#which is why i keep saying shit like 'real ones know' when i allude to it in tags sometimes

[thatlittledandere]

How many people who followed me after 2018 see me post something about Boueibu every now and again and think it's one of my casual interests and not like, a fundamental component to who I am as a person

[campbell-rose]

Helluva Rewrite: Blitzø

ft Loona doodles :) Alright first off sorry this took so long i got a job lol

A large part of his character is the fact that he used to be a clown, so I took a bit of two face in this design and accentuated the scarring on the left side of his face. I decided to give him the circular cheek bits to allude to the clown as well as ruffling his collar under the clothes. He’s the most complex design of the IMP so far, aside from Loona’s multiple spots, so i tried to keep the colors simple but distinct from M&M. I took the spikes and put them on his clothes – as in he puts on thorns to keep people away. I think a pink tone suits his more lusty character. 

Now as for his character... I'll be honest I struggled with him for a bit. I wasn’t entirely sure where I wanted his character to go or how serious this rewrite would take the drama Viv wants to write. I adore writing deep characters, so I suppose I’m going to have to take The Office’s approach of being a comedy with moving parts. There are overarching plot lines in this version, that being Moxxie’s mafia ties coming back to haunt him, Blitzo’s past coming back to fuck him over in the form of everything about him, and Millie’s insecurities fucking her over when it counts. Maybe the series underlying theme is how running from your problems doesn’t work. Idk, because I also like the whole monster of the week type assassin gigs they do. I’ll make it work. 

So now, introducing the new and improved Blitzø! 

Blitzø is a mixed imp, his father being from Greed and his mother being from Lust. As such he’s a very poor mix of bad traits. He’s hypersexual (to the point of disturbing others), greedy as fuck (as he underpays Millie and Moxxie), is greatly attached to and possessive of those he likes (hence his smothering of Loona and stalking of M&M), and tends to think with his dick in most situations which get him into quite a few pickles (hehe pickle) 

Alright, so personality wise he is just about the same. He shits on others, is generally an ass and not very shy about it, but one thing I want to change is his delivery. This Blitzø is much more jovial about what he’s doing, putting on an act of being very charming and playful, even when he insults people. Ex, the line in the pilot when he mentions Moxxie crushing his dreams would include a very childish pout and a chuckle after. He plays the things he says off as jokes so it gives him an air of... idk like you don’t know when he’s ever being serious. 

He grew up in a circus in Greed along with his twin sister Barbie Wire (side note if Blitzo was my og creation he would have a pun/type name like Barbie does. Too tired to come up with one now, but mainly just because Barbie Wire is a much more creative name than fucking Blitzo) and his mother, who was dying day by day. His father was the ring leader and used his children as props to make money. Blitzo was a double act with Barbie Wire where they would do tricks on trained horses before Barbie started wanting to do trapeze and Blitzo was paired with Fizz instead to do acrobatics and tell jokes. 

Now since we don’t know what the fuck happened in Blitzo’s past (despite being on fucking season 2) I’m going to leave this bit open ended until Viv plays her cards then rewrite it into my story.  

So overall I’m not tweaking too much with Blitzo. Maybe instead of being a woobie who is like oh woe is me I suck he is just an overt asshole who sort of wants to be better but that’s too much work.  

His relationship with Stolas is a can of worms and I fucking hate worms. Alright, so we’re scrapping the childhood buddies thing, and going full force into what we all were shown in the pilot – this powerful demon is banging Blitzo in exchange for the Grimoire. Now real quick, why doesn’t Blitzo use Asmodean crystals? In this I'm making it so only lust demons can bond with crystals (bonding meaning only that demon can use them) and unbound crystals can’t leave Lust. So Blitzo would have to go to Lust and buy one, which is expensive as fuck and he was too broke at the time he struck the deal with Stolas. He’s planning on ditching Stolas as soon as he has enough cash to buy a crystal for IMP to use. 

So Stolas and Blitzo are both using each other, neither of them are like “omg I think he likes me”. Stolas wants sex to fuel his imp fetish and Blitzo wants the book. Blitzo has every intention of cutting this off as soon as he gets the crystal, and in his mind is only really indulging some rich brat demon. The issue comes when Blitzo finds himself actually liking Stolas – he likes the owl’s stupid spiels about literature and space and herbs, he likes that Stolas tells him helpful things with no prompting (like how certain herbs can treat injuries and things like that), and he finds himself liking Stolas’s company. Which is a big problem if he wants to cut the demon off, so he starts trying to get that in gear. This is also while being constantly reminded how unlovable he is and how he ruins everything he touches, but he’s conflicted because Stolas has started to treat him kindly and refer to him like an acquaintance rather than a sex toy. 

Any I'm tired af, going to bed. 

Oh, but before I go I just want to say that now that I’ve finished the IMP gang, I’m taking a minor break from reworking Helluva and will be posting some RWBY redesigns I’ve made because I fucking hate RWBY but at the same time it’s like my childhood. I’ll tag anything Rwby I'm doing as Rwby Rework if you’re interested, but don’t worry I’ll continue to do more viv/helluva/hazbin later this month! 

Thanks for reading <3

[the-mandawhor1an]

6 months later...

TLDR: it's Zaddy's and my RP 'anniversary'; artworks; Wolke being emotional about her Tumblr experience; and a fluffy one shot/drabble at the end of the WAY TOO LONG POST

I've alluded to it before, I've commissioned some artwork of the two lovebirbs and they just so happened to get finished this week. Huge thanks to @kenobiwanx for making the two come alive 😭 I can NOT stop staring at them.

LOOK AT THEM 😭😭😭

Yes these are spoilers for upcoming events but I just 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

@zaddymandalorian Überraschung!

Back to the actual point *wipes tears off her face*

Let's set the scene...

My dearest Zaddy and I reconnected in November of 2023 as I had been on a work trip at that time and I needed someone to talk to. We'd been talking on and off for the last months, mostly smalltalk and sometimes me complaining about stuff. Worth mentioning is also that I sent her my Maia fanfic back in June. First person to read it besides myself. I've known Zaddy since spring of 2016 ish (which also means I've known her longer than my husband – fun fact) so I felt comfortable with her reading my extremely self-indulgent shit. Everyone needs friends like that ♥

We mused about the roleplays we lost to forum admins being ruthless in their inactive-thread-deletion efforts every 4 months. We had barely started a Witcher RP and I'm sure it would've been awesome if we had continued. We literally stopped 7 ish posts in so nothing had happened really. – Why was it inactive? Well I took a 14 month roleplay hiatus due to me being chronically fatigued. The joys of working a stressful job and being severly anemic. Oops.

I tested the waters and made an offhand comment about maybe giving in and asking her to plot something with me.

This is a very convincing re-enactment of what happened: (translated because we're German potaters)

Well... and that's when the fun began

I, being a total Pedro fangirlie, asked if we wanted to just take the synopsis of my fic and run with that. She agreed, I was happy, she was happy.

So it's been 6 months.

OH. MY. GOD.

I did not think I had it in me to be consistently posting daily for 6 months. We've laughed, we've cried, we've lost sleep over it. We've grinned into our phone screens like maniacs at work and luckily no one asked

And now, 260k words later, I'm still in love with the babies. In fact I'd say I love the little blorbs even more now. Maia has a face, she has outfits (multiple!) she has a family and a story (that's only about 1/3 written so whew we might make it to a million)

Of course I also love Zaddy very much (and I will keep lovebombing your ass, bitch 🖤💜)

You know what, fuck it, I'm mentioning more people. Buckle up! Wolke spreads some love!

@immarocketman for being the first person on Tumblr that I kind of clicked with because we share a love for Pedro and the color purple 💜

@roughdaysandart for 1) allowing me insight in her creative process making a Fanfic comic and b) doodling Maia basically as soon as she made an appearance in text form 💜

The moots: @thefrogdalorian @djarins-cyare @djarins-wife @pedroswife69 for interacting with me, commenting on my posts and being real cute in general 💜

Everyone that ever interacted with me on here has been nothing but friendly, I feel extremely welcome over here. Everyone who liked/reblogged or commented on my posts, thank you so much. 💕💕💕💕💕💕

Now that the sappy whining is over, who wants to read something actually interesting?

In spirit of me being overbearingly loving, I've typed up a bit of fluff from the lovesick fools™ of Clan Mudhorn. Unbeta'd.

It was early in the morning, the sun barely over the horizon and engulfing the room in warm orange light, when Din awoke, a soft and warm body nestled into his side. She let out the softest little hum when he buried his face in her hair, wrapping his arms around her to hold her close.

"Sleep," he purred into her hair, placing a kiss on her forehead when her face turned towards him. Again, with a quiet hum, she buried her face in the crook of his neck. "How am I supposed to sleep when my husband has his hands all over me?"

"I'm sorry," he apologized and gently stroked her hair. "Why are you awake anyway?" she asked, finally raising her head so her sleepy, green eyes looked into his. "Hey mesh'la," he greeted her with a smile, placing a gentle kiss on her lips. "I don't know. I guess the sun woke me up, it's too bright in here." He sighed. "I miss the hut on Nevarro, it was always dark in there." "Come on, it's not that bad here. We needed more space anyway."

She pulled away from him, rolling over so she was on her stomach, hugging the pillow underneath her to get a better look at her everything. "Is the sun too strong, my warrior king?" a grin crept onto her lips as her eyes blinked slowly. Clearly this was way too early for her liking. To be fair, last night went on for longer than anticipated. "Are the little troublemakers awake yet?" She raised her head and turned to face the door. For now it seemed peaceful and quiet in the adjacent rooms.

Knowing well she would rise from the bed to check if he didn't stop her, Din hoisted himself over her body, practically pressing her into the mattress with his body weight. "You're not getting up to check on the kids now, cyar'ika," he muttered, peppering kisses along her shoulder. A chuckle escaped her lips as she rotated her head so she could see him in her peripheral.

She was so glad the mattress was soft enough to just give in under the weight, forming a perfectly human-shaped dent to make way for her body. "Whatever you say, great Mand'alor." For just a second she could feel him grind his pelvis into her butt.

He kept on pressing kisses on her neck, her shoulders, slowly crawling down her spine, kissing every little scar he found on his descent. "You really have to stop saying it like that." "Like what?" "With the bedroom-voice." He stopped to crawl back up to her head and leaned forward, giving her the chance to look into his face. His eyes were darkened, one of his eyebrows twitching upward.

"You're insatiable," she laughed, shaking her head. He slowly lifted off of her, immediately wrapped both arms around her and pulled her onto his chest. "That's your fault, my love." His voice was warm and silky, the vibration in his chest making her shudder. "My fault?" "You're just too beautiful so I can't keep my eyes or my hands off of you for long." "Di'kut" "Gar di'kut, forever." "Forever is a long time," she said softly and ran her fingers through his hair.

"And I'll be happy to spend every minute with you. I love you so much" he took her hand in his and softly kissed her knuckles. She sighed and watched him kiss every finger, eyeing her intently. She was mesmerized by his eyes, almost hypnotized by the dark brown, with the orange light surrounding them it reminded her of embers, glowing and warm.

Forever was a long time and although it didn't feel like it, time was progressing, evident by the threads of silver that sparkled in his dark brown curls. And although she felt like she herself was showing signs of ageing, he always told her she was as beautiful as the day he met her. "I love you more, mesh'la," she replied and rested her hand on his cheek.

"You and the kids are everything to me. I would die for you," he mused, closing his eyes as her finger brushed over his beard toward his lips. Her movements halted and the dark brown eyes reopened, scanning her features for signs of her sudden stop. The small crease on her forehead was enough for him to know exactly what was troubling her.

"Look at me," he pleaded with her, cupping her cheek in one of his hands now. "I know that look on your face. I would doesn't mean I will. Stop thinking about it. I'm here and so are you." Her hand slowly retreated to rest atop of his, thumb brushing over his warm and tanned skin. "Thanks to you, I am. You've saved my life once, I hope you don't have to do it a second time." She smiled warmly and nestled her face further into his hand.

Din grumbled and pulled her face closer, peppering it with kisses wherever he could reach. "I've saved your life twice. But it doesn't matter, you've given me more than I could ever imagine. I have a family now. And the most amazing wife in the galaxy." "I love you." "Until the end of space and time."

Both flinched when they heard a noise outside the bedroom. Instantly both heads were turned to the door, listening for more noises. One of the kids must've woken up, maybe their voices were too loud.

"Any guesses?" Din asked his wife, once again burying his face in her hair. "My gut tells me it's your mini-version," she suapected, turning her head to kiss him gently. "Your gut? Or your Jedi magic?"

Din rose from the bed, stretching his muscles in the morning sun, stared at by his better half. "And you say I'm insatiable." A sly grin appeared on his lips as he put on a shirt, his shoulders and bicep stretching the fabric just enough to make her hum. "The faster you check on the troublemakers the sooner you can come back to bed. Hurry, I'm not done with you."

She didn't have to tell him twice.

Translations:

mesh'la - beautiful

cyar'ika - darling

di'kut - idiot

gar di'kut - your idiot

[fairycosmos]

tw domestic abuse, inc*st, animal abuse (nothing too explicit, just to be safe)

hii do you have any advice for dealing with domestic abuse from family members (adult brothers)? he has threatened me in the past and tonight he did it again and spat on me, hit me, constantly alludes to wanting to rape me or working as a sex worker bc I’m currently unemployed and genuinely seems to enjoy to see me in such a low position where it to ever come to that. I have a job lined up starting next week but I still live at home, so does he btw! and yet he is so angry at me for being in the exact same position. he’s also a drug addict and drinks, a misogynistic right-winger and kind of a psychopath. he gets off on threatening me and idk what to do anymore. my dad told me I can‘t move out bc the pay isn‘t enough yet but idk what to do. I‘m also physically disabled which is why I went months without working this year but I was employed for the past four months and I have a new job soon and yet it aggravated him so much that I didn‘t work for the past two weeks, it‘s insane. like, it‘s obvious that he hates his job and is unsatisfied with his own life but he is so disgusting towards me. there‘s s lot of incest-y threats and jokes which scares me, sometimes more than the physical violence. like I just want to die every time it happens and idk what to do. I can‘t move out if my dad doesn‘t let me and I looked at women‘s houses but they‘re all full or won‘t take women like me, myb bc it‘s not severe enough. on top of that he abuses our dog, kicks him and seeks him out every night to do just that bc the dog sleeps downstairs and no one is around to witness it. my parents don‘t care. I was around to witness it tonight for the first time and he did it in front of me and when I told him to stop it he spat in my face and threatened me and I just can‘t stay here anymore. I‘m not from the uk but do you have any advice for me please? ❤️ sorry if this is worded weirdly I can‘t really concentrate right now

the way i want to beat the shit out of your brother and would given half the oppoortunity i'm so fucking serious. i’m so sorry you’re going through this. none of this is your fault. everything you’ve described is so beyond wrong, and you don’t deserve any of it. it’s so messed up that you’re being treated this way in what’s supposed to be your home. your brother’s behavior is abusive, terrifying, and just plain evil tbh and i wish there were real-life consequences for these types of men bc they never fucking learn. no wonder you feel overwhelmed and trapped—anyone would in your situation. i’m really glad you reached out because this is too much for anyone to handle on their own, and you shouldn’t have to.

what he’s doing things like spitting on you, hitting you, threatening you, making those disgusting, incestuous comments etc is beyond unacceptable and the fact that he’s also abusing your dog is just so fucking sick. people like him use power and fear to control others, and it’s clear he’s lashing out in every direction to feel some twisted sense of control. your dog is just as vulnerable as you are in this situation, and it's not fair that you both have to keep living in such a toxic environment. it’s not healthy, and it’s not okay - it pisses me off so much that anyone would deny you help because it's not "bad enough" when it sounds like an actual nightmare. you literally shouldn’t have to live like this.

i know it feels impossible to leave right now, especially with your dad saying you can’t move and your new job just starting. but i promise, there are steps you can take to get out—even if it feels really far away or impossible right now. your safety and your dog’s safety are the most important things here. if your brother becomes violent again or you feel like you’re in immediate danger, please consider calling emergency services. i know that can feel terrifying, especially if your family isn’t supportive, but emergency services or a local domestic violence hotline can step in and help. they’re trained for situations like this and you don't have to wait for it to get any "worse" to call the authorities or an ambulance if you feel unsafe.

since you’ve looked into women’s shelters and they’re full, it might help to keep calling or checking back. sometimes spots open up, or they might be able to connect you to other resources—like emergency housing, legal help, support with clothing/food/transportation, or even animal rescue organisations that can help protect your dog too. it’s worth asking if they know of any shelters or foster programs for pets from abusive households. there are groups out there that work specifically to help people and animals escape abuse, so please don't shy away from seeking that support. i know it's a lot easier said than done and none of it is as simple as just making a phone call and getting the help you need. but keep pushing forward with it bc honestly the sooner you get away from him the better tbh.

in the short term, is there anyone you can reach out to? a friend, teacher, coworker, or even someone you’re not super close with but who might be able to help if they knew what’s going on? sometimes people will surprise you when you let them know how serious things are. even if they can’t house you, just having someone to talk to can make a huge difference.

your new job starting soon is such a big step btw, and i’m so proud of you for pushing forward even with everything going on!! that takes so much strength. once you start earning, maybe you can start saving little by little to eventually get out, even if it feels slow. looking into shared housing or roommate options might help make it more affordable, and depending on where you live, there could be disability assistance programs that can help with housing or expenses. you deserve a space where you and your dog can feel safe and at peace and it's so messed up that you aren't able to feel that way in your own home rn.

and in the meantime, i know you’re doing everything you can to protect yourself, but please don’t forget to keep an eye out for your dog too. if you see him hurting your dog, maybe you can distract or call your dog to you if it’s safe to do so. when you leave, think about how to bring your dog with you or connect with an organization that can help temporarily house pets in situations like this. it breaks my heart to think of both of you stuck in this, but you’re not alone. there are people who want to help.

this is all so much to carry, and i just want to remind you to take it one step at a time. even if that step is just getting through today. if you can, try to find little ways to care for yourself—spend time with your dog, listen to music, write things down to process your feelings, whatever helps you feel a little grounded. you’ve already shown so much strength by reaching out, and that’s the first step toward getting out of this.

please keep reaching out, whether it’s to me, a hotline, or someone you trust. you and your dog both deserve to be safe and loved, and you’re not alone in this. you will get away from him. there is a whole life beyond him and his fucked up behaviour. i’m here for you, and i’ll help however i can. you’ve got this. one step at a time. please take care, i'm sending you so much love. x

resource / resource / resource / resource / resource / resource

international domestic abuse resources

global domestic violence resources

[mrs-monaghan]

Honestly, at this point, I am so sick of defending Jikook's bond. JM has been purposely alluding when it comes to JK and I understand. I respect it, but by now he knows haters are hanging on his every word to discredit Jikook and he keeps handing them ammo & seems to be purposely doing it. Just like he has purposely excluded JK working on Letter and has just made it about Army, which has resulted in people also dismissing JK's involvement. That probably doesn't feel too good for JK, but I'm sure he respects JM's decision. If JK has another collab coming up with a member, you best believe they will talk about it and Letter will be forgotten, esp JK on it, cause its the way JM wants it. I actually feel a little bit bad for JK. He has really been putting himself out there & in a really eyebrow raising gay way toward JM and showing how much he loves him and JM comes in and knocks down everything JK has been putting out. I guess his way of damage control to tone the gay down. If he wasn't worried, he would have already mentioned JK's involvement with Letter normally. I just hope it doesn't make JK retreat, cause he did for a while. Now he's just been so open and free and I can see him pulling back, if JM keeps downplaying, cause all it does is make it look one sided from JK's end. I actually feel sorry for them, but JM really said you people aren't getting anything from me. I will giggle and blush about JK, but that's it.

I was ready with a different answer for you until I saw that you do understand what's going on and are just frustrated by it. Which is perfectly okay.

I guess it's his way of damage control to tone the gay down.

We have talked endlessly about how Jimin follows the rules, listens and does what is expected of him. Meanwhile JK don't give a shit and will do what he wants to do when he wants to do it.

I wouldn't be surprised if they're not even supposed to comment under each other's lives or mention each other. So what does JK do? Mention Jimin from start to end.

Yeah sure, it can be frustrating, but let it be frustrating because you want them to be them. To do them. To stop holding back. Don't be frustrated because you're tired of defending the relationship. You really don't have to. Just let the antis continue to anti. You know what you know, you've seen what you've seen.

What do you think would happen if Jimin does what JK does? I'm sure you've seen the JK hate from Jimin solos. But imagine how much worse that would be if it was Jimin doing what JK does. Yes, you as a Jikooker would be fed but guess what? Now, you'd be defending Jimin! AND you would still be defending their relationship.

We have a mountain of evidence that proves these 2 motherfuckers are in a relationship and still like you said, people have to defend their relationship. Do you honestly think if Jimin was as honest and open and forward as JK that everything would be solved? That antis would believe and tkkrs and jjks would stop attacking us and Jikook?

If your answer to this question is "no" then this ask is moot my dear.

As long as you know Jikook is real. As long as you know Jikook are couple. As long you continue to support and be happy for them. That is all that matters. No what haters think.

Haters will hate no matter what Jimin does or doesn't do. You need to make peace with that so that it can affect you less. And please remember u don't have to defend their relationship. Let whoever wants to talk, talk.

Jimin is incredibly smart and he says what he says when he needs to say it and is very strategic about it. He didn't have to answer the ramen question. He could have ignored it, easy. Yet he didn't, why? Any questions members reply to are a choice. Idk how good you are at reading body language or human behaviour but I'll just quietly leave this here and go have my lunch.

Tweet

[999nikes]

i'm gonna be so fr rn, doxxing people for writing smut about the triplets is unhinged. all you are doing is indulging in the problem and even being a part of the whole issue yourself. and if you're one of those people going on all the smut writers accounts and harassing them with the "the triplets don't like being sexualised." comments, you're just giving them a reason to clap back and then you guys get upset with it. everyone's entitled to different opinions on how they think fics of the triplets should be written within the fanbase. personally, i like to read fics where they're just nice and cute and i know i can usually read a well-written fic without it getting tooooo sexual.

and since we don't know how they feel about s*x fics being written about them, i don't think it's safe to assume anything. if they want to speak out and say "hey, just for the record, we still don't want smut fics written about us", then cool. if they come out and say "hey, we really don't give a fuck what you write", then cool; it's their decision and we have to respect that and what other writers do with that info.

as for smut writers, i've seen some of your guys' blogs and the fact that you are CONSTANTLY talking about how stupid and "sensitive" sturniolo fans are is just plain annoying and uncalled for. sure, you can have your own opinion but when you make your opinion the ONLY thing you post about on your blog, it's really annoying. you don't see "sensitive" writers constantly complaining about the smut fics rn. they say what they want and move on but you guys are the ones who are going on rants about how "sensitive" and annoying some fans are for not agreeing with you writing smut about chris, nick, and matt.

as for the whole nick x fem!reader stuff i keep seeing (i won't say names or accs, you guys know who you are), it's honestly pretty sad because it shows me and other fans around you that you don't respect nick or nick's sexuality. he has always said he's always known he's gay and that he's never liked another girl so why are you writing fics where he's making out with a fem!reader?

and also, all i can say is, the whole incest shit and "oh, i had a dream chris made out with nick" thing is just gross. they are brothers, not fuck buddies.

also, the whole thing with "suggestive" fics is honestly something for each reader/writer to decide if it's okay to them. i know some writers use the word "suggestive" heavily and lightly. for some writers, "suggestive is making out without actually getting to a point where sex happens (which can happen a lot in real life! you can definitely makeout with someone without having sex with them). and for other writers, "suggestive" can be alluding to sex or suggesting that sex was going to happen. personally, i'm fine with a fic that has a small makeout moment but if it gets to the point where sex is going to happen, that's where i will probably just silently scroll away and find a different fic to read without makking a fuss on every smut/suggestive writers account and it’s not because i hate smut writers, i’ve just had bad experiences with sexual things and i personally choose to avoid it! there's some writers who have a few works i read but they also write "suggestive" fics about the triplets and that's where i agree to disagree with a writer but i can still enjoy other fics they write. it's like strawberry picking what works for you.

and to tie it all up, smut is usually poorly written and not accurate to how real life s*x is. so for a young fan to read that and get a poor representation of how sex is can be really damaging and can cause insecurities in someone. i know when i was younger and people introduced me to smut, it made me insecure because i thought my body was supposed to be a certain way for men to like me. so with that being said, if you are a smut writer and want to continue your writing, no one can forcefully stop you. but i would suggest that if you are going to write smut, label it mature so people can turn on/off their mature tags and get the fics they actually want to read. wattpad writers do it with their work and i think it's only respectful for you to do it as well on this app.

also, i'm tired of seeing smut writers saying "Well they aren't minors anymore and they didn't like it when they were minors". they can still not like it even if they're 20. smut about a real person is very invasive and can make someone insecure about their body. if someone you didn't know wrote smut about you and they knew nothing about you, you'd be uncomfortable and grossed out too.

all i'm saying is at the end of this, no ones going to win their case. smut writers aren't going to get "sensitive" fans to stop rambling about smut since there are always going to be people who don't agree with you or what you do. and non-smut writers aren't going to get smut writers to stop writing smut since they think it's fine and will continue to do whatever the fuck they want. i still stand by my thought that if you are a smut writer, label your sexual works 'mature' so people who don't want to indulge in smut can turn that tag off.

that's all i got to say about it !

[nightmarefueler]

So a LOT of shit happened. Stuff that I finally, FINALLY have to put a spoiler cut for, so. DON'T LOOK IF YOU HAVEN'T GOTTEN THIS FAR.

I went to church and found...well, not our lord and savior Jesus Christ, but what I presume to be a legendary monster: the first proper Glass-type I've seen, Glaistain. I REALLY like the look of this dude, just this fractured angel-looking thing made of stained glass. Plus, he's got the stats of a real sweeper. I might keep him around.

I met a cringe deviantART OC. Like, literally. And she turned into an Archangel. Or at least something like it, which I'll get into in a bit. For now, I want to say...that whole quest line kind of hit close to me, having come up with shit almost exactly like this when I was young. Like it's the good side of looking back at one's past. Sure, it's cringe and we've learned a lot about character creation since then, but it is ours. There's nothing stopping us from bringing back these dumb old ideas and letting them become a better version of themselves.

But now on the topic of Archangels, after beating this fucked up mishmash of a doll named Alice, I finally get a name for the triangle man and he just. Sends me to some desolate desert, and I get escorted back to New Wirral by a friendly Archangel? And she lets me know that she, Aleph, Morgante, and this mysterious witch are all related to each other. Plus alluding to the idea that I'm using an avatar.

Which makes me wonder about the nature of these Archangels and this world. How did Kuneko harness their power, let alone come to life? Are all the other Archangels like this--art pieces that humans created and became alive through coming to New Wirral with their creators? Did they always have this power, or did they achieve it through some strange means like Kuneko did at the altars? Maybe these cassette players are harnessing their power to allow us to record and become monsters. And what does it even mean that New Wirral has been dead for a thousand years? Is any of this even real? Was that desert a glimpse into what this place really is?

And most importantly. Why in God's name does Meredith have a white inverted triangle earring??? She has to be connected to Aleph in some way. She HAS to be.

[golbrocklovely]

i'm really lost, can you explain the timeline of Colby going from ms singer to m? just super confused about it all hahah

of course anon, i would love to lol

i'm actually genuinely happy someone finally asked me something like this bc i've been seeing a lot of misinformation and i'm really tired of it.

i'm explaining everything, pictures and all. i'm blurring out ppl's names and sticking to the codes names i've given the girls involved. i get that you can find these names relatively easy, i'm just not gonna be the place for you to do so.

some of the things i'm gonna mention don't have physical proof, bc they were in a live stream or just stuff i didn't take ss of. but trust me everything i'm gonna say is real and not me making shit up.

so… let's start from the beginning.

the first major misconception that i've seen is that colby and ms singer got together back in march, dated until october/november, and then colby just haphazardly moved onto m. ppl say this bc they use the pic of them out that leaked and compare it to the pic of her wearing the same outfit in march on her insta.

now idk how this got lost in translation, but ppl are trying to say it's m in the pic??? it's not, but cool that you guys want to believe that lol

but again, this fandom is holding onto "oh well, her pic on insta is from march, so that means that a, this pic was taken in march, and b, they have been together since then". respectfully, did yall forget that ppl rewear clothes? just curious.

i also literally saw her, on her story, post the exact same outfit, but in november. so....

the pic of him and ms singer is not from march. it got post on tiktok in october.

and HERE is colby, at universal horror nights, which is where the photo was taken, meeting a fan.

now, this might not proof enough, bc he could have just been dating her secretly and this was the first time they were "caught" in public. but let's be forreal for two seconds. first off, in march, he was deciding whether or not to get chemo. and on top of that they were working nonstop to have backlog content in case of him getting chemo. neither one of them had gfs or time for gfs.

on top of all of this, i have more proof that they didn't start seeing each other until september. colby did not even follow her until sept 21ish. i know this bc i keep track of who he follows and when. yes, i know it's weird. idc. here's other ppl he followed at that time:

the black box is ms singer's name.

now, onto the stuff i don't have proof of - right as all this information was blowing up, ms singer started getting more viewers on her tiktok livestreams. one of the first ones she had after the above tiktok dropped, she was asked during her livestream what's the best date she was on and she said it was one that happened recently, most likely alluding to colby's (with sam in tow most likely with k/la girl).

the biggest proof of them all is that ms singer herself said in a livestream that she didn't meet colby until september. she outwardly said that. i have friends who heard her say that, not just anons that randomly tell me things. actual ppl i have convos with daily.

now, we have to move on to how he got with m. everything this point down will just be complete speculation on my part. the only proof i have is that colby did not start following m until the day after sam's bday. she was at the party after the marathon bc k brought her there (and k was also there obviously).

personally, what i believe happened was that ms singer was very heavy handed on the fact that she personally wants to get married and have kids soon even tho she's only 21. she said it multiple times on tiktok. idk why you want to rush into that type of stuff, but hey, you do you. that being said, most likely, while they both enjoyed their time together, colby is not exactly ready to settle down and have kids anytime soon. so he most likely backed off of ms singer.

after halloween, ms singer was no where to be found with colby. what i believe happened is since k/la girl and sam were already together, she decided to bring along m to sam's bday bash. m and colby clicked, and they spent all this time together.

now, when it comes to ms singer and k and m being in some weird little drama where ms singer feels slighted - first off, i have no clue about any of that for certain. ms singer continues to be vague, for good reason, and so it's hard to know what happened. if i was ms singer, i too would be a bit pissed if my friend brought some other girl to be around the guy i was into, just bc he wasn't into me. i'm not trying to say all of this isn't messy. it is to some degree, but i don't fully blame k. colby is a grown man. if he wanted to continue his friendship with ms singer after they "broke up", he would have. clearly, it just wasn't in the cards. or maybe he felt awkward being friends with her still after moving onto someone she knew/is somewhat friends with.

okay, i think that's everything. if there is anything else you need me to explain, feel free to ask. the only reason i really wanted to answer this kind of ask was bc i've heard some whispers via comments on tiktok and twitter and whatever else that some fans think or believe that sam cheated on kat with k just bc ms singer (who is good friends with k) and kat knew each other. bc they think the timing of everything is "suspicious".

first off, kat and sam broke up in march. ppl mistakeningly believe ms singer was in the picture around this time, which is why they think k/la girl is also in the picture. that's just factually not true. secondly, sam was literally fuckboying his ass up during the summer: he followed multiple asian girls (like almost 10) in julyish before during and after japan, danced and spent the night with that random girl that was on jc's stream during his party (while colby had fun with her friend, mind you), and then ppl speculated that he had a thing with niki going on too. that boy was having fun during this period prior to september, which is when he ACTUAL started seeing k/la girl. and third, if sam or kat cheated on one another, i'm 99% certain we would have known way before now. they literally explained in their break up video that nothing actually happened, sam just wasn't ready for marriage. not to mention, if he did cheat, YALL AIRING IT OUT IS NOT THE WAY TO DO IT. if they were hiding something like that from us, realistically it would be for good reason. it's not your business to share that intimate of details.

and before anyone gets on my ass about that comment, everything i'm sharing with yall is already public info. i'm not speculating, minus what happened between ms singer and la girl. but even bits of that have been told by ms singer herself so… don't come for me lol

[giraffeter]

Hi again ^^

Thank you for that delicious ArmKhun headcanon answer. I have an immediate follow-up ask. You mentioned that you have vivid background headcanons for all the bodyguards, as if that isn't a massive tease. Any details you'd be willing to spill? 👀

Haha I suppose that was a bit of a tease! Your asks keep making my DAY, I will happily talk about these boys all day every day.

OK, the Giraffeter Bodyguard Backstory Headcanons are:

Big: I alluded to some of this in Gonna Fade You Like That Rush, but in my mind Big is the son of one of Korn's lieutenants — his dad works for Korn, his grandfather worked for Korn's father, the families go back. We know that he's one of Korn's hand-raised bodyguards and that he and Kinn grew up together; I think Korn would not be interested in caring for a bunch of additional children, so my headcanon is that his hand-raised boys stay with their families of origin until they've completed their mandatory schooling, which in Thailand is through Grade 9 — Big would be 14 or 15 when he came to the main family house and began his training. Big is the younger son in his family: his older brother will inherit their family's piece of the Theerapanyakul criminal empire, and Big's been marked for Kinn for basically his whole life. Even before Tankhun's abduction, Big belonged to Kinn. He met Kinn for the first time when he was about 12 and Kinn was 15 or so — Kinn was the coolest Cool Older Teen Big had ever laid eyes on. He smiled that devastating smile at Big and talked to him about video games or something and Big plunged headfirst into a fealty kink that would last the rest of his brief life.

Ken: As much as I have read and enjoyed many fics shipping Ken with various other male characters, my favorite headcanon for Ken is that he is the "token straight" in the main family house, and as such is relatively immune to the psychosexual shenanigans taking place on all sides of him. He's from a fairly well-off family — he grew up in Thailand but went to an international school, and he went to college in Australia. He was a competitive swimmer all through high school and college, which is why the "nice one, loser" moment cuts so deep. He has that very dangerous trait of "smart but not as smart as he thinks he is" in addition to being pretty greedy and amoral, so my headcanon is that he was boosting cars or some shit and stole the wrong car. Chan gave him a choice of "well-paying job for life or bullet in the head right now" and he happily chose the former. He thought working for the mob would be a lot more glamorous and exciting than it turned out to be; that, combined with aforementioned unwarranted self-confidence and greed, was what made it so easy for Gun to turn him.

Arm: I covered this in my answer to your delightful previous ask so I'll be brief here, but my headcanon is that Arm is ex-military and a trained field medic, and has some experience being around PTSD.

Pete: Pete is another one where we actually do know a bit about his backstory: the abusive father, the loving grandma, the complicated relationship to food, the history as a boxer. I don't understand Thai well enough to verify this but when Pete says "boxing" I assume he means muay thai. Pete is a real country boy, and I think he didn't spend much time in Bangkok before he came to work for Korn. I think he dealt with some food insecurity as a kid, from a combination of his dad not having much money and also just not being around much to feed him — I think his grandma (who I think he calls ย���ย meaning she's his mom's mom?) took care to feed him up as much as she could when he visited her. My headcanon is that Korn straight-up bought Pete, either for cash after seeing him fight or as payment for a gambling debt his dad owed Korn's organization.

Pol: I think Pol was another one of Korn's hand-raised bunch, although his background is different from Big's. I don't think his parents are directly involved in the criminal underworld in the way I imagine Big's as being; instead, I think they're just regular working-class people who own a business, maybe a shop or something, that comes under Korn's purview. We've seen that the Theerapanyakul empire contains as many legitimate enterprises (bread company!) as illegitimate, and we know a lot of their money comes from real estate, so it might be as simple as Korn being Pol's family's landlord. Maybe they've been tenants of his for a long time, since his dad was still in charge; maybe they were part of the first territory he controlled while he was working his way up. At any rate, at some point when Pol was growing up Korn said "I have a job for your son if he wants it;" now Pol lives in the fancy house, has nice clothes and all his meals provided, and makes more money than his parents do by a long shot. He's the only one of the main bodyguard squad with a good relationship with his family (Pete and his grandma notwithstanding), which is why he's always on the shared phone.

Thanks for the ask! It was fun to write all this out after carrying it in my head for so long!

[jrheatriz]

(Okay so I know I’m terrible at actually responding to your answers to these, but just know I really do enjoy reading them!!)

I know you make a lot of Pinterest boards, and often post pictures saying stuff like “The people from [one of your stories’ worlds/countries/etc] would wear this” do you have any place’s traditional/current popular fashion style mapped out in your head any? Also given any thought to hairstyles or jewelry maybe? 👀

OMG HIIIIIII I CAN'T BELIEVE I MISSED THIS! :O

And yes, i absolutely have specific ideas for AWIA stuff especially, just bc the different styles is important for worldbuilding and character design especially. for instance:

ANDANTHE

Andanthe's clothing is largely inspired by South Asian (and sometimes Middle Eastern) fashion, particularly in places like India, Pakistan, Palestine, et cetera, but with a minor twist bc andanthe is set in a more deciduous, foresty-new-england type area. Andanthe's national color is vivid green, so Andanthian royalty in particular wear a lot of green, which can be dyed with dandelions and other natural dyeing materials (and gold is prevalent too, bc well. royalty.)

So what i mean when i say Andanthian fashion is South Asian inspired is the emphasis on flow, layered fabric, and printed patterns-- e.g., this goooooorgeous look from Vogue India fashion week (2016)-- the nice, rustic yet earthy color tones, the regality of the fabric and its swish, the way the outer covering of the garment alludes to a sari and really shows off detailed patterning in terms of print. so yummy.

(Small note tho, it's important that Andanthe has quite lush and vibrant use of color in their fashion, because the kingdom of ilwich also has a thing for green.)

keep in mind though that despite this, Andanthian fashion is also a bit... utilitarian. there's the natural form and silhouette of the fabric, but there's also the sharper edges that leave little show of frivolousness. the high, conservative yet elaborate collar, the nice fancy but straightforward belt. like it's pretty, but it's cool. and especially for characters like morgan, who prefers more masculine clothing to anything else, this kind of rigidity benefits her style. like "yeah bitch, we could totally beat your ass in battle. but also we got that shit on." see below for reference example.

THE ANWHINES

Okay so one thing about the anwhines is that like andanthe they like straight lines and silhouettes that have a little flow, but unlike andanthe, they don't prioritize layering lavish fabric. they do absolutely love working with geometric shapes. see below: the lovely rectangular box of the overcoat and the linear shape created by the straight dress. another BIG important thing is bold geometric patterns-- because as you can probably guess, alot of the Anwhine inspiration comes from West African culture and Caribbean culture. it's no less intricate than andanthe's, but definitely less dainty. also very yummy.

Another important thing to know about the anwhines is that their national color is blue. there's the nice, easy-going cerulean blue that alludes to their lovely and idyllic oceans, but also a dark and no-nonsense navy blue usually worn by royalty. white accents, like cotton/linen lace or collaring, is also common.

there is also an important accent of white pearl and shell used in their fashion, because well. why wouldn't you make shell and pearl jewelry if you're a nation comprised of isles floating around in the sea? it's too easy. they don't mind gold bangles or wooden hair accessories either tho. Also, clay, because clay beads are fun! and because i love Black hair and all the pretty stuff you can do with it, having pretty jewelry in your hair is heavily important. see below for examples.

MONERVA

okay, i'll be honest, monerva's cultural fashion is a lot less real-world specific and a bit more eclectic. it's for a reason, tho; i mean, neither andanthe or the anwhines are homogenous cultures by any means, but monerva is very forward thinking and focused on trendiness and innovations. which means they do whatever the fuck they want and can be inspired by any number of cultures, because it depends on personal style. monervians in general are very focused on looking cunt and showing off. as they should!! so if you're planning on inviting a monervian to your party, expect them to show up to the function in some shit like this.

monervians looooove lace, linen, and the very regal yet soft white that those materials bring to the table. they love frills, folds, ruffles, and massive silhouettes--and extra points are given if it's constructed in a way no one's ever thought of before. in terms of colors, monervians love light and frivolous pastels (pinks, lavenders, blues). they live in what you might traditionally imagine a fairy kingdom to reside--that is to say, a lavish and disorienting colorful forest glade-- so they use flower and plant-based dyes and incorporate flowery embroidery int their lacing and patterning (see below). unlike the last two kingdoms, there's less of an emphasis on printed patterns on clothes unless it's a personal style thing. and in terms of jewelry, they love precious stones, crystals, and mineral pieces. bonus points if they're shiny and a little gaudy.

ILWICH

Out of all the kingdoms in this story, (there are more than 4, i'm just too lazy to put them here) Ilwich is the one that looks the most medieval like. I mean, the world of awia is a little anachronistic because fuck it i do what i want, but the idea is that the aesthetic dances loosely with medieval era technology, foods, clothing. ilwich though, is the most closely tied to that medieval eastern europe aesthetic. they, as i mentioned earlier, have a penchant for green like andanthe, but because ilwich is located in marshy wetlands and deep underground castles carved near and underneath mangrove-like trees, their colors reflect the more dull nature of their surroundings.

Another important thing about ilwich-- they are a culture that is very closely tied to the worship and mythos of the old dead gods. i might have mentioned that the pantheon that existed before the concrete memory of fairies had ever been formed kinda cannibalized each other to extinction. the link between the gods and fairies is caput. Mostly. but some remnants of the old religion remain, and many of it is guarded by ilwich acolytes that chill around in the catacombs. to reflect this, ilwich garb happens to be more simple and more pious: simple linen or wool fabrics, with little excess or bright, printed fabric. don't mistake less simple with boring, though; what they lack in pattern and emroidery, they make up for in layering. due to it's marshy background, ilwich loves dark greens and blacks, dull sages, rustic browns, and dusty off whites. However, some nobility/royalty add a bit more flair; case in point:

like monerva, they like using nature-y elements in clothes, but rather than mimicking bright, lush flowers, ilwich mimics decaying leaves, cobwebs, and dark moss. cosmo sheldrake would love these weirdos.

and another thing: because the marshlands are typically chilly and much of ilwich is underground, ilwich fashion includes many layers and furs. Again, a lot of browns and off white furs are preferred.

Anyways! rant over. hope that answered some of your questions :D

[littlebigmouse]

TMA MAG 64-65

... We're getting a lot of stories about undergrounds, burials and tunnels lately aren't we. I'm sure that doesn't relate to anything at all.

Also I'm sorry, but the image of someone looking into a camera and eating an entire computer piece by piece sounds hilarious to me. Those 24 hour charity stream have really taken off, huh?

And now to the most important piece of the statement: The psychological terrorism Jon is inflicting on his coworkers I mean the office drama!

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Tim Stoker did nothing wrong, ever, in his life.

And god, I love the VA's performance in this episode. Such a good job!

OH NOW Jon is suspicious of the CCTV footage. Lord give me strength.

Jon, if you really think that Tim is a murder suspect, then why are you telling him about your suspicions regarding the footage? If you think there's a chance he did it or is an "agent" of something sinister, why are you tipping your hand like that just when everyone would have reason to believe you've been placated?

Or maybe, the fact that you've been friends for so long, as Tim is alluding to here - which, I need more details on that backstory AHH - maybe you still believe in that friendship and maybe you just desperately want to tell anyone of your findings, maybe you do actually need the support of people who regularly flirt or hack their way into police files to uncover this mystery.

I know paranoia is not supposed to be rational. But I will keep yelling at Jon to please maybe THINK for a second.

Also. Tim's practically solving this mystery for me. I feel very heard. And also damn, I need to point out and appreciate Tim's social/observational skills here. Tim is aware that Jon's been having a rough time because he went through the exact same trauma, and he acnowledges that. Tim gives further support to my "Elias doesn't care" theory by virtue of having it himself. He rightly points out Martin's - at this point - harmful conflict avoidance, and he just cuts himself off when he gets to Not-Sascha.

What have you noticed about her, Tim?

Honestly, I headcanon Sascha and Tim were something like best buddies pre-and-during-season-one, since they're mentioned to work together a lot. Maybe he noticed the 180° in her personality. Maybe he feels just as betrayed by her dismissal of Jon as by Martin's, but if it were just that, he wouldn't cut himself off, would he? I can imagine he tried to reach out to her about his troubles, but due to whatever Not-Sascha is up to, or maybe because she lacks the bond/the memories of the real Sasha, she probably brushed him off.

UGh, I am so invested in this.

What's most infruriating is that just as Tim realizes that he can't leave, and Jon explains to him that the archives are trapping them - that should have been Jon's clue that Tim is being genuine here, that he didn't kill anyone, that he's trying to get out of an incredibly shitty situation that Jon is absolutely responsible for.

But instead, Jon still refuses to trust Tim. And if Jon really thinks that Tim is faking here, that he is pretending to be this emotionally distraught, that he was faking what, years of friendship? That he is that good an actor, than that means Jon also does not take much stock into their friendship, into the very real struggle Tim is displaying here. He doesn't acknowledge it because he doesn't believe it, and that's a paranoia that's downright heinous. Imagine you're having a mental breakdown and your long time friend is so wrapped up in their own shit they don't believe you. While you're standing in front of them, having symptoms and a face full of worm holes.

So yeah, our man Tim does not deserve any of this shit.

Also, Jon's absolute social inability shining through brightly here, that he thinks that Tim thinks that Jane Prentiss is his fault. Ma brother in horror podcasts, everything after is the problem, and the fact that Jon refuses to own up to it here kind of shows that even his previous apology to all of them - what, 5 episodes ago? - was not genuine.

You're an asshole, Mr. Archivist.

Do you guys think Elias knows that none of them can leave? I think after Gertrude he should have realized the archives appear to be a job for life. Has he tried to leave himself? Maybe he doesn't give a shit because he knows, whatever is going on, he cannot escape. The only think he can do is watch everyone around him go insane and or die, until the madness claims him as well.

Now that would be interesting, wouldn't it?

[lifesapartyyoureaboy]

My Thoughts on TDP Season 4

Nobody asked for my opinion but I’m giving it anyways. 

Dude, what was going on with Rayla this entire season? She comes back with zero explanation and acts so casual about the whole thing, even though she has to know how much it hurt Callum to see her leave. And then she says that she went after Viren for vengence (when in ttm and Dear Callum she makes it pretty clear that’s not her reasoning), ditches a dragon in need, ditches Soren, and FORGETS IBIS’ NAME? Like bro. It doesn’t help, also, that I’m pretty sure she came back the day that Viren does. As the season went on she started acting more like herself- and the coin scene was really cool to watch- but idk. I think I’m still kind of hoping that it’s revealed that this is a fake Rayla, and the real one will come back and issue a real apology to Callum and be hella awkward and nervous about being around him, bc her leaving for two years was played off a little too much for my liking. 

I’m also kind of upset that Callum didn’t get mad and yell at her, I was dying to see that happen. My boy deserves a moment to be completely honest about his feelings. And in a panel they did a while back there was some light alluding to what they called the “scary hand ice scene” or something like that, which really seemed like it was talking about Rayla having some kind of vulnerable moment, but that didn’t happen this season, so maybe it happens later or I fabricated that whole thing or they just didn’t actually do it. I still hope we get a scene like that at some point though, it’d be interesting to see if Rayla almost losing her hand in season one is still effecting her somehow, mentally or physically. 

At the end too- just one more thing about Rayla and then I’ll move on- when she sees Viren and wants to go after him, and Callum lets her go ALONE? That would have been the perfect opportunity for him to show her that they’re stronger together, since she keeps leaving him because she wants to keep him safe, but instead he just let her walk off. I just felt like that could have been a really interesting scene, but maybe they had their reasons for it. Idk, it felt weird to me. 

Loved Terry though. He seems like such a genuinely sweet person and I appreciated him sticking up for Rayla and calling Claudia out- which, by the way, the whole coin scene was awesome. I’m so glad that (potentially fake) Rayla got Runaan and her parents back. 

I also loved seeing more of Soren! We didn’t get a whole lot of Soren actually being a good guy and showing off his skills in the past few seasons, so I really enjoyed that spotlight on him this time around, he deserves it. I love Soren so much. 

Finally, I want to say that I’m glad Viren didn’t get a redemption arc. It was kind of hinted at for a second there, when he went on that speech about how he was always trying to be something he’s not and now wants to travel the world, and it felt really cheap and shallow to me, personally. After all the shit he did in the past three seasons, now suddenly he’s seeing the error in his ways? I get that death can be enlightening, but it was too quick of a change in him for my liking, so I’m glad they don’t seem to be going that route. 

So yeah, loved most of the season, just hoping they clear up and explain where Rayla’s been, why she came back, and wtf the key of Aaravos does and how Callum knows it’s the key of Aaravos, because that was kind of thrown in there and I feel like that should be elaborated upon. 

[yoonpobs]

Omg requests are open AAAHHH

may i request an oblivious oc and tsundere yoongi who likes holding oc's hands and idk like maybe oc thinks it's bc his hands are cold and his friends make fun of him and oc only realizes yoongi likes her when they spill his secret

as a yoongi stan, this is my guilty pleasure and this absolutely KILLED ME ily for asking this 🤣and double update today???? who am I????? 

hope you enjoy this v fluffy and v yoongi piece <3

pairing: tsundere!yoongi x oblivious&clumsy!oc

genre: FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFF

warnings: lots of squealing into ur pillow moments. taehyung, jimin & jin being the saviours tbh

words: 3, 136

Yoongi is staring at you like you spilt milk over his favourite pair of sneakers and you have no idea what to make of it.

“Uh …” You drag, blinking up at him with wide eyes when all he does is level you with a blank stare.

You can hear the distinct chatter of your friends in the background, likely already having their go skating around the rink. They always left you and Yoongi alone, for whatever reason it may be. But you weren’t complaining, you wanted to give him your gift in private!

But when Yoongi only stares at the mass of knit in your palms as you hold it out to him, you can only feel your ears flush an embarrassing shade of red at the subtle gesture of rejection. 

Yoongi was by no means a malicious person, but he was very clear-cut. He was straightforward and it was definitely one of his qualities that you admired the most about him. His ability to mitigate any situation, or look at things objectively was something that you struggled with for the most part of your life. Which is why some people would mistake him for cold or uncaring, but you knew better. 

“Do you … do you not like it?” You ask meekly, eyes darting everywhere but his as they continue to stare you down.

Yoongi doesn’t say a word. Instead, he grabs your hands with his larger palm where your gift lays and observes it, scrutinises it as if he’s there to pick apart any stray strand of yarn. His hand, despite his exterior, is soft and gentle when he holds you; and your brain short-circuits for a good five seconds when he traces a thumb over your knuckles.

“It’s cute.” He shrugs.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Your eyes dart down to your hands and somehow you find them in a familiar position. His fingers intertwined with yours and his palm engulfing yours entirely.

“T-Then why don’t you—” You try to pull away, making an effort to dangle your hand-woven mittens in front of him in hopes of attracting his appeal towards it.

But he doesn’t even bat an eye, just sighs and squeezes your hand tighter.

“I’m holding your hand.” He says pointedly, shooting you a serious stare.

You stutter for a response, and despite the chill in the air you hope he can allude to the redness of your cheeks a result of the wind that blows past you and not the flustered state you find yourself in when he tugs your body closer to his.

You suppose you found a bad spot to give him the mittens because you nearly stumble into his chest at how wobbly you are on skates. You planned his gift for weeks, fully aware that your group of friends was intending on coming to ice-skate. 

“I’m really bad at ice-skating. I’ll just slow you down.” You huff with a frown, still attempting to tug your hand away.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, “I literally don’t care.”

You gape at his bluntness and scowl when he only offers you a lazy smirk. His hand is still tightly wrapped around your own, and you sigh, knowing that it was hopeless to fight against Yoongi when he was far stronger than you were.

“I can skate with Tae or something, he and I are pretty much—“

“No.” Yoongi blinks.

You splutter, “E-Excuse—?”

He snatches the mittens from your other hand and shoves them into his pocket. The action is so quick that you can barely register the way Yoongi is tugging your forehead as you flounder on your feet, already feeling unstable at the way the ice is set on making you fall.

But Yoongi is there like he always is, and he rests a gentle palm on your waist and shoots you a rare and soft smile that makes your heart weak.

“I’ll teach you.” He says it like it’s obvious, “Just hold my hand.”

“Yoongi, I really don’t think—” You weakly protest when he pulls you closer until you’re nestled comfortably by his side, his face set forward as he blatantly ignores you.

“Stop being so stubborn and hold on tight.” He scolds, squeezing your hand when he feels your fingers loosen its grip.

You pout, your other hand patting your cheek in hopes of easing the burning of your cheeks.

.

Lest to say, you are horrid at ice-skating and you wished you stayed home.

Your two left feet was probably the least interesting thing about you, yet it was the one thing that left a lasting impression on the people you’ve met. Whether it be because you tripped up a flight of stairs as you rushed to your next lecture, or if you accidentally torpedoed into a bush while you were attempting to penny

“How are you even real?” He huffs, fingers intertwined tightly with your own. You’re grateful he has a lethal grip on you because you don’t think you’re ready to be doused in ice, even if it was at your own accord.

“I’m sorry!” You whine, hand still clasped with his.

Yoongi doesn’t let go, even if you’re stable on your feet. He never does. He only holds your hand tighter, grumbling something about your clumsiness as he uses his spare hand to adjust the strap of his bag over his shoulders. When he shoots you a look, you feel very much like a scolded child as you pout up at his narrowed eyes.

“What would you do if I wasn’t holding your hand, huh?” He laments, eyes rolling while he tugs you towards the direction of your friends who have somehow all gathered at the corner of the rink.

You stare at your feet, tittering to keep up with his long strides as he keeps the hold on your hand firm. 

“Look, I don’t ask to be swept away—!” You retort petulantly, but Yoongi completely ignores you as he squeezes your hand in response, right as he stops in front of your friends.

You’re still sulking when Yoongi doesn’t let go, shooting you a look that has you pursing your lips shut. 

“Lovely for the two of you to join us,” Jimin snorts.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but you miss the lethal glare he shoots at your mutual friend.

“I’m sorry that my skating skills can’t keep up with you,” You huff.

You see Jin’s eyes dart down to your intertwined hands, before looking up; a knowing smirk on his face that you can’t decipher.

“Seems like Yoongi has it all settled.” He snickers, nudging Jimin by the side.

You can feel Yoongi roll his eyes next to you, even if you pout at Jin’s words.

“At this rate, I think you’re basically joined by the hands,” Jimin says smugly.

You blink.

“She’ll fall,” Yoongi says blankly.

“Look, I said I’d skate with Tae but he’s so adamant!” You cry.

Yoongi shoots you a dry glare, before briefly releasing your hand. You splutter for a second, surprised at the sudden coldness that engulfs your grip and the emptiness that you feel when he no longer has his fingers intertwined with your own.

“What—?” You furrow your brows but Yoongi pats you on the hand to ease your confusion.

“I’m getting you hot chocolate. Your hands are freezing.” He murmurs, and to prove his point; he grabs your fingers and rubs soothing circles on your knuckles to provide you with any warmth he could.

If your hands weren’t warm, then your cheeks definitely were. You couldn’t hold eye contact with Yoongi because he was staring at you so intently that you may have been the one to melt into a puddle on the ice.

“But the mittens—!” You call, but he’s already skating away to the confectionary stand where they sell hot chocolate.

You sigh, dejected as you frown. Did he really hate the mittens that much?

“You are so stupid.” Jin gawks at you with a shake of his head.

You turn your head so fast that you nearly fall over, but Jimin’s grip on your wrist prevents you from doing so.

“And clumsy, God, no wonder hyung won’t let you go.” He scolds.

You frown, “Hey! What the hell is up with the slander?” You whine.

Taehyung stumbles into the conversation, quite literally almost smashing his body against the divider but he manages to balance himself by gripping the hell out of Jin’s shoulders.

“You deserve it,” He sticks his tongue out as you gape at him.

“What?! Why?” You hiss, “You literally just entered the conversation!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, “And I’ve had to see you and hyung doddle around each other for ages so spare me the fucking brain cells because clearly, you need it more than I do.”

“What—?” You splutter.

“You are literally the densest person on this planet.” Jin blinks.

“What are you guys even talking about?” You cry.

Jimin shoots you a dry look, willing the God’s above to give you a semblance of rationality or logic to put two and two together.

“The hand-holding? The constant going out of his way to do things for you? The fact that you’re the only person he’ll ever smile at even if you do the dumbest shit ever?” Taehyung exasperates.

You blink.

“It’s winter and his fingers get really cold—!”

Jin groans, tugging at his hair in frustration.

“No, you idiot! Yoongi literally doesn’t get cold. He’s the human equivalent of a furnace! He literally doesn’t give a shit if he freezes to death. The only reason why he ever holds your hand is that he wants to!” He yells, grabbing you by the shoulder as he shakes your body while you stare up at him with wide eyes.

Does that mean—?

“He hates the mittens?” You cry, face crumbling.

You see Taehyung, Jimin and Jin’s face fall as they all share a look of disbelief.

“I’m sorry but I have no way to defend you.” Jimin blinks.

“I just wanted to do something nice for him! He’s always taking care of me and I thought knitting him a pair of mittens would help with the cold …” You mumble, eyes darting down to your feet as your voice trails off into a whisper.

“Okay, I know I promised hyung I wouldn’t say anything until she figured it out herself but I can’t take it anymore.” Taehyung seethes to the other boys.

Your eyes dart up, furrowing in confusion as Jimin and Jin’s eyes widen at Taehyung’s statement.

“Figured what—?”

“Dude, Yoongi is going to kill you,” Jin warns.

Taehyung scoffs, “Like I give a shit. I’m losing brain cells listening to her speak so this is an act of self-preservation. He’s going to thank me and so are you.”

“What are you—?” You huff.

“Yoongi likes you!” He exasperates, throwing his hands into his air.

The silence is overwhelming, as the four of you simply blink at each other. Your brain is processing his words, but it doesn’t really make sense. You’re confused as you attempt to deduce the meaning behind it until you come to a conclusion—

You look over at Jimin, “Are the two of you—?”

Jimin wants to scream.

“No, oh my God! Yoongi likes you! You!” He shakes you so hard that your head spins, “He likes you so much it’s disgusting and cute so you better do something about it and not accustom us to this torture anymore, okay?!”

Before you can say anything else, you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder. You blink up, and you see Yoongi offering you a cup of hot chocolate, eyeing the rest of the boys weirdly as they stand there with tightened expressions.

“Here you go,” He says softly, helping you blow onto the steaming cup before gently placing it into your hand.

It warms you up immediately, and you only then managed to piece together what Taehyung and Jimin just told you. The realisation dawns upon you as a scandalised expression makes its way onto your face. Yoongi raises an eyebrow, observing the odd behaviour of the four of you as the three boys ignore his pointed gaze.

“L-Let’s go take a seat,” You stutter, pushing on his chest with your free hand as you attempt to skate away from the wandering eyes. The pressure was too much.

“Hey, hold on, you’ll fall.” He gently chides, doing what comes as second nature to him as he grabs your other hand, giving you a squeeze of reassurance.

As the two of you skate away, you miss the sighs that leave the three boys’ lips.

“So, is there a reason why you tried to skate away like you were an Olympian?” Yoongi asks when the two of you managed to settle down in a small bench outside of the rink, tucked a decent distance away.

You look down at your palms, squeezing around the hot chocolate as you pay attention to the steam that escapes the surface.

The words from Jimin was essentially still haunting you, and you wondered if this was some sick joke of his to get back at you for mixing up his toothpaste with his shampoo a few months back. You sulk because this was a really mean joke and your feelings were about to get really hurt if he was lying to you.

“Hey,” Yoongi murmurs, hand reaching out to tilt your chin up to look at him. His stare is so intense that you find yourself cowering away, cheeks red and embarrassed. “Look at me.”

You can’t.

“I-I … there’s nothing wrong!” You squeak, eyes travelling and landing on different people that wasn’t Yoongi. Anyone that wouldn’t cause your insides to melt with just his gaze alone.

Yoongi purses his lips in disapproval, sighing before he sets his hot chocolate by the table next to the bench and turns to face you. You knew that you had no place to run, especially when Yoongi essentially traps you with his eyes, observing your every move.

“You’re shaking.” He points out.

And only then do you realise that you were shaking, and your hands were basically vibrating with the hot chocolate. You cursed at yourself, and the cold.

“I-I’m cold.” You chatter.

Yoongi frowns, reaching out his hand to immediately grab your own to warm them up. But when you spot his hands, you squeak, immediately retracting them as if he was about to bite them off. 

You realise how it looks, and you notice the slight drop in Yoongi’s expression when you reacted the way you did.

“Are you—?” He begins to ask, slow and tentative.

“Not my hands!” You blurt out.

Yoongi pauses for a second before he relaxes his posture and raises a brow at you in questioning.

“Okay …?” He drags, “Where are you cold? Do you need my jacket?” He asks.

You curse at yourself because you didn’t know how to get yourself out of this situation. Especially now that Yoongi was patiently waiting for your response. Your thighs were essentially brushed up against each other, and his body was leaned over ever so slightly that you catch every strand of eyelashes on his eyes.

You were so weak.

“N-No, I … you can keep your jacket.” You stutter, shaking your head as you pat his puffer down when he goes to shrug it off.

Yoongi’s frown deepens, “Well, can you tell me where so I can help—?”

“My lips!” You declare, voice high pitched and loud enough that it attracts a few stares from bystanders.

Yoongi just stares at you, and you’re mortified when you realise what you said, but you can’t seem to stop now that you’ve already dug a hole for yourself.

“My … lips … they’re ... cold,” You clear your throat, blinking up at him with a false sense of determination in hopes of shielding the way your face is undoubtedly on fire right now.

“Your lips … are cold?” He articulates each world tentatively as he observes your face for any reaction.

You nod.

“Yeah. Cold.” You say.

Oh my God, shut up!

Before you can even run away, and it’s as if Yoongi expects you to flee, he pins your hands down with his own and draws closer to your face so quickly that you can barely even catch his next move.

And kisses you.

Smack on the lips.

He pulls away too fast for your liking, and you’re gaping at him like a fish out of the water when you realise what he did.

“You—” You croak, pointing a finger at him.

But Yoongi leans in once more, pressing a firmer kiss to your lips, one that sends your brain into overdrive as you feel yourself melt into his hold. If you were cold, you definitely weren’t anymore. Not when Yoongi is pressed against you like a warm lover by the fireplace.

He pulls away first, again, and you notice the tip of his ears turning red before he offers you that charming smile of his.

“Took you long enough,” He sighs, reaching out to cradle your jaw in his palm. And only then do you realise that Jimin was right, his hand is warm.

“W-What?”

He rolls his eyes fondly, ignoring the way you stare up at him with confused and wide eyes; likely still absorbing what just happened.

“Just hold my hand,” He tuts, reaching in between the both of you to intertwine your fingers together once more as he rests your combined hands on his lap.

“Does this mean …?” You ask shyly, head ducking away from his eyes.

He smiles at you, and you notice that it’s the same look he’s always had whenever he speaks to you.

He brings the back of your hand to his lips and presses a gentle peck to it, causing heat to rise to your cheeks all over again.

“You warm now, cutie?” He murmurs.

You melt, “Oh my God! Don’t—just—I’m literally going to die!” You whine, shoving your face into his puffer as you scream at his suaveness.

He chuckles, low and deep as he unlocks your hands to wrap an arm around your body, tugging you closer until you’re practically glued to his hip like a koala.

“Don’t die on me now,” He sighs, “Just got you to myself.”

“I hate you so much.” Your complaint is muffled into his puffer, but you can feel his grin on the top of your forehead when he presses a warm kiss to it.

“That’s disappointing. I like you very much,” He returns.

You blush, but you don’t push him away when he laughs into your hair, the sound making you melt further into his arms.

You liked him, too.

[etherrreal]

“5:00am”

Pairing: ushijima x reader Genre: fluff Summary: looking back, you’re not sure what made you think that jogging with ushijima would end in anything but complete and utter disaster, but it’s too late to go back now WC: 5k Warnings: brief mentions of non-serious injury, a little blood, implied smut, too many paragraphs about ushijima’s hands A/N: first fic gang! this was supposed to be like 500 words but as the blog title suggests, i’m a liar -Dawn

You’re not sure what possesses you to go jogging with Ushijima at the ungodly hour of 5AM –and on a Saturday, no less– but here you are, tugging a windbreaker over your tank top and leggings while he waits for you by the door.

Most of it, you’re sure, is just because you miss him. The two of you have been so busy lately –you with your new job, him with the whole professional volleyball thing– so this is the first weekend in a while that you’ll actually be spending together.

It’s only natural that you want to spend as much time as possible with your boyfriend before your respective commitments are back to pulling you both in opposite directions, as they have more times than you’d like to admit in the past four months you’ve been dating.

Or maybe 5AM-you, lacking caffeine, sleep, and any sense of real judgment, is just losing your mind.

Ushijima certainly seems to think so, if the look he gives you when you volunteer to accompany him on his routine morning jog is any indication. He’s far from the most expressive person you’ve ever dated, but you’ve been with him long enough to register the surprise on his features; the way his pretty olive eyes widen a fraction and the way he pauses to watch you, like he’s trying to gauge how serious you are.

“What?” you ask as you join him by the door, removing your slippers.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “You hate running.”

“Running? Absolutely. Jogging, however, I think I can handle, especially if it’s with my handsome boyfriend who I haven’t spent nearly enough time with lately.”

With your slippers out of the way, you move to reach for your sneakers next. A quick glance in his direction confirms that he’s still giving you that same bewildered look, a crease forming between his eyebrows. It makes you falter as you pick up your sneakers, wondering if you’ve made a mistake.

Now that you think about it, he does usually jog on his own. The two of you are no strangers to working out together –if him doing push-ups with you perched comfortably on his back counts as working out– but you’ve never actually joined him on a morning run before.

Is this something he prefers to do alone? Are you overstepping his boundaries by inviting yourself along before checking to see if it was okay? Suddenly, you find yourself wishing you would’ve asked first.

“Do you...not want me to go with you? Because if you’d prefer to go alone, that’s totally fine, I’ll just–”

He catches your wrist before you can put your sneakers back down, and the rest of your sentence is lost somewhere between the fingertips he presses against your skin and the other hand he uses to lift yours.

It’s almost criminal, you think, the way a single touch from him is enough to completely derail your train of thought, whatever you were babbling about suddenly the furthest thing from your mind. You think you shouldn’t be as phased by it by now, not after all the time you’ve spent together, but no such luck.

Really, it’s his hands that are the problem, now that you think about it. His hands, steady and calloused and strong, but still so undeniably gentle and patient when it comes to you.

It’s hard to pick your favorite feature of Ushijima’s when he looks the way he does –all tanned skin, broad shoulders, and chiseled abs– but his hands are pretty high up on your list. They have been from the moment you met him at Iwaizumi’s housewarming party last year.

You had obviously seen him before, though you never actually spoke to him until the party. It was mostly during high school volleyball matches between Aoba Johsai and Shiratorizawa, courtesy of your childhood friendship with Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

You remember spotting Ushijima and thinking he looked so serious and unapproachable, even more imposing than he did in the photos of him featured in that Monthly Volleyball magazine you used to watch Oikawa vandalize with ridiculous-looking mustaches and devil horns.

When you saw Ushijima at Iwaizumi’s party, he still looked serious, not to mention larger and even more intimidating in person, but his hands were warm and kinder than you were expecting, careful in the way they wrapped around yours when he introduced himself. It was only hours later when those same hands reached for yours again to help you off the couch that you realized you spent the whole night with him.

Now, months later, you’re standing with him in his stupidly expensive apartment, half-panicked that you might’ve overestimated his desire to spend time with you. But Ushijima’s hands are still steady and warm against your skin, even now, reassuring in a way you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of.

“I’d love it if you joined me,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand, and if you weren’t smiling before, then you definitely are now.

You pull on his hand to tug him down towards you, a request that he silently obliges. You perch on your toes to reach him and deliver a chaste kiss to his lips, smiling against his mouth. When you pull away to look at him, you find him smiling, too, in that soft and subtle way of his that you’re so glad he’s chosen to share with you.

“Just promise me you’ll be careful,” he adds. “We’ll be running for a while, and I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re clumsier than most.”

Sadly, he’s not wrong. You are pretty clumsy, almost cartoonishly so. He’s watched you bang your leg on his dining room table practically every time you pass it, heard you curse to yourself after accidentally knocking down every item in his shower. At this point, holding your arm in his is as natural to him as breathing, just so he’s there to keep you from tripping over your own two feet.

And while you definitely appreciate the concern, you don’t think it’s entirely necessary, at least not for this. Sure, you have a bad habit of falling on your ass more often than not, but you’re also able to do so without sustaining any major injuries. You’re confident this time will be no different.

Besides, it’s just one jog. You’ll survive, even if your muscles might hate you for it later. Still, you know he worries about you, which is why you reach up to give him another quick kiss.

“Deal,” you assure him once you pull away. Then, you grin, voice taking on a more teasing edge as you look up at him. “As long as you promise not to be embarrassed when I leave you in the dust. You know, since I’m just so naturally athletic.”

Ushijima’s never been the best at detecting sarcasm, but with you, like so many other things, it’s different. He can tell you’re joking by the way you giggle and wink at him, and when he huffs out a quiet laugh, you smile and sit down to put on your sneakers.

He surprises you when he kneels to tie them for you before you get the chance to do it yourself.

“Careful, Wakatoshi,” you warn him, not for the first time. “If you keep being so sweet to me, you’ll never be able to get rid of me. You might just be stuck with me forever.”

“That’s fine,” he says, like he’s already considered the consequences before and has chosen to accept them. “You’re the only one I can imagine being with for that long, anyway.”

He moves on to tie the laces on your second sneaker, taking zero responsibility for the way his words make your heart flutter in your chest. He always does this: says stupidly romantic things with barely any prompting and absolutely no consideration or even awareness of the effect they have on you.

His voice doesn’t change when he says them, either. He uses the same blunt tone he always does, like it’s a simple fact, like he’s asking you to pass him his phone charger instead of alluding to a potential future with you.

It just makes you fall that much more in love with him.

Not that you’ve actually told him yet. You’re still waiting for the right moment. You wonder if maybe this might be it, but then he stands up and turns away from you to open the door and the opportunity is gone.

Maybe that’s for the best. This morning, you decide that you can handle jogging with your pro-athlete boyfriend or confessing your love for him, not both. The latter will just have to wait for dinner tonight, assuming you make it back in one piece and your legs don’t just fall off from the sudden exercise.

You stand up and follow him out the door.

Ushijima insists you both take the time to stretch before you actually start running, so you spend a few minutes doing so in the empty lobby. You pretend to struggle with a few of them, just so you’ll have an excuse to have his hands on you.

You’re almost positive he sees through your little ruse, if the amused look he gives you is any indication, but he doesn’t complain, guiding his hands over your body to help you bend and stretch like he can’t see the grin on your face.

Once you’re all warmed up, you’re ready to start jogging. You follow behind him as he leads you along his usual path down the block, the streets noticeably empty, save for the occasional passing car.

You know the only reason you’re able to keep up with him is because he’s slowing down for you, but you don’t let it bother you. He’s a professional athlete, after all, and you’re the kind of person who doesn’t even like to run to catch the bus, so it’s to be expected. Still, you give it your all, remembering to keep your breathing steady just like he taught you.

And you have to admit, your aversion to any sort of cardio aside, jogging with Ushijima is actually kind of fun.

For the first five minutes, at least.

Then it all goes to shit.

You’re not sure how it happens, either. One moment, everything is great. Sure, you’re already feeling a little sweaty, and maybe your lungs are screaming at you just a tiny bit –the price of inactivity, and all that– but you power through it because, in the words of so many great orators before you, mama ain’t raise no bitch.

But then you trip on something –a pothole in the street, your own foot, who the hell knows– and suddenly you’re wiping out for the entire world –or maybe just your boyfriend and that one stray cat you passed, which is still pretty embarrassing– to see.

Ushijima’s quite a few feet ahead of you now, because as much as he tried to slow down for you in the beginning, you figure he just can’t help but speed up a bit. He’s not the type to do anything half-assed, not even a casual morning jog. You’re almost grateful for it in a way, because it means he doesn’t actually see you trip and stumble like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time.

He does, however, hear the yelp that escapes your throat, making him glance over his shoulder just in time to see you fall forward. He runs back towards you, but he’s too far to reach you in time, and your knees hit the pavement hard, your hands shooting out to catch yourself as best as you can.

You don’t even have to look to know that the skin on both your knees and your palms is scraped up. There’s also a shooting pain that starts at your ankle and darts right up your leg, reassuring you that you most definitely stepped on it wrong.

Ushijima is by your side in an instant, normally stoic face scrunched up with worry. He helps you twist yourself into a more comfortable position on the sidewalk, though it does little to ease your embarrassment or your annoyance with your own incoordination.

“I’m okay,” you try to reassure him, but that’s not entirely the truth. Your palms are stinging and your ankle is throbbing, not to mention the fact that your knees currently resemble a cat’s scratching post. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

The look he gives you is doubtful, and you know for a fact he doesn’t believe you at all. “You’re bleeding.”

And holy crap, you are. It shouldn’t be a surprise to you, since you felt the entire thing, but the sight of the blood on your knees and palms still stuns you a bit.

“Come on.” He wraps his arms around you, pulling you up with ease you would normally marvel at if it didn’t make you feel so pathetic. “We’re going back. I’ll be able to treat your wounds and take a better look at your ankle.”

“Whaa– but we’ve barely even started jogging!” you protest, pouting despite the stinging of your cuts. “I told you that I’m fine, Toshi. I can still walk–”

You try to put pressure on the ankle you rolled and immediately wince. You almost stumble forward again, but this time Ushijima is there to catch you, holding you against him with his arms around your waist.

“No, you can’t. You need to treat your injuries, so stop being stubborn and let me help you. We’re going back.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, eyebrows drawing together in frustration –mostly at yourself– but stubborn as you are, you know he’s right. There’s no arguing your way out of this one, not that he would listen to you in the first place. He’s always been protective of you, which means he won’t be budging on this.

You heave a defeated sigh but nod at him anyway, relenting. He helps you hobble along with your arm around his shoulders and his arm around your waist for a few steps before he seems to think better of it.

In one fluid motion, he’s picking you up in his arms, holding you bridal style against his chest. And while normally his arms are one of your favorite places to be, the fact that he has to carry you like this all because you’re an idiot who can’t watch where you’re going is doing nothing to ease your already damaged pride.

You try to convince him to put you down and let you walk on your own, but unsurprisingly, he doesn’t agree. Your face, which is already warm with embarrassment, just seems to heat up even more. Your mortification only increases when you spot his apartment building a few streets later.

God, the two of you were running for what, maybe five minutes? Six? And now you’re already back home? Talk about embarrassing. And right after you promised him to be careful, too.

The fact that the pothole –which you are now deciding to blame for your fall, because you don’t think your ego can handle anything else– had the audacity to trip you and then not immediately swallow you whole to save you this embarrassment is honestly disrespectful, at this point.

Ushijima was right earlier. You do hate running. And you hate yourself even more for believing that jogging at any hour –least of all 5AM– would end in anything other than complete and utter disaster.

Your only consolation is that it’s so early, chances are that no one else saw you trip and almost eat shit in the middle of the street. It’s the little victories that count, you suppose, though you might just have to burn this outfit later to rid yourself of the reminder. You’re not sure how you’re ever going to live this one down.

Thankfully, the universe seems to take some pity on you, since you don’t pass any of Ushijima’s neighbors in the lobby. He maneuvers you into the apartment, managing to close the door behind him and remove his sneakers without putting you down.

When he does finally let you go, it’s to place you delicately on his bed. He disappears from the room and returns a moment later with a first aid kit and an ice pack, while you flop defeatedly onto your back against his pillows, pouting.

“I can’t believe I actually fell.” You groan, throwing an arm over your eyes. You feel the bed dip beneath his weight as he sits beside you, but you still don’t move. “The one time I willingly decide to run, and this is what happens. We didn’t even make it past the supermarket!”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It could’ve happened to anyone,” he says, opening the first aid kit. His voice is as straightforward as ever, but you know he’s trying to comfort you in his own way. “Besides, it could’ve been a lot worse.”

“Worse than twisting my ankle and making a fool of myself five minutes in?” You shift to prop yourself up on your elbows and raise an eyebrow at him. “How?”

“You could’ve twisted your ankle and made a fool of yourself two minutes in instead.”

The bluntness of his response makes you snort, cracking a half-smile as you push yourself to sit up fully. “Good point.”

You watch as he gets to work, mesmerized by how careful he is with you. He takes your palms in his hands, wiping away the blood gently and cleaning the small scratches it reveals. The scrapes on your knees, which he moves to next, sting more, but he moves slowly enough that it doesn’t overwhelm you. He’s always taken such good care of you, and this time is no different.

After all of your scrapes are covered, he examines your ankle, which is unsurprisingly the worst of your injuries. When he helps you tug your sneaker and sock off, you can both see it’s already swelling.

It’s not broken, he assures you, but it is lightly sprained. You’ll need to rest and compress it until you’re ready to walk on it again, but the ice should help with the swelling. He lifts your ankle on top of a few pillows to keep it elevated, covering it with the ice pack.

He moves higher up on the bed to sit beside you against the headboard, searching your face for any signs of discomfort. “How does that feel?”

“It still hurts, but it’s not as bad as before,” you answer. “Honestly, I think my pride is more damaged than anything else.”

You lean back against the pillows propped up on his headboard and sigh, unable to stop the guilty frown tugging at your lips. As grateful as you are for his help, you also feel really bad that he had to stop and take care of you at all.

If you hadn’t insisted on joining him on his run, then none of this would’ve happened. You would still have two normal-sized ankles, and he would be able to finish his run without having to worry about you and your chronic clumsiness.

“I’m sorry I ruined our jog,” you find yourself apologizing, fiddling with the hem of your shirt guiltily. “It was supposed to be cute and fun, but all I did was screw it up. I’m sorry you had to come back to take care of me.”

Ushijima shakes his head. “Taking care of you isn’t a burden. There’s no need for you to apologize.”

His hands reach for yours, large enough to engulf your own as he turns them over. His eyes follow the path his fingertips trace lightly over the band-aids covering the scratches on your palms. “If I hadn’t gone on ahead of you–”

You press a hand against his chest to stop him, his eyes flickering back up to meet your own.

As endearing as his concern is, he’s not the one at fault here. You don’t think anyone is, really, except for maybe that damned pothole you may or may not have tripped on. More importantly, you don’t want him to blame himself for this.

“Nuh-uh, nope, none of that. I’m the one who tripped, remember? It’s not your fault I suck at running. Or any kind of physical activity, actually.”

You pause, tilting your head thoughtfully as you mull over your own words. He watches the mischievous smile he’s learned to love appear on your face, hears the teasing edge seeping into your tone as you lower your voice just a bit.

“Except maybe the one that involves you railing me into the mattress,” you add with a smirk, playful and just shameless enough in a way that never fails to draw him in even more. “That one, I don’t mind, for obvious reasons.”

He sighs, though your words don’t surprise him. “I really wish you wouldn’t word it that way.”

“Too late~”

You’re practically singing as you grin at him, grabbing his chin and bringing his face closer to yours.

He mutters something about you having a one track mind, but you don’t miss the amusement in his eyes or the fond little smile he casts in your direction. He doesn’t stop you from pulling him in either, allowing you to rest your other hand on the side of his face.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me, Wakatoshi.”

You meet him halfway for a loving kiss that you hope is enough to express your gratitude, one he doesn’t hesitate to return. When you break apart, he rests his forehead against yours.

And right when you think you can’t possibly love him anymore, he promises quietly, sincerely, “Always.”

As usual, he gives you no time to recover. He kisses you on the forehead and then stands up, announcing that there’s something else he needs to go grab before leaving the room.

Honestly, you’re hoping it’s food. You’re starving, and after all of this morning’s excitement* (see also: trauma), there’s nothing more you want than to cuddle up alongside your boyfriend while enjoying a plate of your favorite breakfast food.

To your surprise –and slight disappointment– when Ushijima returns, it’s not with food or anything else to treat your injuries, but rather with a set of keys. He sits beside you again, opening his palm to offer them to you.

“Well, those aren’t pancakes.” You take the keys anyway, twirling the ring around one of your fingers before raising an eyebrow at him. “Are these what I think they are?”

“The keys to my apartment,” he confirms. “I want you to move in with me.”

Your eyes widen. It’s not the last thing you expected him to ask you when he offered you the keys, but it’s definitely not the first one either.

When he first held them out to you, you thought maybe he was just giving you a copy of your own to hold onto, just in case you ever needed them. You’ve thought about offering him the same a few times before, just so he could let himself into your own apartment whenever he comes over instead of you having to get up and open the door for him.

But that’s not what’s happening here. It looks like Ushijima’s chosen to skip the exchanging apartment keys step entirely in favor of just straight up asking you to move in with him. And while part of you is thrilled by it, your heart hammering in your chest with excitement at the prospect of getting to wake up next to him every day, of getting to come home to him, there’s another part of you that’s wondering if maybe you’re moving too fast.

It’s not that you don’t trust him, or that you doubt how much he cares for you, because you don’t. Your previous partners couldn’t even spell commitment, much less agree to it, but Ushijima’s not like them.

He told you, not too long after the first few times you went out together, that he doesn’t believe in dating casually or wasting his time. If he’s with someone, it’s because he sees a future with them. Hearing that was a bit intimidating at first, but it was also extraordinarily refreshing.

Asking you to move in with him, you know, is just another step towards that future. And while the idea excites you, making you feel more secure and adored than in any of your past relationships, there’s a part of you that’s still a bit hesitant.

After all, what sets you and Ushijima apart –more than your senses of humor, more than your completely different levels of athletic ability, as evidenced by the ice pack and bandages you’re currently sporting– is the fact that you, unlike him, often get caught up in the “what-if’s” of a situation. Whenever you have to make a decision, you psych yourself out by imagining every little thing that could possibly go wrong.

He calls your name, tearing you from your thoughts. He’s looking at you like he already knows what you’re thinking, like he can see the tangle of anxiety you feel nestling into your bones. Maybe that’s why he reaches out to take the hand that’s not holding his keys, lacing your fingers together.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “You haven’t said anything.”

“I know, I know, I’m just...processing.” You give his hand a quick squeeze, moving the keys around in your other palm. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Since my last away game.” He answers right away like he doesn’t have to think about it, like he just knows. Not for the first time, you find yourself envying his conviction. “I went straight to your apartment from the airport, and you were already there, waiting. I realized how much I liked the idea of getting to come home to you, and vice versa. I’ve been waiting for the right time to ask you to move in since then.”

“Wakatoshi, that was last month. You’ve known since back then?” You stare at him with wide, wondering eyes, your cheeks already warming at the implication, growing even warmer when he nods. “And you don’t think it’s too soon? You’re not the least bit hesitant about living with me?”

“Hesitation is only necessary for those who are unsure of their desires. I know what I want, and that’s you, if you’ll have me.”

If you’ll have me. He says it like it’s easy. Like he’s already yours, to love and to be loved by.

And he is, you realize. He has been for a while, just like you have. You knew you were in love with him this morning, and you’ve known it for weeks before that, too. You just weren’t sure when or how to bring it up, but now you are.

“I’d like that. I like you– wait, that’s not right.” You release his hand, and he stares at you in confusion, the corner of his mouth curving downward. You’re quick to smooth it away with your thumb, your eyes earnest and full of affection as you correct yourself, “I love you, Wakatoshi.”

The confusion in his eyes quickly transforms into surprise. You’re not sure what stuns him more: your confession itself, or the confident, doubtless way you say it. You smile at him and take his face into your hands, careful to move his keys so they don’t scratch him.

“I’ve known it for a while. I just wasn’t sure when to bring it up, but now I am. I don’t expect you to say it back unless you’re ready, but–”

“I love you,” he says confidently, unwaveringly, and now it’s your turn to be stunned.

You blink, taken aback for a few seconds before your lips begin curving into a goofy smile. “Really?”

He hums affirmatively, and after that you can’t do anything besides kiss him. He’s quick to return the gesture, moving his mouth against yours and winding one arm around your waist to pull you closer. He pulls back from you right when you’re about to deepen the kiss. You try to pout, but it’s hard to do so when you feel as giddy and over the moon as you do now.

“Does this mean you’ll be moving in with me?”

“Of course.” You beam at him. “I’d love to move in with you, Wakatoshi.”

He smiles, his arm moving up to wrap around your shoulders, and your own smile grows brighter as you lean into him, cuddling against his side and resting your head against his chest. Things between you are quiet for a few moments, both of you basking in the comfortable silence.

You’re shifting his keys in your hand when a thought occurs to you, and you can’t help the laugh that escapes your chest.

“So this is why you let me go running with you this morning,” you tease. “You knew that if I did injure myself, that would just make it harder for me to leave, so I’d have no choice but to say yes to moving in. How sneaky of you.”

“You volunteered to join me–”

“I know, Toshi, I’m just kidding.” You grin, tilting your head to look up at him. “So, what do you say we go make some breakfast in your kitchen? I’m starving.”

“Our kitchen now,” he corrects, and your heart flutters in your chest for what must be the tenth time in the hour or so you’ve been awake this morning. It can’t be healthy for you. “And I’ll be the one making breakfast. You stay here and rest that ankle.”

He kisses your forehead and stands up to head into the kitchen. You frown at the loss of his warmth, but another look at the keys in your hand has you smiling again.

Maybe jogging isn’t so bad after all.

Written by: Dawn

[honeypiehotchner]

delicate -- Hotch x Reader one-shot

Here’s that one-shot I’ve been holding for a while! Named her delicate after Taylor Swift’s song, purely because of the whole “dive bar on the east side/where you at?” imagery. I listened to the Spotify Singles (acoustic) version of the song while writing this, if you wanna listen while you read! Enjoy!! xx.

Summary: Hotch doesn’t go to bars very often. Until he meets you at one.

Warnings: age gap (reader is somewhere around 24-25), mentioning of being safe at a bar (so alluding to date rape drugs), harassment from one drunk dickhead

Hotch Masterlist

Hotch doesn’t go to bars.

When he’s not on a case, working on paperwork for a case, or caring for his son, he’s normally asleep.

Not at a bar.

But some nights, the memories are too much. Some nights, the cases take a toll on him — especially the children that never made it back home to their parents.

He doesn’t know why he’s in a bar. The only time he comes is when the team goes out and wants to drag him with. It’s normally Dave who manages to get him to agree to a beer or two.

But Aaron is alone this time.

You, on the other hand, know exactly why you’re in a bar.

You’re bored, you’ve just finished your masters degree, you need a drink and some time to yourself to people-watch.

It’s fun, really. Observing people while they’re drunk. You usually have one drink and switch over to water, wanting to remember the things you see while also staying safe.

But occasionally— or, well, more than occasionally by the sheer unfortunate fact of you being a woman alone in a bar, you get the typical man sliding into the seat next to you before he’s even all the way through his rehearsed, “Is this seat taken?”

You never answer. There is no point in trying because their ass already hits the chair before you can say, “Yes, it’s taken, by my foot, now move before I kick it up your ass.”

You never say that, not often. Sometimes the guys can be pretty big assholes, but the bartender, Vanessa, knows you well, so she usually threatens security before you get yourself in trouble.

Unfortunately, tonight looks like it’s going to be one of those nights.

The bar is packed for a reason you aren’t privy too until you see (and hear) the random band start a new song. Great. Performance.

Still, you snag the last seat at the bar, waving to the bartender when she sees you. You barely get the seat warm before she’s sliding your usual in front of you.

“It’s on the house tonight,” she yells.

“What?” You shake your head. “No the fuck it’s not.”

She leans closer so she doesn’t have to yell as loud. “You are my saving grace in this sea of assholes, so yes it is. We can fight about it later.”

“Fine,” you roll your eyes. You dip your hands underneath the bar to switch your diamond ring from your right to left hand.

Tonight, you’re married.

You got this ring when your last relationship ended so badly. It was a long time coming, and once you were finally able to see the other side, you went out and bought yourself an engagement ring. Just for you. A promise to yourself to start loving yourself harder, and going out with dickheads less.

So far, it’s been wonderful. You’re loving being alone. It was exhausting going on so many first dates, trying to love someone else instead of letting yourself heal.

It’s been two years of singleness for you now, and you’ve loved almost every day.

The “wedding” ring usually makes most of the guys turn the other way. A few that are oblivious will try talking to you, but once they glance at your hand, they excuse themselves.

It’s hysterical, if you’re honest.

But some, unfortunately, don’t give a damn.

Like the guy who has just squeezed his way into the seat next to you.

You roll your eyes and prepare yourself for the shallow conversations because, for some ungodly reason, the band decided now was a good time for a break.

“You come here often?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Nope.”

“It’s a pretty good place,” the guy says, waving down the other bartender, his name is Nick. “You should come here more often.”

“Should I, now?”

“Yeah,” the guy grins. “You’ll see me.”

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly hurts.

“Wanna dance?”

“Not in the mood.”

“Can I buy you another drink?”

“No thanks.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Why, do you work here?”

“Look, I’m just trying to be nice.” Ah, there it is. The “nice guy” line.

You turn your head, raising an eyebrow. “Good for you. I’m not interested.”

“Ooh,” he feigns hurt, holding an open hand to his chest. “Ouch.”

You shrug. “You’ll get over it.”

“Damn.”

“Mm.”

“You sure you don’t wanna dance?”

“I’m married,” you say easily, picking your glass up with your left hand to show off your ring. You don’t drink from your glass because you made the mistake of looking away for only a moment, so now you’re paranoid that he might’ve slipped something in it.

The guy looks around, then back to you. “I don’t see a husband.” Oh, he sounds so smug. Like he’s pulled one over on you. Moron.

“He’s on a work trip.”

“Well, he’s not here.”

“You don’t want to get on his bad side, dude.”

“Oh really? What’s he do for a living?”

“He works for the FBI.” The lie slips from your mouth before you can stop it, and you almost laugh.

It’s something you’ve pulled from the countless guys that have said they work for the FBI, but have no badge to show for it. It’s always cracked you up. You’re aware there’s an FBI office around here, but you doubt a greasy, blackout drunk works for them. Let alone more than five greasy, blackout drunks in one night.

“The FBI, huh?” The guy says, just taking it in stride. “What’s his name?”

Right as you’re about to make one up until Vanessa can get back over here to threaten security, two arms slip around your waist.

You’re ready to throw caution to the wind along with your fists, but the owner of the arms says, “Just go with it, I’m Aaron.”

You turn your head to see a very handsome older man peering down at you, a smile on his lips that you can’t help but mirror. Something about his face has your gut screaming that you can trust him, so you play along.

“Honey! I thought you were in Texas!” You throw your arms around his neck for good measure, and also for a moment to casually get a good whiff of his cologne. Goddamn. You’ll gladly be his fake-wife. Any day. Forever.

“I was,” Aaron says, squeezing you before letting you go. He moves to stand next to you, his arm around your waist in a protective manner. “We landed early, wanted to surprise you.” He kisses your knuckles to keep up the act, and then settles his eyes on the man who was bothering you.

“You must be the husband,” the guy mutters bitterly. “You really work for the FBI?”

Oh, fuck, you think. This guy just doesn’t give up. A few future scenarios flash before your eyes, but the one most alarming is a fight erupting, which isn’t all that far-fetched. You’d never be able to come back if you caused something like that.

But before you can stumble through some excuse, Aaron is pulling out a badge. An actual badge.

“Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner. I’m the unit chief of the BAU,” he says easily, holding his badge out for as long as it takes the guy to inspect it. You have no clue what BAU stands for, but you’re just thanking whatever Gods might be real that this is happening.

The idiot is scowling by the time Aaron puts his badge away. He leaves without a word.

Your jaw nearly drops as you watch the guy go, and literally leave the bar. You had hopes that he’d leave you alone, but leaving the bar entirely is even better.

Aaron’s arm slips from around your waist as he moves to take the now empty seat next to you. All the while you’re gawking at him like you’re in some fever dream.

When he catches your eyes, he says, “What?”

“Am I dreaming?” You blurt. “Do you really work for the FBI?”

He chuckles and pulls out his badge again, holding it out to you where you can read it. And sure as shit, he’s an actual FBI agent. What the fuck.

You look up as he pulls his badge away. “Did you hear me tell the guy my husband worked for the FBI?”

Aaron shakes his head. “That was pure luck. By the way,” he holds his hand out to you. “I’m Aaron.”

“Y/N,” you shake his hand, smiling at the fact that Aaron wanted to go through the official pleasantries and that you got to feel how soft his hand is again. “Thank you for that. I thought he’d never leave.”

“No worries. And it’s best he did, I really didn’t feel like arresting anyone tonight.”

“Arresting him? For what?”

“Well for starters, harassment. But since that usually doesn’t hold up very well, I’d have to say it was for his cocaine addiction.”

Your eyes widen. “He was doing coke?”

“Well, not out in the open, of course, but there were traces of it on his nose and his eyes had that look to them. Addicts are easy to spot when you run into them enough.”

Who the hell is this guy?

“Oh, and forgive me, what’s your husband’s name?” Aaron gestures down at your left hand. “I might know him, but I can’t say that I recognize you.”

“Oh,” you move the ring back to your right hand, much to Aaron’s surprise. “I’m not married. I only put it on the left hand to try to avoid assholes like that.”

“I see,” Aaron nods, and if you’re not mistaken, he almost looks pleased.

Vanessa returns to get Aaron’s drink, and then gives you a look.

You want to scream, yes, I’m well aware he is dangerously attractive and that he’s talking to me but don’t you dare say a word to embarrass me.

Instead, you say, “Can you make me another?”

She nods in understanding and pours out your drink, setting off to make a second after sliding Aaron his beer.

“So,” you turn your body and prop your head in your palm. “What’s got an FBI agent in a bar on a Tuesday night?”

He takes a long swig of his beer before answering. “What’s the real story behind that ring on your hand?”

“Answer for an answer,” you sing, smiling at Vanessa when she brings you your drink. She leaves without a word, raising her eyebrows at you.

“The cases can be rough,” Aaron says vaguely, bringing your attention back to him. “You?”

“Got it as a promise to myself to never date another prick ever again,” you chuckle, gazing down at the ring. “It’s worked its magic, so far.”

“So far?”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

He smiles through his next swig of beer.

+++

It becomes a routine, you and Aaron sharing a drink at the bar.

To your surprise, he has the same views as you about alcohol. It’s fun to have one drink, but getting wasted and blacking out isn’t.

It’s refreshing, if you’re honest. Everyone your age wants to get absolutely shitfaced every time they go out, and that’s just never been for you.

It helps that Aaron is older. Well— You’re not sure if it helps or not. Because he is significantly older, the farthest you two have gone is sharing a drink at the bar. He usually leaves first, needing to get home to his son, to do more case work, or there was one time when he actually got a call about a case mid-drink. He was gone for two weeks after that.

But he always comes back, and he always finds you here, at this bar.  

You mostly come every night to keep Vanessa company for an hour or two. To give yourself a break from the chaos of reality and to give her a familiar face in the sea of drunken customers.

Every night that Aaron isn’t here, Vanessa asks you where he is. Like you would know (you only do if he tells you of a possible up and coming case). Like you have his number (you don’t). Like you care (you don’t want to admit that you do).

“No Daddy tonight?” Vanessa teases, sliding you your drink.

“If you don’t stop calling him Daddy, I swear to God.”

“Oh, don’t swear to Him. He doesn’t need to get involved.”

You send a glare her way, but you’re holding back a laugh.

“Is he still on a case?” She asks, trying to be serious again.

You shrug. “Who knows. They can last pretty long. He was gone two weeks for the last one.”

“Keeping track, are we?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying, you two are killing me here, sharing drinks and not saying how you feel. It’s torture to watch you every week, you know.”

“He’s like...twenty years older than me. Or something.”

“And?” She scoffs. “Age is but a number. You’re an adult. He’s an adult. It’s fine.”

You shrug. “He probably just sees me as a friend. He would’ve given me his number or something by now, right?”

“I dunno, men are weird. But he’s older, he’s probably scared to make a move, scared he’ll make you uncomfortable.”

You shrug again. You appreciate her trying to show you the possibilities, the logical reasons for why the two of you haven’t gone any further from the bar, but you aren’t sure what to believe. Plus, it’s been a week since you’ve seen him. The last time you two shared a drink, he didn’t say anything about a case.

So, he’s either on a case again, or has stopped coming.

The latter thought has you debating getting shitfaced wasted for the first time in years. Being blackout drunk would probably hurt you less than if it’s true that he’s just suddenly ditched you.

But what stops you is when Vanessa runs back over, eyes wide. “Just spotted your hottie.”

Oh, now he’s my hottie? “What?” You inwardly scold yourself for sounding a little too giddy at the prospect of him being here. 

But if he’s here, why isn’t he sitting next to you?

Vanessa answers that one for you. “At a table in the back. He’s with friends I think.”

Friends? Never mind then on sharing a drink with him. “Oh, cool.”

Vanessa looks like she wants to say something, but is called away to another customer.

You don’t want to butt in with Aaron’s time with friends, so you stay at the bar, facing forward, nursing your one drink. Your mind conjures a plan in two seconds flat: finish your drink, head out for the night and discreetly look in Aaron’s direction, hopefully catch his eye, but if not, just go home and...shower and go to sleep.

Because if he wants to see you, he will. If he doesn’t, then he won’t.

Good plan.

Or at least, it is, until Aaron is sliding up beside you.

Your heart launches itself into your throat. You don’t say anything because you have no idea what to say. You were too busy assuming he’d rather be with his friends (which is...fine because it’s not like the two of you are...dating) to notice him walking up.

He says something for you, though. “Hey.”

Well, he might as well have stayed silent. What are you supposed to do with that?

“Hey,” you return casually, then offer a small smile. “Thought you’d be gone longer.” You operate on the assumption that he was on a case.

And he was. “This one actually worked in our favor.” He leans his elbows onto the bar, and naturally your eyes follow the movement. He’s not in a stuffy suit like the last few times, but he’s still in a dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Arms. You’re a complete sucker for arms, and he’s practically teasing you like this.

“That’s good,” you comment, taking a sip from your drink. “Here to celebrate?”

“Yeah, we are.”

Nick brings Aaron his beer, thankfully, because you know Vanessa would’ve made some not-so-vague comment about Aaron being up here -- and maybe let an “accidental” Daddy comment slip.

To your surprise, Aaron sits down.

Your eyebrows furrow. “I thought you’re here with friends?”

Aaron looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “Just my team, yeah. I imagine they’re tired of me, though.”

You doubt that’s the case, but you know that if you say that, he’ll just brush it off.

“Not even gonna introduce me?” You tease instead, but you honestly want to smack yourself. You need to get a better hold on your word vomit. Inviting yourself is insanely rude.

Aaron’s eyebrows raise slightly, clearly not expecting you to say that — or to even want to be introduced to his team. “They’re a lot,” he says. “They’ll make a big deal out of this.”

“This?” You question, gesturing shortly between the two of you. “What is this?”

“What do you want it to be?” He asks carefully, averting his eyes shyly.

“Well,” you exhale dramatically, swirling your drink. “I think when you’ve shared a drink with a woman more than...twenty times, it should at least be considered dating.” You cut your eyes in his direction, your chest swelling as you see a grin breaking out on his face.

“I think I’m a bad date,” he says, confusing you. He chuckles, adding, “You don’t even have my number!”

“I’ll get it at the end of tonight,” you say, touching his arm gently for reassurance. “Come on, I think the back of my head is burning from how hard they’re staring.”

He looks through the corner of his eyes and sighs. “I’m sorry in advance for them.”

“No need to apologize,” you shrug. “Friends can be the worst. Vanessa has already started asking questions about you.” You nod toward the bartender that is feigning interest in clearing a space behind the bar.

“I figured,” Aaron murmurs. “Okay.” He slides off the stool, grabbing his beer in one hand, and holding his other one out to you.

Your heart jumps harshly when you take his hand. It’s warm and soft and secure, everything you want and need. You grab your drink in your free hand, giving Aaron’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

As soon as you and Aaron approach the table, the older gentleman is punching the one with tattoos. “Pay up.”

Aaron witnesses the cash exchange and stares at them tiredly. “Seriously, guys?”

Meanwhile, you’re holding back a giggle.

“Well, hello,” the woman with the colorful fashion sense says. “Introduce us!”

Aaron looks ready to pretend like he doesn’t know any of them, so you step up and say, “He told me you guys would be like this.”

That gets him laughing, and he finally says, “Y/N, this is Penelope, Emily, JJ, Spencer, Derek, and Dave.” Each person nods, waves, or smiles when their name is called.

“I’ll try to remember,” you joke. “But no promises.”

You squeeze Aaron’s hand in yours, trying to get him to loosen up. He does, barely, so when he tugs on your hand, silently asking you to step closer to him so his arm can fit around your waist, you oblige.

“What was the bet about?” You ask, nodding toward the men who exchanged cash a bit ago. It was Dave and Derek if you’re remembering names correctly.

“Rossi thought Hotch was going to bring you back over here, but I didn’t agree,” Derek says, nudging Dave’s arm. “I didn’t think you’d go for him.”

“Well, that’d be embarrassing if I went for someone else, considering we’re dating,” you chuckle, leaning your head back to look up at Aaron.

“Dating? So it’s official?” Emily asks, looking a little more excited than you thought any of them would.

“I think it was official the first time we met,” you snicker. “He pretended to be my husband so some dickhead would leave me alone.”

Aaron’s arm tightens around your waist at the memory.

“Okay,” Penelope grabs her drink, then moves over next to you, linking your arm with hers. “Hotch, we’re stealing her. We need details.”

Aaron doesn’t look like he wants to let go at all, but you press a kiss to his cheek. “Told you it’d be fine,” you whisper to him.

He surprises you by pressing a kiss on your lips. Midway through, your brain reminds you that this is technically your first kiss with him. And it’s in front of his friends. Swoon.

After so many dates with guys who were ashamed to be showing any sort of affection toward a woman, it’s nice to find a man who doesn’t care who sees his affection.

What can you say? After dating so many boys, it’s nice to finally find a man.

[guqin-and-flute]

Modern 3zun/A-Fu Verse--Baby Acquisition Continuation

[Part 1] [Modern A-Fu Verse] [AO3 Series]

[Crediting @little-smartass​ with a lot of the characterization/story beats because I’m positive we’ve had a conversation about this at some point]

“He really is as bald as a little cue ball, isn’t he?”

It took Meng Yao several seconds to register that words had been spoken, another to parse the words, then another to tear his gaze up from the pile of early childhood development books he was accumulating in his lap, color coded tabs bristling from the edges. Da-ge was sprawled in the corner of their enormous sage green couch in his slacks and undershirt, bathed in the ghostly, swimming glow of the TV on mute. He was looking down fondly at the newborn tucked into the crook of his arm, fast asleep with his fist shoved up against his face.

A newborn that was, in fact, very bald. And so very tiny.

“Is that normal? Is that a sign of something?” Meng Yao began to anxiously dig around in the plush crevices of the armchair he was folded into for his phone, preparing to search something along the lines of ‘is baby baldness bad??’

On the other half of the L of the couch from Mingjue, Xichen sucked in a shuddering breath through his nose, making them both freeze and look over. But all he did was sigh in his sleep and return to his motionless sprawl where he had collapsed about an hour and a half ago when Mingjue forcibly removed the baby from his arms and insisted he lay down. “Just for 5 minutes,” Meng Yao had also reasoned in a two pronged attack. “No one says you have to nap. Just close your eyes for a bit, then you can take him again while Da-ge makes dinner, if you want.”

Of course, he had fallen asleep immediately as they all had known he would. But one had to give Xichen explicit permission and then a backup compromise and then incentive before he considered doing something so selfish as making sure he wasn’t dead on his feet, even after a day of running errands with an 7 day old who was still suffering from stomach upset from travel. Meng Yao and Mingjue were long since practiced in being able to maneuver around his particular aversion of self care.

When their eyes met again, Mingjue’s were crinkled and he teased in a lower voice, “Being bald is a sign of being an infant, A-Yao. You really know nothing about babies, do you?”

Meng Yao aggressively squashed back the automatic bridling that happened every time a flaw in his...anything was pointed out. Instead, he primly brandished a pastel yellow book with curlicue flowers around the edge. “I am learning.” It’s not my fault I obtained all my siblings after adolescence. Not for lack of trying...

“I’m telling you, most of those are gonna be useless. Everyone’s got something to say and it’s all going to be different. You’re better off just winging it,” Mingjue stage whispered dismissively, rolling his eyes. “It’s just until Xichen’s uncle gets the custody stuff all worked out, so he’ll be gone before you know it. Just enjoy the baby-head smell while he’s here.”

The what? He narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re making fun of me.”

For some reason, a grin spread over Da-ge’s face--a delighted, self satisfied grin. “Oh.” He got up--(”Don’t wake him up--” Meng Yao hissed, stiffening, remembering his disconcerting little mewling cries from Xichen’s return from the store)--and easily cupped the infant up to his shoulder as he crossed the thick cream carpeting.

“Make room, come on,” Mingjue whispered, grabbing a stack of books in one large hand and carelessly tossing them onto the basket of neatly folded throw blankets beside the armchair.

Lips pursed and fully harassed, now, Meng Yao neatly piled the remaining books down by the leg of the chair. “Why do you insist--” When he sat back up, he immediately almost fumbled the armful of baby that was thrust into them. But Mingjue seemed to have been ready for this, because he just kept pressing him into his chest until Meng Yao’s hold came up automatically to support him.

The baby was warm and very soft, with no tension in him at all as he slept. And so light--almost like some sort of doll. It was hard to believe he was a real, living human being instead of some sort of strange hairless animal. Baxia had more heft, for god’s sake and she was a cat.

For some reason, Meng Yao’s heart rate immediately spiked as if he were being chased. His palms and neck began to sweat. It’s not like he hadn’t held the child in the day that he had been here, he just...well, he actually hadn’t. He hadn’t held any child before--his nephew wasn’t quite born yet and he had never been in a foster home with a baby. All yesterday and last night, he had shadowed Mingjue while he changed the diapers, observing techniques such as ‘The Turkey Hold’ and ‘Tissues Before Wet Wipes’. He had noted the ease with which Xichen just palmed him belly down like a fragile little football while packing the lunches Mingjue had assembled for him and Meng Yao to take to work, or patiently maneuvered his little sausage limbs in and out of clothes like he wasn’t afraid of breaking him.

And they certainly weren’t keeping him from Meng Yao--but he was still researching and information gathering while they had plenty of experience. And the stakes seemed absurdly high to chance a failure with this particular subject He hadn’t been avoiding it, just...he was sure the opportunity would present itself. Eventually.

His face was round and slightly alien in its minute proportions; a perfect miniature of a proper nose, a fine dusting of eyebrows above completely smooth little eyelids, a tiny squinch of a mouth that had fallen open in sleep.  And he sort of smelled like...slightly sour milk and the floral baby detergent Xichen had bought. Nothing that special.

Cautiously, Meng Yao attempted a gentle joggle with his arms, then froze when those little fingers flexed and the baby made a noise, halfway between a snort and a grunt, but so tiny. How on earth did anything this tiny and helpless even exist? How was he allowed to hold something that had this much potential? This much importance? His father wouldn’t even let him touch his fountain pen at the office--how would he ever let Meng Yao hold his heir? “A-Yao, breathe,” Mingjue’s whisper was nearby and amused and when he looked up at him, Meng Yao saw his face was close, leaning down, hands braced on both arms of the chair. Blocking escape.

“I think you should take him back,” Meng Yao hurriedly whispered back. “I don’t think he likes me. He’s going to wake up and cry.”

Mingjue shrugged. “He might.”

Anxiety, old and choking, rose up in his throat like bile, like failure. “Then take him back.”

The asshole just raised his eyebrow. “No. If he does, it’s not the end of the world. Calm down, smell his head.”

“I can smell him just fine from here, I--”

“Smell his head, I’m telling you--”

“Mingjue--” he hissed, baring his teeth, instinctively looking over at the sleeping Xichen to be the tie breaker and peacemaker, but Mingjue just put the back of his fingers to Meng Yao’s cheek and (gently. Always gently.) pushed his face toward the tiny round head tucked to his shoulder.

Stiffly, he gave a grudging, perfunctory sniff, intending to follow the exact letter of the order and not the spirit, because if he was going to be forced--

Oh. Oh. What? Pressing his nose closer, he breathed in properly. What on earth...

His head did smell different from the old spit up and detergent. Warm and--and--almost sweet but not, somehow mild and calming? It felt familiar, even though it wasn’t. How was this unwinding something in his chest? Without intending to, he breathed out through his mouth in order to hastily draw in another breath, deep and slow. It smelled like... sleep and home and softness. Comfort. And he did have hair, actually--downy little fluff, close to the scalp, soft like velvet when he pressed his lips to it to take a third breath. How did the top of his head smell so good? Was it the baby soap they had used? No, it wasn’t, because he could smell traces of that, soapy and artificial. This was something completely organic that somehow exuded from his scalp?

Mingjue chuckled above his head and Meng Yao opened his eyes--that he didn’t even remember closing. He knew he should probably feel more annoyed at his partner’s smugness but the tension that had been humming through him seemed to have utterly bled away. “There, now, was that so hard?”

“What...is it?” he murmured against the baby’s head, unable to tear his nose away.

“Baby-head smell.”

“Baby-head smell?”

“Mm.”

“Do they--do they all smell like this?”

“More or less. It’s so we don’t eat them when they wake us up in the middle of the night, probably. Hormones and shit.”

“Has someone bottled this? Made it into a candle?” He whispered, affronted. “Is this known?” None of the early childhood development books he had read even alluded to the fact that baby heads apparently smelled like magic. “Does Xichen know?”

Mingjue snorted. “Of course you consider marketing. Yeah, most people who’ve handled babies know about the baby-head smell, so now you do, too. Instant stress relief.”

It was. It was like a drug, how instantaneously it worked. Meng Yao greedily breathed in again, cupping his tiny head closer to him. He could feel the thrum of his heart through his back against his forearms.

Mingjue huffed a fond laugh through his nose and smoothed his hand heavily down Meng Yao’s hair, swaying them both gently as one. “See? Not so scary. Now sit there and relax with baby. I’ll make us all dinner.”

Meng Yao could do that--and quite happily.