#was wondering if it was going to break down in the middle of it

[ladey]

Can we pretty please have one of au powder where shes in love with us instead of ekko? 🥺 PLS

sí

notes: fluff, established relationship, wlw content, possibly ooc

‘ wrapped around your finger ’

powder x female reader

sometimes powder catches herself staring at you.

she would have been in the middle of meddling with one of her personal projects, eyes narrowed and nimble fingers straining to screw a pesky tiny nail, until the next thing she knows is she had suddenly turned to look at you sometime in the middle of working. she has no idea how long she had been staring for, watching you sitting beside her just a few feet away, but she jumps when your head lifts and your eyes land on hers.

looking a little panic-stricken, powder twists herself back around, readjusting her hair.

“how’s it comin’ along?” your voice sounds from beside her, making her release a breath and smile gently.

“just have some screws to tighten and light varnishing to apply. after that—should be pretty much complete.” powder finalizes looking down at her project with a proud smile, which makes yours widen. oh how adorable she could be without even trying.

you hum in acknowledgment and drag your stool to get closer to her. the only reason you had been sitting farther away from her in the first place was so she could have the room she needed to work on her things. but now she looks set to take a break, and you’ll steal any moment you can get your hands on to spend time with her.

after getting permission to touch it you pick up the object and turn it around in your hands, looking closely at all of the details and ridges. powder’s creations never fail to impress you, and it makes you admire her more after each and every one she shows you.

“as perfect as all of your other stuff turns out.” you sigh almost dreamily, placing it back down and looking at powder who’s already staring at you with a cautious expression. it softens a little and she shrugs carelessly.

“i wouldn’t use ‘perfect’ to describe my works. but i appreciate it anyhow.” powder says, avoiding your gaze and leaning her arm on the table. you’re brows immediately furrow.

“you should have more confidence in your work. you have a wonderful talent, powder.” you place your hand on her shoulder and lean closer, “show it off with pride.”

you finalize with a kiss to her freckled cheek.

powder’s cheeks heat up as she smiles down at you gratefully. she feels so incredibly lucky to have you in her life as a supportive figure, and you being her girlfriend at the same time just makes it 100 times better.

filled with an affection, powder takes your hand resting on your lap and laces your fingers together, silently raving at the way it sends happy jitters and butterflies in her stomach. her head rests atop yours when you lean it against her shoulder.

“and i mean it, lovely.” you add firmly, making powder chuckle softly.

“thank you. i appreciate it a lot. more than you probably know.”

you huff a laugh through your nose and lift your head to look up at her closely with a cheeky smile. with your free hand you poke her cheek playfully, “oh, you make it known~, don’t worry.” your joke manages to not go over powder’s head, causing her to blush and roll her eyes giggling.

“shut up! you joke about it now, but you’re not laughing once i actually get you wrapped around my finger.” the blue haired girl quips, leaning in close with a smirk and blue eyes filled with something mischievous. that makes your eyes widen—the overtly sexual innuendo was uncalled for coming from her.

your shoulders bump as you two tease each other back and fourth under your breaths, hushed giggles echoing around the large open space of powder’s private workshop; your bodies subconsciously having gotten closer with hands starting to get curious.

in a moment of silence, your eyes flutter down to powder’s lips. her own doing the same, both of you exchange a silent confirmation and slowly close the distance between you.

unknowingly to both of you, someone is approaching. the sound of footsteps halt and someone clears their throat some 15 feet away. yours and powder’s lips just barely graze when you both hear the intruder, causing you both to jump away with gasps. at the sight of the third person in the room you’re filled with immense annoyance, peeved at being disrupted.

“sorry to intrude, but, vander sent me to look for you. you’re 20 minutes late to your shift.” ekko’s eyes awkwardly shift around the room before focusing on powder, “you probably don’t wanna keep him waiting much longer…”

you frown. the girl is immediately shooting out of her seat and cursing at herself, knocking things over while scrambling to grab her stuff scattered around the area. you grimace and reach out to help her out.

“fuck, he’s gonna be so mad. i’ve never been late before!”

“we can give him and excuse.” ekko calmly suggests in hopes of calming powder down.

“tell ‘im you ate too much cheese and couldn’t leave the bathroom for an hour.” you smirk. ekko chuckles beside you against the railing, shaking his head.

powder only scoffs. “don’t make this a joke.” she grumbles. she stands up straight and tosses her bag over her shoulder, “we need to go now. please.”

she’s already halfway out the door.

the two of you walk down the busy street with your arm hooked around hers, the warm sunny weather making it feel as though someone lit a candle in your chest and made a lovely home there. ekko walks alongside you, rambling passionately about his concepts for an upcoming project of his own while you smile in acknowledgment and give your own comments.

you still deeply wish you could have more time of the day to spend with powder, alas she has a job. but so many hangout ideas are swirling in your brain and making you skip in excitement at the thoughts.

next think you're going to do is sunbathe and go for a swim in the river; a perfect way to celebrate the oncoming summer season.

[ozzgin]

It's Christmas Eve, and you wake up to a baby outside of your home. Your yakuza friends quickly come to your rescue, and thus begins your journey of finding the baby's parents. Daitou ponders his own future family with you. content: female reader, violence, mentions of pregnancy, based on Tokyo Godfathers

[Yandere Yakuza Masterlist] | [More Yandere Works]

You stare at the little basket in disbelief.

On the front steps of your apartment complex, a lone baby is crying and shuffling in the bundle of stale sheets. The event would've been baffling enough by itself; even more incredulous is that someone has decided to drop an infant in the middle of a yakuza quarter, in winter, during a gang war. You glance at the bullet holes left in the entrance wall with pursed lips.

You do the only reasonable thing that comes to mind: call Daitou.

As you settle the baby in your much warmer living room, you hear the door rattle. Daitou barges in, face pale as a sheet. Behind him, Kazuya struggles to catch his breath.

“Why- Why didn’t you tell me,” he shouts, collapsing to his knees.

“What? I literally just did,” you argue, eyeing him in confusion.

Kazuya pats his friend’s shoulder, giving you an awkward smile.

“Just my two cents, (Y/N) love, but perhaps telling him ‘I have a baby’ wasn’t the smartest idea. I didn’t have time to explain the logical fallacies to him.”

Indeed, it was a speedy affair. They were hanging out at the headquarter across the street when Daitou answered your panicked call. He nodded, hung up, then sprang out of his seat, bemoaning that he’s the biggest dumbass on this Earth. How could he have missed the fact he’d gotten you pregnant? When did it happen? Was it a surprise birth? There was no time to consider the logistics – he ran, and ran, indifferent to Kazuya’s desperate pleads to listen.

“Oh my God,” you whine, ruffling his hair. “I found the baby, you idiot. Outside my apartment. It was there, in a basket. I hear it crying this morning and went downstairs to see what’s happening.”

The dark-haired man swings his head back up, having finally connected the dots. The movement is so abrupt, his prosthetic eye plops out and rolls away inconspicuously. You catch it before it reaches the edge of the sofa.

“So, what now?” the blonde man is the first one to break the silence. “Does it have a return address?”

“Nothing,” you confess. “We should figure something out; I don’t have any food or diapers.”

“We could keep it,” Daitou mutters mainly to himself. Maybe it was fate, y’know? Or something like that.

“Yeah? Are you going to breastfeed it, momma?” Kazuya groans, flicking his friend. “A stray cat caring for another stray.”

He’s about to place a cigarette in his mouth, but you slap it away and angrily gesture towards the baby. Ah, yes. Of course. He stuffs it back into his pocket, and continues:

“I say we take the kiddo over to our brothel. Plenty of girls that’ll have a better idea.”

You nod thoughtfully. Kazuya’s mom is one of those girls. How many children came out of this business, you wonder? You wrap the infant back into its sheets, and carefully lift the basket.

The street is suspiciously empty as you make your way to the soapland. Well, it’s Christmas Eve, after all. You recall last year’s Family event, when you met Boss for the first time. Back then you were pouring sake for all the underground elite, now you’re carrying an abandoned baby around. It seems that peaceful holidays aren’t something you can enjoy with the yakuza.

In an immaculately ironic timing to your complaint, a loud, thundering sound flashes past your ears. Before you can turn around, you feel Daitou’s brawny arm around your waist, effortlessly lifting you in the air. You let out a quick, involuntary shriek.

“Keep your head down,” he barks, suddenly grim and serious.

Kazuya mutters a curse under his breath, swiftly turning on his heels and shooting at targets out of your sight. You’ve been caught in one of the armed conflicts.

What a day, you think, hands gripped tightly around the basket. The baby is crying, the bullets are pouring. Daitou is holding you with one arm, the other is occasionally returning the shots.

“You get used to it,” you whisper to the infant. “I’m telling you now, there’s no better company than these two.”

It’s probably better to not be involved in the first place, of course, but if you do find yourself caught in gangster business...Kazuya and Daitou are your guarantee to survival.

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, your feet touch the ground once more. The matron of the brothel hurries over, fanning herself and tugging at the collar of her kimono.

“My, what a mess. I hope you managed to put a few holes in those rascals,” she says in a husky voice. One can immediately guess she’s a heavy smoker.

She notices your unusual package.

“What’s that?”

“Haven’t you heard? (Y/N) and Daitou are parents,” Kazuya announces with gravity.

The rest of the women gather around, gasping and cheering. You elbow the blonde man, furrowing your brows in annoyance.

“Nonsense. This baby was dropped this morning in front of my building. We thought we’d-”

“Ah!”

One of the women steps forward, inspecting the basket with trembling hands. She narrates the story to you: her friend – the mother – was involved with one of the rival Family members. She’d planned on running away with her partner, you see, but escaping the biggest yakuza branch with a baby in the backseat wasn’t an easy task. She begged to drop the newborn in her friend’s care before her departure. They’d decided on a locker by the train station to perform the unusual exchange.

“I waited for hours, but she never arrived,” the woman concludes. “My God, I thought the poor kid froze to death in one of the postal boxes. She must’ve gone for the nearest convenient hideout!”

You hand her the bundle, and she scurries towards the neighbouring room to do a proper health check. Daitou follows her movements in silence.

“Don’t tell me you wanted to keep it,” you joke.

Kazuya jumps in with a smirk:

“Are you kidding me? He probably planned a whole family trip on the way here.”

The yakuza coughs dryly, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“D-don’t be ridiculous, man. If we’re done here, I’ll be taking miss (Y/N) home.”

The idea of starting a family with you has crossed his mind, certainly. On the other hand, Daitou isn’t in a rush by any means. He’s rather enjoying the current arrangement, and he loves having you as the most important thing in his life.

“Oh, will you be staying over?” you turn towards your boyfriend. “I haven’t finished wrapping your presents.”

He twirls the glass eye nervously. If you ask him, he’s already gotten the deal of a lifetime. You.

[lechrts]

hi cutie, i wanted to request a little something that i imagined the other day,, it was college sweethearts oscar x femreader, where reader is entering one of her classes, and oscar sneaks into it, sits next to her, and makes her laugh with little sarcastic comments or making fun of the professor, basically trying not to break and laugh... the thing is that they're in entire different degrees..

please and thank you sweetie<3

Ugotme. ✷ Oscar Piastri

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Fem!reader

Summary: When he sneaks into your lecture just because of a little hallway crush.

Word Count: 1.8k

Dislacimer/s: just fluff tbh ^_^ && university!au

Vera’s Voice! hope i did this one justice!!!! thank u for the submission request ^_^ ENJOOOYYYT

The crowded university hallway was alive with chatter, the faint hum of conversations blending with the soft squeak of sneakers against polished floors.

You were balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and clutching your bag strap with the other, navigating through the maze of students heading to their respective classes.

Your journalism lecture wasn’t until later, but you were on your way to your slow pace literature seminar, a welcome break from the heavy load of articles and essays you’d been swamped with lately.

And, it was in this busy hallway that he saw you again.

He stood casually beside the wall, patiently waiting for his own lecture to open, though his focus was nowhere near the room he was supposed to be in.

His attention was entirely on you.

He’d noticed you a couple of weeks ago, walking through the same corridor around this time. He didn’t know your name, your major, or why he kept seeing you near the this department, though he was pretty sure this was your turf—but he didn’t care.

Today, something clicked. Maybe it was the way you giggled at something you saw posted on the bulletin or the way you glanced down at the cup in your hand with the faintest smile, but he decided he wasn’t going to let another day go by without talking to you.

When you turned into the nearby lecture hall, he hesitated. His logical brain—honed by hours of problem-solving in engineering—told him to stay in his lane.

But the other part of him, the part that thought you looked far too intriguing to ignore, decided otherwise.

Before he could second-guess himself, he slipped into the same lecture hall, scanning the room until his eyes landed on you.

You had chosen a seat near the middle, pulling out your notebook and laptop with practiced ease. The room was half-full, with students murmuring quietly as they waited for the professor to arrive.

You didn’t notice when he walked in, but you definitely noticed when he sat down beside you.

It wasn’t subtle in the slightest. He dropped his bag with a soft thud and slid into the seat, turning to you with an easy, self-assured smile.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” The boy asked, his Australian accent immediately catching your attention.

You glanced up, startled by the unexpected company before shooting a faint smile. “Uh, no. Go ahead.”

He grinned, and for a moment, you wondered if you knew him from somewhere. His face was familiar, but you couldn’t place it. You didn’t dwell on it, turning your focus back to your laptop.

The professor walked in moments later, launching straight into the lecture with a droning voice that could’ve lulled an insomniac to sleep. It wasn’t long before he leaned toward you again, his voice low and teasing.

“Does he always talk like this?”

You glanced at him, biting back a smile. “Like what?”

“Like they’re narrating an audiobook for a bedtime story no one asked for?”

A giggle slipped out before you could stop it. “It’s a literature class. What did you expect?”

“Literature, obviously. But with a little more... enthusiasm?” He raised his brows for emphasis.

“Well, good thing it’s not his job to entertain you,” You shot back, still smiling.

“Maybe not,” He conceded, “But you’d think they’d try to keep people awake.”

You bit your lip to hide another giggle, but he caught the glimmer of amusement in your eyes and leaned back, satisfied.

As the professor rambled on about symbolism, Oscar tapped his pen lightly against the desk and whispered, “Do you think he rehearses this? Like, in front of a cemetery, maybe?”

This time, you didn’t even try to stifle your laugh. You turned to him, shaking your head. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m serious,” He replied with a smile and shrug. “Someone had to say it.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Are you even in this class?”

He feigned a gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. “Ouch. That’s harsh.”

“Seems like you wandered in by accident,” You said, narrowing your eyes but unable to hide your amusement.

“Wandered in?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “I’ll have you know I’m here on purpose. Expanding my horizons. Growing as a person.”

“And skipping your actual class, I assume?” You guessed.

“Minor detail,” He said, grinning. “Besides, this seemed way more interesting.”

You raised an eyebrow. “The class, or sitting next to me?”

His grin widened. “I think the answer is obvious…”

You let out another laugh, shaking your head at his boldness. “Wow. Smooth.”

“Is it working?” He asked, his voice light but with just enough intrigue to make your cheeks warm.

“Maybe,” You said, tilting your head as if considering. “Depends. Are you planning on staying the whole time?”

“For you?” He leaned back with a lazy smile. “Absolutely.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face.

The professor’s monotone voice droned on in the background, but you barely noticed. Instead, you spent the rest of the lecture exchanging whispered comments with him—his commentary growing increasingly ridiculous.

By the time class ended, your notebook was only half-filled with notes, and your cheeks hurt from smiling. As you packed up your things, he lingered beside you, clearly in no rush to leave.

The warmth in his gaze made your stomach flutter, and for a moment, you were caught off guard by how sincere he sounded.

“Well,” You said, trying to regain your composure, “You should be careful or else I might start expecting you in all my classes.”

“Would that be so bad?” He asked, his tone playful but his eyes holding yours.

“Guess we’ll find out,” You said with a smile.

“By the way,” He said, his tone softening slightly, “Oscar.”

You stopped, turning to face him fully. “Oscar who likes to ditch his classes for random girls?” Quirking a brow.

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oscar who’s hoping you’ll tell him your name.”

You paused, debating whether to play along. But the way he looked at you—equal parts charming and genuine—made you cave and introduce yourself.

“And maybe … Oscar who was hoping he’d get your number…” He grinned as you laughed.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. “Well, enduring one of my most boring classes just to talk to me… I guess…” You trailed off teasingly, grabbing his phone and punching in your number.

When you handed it back, his grin turned boyish, his confidence softening into something a little shyer. “Thank you. I promise, I’ll only use it to bother you during your lectures.”

“Good,” You said, already walking away, throwing him a glance over your shoulder. “I could use the entertainment… or you can just crash another one of my classes.” You suggested with a small laugh.

“Let me know. And I’ll be there.” He grinned down at you.

“Sounds perfect.” You smiled.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated! ^_^ lmk if u wanna be apart of my perm tags list too!!

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress

[momotonescreaming]

Stripping Back the Coats

Rating: T | WC: 5.2k | Evan Buckley/Tommy Kinard Tommy & Chim Friendship, Post Break-Up, Hurt Comfort

[read on AO3]

Apropos of nothing, or what looked like it at first glance, Tommy broke the silence. Shattered the stagnation in the air that swamped his living room. The movie he and Chim were watching had finished, the room falling into quiet.

Hand loosely cradling a bottle of craft beer — some fancy brew he'd been talking up that was as nice tasting as it was expensive. Not that Chim was just going to admit that, at least not right away — he'd let Tommy sit with it first. Tommy, who was perched on the edge of his comfortably large couch like he was unsure he was allowed to be there. One move and the string holding him together would be pulled taut, and he'd spring off the couch to standing. He looked like he wasn't sure whether he wanted to collapse or stand at attention.

Instead he hovered in this weird middle ground of tight posture, perched on the edge of his couch. Like he was afraid he'd shatter with one wrong move, like glass spun too thin.

Chim thinks he's not as put together as he likes to seem — especially now, with the break up hanging over his shoulders.

"Did he ever tell you about our first date?" Tommy asks, brows gently furrowed, the words falling out of his mouth and onto the floor. Chim just hums, he's listening, acknowledging the rhetorical question. Even now, his words feel carefully chosen, strung together in the gossamer shield that seems to hold Tommy together. He. Not Evan, not even Buck. Chim wonders if it's because he knew he'd stutter over which to call him.

It'd feel weird hearing the name Buck come out of his mouth. Hell, it feels weird when he calls him Chimney. There's something comforting about being Howie to him. Buck must feel much the same, Chim imagines, getting to be Evan to him. There's just something special about how Tommy says names. Like they're special, like it's an honour just to get the privilege to say it. Maybe Chim's reading too far into it.

He takes a sip of Tommy's craft beer, his own bottle cradled in his hand, and it goes down smooth. He turns to look at Tommy, at his friend, and tries to leave his face blank and carefully earnest. As much as he likes to joke and kid and tease, he knows when it's not the time for it, and Tommy is barely holding himself together. If he looks close enough, he's sure he can see the cracks. That spindly thread holding him in place.

"Dinner and a movie." Tommy continues, and his voice sounds almost carefully flat. Each word finding it's place on his tongue. Chim tilts his head to look at him as he speaks. "We went to Miceli's — this nice Italian place, Old Hollywood, y'know? — ate, got a pitcher and talked."

He huffs out a laugh, more an exhale of air than anything, smiles at the memory. Chim smiles with him. Whatever he's thinking, there's something genuine there. Can see it etched in the lines of his face, in the lines gathering in the corner of his eyes, the curve and tilt of his mouth.

He looks more himself than he has all evening. More like the Tommy that Chim met flying a helicopter through a hurricane, and the Tommy he re-befriended after. Snarky, and cool, and lighter than he ever was at the 118. Even after Chim saved his life. Even after Gerrard left. He seemed like almost an entirely different person. More open.

Turns out there's still a long way to go.

"Beer wasn't even that good," Tommy jokes, turning to Chim with an almost conspiratorial smile.

"Saved the good stuff for me, huh?" Chim teases, placing a hand on his chest. "I'm flattered."

"You should be, I got these on special order." Tommy teases back, gesturing to his beer bottle with his own. "Not sure they're even making them anymore — it was a limited edition batch, y'know?"

Chim lets him talk through the very clear tangent, the very clear distraction Tommy is letting himself go down. Talk about the craft beer he's passionate about, that he was saving. Neither of them bring up the very real possibility that Tommy was saving it for date night with Buck.

He takes a sip of the limited edition beer, and watches something flicker over Tommy's face. The smile fades, the teasing smirk, and he looks down at the floor. At the rug beneath their feet.

"But yeah. The beer wasn't great but I really liked talking with him. He was earnest, interesting, cute. There was something about him that really drew me in, y'know?" Tommy smiles again, another sad thing, that same flickering over his expression. A glimpse of the new Tommy, happier Tommy — before he's gone again. "But, uh, it really didn't seem like he had processed what it meant to date another man?"

Tommy dims, his voice quieting, Chim only hearing him by virtue of Tommy wanting him to hear. Tilting his head towards him. The silence around them roars, the softness of his voice easing through it.

"He still hasn't." He says, voice walking the line between that careful flatness from before and an undercurrent of sheer sadness. There's something raw about it, something real, even moreso than the Tommy he was after he left the 118. This is deep-seated stuff, this sadness.

Chim knew that Tommy liked Buck, he's not stupid, but it sort of hits him in the moment just how much. It may have just started with thinking the other man was cute, earnest, interesting, but there was no doubt about it that it had settled into something real about it for Tommy.

And now it sort of sounds like Buck wasn't. Chim doesn't quite know what to think, not with what he's seen of Buck — he's tasted his baking, saw him drowning in oversized hoodies and staring at his phone on shift.

Maybe he didn't show all that to Tommy? He doesn't know what to say, how to say it, so he doesn't. And fuck it's hard, keeping what he knows of Buck in, but he does. Takes another sip of beer. He wants to know what Tommy thinks.

"Eddie walked in the restaurant with his girlfriend — Marisol, I think? — and spotted us immediately." Tommy continues, voice still low and sad, but he looks at Chim with questioning brows as he mentions Marisol. To which Chim just nods. Must not have met her much then, he thinks. "Buck panicked."

Tommy pulls a face as he says it, Chim following suit, his face screwing up as he hears the name Buck fall out of Tommy's mouth. He's right, it sounds weird. It feels wrong. Not allowed. Like something wonderful and special has been taken back. Pulled away.

He lets the feeling sit weird and awkward in his gut, Tommy rescinding his right to call him Evan, and focuses on the words.

Buck panicked.

A joke is sitting on the tip of Chim's tongue, a snarky comment, something teasing. Guess he really bucked it up. He'd say it to ease the mood if he didn't think it would upset Tommy. Turning his name into something bad. Even though Chim doesn't mean it maliciously — that's his brother-in-law, after all.

"He'd only just told me that it was his first date with a guy — I was ready to play it off as just new friends grabbing a beer — I wasn't going to out him before he was ready. I'm not that sort of guy—"

"Hey." Chim interrupts. Tommy seems like he needs it. To be shaken out of it, his voice speeding up, just slightly, looking up at Chim with wide eyes. All these tells, all these signs, are so small and easily missed. If Chim wasn't looking he had a feeling it would fly right past him. "I know you're not. Buck knows you're not."

Tommy takes a deep breath. Shaky on the exhale. He looks like he needed to hear it, there's a small easing of the tension in his shoulders. But he wasn't going to ask for it. There's a lot more to Tommy then he wants it to seem on the outside. His befriending him, his move to Harbour, his coming out — all first steps in opening up. But maybe he hadn't taken any more.

So if telling Tommy he was a good dude, helped, then Chim would remind him. He was, of course. He saw the start of his journey first hand. He remembers that first hug in the locker room. Love actually, monster trucks, craft beer. He saw Tommy's evolution, of sorts. He saw how happy he made Buck, how happy he seemed in return.

"But…" Tommy continues, steadying his breath, getting himself under control.

"But Buck put his foot in it."

"Yeah," Tommy says with a shaky laugh, an exhale of air. He doesn't think it's funny. "He told Eddie we were going to go out and pick up hot chicks."

"Shit." Chim winces, hissing air through his teeth and cringing backwards. "On your first date?"

Tommy hums in affirmation. Lets out another small, humourless laugh. Face almost impassive, as if he's processing as he speaks. Rolling everything that happened through his mind like he's thumbing at a marble, running thought by thought like a string of rosary beads. Chim wonders if it's helping.

"I cut the date short." Tommy says simply, an almost wistful sadness to his words. Eyes faraway, thinking about what was and what could have been. "Left him outside the restaurant instead of taking him to the movie."

"Nothing wrong with that." Chim says carefully, turning to Tommy. Nudging his side with his elbow. Wiggles his eyebrows, plays it up. "Sounds like he deserved it."

"Maybe a little." Tommy admits with a weak smile. He sighs, stale breath falling out of his mouth, dropping the smile. Scuffing his socked feet against the rug. "I don't want to be too hard on him."

"I won't tell him if you won't," Chim jokes, tipping his beer bottle towards the other man, before drawing it to his mouth and taking a sip.

Tommy lets out a weak snort.

"Buck invited me back to Miceli's for our six month anniversary," Tommy continues on an exhale of air, and it seems like the battle is leaving him. Not that there was much to begin with. Tension seeping out of his shoulders and dripping onto the floor, easing into something sad. Something resigned. "Didn't tell me it was for our anniversary when he invited me, but we both knew what it was. Maybe we should have talked about it more."

"You can't get caught up in what-ifs, Tommy," Chim adds simply. He knows it's not that easy, stopping going down the spiral of what if things were different, what if you changed things, what if you did xyz. Before he met Maddie, with Tatiana — there were a lot of what-ifs. Hell, there might have been even more once he started dating Maddie. "I've been there, and it's never any good. Even for the little things. You'll just drive yourself crazy."

He watches the other man sigh, dropping his head again. Cradling his beer bottle in the palm of his hands. Thumbing gently at the label, picking at a loose corner wet from the moisture of the cool bottle. "Yeah, Maybe."

Tommy takes a deep breath, sips his beer, and continues. Still thumbing at the label of his bottle. "A lot like that first time, it was going good until the end."

"Maybe Miceli's is cursed?" Chim teases, smirk quirking up the corner of his mouth. "Like his cowboy."

He hears Tommy snort, as he looks out over his living room. He's been barely looking at him as they talk, but Chim doesn't mind. It's easier, he knows, when no one is looking at you. When you can't see their reactions, their emotions, what they think.

As nice as Tommy's living room is — very cozy, very homey, with rugs and throw blankets and plush furniture — he draws his eye to Tommy himself. Watches his face, his posture, the way he holds himself. Watches for the things he shows, but doesn't say.

"Some lady came up to our table mid-dinner. Blonde, very Hollywood-pretty." Tommy's voice drops as he speak. Low, but not quiet. The words falling out of his mouth as his eyes drift somewhere far away. "Skipped like three tables in order to get to us. Asked Buck to take a photo of her and her friends."

"Flirting." Chim comments.

"Very obviously. Didn't seem to care that we were in the middle of dinner." He sighs, his face almost sagging under the weight of the emotion in his words. "He's hot, I kind of can't blame her."

"Except you can." Chim notes, eyes scanning Tommy's face, watches the upset twitch of the muscles in his jaw. "Or you can blame Buck?"

"I don't know." Tommy admits, and he can see he's telling the truth. "Buck was flustered, looked at me, but when he went to take their photo he automatically went to use his phone and she asked if he was trying to get her number."

He purses his lips together as he speaks, as if he's trying to stop them from turning down into a frown. His brows furrowing. "Buck didn't get her number — obviously — took their photo and went to sit back down with me. But."

"It hurt anyway?" Chim assesses, shifting subtly so he's closer to Tommy on the couch. He looks like he needs it. Someone near. He hopes he's helping just by listening.

"So much." Tommy says on a shudder. "I didn't quite realise I was waiting for him to debuff her, to tell her he was on a date with his boyfriend — until he didn't. I didn't want to say anything, ruin the mood, make it all about me."

"Hey," Chim comments, voice warm and comforting. He places a hand on Tommy's back, hoping it's a comforting presence, a comforting weight on the man's broad frame. "It wouldn't have been making it all about you. Especially not what happened last time you were there."

"It felt like a step backwards. Like, he could tell his family he has a boyfriend, but he's still ashamed to be seen with a man in public." Tommy sighs, a sad almost pitiful thing. Leaning into the weight of Chim's hand on his back. "Especially around a pretty woman."

Oh Buck.

Chim just purses his lips, and gently rubs Tommy's back. Hand moving in gentle circles. He doesn't know what to say to that. He's had his own struggles in love, in work, but he's never felt like the people he's been with have been ashamed to be seen with him. Even Tatiana. She started dating a Chim that didn't exist, sure, but they went on dates in public. And people knew it.

There's no way Buck meant for that to be the way his actions were portrayed, the man is head over heels for his boyfriend — but he can see how it came across that way. He can see the way it was the crack that helped grow the rift between them.

He just hums, and lets him continue.

"I had a hard time coming out. Worked hard to finally be authentically myself. Upended my whole life to do it." Tommy admits, his voice wavering. Wet, and thick. Emotions pushing at the words, at each syllable, begging to be let out. "I can't be shoved back in the closet. Be some dirty little secret. Not again. I can't."

Wrapping an arm around Tommy's broad frame, the expanse of muscle, Chim rests his beer bottle on the table next to him and turns his attention towards the other man. The other man who really seems like he needs it right now.

Tommy never really talked about his experience coming out, and Chim didn't ask. It didn't feel like it was his place to do so. They became friends over their time at the 118, and they caught up for beers a couple times after Tommy had moved to the 217. And he had cottoned on that Tommy came out — but he didn't ask for specifics. He worked with Gerrard, he knew Tommy was in the army, he could guess what it was like.

It hurt knowing that Buck put him right back there. It hurt even more knowing he didn't do it on purpose. And from what he'd heard of the breakup from Maddie — there was some reversal there, with what Tommy said before he walked out.

But that wasn't helpful now.

Today was about Tommy. About letting him talk, process. And Chim was there to help. It's not like there was anyone else. Tommy kept people at arms length and the only other people close enough were going to be with Buck. Eddie, Maddie, Hen. So Chim went to Tommy's, and he doesn't regret it.

"When he asked me for a second chance, after that disastrous first date," Tommy started, Chim huffing out a small laugh. An exhale of air out his nose at the way Tommy said disastrous. And after hearing what happened, he kind of can't blame him. "He said sorry, of course. And then he told me he wasn't sure what he was ready for. But he was ready for something and he wanted it with me."

Tommy smiles sadly, and Chim smiles along with him. It sounds almost romantic. That rom-com shit that Tommy not-so secretly loves. Sweetness and romance and earnest declarations. No wonder he fell for Buck. The smile drops from Tommy's face just as soon as it had appeared. "I should have listened when he said he wasn't sure what he was ready for."

"What do you mean?" Chim prompts, more curious about what Tommy's going to say than anything else. He can guess, of course. Turns out that he wasn't ready for something with me after all.

"He asked me to move in, did he tell you that?" Tommy questions, turning to Chim with brows furrowed. Gesturing with his beer bottle as he talks. "Brought up marriage and everything."

That, Chim did know, and not from Maddie. Buck had brought it up at the station, talking to everyone in the kitchen, and Chim had to bite his lip to hold back the snark sitting on his tongue. Into your loft, Buck? You rent, and Tommy owns his house. He had excused himself to go sort inventory. With how distraught Buck seemed, that also wasn't the time. Even though Chim was right. And it sounds like Tommy thinks so too. He hums that he's listening.

"And I just — what if we did move in, what then?" Tommy continues, voice strained. Chim can feel his chest start to rise and fall faster underneath his hand. "What if we did move in and Buck realised that what he was ready for wasn't me? What if he wanted more? What if it's me holding him back from really looking at his sexuality, from being able to comfortably call someone his boyfriend in public?"

"And you panicked." Chim states.

"And I panicked." Tommy confirms, breath stuttering as he exhales. Clenching his hands, steadying himself, as he takes another shaky breath. "I couldn't handle it. The idea that he finally figures himself out and doesn't want me anymore. That I'm not enough. He said he admired me, that I was confident and comfortable, and was one of the brave queer people who came before him. And I felt like a fraud."

"I've been there." Chim admits, the words falling out of his mouth before he can really process them. He turns to look at Tommy, pulling a face as he continues. Tommy watches him speak with searching eyes, his gaze roaming his face. Tommy's shared so much, much more than it seems he has in a really long time — the least Chim can do is reveal some things of his own. " The feeling like a fraud thing, I mean. Years ago, I was dating this girl — Tatiana, I don't think you met her before you left the 118?" he continues with furrowed brows. Tommy just shrugs. "But that's beside the point."

Shaking his head, as if to shake off the words. Tommy doesn't say anything, and for a moment Chim wishes he still had that beer in his hands. Something to fidget with, that's not the shirt on Tommy's back.

"We were together for far longer than we should have been. I was always complaining to the others how bored she always was, how hard it was to impress her. Hot though." Tommy snorts at that, and it feels like a win. A little reprieve from all the heavy shit they've been sifting through. "So I started exaggerating the truth, shall we say."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Tommy jokes, turning towards him in return, smirking faintly. Chim notices he doesn't pull away from his hand resting on his back. So he doesn't move, and continues talking.

"I wasn't lying!" Chim laughs. "Everything I said really happened! It just wasn't me who did it." He pulls a face, and tilts his head, conceding his own point. "And dialled up to 11. But it wasn't a lie! Technically. Maybe."

"Okay so you were lying."

"Yeah." Chim sighs. "Probably. I took things others did on call, went back to my apartment, and told her wild tales about what daring stunts I had done. Saving children and animals. Doing The Maneuver. I had to go home and pretend everyday."

And that gets Tommy listening, the smile fading into something earnest, attentive. He's hanging on Chim's every word now. It feels a little weird, oddly raw — telling Tommy these things. Most people he'd be comfortable knowing were there watching that relationship unfold. He's never had to tell anyone before.

"But I was so desperate for a family, a connection, something," Chim says, trying not to focus on Tommy's eyes drilling holes in the side of his head. "That I was willing to lie to my girlfriend to do it. Let her manipulate me, shape me, blind me to what was going on." He lets out a shaky breath, but powers through. For Tommy. "It blew up in my face of course."

"How so?"

"I proposed to her, she said no, told me she cheated on her ex-fiance, and then I got rebar through the skull."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Howie," Tommy exclaims, words falling out on the exhale.

"Not I'm not saying that that's going to happen to you,"Chim jokes, sliding his hand across Tommy's back and gesturing at him. He slides his voice into something more serious. "Or even that's what you and Evan were doing, just that I get it. It's hard."

"Yeah," Tommy shudders. "I spent so much of my life pretending, half the time not even knowing that it's what I was doing, that I don't know if I know how to stop anymore."

"And you think Buck saw a version of you that wasn't there?"

"Fuck, maybe?" Tommy says, brow furrowed unsure. He turns to look at Chim, a little distraught, pulling a face, before he turns away again. Stares back into the deep black of his TV Screen. "Probably. Which is probably my own fucking fault, not talking to him. But it's not like he asked either?"

"Do you think you wanted to be asked?" Chim prompts, guessing the answer is going to be another maybe. Or at least — that's what Tommy is going to tell him the answer is. He has a feeling the answer is secretly, obviously, yes. Tommy Kinard wants to be known, craves it so desperately, but is terrified of it in equal measure.

"If he did ask," Tommy starts, voice flat again, mouth down turned as he speaks. "It would have shattered the pedestal it felt like he put me on. And I don't know if that's worse."

Chim hums that he's listening again.

"He said he admired me, and Howie, you knew me way back then — there's nothing to admire."

Now that is just a blatant lie. There is something to admire about overcoming what Tommy overcame, about getting out and coming out. But he really doesn't think Tommy wants to hear it. He wouldn't believe it. He didn't believe it when Buck said it — the person he's most likely to believe.

Chim's not Buck, and he's only heard bits and pieces about his thought process, what he was going through on his side of things — but there's no way Buck meant that maliciously either. He knows about Buck being thrown for a loop, about talking to Maddie and Josh and something about Glee? But he knows for sure that the core of Buck's admiration for Tommy is love.

He loves him, and is proud of him. The man he was and the man he's become. His big beautiful boyfriend who's come so far and settled into himself.

It just sounds like Tommy's shit runs a lot deeper than anyone knew. Maybe even Tommy himself. He's learning so much about Tommy, here on his couch, the two of them spilling their guts. It's kind of nice, getting to know him more, this absent sort of friend he's know for over a decade.

He just wishes it wasn't like this.

"I'm not comfortable. I'm not confident. Not about this." Tommy says, shaking his head, and Chim wraps his arm back around his friend. "I'm not some paragon of gay rights. Gay pride. Someone who paved the way for those who came after, like he said when he brought up marriage. Fuck."

He shudders out another shaky breath, and Chim wishes he knew what to say. What joke to crack to make it all better. But he doesn't, so he listens. Just stays there for his friend. It feels like a long time since anyone has been there for Tommy. Not until Buck, at least.

"Did you know I've never been to pride?" Tommy asks, and Chim swears he can see his bottom lip wobble as he says that. Just ever so slightly. Until Tommy ducks his head, bowing it in a facsimile of prayer. Eyes shut, lashes shadowing his cheeks, that wobble to his bottom lip. "It always just made me feel like I didn't deserve to be there. Like I don't count. So I don't go."

Chim squeezes his side, draws him in like Tommy isn't bigger than him. Like he can tuck him underneath his arm completely, curled up like a sad roly poly of a man. There's nothing he can say to this. He'd go with Tommy to L.A. pride in a heartbeat, bring the whole 118 if it would make him feel better. But he really doesn't know if it would. Like a dehydrated man drowning in the depths of the ocean, it feels a little like throwing him to the sharks.

"I've always wanted to. Go to pride, that is." Tommy whispers. He clears his throat and looks at Howie. "He admired me because I'm one of brave queer men who paved the way to gay marriage, and I can't even go to pride without feeling like a fake."

He's never seen Tommy this open, this exposed, like ever. Even after years of friendship.It kind of hurts to see, pulls at his heartstrings hurts, seeing just how broken and vulnerable he is. Chim doesn't know what to say. What can he say about pride, without sounding fake himself. Like a well-meaning ally extending himself too much.

He knows about learning about your own culture, about exploring that part of yourself, he just doesn't know if now is the time to say it.

"I'm scared, Howie." Tommy admits quietly, sadly. "I'm scared that Buck is going to finally start learning about the queer community, about our depressing history, about what being a queer man means to him — and he'll realise that I have no part in that."

"So you broke your own heart before he could break yours." Tommy nods at Chim's words. He carefully doesn't mention that he broke Buck's as well. He wonders if a part of Tommy knew that would be a side effect. But that maybe the breakup would give him room to figure himself out, label his sexuality, and then he's ready to move on. Be a happy queer man, without the queer elder who opened the doors and stepped away. Who lived through the shit so he could live in the sun.

Howie can't say for sure, only guess, and he doubts either of them are going to tell him.

Neither of them are moving on.

Chim can't even be too mad at the guy for breaking Buck's heart. His own brother-in-law. He's clearly miserable himself, and his words just make him think of Maddie.

"Maddie left, you know?" Chim says, hand rubbing in gentle circles on Tommy's back. He looks across the living room, past the TV, and out the window into Tommy's backyard. Now it's his turn to take a deep breath. "She thought she was doing the right thing, and I don't dispute that — that she thought she was doing what was right for Jee, and for herself, and for us."

He takes another deep, shuddering breath, and looks back at Tommy with a wry look on his face. "But it sucked."

Tommy drops his head, curving his body towards the floor. Hiding his expression, his misty eyes, but from the flash Chim could see — he looks almost ashamed. Which wasn't Chim's intention, to make Tommy feel bad. He just wanted to lay it all out, share his perspective, share Buck's perspective.

"If she needed time, if she needed to slow down, hell — if she needed space — I just wish I could've been there to give it to her." Chim says, still careful to not reveal too much about his time separated from Maddie. Her journey. It was hers to tell, but he thinks the perspective could help Tommy.

Maddie was a runner, the person who leaves — and maybe Tommy is too. Maddie is Buck's sister, first and foremost — But Chim thinks it'd be good for them to talk to one another. She gets it. Just like he gets Buck, the person left behind. He hopes he's helping, telling Tommy this. Voicing his perspective.

"You chased after her?" Tommy asks, looking up at Chim, almost as if he's stating a fact, not voicing a question. They both know what the entirety of chased after implies.

"Of course." Chim replies, nodding. "I love her."

Tommy's eyes start to water again — not that they ever stopped — and Chim sees the light reflect through watery tears before Tommy bows his head again. Doesn't let him look, hides the way his face contorts as tears start to fall. His voice is thick and wet as he speaks.

"I love him, you know?" Tommy says, sounding all choked up, and Chim's heart clenches at the sound. He wraps his arm around his friend, and tugs gently, pulling him towards his side. "I didn't think it'd hurt this much."

Chim doesn't say anything, just holds Tommy as he starts to cry.

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

Magic Lessons | B.W.

Part One

feat. Bill Weasley x intern!reader

SUMMARY: Your best friends Fred and George convince their older brother, Bill, to give you a shot at a coveted curse-breaker internship position at Gringott's.

CW: age gap, boss/intern, fem!reader, reader is whip smart and sweet, dark curses and magical artifacts, men being shitty, hurt/comfort, dark academia vibes

AN: inspired by an ask I accidentally deleted (im so sorry) about Bill tutoring Fred & George's best friend. It spiraled into this.

part 2 coming soon!

“You're going to be fine,” George soothed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Yeah, Bill’s not so bad. You aren't scared of us, are ‘ya? So there's no need to be scared of him,” Fred added, bumping your knee with his.

You were sandwiched between them on a hard wooden bench in Gringott's, just outside their older brothers office, his name emblazoned in gold on the fogged door window. The twins, two of your closest friends from school, had secured you an interview for a coveted internship in the Ancient Artifacts Department, and you hadn't slept in a week leading up to it.

This was your dream job, a real stepping stone to the career you'd always imagined for yourself. You couldn't screw this up.

But that didn't quite explain the bone-deep anxiety clawing through your skin. It felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, one foot hanging into empty space.

Then, a shadow crossed the fogged mirror, tall and broad, and you shivered.

“You've got this,” George murmured at the same moment the door handle turned. It swung open, and your heart fell through the marble floor.

Bill Weasley was, objectively, terrifying. He had none of the softness of the twins, none of the jovial ease of youth. He was dressed in a white button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and charcoal trousers, traces of magic glittering along his forearms.

Standing at least a head taller than the twins, he had long copper hair and sharp cheekbones, deep scars across the left side of his face that only enhanced the striking beauty of his features. His green eyes were arresting, challenging in the way they swept across the hall before settling on you.

“Bill!” Fred said, jumping up, and Bill’s demeanor immediately shifted into something friendlier.

“Freddie,” Bill said, extending a hand to his younger brother with an expression you could almost call warm.

“Bill, this is our friend, y/n,” George said, getting up to shake his brother's hand, and you rose to your feet, hoping he didn't notice the slight tremble in your knees.

“Pleasure, y/n. I'm Bill Weasley, Head of the Ancient Artifacts Department here at Gringott's.” He extended a hand to you, calloused and long-fingered, a golden signet ring on his middle finger.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Weasley,” you said, placing your hand in his for a brief shake. He was gentle, but you could feel the undercurrent of strength in his movement, the intention he had to put towards being soft.

“Fred and George have told me a lot about you,” Bill said, glancing at his brother's. “You’re interested in Blessed Artifacts, correct?”

You nodded. “Yes, primarily magical items created with the intention of offering protection or assistance,” you answered, fighting the nervous heat climbing up your neck.

The corner of his mouth lifted, scrunching the scars across his cheek and eyebrow. “The opposite of what I do, hm?”

You laughed nervously. “Yeah, I suppose. Though I've studied your curse-breaking work extensively. A curse and a blessing are two sides of the same coin, and we can learn a lot about the workings of one from the other.”

Bill’s expression shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing and skimming over your face, and suddenly you knew what it felt like to be one of his artifacts.

No wonder he never crossed a curse he couldn't break.

“Step into my office, I have a few questions before we discuss terms of the internship. I'll see you two this weekend at the Burrow, yeah?”

“Yep!” Fred and George chirped in unison, and Bill slipped back into his office. The twins gave you a big thumbs up and you gave a nervous chuckle, waving them away before following Bill into his office.

It was nothing at all like you expected. Two enormous windows filled the back wall, spilling grey light across the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along the left wall. The shelves were overflowing with tomes and littered with artifacts, more than you'd ever seen outside for a museum or Dumbledore’s office. They perfumed the air with the scent of parchment and sandalwood, the warm musk of incense.

The carpet was plush under your feet, a mesmerizing pattern of deep maroon and teal, and overstuffed furniture rested against the right wall, a couch and two arm chairs framed by more loaded shelves and a gallery wall of shifting art.

But most surprising was his desk. It looked like it belonged in a research tent in the desert, not a gold-plated bank. It was covered in tools and stacks of paper, open books and deconstructed items, half-drank mugs of tea and a spilled ink pot.

“You look surprised,” he mused, following your eye.

“I didn't realize you still did field research,” you admitted sheepishly. “Now that you're head of the department.”

Bill shrugged, grabbing a mug and a stack of papers from the table and gesturing to the furniture against the wall. “I prefer the hands-on approach. Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?”

“Oh, no thank you,” you answered, sinking into one of the arm chairs. It was so comfortable, you had to force yourself to sit upright. You could smell his cologne on the leather, vetiver and black pepper, and it made your chest warm.

He sat in the other armchair, bracing an ankle on the opposite knee. “So, how did you come to befriend my brother's?” He asked, taking a sip of tea.

“Fred needed some help in Charms,” you said, crossing your legs. “Then George needed help in Potions. And we just worked well together. They're good friends.

“So you're the reason they didn't flunk out, hm?”

You shook your head. “Not at all. They just needed a different perspective. They did the work themselves.”

Bill nodded, shuffling the papers in his lap. “Have you ever worked with curses directly? Beyond Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

You shook your head. “I don't have a lot of experience with curses, but I can read magic well, and have an eye for detail. I know I'm not the most qualified of the candidates you've probably met with, but this is my dream, and it would be such an honor to learn from the best— ”

“It's alright, y/n,” Bill stopped you with a small shake of his head, his low voice demanding acquiescence. “You're clearly bright, and determined to learn. That's more valuable to me than anything else.”

You exhaled in relief. “I appreciate that, Mr. Weasley,” you said, offering a small smile.

“Bill,” he corrected. “Bill is fine.”

Your heart gave an excited thump, and you nodded.

“So, for this internship, you'd be working directly with me, mostly archiving artifacts as they come in and out of the bank. You'll be spending a lot of time here and in the vaults. The pay isn't great, but if you do well over the six months term, there's potential for full-time employment.” He passed a contract to you, a quill floating over from his desk and into your hand. “And you're welcome to conduct supervised independent research whenever there's downtime.”

You blinked, shocked at the employment contract in your lap. “You don't—you don't have any more questions for me?” You asked.

Bill shook his head, giving you an amused smile. “You already showed that your head and heart are in the right place, and I trust my brother’s judgement. If they like you this much, there must be a reason.”

“I—thank you, sir,” you said, a grin breaking through as you signed your name on the line. The ink blazed gold before settling back to black, the contract magically binding.

Bill rose, extending a hand to help you to your feet. “Welcome aboard, y/n.”

The first few days of your internship were spent with members of Bill’s team, taking lengthy tours of Gringotts and the Archives. You quite liked Rumi and Kira, two of the lead archivists, but had a difficult time with Waylan, the Collector, as they called him, who seemed to have it out for you.

You waited with bated breath for your first project with Bill, but you'd barely seen him since you started. You brought it up to Kira at breakfast one morning, and she chuckled.

“He's around, I promise. Hardly goes anywhere else. But we usually only see him in he needs something.”

“Or when we fuck something up,” Rumi added, and you chuckled.

Kira rolled her eyes. “They're being dramatic. Bill's not nearly as scary as he looks.”

“Aren't I?”

The three of you jumped, turning to find Bill leaning against the wall beside Rumi’s seat. He looked exceptionally handsome this morning, his hair tucked behind his ears, a single strand falling over his eyes, dressed in finely pressed white shirt and navy trousers.

“Well you are when you sneak up on people!” Rumi laughed, and Bill cracked a smile.

“Apologies, mate. Y/n, ready for your first assignment?” His eyes met yours, brilliant as polished jade, and your tongue forgot how to function.

“Oh, uh, yes, sir!”

“Sir?” Kira snorted. “Are we supposed to call you ‘sir’?”

Bill shook his head. “I’d rather you didn't, but maybe you could use a lesson in manners from this one,” he teased, stealing Kira’s croissant. “Come along, fledgling,” he said, his deep voice resonant and rough around the edges.

The nickname jolted through you like a lightning strike, heating your blood to a simmer, and you nearly gasped, hiding your reaction by taking a final swig of breakfast tea.

Fuck no, you were not developing a crush on your boss. Get it together, you chastised yourself.

You got to your feet and hurried after him through the dining hall and into the wrought iron elevator. He held the door for you as you scurried in. The grate rolled shut, and the machine heaved off the ground with a metallic groan.

“Glad to you see you're getting along with the team,” he remarked, eyes trained up to watch the pulley system.

“Yes, they've been very welcoming,” you said, resisting the urge to stare at the hard angle of his jaw, the reddish stubble dusting it and spreading down his throat.

“There's a lot they can teach you. They're some of the best in the business,” he said, glancing down at you as the elevator came to stop. The doors rolled open and he strolled out, his long legs taking him a third of the way down the hall before you managed to get your knees to unlock.

You caught up to him at his office door. “What are we working on?” You asked, excitement building as you followed him to his desk.

He moved around it, stopping in front of a black velvet box. Carefully, he lifted the lid. “Waylan brought this back last month, and I hadn't been able to crack it until our meeting.”

“Oh?” Your heart began to beat a little faster, eyes fixed not on the box containing the object, but the way his deft fingers handled it with such a care.

He turned the box around, revealing a stunning necklace, dripping with black sapphires and diamonds, the chain a thick and luscious gold.

You gasped, covering your mouth. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry you'd ever seen.

He smiled at your reaction before catching himself, returning to neutral, if a bit curious, expression. “I hadn't considered that it might be a blessed object until our conversation.” He gingerly lifted the necklace from the box, the luxurious stones creating a stark contrast against his laborers hands. “And if I read the magical signature correctly, it should be a chameleon charm. To make any spectator see what they want to see in the wearer.” He came around behind you and you lost your breath, his closeness overwhelming your senses.

There was something about him that tilted the axis of the world, bending everything to center around him. He had his own gravity, his own magnetic force that you were struggling to resist.

“May I?” He asked, and you nodded, holding your breath as the cool stones kissed your clavicle, his fingertips ghosted the edge of your throat.

With a small click, the necklace was fastened around your neck. You could feel the magic in it, warm and buzzing as it spread through you.

Bill stepped away, moving back around to your front, and his brow furrowed.

“What? Did I grow a horn?” You joked, trying to dispel the tension winding tighter between you.

He shook his head, stepping back to ring a silver bell by his desk, a small plaque reading ‘Kira’ beneath it. There was one for each of you, you noticed.

A moment later, Kira walked in. “What's up, boss? Oh, did you change, y/n? I absolutely love that designer in Hogsmeade. His work is stunning,” Kira praised. “Sorry, can I help with something?” She said, turning to Bill.

Bill’s frown deepened as his eyes skimmed over you. “That'll be all, Kira. Thank you.”

“Oh, uh, okay. Let me know if you want to go shopping sometime, y/n!” She said before stepping back out of the office.

“So, she saw something in common that we didn't have before,” you observed, moving to jot some notes down on a piece of parchment in an attempt to stay on track despite the frustrated look on his face. “What do you see?”

“You can take it off. I need you to decode the magic signature yourself, archive the piece and charm accordingly, and see if you can replicate it on something else,” he directed, turning away and rustling through some pages on his desk.

“Sure, no problem.” Carefully, you unclasped the necklace and set it into its velvet case, confused by his sudden shift in demeanor, both the absence of the necklaces magic and his sudden distance leaving you cold.

What did he see in you?

He conjured another chair for you and sank into his own, turning his attention to what appeared to be a wooden horse.

Uncertain, you sat down and pulled the necklace towards you, along with the parchment and a quill, and got to work.

The uncertainty dissolved as the minutes turned to hours, both of you working quietly side by side to solve your own puzzles. The only sounds were the rustling of papers and scratch of quills, the soft music playing from a record player in the corner, and you felt a wave of peace settle over you.

Being able to work at your own pace, in a quiet, peaceful environment was all you'd ever wanted. And finally, you felt like you found a place that allowed that.

You glanced over at Bill, finding him scribbling something with his black feather quill, completely zeroed in on his task, and you felt a rush of gratitude for him, and a determination to ensure he didn't regret his decision to take a chance on you.

You turned back to the necklace, eager to uncover it's secrets.

The rest of your first two weeks passed the same way, you and Bill with your heads bowed, working on separate projects. He'd come over periodically to check your work, but mostly left you to your own devices unless you needed help, which he provided without judgement or reservation.

You and Bill seemed to work together well, both of you preferring the quiet so you could focus, with the occasional conversation about your findings during your lunch break or afternoon tea.

Despite yourself, your ill-advised attraction to him only grew as he loosened up around you. But that's all it was, you told yourself over and over again. An attraction to a handsome, accomplished man.

You were only human, after all. Who could blame you?

On Friday, Bill had a meeting with the Board and left you in his office to work. You were more than happy to occupy his space, enjoying the comfortable quiet as you reviewed your notes on the artifact you were working on.

A knock pulled you from your work. Waylan walked through the door, a long, thin wooden box in his arms.

“Oh, hey Waylan,” you said, getting up. “Bill is in a meeting—”

“I know, but this can't wait.” He dropped the long box onto the desk with a thud, scattering your meticulously organized notes, and a prickle of irritation climbed the back of your neck.

“What is it?” You asked, already sensing the dark energy permeating off of the box.

With a pry bar, Waylan cracked open the box, a putrid smell wafting out of it.

“Are you sure we should be doing this here? Surely a vault would be safer—”

“It's fine,” he snapped, and you cracked your jaw shut, irritation growing to full on anger. “This is a cursed executioners axe,” he said. “And the curse needs to be broken now.”

“Waylan, surely—”

“I thought you were qualified?” He bit. “Isn't that why you got the job? Or was it because your friends with his brothers?”

You grit your teeth. “What's the nature of the curse?”

“You tell me.”

You moved to look at the axe, it's blade dark and stained with gore, the handle black wood. Tiny notches decorated it's expanse, and your stomach turned imagining what each notch represented.

Carefully, you held your hand over it, coaxing the magic to reveal itself, but couldn't focus properly with Waylan breathing down your neck, the magic slithering through your fingers like a sieve.

Suddenly the room went dark, all the light and air sucked from the world around you until you were staring into the void, cold dread dripping down your spine.

“Waylan?” You called, fighting the urge to panic. You tried to lift your arms to feel around, but found that you couldn't move. “Waylan?!” You cried, a little louder.

Something white, a delicate, vaguely human shaped mist floated by you and you screamed, unable to move away from it. Then another appeared, slightly more formed like a person, then another, until you were surrounded by spirits. Terror split your skull, your heart pounding so hard it made your vision shake.

“No, please,” you croaked, fighting your body to move even an inch away from them. “Let me go!” You shouted, but they only moved closer. “Let me go!”

Suddenly you slammed back into your body, the bright light of the room blinding you. You were on your back, staring up at the ceiling, Bill leaning over you, his mouth moving like he was speaking.

“—m’right here, you're alright. It was just a trick, just a little curse. Wake up, love. Come back to me,” he murmured. “There we are, that's it,” he shushed when you began to shake, his grip tightening on your shoulders when you tried to sit up.

Your body was still tingling with numbness, nerves prickling painfully back to life. “Bill,” you gasped, clinging to him as you came fully back to consciousness.

“Are you alright? Does anything hurt?” He asked, helping you sit up slowly, one hand braced on the slope of your ribcage, the other supporting your head.

“No, no. I--what happened?” you asked, looking around the room. You noticed Waylan then, also prone on the floor, eyes staring wide at the ceiling. It seemed Bill made no effort to wake him up.

Bill glanced at Waylan as well, shaking his head. “He was trying to scare you. Prove you didn't deserve the position. And apparently was too stupid to realize the curse would affect him too.”

“Will he—”

“He'll be fine. Are you okay?” He repeated, catching your eye so you'd look at him.

You nodded. “I think so.”

Waylan groaned, stirring on the carpet, and you saw a flicker of anger in Bill’s eyes.

“Wait for me in the lobby,” he said, helping you to your feet. “I'll deal with him.” There was no question in his words, and you obeyed without thought, collecting your things and slipping out of the room.

As the elevator doors started to close, you heard Bill shout, “I should have you sent to fucking Azkaban for pulling—” The groan of the machine cut off the rest of his words.

You did as you were told and waited in the lobby for Bill, busying yourself with people watching and admiring the expansive marble floors.

Twenty minutes later, Bill appeared from one of the elevators, holding Waylan by the scruff of his neck, a box of his stuff in his arms. You jumped up, alarmed when a few security guards rushed over to them.

“Waylan is no longer permitted on the premises, my orders. I discovered him tampering with curses,” Bill directed. “He's a threat to Gringott’s security.”

Your jaw dropped when the security guards nodded and dragged Waylan away without question, effectively tossing him out onto the street of Diagon Alley.

Bill stepped up beside you, concern over your frowning face drawing his brows together. “What is it?” He asked.

“Did you—you fired him?” you stammered.

“Absolutely. I can't have someone on my staff that doesn't take curses seriously. It puts us all at risk,” he said, without an ounce of hesitation.

You nodded, you supposed that made sense.

He started walking, beckoning you to follow with two fingers, and you fell into step beside him. “Come on, I'm going to teach you how to dispel that curse.”

You froze. “What?”

He turned to look at at you. “You heard me, fledgling. I need to make sure something like this won't happen again.” His voice was firm, but not unkind, and you found yourself yielding despite your trepidation. “I'll be with you the entire time, okay?” He said, a bit softer when you returned to his side.

“And if we both get knocked out?” You scowled.

He smirked at your pout. “Do you doubt me?”

A pulse of heat curled around your spine, warming your lower belly. “No, sir,” you replied, intending it to come across as teasing, but you saw something dark flash in his eyes, something hungry, and your heart began to race.

Surely you imagined it, you told yourself as the two of you descended into the vaults. There was no way you could be affecting Bill the same way he was affecting you. He was Bill Weasley, and you were just some intern that got a lucky break. He would never be interested in you, not to mention how wrong it would be for a boss to be romantically involved with his subordinate.

So, why did that thought make your pulse spike?

He guided you to a private vault, the heavy door unlocking with a wave of his hand. The inside was dank and poorly lit, permeated with that same rotten smell as before. The axe rested on a table at the center of the room, encased in glass.

You hesitated at the door, that cold, deathly sensation crawling over your skin again.

Bill paused, sensing your fear. “You can do this,” he said, offering you his hand. “I'll walk you through it.”

You placed your hand on his, focusing on his warmth, his steadiness, as he led you into the vault.

“You can feel it, right? The energy of the void clinging to it?” He asked, his voice low.

You nodded. “Feels like death,” you murmured.

“That's what this curse does, makes you feel like you died. It was used by an old Ministry executioner to subdue prisoners before their deaths. Kept them from trying to escape.” He cast his eyes to the axe, a somber look on his face. “Waylan was supposed to leave it here until after my meeting. They just unearthed it this morning.”

“That's awful,” you said, finding yourself counting the notches along the handle. There had to be at least two hundred, maybe even five hundred.

“With every kill, it got stronger, until it eventually took the executioner himself. It was buried with him, until some unfortunate muggle grave robber dug it up and nearly killed himself.”

“So, how do we dispel it?” You asked, hating the tremble in your voice.

“Take your wand out,” he instructed, and you obeyed. “I'm going to open the box. Stay focused on your breathing, the ground beneath your feet. When I open the box, you'll feel it start to pull at you, to drag you under.”

You nodded, lifting your wand and squaring your shoulders, forcing your lungs to take big, deep breaths despite the rotten smell.

“Good, when you feel it pull at you, imagine your wand is an axe itself, okay? You're going to cut the tether of the curse reaching towards you. It will resist, but I promise you can do it. Ready?”

You grit your teeth. “Ready.”

With a wave of his wand, he opened the box. The curse spilled out of it, clawing and twisted, and you immediately felt the blackness start to tug at the edge of your vision, its cold talons digging into your flesh.

“You can do it, fledgling. I know you can. Fight it,” Bill encouraged, somewhere to your left.

You pushed back against the darkness, refocusing on your breathing, the stone beneath your feet, your wand at the tips of your fingers. You slashed through the air with it, imagining an axe cutting through thick, black tendrils, and suddenly the tugging sensation vanished, the blackness receding from your vision.

“Yes, good girl! Keep going, push it all the way back into the axe.”

You did, pushing with all your might against the dark magic until it began to retreat, sinking back into the blade of the axe. But it wouldn't go all the way in, resisting your quickly depleting energy, when you felt something akin to a warm breeze blow over you: Bill’s magic. It joined your efforts, making the final push to force the curse back into the axe.

“Now hold it for me. Just like that,” Bill said, moving around the room. “I'm going to do try a counter curse, but it may not take. Are you ready?”

“Ready.” You nodded, a rush of excitement pulsing through you. You were actually doing it. And doing it well.

With a flourish of wand movements and a string of words you don't understand, a beam of white light blasted from the end of Bill's wand and towards the axe, blinding you.

Something gave a godawful shriek, echoing off the walls until rubble rained over your head, and you heard a thunderous snap, followed by a whoosh of screaming air.

The light suddenly vanished, leaving you and Bill alone in the dark room, silent besides your ragged breathing.

“Lumos,” Bill muttered, and the torches along the walls relit, revealing the room around you. The axe lay on its side on the table, splintered in half. The rotten smell, and the curse, were gone.

You exhaled, a giddy laugh bubbling up, and Bill smiled, crossing the room to you.

“Let me see you, you alright?” He asked, taking your hands to inspect your trembling fingers. The touch sent a zing of energy under your skin. “It didn't hurt you?”

You shook your head, dizzy from his unexpected tenderness and the after effects of using so much magic. “I'm okay,” you murmured, a little breathless.

“Okay,” he said, releasing your hands, though for a second, he seemed reluctant to. “I'll clean up here. Go home and get some rest, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, dipping your chin obediently.

His eyes searched your face for a moment longer, his jaw flexing, before he nodded once and turned back to the axe, dismissing you.

You slipped out of the vault and returned to the surface, reckless hope burning in your chest.

Thanks for reading! 🫶🏻

[1425fivefive]

inexperienced partner oscmark pretty please <3?

oscarmark is really, really speaking to me right now. this is set during oscar's first season with mclaren (for the kink prompt asks)

Every time Mark fucks Oscar, he tells himself it’ll be the last time.

It’s stupid, irresponsible, an abuse of power. The kid’s barely twenty-one and he looks it—soft, boyish cheeks that Mark wants to pinch and kiss and sink his teeth into, a sweetness to him that Mark knows a few seasons in F1 will grind out of him. Oscar still gets starry-eyed around Hamilton and Verstappen, still glances over at Lando after every shitty joke like Oscar wants to make sure he’s being funny, saying the right things. Mark would be embarrassed for the kid if it didn’t make his dick hard.

The worst part, Mark thinks, the part that has Mark sneaking off to the toilet in the middle of the night to frantically get himself off, biting the meat of his palm to keep himself quiet, is that Mark’s the only person Oscar’s ever been with. Not man, person. The thought never fails to have Mark coming into his fist, letting out a muffled groan.

Mark doesn’t see Oscar for a few weeks during the summer break, and he thinks maybe he’s changed, that he’s finally gotten Oscar out of his system.

But Mark turns up to Oscar’s driver room in Zandvoort while Oscar’s physio is there, and Mark has to watch as Oscar’s physio presses Oscar’s leg over his shoulder, opening Oscar up. Has to watch as Oscar blinks up at Mark with parted lips, cheeks flushed, knee almost to his ear. Has to watch as Oscar gets rolled onto his stomach, hips canted up, knees out, his thick arse in the air like he’s begging for someone to grab it. For Mark to grab it.

Mark’s dick is hard by the time Oscar’s physio leaves and he doesn’t feel in control of his body as he locks the door to Oscar’s driver room, settling on Oscar’s tiny couch. Feels like he’s a passenger in his own skin as he tells Oscar to get on his knees, to take Mark’s cock out of his trousers.

Oscar relaxes his jaw and lets Mark feed his cock into Oscar’s mouth, Oscar covering his teeth exactly the way Mark taught him, breathing through his nose, tongue soft and wet.

“Fuck,” Mark groans, watching his cock disappear between Oscar’s lips. “That’s it, there you go.”

Oscar whimpers, sucking Mark deeper, sloppy and overeager. He reminds Mark a bit of a puppy sometimes, blinking up at Mark like he’s desperate to hear what a good boy he’s being.

“That’s it,” Mark repeats, getting a hand on the back of Oscar’s head, pushing him down, groaning when he hits the back of Oscar’s throat. “That’s it, fuck, good boy.”

Oscar pants roughly through his nose, letting Mark hold him down. Mark reckons Oscar would stay there as long as Mark wanted, barely able to breathe, fighting the panic, all so Mark could get off.

The thought has Mark pulling back a bit, fucking roughly into Oscar’s mouth. Oscar takes it all, jaw relaxed, looking up at Mark with half-shut eyes, letting Mark use him like a toy. Like a perfect little sex doll, designed exactly to Mark’s specifications.

Mark comes with a choked moan, filling Oscar’s mouth. When Mark’s finished, he tugs Oscar off his cock and says, “Open.”

Oscar drops his jaw, revealing the mess of Mark’s come sitting on his pretty pink tongue. Mark bites back a curse at the sight, the memory of training Oscar not to swallow, to let Mark’s come sit in his mouth, tasting Mark until Mark gives him permission to swallow. Mark wonders sometimes if Oscar thinks that’s just how blowjobs are. If Oscar’s entire view of sex has been shaped by Mark’s hand.

If Mark could get hard again, he would.

Instead, he slides his foot forward, extending his leg, and nods at the tent of Oscar’s athletic shorts. “Go on.”

Oscar whimpers but he shuffles forward, knees on either side of Mark’s legs, and rubs his clothed cock against the denim of Mark’s jeans.

“That’s it,” Mark says, trying and failing to keep the fondness out of his voice. “That’s it, Oscar, good boy.”

Oscar’s staring up at Mark with a desperate expression, brows pinched as he ruts against Mark’s leg. He looks like a dog in heat, rubbing himself off against Mark, sounds like it, too, with the high, frantic noises he keeps making.

The noises are too loud by half for the crowded motorhome, and Mark smacks a hand against Oscar’s cheek, says, “Open up,” staring at Oscar’s mouth to make his meaning clear.

Oscar’s lips part obediently and Mark slides two fingers into his mouth, dragging them over Oscar’s tongue.

“Suck,” Mark orders.

Oscar does, cheeks hollowing, eyes going dark and desperate as he sucks on Mark’s fingers, ruts against Mark’s leg. When he falls apart, eyes fluttering, gasping around Mark’s fingers, shuddering against Mark’s leg, Mark can’t help but think he looks completely and utterly owned.

“Good boy,” Mark murmurs, keeping his fingers in Oscar’s mouth as Oscar rides out his orgasm. “My best fucking boy.”

Oscar lets out a tiny sob at that, grinding against Mark’s leg.

After, Mark watches Oscar pull off his come-stained shorts and toss them in a hamper. Mark has a delirious thought of asking Oscar to give the shorts to him instead.

But Mark forces himself to say, “Probably shouldn’t do this anymore.”

Oscar doesn’t say anything to that, just lets out a snort and levels Mark with an unimpressed look. Like he already knows they’ll be right back here next weekend.

Mark ignores the flush of shame at Oscar's obvious disbelief, and sees himself out of Oscar's driver room. As Mark walks through the motorhome, trying to avoid getting pulled into any conversations, he promises himself that was the last time.

[queer-ragnelle]

hi I was wondering what your opinion is on how to deal with anachronisms in arthurian legend. so many stories include jousting—which didn't exist in early medieval wales. which historic kingdoms do you chose to include, and from which period, and what if two kingdoms sound really cool and you really want to mention them both but one existed in england circa 500ad and one existed around the norman conquest? thank you!

Hey!

I could've sworn I answered this before but I must've been thinking of a conversation in my writing group. Anyway the short answer is:

Do whatever you want! Anachronism is a feature not a bug! Harness it!

The fact is, all of Arthurian Legend is anachronistic and it's great. We don't even have concrete proof that Arthur, as we understand him, existed. We don't have written sources from the era Arthur supposedly lived in, only artifacts. There are some sporadic texts throughout the early Medieval period which mention Arthur, then the majority of what we understand as part of the Legend began with the work of 12th century authors. When Chrétien de Troyes was writing his stories, he depicted the world he lived in. The same goes for Marie of France and Wirnt von Grafenburg and Sir Thomas Malory and of course the many many Anonymous authors throughout the entire Middle Ages. They wrote about knights as they, personally, perceived them, as if the Saxon conflict took place in the 12th, 13th, 14th, 15th, etc centuries. After that, modern authors did similarly, while keeping the setting Medieval.

I have found that reading the forewords, author's notes, and letters of modern writers tackling this same dilemma has helped me tremendously. I have a deep respect and admiration for John Steinbeck, both his The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights and his other novels captivated me, so I cherish his philosophy regarding the creative process. In letter to his editor, he wrote:

He gets it!! Everyone is writing for their audience. Themselves, too, but with special attention to the current era and what that looks like.

When it comes to the nitty gritty stuff, you'll drive yourself crazy if you focus too much on what's "possible." Now Persia Woolley and I have our creative differences, but in her author's note at the start of book 1, Child of the Northern Spring, she wrote:

This makes a lot of sense to me. She has adopted a similar method as J. R. R. Tolkien did regarding the stories "coming out of Middle Earth." No, a Hobbit may not have called the circular green thing covering the entrance/exit to his home "a door," but that is the name of the object as the reader understands it, so that is what the author or "translator" has decided to call it.

In the end, you'll just have to sit down and make decisions. If you intend to use the names as they were in the era Arthur lived, it'll be more historically accurate, but unless you also provide a map and name key as Edward Frankland did in Arthur The Bear of Britain, you risk confusing your readers who only comprehend these locations in their Modern form. On the other hand, if you use exclusively Modern names, there's a chance it could break the immersion of your readers who perceive the story as Medieval.

I personally like to have of Medieval and Modern terms as well as technologies and cultural aspects. The fact is that we simply don't know enough about history to ever be 100% accurate about anything, so breath easier and offer yourself some allowances. I haven't scanned this book yet, but in the author's note of Phyllis Ann Karr's The Follies of Sir Harald, she wrote:

This is especially funny considering I don't recall any mention of a specific year to which the "historical accuracies" could be compared, but I assume she means the 12th century, when Chrétien de Troyes lived.

It comes down to what sort of story you want to write. Is it going to be Historical Fiction as Edward Frankland, Persia Woolley, and Bernard Cornwell wrote? Or will it be more loosely "Medieval" such as Cherith Baldry, John Steinbeck, and Phyllis Ann Karr wrote?

It really comes down to your own point of interest which kingdoms you include. I generally tried to stay accurate to the 4th-6th century, a huge 2 century window, which gave me enough wiggle room to pick and choose some names that made clear what I was talking about. Most if not all ports and islands retained modern names for ease of comprehension: Beirut, Isle of Wight, Mainland Orkney, and even Drake's Island, which is named for Sir Francis Drake, who wasn't born until the 16th Century, simply because its older name, St. Michael from the 12th Century, was not only too recent to be "accurate" anyway, but may have caused confusion with the giant of Mont St. Michael, which was of more importance to me than the impossible accuracy of landmasses in the Plymouth Sound. I did away with wooden longhouses in favor of stone castles; some I "built" on top of abandoned Roman forts that can still be visited today, others I invented completely from scratch, each brick and syllable original to my work. Many aspects called for improvision, so I did the best I could to make it all appear cohesive, even if historically those names or practices or fashions or whatever weren't actually as synchronized as my writing would have you believe.

This applies to characters too.

I refer to the main character as Gawain, although he claims it derives from the older name Gwalchmai. Other Mabinogion characters retain their Welsh names, such as Owain, Morfydd, and Bedwyr. Yet others take after their French names, such as Kay, Perceval, and Mordred. I even sometimes use both names, such as with Welsh Cynon/French Calogrenant, who was named the former at birth and referred to as such by Morfydd, but then Christened as the latter, which is what the majority of the cast call him. The Vulgate gives Yvain, son of Urien and Morgan le Fay, a bastard half brother called Yvain the Bastard. Because I had already changed the first character's name to Owain, so too has his brother's name been changed to Owain, as well as introducing a moniker of his own to more clearly identify him as a separate character without constantly referring to him as a bastard. They are from Rheged, but Owain the Bastard is known as FitzEden, as he was born in his mother's house near the Eden River. If you look it up, Rheged/Cumbria are the same general area, so I've linked the character to it through a name I made up for him. Owain FitzEden he now is. Did people use the term "Fitz" in the 5th century? No, they didn't have surnames. Was the river called Eden at the time? Probably not. But I did it anyway because I'm not writing in the 5th century, I'm writing now, for you, for me! And because I like the character enough to "bend the rules." It's not like historical Owain mab Urien had a pet lion, anyway!

It doesn't matter if these characters have "era appropriate" names or come from locations which didn't exist until recently. Say Lancelot is from Brittany or Less Britain or Gaul or France or Benwick or the Lake Kingdom, who cares! I've seen them all in one book or movie or another and they all register the same to me: Across the channel. Foreign. A new guy.

I had to do all of this twice, once for Medieval Britain and again for Medieval Persia. So trust me when I say it's time consuming. You're going to take a lot of notes for your own reference that your readers will never see but will help you keep an internal consistency once you decide what kingdoms and names to keep and what to avoid. The key is to stay accurate within your own world. Even if two kingdoms didn't exist at the same time, if you want to include them, do so, but then you have to follow through with that. Your readers will figure it out so long as you avoid giving the same area too many different names or accidentally changing a location's name between scenes. Locals may call their village something the outsiders don't, that's cool for worldbuilding, but every time you do it, you're making a bid on your reader's ability to hold all that information. So do so sparingly and with good reason.

Reading helps a lot. All the books I've mentioned do a good job of this and would be useful tools for understanding what your preferences are and what the vibe of your story will be. I hope that answers your question and gives you a bunch to think about! Take care. :^)

[mattslilies]

✩ criminologist!reader - lets matt distract her from studying ✩

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warnings: sexual content, smut scene, p in v, missionary sex, just overall soft n sweet

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"ugh!" you put your head in your hands, the frustration from studying completely overwhelming your mind.

you were in grad school, going to earn your master's, and while you had a good, steady job, you wanted to further your career, which lead to you being completely and utterly stressed out at 11:56 pm in your boyfriend's bed.

you rarely ever spent a night at your own place, having abandoned your roommate, but still paid rent, so it wasn't unusual for matt to find you doing all of your schoolwork in his room.

you had been sitting at his desk, but you had decided to move to somewhere more comfortable, which in hindsight was a wonderful idea, because your back would've been sore by now from all the hunching over your laptop you'd been doing.

it was just then that matt exited the bathroom, having been in there taking a shower.

often sleeping shirtless, it wasn't uncommon to see matt pop out of the bathroom with just a loose pair of pajama pants or sweatpants.

"baby?" matt noticed your distressed demeanor. "what's wrong?"

you looked up, removing your head from your hands.

"nothing, sorry, i'm just stressed out. i have a massive test tomorrow, and i feel so incredibly unprepared."

matt ran a hand through his hair, a gentle look on his face.

"babe, you've been studying since you got here. it's been six hours. don't you think you should take a break?"

you looked up, shutting your computer because you just couldn't stand to look at the screen anymore.

"I think at this point it doesn't matter if i study any more or not. i've crammed everything i could have possibly crammed."

sitting down on the bed next to you, matt gently pressed a kiss to your cheek, smiling when the corners of your lips lifted, just a tad.

noticing that it seemed to improve your mood, he moved the books and your laptop off of the bed, hovering over top of you to press a kiss to the opposite cheek, a wide grin covering your face.

his smile was contagious, you letting out a soft laugh, pulling his face down to press your lips against his.

he went to pull back to breathe, but your arms wrapped around his neck, only allowing him a millisecond to catch his breath before you entrapped him in a passionate kiss.

when you finally let him pull away, he laughed before speaking.

"given up on studying, then?"

"if you shut up long enough to distract me from it."

"mhm. noted."

it was a good thing that he hadn't moved from hovering above you, as he reconnected his lips to yours.

you didn't often get the chance to really enjoy your time alone with matt, as you were often working, or he was often working, or you were both just exhausted or otherwise busy.

your arms wrapped around his torso, keeping his body held close to you as one of his hands traveled up your shirt.

he only broke the kiss to speak. "can i take this off?"

you quickly nodded, moving to help him remove it, as well as letting your hands ghost down to his pants hemline, your eyes questioning as you slowly tucked your fingers under the waistband.

the both of you adjusting to make the ridding of clothes easiest, moving with practiced comfortability.

you let out a quiet gasp as matt's thumb easily connected with your clit, rubbing slow but firm circles as he laid open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

"so pretty, baby."

you couldn't even muster up a response, the feeling of matt's middle and ring finger slowly entering you, giving you time to adjust.

he felt your nails dig into his bare back as he curled his fingers, easily hitting your sweet spot with no effort at all. keeping his pace steady but not too quick, taking a small bit of pride when he felt your back arch, stomach pushing up against his chest.

he silenced your whine at his fingers leaving you with a deep kiss, running his free hand through your hair.

"you're okay, baby. breathe. you ready?"

an enthusiastic nod and a gasping "yes" was all he needed, aligning himself and pushing in, his thumb returning to your clit, the pleasure helping distract you from the uncomfortable stretch.

giving you plenty of time to adjust, he continued his motions, whispering gentle praise as he cautiously moved his hips, testing the waters.

when he received a low moan in response, he gradually began to pick up the pace, adoring the way your nails dug into his back with even more pressure hen he got the perfect angle, gasping his name right into his ear.

he felt you tighten around him, your noises getting more and more high-pitched, almost whiny.

"you're so gorgeous like this, baby. doing so good for me. cum for me, sweetheart, you deserve it."

it was the gentle praise combined with the consistent pace he kept that quickly pushed you over the edge, feeling him let go shortly after.

he stayed there for a few moments before pulling out, continuing to kiss you through the uncomfortable sensitivity.

carefully cleaning you up, matt helped you into a set of his comfortable clothes, ones that you would definitely steal from him later, before laying down with you, pulling you close.

"you're going to do great on your test tomorrow."

you fell asleep, the test the last thing on your mind as matt pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

[peachhcs]

macklin asking only like a week after they see each other again to hang out and they go to the beach or something, something calm and quiet but something they missed

this was actually so so cutie to write :))) adding in more lore about blaire’s relationship with her brothers, so expect that to be a pretty big plot point and the way blaire is the way she is being so closed off and reserved sometimes

au masterlist

mack didn’t really know what too soon was but a little over a week after they saw one another again, they were going to the beach to hang out on one of mack’s days off. he figured the beach was good because they didn’t have to talk if they didn’t want to, but there were always good conversation starters around as people walked by. either way, blaire agreed to going to the beach with him and the brunette couldn’t be more excited.

he saw her in her car when he got there. she quickly waved when he pulled in next to her and the brunette flushed, returning her cute little grin. they met around the back of their cars after climbing out, “hi,” macklin smiled softly.

“hi. i haven’t been to the beach in so long, so i’m glad you suggested this. it’s such nice day,” blaire kicked her back hatch open to grab her beach bag and beach chair.

“i know, i can’t believe how nice it is for october,” he followed her lead down the beach.

“how was your game last night? i saw you guys finally had a win,” blaire glanced back at him and the boy’s face flushed at the idea of her watching his game.

“it was really good actually. our first win of the season, so it felt really nice.”

blaire found them a spot halfway down the beach where there weren’t a lot of people around. the two set their chairs up next to one another. blaire dug into her bag to find her sunscreen. “you want any?” she asked mack.

“i should probably put some on,” he laughed a bit.

“right, you burn so easily,” a giggle slipped past her lips making mack blush. she remembered so many little details about him that he thought she would’ve definitely forgot after two years.

he watched her (not in a creepy way) apply her sunscreen. when she reached her back the boy flushed thinking she was gonna ask him to help get her upper shoulders and he was right because she did, “i can’t reach the awkward middle. can you?”

mack, who tried not letting his nerves show, stepped forward and gently rubbed it into the girl’s skin. it was kind of strange to him being so relaxed around one another after literally not talking or seeing each other for two years, but mack wasn’t complaining. he was actually glad blaire still felt so comfortable around him despite them literally breaking up (and possibly finding their way back to one another.)

“i think i got it all,” the brunette mumbled, dropping his hands back to his sides.

“thank you. want me to get you?” blaire quickly offered.

now rubbing her sunscreen in for her was one thing, but her doing it for him was completely different because mack didn’t know if he’d be able to even function properly when her hands touched his bare skin.

“sure,” he said nonetheless and pulled his shirt off.

the cream was cool against his skin, he squirmed at first, but relaxed the more blaire eased her fingers into the divots of his back.

“so what else has been new with you besides becoming a big shot hockey player?” her tone had a teasing edge to it like how they used to talk to one another when they were 15. it was a good thing she couldn’t see mack’s embarrassing red blush.

“not a lot, i guess. hockey’s been taking up most of time since august,” the boy shrugged lightly.

“yeah, same with figure skating. we have competitions every weekend. when i’m not doing that i’m studying,” the girl agreed.

“you were really good the other day, by the way. i mean you’ve always been good, but..wow. i was impressed,” mack confessed and he wondered if blaire was blushing because she didn’t respond right away.

“thanks, celly. that means a lot,” blaire finally responded, her voice soft.

she moved her hand away from his back and he took that as her cue that she was done. he spun back around, meeting her soft gaze as she handed him the rest of the sunscreen.

“because we’re here you have to play mermaids with me later,” blaire grinned widely and the hockey player laughed.

“okay, deal. i love mermaids,” they shared a laugh and macklin applied the rest of his sunscreen.

for now, the two just sat out on their chairs tanning and people watching. they’d occasionally point out people walking by, but for the most part, they just caught up. the conversation flowed like they never spent any time apart. macklin talked about his year at boston university and blaire told him about her freshman year at santa clara. it sounded like both had really good years.

that feeling macklin’s had since he first saw blaire last week continued growing as the day went on. his chest tightened and exploded each time her eyes lit up when telling him a funny story from freshman year.

it was pretty obvious he’s never been over her. as much as he tried moving on and finding other girls, something always drew him back to blaire like maybe they’d reconnect one day and reconcile whatever happened between them—and surprise, surprise, he was getting that chance. the young rookie was not letting her go this time.

“how are your siblings?” blaire shifted the subject to him, feeling bad she’s done so much talking about her life and hardly asking him about his.

“they’re good. aiden’s playing hockey at boston still. rj’s playing for a little league team and charlie’s doing tennis still,” macklin explained his siblings’ whereabouts.

“i’m glad to hear they’re all doing good. carter and mason are pretty good, too. carter’s finishing high school and mason’s a senior at university of washington,” blaire hummed and macklin could hear the crack in her voice. he always knew she never had a very close relationship with her brothers because of everything that happened with their mom.

“wow, a senior already?” the rookie chuckled.

“tell me about it. he’s moving to ireland once he graduates. he found a crazy good job and he wants to be abroad for awhile,” blaire continued.

“ireland? that’s crazy. good for him.”

“yeah, it is crazy. carter’s pretty sad about it, but he’s gonna do good,” the dirty blonde hummed, her fingers tapping against the armrest of the chair. even though she didn’t say it, mack knew her better than that. he knew she was also sad about it.

“how are you feeling?” he dared to ask.

there was a pause and the boy quickly worried her overstepped by asking. “okay..i guess,” she was vague which mack expected. he wondered if he should push for more, but he didn’t wanna test his luck considering they just started talking again.

blaire kept talking though, “it kind of feels like he’s leaving because he doesn’t wanna be around us anymore though. even though our mom dying was like seven years ago, it still really affects all of us i think. mostly because none of us really processed it right, but i don’t know. mason’s never been the same since. he like hardly wants anything to do with carter and i. me specifically.”

“shit, i’m sorry. that really sucks,” mack sympathized but blaire shrugged. “it’s fine. i can’t really do anything about it. i just try not to think about it.”

a silence fell around them after that discussion. macklin stared out at the beach, suddenly grateful that at least his siblings were somewhat close even and family was still together even though attention got really divided sometimes.

“hey, i think i wanna get in the water now. you up for mermaids?” blaire stood up, clearly trying to break the tension she just created. mack smiled.

“of course,” he grinned and threw his towel off him.

he watched her slip out of her tank top and shorts, his breath hitching when he saw her in nothing but her bikini. he adverted his gaze when she looked back at him, a blush coating his cheeks. “race you?” she smirked.

macklin didn’t even get a chance to respond before she started racing towards the water. he quickly chased after her, some of the other people on the beach giving them a side eye for being so rambunctious. blaire had a pretty big lead and successfully made it into the water before mack could catch her. she dove right in, the cool water feeling good on her warm skin.

mack dove in after her. they came back up at the same time, shaking their wet hair out. “it feels so nice. i miss coming to the beach,” blaire grinned and dipped her head back.

she pushed back so she was floating on her back like a starfish. mack admired her again. the sun was reflecting off the water and onto her skin perfectly that it looked like she was glowing. she hadn’t even changed a bit—still looking like the same girl he fell in love with when they were fifteen.

they played mermaids for a good half hour which just consisted of them splashing one another and diving under the waves. they hurried back up to the beach with pruny skin, grabbing their towels to dry themselves off.

“so what are the chances you could get me tickets to your next home game?” blaire wondered as she squeezed her hair out. mack’s gaze flicked to hers, a look of surprise on his features.

“you wanna come to one of my games?”

“well, yeah. i wanna see you on the big rink with the big guys,” blaire grinned and mack was pretty sure his heart exploded right then and there.

“i can see what i can do, but chances are high,” the boy smiled back.

“good because i really wanna come. i already have an outfit in mind,” she cheesed and there was no way mack wasn’t getting her back.

the two packed up their things for the day and trudged back up towards the parking lot. mack helped blaire load her chain into her car before the two awkwardly stood in the parking lot wondering when their next hang out would be and what this was going to mean for their friendship moving forward.

“this was really fun, thanks for coming,” blaire said first.

“of course. i had a lot of fun too. we should do it again,” he smiled.

“literally just text me, i’m freeish..well, i’ll just tell you when i’m free, but it’s been really good getting to see you again. i’ve missed this,” the girl admitted shyly.

“me too. i’ve missed seeing you. i will definitely text you and let you know about the next game,” he opened his arms for a hug. blaire quickly reciprocated, stepping into his embrace that smelled like sand, salt water, and remnants of sunscreen.

“get back safe,” mack said when they pulled apart. blaire nodded and they finally got back into their cars where mack couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot.

[minhosimthings]

The feminine urge to have Bang Chan wrap you in his arms tightly and call you baby, darling, honey, and the love of his life.

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Sometimes I forget how young Quackity is, but every once in a while it just kinda hits me and I'm like oh. He's still just a kid.

[waywardsalt]

tag rant but man i fuckin hate the new direction for loz

[bunny-jpeg]

the redbull princess

max verstappen

tags: smut/pwp, driver!reader, mad!max, rough sex, chokehold, jealousy, jealous!max, slutty!reader, threats of baby trapping, dirty talk/degrading language, bruises & bites

everyone adored you. the angel, the dove, the princess of redbull. beloved by fans, drivers, even the british press had a soft spot for the princess. you even made the likes of toto wolff feel soft with your sweet smiles and positive demeanor.

max had the (mis)fortune of being your teammate, after checo's retirement you were scooped from alpine and given the sought after seat. you were magnetic, charming in ways that made you a darling, even when you failed to win a race. but, you were a winner. a princess in her chariot passing all the others on the track.

max just simply thought that a princess deserved her prince.

"maxie." you pouted as you leaned up against your teammate, "whatcha doing?"

max looked up at you. he was currently on his knees as he tried to set up his sim-racing for the weekend. he asked, "how did you get into my room?"

you shrugged, "don't think about it too hard. i wanted to see what you were doing! you didn't to lunch, so i got... worried." you gave a small laugh. there was a look in your eyes. you weren't here to check on max. not when you were dressed in a tank top, shorts with that thin gold chain around your neck. you played with it between your fingers, "you look like you need a break."

there it was. max chuckled as got up from being almost under the desk. when he stood up, he eventually had to look a little down at you. red bull's princess wasn't the angelic virgin that many assumed. you had a dark streak to you.

you had most of the paddock wrapped around your fingers. charles, george, alex, even horner. and especially max. a simple look got you everything you wanted. a laugh had many men a little flustered. so of course max couldn't help but wrap his arms around your middle and pulling you closer to him. he looked at you, his eyes were so blue.

you licked your lips, "what do you say, maxie... let's have a little fun before our weekend begins.' then leaned in to give his a kiss square on the lips.

the kiss didn't last long before max pulled away and held you by the back of the head. he looked at you, something jealous crossed his expression, "i know what you're trying to do. you think that you can get out of this with a few thrusts of your hips...it's cute honestly, thinking that you're so much smarter than you actually are."

you swallowed and realized that you were playing with fire at that moment. you felt your pulse quicken when he put an hand around your throat. not enough to choke you, but enough to get you looking at him. he smiled and you wondered what he had planned.

you really shouldn't have flirted with max's secondary rival. you shouldn't have been smiles and giggles with lando days prior. you whispered things into the brit's ear and giggled when you pulled away. you didn't get too far, he pulled you in and in a quiet privacy, he kissed you on the lips.

max could've killed lando over that.

you pouted a little more, "i said it was sorry, max. you can't be mad at me forever!" and max crowded your space a little more and looked down at you with something in his eyes that spelled danger.

he said, "no, i can't. but i can try." he took you by the hair, "so i guess you'll just have to make it up to me." and soon you ended face first on the bed. red bull's prince was often possessive of it's princess as he got into bed with you and pulled down your shorts. he pressed his weight up against you to keep you pinned down to the bed.

you moaned, "fuck, max. i'm sorry! i mean it! i mean it!" you tried to squirm out from under him as he got your shorts off of you and near ripped your panties off of you.

max frowned as he got his shirt off over his head, "sorry isn't going to cut it. you are such a whore, you like having all these drivers' eyes on you. i bet you've fucked top to bottom the grid." he raked his nails down your sides and watched you try to get out from his touch.

you whimpered, "no! no!" you knew that was a lie. if max wasn't going to fuck you tonight. you had a few other keycards in your back pocket. you were that charming. max was just lucky to be your first pick.

and you knew that he wouldn't give up the chance to sink into your poor cunt tonight. give you something to scream about. he stripped you of your clothes, tossed them off the bed before he was fully nude as well. he bit into your shoulder roughly as he sank his teeth in your shoulder and pressed himself further against you.

the indents of his teeth promised a bruise come morning. and he held onto you tightly as he moved at a quick pace. his voice in your ear with his chest against your back. there was no escaping max verstappen, "you know you can be a good girl, right? i know it's in you. the press think you're so perfect princess and you could be that if you just stop being a goddamn whore. i see right through the act, i know after a race you want this cunt stuffed. you want to squirm on my cock, you want it to hurt. because you are a glutton for pain. a disgrace to all women in the sport. you set them back by being a stupid, cock hungry slut." his words burned in your brain and you felt the heat pool in your gut.

you gasped into the covers and said, "please, max. holy shit. ah!" you knew that max was the best fuck in the grid. at least to you. most gave you the princess treatment or were worried about being too rough. you found them boring unless you were in a bit of a pinch.

but not max. the current world champion fucked you until there were sparks in your vision. he left your pussy soaked and your brain empty. he made all his degrading words ring true, you were nothing more than a soft cunt for max to fuck. that was why you always came back to him. he had that effect on you.

he was your favourite. not that you'd let him know that. as he thrusted up into you and left you feeling the pleasurable heat in the back of your head and down your shoulders. it was the buzz that left you shaking. it was the heated want that left you panting into the covers.

you were the princess, but max knew better than that. the smiles were all part of your little performance. if you had it your way, you'd be doing interviews with runny mascara and cock down your throat. but, you were still very capable on the track. one of the best they ever had, you just enjoyed having your world flipped inside out and upside down due to orgasm after orgasm. that max was more than happy to provide.

"please, max. fuck, please max!" you gasped loudly. your back arched, but you didn't get too far. you were rather stuck under max as he fucked up into you. the headboard rocked against the white wall of the room.

"you don't deserve the princess treatment they give you. the press give you. you don't deserve any of it! you deserve whatever you can get it. you let men much more powerful than you do terrible things to you." he wrapped his arm around your throat and continued to fuck up into you. the bed moved every more as he jackhammered his cock inside of you. your body bounced with each of his movements.

you felt stupid as he fucked you. your tongue hung out of your mouth a little as his cock hit against all against the right areas. he knew exactly how to make you crazy. how to make you feel so much dumber with strokes of his hips.

"but you're mine." he said, "in the end your mine. i let you play your silly little games, be the charming little flirt i know you are." he tensed up his arm around your throat as he continued to slam his cock in and out of you. the pace was brutal and the movements made your heartbeat hammer in your ears. he could feel every inch of you as he fucked you with a fierce fever.

you tried to say something, but the words died in your throat.

he chuckled and kissed the side of your face. then he pushed your face further into the covers. he still held you in a choke-hold as he fucked you roughly. he said quietly as the bed squeaked under you, "i'm not stupid, princess. you think i'm some idiot, but i'm not... maybe tonight's the night we end these little games. what do you say? maybe tonight you and i should make a baby... end these games and finally make you all mine."

you whined and tried to get out of his grasp. but he was simply much stronger. he chuckled and kissed you on the face once more as he quickened his pace. it left you feeling on cloud nine as he really worked himself inside of you.

the princess was at his mercy. such a shame.

with a few more heavy thrusts, you came around his cock. your noise was a high pitched as you clawed at the covers. you panted heavily and felt so pathetic under him. and he loved the sight of you, you looked beautiful. angelic. he had you all to himself.

"see, you can be a good! make such a good mother to my children. that'll fix you right now." he buried his face in your neck as he continued to fuck you roughly. he didn't last much longer, a few more heavy thrusts of his hips and he was finishing inside of you with a hot groan in your ear.

he kept his arm around you, a hold to keep you still while he fucked his spent cock inside of you to push all the cum further inside of you. the over stimulation let you feeling dizzy. and when max finally let go of you, you laid out on the bed like a dumb little toy.

he slapped your ass before he panted heavily beside you. you curled up next to him, there was a reason why he was your favourite fuck of them all. he took you by the jaw and you looked back at him.

"going to behave now?"

"yes, maxie."

-

max heard your giggled nearby and his head whipped around.

you looked at max out of the corner of your eye before you went back to kissing lando deeply. you smiled against the kiss before you said to lando, "why don't you come visit me tonight, we could have some before the weekend?' and winked at the other driver.

max clenched his fists and exhaled deeply. like hell lando was going to your room tonight. because by the time he got there, max would already be keeping those greedy holes of your filled.

he knew the last thing you wanted was the princess treatment. <3

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

When They Call You Clingy So You Distance Yourself| Maknaeline Pt1

Warnings: Cursing, Mentioning of Blood

Pt2 Pt3 Hyungline  (xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

JISUNG|

There was nothing you loved more than Jisung's singing. Well maybe Jisung himself.

But from the moment you heard him sing you knew that it was game over for you. You didn't know what you had done to have God bless you with the off chance of running into the chubby cheeked boy on the street during a last-minute girls' trip - the result of a horrible breakup.

And you sure as hell didn't know what you did to have him become smitten with you at first glance, softly asking for your number - even though it was obvious you weren't going to stay long.

But after a week of non-stop texting and meme exchanging it was obvious the feeling was mutual so long distance was something you were willing to try.

And it was the best decision you had ever made. Two and a half years strong.

The last year you had spent in South Korea had been filled with wonderful memories too, and you quickly found yourself getting used to living life with Hanji.

"Sungie!" You burst into the studio and Jisung jumped in fear. "I brought you something!"

He turned around with wide eyes and his mouth opened slightly. "What is it?"

You handed him a couple of his favorite snacks and an energy drink. "I figured you were tired since the guys told me you didn't come back to the dorms..." You wrapped your arms around him and peeked over his shoulder at to what he was scribbling in his favorite, beat up notebook. "What are you writ-"

Jisung quickly closed his notebook. "N-nothing."

"Lemme see!" You giggle reaching for it again. He quickly pulled away. "Jiji you always show me your songs!" You said, not noticing his growing irritation.

"Y/N stop I don't want you to see this one." He said grabbing his notebook.

"Why not?" You whined, trying one last time to grab it. "Thats are thing you show me your songs even before you show the guys!"

Your hands folded around the broken metal spine and part of the papers themselves and Jisung pulled away with an extreme amount of force.

The small part of metal that had no home in the small holes of the spiral bound book hooked its way into your hand. And with Han's forceful pull, ripped open your skin as well in a thing but deep wound.

You hissed in pain slightly from a small paper cut on your middle finger, which was ironic considering the much deeper gash in the palm of your dominant hand.

"Dammit Y/N!" He snapped looking at his ripped pages.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to..." You said quietly.

"Well you did!" He mumbled turning his back on you looking for tape on Chan's cluttered desk.

"I'm sorry."

"Its whatever." Han mumbled, his back still turned to you.

You hold your wrist, you hand bloodied. "Jiji-"

"Y/N I want to be alone right now." His voice was firm, and you could tell he was trying to hide his growing anger. You wanted to respect his wishes but your injury seemed to throb even more by the second, even more blood spilling out.

You nodded but opened your mouth to speak again trying to ask him for help with your gushing hand. "I know but-"

"FUCK Y/N!" Jisung screamed slamming his hands on the table. "Just leave me alone! Stop being clingy for two seconds and give a moment to breathe! You just ruined something extremely important just because you don't know when to stop messing around."

You bit your cheek, trying to stop the tears that were pricking your eyes from falling.

You knew that Jisung was only calling you clingy to to get you to go away. To hurt you enough so you'd want to leave. He had done it before.

And even though it was a bad habit, it was proving really hard for him to break.

You quickly made your way out after watching your boyfriend for a few more seconds as he started tearing small pieces of tape from the dispenser.

And even still you couldn't help but have your heart flutter at his concentration as he bent down to carefully place pieces of tape on the ripped pages.

Dammit. Why do I always have to go and ruin things... You think to yourself as you head out to your car. Grabbing an extreme amount of paper towels to soak up the red liquid streaming from your hand.

You go to wipe your tears, but only smearing blood on your face causing even more tears of frustration, sadness and disappointment to fall from your eyes.

Fuck. I'm gonna need stitches.

You drove to the hospital, continously blinking to keep your vision clear through your emotional state. You were so focused on the road and replaying the whole situation that had just occurred in your head you didn't realize your phone was ringing.

Once you computed the ringning you frantically reached for your phone, so you could talk to Jisung - apologize, just talk things through - not remembering the state your hand was in and feeling it rip open even more, causing your phone to slip and a strangled cry of pain escape your lips.

Incoming call from - Jiji *heart emoji. angel emoji. squirrel emoji.*

Your phone had fallen in between the crack of your seat and you tried grabbing it while keeping your eyes on the road.

Incoming call from - Jiji *heart emoji. angel emoji. squirrel emoji.*

"Holy shit can't I-"

You heard the blaring of a horn and by instinct you turned opposite of the direction you heard it coming from, only to have the noise covered by metal crunching on metal.

Missed Call from - Jiji *heart emoji. angel emoji. squirrel emoji.*

Beeeep.

You have one new voicemail.

"Jagiya - I saw blood on my paper. Were you bleeding? Look, I know you probably don't feel like talking to me and that's valid. I say a lot of mean things to get space- and I know how wrong that is of me. Just...call me back okay? Let me know you're okay...there was...a lot...of blood. A lot...I'm worried. You can be mad but please just let me know, okay? I feel bad. I had a reason for hiding the lyrics; but it just seems stupid now. Because you got hurt because of me...I know I'm ranting but I'm worried sick. So please just...text or something. At least tell me you have the cut bandaged or something. Because baby if I would have realized sooner you were bleeding that much...God I feel like an idiot. Just call me, okay? Or you know what text if you don't feel like talking...just let me know your safe...the guys are worried too...you left a trail...God I feel so bad. Maybe I'm exaggerating but it looked like so much...I love you. Okay? I love you."

Click.

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

FELIX|

You heard your front door unlock and looked behind you to see Felix walking in.

He slipped his shoes off and immediately headed towards the game room you had set up from an old study when you and him had frist started dating.

Your desk was still in the corner, but you had set up all of Felix's extra gaming things throughout the rest of the room. Stringing up LED lights and making it as aesthetically pleasing as possible since had taken a liking to filming some of his lives in that room once your relationship had gone public.

You got up from the couch and followed Felix into the room. He didn't seem like his usual cheery self. And his determined steps into the game room differed from his usually excited steps and leaned more towards annoyance.

"Lix is everything okay?" You asked, coming to stand by him. You placing the energy drink you were sipping on by him as you reach out to give him an embrace.

"I'm fine Y/N." He mumbled, trying to shake his PC awake. Then trying to turn on the LED's and lamp next to him. When they didn't turn on he tried plugging his phone in to the extra charger that he always kept plugged in at your home, groaning when that too didn't work.

"You seem upset love, you know I'm here for you."

"I said I'm fine." He snapped as he got up and started looking at the different wires connecting the lights and other various things in the room. "This damned thing."

You got up and looked at the wires yourself. "Let me see-"

"I got it, Y/N." Felix said sternly as he moved his makeshift desk back carefully from the wall enough to squeeze back there and look at the outlets.

At the same time you notice the extension cord didn't look like it was fully plugged in. You let out a small noise of acknowledgement and crawled under table to plug it in.

It was too bad Felix didn't notice your other hand resting on the ground for balance, as he stepped on it while trying to get a better look.

You yelped in pure shock, your head coming up to bang against the underside of the table- and Felix jumping back in surprise - and reaching out to balance himself but instead knocking over your drink onto his extremely expensive keyboard.

You had never heard so many profanities string from his mouth at once.

"I'll go get towels-"

"Are you fucking slow Y/N?!" His voice was harsh. Nothing like the gentle tone he always used with you. "Maybe you are. Would explain why you'd think a fucking corrosive drink could be easily cleaned from a keyboard. GOD." He groaned slamming his fist down.

"Felix I didn't-"

"I didn't know! I didn't know!" Felix mocked. "Well no shit you didn't know. Who in their right mind puts an open drink next to a set up that probably costs more than your monthly wages."

You felt your chin start to tremble and you tried to take a breath.

"You know maybe if you weren't clinging to me 24/7 this wouldn't have happened. Now thanks to you I have to find replacements." He grumbled pushing past you.

You turned to follow him like a lost puppy.

"Dammit did you not get the hint?!" He shouted turning back towards you. "You really are slow holy shit." He spat out.

You watched him make his way towards the door grabbing his keys and just walking out in his house slippers that's how angry you had made him.

"I can fix it..." You whimpered, trying to wipe your tears as you collected an arrangement of towels both dry and cloth. "I-I can f-fix itttt..." You whine as you hold the towels with shaky hands trying to mop up the mess.

"I-I'll fix-fix it-" You keep repeating to yourself until your vision is so blurred by tears the they flow over into the crevices of his precious keyboard. You try to soak up the mousepad he had customized, and the fabric of his chair.

"I'll...fix it..."

Soon enough those three words didn't sound like words you had said them so much.

Your hands were red and raw from scrubbing down the table so much. And you could barely even breath through your desperate cries.

His words kept ringing in your head.

He sounded so angry. You had never seen him like that. And it scared you. It scared you so much.

So much it had you considering if his accessories were the only thing he'd ever consider replacing.

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

SEUNGMIN|

You sat in the dressing room, waiting for Seungmin to come back stage.

Tonight was the kickoff concert for their mini tour. Just ten destinations. A mix of normal venues, mini music festivals and things of such.

Ever since you and Seungmin had become a thing a little over three years ago, you had made it your mission to attend all of his concerts. While at first you flew under the radar of attendance- you soon became the "Where's Waldo" of sort when your relationship became public- stays doing everything they could to spot you in the crowd.

Tonight was no different other than the fact that everything went abswolutely horrible.

Malfunction after malfunction. Although most of the Stays were too preoccupied with the the visuals and the improv to really care about the mistakes on the crew end of thing.

And you had come backstage to tell Seungmin the same thing that all the Stays in the crowd had been thinking.

You did great.

Most of the time on Seungmin's shorter trips you stayed out of his way. Calling him and just infroming him of the different places you were visting in the cities, and asking if he would like any specific souvenirs. Thats the way you balanced out most. Thats the way things had worked and you figured they would continue to work...

Until Seungmin came in,.

"What are you doing here?" He asked throwing his jacket on the closest chair, and immediately going to strip off his shirt.

"I just wanted to come in and see how you were doing." You said quietly- gently.

"Appreciate it but you're not exactly helping my situation. I come into the dressing room for a breather - some space but your in here." He sighs grabbing a towel and trying to soak up his sweat.

You frown and look at him, his puppy eyes clouded with frustration.

"I just wanted to tell you that you did good...none of that was your fault. I just wanted to make sure you were aware of that..."

"Y/N. You're getting overwhelming. Seeing you home, at the studio in the audience- I can't catch a fucking break. Its like you're acting as my fucking shadow- clinging on to me wherever I go. Normal couples don't do that." He said as he stepped behind a portable stall to change completley.

You opened your mouth but closed it quickly, not wanting to start something you knew Seungmin was more than likely to finish.

"Like everytime I see you it's such a burden really..." Seungmin came out drying his sweaty hair with a smaller towel. "Like don't you ever get sick of seeing me all the time?" He gives out a smile and a laugh, but his eyes don't crinkle the same way they usually do.

You bite your cheek. "No...why would I get sick of seeing you? Why...would I ever see you as a burden?"

Your boyfriend looks at you in the reflection of the mirror, and turns to see the pain in your eyes.

"I came back here to comfort you Min...but instead you want to find ways to tear me down? So effortlessly at that?" Your voice is growing in pitch by the second but getting quieter and quiter. "I've spent three years supporting you in everything that you do. I've spent money to surprise you on trips Seungmin! When you know I don't have the money to do that!" Seungmin flinches when you use his full name. It had been so long since he heard anything other than a nickname fall from your lips when talking to him. "I always put you before me...am I really that much of a burden to you Seungmin?"

The quiet boy just looked at you.

"Dammit say something!" You exclaimed.

"I...don't know what you want me to say Y/N...I appreciate you coming to my concerts. I do...but don't you have another life outside of me?"

You clenched your jaw. "You're geniunely asking me that? When we've spent over three years together?"

Seungmin sighed. "You know I don't mean it like that..."

"Then how do you mean it?"

He fidgeted and opened his mouth to say something but bit his tongue and thought for a second more.

"You know what...maybe you're right Seungmin." You grab your purse and coat.

"Where are you going?" He asked, a bit of panic creeping into his voice.

"Away." You mumbled. "You're right Seungmin. I don't have a life outside of you. And maybe that's why this doesn't feel so right anymore."

You reach for the door and you feel both his hands wrap around your arm.

"B-Baby...y...you don't mean that...you don't." He pleaded softly. You watched as his brown eyes searched your face for any bluff. "We're right...we feel right-we we fit right..." His voice took a little pitiful whine to it and you felt as if you just kicked a puppy.

Right now he looked like a kicked puppy.

You had to turn your face away so he couldn't see your walls built in anger break.

Because no matter how petty you could be you wouldn't do that to Seungmin.

Would you?

"Seungmin...you think you can just go and say those things...the things that effortlessly hurt me?" You took a deep breath. "It's like you put no thought into how you crack my heart."

Not break. He couldn't break it...

"Jagiya...please...please stay?"

Couldn't my ass. He damn well could. And two could play that game.

"I'm leaving." You said pulling your arm from him roughly, knowing that you ripping yourself from the embrace you relied on so much would hurt him the most.

"You don't mean it...we're both frustrated...Jagiya..."

You decided not to look back as you walked out the door.

Knowing just how quickly your resolve you fold if you saw just how easily Seungmin's heartbreak was painted on to him.

You knew you'd fold the second you saw how his heartbreak mirrored your own.

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

JEONGIN|

Please leave a message after the tone.

You groan as you guide yourself to the counter, holding onto it trying to find unwavering land in the battle of dizziness you were fighting.

Please leave a message after the tone.

"Pick up..." You groan as you try to hit the call button for Jeongin, your vision was clouded and you mistakenly pressed your second most recent call.

"Y/N? What's up?"

"Ji...Jisung...grab Jeongin for me?"

"Y/N...he's a little...irked right now. We were poking fun at him when you called but I think we went a bit too far... I don't think its the best idea..."

"Jisung, please?"

You heard Jisung shuffle around, and you heard the crunching of leaves as he made his way towards the sound of loud laughter.

"Innie! Your girlfriend is one the phone!"

You think you're hearing things when you hear Jeongin's distinct groan- but you don't have time to think about it before you hear all of his elder group members "ooh" and "ahh" at the youngest member.

"What is it?" The annoyance in his voice is evident.

"Innie...I don't feel good." You say steadying yourself on the counter. Your hands are slick with sweat, just like the rest of your body.

"Y/N I don't know what you want me to do about that." He says, covering the mic to yell something at the members- who are making kissing noises and mimicking romantic music in the background. "I'm hours away and I'm not gonna be back until Monday."

You whimper as you lower yourself onto the ground, your head swimming with dizziness - all while feeling as if someone tigthened a rubber band around your noggin.

"Stop being so dramatic and take medicine if its that bad." He finally says. "It's embarassing to have you blow up my phone while I'm on a guys trip - and even more embarassing for you to blow up my friends phones as well."

Something about the way he says my makes your heart sting slightly. As if you hadn't cultivated friendships with the guys as well.

"Maybe if you had answere-"

"Just stop Y/N! I'm not a baby! And having you cling to me...its making the guys think that. I mean don't you see how annoying that looks? Childish? Being clingy is downright childish."

You can't really focus on Jeongin's angry rant because you vision is getting blurry, and your head is throbbing so horribly, and your body is getting so clammy you can't focus on anything other than how shitty you feel.

"I think I'm gonna pass out-"

You hear Jeongin's exasperated huff. "You always have to make it about you don't you?! I'm trying to tell you how I want you sto stop blowing up my phone so damn much while I'm with the guys and you're here being dramtic. We're adults Y/N. We don't have to rely on each other for everything! So just lay down if your feeling that bad. I don;t cal you for everything."

You groan into the phone. "Jeongin-"

"Holy shit Y/N, can't you take a hint? For fuck's sake...I'll talk to you Monday." He said before hanging up, his tone exuding the aura of a typical "too-cool-for-anyone" teen boy or more specifically a hormonal attitude filled PMS monster.

You take a second to breathe, the nausea that was hitting you in waves only coming in faster and stronger.

You scrolled through your contacts and just clicked on one. Your fingers were trembling and you could barely press the speaker button before dropping your phone to the ground in a moment of weakness.

I'm gonna pass out...just...a minute longer...wait until someone answers...

You decided to not delay the inevitable and just lay on the cool ground that you'd end up on anyway. Might as well save yourself from an uneccassary bump.

"Hello?"

"I think I'm gonna faint..." You groan.

"The fuck? Y/N? What? I'm on my way I'm at the studio I'll be there in a minute..."

You give a small hmm and lean more into the floor if that was possible.

It brought you back to when you were a child, and would decide to randomly nap on the ground.

Maybe I am childish...

Maybe he was right...

You're mine clears as your mind goes static then black as if a switch turned on.

"Y/N? Y/N!"

When you open your eyes your blinded by lights and instantly annoyed by the beeping of mulitple machines.

"Y/N-ie!" You see the smiling faces of Chaeryeong and Yeji. Then Ryujin, Lia and Yuna's faces pop around you too.

"The doctor said your blood sugar was extremley low." Yeji said grabbing your hands. "He said that they're gonna run a few more tests on you too see what the cause of it was."

"We were worried sick when you called Chaer so we all came!" Lia exclaims.

You smiled gratefully, your head still throbbing slightly.

"Thank you." You said quietly.

"I called Changbin." Chaeryeong commented. "I thought it was best that one of the Kids relay the message to your boyfriend."

You pop up in bed, the sudden movement dizzying you. "What? What did you say?"

"I just told him we found you past out in your kitchen. At that point we didn't know what caused it...so all I said is we were bringing you to the hospital."

"Your boyfriend has been calling your phone for the last hour and a half." Yuna says nodding towards your phone.

26 missed calls.

"Hah...so he calls me clingy and childish then proceeds to call my phone 26 times?" You groan as you throw yourself back onto the hospital bed.

The ITZY girls look at you with sympathetic looks, Yeji squeezing your hands gently as well.

"Fuck it." You mumble, a fit of anger bubbling inside you as you swiped away all the call notifications, an insurge of pettiness filling you. "Clingy and childish my ass. I'll show him what that actually looks like."

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang

[kimstills]

blame

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader, platonic!spencer x reader summary: in which your close relationship with spencer makes aaron wonder if there’s something going on between you and the young doctor. content warnings: mentions of kidnappings, torture, child abuse (typical cm case stuff), insecurities, age gap, and haley, jealous!aaron (hb is DOWN BAD), he kind of acts like a prick in the middle of this? but it’s v brief and he apologizes!! hints of autistic!spence, angst if u squint but mostly fluff, miscommunication, technically idiots to lovers but hotch is the only idiot <3 word count: 5.1k (this was NOT supposed to be this long omfg) a/n: this was inspired by a dream i had where i was besties w reid and everyone thought i liked him until i had to blurt out that i was into older men… enjoy!!

If looks could kill, Aaron was sure Spencer would be dead by now.

It was contradicting, in a way. How he thought of Spencer like the son that had come before his actual son, yet he was staring at him like a predator stalking their next victim.

You were standing next to the young genius, shoulders brushing against shoulders as you went back and forth with the geographical profile the two of you had been assigned to work on, something Aaron was really regretting having done.

The team had been called in to assist with a case in Portland, Maine, involving an abductor-type unsub. One who would stalk his victims and learn their routines before kidnapping them, torturing them for two to three days before disposing of them in forests and parks all throughout the city.

You and Reid were both tied when it came to your skills with geographical profiles, one of the many things that had blossomed your relationship with him. But with the way the unsub was beginning to rapidly devolve, the rush to develop said profile and figure out his next move had forced Aaron to assign you two together.

Deep down he knew that it had to be done for the sake of the case and all its victims, and that it was the best decision to make as leader of the team.

But, still, he couldn’t help the jealousy that was bubbling from within him, his gaze completely focused on the way you giggled and smiled, endeared, while watching Reid struggle to tape the map one of the sheriffs had supplied you with to a spare whiteboard in the office the team had been given to work in.

He hadn’t even noticed when JJ walked up to him, the blonde hair and white button up she was wearing apparently not enough to break him out of his trance until—

“Hotch.”

Aaron snaps his head towards her, blinking in bewilderment, “Sorry, what?”

JJ stares at him with a look of both concern and amusement, a smile tugging at her lips. Her hand is raised expectantly and her eyes flicker towards the case file in his hands.

He looks down at it, brows furrowing when he finally sees the death grip he was holding the paper with. It’s slightly crumpled from where his thumb had rested, the pages wrinkled.

He clears his throat, trying to soothe out the file as subtly and smoothly as he can before handing it to JJ, “Sorry,” he grumbled.

The blonde chuckles softly, taking it from him and doing her own best to bend it back into place. She begins to flip through the pages, though she can’t help but follow Aaron’s gaze back to you and Spencer.

You had finally gotten up to help him in taping up the map, taking it from his hands and effortlessly doing so before turning around and giving him a cheeky smile.

JJ turns her attention back to him, biting back a smug smile when she sees her boss practically glaring daggers at the two of you, “I assume you’re trying to figure them out, too?” She asks, looking down at the file.

Aaron blinks, this time slowly turning his head to gaze down at her, “What do you mean?”

Her eyes widen at the realization of what she just had insinuated about her co-workers to her boss. She shrugs coolly, trying to play it off, “Nothing. They’re just really close is all,” she gives him a tight-lipped smile before quickly walking away, leaving Aaron more confused than before.

He feels his fingers twitch by his side when he glances back at you. It’s cheesy, the way his heart skips a beat when you tuck the strands of hair that had made itself to the front of your face behind your ears. His hardened features soften at the sight of you laughing at something Reid’s said, something he’s sure only the two of you understand.

Aaron’s not sure what it was that had gotten him to stick out for you like a sore thumb or how his sudden infatuation with watching and admiring you and your every move had happened.

All he could recall was that it happened, and it had happened too fast for him to begin realizing how you had begun to overcome his every thought and consume him with feelings he hadn’t felt since Haley’s passing and his marriage with her.

A part of him had told himself that he wasn’t to blame; not only were you one of the best agents he had ever worked with, but you were the loveliest and wholesome of humans.

You had your rough days, everyone on the team understandably did, yet you never failed to meet people with kindness and patience, something else that Aaron wasn’t used to receiving when it came to his co-workers. And, as much as they loved him and he loved them, even his team members were prone to calling him ‘cold’ and ‘stoic.’

While you, on the other hand would always meet him with fond, bright smiles and greetings, never once avoiding his gaze or running the opposite direction as to ‘not get in his way’ like others did.

You were like the sun peeking out of the clouds after a dark and tremendous storm, shining on him with such warmth.

So, in the end, he couldn’t really help himself from falling for you. Or for even feeling childishly jealous when you were shining your warmth onto others.

Especially with someone who apparently the rest of the team suspected you of dating.

Perhaps he couldn’t blame Spencer for falling for you, too.

Everyone meant well, and Aaron knew he was also victim to cutting him off when the boy rambled, but you were the only one who truly listened to him. Who would interrupt him gently during urgent matters and let him continue after they were solved, and never made him feel inadequate.

He doesn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before now that JJ has mentioned it—too blindsided with his own feelings for you—but he begins to wonder, though, if there actually is something more between the two of you.

He likes to think that he begins playing close attention to your mannerism, body language, and shared interactions the two of you have throughout the entirety of the case because he has to. Now that it's been brought to his attention that two of his subordinates might be in a relationship, it's his job as Unit Chief to keep tabs.

So, he watches, when the whole team is sitting in the rectangular table, debriefing with one another and sharing ideas all whilst munching on take out food.

"So, we obviously know that the significance of the victim's being dumped in nature spots is important to this guy," Morgan explains, motioning his hand around the air as he goes on, "but could it be that he kidnaps and keeps his victims in similar spots, just somewhere more secluded?"

"Spencer and I were thinking that that could be a possibility," you say, stealing a fry off of said boy's take out plate, "Maybe he doesn't live in these same places, but he could be taking them to a hidden spot somewhere in the forests, something possibly hidden by debris, wood, or anything makeshift."

Spencer doesn't even blink as you continue to steal more neglected food off his plate, continuing to sort through pictures. Aaron could see Emily and Derek give each other a knowing, smug look through his peripheral.

He manages to swallow, the tip of his middle finger and thumb tapping against one another, "What else have you two come up with regarding the geographical profile?"

"Well, besides where he himself could be living or where he could keep his victims, the whole profile is scattered," Spencer answers this time, sliding the plate towards you as he sets down a picture of each victim with the name of the forests and parks they were found in written underneath. "The first two victims were dumped in a forest, the third in a park, and the fourth in another forest.."

As he goes on, you take advantage to continue eating, the way in which he had just let you eat off his plate despite his known phobia of germs not going unnoticed by everyone else.

If that one wasn't a sign, Aaron didn't know what else was.

*

With the geographical profile being all over the place, Aaron decides on pulling you away from the task the following day, instead pairing you up with him to check out the crime scene of the most recent victim.

He doesn't know if it's the leader in him doing so, pulling you away from your original project he had tasked you to do, or if it's just the mix of both curiosity and jealousy that continues to gnaw at him.

He was a grown man, for Christ's sake. Yet he couldn't help the way his heart churned when you hold his hand for a second longer than necessary after he helps you climb up the small, but frosty hill.

"Thanks," you mumble sweetly, your shoulders brushing against him as you walk past him and towards the await detectives.

Aaron trails behind you, trying to calm his beating heart as the lead detective on the case walks you both towards the victim's body.

"This is the second victim that's been dumped in a park," you start, squatting down to inspect the cuts and bruises on the woman's face. "These sites are obviously more public than the forests, yet he still leaves them in more secluded spots, away from general view."

"Well, we ruled out that he can't feel any remorse or sympathy," Aaron adds while he looks around the now closed off park. "He holds and tortures these women for hours."

You stand from your spot, placing your hands on your hips as you look around the park. Aaron recognizes the face you make as your 'thinking' face, your eyes squinted and your nose scrunched.

"What is it?" He asks, trying to meet your wandering gaze.

“Reid and I were talking about the possibility of the unsub dumping his victims in the same places where half—if not all—of his childhood abuse took place,” you miss the way his breath hitches in his throat and the way his shoulders sag slightly, continuing. “We know that he has to be a local here from Portland—probably raised around these same areas—and that he was abused severely as a child.”

Aaron tries his best to nod as nonchalantly as possible, “Something from his childhood obviously triggered him for him to start abducting and inflict the same pain on the victims before leaving them in similar places where he could have been left as a child after being abused.”

“Exactly,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “We were theorizing around that idea for a while but weren’t too sure if the abuse could play such a huge part on his M.O.”

At the mentions of you and Reid again, Aaron couldn’t help but feel like an idiot.

Not only was he a grown man, but he was also your boss. And you were his subordinate, someone he should never had feelings for in the first place and someone he shouldn’t be feeling possessive over as if anything was to truly ever happen between you.

At first he had thought that Spencer wasn’t to blame for having the same feelings Aaron so strongly harbored for you. But, maybe, you weren’t the one to blame.

For falling for someone more your age, for someone you worked and paired so well with, for someone nobody else made such a grand effort to understand the way you did.

Not only was he a grown man and your boss, but he was also double your age, a single father, and a widower.

Swallowing harshly, he pulls out his phone from his suit’s inner pocket, “I’ll have Garcia check out any reported speculations of childhood abuse in these areas and see if she can narrow down our list,” He turns, using his height to his advantage and speeding off, leaving you completely behind.

You frown, rushing to catch up to him. You halt when you come to the same frosty hill he had helped you climb up and open your mouth to call for his help, but close it back up when you see he’s already made it back to the SUV and is climbing inside.

When you finally climb inside the car after successfully managing to climb down the hill without busting your ass, he’s talking with Garcia.

You wait patiently as he drives, the phone on speaker as he gives out quick orders that your friend rushes to catch up with. You try to take the chance of speaking up once he hangs up with her, but he’s quickly dialing for Rossi afterwards.

You’re quiet throughout the ride back to the precinct, the sudden change in mood too heavy for you to gather the courage to make any sort of conversation. Once parked in front of the building, he gets out right away, slamming the door while you’re barely unblocking your seatbelt.

You make a beeline to the conference room where you find Reid, no longer paying any mind on trying to find Aaron any longer.

Spencer jumps when you hurriedly slam the door behind you, eyes filling with worry when you lean against the wood and stare at the floor pensively, “You okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the door and taking a seat across from him. “I just got back from the latest crime scene with Hotch and he started acting so weird after I told him about our theory of the unsub’s dumping pattern.”

“Weird how?”

You move to speak, but hesitate when you realize that going into detail about how cold your boss suddenly acted towards you after being used to receiving such kind—some might say preferable—treatment would make your friend speculate things he, of all people, did not need to speculate.

You shake your head, “Nothing. He’s probably just stressed or tired,” you drop your forehead onto the table’s cold wood, your arms stretched out in front of you. “I know I am.”

A beat of silence passes before you hear a creak and the feeling of a finger press against your index. You bite back a laugh, looking up to find Spencer leaning forward in his own seat to do a ‘finger touch,’ something you had come up with for him after realizing how persistent his germophobia was, even with the people he loved the most.

You smile at him, leaning your head on one of your forearms and pressing your finger into his.

From outside the glass-windowed office, Aaron watches you both, a solemn look on his face.

*

The case is finally closed once you and Spencer’s theory is proven right, the unsub securely put away and the green light to go home given at last. But with the late night icy weather too dangerous for the jet to take off, Aaron orders for everyone to instead turn in for the night at the hotel and head out first thing tomorrow morning instead.

He gives a silent thanks to no one in particular when he finds out it's his turn to have a room all for himself, the rotation always being cheated by Dave, Derek, or Emily that he always forgets who's next.

Shockingly enough, he's ready to turn in for the night, not even sparing an extra glance to any of the files he had brought with him as he prepares for bed. He's just about to sit down when a knock comes from behind his door, echoing throughout his room.

He lets out a quiet groan but stands nonetheless, rubbing tiredly at his face before swinging the door open. His first instinct is to snap at whoever's behind, but that's before his eyes cast over you.

You're fiddling with your fingers, dressed in your pajamas that consists of an off-the-shoulder shirt that dips low enough to show off your collarbone and the very top of your chest, your bra strap in the middle.

And, despite the chilly weather outside, you were wearing shorts. A pair of cotton shorts that peek out from underneath the shirt you were wearing and leave little to the imagination—more so, Aaron’s imagination.

Truth be told, he's seen you in a lot less. Your usual team outing outfits consisted of tank tops, baby tees, shorts, and slightly more revealing clothes.

But this, seeing you in what you would normally sleep in, sends him into a completely different spiral.

You cringe and immediately panic at the thought of having woken him up, "Sorry, were you already asleep?" you ask, taking a tentative step back.

Aaron blinks and clears his throat, the pads of his thumb and middle finger once again tapping against one another, "No," He lies. "I was barely getting ready."

Your shoulders drop and the panic dissipates as a small smile replaces it, “Oh, okay,” you bring your hands behind your back, rocking on your heels, “I just wanted to talk to you. If that’s alright?”

Aaron’s brows furrow though he immediately steps to the side to allow you in, a soft ‘of course’ following.

He takes in the way you hesitantly step in, back facing him and arms still intertwined behind your back.

You’re being respectful, probably hoping that you’re not overstepping with whatever it is that you want to talk about. And though you always are, he can’t tell if you’re nervous, worried, or filled with insomnia that you just couldn’t sleep.

“Is everything alright?” He finally asks when you don’t make a move to sit down anywhere, his hands slightly ajar to his side like he’s ready to reach out and touch you.

God, how he wishes he could touch you.

You clear your throat and turn around, “Actually, I was just coming to ask you the same thing,”

The harsh lines on Aaron’s face deepen when you take a seat on the edge of the bed, glancing beside you as a signal for him to join you.

He swallows as he does so, careful not to sit too close and award you space. His eyes flicker back up at you when he hears your breath hitch.

Seconds of silence pass before you shuffle closer to him, bringing your body forward so that you were staring at him directly.

“Are you… feeling okay?”

Aaron freezes, his movements completely stilling at your question. His mind begins to race with all the possibilities of what could have brought on your question when it clicks.

How he had concurred that you and him were completely different and could never be a possibility, and how he immediately decided that acting cold towards you would shun out the feelings he’s felt for so long now.

Another clear of his throat, he replies, “I’m fine.”

You raise a brow at him, giving him a look that shows that you know he’s not telling the truth.

“Are you sure?” you ask again, this time more firmly. “I don’t mean to overstep, but you’ve been acting rather…strange ever since you and I got back from the fifth victim’s crime scene.”

Aaron cringes at how your expression turns into a sad one, quickly masking it with one of concern afterwards.

He sighs. He supposes that if there’s a possibility that you and Spencer are dating, now’s the time to ask you about it.

He makes a show of staring directly at you in the same way he does when he’s in his ‘boss mode,’ trying to study your face before he asks the question, “Is there something I should know about you and Spencer?”

That wasn’t what you were expecting.

You’re taken aback, quite literally flinching as if you had been struck. It takes you a few seconds to take in what he’s just asked you, and you shake your head almost as if it wasn’t real.

“I’m sorry?”

The desperation gnaws at him once more, and he’s not sure which side of him wants to find out the answer.

“Are you and Spencer dating?” he asks again, voice somehow unwaveringly calm as he punctuates each word clearly.

Your mouth opens in shock, letting out a sound that’s half a scoff half a broken laugh. You look around the room in utter bewilderment.

“What correlation does my relationship with Spencer have with what I asked you?” You can’t tell if you’re angry or just confused, but you stand from the bed and stare down at him.

Aaron follows your lead, “I never noticed it before until the rest of the team pointed it out, but you two are close. Close in such a way that—” He swallows, “—as your boss, I have to ask.”

Before the rest of the team pointed it out. Of course.

You fully scoff this time, “As my boss, you should know that Spencer and I have always been close,” you concur.

“Then why can’t you look at me?”

Despite your heart hammering in your chest, you force yourself to look at him, “Excuse me?”

“You’re not looking at me, you’re getting defensive, and you’re practically avoiding the question,” he says, his own gaze practically boring into you.

“Hotch—”

“You’re deflecting by saying that I should know that you two have always been close, and while I do know that, you’re still not answering my question.”

It feels cruel of him to press you for answers like this, knowing that there was an easier way to do it.

“Reid and I are not dating!” you do your best to not shout it at him in fears of waking the rest of the team up, fists balled at your sides.

“Then why are you so nervous?” he asks, taking a step closer to you. “Why can’t you still look at me?”

“Because it’s you that I like!”

You slap your hands over your mouth immediately and the room falls silent.

Aaron blinks. Once, twice, three times.

You liked him?

You lower your hands, nervously brushing your hair behind your ears as you look around the room in a state of panic, “I-I’m just going to go,” you mumble and immediately rush towards the door.

Aaron stands the for a second, too frozen to do or say anything before his own panic settles in brazenly. His body moves before he has time to register what he's doing and what he'll do when he reaches you.

He wraps an arm around your forearm just as you open the door, halting you from stepping outside, "Y/N, wait,"

"Hotch, please," you're quick to try and release yourself from his grasp, yanking your arm towards yourself in what results as a poor attempt. "Just ignore what I said."

"I can't do that," he dips his head to try and get you to look at him but you simply avoid your gaze even more than your originally had, your cheeks flushed.

"Hotch, let me go!" you whisper-shout, once more fighting his grip. “I’m already embarrassed enough, I don’t need you chastising me anymore.”

“I’m not chastising you, Y/N,” Aaron’s sure he sounds as desperate as you probably feel, but he can’t find it in himself to let you go and ruin his one chance of bringing his feelings to the light. Even if it went against everything he had been telling himself earlier that week.

“Do you not think it’s possible for me to feel the same way?”

Your head snaps towards him, your movements suddenly rigid at his question, “W-What?”

You’re sure that, if your heart hadn’t raptured beforehand, it certainly will now.

Aaron takes you letting your guard down as the chance to bring a hand to your waist and pull you back into the room, shutting the door and thanking that nobody else from the team had emerged from the commotion.

“What do you mean by that?” you’re quick to ask, staring up at him with curious, yet hopeful eyes.

He lowers his head as to avoid your gaze this time, letting out a deep breath. Everything he wanted to do now went against everything he had told himself the day before, when he ridiculed himself for ever thinking that you would like someone such as him or that something could ever happen between you two.

“Hotch,” your voice is firm and you allow yourself to take a step closer to him. You need him to look at you, to give you some sort of clue that he didn’t just say what he said to play you, to get you to re-enter the room just so he could profile you even more. “What do you mean by that?”

Repeating your question doesn’t help him and it certainly doesn’t help the way his heart hammers in his chest, a sound so loud that he’s sure you can hear it from how close you’re standing.

“You like me?” you whisper, dipping your head to try and meet his eyes. How ironic that just a couple of seconds ago you were trying to avoid it.

Aaron shrugs, finally looking up, “How could I not?”

His boyish, yet vulnerable expression makes your breath hitch.

“I said that I had to know if there was something between you and Reid as your boss, but it was just because I was jealous,” he shakes his head, trying his best to suppress an all but amused smile. “It was immature of me, really.”

You shake your head, trying to collect both your own thoughts and everything he was telling you. He had been jealous?

“So, is that you acted that way after I told you about our theory in the park?”

The way in which he left you behind in both the park and in the parking lot of the precinct hits him like a brick, cringing at his actions, "I realized then, when you were talking about what you had both come up with, how compatible you two are. How it would make more sense for you to like someone more suited for you. I'm sorry for how I acted,"

Your heart breaks at hearing his confession, of how he, the same man you practically fell head over heels for after your first meeting, could think that he was unworthy of your attention. If you were being honest, you hadn't been hurt by the way he had acted earlier in the day, only confused as to why.

"Hotch--" you stop yourself. You take another step closer, closing the space between the both of you more and more. "Aaron,"

He snaps his head up at your usage of his first name, the way you said it so gently and naturally getting all his attention.

"I've liked you ever since I first met you," you confess. "I'll admit I was too intimidated by you to fully register what I was feeling, but the more I got to know you, the harder I began to fall. And I fell really hard," you let out a laugh, trying to ignore just how much you were putting on the line right now and how self-conscious you felt with his eyes boring into you.

"You've been with the BAU for three years," Aaron's voice is barely above a breathless murmur and he's sure you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't standing so close. "That's how long you've liked me for?"

You nod, lips pursed, "I never said anything because I thought you would never see me that way, let alone reciprocate my feelings. If I'm telling the truth, I wouldn't have said anything if it weren't for you pressing me into telling you that I was dating Reid."

Aaron smirks despite the warmth he feels on his cheeks, shrugging his shoulders and letting out a soft laugh, "Well, then I'm glad I ended up asking. Who knows how many more years we would've gone like this if I hadn't."

You both laugh, subconsciously curling towards each other when you both double over and bring yourselves even closer than before.

You stare up at him with a warm expression before casting your eyes downwards. You lift your hand to linger above his, the pads of your fingers brushing against the hairs on the back of his palm, "So, what happens now?"

Without breaking eye contact, he takes your hand in his while the other reaches for your waist once more. You let out a small yelp when he pulls you even closer, your bodies now touching and radiating the warmth you both thought you’d never be able to feel from one another.

The next few seconds are filled with bliss when he lowers his head to press his lips against yours. You’re immediately weak, letting go off his hand to place both on his shoulders as to support yourself.

The other now free hand of his comes to rest on your other hip, fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts ever so possessively. A whimper escapes from your mouth and Aaron takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, doing so with so much fervor and passion that it leaves you feeling dizzy even with your eyes closed.

Aaron is relentless even after you pull away to catch your breath, the act of kissing you now something he’s inevitably hooked on. He presses kisses all over your face, from your cheek to your chin to your jaw, then all the way down to your neck.

“You know,” you cough out, flushed from the attention, “I told you how long I’ve liked you, but you didn’t tell me how long you’ve liked me.”

Aaron smiles into your skin, immediately recalling when he first realized his own feelings for you. He lifts his head to press a sweet kiss to your lips, eliciting a hum from you.

“I can tell you all the details over either a nice dinner tomorrow evening after we land,” he says, another kiss to your lips. He turns your bodies around so that his back was to bed, the mattress dipping under his weight when he sits. “Or you can spend the night here and we can stay up all night talking about it.”

His voice is sultry, and the way in which he grabs at your hips to get you to straddle him makes you flush.

“Are you already trying to seduce me?” you ask, mock offense in your tone though you happily take your guided seat on his lap, both knees on each side of his thighs.

Aaron hums this time, brushing your hair back to begin kissing at your neck again, “Can you blame me?”

He already knows your answer, he’s sure. He knows you can’t, because he can’t, either.

[moonpascaltoo]

sebastian sallow

MASTERLIST • HOGWARTS LEGACY • 11/22/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

𑣲 never forget I @zevrra

where sebastian is actually worried about MC and regrets casting crucio on them

𑣲 caught in the rain I @/zevrra

you and sebastian seek shelter inside an abandoned home where every feeling is laid to bare.

𑣲 truth or dare I @ppomumgranatum

Truths emerged and friendships were tested as you found yourself confronting two years' worth of suppressed feelings towards Sebastian. Drunk.

𑣲 the dance of love’s sweet potion I @/ppomumgranatum

When a potion meant to repel backfired, it became a mishap that turned your world upside down.

𑣲 marry me I @theealbatross

The 3 times Sebastian thought about marrying you and the 1 time he asked.

𑣲 fight the alchemy I @/theealbatross

Garreth asks why Sebastian isn’t dating you. Sebastian spirals.

𑣲 i love you, it’s ruining my life I @/theealbatross

Sebastian has the worst insomnia known to man and you are not dating him.

𑣲 never not been mine I @/theealbatross

Everyone wonders if you and Sebastian are together. Sebastian wonders when will everyone mind their own business.

𑣲 fever (what a lovely way to burn) I @shadowtriovibes

"since you saved Sebastian from Azkaban, he has met you in the common room every morning and you have gone to breakfast together. One morning he isn't there so you go to his room looking for him to find him in bed, poorly.”

𑣲 request I @/shadowtriovibes

Eric Northcott is relentlessly pursuing you, so Sebastian offers to act as your heroic boyfriend to get him off your back

𑣲 break a sweat part 2 part 3 part 4 I @/shadowtriovibes

sebastian makes the house quidditch team after training all summer. before his first match, you let him talk you into a bet over its outcome that will in all likelihood ruin your friendship. (merlin, you sure hope it does.)

𑣲 mind if i move in closer? I @/shadowtriovibes

𑣲 it’s a sign of the times part 2 I @/shadowtriovibes

Rivals-to-lovers Sebastian and MC use a Time-Turner to travel to the future with Ominis in search for a cure for Anne. Instead they find a girl who's the spitting image of MC trying to sneak into the Restricted Section in the 1910s, only she has freckles like Sebastian

𑣲 fissured composure I @anto-pops

After watching you hold your own against a handsy classmate, Sebastian is feeling particularly needy and steals you away to the Undercroft to show you just how worked up your right hook got him.

𑣲 possessive touch I @/anto-pops

Sebastian has never been the sharing sort. He was happy to loan people notes or quills, maybe even the occasional book from the Restricted Section. But not you. Never you.

𑣲 sudsy confessions I @/anto-pops

Sebastian confessing his long-harbored love for you while you’re naked in a bathtub.

𑣲 request I @/anto-pops

𑣲 unspoken attraction I @arthenaa

The girls and you have a talk on who they'll date amongst the students in Hogwarts. No one mentions Sebastian despite being deemed the most handsome in your year. You wonder why?

𑣲 jealously, jealousy I @awkwardauthorwrites

𑣲 i think he knows I @/awkwardauthorwrites

Sebastian helps Y/N with an interesting request

𑣲 violets and verbena I @/awkwardauthorwrites

Two years have passed since the events in Hogwarts Legacy, in which Y/N has drifted away from Sebastian. What happens when she has to spend some time in the hospital wing and he comes to visit?

𑣲 in the middle part 2 I @/awkwardauthorwrites

After a few months of knowing the reader the boys suddenly realise one day they are falling in love with the reader and start to become a bit bitter towards each other and very jealous if another guy gives her attention.

𑣲 wildest dreams part 2 part 3 I @/awkwardauthorwrites

Ten years have passed since the events of Hogwarts Legacy and Y/N is invited back as part of a reunion to celebrate.

𑣲 diesel is desire I @wttcsms

sebastian sallow is a good friend. so good, in fact, that when you find yourself under the ungodly influence of a lust potion, he's willing to help give you some relief.

𑣲 trust fall I @fairytalesandlegacies

Sebastian Sallow teaches you how to fight against the Imperius Curse late one night, and in the process, some long-kept secrets are revealed.

𑣲 i need you I @ravenelyx

Sebastian has different ways of dealing with being hurt. One of them is burying his face in your chest while you cuddle him

𑣲 who do you smell? I @roarieluz

Sebastian Sallow has had a crush on Y/N for a while now, this isn't news to him but when a strong batch of amortentia is made for potions class it is hard to keep his mind clear of anything that isn't about you and what he wants to do to you.

𑣲 the night shift part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 I @writing-intheundercroft

You're the lead healer in the St. Mungo's intensive care unit, and a painfully familiar face ends up in your ward.

𑣲 a long time coming I @undergaunts

aka three times Sebastian is a flirt, one time he gets called out on it, and one time he finally does something about it.

𑣲 pining in potions class I @festivalsofmargot

Sebastian Sallow is forming a huge crush on you, and it’s hitting him all at once in a very annoying way. Something as simple as not being partnered with you in potions class eats away at him.

𑣲 pretty thoughts part 2 I @/festivalsofmargot

Sebastian is down bad for you, my dear reader. But a lot of overthinking on your part makes you blind to it. So, his only option is to keep chasing after you.

𑣲 a worrisome box of chocolates I @matchavellichor

𑣲 you look better in green part 2 I @fierymiasma

In which Sebastian sees the new transfer student wearing someone else’s scarf and proceeds to absolutely lose it.

𑣲 snow, scarves, and schemes I @spaceyaceface

Y/N is sick of Leander Prewett trying to court her. Luckily, she has a best friend named Sebastian Sallow who would love to help put an end to it. They devise a plan to pretend to court up until the Yule Ball. Should be simple, right? If only. 

𑣲 the one who stayed I @talesofesther

For a moment, Sebastian thought he lost you, and now the guilt for what happened is eating away at him.

𑣲 the winner takes all I @justauthoring

in which, leander prewett is a prick and sebastian shows him not mess with his girl.

𑣲 bludgered I @slytherizz

Sebastian never really knew what his friend saw in Isaac Cooper but he never questioned it - he made his friend happy. That is until a Quidditch match goes quickly awry and he realises his feelings for her may go far deeper than simple friendship.

𑣲 between the two of you I @cuffmeinblack

Rewriting of the events of the Shadow of the Study/Discovery quests.

𑣲 i crumble completely (when you cry) I @atlabeth

there's only one way to get into salazar slytherin's scriptorium.