getting cold.”

“Of course, Mother, see you downstairs.” Sirius grins, and the brothers watch as you leave the room, eagerly floating down the stairs to meet Kreacher in the kitchen, where you both share the task of prepping the table for everyone to eat. You were quite relieved that Orion wouldn’t be joining you. The recent meals you’ve shared have been rather tense, and it was clear that he was still bitter over Sirius’ unfilial behaviour that was the cause of him being sorted into Gryffindor rather than Slytherin. Honestly, he was more of a child than your two young sons.

The boys don’t spend too long up in Sirius’ room, both pulled to the kitchen and dining area by the delicious smell of food in the air. They also didn’t want to catch up too much by themselves; sharing their conversation with you over the food you had prepared was a far more pleasant idea.

“Everything smells so good!” Regulus expresses as he and Sirius step into the dining area, smiling at the sight of you bustling about the kitchen with Kreacher.

“Why thank you, little love,” Sirius looks to his younger brother at the new term of endearment he’s earned while he was away at school. There was a mix of jealousy and assurance in his eyes. You definitely took good care of Regulus when he was away. “The food I prepared is quite nostalgic, actually,” you giggle to yourself and urge them to step up beside you. As they do, their steps eager and swift, they gasp simultaneously. Sharing a smile for a moment, they look up to you again with glittering eyes, nostalgia swimming in the warmth flooding their chests.

“Hunter’s chicken and fish and chips!” Sirius exclaims, eying the hearty meal he had ordered at the pub when you all went school shopping with him earlier that year.

“That’s right.” You hand him his plate of Hunter’s chicken and urge him to sit at the table with it before handing Regulus his plate of fish and chips to do the same. “I’m saving the shepherd's pie for dinner tonight.” Orion had requested the hunter’s chicken earlier that day, so you would be eating the second portion of fish and chips. “Boys,” you call their attention before they can take up their knives and forks. Their hands stutter mid-air, and they look at you with curious eyes, wondering what you need of them. Hopefully, it was nothing serious. “Kreacher helped prepare this food with me. Can we thank him properly for his efforts, please?”

Smiling brightly, Regulus and Sirius search around for Kreaher, who bashfully pops into existence beside you, “Thank you for helping prepare the food, Kreacher,” Regulus smiles at the shy house elf who couldn’t even meet his eyes.

“Yes, thank you, Kreacher. Everything looks amazing!” Sirius adds, his words sincere and his eyes crinkling at the edges from his appreciative smile.

“Young masters a-are most—” Kreacher looks to you briefly for some assurance before continuing, “most welcome...”

Nodding happily, you also offer your thanks and finally allow Kreacher to disappear elsewhere. He was slowly getting accustomed to the new dynamic between the matriarch and his young masters, but it wasn’t to the point of comfortably eating with you at the dinner table just yet. That habit of his was so stubbornly ingrained, that you doubt it would be an easy habit to vanquish entirely.

“Good job, dears,” you gesture for them to continue with their lunch, but they don’t move. Instead, they turn their full attention to you.

“Thank you for the delicious food too, Mother,” Sirius begins, “I already know this is going to taste amazing! I’m so happy to be home again!” admittedly his words and toothy grin make you tear up a bit and you quickly blink the tears away, wanting to keep the day a happy occasion.

“Sirius’ is right, thank you so much, Mother. I’m going to savour every last bite!” Regulus adds, pushing you all the more into breaking apart before them.

“You two stop teasing your Mother and eat your food already!” They laugh at your playful huff and finally dig into their lovingly prepared meals. The time was spent thoroughly enjoying the delicious, nostalgic taste of the food while also questioning Sirius about his time spent at Hogwarts. It was exciting to hear about his months spent away first-hand, as the Marauders era was always relatively vague. Yours and Regulus’ attentions were fully captivated by Sirius’ fun retelling of lessons and things he’s learned. You were beginning to get suspicious however; not a single prank against the other students was mentioned, but you were confident in his mischievous antics. He could keep it away from you in his letters home, but you were hopeful that he’d be willing to share the details in person. It was a little disappointing as that was something you were very excited to hear about. Although you were willing to let it go. You’re happy as is to hear whatever Sirius was willing to share. That was more than enough for you.

“My, my, it sounds like you’ve had a wonderful time,” you comment, smiling as Sirius affirms with an enthusiastic nod. “You’ve got Regulus all riled up and eager to join you at Hogwarts now,” you and Sirius giggle together at the image of his sparkly-eyed younger brother across the table.

“It sounds like so much fun, you can’t blame me,” Regulus expresses, tucking his chin into his chest sweetly and with a sheepish pink hue on his cheeks.

“I’m sorry for teasing, dear, you’re just too adorable.”

“And I can’t wait until you join me too, Reggie!” Sirius explains, “It’ll be even more fun when you get to Hogwarts too; we can hang out all the time!”

“Yeah!”

Smiling at their interaction, you helpfully try to reign in their excitement, “Just make sure to allow your brother to make his own friends too, Sirius,”

“Of course! And when you do, we can form one big group of friends.” Sirius’ excitement is still just as animated and contagious. But you were happy for his response and had no complaints when Regulus appeared to rise up all the more in his seat.

“That’ll be so much fun!”

22nd December 1971 | 12 Grimmauld Place

Stepping out of their rooms, Sirius and Regulus meet each other in the hallway, grabbing and tugging at their rather stuffy suits. Today was the day of the Yule soiree that was arranged yearly for the sacred 28 families and many other prominently high-class wizarding families. In the memories you glimpse through Walburga’s previous grumblings leading up to the event, however, makes you purse your lips at the thought that, despite the arrangement helpfully trying to make the influential wizarding families mingle with one another, most of the pureblood elitist houses sequester themselves in a luxury room, separate from everyone else. This only perpetuated the divide, and you didn’t want that for your boys. For Orion and appearance’s sake, you’ll follow them into the luxury room but slowly inch you and your boys away and back into the main area.

“You two look like the perfect pair of gentlemen,” you coo but smile apologetically when you notice their awkward stance. “Are you uncomfortable, my loves?”

“Only a little bit,” Regulus confesses politely.

“Try a lot,” Sirius grumbles, always the one who’s more forthcoming with his truths.

“I’m sorry, dears,” leaning forward, you press a soft, loving kiss onto their foreheads, “try to bear with it as best as you can, okay?” Thankfully, the two were willing to cooperate with you and nodded.

“You look beautiful, Mother.” You smile kindly at Regulus’s sweet comment and thank him softly with a kiss to his crown.

“I agree!” Sirius grins and steps up to you, bringing your hand up to his lips, where he kisses your knuckles. “Mother, you’ll be the most beautiful lady at the soiree.” his actions fluster you, but you’re happy to have raised such a gentleman.

“You flatterer,” you hide your bashful expression in Sirius’ curls and press a kiss to his crown in thanks while Regulus giggles from beside you both. The three of you meet Orion in the living room, where you plan on using the Floo network to reach the venue.

“It’s about time,” Orion huffs, adjusting his cuff links before ordering Kreacher to place the dust-repelling spell onto everyone’s clothing so that the debris from the fireplace doesn’t affect your cleanliness. “We can’t be late to the soiree. Stop dawdling!” Orion hurries into the fireplace first and doesn’t wait for anyone else before he’s swallowed up by green flames. You sigh but offer your two sons a patient smile.

“You heard your father; it’s polite to be on time.” You turn to Kreacher as you urge the boys into the fireplace. “We’ll be back soon Kreacher.” With a soft farewell, Kreacher waves you off as you, too, are consumed by green flames.

NAVI. | SERIES M.LIST | NEXT. 10 : ... →

A/N : Phew~ that was a long one omg! I hope you darlings enjoyed the chapter and are looking forward to the next one! Chapter 10 will have a lot of fluffy, domestic moments that I'm very excited to share with all of you! For now, I hope this chapter was a good read for you!

[the-travelling-witch]

bnha x farming sims

katsuki, or bakugo as he insists you call him, is the black smith with the foul mood and even fouler mouth. he’s not happy you’re bothering him so early in the morning and he’ll let you know. still, you make it a point to visit him regularly (and definitely not bc seeing him work by the forge in sleeveless shirts has you looking respectfully) and slowly but surely, he’s starting to warm up to you. well, katsuki’s way of warming up to someone, but progress is progress nonetheless. now take the shovel he totally didn’t make specifically for you before he whacks you over the head with it.

deku can be found running around the general store most of the time. he’s bright and cheery as he greets you, carrying heavy crates of produce like they weigh nothing. if it wasn’t for midoriya, you think you might have had a few more breakdowns, both mentally and physically, when you started life on your farm. you were of course also grateful for his help lugging animal food around but his friendly attitude and warm presence meant everything to you when you moved to a town where you knew nobody.

todoroki shouto is the mayor’s son, unwillingly following behind his father as he comes to greet you on your first day. afflicted by the nerves of your fresh start, you interpret his court greeting as immediate dislike and make a note not to bother him much in the future. however, one evening at the tavern, deku waves you over to their table and helps bridge some of the gaps between you. noting it’s not a dislike of you and just shouto’s natural stoic demeanour, you can’t help but warm up to him, heart fluttering when he graces you with a small smile.

kirishima is intimidating… for about 0.2 seconds. then he’s already showing you a bright smile and clapping a big hand on your back, nearly knocking you over. it doesn’t shock you at all to learn that he does a lot of the physical labour around town, from carrying materials around to splitting wood for the winter. the only surprising thing about him is the choice of his best friend because seriously? katsuki?? nevertheless, seeing kirishima always puts you in a more cheerful mood and he’s always more than ready to help you when you’ve run into a problem or another.

at first, you give kaminari a wide berth. not because he has done anything bad to you, per se, but more so because his reputation precedes him. you wouldn’t think someone could be branded as a flirt in a town as small as this, and yet he proves you wrong. it doesn’t help that, when you introduced yourself, he wiggled his eyebrows and dropped a line that made mina slap him upside the head. though, inevitably you come to find that a reputation isn’t necessarily the entire truth. and denki could really be quite cute, making you laugh with a dumb joke or another, when he wasn’t thinking with what’s in his pants.

keigo is in and out of town like a whirlwind, travelling between your more remote village and the more bustling locations some distance away. you come to learn that todoroki enji relies on his information quite a lot. your farm opens up more possibilities for trading routes in and out of town again, so it’s inevitable that keigo comes up to strike up a conversation sooner or later. his laissez-faire attitude is a pleasant breath of fresh air compared to the mayor’s gruff comments and you can’t help but laugh along with him. as you see more of each other, becoming close enough to chat over drinks at the tavern quite often, he brings you back interesting trinkets from his trips. in your minimalist home, they make the living space feel cosier and actually lived in; not to mention, you can’t help but think of the blond whenever you look at them.

[marksbear2]

Hiiii, bear!!! If you're still taking requests, could a request a homelander x male!reader fic where homelander is sort of a little desperate for readers approval because hw hasn't gotten a lot of positive attention in his life? And if it's still open, could I be '🪼 anon', please?

Homelander x male reader

Hiii and yes you may my friend. This has to be like a world record for me to be writing and posting a request in the same day.

Beneath the Cape

The first time you met Homelander, you hadn’t expected much.

Not because he wasn’t impressive—he was. Towering, broad-shouldered, the very image of America’s strongest hero. But you knew his reputation, the whispers beneath the carefully crafted PR. Dangerous. Unstable. Capable of wiping out a city if the mood struck him.

And yet, when you spoke to him, you saw something else. Something beneath the mask.

It had been a brief encounter. A charity event, one of those nauseatingly polished affairs where Vought paraded their golden boy around like a prize horse. You’d been there as part of your company’s sponsorship, nothing special. Just another name on a list.

But then he walked by, and you—unlike everyone else—didn’t grovel. Didn’t flinch. You just… smiled. A simple thing, a polite acknowledgment, nothing more.

And for a second, just a second, Homelander froze.

Then his expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across his face. He gave you a nod, an almost hesitant one, before moving on.

You thought nothing of it.

He, however, couldn’t stop thinking about it. Homelander started noticing you more after that.

It wasn’t immediate, but it was persistent. Every time he passed through a room, his gaze would linger on you a little longer. At first, it was just curiosity. Why hadn’t you looked at him the way everyone else did? With fear. With worship.

Instead, you were… normal. You treated him like a person, not a god.

And for the first time in his life, that felt more intoxicating than any amount of adoration. So he sought you out. First, by coincidence. Then, with more intention. He made excuses to be near you, dropping by your office under the pretense of business, stopping to chat when he saw you at events. He wanted—needed—to know why you were different.

And every time you spoke to him, it was like a breath of fresh air. No false praise. No trembling admiration. Just simple, casual conversation. You didn’t hesitate to crack a joke, to roll your eyes at corporate nonsense, to treat him like—well, like a regular guy.

He couldn’t get enough of it.

Of you.

At first, you chalked up his frequent appearances to coincidence. But then it became too frequent. Too deliberate.

Homelander always seemed to be around. Finding excuses to talk. Standing just a little too close. And then there were the looks. The way he watched you—not with the cold, calculated gaze he gave most people, but something softer. Almost needy.

It was subtle at first, the way his eyes followed you, the way his expression shifted when you laughed at something he said. But then there were the moments when he lingered after conversations, as if reluctant to leave.

And one night, after another one of those tedious events, you finally called him out on it.

“Alright,” you said, arms crossed as you leaned against the balcony railing. “What’s your deal?”

Homelander blinked, tilting his head. “My deal?”

“You keep showing up around me. Hanging around like a lost puppy.” You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

There it was again—that flicker of something behind his eyes.

“Would you rather I leave?” His voice was casual, but you caught the undercurrent beneath it. The uncertainty. The smallest, quietest thread of insecurity, woven into the carefully controlled mask.

You exhaled. “I didn’t say that.”

His expression shifted, something relieved, something satisfied. “Good,” he murmured, stepping closer. Close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, something crisp and clean beneath the fabric of his suit.

And then he smiled, not the perfect, PR-ready grin he always wore for the cameras, but something real.

Something just for you.

From then on, it was impossible to ignore.

Homelander wanted your attention. Craved it. And he wasn’t subtle about it.

He’d show up at your office unannounced, making himself comfortable in your chair like he belonged there. He’d hover during conversations, subtly guiding them back to himself, clearly wanting to hear what you thought of him.

And, God help you, he was charming when he wanted to be. Infuriatingly so.

“You like me, don’t you?” he mused one evening, seated across from you in your apartment—because, yes, he had started showing up there too, somehow always knowing when you were home.

You scoffed. “What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “You’re nice to me.”

You frowned. “And?”

“No one’s ever nice to me.”

Something in his voice made you pause.

It was an admission, plain and simple, but there was something raw beneath it. Something vulnerable.

He covered it quickly, pasting on a smirk. “Well, not without wanting something in return.”

You sighed. “Maybe I’m just nice.”

He studied you for a long moment. Then, quietly, “Maybe that’s why I like you.”

Your stomach twisted.

Not out of fear. Not out of discomfort. But something deeper.

Something dangerous.

Because the way he looked at you—the way he wanted you—wasn’t just some passing fascination.

It was need.

And you weren’t sure you could ignore it much longer.

---

It escalated from there.

Not in the way you expected. He didn’t push. Didn’t demand.

He just… stayed.

In your life. In your space. Always there, always watching, always waiting for whatever little scraps of attention you’d give him. And God, when you did?

It was like he came alive.

A simple touch—your hand brushing his arm—made his breath hitch. A kind word had him lingering on it for days.

You realized, then, just how little warmth he’d ever been given.

And how much he wanted it from you.

One night, after a long conversation over drinks, he sighed, tilting his head toward you. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“How much I need this.” His voice was softer than usual. “How much I need you.”

Your chest tightened.

And when he leaned in, when his lips hovered just a breath away from yours, you realized something.

You needed him too.

THE END

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

What is the current population of Gallifreyans living on Earth as of 2025? And is England really Gallifreyan central as suggested in the stories over the galaxy? And if so why and does the Doctor have anything to do with it?

Are there Gallifreyans on Earth?

🌍 Population Count: No Idea.

When Gallifreyans end up on Earth and decide to stay, they're usually there for a reason. Some might just like the idea of fourth retirement skiing in the Alps or enjoying New York's vibe. But not many Gallifreyans see Earth the way the Doctor does—which is to say, as the most important, most fascinating, most adventure-prone planet in the universe.

If a Gallifreyan is on Earth, it's usually not because they're drawn to it. It's because they don't want to be found. It's the perfect hiding spot for a few reasons:

✅ It's a primitive planet—which means it's legally protected from most direct alien interference under Galactic Law. Anyone trying to find the Gallifreyan will have to file a ridiculous amount of paperwork with the Shadow Proclamation, and no one wants to do that.

✅ They blend in extremely well. Gallifreyans look close enough to humans that they don't need to alter their biology, use a Chameleon Arch, or invent some tragic backstory.

So, are there Gallifreyans living on Earth? Almost definitely, but we'll never know how many.

👽Is the UK Really Gallifreyan Central?

1️⃣ Space-Time Hotspots – London and Cardiff are ridiculously active when it comes to weird space-time phenomena. The rift in Cardiff is basically a free energy source for any stranded or tired TARDIS. London, meanwhile, has enough alien invasions to be a nightmare for insurance companies. As a rule, Time Lords and TARDISes tend to get a little more drawn to places and times where there's more activity.

2️⃣ Treacherous Landings – Gallifreyan navigation systems are complex, and one wrong digit in the coordinates could send a TARDIS straight into the Pacific Ocean. Time Lords who end up on Earth often find themselves in the same few locations—not necessarily because they meant to, but because it's safer than materialising in the middle of nowhere.

3️⃣ The Doctor's Fault (Obviously) – Let's be real. Earth is a tiny planet, populated by a lesser species, and objectively not that interesting.

Most Gallifreyans haven't looked into it that much and have a very warped perception of Earth because the only information they get is from the Doctor's antics. If you were a Gallifreyan casually curious about Earth, you'd assume the entire planet consisted of:

London, which is constantly being invaded.

Cardiff, which apparently contains the only TARDIS fuel station worth stopping at.

Quarries, which seem to make up 90% of Earth's natural terrain.

A warehouse. Something's always going on in that warehouse.

Motorways that may or may not lead directly into hellscapes.

A rotating selection of remote villages with a tendency for cult activity.

Some other rural bits around the edge.

4️⃣ It's Trendy (Probably) – If the Doctor has a reputation for going here, then other young Gallifreyans might find it a bit trendy to visit as well. Some of them probably do it ironically. Some genuinely want to see what all the fuss is about. Some are definitely stranded and making the best of it.

🏫 So ...

We can be quietly confident that there are Gallifreyans on Earth right now, but we have no clue how many. The UK is Gallifreyan central—not intentionally, but it just keeps happening.

Is it the Doctor's fault? Absolutely.

Related:

💬|🪐🌍How is Gallifreyan geography different to Earth?: The landscape of Gallifrey.

💬|🧑💻How long until the Earth might reach the technological age of Gallifrey?: Handy guide for humans wishing to progress.

💬|👥🧑‍⚕️The Doctor: Hero, Rebel, or Nuisance?: Asking just what Gallifrey thinks of the Doctor.

Hope that helped! 😃

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features:⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[rikosseen]

Shingen Yamazaki high school hcs

Request | why do I keep gravitating to sad scenarios smh

High school!Shingen whose reputation as a Yamazaki does nothing to ward people away. In fact, it draws people closer because he’s just a sweetheart to be around. So of course it’s no surprise that the two of you linger around each other here and there— even if you push him away at first, your resistance will just be more alluring to him

High school!Shingen who’s the BIGGEST golden retriever “Goodmorning ______!” Always a smile on his face, always jumping from contained curiosity

High school!Shingen who becomes your best listener— and huh… his advice isn’t too bad either…

High school!Shingen, who once you get close to, is so much more troubled than you first perceived. It’s surprising how he manages the positivity when everything puts him down

High school!Shingen who runs away from his duties to see you and spend time with you. Irresponsible bastard, you’d tell him

High school!Shingen who feels guilty about the burden he’s shared with you, hoping desperately you’re okay, and hoping desperately you won’t leave him alone in the end

High school!Shingen who becomes so undyingly in love with you after the months spent together, but is too nervous to voice out his feelings

High school!Shingen who gets all embarrassed when news about how he feels reaches your ears. Him and his big mouth… but he blames his bastard friends for spreading such information

“So what?” He’ll huff out, but he’s actually terrified of Shintaro knowing. Of the clan knowing— what if something happens to you?

High school!Shingen who slowly watches you from afar, taking all the anger you throw at him when you confront him about his nonchalance

High school!Shingen who’s once again misunderstood. But that’s okay. A sacrifice for your safety. And he loves you so— that’s all that matters

In the end, he’s the one who left you

[unfortunate-brat]

Forbidden Fruit

winchester!twins x latina!reader

synopsis: when adam and eve stumbled into the garden of eden, god had only one rule. the fruit that came from the tree, with it’s beautiful green leaves and delicious looking fruit was forbidden. neither one would eat it, or they shall face a consequence worse than death. yet when both twins meet you, a face far too beautiful for a school like this, they face the same temptation that adam and eve once did.

series warnings: smut, angst, jealousy, dark themes, sibling rivalry

yazzy's comments:okay i do have to give credit to @floralscented because their stanford!dean fics came out before my own. i love a good twins au and love triangle. this will not have chapters in order as each piece can be read as a standalone. also ave and I were discussing this so they are also credited for the brain rot we had with these fuckers.

jackles crew: @deansbeer / @soldiersgirl / @stereotypicalbarbie

18+, must have age in bio to interact. minors and ageless accounts will be blocked !!

follow @unfortunate-bratfics for just new posted imagines !!

you met the boys in the fall at stanford during orientation, noting their similar features and contradicting behaviors.

michael, the oldest, was reserved. didn’t speak much and often used his eyes to communicate. his clothes were ironed and tailored to every single inch of skin. glasses perched on his freckled nose, pillows of pink pursed into a thin line unless he turned them upside down for a brief frown. hair parted and combed neatly to the side. you’d find him in the library, in his own reserved study room getting a head start on other assignments or reading greek history. book in one hand and an apple in another. the man was a health freak.

dean, the youngest of the two was more outgoing. that charming smile and way with words had anyone practically under his spell. usually his hair was spiky, not really combed out and left alone. unlike his older twin, dean had no issue speaking his mind, yet when it came to feelings he would keep them inside. his eyes always a soft green, ones any girl would lose themselves in. you’d often see him on the football field running laps or drills. being captain was a tough position but he made it seem easy. his diet was terrible, always ditching lunch breaks for burgers across the street. the cheesier the better.

both boys gained lots of attention that first year and though it took time to not confuse them, eventually people spotted the differences. knew which twin like or didn’t like, sometimes the hard way. michael didn’t like to make chitchat, so when the cheerleaders would spot him in the hallway and rush over, he’d flash them a glare before walking away. and when dean spotted those same cheerleaders later, flaunting his infamous smile, they’d walk away. dean hated how michael ruined his reputation sometimes, he wanted to fit in for once. or at least try to.

you had spotted signs to not get the twins confused, recalling michael always carried his watch and had a slightly darker shade of green in his eyes. though that’s if you could stand looking at him in the eyes long enough. the older twin was easily annoyed, looking down upon everyone like a god and his mortals.

when it came to dean, the young man instantly brightened up the room. his hair was either spiky or somewhat shaggy. eyes a bright green like a candy apple, lips curled into a sweet smile. a total sweetheart and the poster boy for any rom com. sometimes though, he carried a faint smell of cigarettes. if anyone were to ask, no he hadn’t been smoking.

·̩͙།† ͝ ︶ ͝ ⏝ ͝ ︶ ͝ †། ·̩͙

Please note; I do not allow translations or redistributions of my work by anyone else except myself. MDNI, if your account is ageless or empty, I will block you !! Minors are NOT welcome here.

[kkpaaw]

Meet Esther

I spent all day yesterday thinking about her

She's SO much fun

Ok so some basic info:

Her name is Esther

She's 25 as of current - post Merge

She is a Sky Folk who live in Shintaro obviously, but as of current she isn't there, preferring to travel around and see more of the merged lands and discover new constellations and stars she hasn't seen before.

She's the master of Astral, space and whatnot. She actually only got this power after the merge happened, she didn't have it prior to the merge.

She sees it as a divine blessng as she is somefolk who had always been fascinated with the stars and other celestial bodies even as a kid. Her most prized possession is her telescope and she used it all the time as a kid and even still do now as an adult.

She quite literally woke up the next day post merge with elemental powers and was ecstatic that it was based around her deep love of space. She had prompy went to show her parents who were in awe and were also concerned. They were already trying to grasp what had just happened and now this with their daughter caused much confusion.

Once the merge happened and she gained her elemental power, she promptly utilized this moment to travel around the merged lands against her parents wishes.

Since then she's rarely been seen.

___

Folks who do see her describe her as a mysterious untrustworthy person, but this is mostly due to her general appearance rather than her actually being untrustworthy.

She doesn't say much to others, nor does she hang out with anyone, preferring isolation so she can study the stars over anything else. When she does speak it's a friendly albiet direct approach

The way she speaks makes it sound like she's always up to something even if she isn't which doesn't help her reputation

She is very rarely seen and most who do see her describe her as a ghost. You'll see her in one moment and then the next it's like she vanishes.

She's not one to emote much, and always has a calm demeanor even if she's panicking inside. Her Horns function as mood rings that give away how she really feels so it's best to pay attention to them to see how she's feeling at any given moment.

Her Voice:

____

Literally all my ocs for Ninjago are girls and women LOL

If u wish to find the origin of the voice just look up Ruan Mei Voice lines it's literally the very first video

Credit to THUNDER on YouTube for the audio!

[byte-babe]

Bullworth, After Hours

Characters - Pete Kowalski/Eleanor Kowalski

Summary - Pete's summer self-discovery.

Word Count - 901

Warnings - N/A

A/N - This is a sneak peek of a fanfic I'm working on (still reworking the first chapter). If you have any feedback or chapter suggestions (because i have no idea where this can lead to) let me know !! ^^

Summer break for Pete Kowalski had been eventful to say the least; now that he had accepted his new found self.

He came out to his parents a week into the break, telling them about all the little thoughts he’s been having since the 9th grade and how they’ve gradually gotten bigger and less easy to ignore.

Both of his parents are very loving and understanding people and have always shown support when it came to their child, so talking to them was a lot easier than Pete had anticipated.

He honestly expected his parents to call him crazy and shut the whole thing down since he had no idea where their views on the LGBT+ community stand, but they showed no signs of rejection. They didn’t really get it, which meant they’d have to do some research on the matter like Pete did before, but they agreed that they would do their best to understand and provide support.

It took a while for them learn more about the entire thing, but they eventually got it and even found a good gender-affirming consoler that he could see.

The first few minutes within the meeting were nerve-racking.

So many questions about who he was, what he wanted, and how he felt. Each question felt like it was peeling back a layer he hadn’t even realized was there. It was overwhelming, but at the same time, a strange relief.

He was told about HRT and how most male to female people who wanted to be more feminine use it to reduce the testosterone levels in their bodies and add in more estrogen, helping to align the person’s body with how they feel inside.

Pete never knew that there were ways a person could change their appearance other than surgery. It was very tempting, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to take that big of a step yet.

The doctor suggested that he should start off with something and try other forms of self-expression that makes him more comfortable such as clothing, hair changes, or even makeup. And once he felt good about it all, then they could discuss about medical options.

During the second month of summer, Pete had spent his time experimenting with the ways he could express himself more in a more feminine way. He started with a name change and pronouns.

His mother suggested ‘Eleanor’ for a new name since it was the name she picked if she ended up having a girl.

Eleanor liked that name. She couldn’t explain why, but it just resonated with her.

As fun as it all was—spending long summer days with her mom and navigating the lifestyle of a girl, trying different clothes, using subtle makeup, and even being able to start HRT during the first few days of August— Eleanor had to go back to school.

The start of the school year was getting closer and closer with the heavy, burning weight of anxiety making itself at home in the bottom of Eleanor’s stomach.

She even asked— begged her parents to let her be homeschooled, but it was never up to debate, especially since she only had one year left of high school now.

Might as well just get it over with instead of going through a whole process of getting transferred to a homeschooling program.

This meant Eleanor had to enter Bullworth as someone different. Not only that, but she knew she might have to correct people when it came to her name and labels.

Maybe it would all be that bad, considering that she didn’t have much of a reputation there and people barley knew her name or who she was anyways.

Her and her parents talked to Dr. Crabblesnitch a week prior to the start of the school year about the changes.

Even though he wouldn’t, couldn’t, and shouldn’t admit to it, Eleanor could tell he wasn’t fond of the changes. Yet he had no choice but to oblige.

He would lose money if he did. That’s all he cared about.

With these new changes, Eleanor still resided in the boy dormitory. It wasn’t up to her, Crabblesnitch made that decision.

She couldn’t really be upset with that though, thinking that she wasn’t where she wanted to be in terms of looks, it was the safer choice.

She didn’t want to risk making the girls uncomfortable and would instead have to deal with whatever insults or harassments the boys would do to her.

She dealt with it before, so what would be the difference?

At least Gary wouldn’t be there. He’d just make her life a living hell.

She had been visiting him occasionally in Happy Volts over break— before she started using estrogen, so he had no idea about anything.

She never told him anything.

Why would she visit Gary anyways? The one mentally insane person who turned the entire school into a battlefield and against Jimmy just to fuel his narcissistic personality and own twisted desire for total control?

Because Eleanor was a compassionate person.

And— sad to admit it— but he was also the first friend she made when she came to Bullworth.

Whenever she did visit, he would be on an array of medication which made him oddly calm.

Still an asshole, but calm.

He never seemed to mind the company either; if Eleanor was correct, he looked as if he actually enjoyed it.

[cinnamqnx]

# 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐆 ! ⋮ ( ʚɞ )

── .✦

summary. keigo takami (hawks) as your plug

warnings. drug use (weed), alcohol use, swearing

♡ you meet hawks from a mutual friend, wanting to find a dealer after only getting/smoking weed from friends

♡ they recommend ‘hawks’, he goes to the same college as you but you’ve never actually spoken to him. he’s sort of like the college plug

♡ the first time he meets you, he finds you so adorable. your awkwardness when asking him what you’re after pulls a small smile on his face

♡ after that, you’ve kinda been on his radar

♡ definitely makes you pay less than what he actually charges

♡ even gives you pre rolls to save you the trouble, and this man knows how to roll

♡ over time you gradually get closer to him, seeing him at parties every weekend, regularly going to him for weed, it was inevitable

♡ i also feel like he doesn’t really fw many people, so he always had time for you

♡ lets you call him keigo, even though he usually prefers that people call him hawks and only letting close friends call him his real name

♡ sorta becomes your personal guard dog at parties 😭

♡ always grabbing you water when he thinks you’ve drank way too much and ordering you an uber home

♡ if he hasn’t really drank, he’ll drive you home after taking you to some fast food place and eating in his car (he’s lowkey panicking when he sees you whip out any sauce)

♡ refuses to give you anything stronger than weed

♡ “nah, i don’t really want you on the hard shit.”

♡ doesn’t want you ending up addicted or ruining your life for drugs and always gives you lectures about it, even if it’s unprovoked

♡ he’s just veryyyyy protective when it comes to you

♡ i also feel like dabi would also be some type of dealer, and him and keigo have this little rivalry going on

♡ warns you to stay away from him, i feel like he’d go crazy if he saw dabi speak to you or even look at you

♡ everyone around you is confused whether you’re actually together or not because of how you act together

♡ however, keigo has a reputation for sleeping around, just doing his own thing, so it’s definitely thrown you off getting involved with him in that way

♡ even though he hasn’t really been entertaining anyone since you both got closer

♡ but he’s scared to fuck things up with you so he doesn’t say anything

♡ you don’t really know what you’d refer to him as in your life either, but you’re glad to have him around at least

♡ this man is always paying for you

♡ whether you need your nails doing, hair or you just need some more clothes, keigo always is the one paying for you

♡ also always buying you food, whenever you both smoke together and you get the munchies he’s ordering food for a family of eight

♡ you always tell him he doesn’t need to, but he’s more than happy to do it, something about your grateful smile has his heart pounding

♡ you start noticing problems when keigo starts showing his jealousy towards men you’re talking to

♡ you haven’t had chance to actually date any of them, since they’re either scared off by keigo or don’t want to get involved since they can clearly sense the tension between you both

♡ now, keigo has no real reason to be jealous, you’re not his girlfriend after all

♡ but when he sees you grinding and being way too close to this one guy for his liking, he snaps

♡ in his head, it was justified, you were acting different since you got involved with him and keigo had no choice but to step back from you despite how difficult it was for him

♡ he’d had enough

♡ storming over to the two of you and throwing his drink in his face, a fight broke out immediately, the frat brothers rushing to break them apart before keigo grabs your wrist

♡ “why the fuck would you do that? you know i like him.”, you yell at him after he had dragged you outside

♡ “he isn’t good for you, y/n!”

♡ “you don’t even know that! we haven’t spoken in days, like, you’ve been distancing yourself and acting weird for weeks, and now you wanna punch the guy i’m talking to? what the fuck-”

♡ “yeah, cause i fucking like you. bro- how have you not seen how badly i’ve been wanting you for months?”

♡ after hearing that, you swear your heart stops, and suddenly the thoughts of the guy you was with crumbled