#someone save the prop team

[notenoughdragons]

i just got to the big backstory dump (aka the ~dread wolf's~ regrets/memories) in veilguard and. uh.

obvious caveat, i'm not done yet with the game, but anyways

h o w is this so neat (solas Was a spirit! origin of first elves! reason for the war with the titans! concrete blight origin!) and yet ALSO THE MESSIEST FUCKING SHIT

i canNOT imagine they had this whole blighted-gods-will-break-the-prison thing planned during trespasser/da:i like. the disconnect??? yes, solas obvs knows SOMETHING about the blight in da:i, but EVERYTHING he says is about the veil, about the mistake he made and what it cost the elves/spirits

LIKE CAN WE BE CLEAR HERE!!! "the blighted evanuris are going to break out of their prison so i need to put them in a different one" is an UTTERLY different argument to "i (ACCIDENTALLY, APPARENTLY) made the veil Too Big and it fucked up everything so i need to fix it"

like even ignoring all the ways this doesn't gel with trespasser/tevinter nights/etc, and how apparently nothing the inq did wrt solas mattered EVEN A LITTLE BIT it's fine i'm fine i just have to play cognitive dissonance any time either of them opens their fucking mouth

this is fucking messy as hell in veilguard alone??

how does this not come up in ANY of the arguments prior to this. like solas Tells Rook that he wanted to transfer the evanuris bc more secure prison and 'YOU COULD'VE SAID THAT' is? not? one of the dialogue options??

but also varric keeps harping how solas wants someone to sell him a better option, solas himself sounds bitter as fuck that no one actually managed that during the ritual convo

it's like 2 separate arguments trying to happen in tandem and NEITHER OF THEM actually works

like i legit don't know anymore what they're trying to do here? 1st they completely sidestep the core (emotional) conflict set up by da:i and trespasser (can you convince solas otherwise, and if not, How on earth do you stop him? => lol nevermind you can't, and stopping him is super easy actually), then they… bring it back in? kind of?? (varric, lace, inq, and now morrigan all making points re: maybe you can talk him around somehow/influence his fate) With A Character Who Has 0 Emotional Connection To Him, it's fiiiine but then also the whole blighted-evanuris-will-break-free angle is. There. and it's just, what are we actually arguing about now???

also i'm just gonna say it. absolutely not a fan of the implication that the veil in its current form was Fully an accident. like can we stop absolving this man of responsibility (the veil was an accident! mythal made him do all of it!) and at the same time heaping more blame on him in the weirdest fucking ways (still the veil! the blight! dwarves not dreaming!)

i Liked that the veil was smth he created knowingly, bc it was the least horrible, but still Horrible option, and he still underestimated how bad it would be. that's good drama! good tragedy! you thought you could live with the consequences but you can't! and bc you Knowingly and Deliberately made that choice, now you are convinced to the nonexistent marrow of your bones that you specifically HAVE to undo it!

instead it's like. welp the evanuris are gonna break out soon so i gotta put them in a different, Better prison (which is somehow real easy this time around????), and i Might As Well pull down the veil too and get that mistake sorted out

fucking christ.

AND WE'RE STILL NOT TALKING ABOUT THE FACT THAT SOLAS CAN CLEANSE THE GODDAMN BLIGHT

also they nerfed mythal. both in the backstory character-wise, and narratively in the present, bc welp! she's just here to drop some vague lore and info! and then they fucking pulled a mystra on the fragment of her that you Do actually get to meet. where is my horrific dragon all-mother goddess

(not even joking, they should've just gotten flemeth's va for her, this one has like. 0 presence in comparison.)

like. stay with me here. yes i know the point is that the evanuris weren't Actually gods. but also they're 1. literally a diff type of being than modern people. 2. for someone to be seen AS A GOD, even falsely, in a world that is as infused with magic and buckwild shit that we know ancient arlathan to be? i'm expecting more than the most milquetoast glowing elf lady you've ever seen

dumping the sentinel designs from da:i was a Mistake, and okay Now i can climb off my soapbox, tyvm everyone

[1d1195]

Pucking Rookie III

Read Pucking Rookie here | ~8k words

From me: oops, more slow burn

Warnings: I have a feeling you will all be requesting a much FASTER update. Angst, fluff, shitty ex-boyfriend, the usual. Some violence which could b triggering. Please be kind to your mind.

Summary: Harry hates Kael. To be fair, most everyone hates him.

“Did y’bring your skates?” Harry asked. He was taking shots into the net for about an hour and a half at the time she had arrived. She was just a little over half an hour early to their practice. He paused to skate over to her. She was putting water bottles into place, clipboards, and other things that her uncle needed for a successful practice. Once everything was where it was supposed to be, she took her camera and took a practice shot of the ice behind Harry littered with pucks.

She frowned and looked away at her camera using it to divert his attention ever so slightly. Her cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink. “They’re in my car...”

Her unease wasn’t lost on Harry. “Do y’want t’go get them and I’ll help y’for a bit before practice?” He asked, leaning on his stick propped against the board.

She shook her head. “No thank you.”

He tilted his head at her. “C’mon, Rookie. You’re not going t’learn if y’don’t try.”

She sighed. “It’s not that... it’s just...” she looked up at him. “I’m still pretty embarrassed about it and I don’t want to do it here in front of everyone and everyone try to help...” She explained. “Like Uncle Charlie will give his two cents and honestly, I’ll be overwhelmed and I’m already nervous about it. The whole team watching would be even worse.”

Harry hadn’t really thought of that. But he wished he had because that meant that he could have a private lesson with her. One-on-one time with her was easily his new favorite thing. It happened a little more frequently since the night he followed her home. When he brought the used skates to her, she ordered pizza, and they played several rounds of Cribbage together. On a morning off from practice, he happened to be going by her place (of course going out of his way to be nearby) he did yoga with her before ordering breakfast to be delivered to her. Evenings where she worked at Louis’ he placed himself at his regular table and smiled at her as she came and went from kitchen to fluttering around the room waiting on everyone.

But on game days, whether they were home or away, she stayed her distance. He suspected she knew about his habits and his hookups. Which made him feel bad in a way he hadn’t worried about in ages. Harry was very comfortable with his sexuality. He liked having sex. He enjoyed making someone else come and yeah, he enjoyed that aspect for himself too.

But since he met the pretty photographer, he didn’t like it as much. Didn’t find it nearly as satisfying. Even though he wanted to.

Harry had a pond out behind his house. A pond that was very frozen in this chilly winter air. She hadn’t been to his place yet. Her pretty being all over his house seemed like a brilliant idea. It made him want her more.

Harry never wanted a girl the way he wanted her. For him it was always a one-night stand at their place, so he had the freedom to leave. They knew what they signed up for. But she invaded every little part of his mind. Thoughts of camera flashes and smiles. His picture on her fridge. The picture she texted him of herself that he saved as her contact photo. Her wearing Niall’s jersey. The cookies she made for her neighbors. Her rundown car. Her piece of shit ex.

“Would y’want t’come t’my place? I’ve got a pond out back.”

��I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Harry,” she admitted. Her voice was quiet, but she made direct eye contact with him. She always did, even if the conversation was difficult.

He frowned. “Why?” He asked.

“Because... you’re... you.”

“What’s that mean?” His eyebrows pulled forward as he tried to think through her logic before she said it.

“It means...” she looked at the ceiling like the answer would appear there. “I am not going to be seen with you at your place when you’ve never brought a girl home.”

He blinked. “How do y’know that?” She shrugged but busied herself with her camera taking pictures of the bench. She took Harry’s gloves from him and put them in a specific place. He felt utterly annoyed when he realized why she might have known. The frustration came over him before he could stop it. “Did your stupid ex tell you ‘bout m’reputation or something? Is that it? S’why y’don’t let me in fully? Y’think m’a piece of shit too?” He asked quietly. It sounded a little too accusing. He didn’t mean to. But it was unfair. Plus, he thought they were friends. The kind of friends like he was with Niall.

Because honestly, Harry didn’t think he could be good enough for her. Maybe he was projecting what he felt. She deserved a good boyfriend who would be able to devote all his time to her. She didn’t deserve someone that got a crummy five months to be in a relationship who had to worry allthe time about him because he had never had a steady girlfriend before.

She brought the camera from her face down to rest against her stomach on the strap around her neck. Once more, she looked him straight on. It was intoxicating. Brave. Beautiful, of course, always.

“I don’t think you’re a piece of shit, Harry Styles,” she said very clearly.

He blinked. “You don’t?”

“Why would I think that? Because you sleep with women who clearly want to sleep with you? You’re entitled to whatever you want with whomever you want as long as they fully consent, Harry. I don’t really give a shit. I just refuse to date a hockey player because an actual piece of shit cheated on me for who knows how long which I did not consent to. It’s obvious you’re charming, talented, intelligent, and very handsome,” she paused briefly, took a deep breath. “Any girl would be lucky to have you, Harry Styles. I just won’t be her.”

She brought her camera back to her face. She seemed unaffected by his stunned expression. He swallowed and it felt like a rock was in his throat. “That was an awful lot of compliments, Bunny,” he hummed. She continued taking pictures, but Harry saw the way her cheeks turned another shade of red under his gaze. He leaned closer towards her. “You think m’handsome?” he teased.

“A blind person would know you’re handsome, Harry. Don’t be a dick about it.”

“Charming?”

“Are you getting off on this or something? Is your ego not big enough?”

“I just didn’t know you thought that ‘bout me. I thought y’jus’ kinda tolerated me and m’overbearing presence.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why would I hate you?”

“No reason.”

But he answered too quickly. It was the reason that hung in the air over and over. She turned from her camera and caught his gaze again. “You’re nothing like Kael, Harry. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel that you were,” her voice was extremely gentle, like she was speaking to someone with a baby napping in the room. It made him feel all over. Every cell in his body vibrating with emotion.

The breath he released was more relieved than when he found out he was being drafted to the Chargers. Harry wanted her all over his house. Wanted her in his room and not even for sexual reasons. He just wanted to see her there after any game. Wanted her to wear his jersey. Teach her to skate better. Hang any of her photographs in his house like a museum paying tribute to her talent. More than that he wanted pictures of her in his house—so many pictures of her.

*

On nights when the team had curfew because of early morning practice or a game the next day, she did not of course. Harry broke curfew almost every single day after learning where she lived. He asked her to move in almost every time he followed her home ensuring she got home safely in her crappy car.

You shouldn’t break curfew. You’ll get a big fine. Marc and Michael keep an eye on my arrival.

It’s fine. I have the money.

Harry was territorial about her and especially her safety.

Look, I don’t want to be weird, but we’re friends... Evander said you... had plans tonight with someone...

Harry wanted to kill his teammate. Who? He tried for the funny remark so he wouldn’t lose his fucking mind at the thought of her thinking about his late night hook up.

You’re ridiculous.

Making sure you get home safe is more important than having an orgasm.

...

Sorry, FRIEND. Thought we could talk about orgasms.

R I D I C U L O U S

😇

Go puck yourself Harry.

God, you’re hilarious Rookie.

Good night, Harry. Thanks for worrying about me. It’s... actually kind of nice.

Yeah, of course. Good night, Rookie.

Harry didn’t have plans that night. Not unless pining over his coach’s niece in the privacy of his own bed was a plan.

*

Charlie was currently taking his anger out on the guys, which was extremely unfair because they had no idea it was because of her. She wished she could have been surprised. Instead, she quietly took pictures, feeling bad for their poor lungs. They were breathing hard and heavy as they struggled with the conditioning drill.

“Five minutes!” Charlie snarled.

They all collapsed on the ice in their spots. Players on the bench were slumped and moaning in pain and they were already on a rest. She glared at her uncle holding two six-pack water bottle carriers as she stepped onto the ice. She nearly slipped twice. Harry didn’t even move to help her, which meant they were in really tough shape.

“Thanks Sweetheart,” Asher heaved.

“Coach, is something wrong?” Niall asked, chugging his water. Off to the side of the rink Callie was throwing up into a trash can. A quiet ‘pussy’ came from an equally green-looking Lang. Only Niall could get away with asking because he was the nice one of the group. But even still, Uncle Charlie silenced him with a glare.

“He’s mad at me and taking it out on you,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry guys. Uncle Charlie, can you stop punishing all hockey players on my behalf?”

“Sweetheart, don’t,” he shook his head once paying no mind to the team that was half dead on the ice before him.

She sighed heavily. “You’re being mean, Uncle Charlie. It’s not their fault!”

“It’s the reputation they’ve given the game,” Coach Wheeler agreed.

“What reputation?”

“Uncle Charlie is mad he picked me up from my apartment. He’s not keen on where I live.”

“It looks like a meth lab.”

“My apartment is not a meth lab.”

“You have a drug dealer living on the first floor.”

“Michael is super nice! He watches my car and—”

“Jesus,” Niall murmured. “Sweetheart—”

“Don’t even bother, Horan. I tried everything. She is insistent, she doesn’t want a single hand out from anybody. Which is why you’re all paying the price. What kind of asshole makes someone as sweet as her—”

“Uncle Charlie, can we not air my relationship out in front of the whole team?”

“If we’re doing suicide sprints because of fucking Kael Crowe I want to be moved to the Lightning,” Callie groaned referring to the minor team affiliated with the Chargers. “What the hell, Coach!? Take it up with Crowe!”

Exhausted agreements resounded from the ground. “You all better treat women with respect. There is zero tolerance for it,” Coach Wheeler grumbled.

“Sweetheart, do something please,” Lang begged standing to where Callie was previously, vomiting promptly into the trash.

“Uncle Charlie, can you cut them a break? They didn’t cheat on me.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Asher moaned. “Permission to cross-check when we play him?”

“Permission granted,” Uncle Charlie shrugged.

“Jesus,” she sighed and rubbed her forehead. Harry was still breathing hard, but surprisingly didn’t say anything. She was certain he would have something to say about Kael or her stupid choice. Everyone seemed to.

“First one’ll be for you, Sweetheart. Second one’s for me,” Asher winked.

“Why’d he pick y’up?” Harry asked quietly. It was interesting, it was the first thing he said after all the time spent trying to remember how to breathe. It was like he already knew the answer. He also didn’t rat her out for knowing beforehand about where she lived. Although she suspected he knew the punishment would be far worse if Charlie found out that Harry knew where she lived and said nothing.

“Car wouldn’t start,” she shrugged handing him a bottle of water. “It’s a piece of shit, but it’s all I can afford,” she admitted quietly. The conversation was just for the two of them. “I’m on a budget,” she reminded him.

Harry liked how open she was with him. When she told him and Niall that she couldn’t skate and that she got nervous about it, it was vulnerable in a way he didn’t expect. He liked how she said she wouldn’t date him (even though it broke a piece of him) and still managed to compliment him. Each time she mentioned she wasn’t swimming in cash made him feel like she trusted him. He thought of her cold apartment, her used skates, and her broken down car.

It was a shame she wasn’t going to like him as much after her next comment.

“Coach, if I let her borrow one of my cars while hers is in the shop, can we call practice early? I’ll drive her to and from games. Won’t let her out of my sight until she’s safely in the building.”

“I’m not convinced it’s a safe building.”

“Jesus Christ, Sweetheart, where are you living?” Niall sighed.

When Coach said the name of the building and the street just into the bad side of town, everyone moaned again. She shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s the right price and no one bothers me. I use you all as a threat.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Callie groaned. “Coach, we’ll take shifts, anything. Make it stop,” he begged. Lang returned from throwing up in the trash can and took water from her.

“I don’t need shifts of you guys watching me,” she rolled her eyes. “No one bugs me, they know I work for the team and that I could have twenty scary hockey players there in a matter of minutes.”

Harry smirked. It was obvious he liked the sound of that. “Coach?” Harry prompted.

“Harry, I’m not taking your car, for God’s sake!”

“Oh you don’t have a choice, Sweetheart,” he snorted.

“Uncle Charlie! You’re not getting one of your players to babysit me!”

“Then you’re responsible for their lungs bursting.”

She pouted, glared at her uncle, and marched off the ice. Snagging her camera from the bench as she did. It was childish, petty, and made her look like an idiot, but she was too mad to care. Harry sighed. “Coach, she’s a grown woman... y’could have at least asked her if she was okay with that...” Harry reminded him. Charlie leveled Harry with a stare.

“She’s the best person I know,” Charlie explained. “That piece of shit Crowe never deserved her. It kills the whole family that she doesn’t see her own worth. We watched her take care of him and put her life on hold for him. She doesn’t let people take care of her. Maybe because she doesn’t know how,” he shrugged. “So if she needs tough love to do that, then so be it.”

Harry followed her off the ice. He walked slightly awkwardly on his skates but found her outside one of the offices sitting on a bench, putting her items away in her bag. “You’re not giving me your car,” she grumbled.

“Rookie,” he sighed.

“I don’t need you saving me! This is just like when you yelled at Kael.”

He rubbed the back of his head. “We’re friends, right?”

She glanced at him. “...yes,” she said tentatively.

“Y’know how y’always worry ‘bout me drinking water? Making sure I eat dinner? Texting me t’make sure I get home after following y’home?” She didn’t look at him and fiddled with the laces of her boots. “Y’can ignore me all you want, but s’what friends do. We care ‘bout you and want t’do all the nice things y’do for us.”

It looked like she was piecing together what he was saying. But not fully wanting to accept it. “You’re really going to let me borrow your car?”

He smiled.

“I guess I could... have a skating lesson... assuming your car is at your house?”

Somehow, he managed to smile wider. “Yeah, Rookie? Great... I’ll go change and tell Coach. Be out in a minute.”

“Don’t be weird about it, Harry. I don’t want anyone to think you’re my favorite. Because you’re not.”

He chuckled. “Sure thing, Rookie.”

*

Harry hurried to her side of the car and opened the door when they arrived at his house. She grabbed her stuff from the back—it was everything she had to pull out of her car and toss into her uncle’s when he picked her up. Harry grabbed his duffle bag, as well as a small bag of groceries of items she needed to make the hot chocolate she promised after the skating lesson. “M’gonna put this stuff away and sharpen your skates,” he said holding the pair by the laces tied together as he opened the door. “Here’s the key if y’want t’throw your stuff in the car,” he grabbed it off the hook near the doorway and then headed further into the house. With the key in hand, she headed back outside and unlocked an extravagant car she would never be able to afford. Sighing, she put her stuff in the trunk, locked it, and headed back toward the equally luxurious house.

To be fair, it wasn’t a mansion. It was a nice home. It was clear Harry took great care of it—or paid people to take great care of it. Following the sound of something scraping against the blade, she found Harry in his kitchen, sitting on a breakfast bar stool at the island. The kitchen was stunning. Marble countertops, white backsplash, black hanging light fixtures, white cabinets with black hardware. There were green curtains in the window. The appliances were all black. It belonged in a magazine. It was practically pristine.

The only thing she found interesting was Harry’s sink was filled with dishes. The dishwasher looked clean, it was open and completely full as well. How many dishes did a person living by themself have? She spun the key on her finger as she approached him, setting it on the counter. “When’s your birthday?” He asked randomly.

“February eleventh,” she blinked.

Harry smiled that really beautiful way of his. The one that made the dips in his cheeks deepen. His eyes seemed brighter. “S’near mine.”

“I know.”

“You keeping track of me Rookie?” He was full-on beaming.

“No, but I added everyone’s birthday to my calendar after Ray’s. Figured I would make treats if I had the time,” she explained. “I remembered yours because it’s in February like mine.”

“Can’t y’jus’ let me believe y’like me?”

She ignored him. “How do you do it?” She asked pointing to the skate.

He held the little tool out to her—a little rectangle with a space for the blade to slide between. “They don’t sell skates unsharpened, even used ones. So they’re already pretty good, but I feel better doing it myself. I wouldn’t want t’put y’on skates I haven’t ensured were good to go,” he explained and waited until she lined up the blade with the tool. “Jus’ stroke the blade in the same direction a few times. You’ll feel a little resistance. S’how y’know it’s working. The duller the blade the more resistance you’ll feel.”

“Like this?” She asked making sure she didn’t mess up her new skates.

“Yup, that’s good,” he monitored the motion.

“Thank you,” she murmured quietly.

“Course, Rookie. S’what friends are for,” he shrugged simply.

But it wasn’t that simple. Kael would never sharpen her skates for her. Wouldn’t even offer. It’s why she basically stopped skating—didn’t bother to continue because he didn’t care. He never asked if he could help teach her. There was no way he would willingly give his car to her either or offer to follow her home from a game. Most of the time they were at the same arena he didn’t go home with her. In case he wanted to go out with friends.

She felt the emotion building in her throat because she knew Harry had plenty of options. But she didn’t want to be an option. It wasn’t Harry’s fault. Honestly, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just wasn’t... the right time. She was too broken and fucked from her ex. Harry was too talented and charming to deal with a steady girlfriend and he shouldn’t have to. He was young, handsome, and had ample time in his career and life to have fun before he settled down.

“Ready?” He asked interrupting her sad thoughts. Harry was sweet—really sweet. The kind of sweet she always wanted Kael to be. She shook her head to rid herself of thoughts of how nice it would be to be Harry Styles’ girlfriend. It wasn’t going to happen. He replaced the guards on her blades. “Pond’s out back,” he told her gesturing to the back slider that led to a porch.

“Your house is beautiful,” she told him.

“Thanks, Rookie, love,” he smiled. “Mum was insistent it be my first investment,” he explained.

“Smart lady.”

“The very best,” he affirmed.

Nope, she wasn’t going to fall for a man who was kind and adored his mother. Not one bit.

The back deck overlooked a decent sized yard, but it was the pond that was by far the feature of it. She could picture beautiful sunsets, and she wished she brought her camera with her. There was a layer of light snow on the ground, the bare branches. It was like a Christmas movie scene. It left her a little breathless and Harry paid no attention to it. Totally used to the beauty of his own yard.

“Y’okay?” He asked over his shoulder. He noticed her pause as he continued walking toward the little pond. Harry kicked his boots off and put on his skates while sitting on a little wooden bench. They weren’t the pair he wore at the rink. These looked a little more worn in and scuffed. Well-loved, was the best description. He laced them quickly and expertly. It must have been second nature to him. With the guards still on his blades, he stood in front of her. “Put these on,” he handed her a pair of socks from his sweatshirt pocket. They weren’t the ones he bought her, which meant they were either his or another set he had bought her just for the occasion.

Nope. Not falling in love with him. Not at all.

“Your backyard is beautiful,” she said. “I wish I had my camera.” She untied her boots and stuck her feet in the skates. Almost immediately, Harry carefully hoisted her left skate between his thighs. He held her foot in her new-used skate (with the guard still in place) and tied the laces tightly.

“I can grab it after the lesson,” he offered and worked on the laces. “S’that feel good?” He asked. “Or is it too tight?”

“No, I don’t like my ankle to move.”

He chuckled. “Y’want it t’move a little, Rookie.”

She shrugged while he tied the other skate. Once done, he pulled the guards off and held his hands out for her to take. She took a deep breath and tried not to think about how large Harry’s hands were and wrapped around hers so easily. They were warm and comforting. He bent and took his own skate guards off. “I know y’can skate a little, so I don’t want t’push you,” he headed for the ice. “Jus’ do what feels comfortable.”

She barely skated at the rink. Skating on a pond seemed like a bad idea. Sitting on that little bench watching Harry? Maybe taking pictures of him as she did? That seemed like a good idea. Comfortable, to his point. “Is the pond deep?” She asked tentatively.

He frowned and waited at the very edge as she stood just off the ice. “Bunny,” he hummed gently. “I would never let y’get hurt, so no,” he promised. “S’not deep. S’very safe,” he assured her. “C’mon,” he held his hand out. Tentatively, she took it. Fortunately, she was used to him holding her elbow while she walked or skated around.

“Harry, I really don’t want to embarrass myself,” she warned.

“M’not going t’make fun of you, Bunny,” his voice didn’t have any teasing in it. Harry was dressed in a pair of black pants and a gray sweatshirt. He looked cozy and pretty as always. His voice was too soft and made her feel safe. Which wasn’t a bad thing except for her heart. “Jus’... take little steps. M’not going t’let you fall.”

It was becoming increasingly clear that it was too late for that.

She listened, taking small steps. Harry skated backwards while facing her, holding his hands out for comfort but not holding onto her. “You’re leaning too far forward, Rookie. Y’want t’keep your weight over your skates while y’step. S’going t’change a bit when y'take your steps but s’what you’re trying to maintain,” he explained. He watched her feet as she adjusted to what he said. “Don’t stare at your feet,” he offered kindly. “I know s’hard, but it’s tough on the balance,” they glided silently for a few minutes. “Y’okay,?” he asked glancing at her face. She nodded. He smiled gently. “Okay,” he took hold of her hands again and tugged her gently. “When y’stop, just tilt your foot inward just a little,” he used his own feet to demonstrate. “You’re doing great, Rookie,” he promised. “Feel easier on the figure skates?”

She nodded. “Yeah, it’s definitely easier to balance.”

He grinned, excitement covering his features and all she had done was take fifteen little steps or so. “Okay let’s keep going. We’re jus’ going t’focus on keeping y’comfortable today. Getting used to the balance and stopping,” he continued facing her and skating backwards as he pulled her.

“How do you skate backwards?” She asked.

“You gotta walk before y’can run, Rookie,” he chuckled knowingly. She rolled her eyes.

“I meant you, Harry.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been skating m’whole life.”

“Since you were three and before you could walk?” Most every hockey player she knew had the same story. Skating was more important than walking. It was romantic in a way. A first love of sorts. Harry seemed no different in that respect.

He nodded with a shy grin. “Something like that.”

“You’re very graceful.”

“You’re so forthcoming with the compliments today, Bunny. S’nice,” he pulled her toward him. She wasn’t really skating since Harry was just guiding her, but it felt nice to be on the ice without fear of making a fool of herself. “Try stopping.”

“I’m supposed to be skating not stopping Harry.” He smirked and looked at her pointedly. So she executed her little stop and Harry’s smile brightened.

“Lovely, Rookie. Do you want t’try on your own?”

“Sure,” she sighed feeling defeated before starting but it was the only way she’d get better. Harry let go of her hands but stayed the same distance from her (which was no more than five inches away). She took little steps moving at a glacial pace. She really wondered how she could have been using the wrong skates for so long. It felt so much safer and easier to be on the figure skates than it ever had been on hockey skates.

“You’re doing great, Rookie,” he assured her. She felt embarrassed because she was in her late twenties and Harry was treating her like a child. Not his doing, though. It was in her head it felt that way.

But they skated for a while quietly, just listening to the gentle cutting of the blades on the ice. Harry put his hands out just in front of him as a gentle reminder he was there, letting her have the comfort of grabbing him if she needed.

Naturally, her toe hit a divot in the ice at that moment which made her lose her footing. Harry snagged around her waist quickly to keep her upright. “Whoops,” the entire front of his body was pressed to hers. “Y’okay?” She nodded, not wanting to think about how nice Harry was and how warm his body felt. She pulled away as quickly as she could once she regained her footing. “The ice doesn’t get resurfaced like the rink,” he admitted shyly. Like it was his fault.

“You don’t own a Zamboni?” She gaped. “I can’t believe it!”

He chuckled, moving away from her slightly. She couldn’t believe how much colder it felt even though he only held her for no more than forty seconds. “Do y’want t’keep skating?” He asked.

“Yes,” she nodded. Because honestly? She didn’t want to leave just yet.

*

Eventually, they got off his little ice rink. She didn’t fall thanks to Harry catching her two more times around the waist. Each time she sent an electric current right through her heart. He was gentle, kind, and encouraging. Imagining him doing the same thing with his baby niece made her ovaries ache so much she had to think about anything else.

“Did you have a dinner party?” she asked pointing to his sink.

“No,” he sighed. “I jus’ hate dishes,” he shook his head.

“Do you want—”

“Don’t you dare,” he glared at her and headed down the hall toward another room. She smiled and shook her head.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to make hot chocolate with a mess in the sink,” she called.

“Don’t make it then!” He sounded far away. She couldn’t believe he stayed at her tiny little apartment when she could hardly hear him from a few rooms away. “We can go out t’get some or we y’can jus’ stuff from the dishwasher, Rookie. But don’t touch the sink!”

She rolled her eyes and shifted, through the clean dishes, pulling a sauce pan from it. Harry returned with a bag. “Can you get me chocolate chips, sugar, and cocoa powder? I don’t want to dig through your cabinets—what’s that?”

He looked at her pointedly. “Y’can go through the cabinets,” he shrugged. But it was starting to feel a little too domestic. Now they were at Harry’s house which meant she was done for. At least when they were at her place, she wasn’t subject to the overwhelmingly intoxicating scent of Harry. He found the ingredients and placed them on the counter. “Open it,” he shrugged.

It was a large bag from the pro shop at the arena. She peered in and then looked up at him. “Harry.”

“S’not a big deal, Rookie. Don’t make it a big deal,” he suggested. “What do y’need for whipped cream?”

Inside the bag were jerseys. Langford, Calloway, Asher, and Styles. Her heart felt too warm. Her eyes stung a bit over the thoughtfulness yet again. Skates, jerseys, socks. Harry was too sweet. He wasn’t fighting fair. “Sugar, vanilla, and heavy whipping cream...” she mumbled. Swallowing the emotion she felt, she opted for a joke. “No Horan?”

“He already got his turn,” he grumbled slightly bitter.

She looked at the jersey brushing her fingers over his last name. “It’s too much, Harry.”

“I get a discount,” he shrugged. “On behalf of the team, throw out all your Glacier Wolves stuff,” he grabbed the next set of ingredients and eyed her from across the kitchen island. “What?”

“Even the sweatshirt I’ve worn so much I’ve got it to maximum comfort?” He pressed his mouth into a line and stared at her pointedly. “Alright I’ll throw it out, you’re so bossy.”

He smirked and turned to the stove, turning the dial to light the burner. “Okay Rookie, time for my lesson. Show me how t’make hot chocolate.”

*

It felt like Harry was becoming her very best friend, which scared her. Kael took up so much of her life it left her very little room for friends. The friends she did have... ended up not liking her and talking behind her back. “Hey Rookie,” Harry smiled entering the locker room to drop his stuff for game day photos. “Ugh,” he sighed looking at her jersey and the smile melted.

“Hi, Harry,” she waved with an impish grin.

“Hi Sweetheart,” Asher greeted. “You look beautiful today,” he cooed.

“Shut the fuck up, Asher!” Harry yelled from the other side of the door. Asher winked at her and headed inside the locker room.

“He’s so jealous,” Callie shook his head. She smiled, shook her head, but she could feel her cheeks heating up with color. “Nice jersey, Sweetheart!” He shouted, no doubt enjoying his number on her this time. Only she knew that Callie would be more extra about it than Niall ever could be.

“You can shut the fuck up too,” Harry growled from near the door.

“He must not think I look beautiful,” she laughed quietly.

“Oh Jesus,” Lang snorted filing inside.

“What did she say?” Harry asked.

“Nothing,” Lang chuckled.

“Those are fighting words, Sweetheart,” Niall chuckled heading in after his team.

After the game day pictures were posted to the appropriate social media outlets, she headed inside the arena. She filed down to her spot near the other media. She smiled and waved to people she had been chatting with regularly. They all greeted her as if she was a real media presence and not just the coach’s niece with a camera.

She took a few pictures of the empty ice adding it to her mental portfolio of this sports series she was looking to do. It was peaceful for a moment, the images forming in sequence, her ideal lighting. The way everything would come together to tell a story. It was something she was really excited about—

“Hey, baby.”

She didn’t turn immediately. Surely, she misheard. Her body felt a wave of anxiety run over it. She didn’t flinch, didn’t turn. For several seconds, she focused on her breathing and nothing else. A minute. She just needed a minute to collect herself. Turning slowly, she smiled politely.

“Kael.” His feet were on top of the seat in front of him. Some of his teammates were milling behind, a few rows back of him. He looked relaxed and uncaring of how fucked up it was that he was there. Coming up to her while she was alone. “You guys are in town early,” she stated.

He nodded, standing up and heading to her. She busied herself by inspecting her pictures making sure they looked okay on the screen. Her hands were shaking. Not because she was worried about what Kael might do but because she was angry. Kael was her least favorite person and he made her uneasy because of all the fucked-up things she let him do to her. “Nice jersey. Sleeping with Calloway?” He asked, sweeping his hand across the top of her back. It made her want to crawl out of her skin.

“No,” she clenched her jaw. She wanted to leave as little to the conversation as possible. But she couldn’t. Because Kael didn’t own any part of her privacy anymore. Part of her wished she was sleeping with Callie if only to rub it in his face. But she couldn’t pretend that any more than she could say she didn’t have a crush on Harry. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Right, sure...” he smiled slowly. “You look beautiful, baby. Even in an ugly jersey.”

She loved this jersey so much. The only jersey she would love to wear more than Callie’s, was Harry’s. Not that she would ever say that. “What can I say, orange and blue just wasn’t my color,” she shrugged. “And Kael? Stop calling me baby.”

He put his hands up. “Just wanted to say hi... I’m in the area today... tomorrow and the following day, too... thought you might want to catch up.”

“Sweetheart!” Uncle Charlie called.

She turned looking at her uncle, Ray, Callie, Niall, and a couple of the younger players staring at her from across the ice. “That’s my cue,” she said making her way back the way she came.

“You work for the team?” He asked, surprise evident in his voice.

“Yup.”

“Good old Uncle Charlie helped you out?” He wondered.

“Uh-huh.”

She walked around the edge of the ice noting every pair of eyes of The Chargers following her.

Kael followed her as well. “Do you want to get dinner, love?” He asked.

“I have to work tonight; thanks though,” she said over her shoulder wishing she could have cut across the ice. It would have been nice if she could have shown him that she could skate a bit now.

No thanks to him.

“What about tomorrow after the game?”

“Working again,” she shrugged.

“Lunch?”

“Busy.”

She was much closer now to her uncle and the guys. Their gazes felt warm on her, so she looked at her camera as she walked.

“C’mon, baby. You’re the one that wanted to talk.”

“To get my stuff back, Kael,” she sighed without looking at him. God she wanted to be done with the conversation. Why couldn’t he take a hint?

“Technically it’s my stuff.”

Ugh. That would do it. She spun on her heel. He was right behind her so now they stood only inches apart. This was the guy she seriously saw herself marrying because they had been together for so long. She was going to have children with him. So many days and nights spent at his arena wearing ugly orange and blue. Taking care of his every need and not asking for anything in return. All the other things that she didn’t even want to think about let alone speak into existence. Putting her life on hold for him because he deemed himself more important than her hobby. Now, he was going to continue holding her stuff hostage? Just for some weird power trip?

No. Not anymore.

“I don’t want anything you bought me, Kael,” her tone was biting. Teeth clenched. “I want my stuff back.”

He snorted. “Then go to lunch with me, baby,” he grinned sweetly.

“Hey Kael, we need her for pre-game pictures,” Charlie came up behind her putting a hand on her shoulder gently. She shrugged it off, she was independent, goddammit. She didn’t need her uncle or a hockey team to defend her in front of Kael. He already thought she was weak. She didn’t need to prove him right.

“I am not negotiating for my stuff,” she told him, her tone still angry.

“Sweetheart,” Charlie grabbed her shoulder a little more securely.

“Hey Charlie, sorry. Just trying to catch up with our girl here,” he smiled charmingly at her uncle. She rolled her eyes and marched around Charlie, toward the tunnel back to the locker room. “Tell Callie he’s a lucky man, baby,” he shouted.

“Fuck you Crowe!” Callie was immediately moving toward him as she pushed past. “You’re a piece of trash!”

“Hey!” Ray yelled. The other players yanked him back and away from one person who could fuck up the simplest of things with just a couple words. Kael smiled walking back the way he came. Like he didn’t cause a scene or anything.

*

Callie got three penalties in the first period. Lang had to talk him down because he wanted four. But that would have been bad for the team, and they weren’t even playing Kael.

Harry was fuming, bouncing his knee as he sat seated in front of his locker. “I hate that stupid prick,” Callie growled. She was seated on a chair outside the locker room looking at her camera. It didn’t seem to bother her much that Kael was around. Or maybe she was just continuing to be brave. It was kind of hot the way she stood up to him outside the ice rink. He wished he had known. He would have loved to have punched Kael. He was lucky Harry didn’t hear until he heard Callie yelling.

They lost the game one to nothing. No one blamed Callie because the goal wasn’t even during his penalties nor when he was on the ice. “I can’t wait for the game tomorrow,” Asher sighed. “Still allowed to cross-check?” He asked looking at Charlie and Ray.

Ray shrugged. “If you must.”

Harry wanted to strangle him. The moment he heard one of the younger players say Crowe’s name, he wanted to run to her, shove her behind him, and punch his stupid fucking face. “Harry?” Niall asked quietly from beside him.

“Yeah?”

“You good?” He asked.

“Yup,” he nodded.

“Look, he’s just trying to get a rise out of her,” he explained. “Maybe you.”

“He doesn’t know I like her,” he mumbled.

“You do like her?” Niall chuckled. “I knew it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Everyone decent?” Her voice called.

Harry perked up hearing the voice of the sweet girl he was falling for rapidly by the second. She entered holding a hand over her eyes. “You’re good, Sweetheart,” Lang assured her.

“Bummer,” she muttered dropping her hand. Harry smirked despite how mad he was as a quiet chuckle sounded throughout the room.

“Gross, Sweetheart. They’re my players,” Charlie shook his head.

“Well, you and I have the same taste in men then, Uncle Charlie.”

Another round of laughter. “You okay?” Charlie asked leaning against his office door.

Harry was staring, Niall beside him staring as well. The whole team was watching to be fair. “Yeah... he was just... hovering, signing autographs and stuff...”

“Fuck him,” Callie growled. She glanced at him briefly. Harry wanted to kill him for getting her attention today in the form of his jersey on her. It shouldn’t have been such a concern for Harry, but it was. He liked her so much and it was so unfair he wasn’t good enough for her. At least he was the one that bought the jersey for her.

“It’s not a big deal,” she shrugged looking anywhere but someone else’s eyes.

But it was a big deal, Harry was fuming in his seat. His leg still bouncing.

“What did he say to you?”

“Nothing,” she shook her head.

“Sweetheart, if—”

“Can someone walk me to my car?” She asked.

“I can!” Callie chirped.

She frowned. “Callie, really, any other day. But... with the jersey—”

He frowned. “I hate Crowe.”

“Join the club,” Charlie said.

She sighed. “I’ll walk you out,” Harry quickly tossed a sweatshirt over his practice shirt and a pair of sweats on over his compression shorts.

They didn’t speak as they walked to her car. Harry’s car. She put her belongings in the back seat. “I took the night off. I’m pretty exhausted,” she told Harry leaning against the driver door. “So you don’t have to worry about me.”

But he did. Because it seemed to be the only thing he did. “Oh. S’nice,” he murmured. “Are you… do y’want company or are y’jus’ going t’bed?”

“Probably just bed,” her voice was tired. “Maybe Marc and I will watch a game so he can study.”

At least there was one man in her life he didn’t have to be jealous of. “Well, we have an early curfew anyway,” he mumbled. “Do y’want me t’follow y’home?”

She shook her head. “No. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Rookie,” he gave her arm a squeeze. “Let me know when you’re home,” Harry ushered her into the car and let her go on her way. He headed back for the arena feeling fairly defeated. But at least she was safe.

*

Eliana lived close by and expected very little of Harry. She was a nice person. She was a nurse at a local hospital and had hours that lined up with Harry’s every so often.

Harry was a fucking mess.

“Are you okay?” She asked

No. He wasn’t. He wanted the pretty photographer. Wanted to know she was home safe. Wanted to go to her apartment and wake Michael and Marc up and murder them for not protecting her when they said they would. Even though she was in all reality probably fine.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I’m gonna go,” he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “It’s not you.”

She smirked. “I didn’t think so, Harry. I hope you’re alright.”

 “Jury’s out.”

She rolled her eyes, pulled the covers up to her neck. “Just lock behind you please.”

Harry tried calling her. Not even caring how ridiculous he was. He was past the point of caring. He couldn’t even sleep with someone else, and he’d done nothing more than hold her hands or her elbow. He refrained from cuddling her at their sleepover beyond feeling the heat of her body while she slept.

Harry had called her every hour since he walked her to her car. Hopefully she was just asleep. She did say she was exhausted. Maybe if he drove by and saw her car, he would feel better?

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. He couldn’t follow her like that. It was different that first time. He never intended to follow her into her apartment building. His rationality left him because he was so worried about her. Now that he was okay with her living arrangement, he didn’t want to look insane.

A drink. One drink and he would be home by curfew. Something to take the edge off. Make him forget about his worry.

Harry parked in the first available spot at The Locker Room. He waved to the regulars, said hello to some fans, and headed to his usual table. Force of habit. “Hey Harry,” Louis smiled bringing Harry a drink. “Didn’t know you were coming in; she figured you had curfew.”

He tilted his head at Louis, his thumb pausing on her name in his message threads once more. “Hmm?” He hummed. “She’s... here?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Louis pouted slightly. “She’s been here since five,” he hummed like it was obvious.

“Hey, Louis!” She called from the other room. Her voice hitching slightly in alarm.

Why would she lie? Louis raced to the other room. Harry followed quickly because the apprehension in her voice was enough to bring all his worry immediately back to the forefront of his mind and he expected the worst truly. Because she didn’t seem to be very scared of anything. She lived in a seedy part of town and worked with violent hockey players.

So what could be in the main room that would make her sound so worried? A drunk guy who was getting into it with another person? A handsy guy who thought she was pretty? A girl who didn’t like her decision to cut her off?

None of his thoughts had considered it might be Kael. Who had her wrist pinned to the top of a table, his hand wrapped tightly around it keeping her in place.

Harry’s vision turned red.

She gaped meeting Harry’s gaze. “Oh fuck,” she whispered.

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[w2mini]

“Inarizaki with a manager who…” randoms !!

warnings: reader is reserved, fem reader, swearing, platonic or romantic idgaf

IDK bout’ you guys, but every time I think about Inarizaki having a manager, I think about someone who:

Is stereotyped as your typical “quiet” and “reserved” demeanor girlie when in actuality—she just finds herself in a difficult position to open up to the boys. 😓

- I mean, who wouldn’t have a hard time, they’re like top two in the nation and HIGHKEY intimidating to be with, I have respect 4u girl. 🫡 but a job is a job. Kita recruited you since he had to balance his club and academics at one point (also following the coach’s suggestion).

Also should I just mention that you are such a beauty??? Like, maybe if you weren’t so pretty and mysterious then they wouldn’t be bothering you so much just to talk with you!! 😾

- Suna tries to small talk with you sometimes, keyword: tries (his way of trying is giving you the most unnoticeable hints that he wants to talk with you).

- Whenever you begin to feel tired during a long day in practice, Osamu won’t just let it slip past him and hands you some of his mint candy that he has to help you stay awake as he suggests. Yall chill like that🤞

- You and Kita are the ones who are always together, since you guys discuss about the team’s schedule and strategies alongside coach. But that’s just about it.

- Aran and Omimi tends to help you with your duties, especially if it requires lifting heavy weight or a lot of items to carry. We love gentlemen. 🫡

- Riseki is TOO shy to chat with you, but he’s trying his best I swear. 🥲 Your glamorous self just makes him feel like standing beside you feel like a huge offense.

- The closest (🤏) I would consider to be close to you is proably Akagi and Ginjima, they were the ones who approached you with a warm welcome and introduced you to the team as they showed you the ropes of being a manager.

As for Atsumu? I’m gonna need a whole separate section for him hol’ on.

- How do I even start with him.

- Because for the first time, he doesn’t attract your attention, he’s chasing for it.

- You’re supposed to praise him! fangirl over him! shower him with your undying attention! Not just awkwardly standing there and nodding every now and then! 😾

- Can’t you see how hurt his pride is. 😞 (his fault for expecting too much tbh 😹)

- His last straw was during when he was practicing his sets and you were there to watch. So when you approached him, he was expecting the words: “wow you’re amazing Atsumu!”

- Your response?

- “Miya you should probably extend your arms further more so you have better accuracy on the ball.”

- his jaw dropped to the floor.

- YOU? THE MANAGER? giving him TIPS?

- and what’s worst is that you were right and it genuinely improved his sets slightly better, oh he’s never forgetting about this.

But even after all that, you genuinely just could not bring yourself to be close and open up to them, your reason? a lot.

- The volleyball team of Inarizaki is undeniably well known around the campus and to be their manager is either a curse or a blessing.

- actually scrap that. It’s a fucking curse.

- number one. the top on the damn list. their fangirls.

- the amount of them that question you about the team is just too much for your poor social battery to handle. You were their victim number one to harass about the team. (props to Aran for always saving you during times like these 🙂‍↕️)

- which is also why you have a set of rules to yourself whenever you encounter one of the members in the campus: 1) walk quickly past them in the hallways, 2) only talk to them when they initiate it first, and 3) to never bring up anything about them around the campus.

- number two would be the team itself. why? very self explanatory. 😊

- you do not get an ounce of peace and rest around those guys. Especially Atsumu’s endless cycle of jokes and teasing just to get a reaction out of you.

- and that one time Osamu accidentally served a ball towards you. You were on the tribunes just taking notes. WHO SERVES AT THE TRIBUNES.

- but its okay, he bought you a snack as an apology after that on the convenience store run on the way home. His motherfucker of a twin however just laughed at you like a maniac.

- also the amount of strays you have to pick up during practice is EXHAUSTING. Being their manager made your spine feel like 85 years old.

However, you are genuinely such a hardworking girlie🥹 your actions spoke louder than words, it’s just your way of showing you care for them but sometimes you just don’t feel like it’s enough and you don’t think they notice it either because of how reserved you could be.

- Inarizaki’s volleyball team was independent, they didn’t need a manager.

- which is what they think.

- because ever since you arrived, Kita has felt a heavy weight lift off his shoulders (++ coach too). You’ve genuinely helped them in ways that you didn’t deem possible

- you also took notes of the smallest things or even the quiet observations about the team on your notebook (e.g. “Make sure Atsumu doesn’t forget about his water” or “Osamu gets grumpy if he skips meals” etc.)

- Although they may not be vocal about it or have mentioned about it—the team just has so much respect for you. To be able to manage a team like them is impressive. They don’t think anyone would be able to top your managing skills EVER.

So yeah, it kinda just went on like that… not for long. You strictly kept a classmate relationship between them and just went on being their manager—you do your job, but you kept a distance. That is until Inarizaki gets their win against another strong team.

It wasn’t anything serious or sad with what became the turning point in your relationship with the team, I’d say its very Inarizaki like.

- It happened when Inarizaki won against a really strong team, the game was fierce and stressful to watch, but in the end they were able to snatch the gold.

- Undeniably, the boys are all hyped. “We should celebrate! C’mon let’s go out to eat!” Akagi says as he excitedly suggested.

- the others agreed with the idea, especially a certain twin. On the way, they all discussed their orders and plans for later. In the end they all decided to go for ramen.

- You on the other hand kept silent. You decided it was best for you to go home already and let them have their fun, your social battery was draining anyways.

- which COULD’VE been the plan.

- Until Kita turns around to your direction, then offhandedly says: “You’re coming too right?”

- your brain short circuits.

- it doesn’t help with the fact now that the rest is also waiting for your answer.

- is this what they call peer pressure. 😵‍💫

- but it was in this moment that you realize that—they actually want you to be there. Not just as their manager, but as part of the team.

- So you agreed.

- It was a warm moment when you guys were inside the ramen bar, everyone made an effort to include you, making stupid jokes, teasing you slightly, sharing food, etc.

- And, probably for the first time ever, you were laughing with them.

- And, they all just. froze.

- Because they rarely saw you express emotions around them. Heck, not even a laugh!

- They all glanced at each other and nodded, yep, it was like they had antennas saying their common goal: to see you smile more.

In the end, Inarizaki needs a manager who can handle their shit—and love them anyway.

WOOO kinda short but hope u guys enjoyed, I just kinda wanted to share my thoughts BECAUSE every time I write about Inarizaki having a manager, I always imagine someone who’s just keeps to herself yk, but thas js me🤷���♀️ Thats why I chose Haerin for today’s layout because the personality matches her sm lowk omg

I kinda wanna make this a series tbh, LIKE that one shiratorizawa series in Ao3 I FORGOT THE NAME but you guys know right….. right.

[hotchnersangel]

FAMILY

Aaron Hotchner.

cw; bau dynamic, holiday setting, relaxed hotch, touchy hotch, mention of nudity, teasing from the team, established relationship

It was an accident. It was an accident when the team finished a rough case earlier than they should have. It was an accident when you made a passing comment about wanting to stay in Hawaii for a few more days. It was an accident when Aaron Hotchner arranged for three days off for the team and scheduled a flight back home in said three days.

So, you were in a lavish five star hotel being treated with the utmost royalty and respect for saving their customers, their business, their reputation from the dumps.

You and Aaron had been sharing a room, being in a relationship and all. The team were yet to see you touchy- feely with one another, naturally as you only see them usually in a work setting so it would be inappropriate to participate in PDA at the hands of trauma.

But, as you sat on the edge of the pool kicking your feet in the water, you watch Morgan, Aaron, Emily and Spencer in the pool. Aaron was just sort of doing his thing as you watch from a distance. You were sat closely by JJ and Rossi who were on the sun loungers as they sunbathed.

“I like seeing the team like this.” You say with a relaxed smile and sunglasses perched on your forehead.

“What, half naked?” JJ jokes with a teasing smile on her face.

“my-my mi amore, Aaron come get your girl.” He teases and waves him over to which Aaron obliges happily. He looks up at you as he swims over and sort of lols around, relaxed.

“What is going on over here then?” He smiles and inquires to us all, his hands gripping the side, caging your legs between his arms. He then rests his hands over your thighs, propping his chin up on top of them, staring into your eyes softly.

You grin down at him and rest your hand on his cheek, seeing him squinting from the sun blazing behind you.

“I believe your girlfriend has just tried to hit on us, Hotch.” JJ jokes and smirks, pulling her sunnies off to look over at him and you.

Hotch sighs playfully and shakes his head, looking back up to you as his hands continue to rest over your thighs.

“Hey, it was not like that!” You defend yourself with a smile, running a hand through your hair and pulling your sunnies off of your face and onto Aaron’s. You then run a hand through his hair.

“You don’t love me, I get it.” He teases you, grinning up to you, through the tinted spectacle.

“You know that is far from the truth.” You giggle as you look down at him.

He sighs relaxed, hearing the distant chatter from the team and members of the public. His head resting over your thighs fully now like they were his personal mobile pillows, his hands moving to grab the backs of your calves and squeeze them to reassure you of his presence- or reassure himself of yours.

You are leant forwards, resting one hand on Aaron’s back and the other on his head, you sit and both simply watch the others.

“Hey mom, dad can we get an ice pop?” Morgan shouts jokingly at us and you laugh, shaking your head.

“No honey, you’ve already had one today.” You play along with the joke echoing a chorus of chuckles.

“I’ve never known boss-man to be so… soft.” Emily teases and you roll your eyes in good nature.

“Hey, he isn’t so tough all the time.” You shrug and rub his hair.

“It’s good to see you both open up- usually couples who share employment find it difficult to open up to their coworkers because they fear judgement or their reputations being faltered because they show affection to someone similar to them- though it fascinates me that people in separate relationships can do so freely with little judgement-“ Spencer rambles from his position, him mirroring your position, with his feet in the water now.

“I agree, it’s good to see my man getting his girl.” Morgan smirks and hollers at the couple.

“You all have five more files in your pile when we get back.” Hotch smirks and you giggle, feeling his smirk against your thighs as a yawn erupts from your throat. You rub your hand over Aaron’s arm and shuffle slightly. You smile gently, taking in how perfect this very moment feels and how at peace you feel sharing it with your family.

[the-kr8tor]

Hello! I wanted to request for a fluffy Hobie x reader <3 One where the reader is someone he became friends with through the Spider Society, so the two have yet to properly get to know each other, but reader has a terribly hidden crush for him. But the main thing is that, out of everyone in their friend group, the pair are huggers so they naturally gravitate to one another for hugs or to just be close. - 💜💛

Hello!! I hope you love it!! And thank you for reading my work! ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except hobie is mentioned taller), spider person! Reader, spider trio cameo, established relationship, lovestruck! Hobie, fluff!

Navigation

The portal opens right in the middle of spider society. Its warbling orange glow glimmers against the white floors as the whole squad exits the portal.

You immediately bolt towards the team, eyes looking for the familiar pair of boots to step out of it.

“Hey!” Gwen smiles, taking off her mask as she tiredly hugs you. You pat her back, and she looks at you suspiciously. “I have a feeling the welcome committee isn't just for me.”

You wince, giving her an awkward smile. “What— no way, Gwen. I'm here for you!”

“Hobie's right behind us, Y/N.” Pav says tiredly, arms stretching as your face brightens up from the mention of the punk spider.

Gwen scrunches her nose, scoffing as she lets you go. “Really? You don't even hide it well.”

You try to save face. “I'm here for…all of you.” You bounce on the balls of your feet as you hear footsteps exit out. Your smile flickers away for a second when Miles appears from the portal, rubbing along his aching wrist.

Miles notices along with Gwen and Pavitr. “‘I’m glad you're safe, Miles!’” He mocks your voice. “Really, you don't even hide it anymore.”

“That's what I said!” Gwen agrees, huffing with her hands placed on her hips.

The familiar thump of the pair of boots has you turning towards the source, arms gravitating to the pair of arms ready to receive you.

“It's just hurtful, y’know— oh come on!”

The trio turns to you and Hobie, embracing like you haven't seen each other in years. When in fact that you literally saw him before he went on the mission, and was hugging you just like this.

His chin is propped atop your head, arms squeezing you and slightly lifting you up on your feet while you hide in the crook of his neck. He smells of post battle adrenaline and coconut from his (Pav’s) oil.

“How's my favourite spider?” Hobie says, eyes darting towards the three, who are brooding in place. He clearly did that on purpose, where's the lie though when he's wrapped around your finger.

“Good,” you say against his skin, lips barely brushing along his neck, and barely appropriate for ‘just friends.’ “I broke my record at the training grounds.” Leaning away to his disappointment, your smile has his slight frown fade away. “The tip you gave me worked really well!”

“Augh, get a room already.” Miles says in disgust while Gwen acts like she's gonna barf.

“I think it's sweet!” Pav exclaims while you and Hobie are stuck in your little bubble of affection.

Gwen and Miles stare Pav down.

“Really? It disrupts the friend group.” Gwen argues.

Miles loops his arm over Gwen's shoulder, nodding along. “I agree!”

Pav gives them a look. “Hypocrites!”

They continue to argue in the background while Hobie's arms are still around you. The continuous hugs remind you of those stuffed animals with the long arms and velcro on them so they'd stick to your clothes and hug you the entire time. Hobie's hugs feel the same, soft and comforting. Without the prick of velcro of course.

“D’you think they'll stop arguing?” You ask, head lifting up to gaze into his warm eyes.

Hobie beams at you, hand placed in the back of your head while his nose nudges your temple. “Maybe once we tell ‘em that we're datin'”

“Date, we went on one date.” You correct him, but your bashful grin and clammy hands that are still holding on to him says that there will be more in the future.

“It would be plural if someone confessed a lot sooner.” A smirk plays on his lips as you smack his chest playfully, palm hitting hard muscle underneath his suit. You suddenly feel incredibly warm. “They're right, you didn't hide it very well.”

“Y–You know why!”

“No, I don't.” His lopsided smirk says otherwise. He's playing with you, and you're loving every minute of it. “Can you tell me again, just like last night?”

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part eleven

Back to our regularly scheduled chaos 🫶🏻

Warnings: angst, reader is just really down on herself in this one sorry guys, Hotch being so strangely sweet for once, but then Hotch being down on himself (these two are a fucking wreck i wish they'd just TALK IT OUT)

Hotch doesn’t give you the day off after this case, but when you walk into the bullpen the next morning, you wish he had. For no particular reason other than you weren’t able to sleep, and dread seems to have made a home in your bones overnight.

And, of course, everyone notices.

“Oh,” Penelope’s frown looks out of place among her bright outfit. You hate that you’re making her frown. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you reply instantly, flashing her a smile. “Just exhausted.”

She doesn’t seem too satisfied with your answer, but wraps you in a hug all the same. “If you need anything, come see me. Okay?”

You squeeze her tightly. “Thanks, Pen.”

She pulls back and lightly pats your cheek. “Anytime.”

Morgan comes sauntering over with his coffee, eyeing you both cautiously. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Nope,” Garcia saves you the grief, turning to rest her hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “Just telling her to come bug me when you guys start boring her to death.”

Derek laughs. “Riiight.”

Garcia heads back to her office with a flourish, something about needing to do her own paperwork to justify all the hacking she did for this last case. You dump your things down at your desk with a sigh.

You try to discreetly look up into Hotch’s office to see if he’s here. When you glance back at Morgan, you see he’s caught you red-handed. 

“Looking for someone?” he smirks.

You roll your eyes, busying yourself with putting your things away. “Is Hotch in yet?”

“Not yet, we’re the early birds today,” Morgan says, propping himself on your desk like he belongs there. “Why?”

I’m trying to avoid him at all costs, why else? “Just curious.”

Morgan hums. “Alright. Well, no, he said he was taking Jack to school this morning, so he’d be in late. You would know that if you didn’t put yourself in time out on the jet yesterday.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’m gonna start up that tally again,” Morgan jokes.

“Be my guest,” you mutter through a small smile.

Morgan goes quiet and that scares you, because you know exactly what’s coming next. Goodbye Joking Friend Morgan, hello Serious Big Brother Derek.

“Hey,” he says, leaning toward you. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

You nod. If only everyone who says that knew that you can’t. “Yeah. I know.”

“‘Kay. Good.” Derek nods as he slides off your desk, returning to his own and leaving you alone.

Reid whirls into the BAU next, nose in a book, nearly taking himself out when he stumbles into Morgan’s desk. So, a typical morning for him.

JJ and Emily come in next, coffees in hand, having run into each other again on their morning commute.

Rossi next, stopping by your desk to ask how you’re doing. He doesn’t press when you say you’re fine and heads up to his office, leaving you alone.

Then, there’s Hotch, who comes in with his phone pressed to his ear, a frown on his face. He doesn’t even glance toward the center of the bullpen as he practically floats up the stairs into his office, shutting the door.

You share looks with the rest of the team. Reid grimaces. He must’ve read his lips through the office window. He goes back to his book without saying anything.

You return to your paperwork, scanning the text. It’s necessary, and you know why you have to do it, but that doesn’t make any of it less boring.

Next to you, Emily leans back in her chair. “You should join us for coffee tomorrow before work.”

You lift your head, your eyes slowly trailing over to her to make sure she’s talking to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she smiles. “JJ and I always end up at the same place, we should get there a little early and have breakfast.”

“Uh, hello?” Morgan pipes up, pointing his pencil between himself and Reid. “What about us?”

Emily inhales sharply through her grin. “Sorry, girls only.”

“Alright, I see how it is,” Morgan laughs. He turns to Reid. “Hey kid, wanna get coffee tomorrow?”

“Why?” Reid asks without looking up. “The BAU has free coffee.”

Morgan sighs. “You’re not helping.”

Reid still doesn’t look up, but his lips stretch in that little smirk he always gets when he pushes Morgan’s buttons just for fun.

You turn back to Emily. “I’d love to. Where?”

She lists off the name of the cafe and then pauses, “Oh my god, I need to add you to the group chat.”

“Group chat?” Reid looks up this time. “You guys have a group chat?”

“Girls only,” Emily says again, looking down at her phone.

“Is Garcia in it?” Morgan asks.

“Duh,” Emily replies. “There.”

Your phone buzzes. Emily added you to Women Only. You snort. “Thanks.”

Garcia sends a few hearts and other emojis when she sees you’ve been added to the chat. You laugh quietly before returning to your paperwork, even though you’ve read the same line probably fifty times by now. 

The conversation carries on around you, with Reid even chiming in here and there, but you’re mostly silent. You know it’s unlike you, so you figure it’s a matter of time before one of the profilers calls you out for it.

But they don’t, because they don’t get a chance to.

Hotch calls your name from the second level. You lift your head, eyebrows raising. You find him standing just in the doorway to his office, nodding his head for you to come up.

Just great. Great.

You’re too tired to offer any protests, so you stand immediately, taking your lukewarm coffee with you as you head up the stairs. You don’t need to glance down at the bullpen to know the team’s eyes are on you.

Hotch seems to notice, too, because when you walk into his office, he draws the blinds.

You freeze in the doorway. This can’t be good, if he’s purposefully trying to prevent Reid from lipreading. He normally doesn’t bother.

“Come in,” he says quietly, rounding his desk. “Sit, please.”

You’re being fired. You’re sure of it.

Still, you shut the door, eyeing him warily as you sit across from him. You place your coffee on his desk so you can clasp your hands together.

“So?”

Hotch tilts his head. “So?”

“What’s the reasoning?” you ask. “I’m assuming I’m being transferred or terminated, whatever we’re calling it these days.”

If you aren’t mistaken, his expression seems to soften. Just barely. “I’m not firing you.”

You sit back. “Oh.”

“Why would you think I’m firing you?”

“Why would I not?” you shrug. “We don’t get along, I’ve done nothing but cause problems — that I will admit—”

“Stop,” Hotch almost looks pained as he cuts you off. “Stop. You’re not causing problems by being here.”

You stare at him tiredly. “You know I hate it when you lie to my face.”

“I’ve never lied to you,” he replies, just as tired. “And I’m not lying now.”

You’re not convinced of either of those things. “Okay.”

He sighs, leaning onto his elbows on his desk. “I know we don’t…get along, as you said, but you are a valuable asset to this team.”

“Hotch, my first two cases, both unsubs have gotten away.”

“Is that what this is about?”

You don’t know. You don’t know what any of this is about. “I guess. Look— I’m just not on top of it today. I’m tired.”

“Do you need to go home?”

You glare at him. “No. I said I’m tired, not that I can’t work.”

“Just clarifying,” he mutters, leaning back in his chair to study you. 

It makes you shift uncomfortably in your seat. You hate the way he looks at you, like he knows something about you that you don’t know yet — or that you don’t want to know. Because knowing him, he’ll say it out loud, and then you’ll have to deal with it, and you don’t want to.

You think for a fleeting, terrifying moment that maybe Rossi told him about your father, but Rossi wouldn’t. Right?

“It’s not your fault,” he starts, but he keeps his eyes trained on his desk. “That the unsubs have gotten away. We got Lila back home safely, and that counts for something.”

You hum, uncertain.

“We don’t always catch the unsub,” Hotch continues. “We help where we can, and sometimes that has to be enough.”

“It’s not, though,” you shake your head slowly. “It’s not enough.” You look over at him, that anger still simmering like always. You’re tired, but it doesn’t take much for it to spike again. “I still don’t think we should’ve left them.”

“I did what I thought was right and I stand by—”

“What if it was wrong?”

“I’m not going to sit here and argue what if’s with you,” Hotch snaps, voice firm and tone final. “I don’t have to explain my decisions to you.”

“No,” you reply, pushing yourself to stand up. “But you could at least act like you care about your team’s opinion of you.”

You get to the door before you pause, eyeing the closed blinds. You turn around as you cross your arms over your chest.

“What was it you actually called me in here for?”

Hotch barely shrugs. “I just wanted to check in with you after the conversation we had yesterday.”

You roll your eyes. Highly unlikely that that’s the only thing, but fine. “Sure.”

Hotch sighs tiredly. “Here we go,” he says under his breath.

Might as well tease him. “Just saying,” you give him a wicked look.“You better be careful. Kinda starting to make me think you like me or something.”

He scowls at you. “Go back to work.”

You’re laughing as you leave his office.

+++

Hotch stares at your coffee on the edge of his desk. You forgot to take it with you. He could call you back in here to get it. Or let it get cold and get rid of it later. Or he could take it to you.

He needs a fresh cup anyway.

He grabs his mug in one hand, yours in the other, and heads out of his office. You’re already back at your desk, laughing at something Prentiss said. Hotch feels the corners of his lips trying to tug upward, listening to your laughter. He doesn’t hear it often, especially not like this. Carefree and light. He’s used to the sarcastic, condescending laughter that you usually give him. 

His frown returns with that thought. He’ll never be the cause of this kind of laughter from you. Not as long as you seem to have him at the top of your shit list. It’s been a decade, so he doesn’t expect that to change.

Shaking the thoughts away, he heads down the stairs to drop your mug off on your desk with a silent, “You left this,” like he did with your jacket just over a week ago.

He doesn’t hear you say anything as he strides past you and everyone else to the coffee machine at the edge of the bullpen. 

Hotch loves his team for many things. Their subtlety is not one of them.

He can hear them whispering, all trying to figure out what you and him discussed and why the blinds had to be drawn. None of them believe you when you say it was nothing.

For what Hotch had originally planned, yes, the blinds needed to be drawn. He wanted privacy to ask you about your father.

But how was he supposed to bring up your father when your first thought was that you were being fired? When your first thought is that you’re doing more harm than good by being here?

Regardless of how much pleasure you seem to find in pushing his buttons, he couldn’t let a member of his team go without addressing those kinds of thoughts. You’re a valuable addition to this team. If you weren’t, you never would’ve been hired by Strauss, let alone by him.

It’s bad luck, sure, that these last two cases haven’t ended the way they’d like. But that’s no one’s fault, and certainly not yours alone. It just happens. They can’t save everyone, solve every case quickly and easily. Nothing is neat and tied in a bow in this field. He needs you to understand that. Because if you don’t, you won’t survive. 

And he needs you to survive.

Hotch turns around to head back to his office, pausing to raise an eyebrow when his team scrambles cartoon-style to “act natural” — as if he has no clue they weren’t watching him.

He loves this team, he does. He shakes his head as he walks around them.

He feels your eyes on him, though, as he ascends the stairs. He glances down at you and you avert your eyes masterfully. If he didn’t know you so well, he wouldn’t have known you were watching him.

Hotch is too busy looking at you to notice Rossi has stepped out of his own office, and the older man gives Hotch an equally skeptical look when Hotch nearly crashes into him.

Rossi follows Hotch into his office, shutting the door behind him.

“What’s with all the secrecy today?” Rossi asks, gesturing to the closed blinds, tugging one down with a smirk as he makes eye contact with Prentiss. He lets it snap back into place.

“Nothing,” Hotch replies, settling back down at his desk. “You can open them.”

Rossi doesn’t.

Instead, he stands in front of Aaron’s desk, hands shoved in his pockets. “Did you tell her?”

“She’s still here, so obviously I didn’t,” Hotch mutters, looking up at his friend. “Why?”

“Just curious,” Rossi says, turning to open the blinds.

Unsurprisingly, the entire team, except for you, is caught in their attempted eavesdropping. Rossi laughs as he turns back around to face Aaron.

“Warn me before you do? I’d like some time to prepare to get out of here before you get a chair thrown in your face,” Rossi says.

Hotch stares at him. A chair will be the least of his worries when he eventually confronts you.

His eyes flick to you down in the bullpen, focused and content, swatting Morgan away when he tries to toss balls of paper at your head. Hotch doesn’t want to ruin this, the joy you’ve found here. 

But ever since the first day you met, that’s all Hotch has known how to do. Say the wrong thing and make you hate him. Over and over. 

It’s no wonder you push his buttons so much and fight so hard to get under his skin. It’s not like he can’t understand. It’s a vicious cycle with the two of you, and there’s no way out.

At least not one where no one gets hurt.

[silverb0wties]

Lemonade - Part 1

Lemonade || leah williamson x alessia russo x child!reader

Summary: When something bad happens to your Mummy and Daddy, you end up living with your Aunty Lessi and Aunty Leah.  But is there room for you considering they have a new baby on the way?

Chapter Warnings: death, pregnancy, mentions of stillbirth, house fire, hospitals & doctors

a/n: In this universe Alessia has a fictional older sister

~ I originally posted this a while ago but took it down because I received a bunch of hate for it. A few very nice people have encouraged me to put it back up, so I will see how I go. Constructive criticism is always welcome, but if you don't like this, please just scroll by. 💜 ~

PART 1

--

You didn’t fully remember what had happened that night.

It had all started off very typical.  You’d had tea and a bath and watched a bit of telly before heading upstairs to your room for bed.  You were 7 now and a big girl, and certain you didn’t need tucking in anymore, so you gave your Mummy and Daddy kisses and cuddles before you went to brush your teeth and then snuggled under your bed covers to keep reading your current library book, Matilda. 

At some point you must have dozed off, because you woke up as your Daddy popped his head in through your door to check on you.

“You alright, Bunny?” he asked.  Your nickname had been Bunny for as long as you could remember.  You had been given a bunny stuffie named Arthur by your Nana on the day you were born, and he had been your trusty companion ever since.  Bunnies were also your favourite animal, however you weren’t allowed one as a pet because your Daddy was allergic.  Apparently that meant he came up in big bright red spots whenever he got near one.  Surely there was some kind of cream that though.

“Can I come sleep in your bed with you and Mummy?” You had made sure to use your biggest, pleading eyes to try and convince him.

“Ohh alright.  But you have to remember to be careful of Mummy’s leg, okay?”

Mummy had hurt her leg a couple of weeks before.  She had been playing netball when someone on the other team had crashed into her and she landed poorly.  You weren’t totally sure what was wrong, but you knew that it was apparently worse than whatever Aunty Leah had done to her leg.  But it was also not as bad because your Mummy wasn’t a professional at netball, she just played for fun, and you think maybe they also won some wine sometimes but you’re not 100% sure.  Anyways, she had to go to hospital and have an operation and now she was on crutches (which you weren’t allowed to play on) and you had to help around the house a bit more because it was tricky for Mummy to get around.  You didn’t mind though, you were happy to be her little helper.

As you reached your parents room (Arthur clutched tightly under your arm), you found your Mummy already in the bed, her leg propped up on a pillow under the blanket.  Before she had a chance to ask what you were doing there, you quickly rattled out “Daddy said I could come sleep with you, please please please!”

Your Mummy just laughed and patted the spot beside her on the bed.  A few moments later you and Arthur were snuggled under the covers between your Mummy and Daddy and drifting soundly back to sleep.

The next time you awoke it was to a screeching alarm, one you recognised from when Daddy had tried to bake Mummy a birthday cake but had burned it really, really badly.

“Bunny!  Sweetie, wake up!”

As you opened your eyes you realised you were surrounded by thick black smoke.  Your chest felt tight, and the smoke stung your eyes so badly you couldn’t keep them open.  Everything felt foggy and faint and you could feel yourself quickly falling back asleep.

“Just take her! Save her! Get her out!”

You heard your Mummy’s screams over the blaring of the alarm.  You would hear those screams in your nightmares for the rest of your life.

The next thing you remember was being outside your house and your neighbour Mrs Green was passing you to an ambulance man.  You had Arthur clutched in your hand by his ear as the man lay you down on a wheely bed and put a funny smelling mask over your nose and mouth.

Then you were at the hospital and there was lots of nurses and doctors scrambling around, poking and prodding you.  You had still had the mask on your face that was filling your mouth and nose with funny smelling air.  There was a big needle sticking into your arm connected to a bag on a pole that kind of hurt a bit.  But worst of all, at some point you had lost hold of Arthur, and you could see him lying sadly on a bench across the room.

“She’s awake.”

“Y/N.  Hi, my name is Doctor Smith.  We’re just looking over you to make sure you’re doing okay.  We’ll get you back to a room really soon and then you can see your family, okay?”

Your family was here!  Thank goodness.  Whatever had happened, your Mummy and Daddy were fine and you would see them real soon.

You breathed a small sigh of relief but still reached out instinctively for Arthur.  A nice nurse with dark hair and big, round glasses noticed and looked over at the bunny.

“Is he your special friend?”

You nodded frantically.

“He’s very dirty at the moment, so he’s going to need a bath before you get him back for cuddles, I think.”

You realised that his normally light purple fur was closer to a dark grey colour, but you couldn’t understand how he got so dirty.  Surely a bit of smoke doesn’t get a bunny that dirty. 

And then it hit you.

Smoke.

You’d only seen smoke come from a few things in real life before:

When your Daddy had burned that birthday cake

From the cigarettes the old ladies who sat outside the newsagents smoked

When there was lots of pretty fireworks and sparklers after Aunty Lessi and Leah won a big trophy

After you blew your birthday candles out

Smoke came from burning things.  Had Arthur been burned?

Before you could ask any questions, you were being wheeled into a room where your Nana and Aunty Lessi were.  You loved your Nana and your Aunty Lessi, you really did, but you wanted your Mummy and Daddy.  Where were your Mummy and Daddy?

“Oh Y/N, oh sweetie.  Oh, thank God you’re okay.”  Your Nana was crying as she reached for your hand and kissed your forehead.

You tuned out your Nana and the doctor’s conversation as out of the corner of your eye you spotted the nice nurse with the big, round glasses hand over Arthur, who had now been put in a plastic zippy bag, to your Aunty Lessi.  She whispered something to her you didn’t hear and Aunty Lessi nodded and put him carefully in a big sleepover bag she had with her.  You wondered why she had a sleepover bag with her here at the hospital.

“Does she know about…?” your Nana asked.

“No.  We thought it best that she heard it from family.”

You snapped back to the conversation going on over your head at these words, catching your Nana nodding as she wiped some more tears away from the corner of her eye.

“We’ll leave you be to have some privacy.  One of the nurses will be back in a while to check on her, but of course, don’t hesitate to press the buzzer if you need anything.”

As all the hospital staff left, your Aunty Lessi came around to the other side of the bed and gave you a hug as best as she could, trying not to bump your mask or the big needle in your arm.

“Nan-” you attempted to talk, but the smelly mask on your face was making your words sound all mumbly jumbly.  You also noticed that it hurt a bit in your chest and throat when you tried to speak, your hand automatically coming up to rest on your neck.

“It’s okay sweetheart, you don’t need to speak.  You just rest, okay?” your Nana told you.

You nodded, aware that there was something going on.  Something definitely wasn’t right.  Your eyes flicked between the two women, noticing that their eyes were red and puffy as though they’d been doing lots of crying. 

After a long, awkward silence that seemed to stretch on forever and ever, your Aunty Lessi finally started to speak. 

“Bunny, sweetie, there was a fire at your house.  We don’t know how or where it started, but there was a very bad fire, and it looks like it has destroyed the whole house.”

Your eyes widened as you began to put it all together – the smoke, the alarm, your Mummy screaming…

“Sweetheart, your Mummy and Daddy didn’t make it out.  We don’t know a whole lot yet, but we know that your Daddy ran out of the house with you and gave you to a neighbour.  You were very poorly and not breathing very well, and that’s why you’ve got to wear this mask to help you breathe.  He went back into the house, we can only assume to try and help your Mummy because she can’t… umm couldn’t move around too well because of her leg.  But they never made it out of the house.”

You didn’t really understand.  What did she mean they never made it out of the house?  Where did they go?  Where are they now?

“Bunny, do you understand what I’m saying?” your Aunty Lessi asked.

You shook your head furiously.  You just wanted to see your Mummy and Daddy.  Why weren’t they here?  Were they hurt?  Were they also lying in beds somewhere with masks on their faces and needles in their arms?

Your Nana stood up from her chair and sat down softly on the bed beside you.  She stroked her hand over your face a few times before cupping your cheek gently in her hands.

“I’m so sorry, Bun… Your Mummy and Daddy, they… oh Less, I can’t.  I can’t say it…”

Your Nana pulled away from you, burying her head in her hands as she stood up and turned away slightly.

“It’s okay, Mum.  I’ve… I’ve got it.”

Your Aunty Lessi swopped in and scooped your face gently into her hands, running her thumbs soothingly over your cheeks as you looked at her with confusion.

“Bunny sweetie, your Mummy and Daddy… d-died.”

You think your Aunty Lessi kept talking but her words just faded into background noise as you tuned out everything around you.  You were there, but not really.  Your body was, but your brain was just running over the words “Mummy and Daddy died” over and over and over and over until they lost all meaning.

Mummy died.

Daddy died.

Mummy and Daddy died.

You felt sad, but mostly you just felt kind of… nothing.  It felt almost like the sadness was a balloon that grew too big, too fast and it had popped and now all you were left with was nothing.

In the movies and in your books when people died, their family cried lots and lots.  Your Nana was crying, and it seemed like your Aunty had been crying.  But you didn’t feel like crying.  You did really, really feel like rubbing the soft fur of Arthurs ear across your cheek over and over and over though.

--

You had stayed in the hospital for a few nights before they let you go home. 

Well, not really home.

But your new home.

You were going to live with your Aunty Lessi and Aunty Leah.  Your Aunty Lessi was your Mummy’s sister and Aunty Leah was her wife.  They both played football for their jobs and travelled a lot.  Before… well, before, you would go and visit them, or they would come visit and you would tell them all about the books you’d been reading and what you’d been learning in school and show them all the different breeds of rabbits there were in the big scrap book you’d been putting together.  That scrapbook was gone now though.  You weren’t sure if you would start making a new one.

Your Aunty Lessi had the most beautiful smile, and she always seemed to be able to make everyone laugh and be happy.  And your Aunty Leah was always a really good listener, and she gave the most excellent hugs.  Sometimes you would go and watch them play football, but you weren’t really interested in sports.  It was always too loud and there was way too many people there.  But it was always exciting when your Aunty Lessi would score a goal though, because if she knew you were in the crowd, she would point in your direction and make a heart with her hands.

You liked your Aunties. You loved them.  But you’d never spent the night at their house or had a sleepover with them.  You didn’t know any of the rules, and you didn’t have your Mummy to remind you of them before you went.  You wanted to be on your bestest behaviour, having read far too many stories and seen too many television shows about children whose parents died and then their new families treated them poorly.  You didn’t think you’d do very well in an orphanage or living on the streets.  You weren’t very tough like those kids were.

You’re not quite sure what to think of your new room at your Aunty Lessi and Leah’s house.  It’s very… adult.  A bit boring to be honest.  Just a big adult bed, a dresser and two bedside tables.  There is a big window however that overlooks the back garden that you quite like.  But you’re just grateful for somewhere to sleep really, thankful that your Aunties are letting you stay here at all.  You’d happily sleep on the loungeroom floor. 

“We will pretty it up and get you lots of new toys and decorate it however you want, Bun.”  Your Aunty Lessi was stroking your hair as you cuddled into her side.  “This is just temporary until your new bed and furniture arrives and we get you all settled in, okay?”

You nodded gently, not really knowing how else to respond.  You were a bit shocked that they’d ordered you a new bed and were going to get you new toys.

“We did get you a few things to start you off with, just until we can all get down to the shops together to pick out some stuff.  I hope they’re okay…” Your Aunty Leah gestured towards the corner where you could see a few boxes and some brightly coloured stuffies peeking out through the handles of some shopping bags.  You looked up at her and blinked, unsure as to whether you were meant to thank her or go and inspect the items or what.

“We can go through that stuff later if you like?” Aunty Lessi suggested, squeezing your shoulder.  “How about we grab something to eat for lunch?”

Just as you were turning to leave the room, a tuft of light purple fluff caught your eye among the bags.

"Is that Arthur?" you asked.

"Oh, your bunny? Yes, Aunty Leah gave him a really good bath and got him all clean again."

You dashed forward and grabbed him from the pile of other toys and clothing, bringing him up to your face to rub his soft ears over your cheeks.

You wanted to say thank you, but those words didn't seem big enough. Instead, you hoped that someday, somehow you would be able to somewhat show your Aunties how much you appreciated them.

With Arthur now tucked under your arm, the three of you made your way down the hall towards the stairs.

“Oh, and remember that is mine and Aunty Lessi’s room,” Aunty Leah gestured towards a door on the right of the hall, pushing it open with her foot.  “If you ever need anything during the night, please don’t hesitate to come and get us.  I’m up and down all throughout the night going to the loo anyways because of this one,” she smirked as she rubbed her growing belly.

“Does it hurt? Growing a baby?”

You don’t really know why you asked.  You were curious, sure.  Your own tummy hurt a bit when you ate too much food, so surely having a baby in there hurt lots.  But now definitely wasn’t the time to ask that kind of question.  

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.  

However your Aunty Leah just chuckled and nodded at you.  “It doesn’t exactly hurt, but it is rather uncomfortable at times, especially if the baby moves into an awkward position or kicks a weird spot.”

“The baby kicks you?” you asked.

“Oh yeah!  They’re gonna be a striker just like your Aunty Less, I’m sure of it!”

Aunty Lessi nudged you and pointed at your hand.  “You might actually be able to feel the baby move some time, Bunny”

“Really? Could I?”

Your Aunty Leah’s smile was a big and bright as you’d ever seen it.  “They’re moving around now.  Do you want to try and feel?”

You nodded excitedly.  You had always wanted a baby brother or sister.  Your Mummy and Daddy had told you once that there was one on the way, but then a while later when they’d gone to the hospital, they came home really sad and said that baby brother was born sleeping. 

You had only just turned 4 when that happened, and you didn’t understand why they didn’t just wake him up.  But Daddy explained that that is what people sometimes say when the baby isn’t born alive.

Mummy had been sad for what seemed like years after that.  She spent a lot of time in bed, and she cried more than you’d ever seen her cry before in your life.  You’d tried to cheer her up by drawing her pictures and singing her songs and giving her your biggest, bestest cuddles.  But Daddy said the only thing that would make Mummy better was time. 

He was right.  She had slowly returned to her normal self.  You were very grateful, because you had missed the little things like the silly songs she would sing when she would wash your hair, and the smiley faces she would make out of blueberries in your pancakes.

As your Aunty Leah gently cradled your hand and brought it up to her swollen tummy, you felt a small whooshing movement under your little hand.

“Did you feel that?”

You nodded quickly, your gaze meeting your Aunty Leah’s as she smiled tenderly at you.  You couldn’t believe you could feel the baby moving in her tummy.  It all started to feel very real.

“They’re moving around quite a bit tonight.  I think they’re quite excited to have you here with us, Bun.”

“Do you know if it’s a boy or girl?” you asked.

“No, we decided to wait until the baby is born to find out and let it be a surprise.  We really don’t mind what their gender is, we’re just excited for them to be here and to meet them.  Oh, there they go again, did you feel that kick?”

You nodded again, pulling your hand away from your Aunty Leah’s tummy as a sinking feeling began settling in your own.

You knew you weren’t a part of your Aunties plan.  They were having a baby, and becoming Mums, which you were sure was something new and super exciting for them.  But now they also had you to look after as well, which they weren’t expecting and had probably changed so many things for them.  Surely, surely they would be much happier without you here ruining their perfect new little family? 

[stellasdrafts]

The Light in His Eyes (Vendetta! Leon)

Summary: you have each other’s backs (Vendetta! Leon x DSO!Reader)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: alcoholism (on Leon’s part), some vendetta leon comfort because that man needs it :(, no official relationship but mutual feelings are implied, pining…

Notes: a small Christmas-ish one-shot in january because it’s my blog and i make the rules (i forgot to post in december whoops). also sorry this one is christmas specific but christmas lights are very special to me and i wanted to write a little something about them <3

One of these days, these missions are going to kill you. You’re sure of it. You find yourself sitting on a rooftop overlooking the city, needing some fresh air after almost getting your head bitten off on call today. Being a D.S.O. agent isn’t for the faint-hearted and truth be told, sometimes you aren’t sure how you got this far in the first place. You close your eyes, deeply breathing in the cold, stuffy city air and listening to the night traffic below. What would it be like to live a normal, quiet life? For your only burden to be being stuck in the traffic below on your way home from your safe nine to five? Your heart aches when you have thoughts like these…

You’re snapped out of your mournful contemplation when someone clears their throat behind you. You whip your head around, startled. You barely register your fists clenching and muscles tensing up, ready to throw a punch or something, your tired brain registering the sound as the grunt of an infected.

“S’just me.” Leon lifts his hands, traipsing toward you. “Can I join?”

Your shoulders slump with relief. Truth be told, you wanted to spend time alone tonight, but Leon happens to be the one who saved your life today and you figure you owe him this much. “Mhm.” You nod and pat the freezing concrete beside you.

He takes the offered seat and leans back, propping himself on his arms. His warmth carries through the cold wind and seeps through your jeans. He’s only an inch or two away, after all. Despite your previous sentiment, his presence is oddly soothing. You’ve never met anyone as good as him in your field of work. He makes you feel safe, like somehow, you’re immortal in his presence because he always looks out for his team. It’s impossible, really. You know it’s a childish and dangerous mindset to have in this line of work, but there’s just something about him. You wonder how much that selflessness is destroying him from the inside….

Actually, the habituality of the liquor on his breath may already give you an idea.

“Quite a view, isn’t it?”

“Hmm?” You look up at him, noticing how his eyes are fixed on the sea of tall buildings before you. “Oh, yeah… I like the lights. I’ve always liked lights.”

A grin tugs at his lips. “Oh yeah?” He shifts to rest on one knee to get a better look at you.

You feel yourself melt under the older agent’s gaze. “Yeah. All kinds of lights…”

He just watches you for a moment and you find yourself silently cursing the extensive psychology training the government’s had you D.S.O. agents do. You’re sure he can read you like a book, seeing through the façade you’ve been tirelessly trying to keep up. He has his own, after all.

He looks out at the few festive lights wrapped around balcony railings and trees standing proudly in windows. “Like… Christmas lights?”

That reaches you. You turn your head to look at him with a dopey smile. “Especially Christmas lights. I miss them a lot.”

Your nostalgia must be contagious because he smiles at you too. You never see him smile anymore. In your few years of working together, you’ve never known him to be an extraordinarily sunny man, but it had worsened recently. Little to your knowledge, he likes seeing you smile, especially when it’s directed at him. “I didn’t know you liked Christmas so much. Maybe I should buy you a tree and some lights this year,” he jokes lightly.

You shrug, your smile fading a bit. “We never stay in one place long enough… And people don’t celebrate as much as when we were kids. It wouldn’t be the same.”

His expression softens considerably when he notices the shift in your demeanour. His lips pull into a much more familiar tight frown, his shoulders dropping a bit as well. “Yeah, I guess so…” he pauses for a moment, debating his next words. “We could make our own tradition, you know?”

You tilt your head, your smile fully sarcastic and sour now. “Sure. If we’re both still alive by holiday break.”

He grimaces, evidently not liking the sudden grim attitude, even if it carries truth. Ironic, you find yourself thinking, for a man with his attitude. “Don’t talk like that,” he chides softly, wrapping an arm behind you and dragging you a twinge closer. “I’m not letting you die anytime soon.”

And you know that coming from his lips, that’s a vow, not a weak promise. You lean into his warmth, the cold wind hitting you again now that you’re no longer in your cozy bubble of colourful lights and denial. “Right. Sorry…”

“It’s alright.” He gives your side a reassuring squeeze and resumes staring out at the dark skyline.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a minute or two, admiring (perhaps longingly) the people going about their lives in their apartments and offices. Parents putting their children to bed, couples cooking together, families watching what you self-indulgingly believe to be holiday movies in their decorated living rooms… Even the young man working alone at this hour of the night seems to sit with some sense of serenity. All possibilities of the lives you and Leon could have had if you hadn’t been pushed into the claws of the genius Division of Security Operations. He sighs – if in soul-crushing envy or in momentary peacefulness, you can’t tell. But his whiskey-ridden breath is warm and a welcome contrast to the cool winter night air.

You chew at your lip, getting a bit nervous. “You smell like booze,” you remark quietly.

“I know.” He chuckles and you know it’s a piss-poor attempt to cover how uncomfortable the topic of his drinking makes him feel. “You got a problem with that?” He scratches his neglected stubble.

You know a slightly hostile question is the best outcome for you. If it were anyone else starting an intervention, he would’ve raised his voice already. You’ve seen it first-hand with some other people on the team. “You’ve got a problem with that, Leon.” You stare blankly at the buildings ahead, your previous fascination and warmth for the sight dampened.

You feel Leon’s body stiffen beside you and his demeanour shifts. You look, and like you, he no longer seems as placated as he was a mere minute ago. His brows tug down and his gaze darkens. “Don’t do that. Not you,” his tone is surprisingly tender for being paired with his current expression.

He knows you mean well. He knows you’re worried about him. But he can’t bear having you look at him like everyone else does, like you have to tiptoe around him or like he’s always incompetent and inebriated. He looks away out of shame. He knows you’re right, but he’s stubborn and also knows that’s led to his downfall more than once.

“Are you even going to remember this tomorrow?”

Leon looks back up, his gaze stormy. His defensiveness gets the best of him, as it usually does in these situations. He’s angry, or at least he’s trying to be. But you’re sitting close enough to spot the gleam of self-hatred in those beloved blue eyes. “Why does it matter if I do or not?”

“Because believe it or not, our conversations actually mean a lot to me.” The weight of your words hangs between the pair of you for a moment. “And it’s dangerous to day drink with a job like ours. We never know when we’ll get called out. It’ll get you killed,” you add to try and save face as if you don’t care more about him than you do the other agents.

He cringes a bit more at that, and his anger falters in favour of discomfort. He sighs and leans an elbow on his knee, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I appreciate the concern, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”

You tuck your knees up to your chest, even his body heat isn’t enough to cancel out the cold between you now. “That’s what worries me. You act like it’s fine, it’s normal. You don’t even act drunk anymore. You don’t… slur your words or stumble around or vomit everywhere. Apart from being angrier… depressed… you behave normally when you’re drunk.” You turn your body in his direction, trying desperately to get through to him. “You’re not even you anymore. Isn’t that scary?”

He exhales again, letting his hand drop from his face. He knows you’re right. Damn it, you’re always right, but he can never bring himself to admit it. “I… I don’t get what the big deal is. I do my job – well, if I might add. I don’t get into bar fights with random civilians… unless they ask for it. I supply my own drinks and keep to myself. So why’re you worrying?”

You take his face in your hands, your expression softening. Maybe he won’t lie to your face if he’s looking right at it. “Leon, drop the act, please.” From what you hear, he’s a shell of the person he used to be.

His eyes widen with surprise. He doesn’t answer anything for a few moments, your gentle touch making his mind go blank for a second. He can’t remember the last time anyone was gentle with him. He knows he can’t argue when you use that tone or when you have that look in your eye. “Fuck…”

He practically sags onto you as he lets himself feel everything he’s been drowning in alcohol for months. You have an agonizing way of making the tension in his body disappear with nothing but a few words in that honeyed tone of yours.

You support his weight. Like you always do, as he always does yours. Because it’s just Leon. You’d never let him fall, in any sense of the word. “You know, how are you supposed to put up that tree and the lights you offered me if you’re too drunk to make sense of anything? I’m not letting you in my room at HQ if the drinks are making you a grouch, either.”

He does want to give you that, a tree grand and worth being yours, pretty lights you can stare at while you doze off in the evenings, Christmas itself… More than anything, he wants to make you happy. The thought alone makes him happy. He huffs and looks away to hide his smile. “Yeah, yeah. Damn you.”

You let out a breath and a smile of your own, feeling relieved that you got to him at least a little bit. “Try again, please… At least to cut back. We can do it this time.”

He tenses again at your request. It’s not an easy one, and he’s reluctant to agree, not sure if he can even will himself to cut back so easily. But you’re too close, too warm, and you’re using that damn tone in your voice that always gets to him. He wants better for you. For himself, too. A shot at a better life. “I’ll try. Try. For you, alright?”

You hum. “That’s all I ask.” You bring up a delicate hand and brush some of that pesky hair out of his face.

He practically melts into your touch, too tired to bother hiding the effect you have on him. You both know something has been lingering between you for a while, anyway. “Anything else you want from me?” he mutters in a teasing tone, trying to lift the atmosphere he feels he ruined.

You chuckle lightly. “Probably, but we’ll work towards those things later on.”

He perks up at that, a smug smirk toying at his lips as he picks up on the implications of your words. “Y’gotta be a little more specific than that.”

Your eyes soften. Not now. Not like this. “I’ll tell you when you’re sober.” Your timbre isn’t unkind – it’s careful, genuine… You’re trying to encourage him more than anything, knowing he always fares well with a challenge or an end goal.

The muscles in his face ease as well. He gives a small nod. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You feel a spark in your chest of something you haven’t felt in a long time – hope. “So will I.”

You’re more determined than ever to bring back that light to his eyes.

[temporarywelcome]

Late - Spencer Reid

Wordcount: 969

Summary: getting ready for a Halloween party with Spencer

Warnings: some swearing

A/N: technically a pt 2 of "Costumes" (can be found on Masterlist), but can 100% be read stand alone

_________

Spencer was lucky as hell she loved him to bits.

She stood in this fuck ass costume as he yapped and yapped about some fantasy series. She was dressed as the main woman, he was the main man. 

Y/N could care less for Halloween. But because her boyfriend and his persuasiveness (he just had big brown eyes, for fuck’s sake) (oh, and he offered to let her handcuff him) demanded they got into the holiday spirit, she folded. Almost instantly. 

So, being as whipped as she was for him, she did fall activities like pumpkin carving, apple picking, making a billion pastries with said apples, corn mazes, fall movies (some not even horror, to her disdain), and of course, dressed up for a Halloween party as a nerd character he wanted her to dress up in. 

To add, she took the time to sew them herself. Anything to make that brat happy. 

“I spoil you too much,” she grumbled, forcing him to still so she could fix his costume. 

“I feel it is a perfect amount,” he grinned at her through the mirror, “I know I complain about dating someone in the arts literally all the time, but I take it all back. You’re awesome.”

“Gee thanks, glad I’ve now become of used to you,” she deadpanned, “Glad my costume design abilities are to your standards,”

“They are, it looks so realistic,” Spencer replied, not catching her sarcasm, “I love it, thank you so much for doing this for me. I know you didn’t want to,”

She hummed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder from behind. Luckily, she was in heels, because he’s tall, “Yeah yeah yeah. You know I can’t say no to you,” she squeezed his hip lightly before pulling back, “Now hurry up, we’re going to be late,”

“You sound eager,” he said smugly, taking a seat to slip on some boots (that she had to buy, of course).

“No, I don’t,” Y/N huffed, “I just don’t want to hear the passenger princess complain and complain while I’m forced to drive,”

“I don’t complain,”

“Oh my Goddddd that’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard,” she rolled her eyes before doing a quick eyeliner wing, being the expert performer she was. Always had to be quick. “The fact your team doesn’t know this is crazy, you must be saving the brattiness just for me,” 

“You bring it out of me, I guess,”

“See? Spoiled,” she laughed, doing the other eyes. 

“Well, do you want me to be like this with other people?” he raised a brow at her.

“No, I have to make the sacrifice to protect others,” Y/N said dramatically, being the woman of the arts she was. 

“You’re so selfless,” Spencer said dryly, biting his lips to hold back a little giggle, “Sacrificing yourself so others don’t have to hear my mouth,”

Y/N stood back up to grab her bag and the prop sword he forced her to buy, “You’re lucky I love you, brat,” she playfully bonked his head with the sword.

“You’ll mess up my hair!” he swatted it away with a huff, “Asshole,” 

She bonked his head again, “I think I’m allowed to be a little playful considering what you’re forcing me to do,”

“A Halloween party, the horror,” he rolled his eyes as he stood up, arms going around her waist, “You’re so dramatic,” His eyes lit up, “Wait! Can you help me?” he holds up an eyeliner pencil to her.

“Ah, babe, I’m a liquid liner person, but I’ll try,” she laughed softly, pushing him to sit down. Straddling his lap, she carefully began applying the eyeliner to his waterline.

“Ah ah ow! Ow! Holy shit how do girls do this shit shit shit!” On reflex, he slapped her hand away, blinking repeatedly.

“Stop moving and it won’t hurt,” Y/N grumbled, gripping his chin in a semi-tight manner, “Now stay still,” she came at him with the pencil again.

As soon as the tip pressed against his waterline, he was cursing again, “Shit shit shit shit ow ow ow!” he pushed her hand away again, “How do you do this every day?”

“I use liquid,” she reminded him before scolding him once again, “Now stop moving,” 

“It’s hard,” Spencer whined, biting his bottom lip.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Baby you go face-to-face with unsubs without even blinking. I think you can handle an eyeliner pencil. Now stay. Still.”

“Yes ma’am,” he grumbled back at her, hands going to her hips as she went in to do the damn eyeliner once again, “Can I squeeze you if I get scared?” Spencer asked teasingly, leaning closer.

“Move one more time and I’ll poke your eyes out,”

“I love you too,”

“Hardy har har,” she rolled her eyes, finally able to do the waterline, “A miracle has graced us! It has been done!”

“Thank you, babe,” Spencer practically threw her off of him to see how he looked in the mirror.

Of course, she dramatically crumpled to the floor, “Oh, how I despise this treatment. Always used, never loved,”

“Get off the floor you’re going to ruin your costume!” Spencer gasped, yanking her to her feet.

“Wow,” she brought her arms around his neck, “You care more about the costume than the fact I feel used and unloved?” 

“Ignoring you,” he said dryly, leaning his forehead against hers, “Save the drama for the stage, I beg of you,” he turned his head to the clock on the wall, checking the time, “Shit! We’re late!” he gripped her hand, dragging her out of the room in hurry.

“Great, now you're going to be on my ass the whole ride,” Y/N grumbled out, following him. 

Spencer glared at her over his shoulder, “No, I'm not.”

He so was.

[lees-chaotic-brain]

Can you do i wanna be your by arctic monkeys with Kenma kozume and fluff? Thank you!!

summary: nekoma's setter seems to have a soft spot for his manager.

wc: 1670

cw: pure fluffy goodness, kissing, gn reader, reader is nekoma's manager, maybe ooc kenma (it's my first time writing him, sorry)

note: i'm so sorry this took so long to write! thank you for your patience, and i hope you enjoy it! i feel like it's not my best work, but i had to power through the writers block, sorry.

listen to this while reading!

Event Guide | Event Masterlist | Haikyuu Masterlist | Blog Navigation

“Kenma!”

When you call his name he looks up, searching for you. As you bound over to him he sets his game off to the side and shifts over to make room next to him on the bench. Flopping down in the space he made for you, you smile at him, and his face heats.

“Hey. What’s up?” He flushes a little more when his voice cracks a bit, silently hoping you didn’t notice (you didn’t).

“So I was talking with Coach Nekomata about the seating chart on the bus and…” He tries to focus on what you’re saying. He really does. But the way your eyes sparkle and the movement of your hair in the breeze are extremely distracting. “...so I was wondering if you’d want to be mine?”

“Sure,” He mutters absentmindedly, used to agreeing with whatever you say before your last question registers and his face feels like it’s on fire. “I-I mean no? No, I meant yes but I guess what I meant was…for what?”

You sigh in teasing exasperation, and he wants to crawl into a hole and die. This is why he can’t do social interactions. His only saving grace was that Kuroo wasn’t here, because if he was he would have never let him live down stuttering like a love-struck fool. Even if that was exactly what he was.

“Okay pay attention this time. Basically the school decided that from now on there will be assigned seating on all buses, and Coach asked me to take care of it for him since I know all about everyone’s weird superstitions.” 

You pause and give him a strange look that he can’t quite decipher. Were you nervous? Embarrassed? Annoyed? He really hopes it isn’t annoyance.

“But after drawing it up I realized I was going to have to share a seat with someone since there’s more people on the team this year. And I was wondering…” You fidget with the papers you're holding, shuffling them around. “I was wondering if you’d want to be my seat partner? If not I can ask Kuroo-”

“No!” The syllable escapes his lip with more force than he intends, and you look at him quizzically. “No, what?”

Kenma clears his throat and tries again. “There’s no need for you to ask Kuroo. You can share with me. It’s not that big of a deal.” He tacks on the last sentence hoping it will make him look less desperate after his earlier outburst.

“Great!” You beam at him and spring to your feet. “I'll go finalize this with Coach. Thanks Ken! You’re the best!”

You take off, leaving him sitting on the bench, hiding his red cheeks in his hood. That entire conversation was a disaster, but at least the outcome was good.

You call the shots, babe I just wanna be yours

“You sure about this? I know how you are about your personal space and the seat next to me is empty.” Kuroo has one corded forearm propped on the back of Kenma’s seat as he leans over to speak to him. “I don’t want you to be all out of sorts when we get  there. I need my setter.”

“Yeah.” Kenma doesn’t even look up, fingers dancing over controls as his avatar leaps around the screen. “It won’t bother me. So go bother someone else.”

And it doesn’t bother Kenma. Every time the bus takes a turn, causing you to lean against him a little he relishes the feel of your leg and shoulder pressed against his instead of jerking away. When you ask if you can lean against him and close your eyes for a bit, he agrees readily. 

Contrary to Kuroo’s concerns, Kenma’s sets aren’t impacted by your interruption of his normal pre-match routine. If anything, he seems to play better than usual, with an extra pep in his step and more precise sets. Nekoma wins, and once again the team boards the bus and you settle into your spot beside him.

The bus is about halfway back to Nerima Ward, cruising along the expressway when suddenly it makes a strange clanking sound and turns off. Instantly the team falls into chaos, panicked and full of complaints as Coach Manabu eases the bus onto the shoulder.

Kuroo joins the coaches outside as they examine the bus. When they climb back onto the bus a few minutes later, they do so bearing bad news. 

“So…the bus’s battery is dead.” Kuroo rubs the back of his neck, sighing. “The tow truck and replacement bus should be here in half an hour, but until then we’re just going to have to hang tight. Sorry guys.”

A chorus of groans rises from the guys, but they settle back into their spots fairly quickly, huddling into the warmth of their hoodies and jackets as the cold winter air slowly seeps into the bus. Next to Kenma, you’re shaking, silently bemoaning your decision to forgo a coat this morning. Ugh. You should have just grabbed one as you were heading out.

“Um…hey.” Kenma’s quiet voice interrupts your self-pity. “If…If you’re really cold we can share mine. I mean, only if you want to. You’re not wearing a jacket so…”

He trails off awkwardly, not looking at you as he speaks. Maybe it’s just your imagination, or the cold air, or even a mixture of both, but the tips of his ears look red. Butterflies stir in your gut, before you crush them, sure that you’re reading too much into it.

“Sure.” You scootch over slowly, unsure of how close would be too close. “I really appreciate it. Thanks.”

Kenma slides his left arm out of his jacket, and lifts the flap with his arm, inviting you to squeeze in and wrap half the jacket around your shoulders. It’s going to be tight, but since he’s offering you weren’t going to turn him down. 

Mustering your courage, you squish yourself into his side, and wrap his jacket around your shoulders. Instantly the cold recedes, and you start to warm up a bit. A sigh of relief escapes your lips and you sink a little further into him, closing your eyes. This feels nice. Hopefully Kenma doesn’t mind you taking a short nap.

When you wake up, it’s to the sound of Kenma and Kuroo arguing quietly over your head.

“I don’t shut up-”

“Omg you totally do I can’t wait to tell the others-”

“Don’t you fucking dare- Oh. You’re up.” Kenma stops talking when he feels you stir and sees your eyes blink open. “Sorry. Did Kuroo’s annoying voice wake you up?”

“No it’s alright.” You sit up and look out the window. “Is the other bus here yet? How long did I sleep?”

“No, not yet. You were only asleep for like twenty minutes.” Kuroo’s smirking face invaded your field of vision from the left. “But you looked pretty cozy all snuggled up like that. I bet Kenma agrees.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?” Kenma hissed at Kuroo from your other side. “Just leave us alone.”

“Hey! Why are you getting mad? I was just saying that the two of you looked nice and cozy all cuddled up like you were-”

An empty plastic water bottle arcs through the air and hits Kuroo in the face. For a moment, he doesn’t react. Then the theatrics begin.

“Kenma.” He gasps, frantically patting his face. “My good looks! How could you endanger them like that what is wrong with you I was only joking-”

“GO AWAY!!”

Let me be the portable heater That you'll get cold without

“So. Kenma. Do you have anything you’d like to share with the group?” The team is changing in the locker room after a grueling practice, and Kenma is not in the mood to go along with Kuroo’s shenanigans. “Yes. I do. Your plays were crap today. Get it together.”

“Oh come on, you know that’s not what I’m talking about.” Kuroo raises his eyebrows suggestively. “No one wants to hear you complain. Now spill. What’s going on between you and our dear manager?”

“Nothing.” With that, Kenma slams his locker shut and hurries out, irritation lining his movements. Kuroo shakes his head as Kenma storms by, before turning back to his locker with a chuckle.

“Poor guy. He’s down bad for her.”

Secrets I have held in my heart Are harder to hide than I thought

“Hey. Can we talk?” 

You’re standing there awkwardly, playing with your fingers. Instantly Kenma is on high alert. Is something going on? Did he do something wrong? Do you just hate him?!

“Of course.” He does his best to sound unconcerned. “Is something going on?"

“Not exactly. I just, well, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t misinterpreting things.” It feels strange seeing you so uncertain, and he doesn’t like it. “What do you think you’re misinterpreting?”

“This. Us.” Your frustration is palpable as you gesture at the empty space between you. “What am I to you? My friends say that I’m not being crazy, but sometimes I just feel delusional like my feelings for you and making me see things that don’t exist and I-”

You’re cut off by his mouth pressing softly against yours. The kiss is fleeting, over as quickly as it began, but it left both of you blushing and flustered.

“You’re, um.” Kenma coughed, his cheeks pink. “You’re not crazy. Or delusional. Or seeing things that aren’t there. And uh, sorry for not asking first I just-”

This time you interrupt him with a kiss, this one lasting longer than the last. It’s sweet and slow, exploratory as you take the time to get to know each other in this new way, basking in the sensation of your lips against his, and his against yours.

“Hey Kenma.” Your smile is so bright and beautiful it nearly blinds him. “You wanna be mine?”

There’s nothing he’s ever wanted more.

Maybe I just wanna be yours I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours

thanks so much for reading! as always, likes and reblogs are so appreciated. lmk if you want to me to add/remove you from any of my masterlists!

general taglist: @ponderingmoonlight @evemooniepeach @hotvinimon @arlerts-angel

haikyuu taglist: n/a

kenma taglist: n/a

[rosemariiaa]

~Lines We Drew~

part: 1

pairing- Paige x Azzi

oookay hi guys! idk how many requests i’ve gotten in my inbox for this kind of fic for pazzi but I finally tried to work up something last night! (don’t tell me you don’t like it , i will be upset)

warning: language

Enjoy!!!

Paige Bueckers had heard the news weeks before the official announcement: Azzi Fudd was coming to UConn. The so-called “golden girl” of high school basketball, the first pick in her class and NPOY, the one everyone couldn’t stop talking about. And Paige couldn’t have been less thrilled.

“Come on, Paige. She’s not even here yet, and you’re already acting all grumpy,” Nika ribbed as they lounged in their dorm room, prepping for the new season. “Besides, she is real pretty. You should be excited. Maybe you’ll finally find someone who can keep up with you.”

Paige scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t need someone to keep up with me, Nika. And I’m not grumpy. I just don’t get what the big deal is.”

KK, lying on her bed with her feet propped up on the wall, chimed in, “The big deal is she’s gonna be a star. You know that, right? The two of you together on the court—UConn’s gonna be unstoppable and on the road to the national chip, yes ma’am.” Kk exclaimed, pumping her fist in the air.

“Yeah, if we can stand to be on the same court without killing each other,” Paige muttered, more to herself than anyone else. But of course, Nika heard her and threw a pillow at her head.

“Stop being such a brat. You barely even know her. Maybe you’ll actually like her once you get to know her.” “Doubt it,” Paige grumbled, tossing the pillow back at Nika.

“Why don’t you like her anyway?” Ayanna asked from her corner of the room, where she was scrolling through her phone. “You guys don’t even know each other like that.”

Paige shrugged, knowing she didn’t have a good answer to tell her friends, she knows if she tells them something else, all hell will break loose. “We just… don’t click, okay? I dunno. She’s just not my type of person.”

KK rolled her eyes. “Girl boo save the excuses .” Paige didn’t respond, sinking deeper into her thoughts. She wasn’t going to be a bitch—she just wasn’t going to go out of her way to be friendly either.

The day Azzi arrived at UConn, it felt like the entire campus was buzzing. Paige’s friends were all smiles, eager to meet the new star recruit. Paige tagged along reluctantly as they headed over to the dorms where Azzi would be living.

When they got there, Azzi was already surrounded by some of the team, all of them helping her move in. Paige hung back, crossing her arms and watching as Caroline and Aubrey joked with Azzi as they were old friends.

“Ice, you gotta help me lift this,” Caroline called, motioning to a heavy-looking box. Ice, who was taller and definitely stronger, easily lifted the box and carried it into the dorm.

“Thanks, Carol,” Azzi said, smiling. “I think that’s the last of it.” “No problem,” Caroline replied, wiping her hands on her shorts. “We’re all in this together now.”

Paige tried to keep her expression neutral as Azzi glanced over at her. Their eyes met for a split second, and Paige felt a jolt of something she couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t exactly anger, but it wasn’t friendly either. She quickly looked away, pretending to be interested in something on her phone.

“Oh, hey Paige,” Azzi said, her voice polite but not overly friendly. “Didn’t see you there.” Paige nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I’m just here with the girls.”

Azzi nodded back, the silence between them awkward. Caroline, ever the peacemaker, jumped in. “Paige, why don’t you help Azzi get her room set up? She’s rooming with me, Aubrey, and Ice.”

Paige wanted to say no, but everyone was looking at her expectantly, so she forced a smile. “Sure. I can help.”

She followed Azzi and the others into the dorm, feeling like she was walking into enemy territory. Aubrey was already inside, arranging some of her things, and when she saw Paige, she grinned.

“Hey, Paige! Look at you, helping out. Maybe there’s hope for you yet,” Aubrey teased.

Paige rolled her eyes but smiled a little. Aubrey had a way of making her feel at ease, even when she didn’t want to be. “Yeah, yeah. Just trying to be a team player.” As they unpacked, the conversation flowed easily among the group, but Paige stayed mostly quiet, only speaking when directly addressed. Azzi seemed content to ignore her as well, which suited Paige just fine.

After they finished, Ice stretched her arms over her head and sighed. “Man, moving is exhausting. I’m starving.”

“Let’s grab something to eat,” Caroline suggested. “We can all go together. You in, Paige?”

Paige hesitated, glancing at Azzi, who was wiping sweat from her brow. She really didn’t want to spend any more time around her than necessary, but she knew saying no would make her look petty. So she nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

They all headed to a nearby café, where they pushed a bunch of tables together to accommodate the group. Paige ended up sitting across from Azzi, who was chatting with Aubrey and Caroline. Paige focused on her menu, trying to ignore the way Azzi’s laugh seemed to fill the whole space.

“Azzi, you’ve gotta try the chicken wrap here. It’s the best,” Caroline said, pointing to the menu.

Azzi smiled. “Ouuu that sounds good actually, thanks for the recommendation. I’ll take your word for it.”

Paige couldn’t help herself. “You don’t have to take her word for it, you know. You’re capable of making your own decisions.”

Azzi looked up at her, a spark of defiance in her eyes. “I’m aware, Paige. But sometimes it’s nice to get suggestions from friends.”

“Friends,” Paige echoed, her tone flat. “Right.”

Azzi’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you always this charming, or is it just me?” Paige blinked, momentarily taken aback. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Azzi shrugged. “Just making an observation.”

Paige opened her mouth to retort, but the words caught in her throat. She wasn’t used to being challenged, and Azzi’s calm yet sharp response threw her off balance. Instead, she just looked away, focusing on her food.

The table fell silent for a moment, the tension palpable. Aubrey cleared her throat, clearly trying to change the subject. “So, Azzi, what do you think of the campus so far?”

Azzi’s expression softened, and she started talking about how much she liked the facilities and how excited she was to start training. Paige tuned out most of the conversation, focusing on her food instead.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t ignore the way Azzi’s voice seemed to weave into her thoughts, making it impossible to completely block her out. And the more she tried, the more frustrated she became.

By the time they finished eating, Paige was more than ready to leave. As they walked back to the dorms, KK and Nika fell into step beside her, nudging her playfully.

“Why do you gotta be so mean to her?” KK asked, not really expecting an answer. “She’s actually super cool.”

Paige sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’m not being mean. I told you we just… don’t click. It’s not that serious guys.”

Nika raised an eyebrow. “Not that deep? You barely said two words to her, and when you did, it was kinda snarky.”

Paige shrugged, not wanting to get into it. “It is what it is.” KK rolled her eyes and nudged Paige’s shoulder . “You’re so annoying. Just give the poor girl a chance, stop being mean to the pretty lady.”

Paige didn’t respond, but the words echoed in her mind long after she was back in her own dorm, lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling. She knew her friends were right, or were they? Azzi hadn’t done anything to deserve her hostility. So she thought , but deep down there was just something she couldn’t get herself to really spit out. There was something about the way Azzi seemed to effortlessly fit in, the way she smiled and laughed with everyone, that just irked Paige. It made her feel… what? Jealous? Insecure? She wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, it was strong enough to keep her on edge whenever Azzi was around.

As the days went on, Azzi became more integrated into the team, quickly earning the admiration and friendship of everyone except Paige. And though Paige continued to keep her distance, she couldn’t deny that the tension between them was growing more complex with each passing day.

For now, the animosity remained unresolved, but something told Paige that this was only the beginning. The next few months promised to be full of surprises, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for what was coming.

[purplereina11]

Found this in my drafts! Enjoy!

From The GoalKeeper Universe

You were never one to stay down, maybe even times you probably should have, but this time when you don't get back up... it's the dreaded ACL. But Aitana is by your side every step of the way.

Word Count: Only short 1.8k

You feel it snap.

It’s like a cruel, invisible thread inside your knee gives way mid-air, just as you dive for the ball—pure instinct, clean technique, everything perfect until it isn't. You feel the sting, then the burn, and then nothing but the thundering silence in your own head as you lie face-down on the turf at Ciutat Esportiva.

You don’t remember exactly how it happened—just the blur of movement, the instinctive dive. You’re not someone who stays down. Everyone knows that. You’ve built your reputation on getting up—every time. But not today. Not this time.

The ball had already ricocheted off your outstretched glove—another one for the highlight reel, people would say later—but the pain hit like a freight train a second too late. You collapsed onto the turf, clutching your leg, the world around you folding inward as your teammates rushed toward you, their faces folding into that uneasy blend of worry and disbelief.

You’re the wall. The unbreakable. The best goalkeeper in the world, they’ve been saying for the past two seasons. The one who doesn’t go down unless it’s to make the save of the century. But here you are, on the pitch, clutching your knee like it’s trying to escape your body.

You already know it’s bad.

You hear the training come to a stop around you, the footsteps pounding the pitch as your teammates rush over, voices blurring together in a wave of panic.

“Don’t move. Stay down.”

“Shit—call the physio. Now.”

And then, cutting through the noise, her voice—low and tight, but steady.

“Mi amor. Look at me. Look at me.”

You open your eyes, and Aitana’s kneeling beside you, her hand trembling against your cheek. There’s panic behind her eyes, but she’s holding it in for you, for now. You don’t have the strength to say anything, so you just grip her wrist, as tight as you can.

You don’t need to say it. She already knows.

The physios do their tests—rotation, pressure, reflex—and your stomach sinks further with every nod exchanged above your head. They don’t say it aloud yet, but you hear the words anyway. Ligament. Tear. Surgery. Months.

The season is at its most delicate stage. Champions League semifinals ahead. The title race in Liga F is tighter than it’s been in years. You were supposed to be the one keeping the fortress sealed, pushing the team to the finish line. Instead, you're in the back of a van on the way to the hospital, replaying the moment on loop.

Later that night, Aitana doesn’t knock when she enters your apartment. She never does. She's wearing her Barça hoodie, hair tied back, eyes set. You’re lying on the couch, leg propped up in a brace, TV on but volume muted. She doesn’t say anything right away—just drops her keys on the counter and walks over.

She kneels by you, hands gently resting on your thigh. You can’t meet her eyes. You're not ready for comfort yet, not from her. Not when everything feels like it's slipping.

“I’m done for the season,” you say flatly, voice low, like it might hurt less that way.

She exhales, slow and steady, and rests her forehead on your knee, careful not to jostle it.

“We don’t know that yet,” she whispers.

But you do. You know your body, and you know this kind of pain. You’ve seen it happen to others. You’ve comforted teammates through it. And now it’s your turn to be the one left behind.

“It’s not just the games, Aitana,” you say, finally looking down at her. “It’s everything. This was supposed to be our year. We were building something.”

She shifts, climbs up beside you, curling into your good side. Her hand finds yours.

“It still is our year,” she says. “Just not the way you planned.”

You want to believe her. You want to believe that you’ll come back stronger, sharper, and that the team will hold together without you in goal. But it feels like a lie to even imagine it right now. And yet… her voice, calm and certain, anchors you in place.

The days blur after that.

Scans confirm what you already knew—ACL tear, some MCL damage, minimum six months out. You hear the doctor say it, and you nod, stone-faced. You don't cry in front of them. Not here. You wait. The club puts out a statement. Fans flood your socials with love. Teammates check in. 

Back home, you finally break. You sit on the sofa in your living room, knee wrapped in ice, painkillers barely dulling the ache, and your chest tight with helplessness. You don't even hear her come in.

She kneels in front of you slowly, hands gentle as if you might shatter with a single touch.

“Say something,” she whispers.

You swallow the lump in your throat, shaking your head. “I don’t know what to say. I’m not okay, Ait.”

“I know,” she says softly, brushing her fingers through your hair. “You don’t have to be.”

“I was supposed to be there. For the Champions League. For the league. I was supposed to be the wall.”

“You are,” she says firmly. “You still are.”

You laugh bitterly, blinking hard. “Not from the stands.”

Her face twists at that. She leans forward and rests her forehead against yours.

“Do you know how many times I’ve looked over my shoulder and felt calm just knowing you were behind me? That doesn’t go away because your knee gave out. You didn’t stop being who you are.”

You try to speak, but the words catch in your throat. All you can manage is, “I’m scared.”

And that breaks her.

She wraps her arms around you and holds you tight, burying her face into your neck. “Me too,” she whispers. “But we’ll get through it. I promise you that.”

Your apartment becomes a constant carousel of fruit baskets, well wishes, and visits.

Aitana is always there, though. Through the physio appointments, the surgery prep, the quiet nights when the pain meds wear off and everything aches. She learns how to tape your leg better than the medical staff. She brings you match footage and sits with you through every minute, pausing to explain tactics, tweaking things with you like you’ll be back on the pitch next week.

You catch her crying once, in the kitchen, when she thinks you’re asleep. She's scared, too. Not just for the team, but for you. For the mental storm you’re walking through. But she doesn’t crumble when she’s beside you. She holds it together so you don’t have to.

Time becomes something strange—measured in rehab milestones instead of goals and clean sheets. You learn to celebrate the small wins. Flexing your knee five degrees more than the day before. Standing without crutches. Taking your first step.

But the hardest part isn’t the injury—it’s watching from the sidelines. Watching Cata take your place between the posts, watching the team grind out results, sometimes shaky, sometimes brilliant. Watching Aitana lead the team onto the field while you sit in the box, heart pounding, legs restless, soul aching. Watching Aitana shine brighter than ever, pulling strings from midfield like the magician she is.

You’re proud of her. Of course you are. But there’s a sharpness in your chest every time the anthem plays and you’re not there, every time she looks for you in the stands instead of on the pitch. 

One night, you’re icing your knee after a brutal session. She walks in wearing your hoodie, fresh from the game, still glowing from the win. You try to fake a smile for her, but she sees right through it.

She drops her bag and walks over, brushing a kiss to your forehead.

“You didn’t watch the second half, did you?”

You look away. “I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because it just… hurts. Sitting there and knowing I should’ve been out there. Knowing I could’ve helped. And now I’m just... nothing.”

She sits beside you in silence for a long beat. Then, quietly: “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you ever say you’re nothing.”

You flinch. She’s never raised her voice at you before—not like this. But there’s something in her eyes, raw and burning.

“You’re the heartbeat of this team,” she says. “You think it’s just about saves and clean sheets? It’s how you talk to us. How you lead. The way you fight. Even broken, you make us believe. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you. But it’s not because you’re the best in the world. It’s because you never stop giving, even when you’ve got nothing left.”

Tears blur your vision before you even realise they’re falling. She cups your face gently and kisses you—slow and soft and grounding.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers against your lips. “I’ve got you. We’ve got each other.”

You celebrate small wins: flexion, walking without crutches, stairs. One morning, you take your first jog—slow and uneven, but it’s yours—and when you get home, Aitana has tears in her eyes.

“Wait right here,” she says, disappearing into the bedroom.

She comes back holding something behind her back, sheepish smile playing on her lips.

“You weren’t supposed to get this until your first game back,” she says. “But… I couldn’t wait.”

She pulls out a framed photo—one you didn’t even know she had. It’s from a match last season. You, covered in mud, arms spread wide after a last-minute save. She’s running toward you, grinning like the world is ending, and in the background the crowd is on their feet.

You stare at it, throat tight.

“It’s not just a picture,” she says. “It’s a reminder. Of who you are. Who you’ve always been.”

You blink back tears and reach for her. She steps into your arms without hesitation.

“I love you,” you say into her hair.

She squeezes you tighter. “I know,” she murmurs. “And I’ll be right here. Every step. Every session. Every second. Until you’re back where you belong.”

Weeks pass. Then months.

One night, deep into recovery, she finds you sitting on the balcony with your brace off, moonlight painting your skin silver. You’re silent, eyes on the city, leg throbbing after another brutal physio session.

She steps behind you, wraps her arms around your shoulders, and rests her chin on your head.

“You’ll be back,” she says softly.

You don’t answer. But you cover her hands with yours, grounding yourself in her presence. And for the first time in weeks, somehow in that moment, you let yourself believe it. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not this season. But someday. This isn’t the end of the story. It’s just the start of a new chapter.

You’ll be back. And when you are, she’ll be there waiting. Just like she always has.

When you’re ready to stand on the pitch again—gloves on, heart pounding—she’ll be there, looking over her shoulder, trusting you to catch her if she falls.

Just like always.

And you’ll pick up where you left off—two warriors in blaugrana, building something unstoppable. Together.

[hoe4hotchner]

Pills and Pain | [S.R]

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader| WC: 0.8k | CW: Injury, use of pain killers

This was supposed to be a part of #Teddy-ber hosted by @angellsell but then I forgot to post it...... better late than never, right?

Spencer sat propped up on the couch, his injured leg elevated on a stack of pillows. The gauze wrapping peeked out from under the hem of his sweatpants, the brace lay scattered somewhere on the floor around the couch. You watched him as he shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn’t hurt — or at least hurt a little less.

“Need anything?” you asked softly, standing behind him, your fingers gently massaging through his scalp.

He shook his head, lips curving in a small, almost embarrassed smile. “I feel like I should be asking you that,” he murmured, his eyes flickering down as he tried to stifle another grimace. “You’ve been waiting on me hand and foot since they discharged me.”

You smirked moving in front of him, adjusting the blanket over his lap. “Well, you just saved someone’s life by putting yourself in the line of fire. I think you’ve earned a bit of TLC.” You brushed a stray curl from his forehead. “And anyway, I’m pretty sure taking care of you is just as important a job as paperwork.”

He chuckled, the strain etched across his face softening a little. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining as he leaned back into the pillows. “It’s hard not to think about all the things I should be doing,” he admitted, voice quiet. “The team is out there, and I’m… here. Sitting. Doing nothing.” His voice trailed off, and you saw the guilt in his gaze.

“Hey.” You gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “You’re recovering, Spencer. You know as well as I do that if it were anyone else, you’d be telling them to take it easy.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. You could see the exhaustion in his features, deep lines around his eyes, and an uncharacteristic stillness about him. The doctor had warned you about the side effects of the painkillers, but nothing had quite prepared you for the way Spencer’s usual energetic self had all but vanished.

“You’re right, as always,” he muttered. “But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.”

You let out a soft chuckle sat down next to him on the couch and scooted closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “Then I’ll make it easier.” You ran your fingers along his arm, feeling the tension there ease, bit by bit.

He nodded, exhaling a slow, relieved breath as he settled more comfortably against you. “Thank you. I… I don’t say it enough, but… thank you.”

Your heart warmed at the sincerity in his words. “You don’t have to thank me, Spence. I love you, and that means I’m here for all of it — the good, the bad, and even the boring parts of recovery.”

Spencer chuckled softly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “How did I get so lucky?”

You tilted your head, giving him a teasing smile. “By being yourself, obviously. You’re cute, you’re brilliant, and you’ve got a pretty serious streak of bravery. I'd even say you've overtaken Morgan on the leaderboard for bravery. That’s more than enough to win me over.” You grinned.

Spencer smiled, his gaze dropping to your joined hands. But then, as if another wave of pain crashed over him, his smile faltered, and his grip tightened around your fingers. You felt a pang of concern, reaching immediately for the small bottle of pills on the coffee table. You felt bad for offering them to him with his history, but that was also why he had tasked you with dosing them for him.

“Here, take these,” you murmured, grabbing the glass of water from the table as well as you pressed two pills into his hand. He hesitated for a moment, looking at you with those tired eyes before he took the pills and swallowed them down.

“Thanks.” His voice was almost a whisper. He sank back into the cushions, letting out a low, relieved sigh — although you knew they hadn't worked that fast. You watched him for a moment, feeling his breaths slowly even out as the medicine began to work.

After a few quiet minutes, Spencer broke the silence. “Do you know the probability of a gunshot wound to the knee?” he murmured. “It’s actually less common than people think. Around—”

“Shh.” You placed a gentle finger to his lips, and he blinked up at you in surprise and maybe even confusion — you usually would've let him finish. “No statistics today, Doctor Reid. Just rest.”

He laughed, the sound was warm, and leaned his head back, his eyes closing. “Fine,” he conceded. “Just for today.”

You stayed beside him, fingers tracing lazy circles on his arm. His breaths deepened as he drifted off to sleep, the tension in his face finally easing. His hand was still holding yours, his grip loosening only slightly, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him so peaceful.

Just as his breathing evened out, his voice broke the silence one last time. “You know,” he murmured, barely audible, “I think… I might like the idea of… you being here with me… for as long as I’ll have you.”

A warm flush spread through your chest, and you leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, letting him fall back into the comfort of sleep.

[cailinsblog]

Collisions and love | Clayton Keller

Clayton Keller x reader

Send in request and please reblog pookies

The hallway leading to the media offices at Mullett Arena was quiet, save for the rapid clicking of Y/N’s boots on the linoleum floor. Her heart raced as she glanced at her watch. *Five minutes until the meeting starts.* She cursed under her breath, clutching a stack of papers and her ever-essential coffee cup. The life of an intern was chaotic, and today was no exception.

As she rounded the corner at full speed, she slammed into something—or rather, someone—solid and unyielding.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Y/N gasped, feeling the familiar sense of dread wash over her. She knew exactly who she’d bumped into before even looking up.

Clayton Keller stumbled back slightly but recovered quickly, his hands instinctively going out to steady her. “Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” he said, his voice warm and steady. “Are you okay?”

Y/N’s papers scattered everywhere, but miraculously, her coffee remained intact. She dropped to her knees immediately, frantically gathering the loose sheets. “No, no, it’s my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Clayton crouched down to help, his dark practice gear making him look effortlessly cool despite the early hour. “Here, let me help you,” he offered, his hand already reaching for a stray paper near his foot.

Y/N waved him off, her voice rushed. “No, really, I’ve got it. I’m just—ugh—I’m always rushing.” She groaned softly, her watch catching her eye. “Crap, crap, crap. I’m going to be late!”

Without waiting for further help, she snatched the last paper from the floor and scrambled to her feet. “Thanks, but I’ve got to run!” she said over her shoulder, already halfway down the hall.

Clayton watched her go, an amused smile tugging at his lips. As he stood, he noticed one last piece of paper lying near his skate bag. He picked it up, his eyes scanning the top. It looked official—something about a media schedule and player photo assignments.

“Guess you’ll be needing this,” he muttered to himself. He glanced down the hall, but Y/N was already out of sight. With no time to chase her down, he folded the paper carefully and slipped it into the pocket of his hoodie.

---

The next two days were a whirlwind of activity for Y/N. The team had several shoots lined up, and the stress of coordinating schedules, props, and locations was weighing heavily on her. But nothing compared to the panic of realizing she was missing *the* paper.

She had torn her office apart three times, checked her bag, and even retraced her steps in the hallway. Nothing. It was gone. And with it, her peace of mind.

“If I don’t find that schedule, I’m toast,” she muttered, slumping into her chair.

Her boss had been patient so far, but she knew that patience wouldn’t last. Especially not with deadlines looming.

---

By day three, Y/N was running on little sleep and a lot of caffeine. She barely registered the familiar surroundings as she sped through the hallway again, her thoughts consumed by the ever-growing list of tasks.

And once again, she turned a corner and collided—hard—with Clayton Keller.

“Oh, come on,” she groaned, stumbling backward.

Clayton caught her by the shoulders, steadying her with a laugh. “You’ve really got to slow down,” he teased.

Y/N sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. “Sorry, again. I swear I’m not trying to make this a habit.”

Before she could launch into another apology, Clayton reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out the folded sheet of paper. “I think this is yours. You dropped it the other day.”

Y/N froze, her eyes widening as she recognized the missing document. “No way.” She snatched it from his hands, holding it up as if it were a lost treasure. “Oh my god, I’ve been looking *everywhere* for this goddamn paper. You just saved my life.”

Clayton grinned. “Glad I could help. I was starting to wonder when I’d see you again to give it back.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, her nerves finally easing for the first time in days. “Well, considering how often I run into you, it was only a matter of time.”

They stood there for a moment, the bustling arena around them fading into the background. Y/N glanced up at him, really seeing him for the first time—his hazel eyes warm, his smile soft yet confident.

“I’m Y/N,” she said suddenly, realizing they’d never properly introduced themselves.

“Clayton,” he replied, offering a hand.

She took it, and the simple touch sent a surprising jolt through her. They held each other’s gaze, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fall away.

Then her watch beeped again, snapping her back to reality.

“Ah, crap,” Y/N muttered, tucking the paper into her bag. “I’m late again.”

Clayton chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You really need a new watch.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Thanks again, Clayton. I owe you one.”

Before she could dart away, Clayton took a step closer. “Actually, if you want to repay me, how about grabbing coffee sometime?”

Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Coffee?”

“Yeah.” Clayton shrugged, his easy smile making her heart skip a beat. “You know, when you’re not running late.”

She hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Okay. Coffee sounds great.”

Clayton pulled out his phone. “Can I get your number?”

Y/N smiled, taking his phone and typing it in. “There you go. Don’t lose that, or I’ll never forgive you.”

He laughed, pocketing his phone. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

Y/N glanced at her watch again, biting her lip. “I really have to go, but… I’ll be waiting for that text.”

“Count on it,” Clayton said, watching her disappear down the hall once more.

This time, though, she left with a smile, and Clayton couldn’t help but feel like their hallway collisions were the best part of his week.

---

Later that evening, Y/N’s phone buzzed with a new message.

**Clayton:** *Hey, it’s your favorite collision partner. Coffee tomorrow?*

Y/N grinned, her fingers flying across the screen.

**Y/N:** *Only if you promise not to spill it when I bump into you again.*

The rest, as they say, was history.

[spidercatweb]

Doubt ★ Penelope Garcia x reader

Warnings: not much! r is very unsure of herself, she does not believe that someone like Garcia could like her romantically. fem!bau!reader (it was not specified, i hope fem!reader is ok :), Spencer being a wonderful friend, a little bit of teasing from Morgan, case but no case details, reader is a little silly. this is mostly fluff! plus a little bit of angst i guess because r is not very confident in herself.

Description: r has a huge crush on Garcia, but she doesn't think she'll ever have her feelings reciprocated. Her own crush distracts her from Garcia's very obvious crush on her.

Word Count: 2,026

Request: "Hi! If you're doing penelope requests how about Pen and reader both having a crush on eachother, but reader thinks Penelope doesn't like them like *that* because she's always just nice to everyone."

A/n: ooouugghhh 😭😭😭 i need her so bad. reader is literally me.

The first thing you hear when you walk out of the elevator is, "Hello, gorgeous. You look amazing today!" Garcia's in her usual cheery mood, a lovely contrast to the darkness of your field of work. You can smell her citrusy perfume, a sweet, bright, scent. It covers the usual smell of stacks of old paper and burnt coffee that you've grown used to at the BAU.

You feel your face heat up a little as she compliments you. "Thank you!" You smile, "And so do you, I love your outfit!"

She's wearing a cream colored dress with vibrant lime green polka dots, as well as a long sleeved cardigan of the same green hue. Her glasses and heels match, of course. Green as well. She's also wearing earrings that resemble little lime slices, topping the entire outfit off with two green barrettes in her long blonde hair. She looks stunning. You wonder how she has the energy to put together such complicated, coordinated outfits.

Her expression brightens when you compliment her, "Thank you!" She gives you a little twirl to show off her outfit. You both grin at each other, silently admiring. Some would say for a few moments too long, before the ding of the elevator breaks the silence.

You both turn to see who's just arrived. Reid gives the both of you his signature smile and wave as he steps out, clutching the strap of his satchel with his other hand. He strides over to where you are.

"Good morning! How are you two?" He stops in front of you. The three of you stand in a little triangle.

"Morning, Reid! We're doing great! Well, I am, but I assume she is as well." Garcia gestures to you and you nod at her with a small huff of laughter.

"I am doing great, how are you?" You look over to Reid.

"I'm doing pretty well. I've been reading a lot about movie props and special effects recently. Did you know that fake glass used in films is often made out of melted down and hardened sugar? It's of course much safer, and more easily breakable than real glass." He rambles off excitedly, always eager to share.

You and Penelope both listen without interrupting him while he speaks. Unlike some others who might stop him in the middle of a sentence. He keeps talking for about a minute or so. You nod along, and so does Penelope. You like that a lot about her. She always listens to what everyone has to say, even if she may get a little distracted sometimes.

Later that day, you set some file folders down on the table in the briefing room. The rest of the room was empty, save for Garcia, who was prepping her detailed case presentation. She had asked you to grab some files from her tech room that she had forgotten. Of course, you got them for her. You then set them around the table, one for each member of the team. It was like setting a dinner table. Except with horrific crime scenes in manila folders instead of dishes and shiny silverware.

You weren't sure why she had asked you specifically to help her. Probably because your desk was closest on her way by. Maybe it was because you were the only person available at the time. Or because you knew your way around her office better than anyone else on the team. That isn't weird. You just tend to be in there a lot. You're overthinking this. She doesn't like you like that. But the slight blush on her face and occasional stumble over her words might lead one to think otherwise.

You realize you've been standing in one spot, staring blankly at the table for longer than any normal human being would. Unfortunately, your caring coworker notices as well. She glances up from her laptop and quirks an eyebrow at you.

"Everything okay, lovely?"

You break your intense eye contact with the table and look over to her. You nod. You realize you should probably say something instead of just staring at her.

"I'm fine. Just tired. And not looking forward to dealing with this case." Your eyes flicker down to the case file in front of you. You flip it open, revealing printed out photos of multiple gruesome crime scenes. A sigh escapes you and you close the file again. "I think serial killers should just take a break for a while."

"I agree one hundred percent. But sadly, that is not the case. I wish it was. But then we'd be out of a job."

You giggle slightly at her observation. "Yeah, I guess so."

You sit down in one of the chairs around the table, the rest of the team files in soon after. Once everyone is seated, Garcia gets up and heads up to the front of the room, her bright outfit easily shifts the attention to her.

While she presents the case, most of your focus is on her. It really should be on the screen beside her, or the case file in front of you. But it's hard when you have the biggest, most embarrassing crush on her. You realize you've been staring, and promptly glue your eyes back to the screen on the wall. You try your hardest to focus solely on the case for the next few minutes. What you don't notice is that Garcia has been sneaking glances at you quite often.

"Wheels up in thirty."

Did you just miss almost every word said around the table? Maybe. That's alright, you could read the case file on the jet.

***

The next day is when you finally get to communicate with Garcia again. You jump at the opportunity to whip out your phone when Prentiss asks someone to call her.

"Whisper sweet nothings into my ear, baby." She quips into the microphone.

You blush at her unique greeting and clear your throat. "Hey Pen, we need an address. And you’re on speaker, by the way." Morgan shoots you a teasing look.

"Of course, my love. Where am I leading you?” She replies happily.

My love. “Um, could you get us the last known address of Lewis Marks? He doesn't have anything on file here.” Your voice wavers slightly with nervousness.

“Mhmm.” You hear the clicking of her keyboard in the background, “Okay. 57 Beachwood Avenue, I’ve sent the directions to your phone.”

“Thank you, you’re the best!” You reply back.

“Catch this guy fast so I can see you soon! Good luck my lovelies!” She ends the call with the click of a button.

You can’t hold back a slight grin when you put your phone back into your pocket.

“What’s that face for, pretty girl?” Morgan teases.

“Shut up,” you bump him on the shoulder as you walk by, earning a chuckle. “Let’s find this guy.”

***

After catching the unsub, the team is back at the police station, gathering their things and packing the case details into boxes. You and Reid unpin maps from a bulletin board and fold them up.

“So… Morgan told me that you’ve been acting a little… weird around Garcia lately? And I couldn’t help but notice as well,” He starts carefully.

“Reid.” You warn him.

“Avoiding my comment only makes you seem more suspicious.” A slight smirk appears on his face.

“Well, I don’t know what you’re implying, so you’ll have to be more specific.” You lie.

“When you talk to her, you speak 1.6 times faster than normal. You avoid eye contact with her but still spend the most time with her out of all of us. When she presents a case it’s like she’s hypnotized you-”

You laugh in embarrassment, “Oh my god is it that obvious?” You drop your face into your hands.

He laughs with you, “A little bit, yeah.” He nods, sliding a map into a folder. “I think you two would be- you’d be nice together.” His tone is genuine.

You drag your hands down your quickly warming face, “Yeah?”

“Your personalities are very compatible, you share a lot of interests, you spend plenty of time together…” He goes on about all the scientific reasons why you two would be the cutest couple.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach just thinking about her. You sigh, returning to placing push pins into their container.

“What?” Spencer notices your shift in behaviour.

“Well, I don’t think- she really doesn’t like me like that, Spencer.” A familiar sinking feeling appears in your chest as you voice your thought.

“Are you kidding? She totally does! What- How do you not see it? Do you see how she acts around you?” The volume of his voice raises slightly.

You shush him, “Spencer! You’re talking too loud! And I really doubt she does. She acts just as friendly with anyone else.”

“Y/n. She started calling you baby two months ago. Before then, she only did that with Morgan.”

“But-”

He interrupts before you can continue, “Her answers to your phone calls are more often um- explicit than not.”

You take a few moments to think. All the times you had gotten flustered over Penelope’s words. Had she meant to do that to you? Was she flirting with you? Oh my god.

“I’m so dumb.”

“No, it’s actually perfectly normal. You were too focused on how you feel about her to notice how she feels about you.” Spencer places the last map into the box of files. “You should ask her out.”

“You say that like it’s so easy.”

***

When you get back to Quantico, all you feel like doing is going home and sleeping for the next 12 hours. But, you would like to see Penelope first. You knock on her office door, she responds with “Come in!” in a sing-songy voice.

You crack open the door but hesitate to fully enter the room. However, when she realizes her visitor is you, she immediately gets up from her seat.

“It’s you! You’re back!” She squeezes you in a tight hug. You happily hug her back. Her flowery perfume makes your head spin, or maybe it’s just her. You sigh, both relief and anxiety. She pulls away at this.

“What’s wrong? Did I squeeze you too hard? Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“No! No, Pen, It’s not that.” You shake your head, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just- I want to ask you something.” Your voice quiets by the end of the sentence.

“Oh, of course! Ask away, my love! I have all the answers in the world right here.” She steps back over to her many screens.

“No, It’s not- It’s…” You can already feel your face heating up, your hands nearly shake out of nervousness.

She makes a confused face, quietly waiting for you to continue.

“Would you like to go out to dinner sometime? With me?” You stare down at your feet, bracing for rejection.

“Like… as a date?” She takes a step closer, you glance up at her and see the growing smile on her face.

You nod, “Yeah? If you’d like that?”

Happiness washes over you when she grins wider “Really? Like a date-date? As in romantic?”

“Mhm” You nod again, maybe you shouldn't have asked.

“I’d love to.”

You let out a nervous giggle, “Yeah?”

“Yes, absolutely.” She carefully takes your face in her hands, you feel like you might faint. You're stunned as she places a light peck onto your cheek, “Just let me know when and where. And I assume this wasn't a planned thing, so text me when you figure it out?” She smiles as she lets go of your overheating face, stepping back to give you some space.

You nod, standing there in silence. You pivot slightly on your heels, now feeling slightly awkward. “See you tomorrow.” You give her a small wave, she waves back.

You exit her office with a big grin on your face, you have to restrain yourself from giggling and skipping down the hall.

Walking into the bullpen, your coworkers notice your giddy demeanor.

Morgan smirks, “Looks like someone's got a date.”

Thank you for reading!!

Any feedback is very much appreciated <3

My requests are open!!

[cod-thoughts]

OO I've got a little prompt to hear your thoughts about. If the 141 squad (plus nik, laswell and the others ofc) were involved with a musical, what would their roles be?

HEXXXXX!!!!!! Thank you omg I'm so excited about this. Thought about it A LOT and here's what I came up with hehe

Price - The Reluctant Director

Price absolutely did not sign up for this. Somehow, though, he’s been roped into directing the entire production. He’s the one pacing backstage with a clipboard and a very large mug of tea, yelling “Places, people!” when everyone’s goofing off. He’s stressed, perpetually tired, and definitely muttering about how this whole thing is in “shambles” but secretly gets way too proud when things go smoothly. He also ends up filling in as the voice of God (narrator) because no one else can deliver monologues with the same gravitas. Am I projecting a little bit? Yes, but we pretend like I'm not shhhh

Soap - Lead Actor / Chaos Incarnate

Soap throws himself wholeheartedly into the lead role, no matter what it is. He learns every line, sings every note like his life depends on it, and insists on doing his own choreography—even when he can’t dance to save his life. He’s everyone’s hype man backstage, and trying to teach Ghost tap-dancing routines during intermissions. Soap’s the one who trips over a prop during a live performance but somehow makes it work like it was planned. Soap is a little annoying about getting the lead but he's genuinely good and helpful to the rest of the cast that you can't really be mad at him. Or his ego.

Ghost - Tech Crew / “Absolutely Not Getting On Stage”

Ghost wants nothing to do with the spotlight. He’s the one in black, lurking in the rafters and managing the lights, sounds and special effects. Everyone else is amazed at how Ghost can get pyrotechnics to go off perfectly on cue. There’s one moment where a prop gets stuck on a side-stage light, and Ghost has to step in—wearing a hastily thrown-on costume—and the audience goes wild. Soap spends the next six months teasing him about his “hidden stage presence.”

Gaz - The Multi-Talented Backup

Gaz is the definition of a team player in this production. He sings, dances, acts—whatever you need him to do, he’ll do it and do it really well. He’s got a surprising talent for harmonising during big ensemble numbers and always nails his cues. If something goes wrong during a live performance, Gaz is the guy who smoothly improvises and saves the day without breaking a sweat. He’s also the best dancer out of the lot but keeps it under wraps until the big numbers.

Nikolai - Musical Conductor / Scene-Stealer

Nik is in charge of the orchestra pit, grinning the entire time as he directs with a little too much flair. He loves the drama of it all. Nik also insists on having a small but hilarious cameo role, like a mysterious merchant or a random townsman with one line that somehow brings the house down. He gets more applause than anyone else during curtain call, and no one can figure out how he did it. I miss my orchestra to no end and Nik as my conductor would be incredible. I imagine him as a double-bass, trombone and french horn player because I think he'd take one look at his orchestra as a kid and see those players missing and take it upon himself to drop his violin lessons in favour of those. He'd be such a good conductor too, smile beaming when the clarinets get their cue right or the orchestra plays a chord particularly well. He'd cry at the end of the performance too there's no doubt about it.

Laswell - Stage Manager

Laswell is the glue holding the entire production together. She’s got the schedule, the call sheets, and every emergency fix anyone could possibly need. Someone forgets their costume? Laswell has a backup. Lights malfunction? She’s got a plan. She’s calm, unflappable, and has perfected The Look that keeps everyone in line. If anyone so much as thinks about missing a cue, Laswell’s already on the headset calling it out. She's also the only one Price trusts with a second opinion when he's unsure about something.

Farah - Choreographer / Supporting Lead

Farah’s choreography is both precise and stunning—she takes no nonsense during rehearsals. She’s the one drilling the ensemble into shape and yelling “One more time!” while everyone groans. But when she steps into a supporting lead role, her performances are incredible. Her presence on stage is magnetic, and her duet with Soap brings the audience to tears.

Alex - Vocal Coach

Alex is the team’s unexpectedly brilliant vocal coach, somehow roped into the role after casually revealing he has actual singing training from his past after Price and Laswell were stressed because none of the other people they interviewed were any good. He’s calm, patient, and has an almost unnerving ability to get anyone comfortable to sing solo lines. He’s the kind of coach who works miracles without raising his voice. Soap cracks a high note for the fifth time? Alex is right there, guiding him through breathing exercises until it’s perfect. Gaz struggles with timing? Alex hums out the rhythm like it’s second nature, and suddenly everything clicks.

Of course, being Alex, he’s more than willing to demonstrate when someone doesn’t get it. He’ll casually hit a note so smooth and perfect that the entire room stops. Soap stares, slack-jawed, and mutters, “You’ve been holding out on us.” Nik swears Alex missed his calling as a professional singer. He gets a special mention in Price’s thank-you speech during curtain call—just a simple “We’d all still be tone-deaf without him,” but it’s enough to make Alex grin and duck his head, embarrassed but proud.

Alejandro - The Charismatic Villain

Alejandro owns the villain role. He’s charming, dramatic, and delivers every line with just the right amount of menace. Half the audience is rooting for him by the end of the show. His costume is impeccable (he definitely helped design it), and his big solo number ends with him flipping a cape and walking off-stage to deafening applause. He’s secretly loving every second of it.

Rudy - Ensemble / Understudy Extraordinaire

Rudy’s the guy quietly holding everything together in the background. He’s part of the ensemble, blending in seamlessly, but he also knows everyone’s lines in case he has to jump in at the last second. When Alejandro loses his voice during a matinee, Rudy steps in, delivers the villain’s performance flawlessly, and becomes a legend overnight. Everyone underestimates him until that moment, and Soap won’t stop bringing it up.

Graves - The Sponsor Who Won’t Shut Up

Graves is technically funding the production, which means he thinks he gets a say in everything. He’s in the front row at every performance, talking too loudly about how “none of this would’ve happened without me.” He insists on getting a “Special Thanks” mention in the programme, and Price barely tolerates him. Graves also definitely tried to cast himself as the lead at one point and had to be gently removed from rehearsals. It's all in good fun in the end as Graves congratulates them and admits he never could do what they did.

Roach - The Unsung Hero

Roach is everywhere at once—helping with props, rigging lights, fixing costumes, and occasionally stepping in as part of the ensemble when someone’s sick. He doesn’t say much, but everyone knows the production would fall apart without him. Price gives him a rare nod of approval during curtain call, and Roach just shrugs like it’s no big deal. I also imagine Roach is the one that helps Ghost rig all the lights just crawling everywhere getting it done. Helps mic everyone up when Ghost is really stressed because one of the lights is malfunctioning, or the monitors have a weird buzz no one can figure out how to fix. Roach is literally a jack of all trades and a master of all you can't change my mind. He's done it all in theatre from lead role to just a stage hand to directing but this is his favourite thing to do, just help in any way he can, an extra pair of hands there to stop his friends from losing their minds too early.

As you can see I've thought about this a lot pffft. I just love this idea I now feel like I have to make a theatre AU omg like I've done all of the things listed here it'd be so good hmmm much to think about hehe. Thank you Hexx omg this brought me immense joy <333