#you learn about the things she does but almost never see them happen

[matchpointfaist]

mike x reader costar vibe i’m thinking maybe costar is playing tashi? or are we thinking more she’s playing grazi in west side story???🫣🫣 all i know is i want us to be as talented!!! he can’t be the star of the show… we are 💅 OMGGG maybe sneaking around because apparently he does that a lot? and then secretly dating on press. ideas ideas ideas.

i was enchanted to meet you <3

mike faist x costar! reader

tw not much! no smut just insinuated (this is my first time writing for mike instead of a character and i couldn’t decide how far to go hehe)

the first time you met mike faist, it was after your chemistry read. you had just stepped out of the audition room, flushed and half drenched from the july humidity. he was sitting in the lobby, hunched over his phone like a teenager waiting for a ride home from school. you recognized him immediately. he looked up as you passed, your eyes catching for only a second too long. "hey," he said, standing, "you’re tashi?” “today i am,” you shrugged, grinning. that made him smile—just a flicker, but enough. later, you’d learn that’s how mike is. always giving you just enough to want more.

filming started in the fall. boston was pretending to be new york, and the city felt like it was holding its breath—gray skies, quiet tension, leaves like dying embers scattered across sidewalks. you trained together. ate together. waited through lighting setups lying side by side on the court like kids after gym class, arms barely brushing, pretending not to notice. it was subtle at first, the way he watched you. like a note just off-key, barely audible. you told yourself you imagined it, but you knew the difference between acting and something real.

mike looked at you like he was terrified and fascinated all at once. you shot a scene in the locker room one day—tense, intimate, filled with subtext. between takes, he stayed quiet, hands on his knees, staring at the floor. "you okay?" you asked, approaching carefully. he looked up, eyes dark and unreadable. "you're really good at pretending you don't know how magnetic you are," he said quietly. the air thickened, but still, you said nothing.

that night, after drinks with the cast, he found you outside your hotel room, hands buried in his coat pockets. you didn’t say a word. you just stepped back, let him in. he kissed you like he wasn’t sure he was allowed, like you might vanish if he was too greedy with you. his hands hovered until you took them and placed them on your hips. “i’ve been thinking about this since the read-through,” he whispered into your skin. “i know,” you said, voice soft, “me too,” it wasn’t wild, it wasn’t frenzied. it was slow, aching, careful—two people starved for something that scared them. after, he stayed, just to hold you, his breath against your neck, heartbeat calm.

neither of you spoke about it in the morning. from then on, everything was a negotiation. there were moments you almost reached for him in public—instincts trained from rehearsal and habit—but had to curl your hands into fists.

on set, you gave nothing away. your co-stars joked about how well you and mike "got each other," but it never went deeper. except with josh. he always saw more than he let on. "you’re different when you look at him,” he said one day during blocking, “like you’re seeing something no one else does," you didn’t reply, just stared at your mark on the floor until the moment passed. it wasn’t always easy.

there were nights he wouldn’t text. nights where you both disappeared into your separate rooms, pretending the space was normal. he had a habit of pulling away when things got too close. "i don’t want to hurt you," he told you one night, back pressed to the wall, eyes full of guilt. "you’re not hurting me," you replied, though your throat felt tight. "you don’t know that," you walked up to him, placed a hand over his heart. “this is already mine. so whatever happens—it’s too late to undo it,” he kissed you like an apology, like a thank you. like surrender.

when the press tour began, everything shifted. photoshoots. interviews. staged candids. every headline speculating who was hooking up with who. and you and mike? perfectly professional. behind closed doors, though, he was quieter. you’d find him curled on hotel couches reading scripts he wouldn’t let you see yet. he’d brush a strand of hair behind your ear and say your name like a prayer, like it wasn’t safe in the air for too long. you once asked him, half-joking, “do you think this ends when the film does?” he looked at you with something breaking in his expression. "i think if it ends, it’ll be because we were too scared to admit it meant something," you didn’t laugh that time.

the premiere was surreal. flashes of cameras, fans screaming. you in a dress that cost more than your apartment, mike in a suit that made your stomach flip. you stood apart on the carpet. close enough for chemistry, far enough for deniability. when the movie played, and the final scene faded out—your face, tashi’s face, on the big screen, triumphant and hollow—you looked over. he was already looking at you. his eyes were glassy. your own stung. you didn’t need to say a thing.

later, back in the hotel, you lay next to him, legs tangled, everything quiet. “i don’t know how to be with you when the world’s watching,” he said, voice barely audible. “then don’t be with me there,” you whispered, “just be with me here,” you placed his hand over your ribs. “can you feel that? that’s real. that’s all I care about,” he closed his eyes, and for a moment, the weight lifted. you never defined it. you didn’t have to.

it lived in glances, in fingertips brushing just once too long, in long voicemails after press days. in the fact that neither of you ever said goodbye, only "talk soon," like it was a promise you could keep if you just whispered it gently enough. maybe it would fade. maybe it wouldn’t. but it was yours, and no one could take that from you.

[barbatos-sama]

i like that nepha haunts the narrative in the most literal sense

[sossolei]

things I learned after shifting to Hogwarts ‧₊ ᵎᵎ⋅ ˚ △⃒⃘

SIDENOTE: hogwarts was not the first reality I shifted to ! this is a uni reality ! there is no war ! ask any questions you want !

.☘︎ ݁˖ BATHROOM. I’ve genuinely never seen anyone talk about this but ( at least in my reality ) there’s a bathroom on the Hogwarts Express and holy fuck??? On the outside it looks tiny asf but I went in there to change into my robes and it’s wayyy bigger than it looks on the outside. It works like the tents in Goblet of Fire basically. The toilets and everything look relatively new so I’m assuming they change it every couple years just to keep in good condition.

.☘︎ ݁˖ MUGGLES. Have you ever wondered exactly how the muggles don’t notice wizardry, or at least at the platform? In my personal experience, unless it’s magic very intentionally and obviously done in front of muggles, there will usually be a moment distraction where they don’t see the magic happening. In the sense of platform nine and three quarters, there’s usually a couple trains that arrive around the same time and blare the horn so everyone usually gets distracted by that. But a personal example of this happens when I was standing in front of the barrier getting ready to cross through the wall, a young child was watching me from afar and as soon as started walking forward, he tripped over the wheel of his mothers luggage and didn’t see me go through the wall.

.☘︎ ݁˖ THE GREAT HALL. The candles are never ending. They don’t drip. They don’t melt in any way. I just had to say that cause I legit stared at them for almost an hour trying to see if it would melt. You have to talk pretty loud to be heard at the front where Dumbledore usually gives his lil speeches, which means the students who sing have lungs for DAYSSSS it’s actually so impressive. The benches are uncomfortable, not unbearable but not recommended for sitting for a long time lol. There’s no menu or anything, the food rlly does just appear there but there’s always something for everybody. Some people even walk up and down the table looking for what they want.

.☘︎ ݁˖ OTHER SCHOOLS. I didn’t stay in this reality for very long but I was always asking questions ( sorry mcgonnagall ). Ilvermorny is currently trying to admit more Native American wizards into their school but Native American wizards (as far as I know) have their own kind of magic and legit do not want anything to do with Ilvermorny. Kind of similar issue in Australia and Aboriginals I’m pretty sure. There’s a lot of, like a fuck ton of wizarding schools in Africa. I know JK Rowling has like one wizarding school in Africa but geographically speaking, that never made sense to begin with and I wasn’t surprised when I found out there were different/smaller wizarding schools around Africa.

.☘︎ ݁˖ STUDENTS. I don’t know how many students are in Hogwarts but I do know that it’s never a surprise who comes to Hogwarts. The ministry genuinely keeps track of every single wizard who has children, and even hold records of wizards who have families without wizarding abilities, just in case someone pops out with it. Easiest way to think of it is that families like Ron’s are always kept track of as well as Hermione’s, so it’s never usually a surprise when someone turns up muggleborn cause they’re usually expecting it.

.☘︎ ݁˖ PROFESSORS. The professors are not as silly goofy as they are in the movies guy :( They’re not miserable or anything but they all just remind me of the standing emoji LMAOOO. But seriously, someone like Mcgonnagall is not as welcoming or “chill” as she is in the movies or towards Harry. But some definitely are more chill, especially the younger ones. Slughorn is my silly king but even he has his moments.

Since this is a uni, Snape isn’t as uh…violent (?) as he is in the movies. Neville is a grown ass man, Snape is def not his biggest fear but Neville in general has a strong urge to prove himself and it reflects in his relationship with Snape. Snape isn’t scary, he just demands lots of respect and has respect for people that have proven they are “worthy” of it, i.e., high marks, put together, confidence, strong willed, etc.

.☘︎ ݁˖ DIVINATION. Did you guys know that being a witch/wizard doesn’t automatically make you good at all forms of divination? I scripted Mattheo Riddle into this reality and me and him are soooo good at other forms of divination like tarot, coffee grounds, and even the the crystal ball, but Theodore Nott fucking sucksss at it. Hermione also didn’t do as well in the class as I know she could’ve done, but according to Treylawney, all forms of divination require open mindedness towards something you can’t understand. Someone like hermione, for example, wants to know everything all the time and doesn’t beat around the bush, so tarot isn’t her cup of tea because she doesn’t think it’s giving her exactly what she wants.

.☘︎ ݁˖ HOMEWORK. Homework can either be really fun or really time consuming. It’s just like regular homework where you recall everything you learned in class but homework isn’t very common the more you move up in classes, mainly because the magic you start to do becomes more hands on rather than memorizing. This doesn’t apply to Snape though. He loves homework.

.☘︎ ݁˖ UNIFORMS. THE ROBES ARE INSULATED. It’s very thick, good quality fabric and keeps you real warm during the winter but during the later hot months like September, it’s not uncommon to walk around with the robes open or in your hands, but you have to wear them in your body during class, no exceptions. They absorb stains??? This is one I wasn’t expecting but it’s a magical robe so…okay! I dropped cranberry juice on the sleeve and it just completely absorbed and it didn’t stink or anything. This doesn’t apply to the tie or anything else, those have to washed for sure.

.☘︎ ݁˖ REALITY. If you haven’t shifted yet, you’ll often hear people say “it’ll feel natural because you’ve already lived there your whole life” and while that is true, it’s also not because how am I supposed to be natural walking past Robert fucking Pattinson to get to Defense Against the Dark Arts???? In my mind, he’s always been Edward from Twilight and seeing him in the hogwarts robes just made me stop in my tracks and stare. Some things come natural and some things don’t but I embrace everything with open arms.

.☘︎ ݁˖ EXTRA. Draco is blonde as hell! Like Targaryen level blonde. I do think it’s natural tho cause Luna has the same platinum type of blonde going on. Harry’s scar is soooo much cooler in this reality, it’s thin but branches out on the side of his face and it’s much more noticeable than the one in the movie. Hermione has curly curly hair! I don’t know if she straightens it in the books but I know she does in the movie, in this reality she literally just got a better curl routine. She has a ton of products and really cares for her hair and she’s lowkey embarrassed cause it’s the one thing she considers “vain.”

There’s a “club” of sorts where a bunch of students get together and run around the castle at the crack ass of Dawn for exercise ( best believe they have NEVER seen the likes of me ). I was told there are wizards who are famous in muggle spaces, typically for music or art. The painting will warn people when the stairs are about to move lol. That whole house discrimination stuff doesn’t happen as often as it does in the movies/books, most people don’t actually care and Slytherins get along with Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs well—however, Gryffindor does have the tendency to poke fun and Slytherins respond with dry sarcasm so sometimes it’s not a perfect fit! House discrimination was bigger in our parents age but as the years have gone by, the current gen doesn’t care fr.

That’s all I can think of atm, thank you for reading and yes I will be doing this with other places I’ve shifted to!

[bbokicidal]

"What Happens When..." | [SKZ] OT8 | [I.N]

Everyone decides to take a guess what Jeongin's girlfriend's favorite thing to do in the bedroom is - and almost everyone gets it wrong.

Genre: Smut [18+ MDNI] Pairing: Jeongin x Fem!Reader Warnings: SPIT, lots of spit, PinV (wrap it before you tap it), tummy bulge/size kink, manhandling, bondage/hands being bound together, pussy spanking, spanking in general

Notes: This IS a short fic and isn't anything really long. There's no plot - it's purely smut for your viewing pleasure and my mental peace, lol. <- This is the last installment of this series !! It's finally coming to an end.~

Word Count: 2.2K

Bangchan | Lino | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | I.N

"Why does Hyunjin get to go first?" "Because he's already between her legs, I guess."

"Would you two shut up? This is all for educational purposes. You need to watch and learn; Because I'm about to prove to you that I know what her biggest kink is." Hyunjin's head whips to face the two that bicker about him, Jisung stepping back and Felix letting his arms cross over his chest. "Ayen-ah's let on before that she really likes this one." His thumb finds your clit, flicking over the bundle of nerves and you finally give him a soft reaction to work with, your eyes slipping shut and hands curling against your chest in awe.

Felix lets out a heavy breath that ends in a soft whine, his head tipping to the side to get a better look at where his Hyung's cock begins to prod at your folds - and Felix can't help but stare as he slowly sinks into your warmth, wishing it were himself instead. "That's not fair.."

"So what exactly is the kink here...? Or is this just one big excuse to fuck your friend's girlfriend?" Chris quips off to Hyunjin's right, peering almost just over his shoulder to watch as the younger's cock sinks further into you. ".. Going in raw?" He questions shortly after, realizing Hyunjin hadn't slipped a condom on before pushing into you.

And Hyunjin sighs, tongue prodding at the corner of his mouth as he listens to the others continue to bicker about him just wanting to have sex with you.

But then Jisung sees it.

The way your skin tightens; The way your stomach bulges each time Hyunjin slowly rolls his hips forward. The way your head tips back as he leans down over you and whispers for you to feel it, guiding one of your hands away from your chest to instead press down on the very place his cock prods and rocks against. "..Bulging..." He whispers, lips parted in surprise at the sight in front of them.

"That's.. a pretty close second." Jeongin hums. He sits back against the headboard as he watches his Hyung rock into you slowly; He was lucky he got to fuck you at all - with Jeongin's permission of course - so he was going to do it with the utmost care. "But that's definitely not top spot."

Jisung practically barks from where he stands behind Hyunjin, reaching to tug on his shoulder. "I knew that wasn't going to be it-! Move, it's my turn." And to many of their surprise, the artist lets himself be pulled away from your sweetness.

Just as expected, Jisung moves forward instead to test his theory. If he could get this right with his one guess he would win the bet. And the prize... God, he's never imagined something so wonderful in his entire life. One hand drops to lay on your thigh while the other reaches to undo his belt - and he watches your eyes widen in surprise at his bold move, thinking he'd won already. Your lips pop apart and you're sure you're about to drool at the way his fingers curl around the buckle and rip it wide open, his belt dragging through the loops of his jeans in such a quick and slick manner that you're sure this is a practiced move. With your reaction he was sure he just ended the bet.

Jeongin almost moves to ask Jisung what he's going to do with that belt, hoping there's no impact about to be made with the accessory - but he simply sits up and stays quiet as he watches Jisung wrap the thick, heavy leather around your wrists to keep them snug together. Your soft gasp of anticipation feeds into Jisung's delusion that he was winning the bet, letting him pin your arms down above your head before he leans in to smile right in your face. "You like bondage, don't you, angel?"

And your smile grows, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you nod. "I do; I really, really do. But..." Jisung's heart sinks as you giggle. "It's not my favorite."

"Hah!" Changbin's laugh basically spews from his lips in a visual syllable, his arms previously crossed over his chest now gesturing to Jisung to skidaddle. "Go. She said you lost the bet so get off 'er and let someone else have a turn." His lips pull into a soft smirk, parted and exposing the way his tongue pokes between his teeth like he has ideas of his own to try out.

But someone else is just a tad quicker with wanting to win the bet. As soon as Jisung moves off of the bed in front of you to go sit beside Jeongin in defeat, Minho is right there to take his place; Only he doesn't crawl onto the bed to get to you and instead stands at the edge of it, feeling as though he looms over your still-bound body displayed for them so openly atop the sheets.

Your wrists stay above your head as you crane your neck to look at the man standing so close yet so far, only to have your head bounce back against the mattress from the force of Minho's hand locking around your right ankle tight enough you're sure it might bruise. He wastes no time in dragging you to where he stands so he's properly positioned between your legs, his eyes dark as they drag over every curve that comes to him so swiftly. And no one in the room can ignore the way you yelp at the feeling of being manhandled.

Calloused palms and rough fingertips run up the outer expanse of your thighs, coming nowhere near close to your warmth as they wander higher. He grips at your hips and gives them a teasing squeeze, feeling the way your skin presses between his fingers; So soft, so tempting. With careful but fairly stiff and rough movements, the muscle in his biceps tightens and flexes as he flips you from your back to your front - your face down and ass up for him. A position most would expect when it came to the resident ass-lover of the group. "There we go."

And with the way you moan the moment your face hits the sheets everyone in the room can almost guarantee Minho had won the bet fair and square. That was until your head slowly lifted from where it pressed against the mattress, breathing heavy with eyes dragging up towards your boyfriend where he sat now in front of you - smirking and letting his arms slowly cross over his chest. "You gonna tell them, baby, or do I have to?"

"There's no way that wasn't it." But Seungmin steps forward to test his luck anyway. Even if Minho won the bet just now, he wanted to get his own needs met, his palm smacking down hard on the bare skin of your asscheeks twice before he brought his hand lower and let it meet the wetness of your folds. That gets you to jolt, a sharp gasp escaping swollen lips.

The way you whimpered against the satin of your sheets almost made Seungmin think he was right about his guess, but the glance and small shake of Jeongin's head seemed to secure the realization that he was wrong, too. Seungmin sighs out and brings his hand down harder than before, making you flinch and moan loud - just for him, considering he'd been spanking you for his own satisfaction at that point. May as well let him know you appreciated it while it happened - and that you were open to it in the future, too, of course.

"I'm starting to think we're never going to guess it," Chris murmurs from where he stands near Changbin, leaning against the wall just to watch as everyone took guess after guess. "Maybe we should start going for softer kinks? Stuff that's less harsh...?"

Changbin shakes his head almost immediately. "She seems like the type who would like impact play or something, though. Do we need to go for something more extreme..?"

"What if it's got something to do with toys?" Jisung quips quietly, seated on the edge of the bed and fighting hard not to beg for another chance at winning the bet.

While the producers babbled on to each other about where to go from their current point, Felix stepped forward from where he'd been observing the entire time the others tried to figure out what it was you liked. You'd reacted well to everything they'd done so far; Hyunjin's size, Jisung's restraining, Minho's manhandling, and then Seungmin's spanking. There was no way in Hell you didn't enjoy the more hard-hitting kinks and the like - so he was going to take his chance while the others whined to each other about losing the bet. Besides, they were working against each other - not with.

"Move." Felix hums, gently nudging Minho aside. The older of the two surprisingly complies with ease and steps aside to watch Felix with close eyes, his hands settling on your ass before rubbing down to your hips. There's no hold, no grabbing - no slapping, spanking, bruising or restraining. No, Felix's hands are gentle as they rub over your skin, smoothing down the swell of your ass before giving a teasing squeeze and trailing lower. He settles his hands along your thighs before using his thumbs to spread your pussy open just for him to see - and for Minho to get a glance at.

Chris tips his head as he watches, eyes drawn away from Jisung and Changbin when Felix had stepped forward to take a shot at the prize. "Felix, wait. We should figure out what --"

But then he stops, lips popping apart in pure surprise at the utter filthiness of the younger man placed behind you.

Just as you lift your head to peek up in slight confusion at their constant rambling - and the feeling of someone's hands on you from behind who definitely was not Minho - Felix spits on your pussy.

It splatters on the pink of your skin, mixing with the slick that seems to gush from your aching, empty hole - and Felix watches as you clench around nothing in desperation. Yeah, he'd just won the bet.

"Shit," falls from Hyunjin's lips before he can help it, staring down the brunet who he wasn't aware until now was quite so.. dirty. His eyes dart from Felix over to where you lay, your reaction giving everything away; The way you bury your face down in the sheets as a strangled and shy moan rips from your throat; The way your cheeks burn a crimson hue none of them had seen all night. Even your ears tint pink in embarrassment that your dirty little secret had been revealed.

Jeongin, finally sitting forward and reaching to cup your cheeks in one of his hands, tips your head to face him so you can't quite hide away from them no matter how much you want to. "Look at me," he demands, voice soft but firm with instruction. "Open." And the others watch as you obey so sweetly for your boyfriend, lips falling apart and jaw completely slack so he can spit right onto your tongue - your mouth closing so you can swallow it before whimpering out in need of more.

And Felix - well, he's in Heaven. He'd took his shot and won the bet, belt everyone else out of the water no matter how hard they tried to figure you out - and he'd done it just by standing back and watching. His chest swells with pride and excitement at the knowledge that now, he got to receive his prize; That being you for at long as he wanted - or as long as he could last, he supposed. There was no way he was giving you back up to Jeongin before he was milked dry. And what kind of a friend would he be if he didn't pump you full before he returned you to your rightful owner?

"Get out." His voice is low in his chest, demanding everyone else leave so he could have his time with you. He needed it more than anything at the moment - you two shared the exact same kink and he was sure now he'd put that knowledge to good use, maybe even treat you so well with it that you wouldn't want to go crawling back to your boyfriend. But more importantly, you needed it, too, what with the way you were still clenching around nothing and just begging for him to spit on your pretty pussy again.

As the others file out the bedroom door, Jeongin chuckles low in his throat and leans forward to give you a quick kiss before he departs. His thumb slides over your cheek, gentle and soft - soothing before the heated, lust-filled ache that was bound to come in the following hours. His lips were like Heaven - like home - as they pressed against yours in a promise that once Felix was done with you - done with his reward for winning the bet and getting to use you like a toy for as long as he wanted - he would return and greet you with a warm embrace to give you as much care as you needed. Not that he doubted Felix would treat you well. Jeongin took a moment to peek down at where your wrists were still bound together with Jisung's belt, moving a hand down to hook a finger around the leather to give a gentle tug. He smiled against your lips, thumb tugging at the lower as he slowly pulled away to whisper,

"I'm going to leave this here. Good luck, baby."

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek

[cameronsbabydoll]

hiiii, for sugar coated chains could u write something about how their oldest son once he’s older, like high school or college age, gets in a fight with rafe because he’s tired of seeing how he treats his mom and says something along the lines of “you don’t deserve her, she deserves so much better than you”

it’s late.

later than it should be for voices to still be raised in this house — his house — and especially not those voices.

your heart sinks the second you step into the hallway and hear them — rafe’s voice low, sharp like a blade being honed, and your son’s, rough with anger in a way he never used to sound. not your sweet boy. not the same little boy who used to trail after rafe on chubby toddler legs, desperate for his attention.

but he’s not a boy anymore.

you think you can talk to me like that, huh? under my roof?” rafe’s growl cuts through the tense quiet like it always does — but for once, it doesn’t land the way it used to.

for once, your son doesn’t back down.

“yeah, i do.”

silence.

and then—he laughs. bitter, disbelieving. his laugh, rafe’s laugh, inherited like every sharp-featured thing about him — only this time, it doesn’t sound a thing like his father.

“you don’t deserve her.” he spits it like venom, like it’s been sitting on his tongue for years. “mom deserves so much better than you.”

it punches the air from your lungs.

not because it’s untrue.

but because it’s the first time someone’s said it out loud in this house.

“she’s—god, she’s been nothing but good to you. sweet to you. stupidly loyal.” his voice cracks, breaks in that way that only happens when anger curls into hurt. “and all you do is treat her like a possession. like something you can control. she deserves—”

“enough.” rafe’s voice is a warning, low and dark.

but your son doesn’t flinch.

“you’re just pissed ‘cause you know i’m right.”

and it’s quiet after that.

so quiet you almost forget how to breathe.

until rafe’s footsteps stalk away — leaving your son standing there, fists clenched, chest heaving — and for the first time in a long time, he looks over and sees you.

soft-eyed. heartbreaking.

“mom…”

he sounds younger all of a sudden. like your little boy again. like he didn’t just stand there, taller than you now, shoulders tense with fury and hurt, defending you like no one’s ever dared to do before.

you don’t even think about it. your arms are around him before either of you can say anything else — pulling him in, holding him so tight it nearly knocks the breath from him.

and maybe that’s what does it.

maybe it’s the way your hands shake against his back, or how your voice wobbles when you whisper, “oh, baby…” — that cracks whatever wall he was holding himself up with.

because suddenly his arms are winding around you too, strong like his father’s but gentler — so gentle — like he’s scared to break you.

“shouldn’t have to be like that,” he mumbles into your shoulder, raw and low. “you shouldn’t have to… put up with him like that.”

and god — if your heart doesn’t just break right there in the hallway.

because he means it. so fiercely. so protectively.

your sweet, angry, stubborn son — standing there like your greatest defender.

you pull back just enough to cup his face in both hands, tearful but smiling anyway — motherly to your core, the only way you know how to love.

“hey,” you whisper, brushing his hair back like you used to when he was small. “you let me worry about me, alright? all you have to do is be good. be kind. be better.”

his jaw tightens, the fight still lingering in his eyes.

“i learned that from you.”

and oh — if that doesn’t just undo you completely.

because for everything rafe ever tried to control, ever tried to mold and own and shape in this house — he couldn’t take that from you.

your heart. your softness.

passed down exactly how it was meant to be.

unbreakable.

[phantomrose96]

Before the Birds Sing

Christophe wakes on the morning of April 7th for the 273rd time.

It is 7:03, as it almost always is, and it is the snooze-delayed alarm that wakes him, as it almost always does. Christophe knows the pattern of bird song before they chirp, and he knows the exact cadence of cars that hum by on the street before they even crawl around the corner. Christophe listens to it, and he dawdles on his phone.

There is no practical reason to check his phone. He knows of course that it is 7:03 and he knows it’s 67 degrees outside—sunny—35% humidity—and he knows the contents of the 2 texts he received overnight. But Christophe makes motions with no practical reason. He does it to not upset anyone who, if paying close attention, could take issue with him knowing things before he’s learned them.

Christophe stows his phone into his pajama pocket at 7:06 and goes downstairs, which is the optimal time to go downstairs. Any earlier and Madeline’s pot of coffee would still be brewing, and she’d offer him first-cup with a touch of resentment over him getting first cup of the pot she’d been brewing. But if he refuses it would be a Thing, and Christophe hates starting a Thing.

But it is 7:06, and Madeline is starting to empty the dishwasher, steaming cup of coffee perched on the counter beside the sink. Christophe says, “Morning” and kisses her head and pours his own cup.

“Morning,” Madeline answers. Her hair is not damp anymore, but it could be in the two cases Christophe woke at 6:45. He hadn’t yet figured out what caused that. He’d never been able to recreate it on purpose.

“Oh,” Madeline always says. “My mom wants to come over for dinner tonight. Kinda late notice but is that okay?” she always asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Christophe sometimes answers. Because the sometimes when he sounds too neutral makes Madeline’s mouth tighten with worry. And the sometimes when he’s too enthusiastic makes Madeline stiff like she’s confused. “I hope she’s got more stories about Boki,” which is Madeline’s mom’s new dog, and is the optimal answer to give about her mom coming over for dinner.

“He’s gotten so big,” Madeline says with a smile.

This is optimal because Boki is an easy topic to interrupt when Beatrice from across the street slams into Christophe’s car.

“Christ!” Madeline reacts to the SLAM-RRCH, WHEEP WHEEP WHEEP WHEEP of collision and car alarm and woo woo woo of Bucky from the downstairs unit.

(“Hush, Bucky,” Peter from the downstairs unit says muffled.) Christophe is in the stairwell, heading out the door. (Peter is making hashbrowns. Christophe stopped at his door one morning, for no real reason. During the mid-100s of his loop, Christophe tried a few things “just because.”) So he thinks about the hashbrowns abandoned on the stove while Peter pulls Bucky away from the door. Christophe goes outside to Beatrice with her hands on her head.

“I didn’t see it!” Beatrice always says while Christophe opens the door. There is lipstick smeared from lip to hairline straight across her cheek. She wears an expression like she’s run over someone’s child.

Christophe goes through the motions of looking at his car, which is always identically dented in the fender, with the same red paint tucked in its scratches. “Hey hey, these things happen. Do you have your insurance information? We just need to call our insurances, and they’ll sort it out.”

This is the optimal answer. Beatrice calms down, as she takes comfort in being given actionable direction. Christophe knows a lot about Beatrice, who he’d never met before today. She has three sons: Jimmy who knows a mechanic from college, Kevin who is an insurance adjustor, but for a life insurance company, and Mikey, who is Beatrice’s favorite as most of the time, he’s the one she calls.

“Yes, yes okay. It’s in the glove box—yes, Mikey, yes that’s—the guy is here, his car. Mikey, I should get my insurance information, right? Yes,” Beatrice says into her earpiece. Christophe thinks to ask her what Mikey does for a living, but there’s no reason to detract today’s path, which so far is optimal.

Beatrice scuttles away, opening her passenger door and half leaning out of it while she finds her papers. There is no good way to prevent Beatrice from hitting his car—as it turns out, no one believes you if you preemptively try to tell them not to hit your car. And getting his own car out of the way doesn’t quite work. Getting to it in time requires cutting Madeline short on her question about her mother. And the interruption makes Madeline upset.

If he can figure out how the 6:45 wake-up loop works, maybe Christophe could move his car first, then talk to Madeline, then Beatrice wouldn’t hit his car—but it would be a lot of pressure, to get that lucky, and then try to do the whole day after that perfectly, lest he just wake up all over again, 7:03, hearing the birds before they chirp.

“This, I think. It’s this paper?” Beatrice asks.

“Yes yes, see this number? You’ll need to call that one.” Christophe just needs to be understanding, but firm. And not say anything like, “Sorry, maybe my car was too far out of the driveway!” because that will make Beatrice purse her lips and nod and say “Yeah, actually I think your car was too far out.”

Beatrice asks—maybe to Christophe, and maybe to Mikey—how long this whole thing with insurance will take. Christophe tells Beatrice insurance should handle it quickly. He’s not sure if that’s true. He’s never made it to tomorrow.

…

Christophe’s shoulders ease down a fraction once Beatrice is out of sight. The rest of the morning is easier. Madeline only needs to be told “Don’t worry, insurance is handling it.” And there’s no real wrong way to shower, and no real wrong way to get dressed. And as long as he avoids Summer Street on the way to work (someone hit a fire hydrant there) then there’s not many wrong ways to get to work.

Christophe reads all unread emails, which are memorized at this point. He accepts Frankie’s invite to grab lunch together in the cafeteria. He doesn’t start anything important while counting the minutes to 9:43. 9:43 comes, and their boss Bruce calls Christophe, and Frankie, and Arnold into his office.

Bruce wears the same olive shirt every day with the same unmatching plum tie—except for one day when he wore an orange tie. He orders everyone to sit the way he always does. And he gives the same rant, which Christophe puts on a face of surprise for, while Bruce reads out the scathing customer email received overnight over a massively delayed shipment. Bruce’s hand flies around in a rage, and there is a different watch on today.

The watch is unusual. It’s silver. Not the normal gold one, and kind of thinner. Christophe wonders why it’s different. Christophe wonders about the little things that are capable of changing, and whether that means Peter isn’t always cooking hashbrowns, or if one of these days Beatrice simply won’t hit his car.

“So tell me, Mahone, how does this happen?”

Christophe snaps from his thoughts about watches, experiencing the emotion of surprise for the first time in many days.

“If they’d gotten us the right shipping address from the start, we wouldn’t need to be jumping through all these hoops and taking the blame to fix their fuck-up.”

Bruce’s little eyes get about as big as they can on his red face, and Christophe immediately feels his ribcage drop down to his feet.

He’d given the optimal response… to offer to Frankie in the office space later, when Frankie would be sitting crouched and staring at his knees with an expression like he didn’t want to be staring at his knees. This is Frankie’s client, and every time today happens, Frankie shoulders the most blame. And it makes Frankie feel a little better when Christophe directs the blame back onto them.

Bruce’s answer, optimally, is, “It’s an oversight, you’re absolutely correct. I know our team can get this sorted out today. And we’ll craft an apology email to them immediately.”  

“Mahone did you just say the word… ‘fuck-up’, to me?”

Bruce is having an affair. Christophe doesn’t technically know this today. But he does if he tries proactively to enter Bruce’s office and read the (quite positive) response email to his apology, and only if he times this between 1:19pm and 1:21pm. Maria from accounting is under the desk for reasons that cannot be explained away. He actually needs to come in at about 1:30pm to read the email, which Bruce will nod to and give a firm clap of approval to Christophe’s shoulder.

“Sorry, I completely misspoke. I meant to say ‘our’ fuck-up, and…” Christophe trails off, tired. He is long-since tired of finding brand new optimal paths off untrodden conversations. He is quickly losing the motivation to try. This is clearly unsalvageable.

Bruce has a wife and a 9-year-old daughter.

“Sorry, we'll try that again,” Christophe says, under the gawking stares of Frankie and Arnold.

“No, you don’t get to try that again, Mahone. Not to me,” Bruce says. “You can pack your desk and get out of here.”

Christophe does not pack his desk.

It is 7:03 am. Christophe hears the note of each bird before it chirps.

…

“Oh,” Madeline always says. “My mom wants to come over for dinner tonight. Kinda late notice but is that okay?” she always asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Christophe sometimes answers again. “I hope she’s got more stories about Boki.”

“He’s gotten so big,” Madeline says with a smile. SLAM-RRCH “Christ!” WHEEP WHEEP WHEEP WHEEP woo woo woo.

“I’ve got it,” Christophe says. He opens their unit door and rounds the stairs. (“Bucky, hush.”) He thinks about hashbrowns.

Bruce’s watch is gold again today.

“So tell me, Mahone, how does this happen?”

“It’s an oversight, you’re absolutely correct. I know our team can get this sorted out today. And we’ll craft an apology email to them immediately.”

Christophe is dismissed along with Frankie and Arnold, who bow lower than him and walk like they have tails tucked up. Christophe opens the door back into their office space, and Frankie takes his seat, staring at his knees with an expression like he doesn’t want to be staring at his knees.

Christophe squeezes a hand on Frankie’s shoulder. Performatively, he looks over his own shoulder, like he’s checking to ensure Bruce hasn’t followed. Bruce never does. “If they’d gotten us the right shipping address from the start, we wouldn’t need to be jumping through all these hoops and taking the blame to fix their fuck-up.”

Frankie straightens a little, until he only a little bit resembles a shrimp. He smiles a little at Christophe.

Christophe takes his own seat, and he begins crafting the optimal client apology email.

…

Christophe pulls into the grocery store parking lot. He has a text message open from Madeline, performatively.

“Hey, sorry I don’t think I can make the fish tonight. There’s not enough for three people. Can you pick these up on your way home? We can just do a taco night.”

Sometimes Madeline says this aloud to him in the morning, if he comes down at 7:03 and if he doesn’t turn the conversation to Boki. It’s more convenient to have the list as a text message, though it functionally stopped mattering after about the 10th loop when he’d memorized the ingredients.

Christophe’s path through the grocery store is optimized. Though that is another thing that functionally does not matter. It makes no true difference if he doubles back for the avocados, or combs the spice aisle twice, or even if he stands blankly in the produce section thinking about car insurance or workplace affairs. The grocery store doesn’t really count for anything. As long as he delivers the one good joke to the cashier, it’s a success.

“A lotta avocados,” Amanda with the nose piercing says. That her name is Amanda and that she has a nose-piercing are technically the only things Christophe knows about her today. But on other todays, he’s asked her about family and about school. She has three sisters and three cats. She goes to community college. She’s a Scorpio. There is a faint scar on the middle knuckle of her right hand.

“Yeah, I’m thinking of trying out avocado therapy.”

She gives him a quirked eyebrow. He waits a beat.

“Just start smashing them until I’m better or until I have guacamole, whichever comes first.”

Amanda snorts, and she scans the last item. It’s NOT even that funny. But he said the avocado therapy thing one loop for no real reason and, somehow, it was a hit. He’s tweaked the delivery just a bit, until it felt optimal.

Christophe folds himself back into the car with the avocados and the cilantro and the lime and the onion and the chips. He turns the car on, and the radio crackles to life with Sexyback on the throwback channel. He lets it play in its entirety before moving the car out of park. It’s easier than counting the minutes needed before he’s allowed to arrive home without Madeline remarking that he got home from the grocery store “really fast.” It’s also why optimizing the avocadoes doesn’t matter. Getting home from the grocery store too fast is weird, and Christophe optimally does not do anything weird today.

Lucinda is already in the kitchen when Christophe arrives home, smelling faintly of cloves, which Christophe figured out on about the 50th loop. She is parked on the barstool overlooking the island counter, hawkishly observing the bowls of cheese and sour cream and tomatoes and shredded lettuce.

“Ah, he’s back. Finally,” Lucinda says, and there’s never any real avoiding that. Even when Christophe comes home weirdly early, he’s come home late. “You should be helping Madeline prep. Not me.”

Lucinda takes the whisky glass with the one spherical ice cube and re-parks herself at the kitchen table. Christophe unpacks the guacamole ingredients, and he does not ask about Boki yet, because Boki needs to be the second topic tonight.

Christophe makes guacamole with the exactly ripe avocados, and the exact right proportions of lime and salt and onion—it is, if he’s honest, not enough onion—but it is optimized for Lucinda, who stopped criticizing his guacamole after about the 100th loop.

He uses the bowl Madeline likes and dumps in the chips that Madeline likes too. He offers her a single chip while she’s still frying the ground beef, and she takes it with a secret little smile. He gives her a secret little smile in return, which is enough to somehow say Lucinda is a mutual nuisance, but not enough to suggest he hates her.

The taco ingredient bowls all come to the table one by one. Lucinda is slopping a pile of guacamole onto her plate with the guacamole ladle. “Ethel’s cancer is back. Poor girl. Lopped off both her breasts already. What more can you do?”

“Oh no… Mom, that’s horrible,” Madeline says. She’s stopped mid-taco-bite, brow scrunched in worry. “When did she find out?”

“Today. She doesn’t wanna do chemo again. Poor girl. Probably on her way out at this point.”

Christophe knows from other todays that Ethel is 87. She’s a gardening friend of Lucinda. She used to be a world-class chef, when being both a woman and respected in the restaurant world was unheard of. She has 14 great-grandchildren. She’s taken a boat across the Atlantic Ocean. She beat cancer at age 75. She is probably going to die to it this time.

This is not the first time Christophe has thought about the fact that, as long as today is April 7th, Ethel will never die of cancer. He’s thought about all the people who would have died in the months after April 7th who, in some way, are still alive. And if or when the loop breaks, everyone who dies on April 7th does not get to wake up tomorrow.

But these are the sort of thoughts Christophe has had in depth since the very early days of his loop. He thinks, by and large, he’s settled on the answer that, for every person who doesn’t die today, there is someone else denied being born tomorrow. And whoever he’s holding to life today is offset by someone else who should get to live tomorrow.

There are people out there who are living the worst day of their lives every single day for the last 273 days, and there are, statistically, just as many people living the best day of their life every single day.

As Christophe figures it, this loop is morally neutral. And if he wakes up on April 8th tomorrow, there is no one he’s doomed, and there is no one he’s saved.

When there is nothing more to be said about Ethel, Christophe asks about Boki. Lucinda lights up, and she fumbles for her phone, squinting at its screen. “I have pictures. Oh I have so many pictures.” Lucinda turns the phone to Christophe. He sweeps until the 19th photo, and pauses there.

“What sort of feeder is this? It looks fancy. Nothing like what Pickle had when I was growing up.” It’s just an automatic feeder, but Lucinda loves the suggestion that it’s fancy. She explains it as if Christophe is learning about electronics for the first time, and it pads time.

Christophe has made sure to clear his plate while Lucinda talks. He does not reach for seconds on anything. He needs a clear path to excuse himself from the table, because he knows what Lucinda will bring up next, like he knows the bird notes before they sing.

“I did want to tell you something else, Madeline. And I didn’t want to just ‘text’ it to you, okay? I need you to see my face so you know I’m upset too and so you don’t accuse me of mean and hateful things.”

Christophe has no reaction. He sees the confusion, and the fear taking over Madeline’s face.

“John and I are getting a divorce.”

Madeline’s face is fully white. “Mom, no…”

John is not Madeline’s biological father. Her bio dad left when she was three. Christophe shouldn’t even know his name, but he blundered in comforting her one of these loops and she spat it like a curse.

There is John instead. John who came into Madeline’s life when she was four and treated her like his daughter ever since. John who married Madeline’s mother a year later and who’d been Madeline’s dad ever since. John, who had no blood tie nor name tie to Madeline, and who is about to lose his legal tie as well.

“Mom, you said you were doing therapy,” Madeline always says, whenever Christophe gets this far.

“I am! And I’ve realized that I deserve better than what John is doing to me.”

“Better than John? You deserve better than John, Mom?”

“Madeline this is MY life. Do not do this thing you do where you try to make it ALL about how hurt you are.”

The optimal thing for Christophe to say is nothing, he thinks. The optimal thing to do right now is nothing, he thinks. He guesses, as best he can guess. He doesn’t always get this far. He hasn’t had the chance to try as many things as he’s been able to try with Beatrice, and Bruce, and Amanda. But when he has tried to speak, it doesn’t work. Maybe, optimally, Christophe shouldn’t be here, but Lucinda forces it every time.

He lets Madeline speak. He lets Lucinda respond. He fades into a wallflower, until Madeline slams her chair back and throws her napkin down and says, “I think you should go home, Mom.” He lets her storm into the living room, and he gives a performative glance to Lucinda. She’s not really his concern anymore. Lucinda always leaves right after this.

Christophe stands at the doorway of the living room, which has gone dark since the sun set. Madeline is sobbing quietly on the couch, one pillow pulled into her lap. Christophe can’t see it, but she always has it. He knows it’s there.

He enters, and he sits on the couch with her, and he holds her gently.

He does not know the optimal thing to say.

He’s tried many things. But he says things that are insensitive, or too sensitive, or too optimistic, or too pessimistic. He says things that he has no business saying. He says hollow things. He says things that are too mean to Lucinda, or too apologetic to John.

So every day, he tries to say something new.

The darkness is resting on Christophe’s eyes. He’s staring into the darkness of the livingroom. There are plates of tacos in the dining room. There is unfinished guacamole going brown in Madeline’s favorite bowl.

“That won’t be us,” Christophe says, for the first time.

The pattern of Madeline’s crying breaks. He holds his breath, filing away yet another wrong response, when Madeline reaches her arms out and wraps him tight. She’s crying into her shoulder, but the tensing of her fingers against his ribs is so tender.

“I won’t ever do that to you,” she says into his work shirt. “I love you. Thank you for being here. Thank you. I love you.”

He rubs her back, and his heart is beating faster than it’s beat in 100 loops.

“I love you too,” he says, and it’s optimal.

…

Christophe washes plates. He packs away leftovers. He listens to the shhhh of the kitchen faucet nozzle as it blasts the sink basin and gurgles away down the drain.

The cicadas chirp outside. He doesn’t know this rhythm.

Christophe showers. He gets in bed. Madeline hugs his arm. He stares at the ceiling, and it is 9:00pm for the first time in the last 274 days.

… ... ...

274 days ago, Christophe woke up on April 7th for the first time .

He checked his phone. He read the text from his mom asking for money, and he read the text from his dad telling him to ignore his mom. He checked the weather. He got out of bed and carried himself down the stairs at 7:03.

Madeline was standing at the counter, hunched over a coffee pot huffing fragrant steam up to the ceiling. She caught him from the corner of her eye, and with a sort of veiled resentment Christophe recognized, she poured the first cup and handed it to him.

“My mom wants to come over for dinner tonight. Kinda late notice but is that okay?”

“Why?” Christophe answered, the word bubbling from the knee-jerk disdain pulling down on his rib cage. Madeline poured the second cup of coffee for herself. “We had her over last week.”

“I don’t know. But she wants to come over,” Madeline answered defensively. She pulled open the dishwasher, stacking plates with a clack, clack, clack.

“We don’t have enough fish.”

“We can just make tacos.”

“We had tacos last week.”

“Fine,” Madeline said, turning back around and leaving the dishwasher half-unloaded. “I’ll tell her no.”

“Come on,” Christophe said. “Don’t say that like I’m being unreasonable.”

“No no, I’ll just tell her no.”

“She’s just… a lot. Come on.”

“You don’t think I know that? I grew up with her.”

“Don’t talk like I’m the bad guy here.”

“Oh, you learned her favorite sentence.”

Christophe’s hands tensed against the hot porcelain of his mug. He had too many words that wanted to pour of out his lips. “You think you’re the only one who grew up with a difficult mom?” “You don’t see me subjecting YOU to MY mom.” “What about maybe a ‘Thank you, Honey, for putting up with my Mom who we both know is a lot.’”

None of those made it into the air. His whole line of thought was ground to a sudden halt by the SLAM-RRCH outside.

“Christ!” Maddie exclaimed, words drowned under the WHEEP WHEEP WHEEP woo woo woo.

Christophe moved with momentum, with adrenaline. He slammed open their unit door and rounded the hall with bare feet (“Hush, Bucky.”)

Outside, some woman was standing just outside her car, lipstick smeared across her cheek and holding her hands against either side of her head.

“What did you DO?” Christophe snapped, all but shoving her out of the way while his heart raced and he investigated the dent in his fender.

“I don’t know!! I didn’t see it! I didn’t see it!” the woman echoed in hysterics. She blinked tears that smeared down her mascara. “Let me call Mikey! He’ll know what to do!”

“Don’t call anyone, Christ. I have to leave for work soon! Just get your insurance documents out of your car, …Fucking Christ.”

The woman stood motionless. She’d been shocked quiet, but still blubbered mutely while the tears fell from her mascara. Great. Great. Another person making Christophe into the bad guy. He rubbed his finger over the red paint scratched into his fender, and he let out a noise that got Bucky barking again.

…

Christophe took his seat at the office, slinking in fifteen minutes late with the mantra-like hope that Bruce hadn’t seen him come in late. It wasn’t his fault his idiot neighbor had scraped his car. It wasn’t his fault that Summer Street was backed up all the way to Oak Road, which he’d screamed himself hoarse about in the car, leaning on his horn all the while.

“Your mom can come over for dinner. It’s fine,” Christophe texted to Madeline. He entertained the hope that it didn’t come across passive-aggressive, but he also couldn’t find the will to include a heart-emoji or an “I love you” that might have softened the tone.

“Okay. Thanks,” she answered.

Christophe’s blood boiled all over. He read emails and re-read them, again and again, because their contents would not stick in his mind.

“Mahone, Charles, Kim, my office. Now.”

Christophe snapped upright, heart stirred to a frenzy for the too-many’th time today. The ice trickle down his spine said “Fuck, you are in trouble for getting in late.” But the inclusion of Frankie and Arnold did not make sense for that. The realization sat like a brick in his stomach while he rose, and met eyes with Frankie and Arnold, and followed Bruce into his office.

Bruce was wearing an ugly olive green shirt with an uglier plum tie when he closed the office door behind them all, and his face was an even uglier scarlet.

“Can any of you three… fucking explain to me, why this email was in my inbox this morning?” Bruce shifted into theatrics, reading each scathing note with a pizzazz solely for the purpose of getting under Christophe’s skin, Christophe was sure. Arnold and Frankie seemed to wince in unison with each lunge Bruce made, but Christophe refused to break posture.

“So tell me, Mahone, how does this happen?”

“You should ask Kim,” Christophe said. Frankie winced again, and it made Christophe madder the way his mind likened Frankie to a scolded dog. “He was the one handling the client.”

“No, I am asking you, Mahone. This is your team. Do not make excuses and do not shift blame. That’s what a weak man does.”

(“Then explain what exactly you’re doing right now.”) Christophe thought to himself. But he did not say it out loud, because he too was a scolded dog.

…

Christophe muttered a curse through each blocking cart and each clueless shopper blocking his path. He got avocadoes, and later doubled-back for the onion, and then doubled-back again for the limes. The chips were in the wrong aisle, because some stupid fucking store manager had decided to move everything again. Christophe forgot the jalapenos.

“Ah, he’s back. Finally,” Madeline’s mother Lucinda said the moment Christophe opened the front door. She leered over her glass of whisky, which immediately set fire to Christophe’s ever-simmering disdain for her.

“I came from work, Lucinda. Because I have a job,” Christophe bit back.

“You people always have excuses,” and it is one ‘you people’ too many, so Christophe set the grocery bag down and disappeared into the living room to throw himself on the couch.

“Mom do not speak to him that way,” Madeline said.

“Well did you see the way he talked to me? Called me jobless.”

“Mom, we’re not doing this.”

“You always want to make me the bad guy.”

Twenty minutes passed, with the living room growing dark around Christophe while he seethed into his phone. He marinated in his spite. There was no reason to make him share a room with Lucinda, in his own apartment. It was his, after all. Madeline moved into his apartment.

Soft footsteps broke his train of thought. Someone stood blocking the bit of light leaking in from the dining room.

“Christophe, hey… That was really out of line of my mom. Sorry.”

“You think?” Christophe answered.

“She’s miserable, and she needs to make everyone else miserable.”

“She does not ‘need’ to. She chooses to. And you let her.”

“I don’t ‘let’ her, Christophe. Don’t make her actions my fault.”

“Her being here is your fault.”

“She…” Madeline breathed hard out of her nose, and she lowered her voice. “She insisted on it. Absolutely insisted.”

“My mom insists I send her money. I just don’t.”

“It’s different.”

Christophe let out a little snort. He let the silence linger.

“…Look, I’ll say thank you once she’s gone, okay. A really really big thank you. I’ll make you any dinner you want this weekend, as a thank you. Okay? Because… she’s a lot. I know she’s a lot. So… thank you.”

The anger boiling in Christophe ebbed a fraction, and he almost resented this more, because this whole day was so much easier if he let himself fester in it.

…

“Ethel’s cancer is back. Poor girl. Lopped off both her breasts already. What more can you do?”

“Oh no… Mom, that’s horrible.”

Christophe dipped his chips in the guacamole without jalapeno. He did his best to avoid looking at Lucinda without making it obvious he was avoiding her. He tuned in only long enough to hear ‘cancer’, and tuned back out when he was sure Ethel was no one he knew.

Ethel as a topic stuck. Lucinda seemed to revel in it, in that way she loved, to bring up something horrific and make it everyone else’s burden to indulge her on it. It sickened Christophe, the way she seemed to light up at every opportunity to tell you something horrible.

“Ethel has honestly made me realize something. And it’s that life is short. And one day you’re gonna wake up with breast cancer, thinking to yourself, ‘Why’d I waste all this life?’” Lucinda stuffed another bite of taco in her face. Through her food she spoke. “So I wanted to tell you this myself, Maddie. And I didn’t want to just ‘text’ it to you, okay? I need you to see my face so you know I’m upset too and so you don’t accuse me of mean and hateful things.”

Christophe stiffened, angry before he even knew what he was angry about, just certain of the fact that Lucinda was about to make something worse for him than it already was.

“John and I are getting a divorce.”

Madeline’s face was fully white. “Mom, no… Mom, you said you were doing therapy.”

“I am! And I’ve realized that I deserve better than what John is doing to me.”

“Better than John? You deserve better than John, Mom?”

“Madeline this is MY life. Do not do this thing you do where you try to make it ALL about how hurt you are.”

“Shut up! Jesus fucking Christ!” Christophe slammed his fork down. “Is this all you do? Show up to make everyone miserable? Come here to make Madeline cry?”

“Christophe, don’t," Madeline whispered.

“She’s a miserable fucking bat and she’s doing this to cause drama. What a happy day for John to finally be fucking rid of you!!” Christophe turned to Lucinda, his eyes wild, and he broke into emphatic applause. And each clap was for his mom. For his dad. For the woman who hit his car. For Bruce. For the morning traffic. For the brainless idiot blocking the limes in the grocery store. “YAY JOHN! YAY JOHN! FREE OF HIS FUCKING SHACKLES!! HOORAY JOHN!!”

And in front of him, Lucinda crumbled. Into sobs. Into hysterics that seized her whole body and shook it. Blubbering, to the point of wailing. She kicked her chair back, and on unsteady feet she rounded out of the dining room.

“Mom! Mom, come back. Christophe did NOT mean that.” Madeline gave him one scathing look before disappearing after her mother, the front door to the unit opening and clicking shut. Feet on the stairs. Below them, Bucky bellowed woo woo woo.

And then it was quiet.

And then Christophe was alone.

With all the makings of tacos scattered around him, with guacamole going brown in a too-small bowl, Christophe was entirely alone.

Alone, he sat. Alone, he thought. Alone, his righteous anger slipped away from him like the tide. He felt naked and cold as it left him. He felt his cheeks burn. He felt his own self-loathing nestle into the shape of where his anger used to be.

He spat a curse. He spat another. He stood. He kicked a chair. He shoved the table, unseating one glass of water which toppled and spilled its stream in a ppttititktikt to the floor. He grabbed his head like the woman who hit his car, and he dropped to a hunch.

And when staying like this felt unreasonable, Christophe unfolded himself. He rubbed his eyes. He stacked dishes, and popped Tupperware containers, and scrubbed down the counter, and set the dishwasher to its 4-hour delay.

He showered. He got in bed alone. He stewed on every kind of apology he thought of texting Madeline, but his pride burned against each one. He stewed until his phone buzzed, and some sick part of him held the hope that maybe it was an apology from Madeline.

“I don’t think this is the relationship I want. I’ll be by tomorrow morning to get my things.”

“…Fuck.” Christophe slammed his phone down. “Fuck!” He grabbed his phone back and he sat up, and with all the force he could muster he pitched it against the hardwood floor. Its case exploded off, screen shattering to magnificent spiderwebs. Tinkling bits of glass and plastic scattered unseen across the floor.

Christophe was breathing hard. He was seized by the absolute sheer unfairness of everything. He wanted a do over. He wanted a different today. He wanted one more chance to not let everything go to absolute shit.

Christophe woke up on April 7th for the second time.

… ... ...

It is 9:10pm on the 274th day of April 7th, and Madeline has fallen asleep against Christophe’s arm.

And this is optimal, surely.

He’d said the right thing. Hadn’t made it about Madeline’s parents or his own. Was it always that simple? That she wanted assurance she wasn’t going to end up like John. “That won’t be us.” That was all?

Christophe should be happy.

He did it right, finally.

This is the escape criteria, surely.

Well, "surely" is a silly word for Christophe to use. As if the criteria were ever a mystery. As is he himself hadn't been activating the loop every single time.

April 7th would last exactly as long as he decided to make it last. That had been the case since his very first loop.

He's found "optimal." He has a reason, finally, to stop activating the loop. He can stop making today perfect. He can let tomorrow be April 8th, for the first time.

And it is about time, isn’t it? To let those babies be born. To let those people die. To let the people having the worst day of their lives and the best day of their lives finally move on to just another day.

He’s been feeling guilty about it lately, every time he feels the day hasn’t been optimal, and he made the choice to activate that power that sprung up like a wellspring inside him while he’d screamed and smashed his phone on the ground.

Tomorrow is April 8th.

Tomorrow everything moves forward.

Christophe’s palms are clammy.

He thinks about waking up at a time he doesn’t know tomorrow. He thinks about birds singing to a tune he cannot already hear like a rehearsal in his head.  

He thinks of everything Madeline might say, and he grows colder at the idea he won’t know what to say back.

He thinks about starting fresh, with a whole unoptimized day ahead of him.

It makes him cold. With Madeline snugged tight against him, Christophe feels so cold.

…

Christophe wakes up the next morning to an empty bed. He checks his phone, checks his text messages, checks the weather. He gets out of bed, and he heads down the stairs to the smell of brewed coffee.

“Morning,” he says, planting a kiss on Madeline’s head. She looks up from the dishwasher long enough to give him a “Morning,” back. Christophe pours his own cup of coffee.

“Oh,” Madeline says. “My mom wants to come over for dinner tonight. Kinda late notice but is that okay?” she always asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Christophe answers warmly, feeling like he’s fallen in love with life all over. “I hope she’s got more stories about Boki.”

[worstgenerationloser]

Could you please do ace, shanks and benn defending their f s/o from a misogynistic man? I had to face one at work and he gave me the absolute ICK

,, Rushing to your aid! ''

Ace, Shanks, and Beckman x F! Reader.

Summary... how would your boyfriend defend you from a misogynistic man?

Contains... misogyny, mentions of harassment, depictions of bloody violence, and some slight fluff!

A/N: IM SORRY YOU HAD TO DEAL WITH THAT ANON💕 I hope since you sent in this ask the men have left you alone! If not I'll ward them away myself!! 🤺🤺

Portgas D. Ace

Ace doesn't register it completely, so at first he's confused on why this man is talking to you as if you were a baby (mostly because he's a dumbass)

Now, even if he wasn't aware the man was being misogynistic at first, he's still rushing towards you because there's literally a weird man talking to you the way you would to a little kid, and you definitely looked angry enough to tear off his head.

"Woah, what's happening here?" Instinctively and natural as breathing, his arm slips around your shoulders and his fingers move to gently graze your arm in an attempt to console you.

He doesn't like showing his temper much, but when people precious to him are involved, his angry heart bursts into flames. When the man speaks, his jaw drops out of pure disbelief. According to him, he was mansplaining how pirates operate to you. Which is weird, because Ace knows that you're definitely well versed in pirates... Considering you're his girlfriend.

He wanted to diffuse the situation, but it seems like this random needed a reality check.

"Hm... Good to know, but I'm sure it's irrelevant to her." His smile is wide and joyous, but the ominous shadow looming over his face is anything but.

"But she's clueless!", the man rambles on and bumbles about like a headless chicken, before he turns back to get one good look at Ace. Then it clicks in his pea-sized brain that maybe you know a bit more about pirates than him.

Ace looks a little scary when he's mad, you discover . But mostly cute.

"My girlfriend doesn't need to explain her knowledge to some random asshole who couldn't make a lasting impact on her life if he tried, you're way below her, buddy."

With gritted teeth, Ace tries to not light fire to the whole town, but only you seem to notice his body is literally smoking hot.

According to Ace, the guy ran a little too slow, and that's how he ended up naked covered in burn marks! The marines didn't believe him, though, and you two were left to flee.

"Can you believe the balls on that guy? It's not like you're unknown, either. Portgas D. Ace's kickass girlfriend! It's got a nice ring to it, eh?"

He nudges you a little too hard and sends you flying into a bush, but you appreciate the cute moments with him no matter how brief.

Red-Haired Shanks

Shanks learned many things during his time in the Roger Pirates, but one thing really stuck with him throughout the years. He can tolerate being spat on and kicked around, if his crew sees it as a threat then he's not gonna stop them from doing whatever it is they're planning, but he's not gonna ask them to go out of their way to deal with it.

But when someone disrespects his crew, and especially you?

Oh, he's pissed.

You think he doesn't realize at first, but he's keeping a very close eye on you two. He tries to keep his ass planted firmly into his chair per Beckman's request. Beckman is the mature one, and he's almost never wrong in the astute observations he makes. Despite this, Shanks has no self control and he's lobbing himself towards the bar where you sit.

Beckman shakes his head disapprovingly at his captain, because unlike him, Beck knows you can handle yourself.

The man in question harassing you seems to be a small time criminal with a bounty of 50,000... That doesn't deter Shanks, it might have egged him on even more because who does he think he is harassing you?

By the time Shanks has made his way to you, your harasser seems to have taken it upon himself to demean you for your appearance, pulling out all the classics like "bitch" "whore" , and "slut" to name a few. Shanks, of course, finds absolutely no amusement in this. I'm sure you can guess what happened next.

Your harasser tries to argue and degrade you a little more when Shanks steps up, not realizing how silent the bar has suddenly become. He didn't even realize the hundreds of eyes disappearing from him, not wanting to watch things unfold.

"You're drunk, I'll give you that one." Shanks barks out a laugh like he finds it funny, but up close you can see that gleam in his eyes.

Well... it's not like you could stop him anyways.

But you really wish he left the bar standing, at least. It certainly isn't doing good for his reputation as an emperor of the seas.

When Beckman scolds him as if he were a child on deck, he laughs like he'll forget about it in a day or two. But everyone knows Shanks will be doing it all over again in a heartbeat. He holds you extra close that night, trying to make sure your heart isn't tainted by the venomous words spat.

"I don't want anybody, big name or small, disrespecting people I hold dear to me."

His words are sweet while he whispers to you in bed... he's an odd man, but he's yours.

Benn Beckman

Two words. Broken. Bones.

Beckman does not play around with his girl, at all. He'll bash in heads day and night if someone even looks at you the wrong way, but he restrains himself because he's not a jealous young man anymore, so he likes to think.

Regarding everything else, he's cool as a cucumber, he prefers to let things wash over by themselves and only offers advice if he senses things will go astray. (as previously mentioned)

You're his girl, and a damn beautiful one, so he isn't surprised when some people try and scope you out, the same happens to him with many women, so why be so hypocritical about it? His heart is locked inside of yours for the rest of his life whether you want him or not, so he knows you won't run off with another no matter how much Shanks jokes about it.

If they're a little persistent, he might walk up to you and give you a few kisses so they get the message. But this man was definitely not "a little persistent."

Beck doesn't have a second to think of what he should do when he hears the utterances of vile comments slip from this man's mouth after you turned him down, because he's already right next to you quicker than his own head can wrap around. He's big, tall and scary, enough so to make someone shake with just a look.

"A grown man like yourself should know that ain't no way to talk to a lady." His voice is low, and he's talking nice and slow for your harassers ears only.

Beck heard it all, him hitting on you in an unceremonious way, all the way to demeaning you when you rejected him, spouting the same chewed up rhetoric that is "women are only good for bearing children" and whatnot. He can't let that pass no matter how capable you may be of handling it yourself.

"And what are you gonna do about it?" The man's words were proven to be a bad move before his lips could rest against eachother.

Following that, there was quite a sight. Somehow Beckman managed to twist the poor guy into some kind of abstract form of art, all bloody and fucked up with no more teeth left.

And of course he ushered you away after wiping his hands clean enough for you, because he's a gentleman, he didn't do it for himself, it was for you!

"M'sorry you had to see that, sugar." His whispers fill your head while he has you resting your head on his chest hours later, a few giggles coming from outside your bedroom door. Guess who?

"You know I won't let nobody disrespect you like that. You aren't mad, are you baby?" Beckman is a real sweet talker, so it's not like you could be even if you tried.

Plus, he looks super hot fighting.

END.

Likes and Reblogs are appreciated! ❤️If possible, leave a comment too!

[miedei]

plots and plans

the team's gotten to know spencer's gf very well... but now there's a new face in the bau (aka emily gets initiated into the team... by meeting mystery girl!)

a/n: this fic took an ungodly amount of time its been in my drafts for months but <333 mystery girl <333 (this is fr just a bau team fic at this point)

(look at '#mystery girl!au' on my blog to see more musings about them <3)

cw: alcohol consumption, reader referred to as a woman, reader is around spencer’s age in s1/s2 (23-24), the team plotting, use of y/n eugghhhhh

wc: 3.4k

part one | part two | mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

SSA Emily Prentiss is perfectly wonderful. Garcia thinks so, and so does Morgan. Sure, they miss Elle, and they miss working with her, but leaving the BAU was something she’d needed. Besides, Penelope wasn’t letting Elle out of the team’s outings anyway. 

So, the two of them really have nothing against Prentiss. She’s kind, good at her job, and fits into the dynamic of the team well. However, at the end of her third case with the team, something of interest happens that makes them start to plot against her. Lovingly.

Morgan’s on the phone with Garcia, letting her know that the unsub was in custody, when Emily comes up to him, tapping his shoulder. Without hanging up, he draws the phone away from his ear, turning to her questioningly.

“Morgan. Can I ask you something? About Reid?” At his sound of agreement, she plows on.

“Does he… He’s so young. Do you think he’s had the social experiences he needs?” She shakes her head slowly. “He’s so sweet that it makes me worry. I mean, a kid going to university at 14, that’s got to make you miss out on a lot of things, right?” She gestures to Spencer, and Morgan turns to see him. 

Spencer is fiending off the officers mobbing him with thanks and congratulations for his breakthrough on the case. A smile creeps up on Morgan’s face, watching him fiddle with his hands and bow his head nervously, trying to find a way out of the group.

“I mean, yeah, Reid’s a little clueless in some ways, but I don’t think it really affects him too much. He’s learned to adapt quickly.”

Emily frowns, still looking at Spencer. “I feel like there are things everyone deserves to experience, you know? He hasn’t been able to do so many things because he’s achieved so much. I mean, he’s never even dated someone, has he? Did you see the way he handled that witness?”

Morgan bites back the urge to laugh uncontrollably. Earlier in the case, Spencer was interrogating a witness, Morgan, Emily and Gideon watching through the one-way mirror. He recalls the way the woman grabbed hold of Spencer’s patterned tie, twisting the fabric in her fingers with a sly smile. Spencer, the sweetheart he is, had recognised the flirting, but did his best not to mention it, pulling his tie out of her grip multiple times as he stuttered through his questions, until Gideon came in to save him. 

Morgan recognised that for what it was, Spencer’s incredulity that anyone other than you, the person he’s so obsessed with, would ever try something with him. 

But Emily, poor, sweet, Emily, had assumed the same thing the rest of the team had, years ago. That Spencer was nothing more than an inexperienced nervous wreck, that had never even kissed a girl. Morgan shamefully remembers the time he’d been proven wrong of this same assumption.

Emily’s face is so earnest, that Morgan almost doesn’t want to pop the bubble, disturb her impression of Reid. Instead, he just pats her shoulder with the hand not holding his phone.

“Trust me, Prentiss. Reid’s missed a few things, but he’s fine.”

Walking away from her, he remembers that he didn’t hang up the phone, bringing it up to his ear to hear Garcia speaking rapidly, clearly having heard his exchange with Emily.

“-and she doesn’t know! Oh my god, you hunk, wouldn’t that be so good? She’d experience what we did back then and-” Morgan cuts her off. 

“Babygirl, what? I didn’t catch that first bit, who’s going to experience what?”

Garcia takes a deep breath, and Morgan can picture her smile. “Okay, I know you're always thinking, ‘what is the wonderful thing about having the most beautiful and brilliant woman you’ve ever seen in your life?’, and, sweetheart I’ll tell you. It’s that I have a wonderful, wonderful brain, and I have a plan we have to set in motion.”

Derek sighs, but he knows he’s all in before she even says the word. “Alright, princess. Hit me with it.”

Garcia insists that the plan must be unfolded in three stages. Three stages, in order to make sure that Emily’s introduction to you will be just as bewildering as it was to them.

Stage 1: Confirmation. 

Emily’s assumption of Spencer’s inexperience had to be nurtured, demonstrated to her, to lull her into a false sense of security, the way the team had for far too long. 

Morgan and Garcia begin just one week after the case, a paperwork day where the team is confined to the bullpen for hours. Emily is sat at her desk, across the aisle from Morgan’s, when Garcia walks by, a phony excuse for her presence spilling out of her mouth. 

“Just got to drop these files off to Gideon!” She speaks too loudly, to no one in particular, and Morgan groans internally at her unsubtlety. Emily quirks an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t say anything, even when Garcia taps her nose in a very exaggerated manner. 

No time to cover up for her, Morgan’s got work to do, and a time limit to boot.

“So, Prentiss. You’ve had three cases here so far, you’ve gotten to know the team. I wanna know, what are your impressions of all of us?” Emily narrows her eyes at him, but swivels her chair so she’s facing him. Bingo. 

He grins as she leans forward, speaking lightly. “My impressions? What, you want me to profile you guys?” 

He holds up a finger. “Ah ah ah. I’m a profiler too, don’t act like you haven’t been doing that to us since the day we met. Now, tell me. Why don’t you start with, say, Reid?” He winces internally, hearing the eagerness in his voice. Despite that, Emily replies readily.

“Well, I’m probably just going to tell you things you already know. He’s brilliant, insecure, anxious about not only himself but us, worries about his mother all the time. Socially unsure of himself, especially in non-professional settings.” As she speaks, Spencer walks into the bullpen from Gideon’s office, accompanied by Garcia, whose eyes are filled with poorly-contained mischief.

“...and, my good doctor, she was flirting with you! Didn’t you see the way she tried to give you coffee for free?” An expression of puzzlement flits across Spencer’s face, looking at Garcia as he grips the file in his hand. 

“Garcia, why are we talking about this again? That happened weeks ago, and I still don’t think she was doing anything more than-” She cuts him off with a palm facing him, barreling forward with her rant, eyeing Prentiss blatantly as she speaks.

“You never think they’re doing anything more until they’re the ones gripping those little ties of yours. Spencer, you don’t think anyone is ever flirting with you!” Prentiss nods at Morgan, speaking under her breath with a smirk.

“Uncomfortable in non-professional settings, especially romantic ones.” She sits back in her desk chair, swivelling away as Garcia ushers Spencer to his desk, ignoring all of his questions. 

Spencer sits with a huff, confused. He pulls out his phone surreptitiously. 

SPENCE <3: They’re being weird. Again.

Garcia has filled JJ in, and she is ecstatic. She still remembers the horrifying embarrassment that she hadn’t realised something so huge about her best friend. It might be a little juvenile, but it will definitely bring her a little comfort if Emily, profiler extraordinaire, makes the same mistake. 

It’s five days later, and they’ve moved onto the second phase of the plan.

Step 2: Doubt.

Garcia has decided that sowing seeds of confusion, the way the team had been confronted that one time at the bar, was the way to make sure Emily has the full experience of being one-upped by that infuriating man, according to her.

JJ’s role is the whisperer, making sure that Emily witnesses suspicious activity. She’s taking this immensely seriously, Garcia having impressed upon her the responsibility of this guise. 

Walking past Spencer’s desk, she shoots a glance at Emily, confirming her distraction, before speaking into the room, “Everyone had a good day off yesterday? Spence, went to that exhibit at the Living Museum?” 

A dreamy smile flashes over Spencer’s face, before he makes sure to school his features, allowing only a small grin to remain. “Um, yeah. We went to go see the aviary, they’ve got some new Southeast Asian birds in.” Yes. JJ resists the urge to smirk, but her hopes are quickly dashed when Spencer moves on without a word. “I think Gideon would really enjoy it actually, I’ve been meaning to…” She groans internally, tuning out of his meandering ramble about bird migration patterns. There’s no way Emily clocked that tiny ‘we’. 

JJ isn’t one to give up easily, though. Any good plan requires patience, so she waits another day before attempting again.

The team is on the jet on the way to a case, and JJ is sitting strategically at the table with Emily, Derek, Spencer, and Garcia on the grainy laptop screen. Garcia’s hands fly around animatedly as she finishes describing the state of the case. 

Hotch raises his head from the case file, proceeding to assign everyone preliminary tasks, when JJ nods at Garcia subtly, and watches as she begins to rush around her office in a whirl, finally snatching up her cell phone. It’s a wonder that no one else notices the rush of movement on the screen, leaving JJ holding her breath, hoping that Emily or Spencer don’t catch wind. 

Finally, two minutes later, Garcia sits back down at her desk, feigning nonchalance. 

“Yep! Okay, sounds like you guys all have it under control, so— I’m going to go, do my techy things in my techy room. Okay? Garcia out!” 

The image of her disappears from the screen, and JJ grips her mug tightly, fearing that Garcia gave it away. Gideon chuckles, but other than that, it seems that everyone has written it off as a regular Garcia-ism. Thank god. Hotch continues his spiel.

A few seconds later, Spencer’s cell phone rings, the ringtone different from the one everyone is used to hearing when he’s called by one of the team members, but JJ recognizes the 8-bit rendition of Vivaldi’s Summer that you helped him set up for your number.

She can see Emily tilt her head from next to her, but JJ resists the urge to look up, keeping her eyes trained on the case file in her hands, and nodding along with Hotch’s words. 

The sound of Spencer rustling around for his phone meets her ears, and the subtle sigh of happiness that he lets out when he sees the caller ID. The beep of him accepting the call and standing to walk to the kitchenette float through the cabin, and the whispered ‘excuse me’ when he walks into the curtained room.

JJ can almost hear the confusion radiating from Emily, knowing that the newer agent’s utterly baffled at the sight of Spencer missing out on the discussion currently happening.

She can only pat herself on the back for having maneuvered Emily into the seat closest to the kitchenette, too, because the way she stiffens when hearing Spencer’s saccharine-sweet voice say ‘hey, angel’ is just the cherry on top.

JJ whips out her cell phone, texting Garcia discreetly that the plan was a success, receiving a flurry of emojis in return. Unseen, Gideon looks over her shoulder.

In the kitchenette, Spencer furrows his brows, confused. 

“Wait, Garcia told you I needed to talk?” 

Your tinny voice flows through the phone and into his ear. 

“Yeah! She texted and said you asked for me but wouldn’t call for some reason? I don’t know, it was strange. You know I don’t call you when you’re on a case, but I thought it was an emergency or something.” 

He sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

“I told you, they’re being weird! I asked Morgan what was going on and he just laughed.”

Your matching sigh rings out. “If they’re not going to tell you, I think there’s nothing to do but let it happen until it comes out. They always tell in the end, anyway.”

His shoulders slump in annoyance, but he begins to nod. 

“I guess you’re right. It’s still annoying.”

The case wraps up four long days later, and the team pile into a booth at O’ Keefe’s all in similar states of sleep-deprived delirium. Spencer would much rather be at home right now, but Garcia was persuasive as usual, crooning on about how ‘your ladylove gets you every day, can’t you give us one evening?’. 

Despite his love for the team, their increased strangeness hasn’t abated over the days they were working. 

Even now, JJ, Derek and Penelope sit across from Spencer in the booth, huddled around each other and whispering behind cupped hands. Granted, they weren’t this obvious over the last few days, but their drinks have only weakened their resolve to not let Spencer and Emily in on whatever they’re doing, not broken it. 

Making up his mind to ignore them, Spencer has resorted to leaning into the other end of the booth, chatting idly with Gideon, Hotch and Emily. Hotch is smilier than usual, three beers deep and showing them a seemingly endless amount of baby pictures of Jack from his wallet. 

He can’t help but smile at the grainy photos of the chubby baby, grinning to himself at the memory of the last time he saw Jack. 

He’d been leaving the office to meet you, and ran into Hotch and Haley in the elevator, stroller in tow. The image of you excitedly waving at little Jack, holding out your hand and letting him grip on to your index finger is burned into his brain. He’ll probably never forget it, eidetic memory or not. 

The multiple drinks he’s had allow a lovestruck look to settle on his face as he half-listens to Hotch’s tales. They also make sure that he doesn’t notice the puzzled look that Emily flashes at him, same as the ones she’s been sneaking for days now. 

However, no amount of drinks can let him ignore the strange way that Gideon is acting. The stately profiler is normally rather talkative on nights like these, subtly teasing the team or devolving into long tangents about an old far-fetched story. 

Tonight, however, he’s silent, merely nodding along to Hotch’s words. 

Spencer can’t help but be weirded out, especially when he catches Gideon looking over at him with an expression of repressed mirth, as if he knows something Spencer doesn’t. It’s slightly infuriating, the way it feels as though everyone is keeping things from him these days. 

He knows it’s not exactly the smartest thing to do, but he offers to go to the bar for another round of drinks. If they’re going to be weird, he might as well have something to help tide him over. 

You’re at home when Gideon calls, informing you that Spencer’s gotten more drunk than usual, and it’s probably a good idea that you come get him. 

As you pull on your coat, you can hear Spencer ranting loudly about Rachmaninoff in the background, laughing to yourself when Gideon assures you that he’s fine. 

(Curiously, you hear an unfamiliar voice question Gideon, ‘Who’re you calling?’ before he hangs up.)

Arriving at the dimly lit bar, you crane your neck to try and glimpse Spencer and his coworkers, coming up blank. 

You’re just about to call Gideon again when a suspiciously swaying, lanky individual catches your eye. Sure enough, Spencer is standing by a wall, gripping a glass in both hands and staring into the middle distance, seemingly alone. 

Pocketing your cell phone, you make your way over to him, feeling a familiar infatuated smile start to bloom on your face. 

“Hey, handsome. You here alone?” He blinks rapidly before focusing on you, eyes widening dramatically. 

“You’re here! How are you here, I thought-” He hiccups, the action causing his entire body to wobble, your hand shooting out to steady him. 

“I thought you were at home!” He takes the hand you have on his waist, tugging you closer until he can drape himself against your side, tall frame hunched over you. 

You have to giggle, widening your stance so you can support the two of you as you look around the bar, hoping to find any of his coworkers. 

Unfortunately, you come up blank, assuming they're in the booths towards the back that you can’t see. Sighing, your hand comes up to rub at the nape of his neck, causing Spencer to sigh happily, bending even further so that his face is buried in your hair. 

“Spence, where’s the team? We’ve gotta say goodbye before we go,” You murmur softly, feeling him relax further and further. His voice is higher than normal, muffled due to his refusing to raise his head from yours. 

“I dunno, they’re sitting… somewhere, and Emily said she’d come find me after I came here. Did you know, she listens to Eric Carmen? I was telling her about the lawsuit Rachmaninoff’s estate filed against him, and…” 

He must keep talking, you can feel the vibrations against the crown of your head, but he’s shifted his face to where his mouth is pressed against your scalp, taking with it any hope of understanding his words.

You’re waiting patiently for him to finish, when a dark-haired woman catches your eye. She stands a few feet away from you, peering at you curiously, as if trying to suss something out. Her face is obscured due to the shadowy lights, but she looks vaguely familiar. 

Stopping your ministrations on Spencer’s neck, you entreat him to look up. 

“Hey, do you know who that is?” He raises his head with a heaving sigh, as if it’s taking all his energy. He nods once, before returning his face to your hair, snatching your hand and placing it on the back of his neck again. 

“Yeah, it’s Prentiss.” He falls silent after that, but at least he gave you something. 

You’ve heard a lot about Emily Prentiss from him, although you haven’t had the chance to meet her yet. Waving her over, you smile brightly. 

“Hi! You’re Emily?”

She walks over to you, expression wary, until she catches a proper glimpse of Spencer’s face, at least, what’s visible of it. 

“Reid? It is you…” Her face is bewildered, confused, looking at you. 

“Sorry, who are you?” You stick out the hand that Spencer isn’t holding hostage, shaking hers.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, his girlfriend. It’s really nice to meet you, I’ve heard great things from Spencer and the others.” She looks more stunned, if that’s possible, but stutters out a greeting. 

It reminds you of the time you met the rest of the team, the way they’d stared incredulously at you when Spencer introduced you. Thinking back to Penelope’s multiple texts confirming that you weren’t coming tonight, it seems you’ve figured out why they’ve been acting weird.

You can’t help but smile pityingly at her, knowing how she’s feeling. Gesturing at the man clinging on to you, you give her an out from the conversation.

“I think I should be taking him home. Would you mind telling the rest where we went? I don’t want them to worry.”

She nods wordlessly, watching after you as you slowly lead Spencer out of the bar and into the night. 

SSA Emily Prentiss is a profiler. A spy. She’s accustomed to learning everything there is to know about an individual within a few days of knowing them. It’s for these reasons that she stands, dumbstruck, in the middle of O’ Keefe’s. 

Spencer Reid has a girlfriend. And she didn’t figure it out?

She resolves to go back through the profiling notes she’d taken in her time at the academy. Maybe twice. 

Shuffling back to the booth, she’s stuck in her head, eyes wide and thoughts flickering at ten times their normal speed. It’s clearly noticeable, Derek looking concerned when she slides into her seat once more. 

“Prentiss? Are you okay?”

She reaches out to snag her beer, turning the glass in her hand. Her voice is low, still confused as to how she missed it. 

“Spencer’s girlfriend came to take him home.”

Her words incite identically incredulous squawks from JJ, Morgan and Garcia, all of them incensed. 

“You met her? She wasn’t going to come tonight, we had a plan!” Penelope exclaims in frustration, looking around the table. 

Gideon merely shrugs, his amused half-smile finally emerging. 

“Plan took too long. Took it into my own hands.”

Morgan has to hold Penelope back from lunging at him.

[thewitchblue]

"Did you join the fucking military?"

Jason asked Tim, who blinked blankly at Jason until he noticed what he was holding. Jason was holding your military tags, which Tim's selfishly kept to himself when you "lost" them. Technically, he stole the tags from you, but you can always get a new set. You'll be matching! He did feel a little bad that you got in trouble with leadership when you asked for new ones, but he's sure you'd be fine without the old pair.

"No."

Tim didn't elaborate further. The tags have practically lived on him since he stole them. He only ever takes them off for showers, which is how Jason found them. Jason scoffed,

"Good. You'd be a shit soldier. Why do you have military dog tags?"

Tim tried to take them back, but Jason held them above his head. Your dog tags are air jailed until he gets answers. Jason needed to know.

"Answer or I'll find a place to smelt them down."

Tim knew he was serious by the gleam in Jason's eyes, so he said,

"My girlfriend is in a special forces unit for the marines. She refuses to tell me which unit she's in, but I've narrowed it down."

Jason was too stunned to notice that he dropped your dog tags. Tim snatched them off the floor and put them safely around his neck again and tucked under his shirt where they belonged. He likes to say that you're closer to his heart with your tags under his shirt with the bonus of protecting him from any potential bullets. Even when you are gone, you promise that you will always come back. He's used to your deployment and the limbo you have him in.

"When do I get to meet her?"

Dick said from the doorway. He was passing by and overheard. His little Timmy has a girlfriend? When did that happen?

Tim touches the tags while thinking of what to reveal and what to keep private. He's never been good at respecting privacy, but he has been learning for you. He knows to keep anything you say to him a secret, but what about other things relating to you?

"Whenever she wants. I'm not her keeper."

Tim answered vaguely. He's flying to see you soon, and he doesn't want to be followed. You've been together for three years, but you met kind of awkwardly. You tackled him to the ground and wrestled with him after mistaking him for one of your friends.

Your willpower eventually overcame his reflexes, and he stopped struggling. You had laughed when you pinned him down and ruffled his hair in victory. It was embarrassing to him how quickly he submitted to you. He watched your eyes widen when you noticed he's not your friend. You took in the scene too slowly. You, straddling who you had assumed was your friend with your hands pinning his wrists to both sides of his head, and Tim blushing underneath you. Tim didn't know how to react either, so you both stared at each other before you started awkwardly apologising.

Tim was a mess, but he was an adorable mess. His hair was ruffled, and his clothes were wrinkled, but there were no bruises nor any scrapes. You were always careful to leave no injuries. He was breathless, just staring at you with wide eyes and a shyness that almost made you smile. He was so cute that you wanted to squish him.

You quickly got off of him once you realised how long you've been staring at him. You pulled him up from the ground when he didn't make a move to stand by himself and actually almost fell right back to the ground because his legs refused to work for him. He was understandly stunned.

This is awkward. How do you explain the tradition of you fighting your friend on sight? Your friend does the exact same thing with you. It was excellent training for your deployment to fight each other on sight without any prep. Enemy soldiers aren't going to reveal themselves before attacking, so surprise attacks help keep your reflexes sharp.

"Sorry. I thought you were someone else."

He couldn't get the image of you pinning him down out of his head. Nobody has ever pinned him down so intimately. You were gentle. Your hold would have been easy to break out of if he didn't stop struggling. It was like you only played until one of you got pinned, and then the fight was over.

Tim was still trying to remember how to function. What does he do? What does he say? He's all shaken up. He had to look away from you. He managed to say,

"It's fine."

He tried to sound like it was no big deal, but it sounded strained. He was pretending like the wrestling really took it out of him by fake panting, but you both knew better. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, but pat his back and attempted to leave.

Attempted, being the key word. Tim caught your wrist loosely and nervously said,

"I, uh... would you... Can we... Let's... I'm sorry."

He didn't have the words with you looking at him like that. He was nervous. You smiled softly at him, and he forgot how to speak entirely. He could only stare until you took the initiative and asked him to go on a date before you leave for boot camp. He nodded, and that was that. You gave him your number and continued your run like nothing happened.

The date went amazing. It was a bit unconventional as you took him to a paint gun fight after showing him the gun and explaining the rules. You grinned every time he landed a hit and even wiped away the paint that splattered onto him with a fond expression. You opened up about the fear you have about joining the military, but your desire to help. You want to make a difference, however small or large that may be.

You kissed the bruising wounds softly and banaged the bleeding ones before he could even reach for the first aid kit you brought. You helped him up with a wild grin, and he kissed you until the adrenaline ran out. The guns were empty, and you both were messes, but your hearts were full, and Tim can safely say he hates paintballing. You took him to see a movie like a normal person next date.

Jason and Dick watched their brother soften further and further as he went down memory lane. Dick was ecstatic and already plotting to meet you, but Jason was confused why anybody would date Tim. Yeah, he's had his fair share of partners, but he's surprised every time he gets a date, let alone a girlfriend.

You were his mystery girl, and their family loves a good mystery.

[writing-flower]

“ Between life and death, death is tempting ”

First act: “From the roots”

Prologue: “Happy fifteenth birthday! (Again?)”

WARNING: Mention of blood and death.

Chapter I

Masterlist

My memory had never been the best, it was good, but not exceptional. Nothing out of this world.

I wasn't as smart as Damian or Tim, I wasn't as strong as Jason or Dick, nor was I as sharp as Bruce Wayne.

I wasn't exceptional, but I was good, but not good enough for them. For him.

God, I was so focused on getting his attention, playing sports, try to pass every subject with the highest grade, join any club like debate or math.

Anything, but all that never leads to anything.

Well, almost nothing, everything I did only caused Damian to see me as a desperate for attention, which, he wasn't wrong.

But still, it didn't make it hurt any less, every insult, malicious insinuation even the occasional threat flying through the air, each one was the result of three years of trying to get someone to look at me.

Sometimes that attention only appeared with Dick, on the few times that he came to visit and came across a scene of me with Damian, He immediately stopped him.

Forcing him to apologize, spoiler, he never apologized.

The first time it happened I thought that my attempts had finally yielded good results, but no, I dare say this was worse.

As if he gave me hope and then suddenly he snatches it away without any fanfare.

Oh wait, that's literally what happened.

And about the others, I didn't even have the chance to talk to them, simply because I was already tired and also because if Damian continued he would have more reasons to screw me.

And let's face it, nobody wants to feed the wolf because you know it bites.

In this case, the bird.

It didn't help that almost the entire family was going on patrol, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested in being part of that, but then I remember Jason...I immediately got that idea out of my mind.

Mm, but if I stop to think, or rather, remember, another thing that I learned in my attempts to get my family's attention, I fell in love with dance.

It was the only class that I didn't drop like the others, I genuinely loved it.

Once in her class, the teacher made us all dance with large, long, and thin fabrics. She made us dance what we wanted, in her words: “Dance as if you were free”.

My companions danced with joy, I just stayed silent for a few moments watching them without knowing how to start.

But then I sighed to close my eyes, letting my body move as it wanted.

“Dance as if you were free” I thought, I started to imagine the music in my head. It was nice, I love it.

I went from knowing what the hell to do to starting to laugh with my classmates, I turned around and then curtsied, feeling how almost all the fabric covered my body.

I open my eyes and see my entire audience applauding, not just me, but also the rest of the dancers.

As soon as I turned eighteen I followed my teacher's advice. I didn't do it before because I was a minor, I needed my tutor's permission and blah blah blah...

Contact with my family at this point was zero, except for the new member, Duke, a sweet and kind boy.

Just looking at him made prayers come to mind for Bruce.

“If you let this kid end up like Jason, I’ll take care of throwing the Joker at you myself, you unhappy idiot.” I was thinking but also listening as Duke energetically told me what his first patrol had been like.

I used to have a certain respect for Bruce, I mean, he's Batman and he does everything in his power to make sure Gotham isn't in such a shitty place.

But then I remember that he keeps adopting children as if they were dogs to give them "A better life" by turning them into human weapons.

Sooooo, yeah, I wish that every day he wakes up with a backache and a headache.

"[Name]"

"Yes dear?" Through the mirror I watched Duke looking at me hopefully as I put on my makeup for the upcoming performance in an hour.

Oh no, I already know what he's going to ask.

"Why do you never come to the mansion?" God, I swear he does that look on purpose, brat.

I sigh as I turn around to look at him.

"You already know my answer, I have no reason to do it and I don't want to either." I said as I turned back to the mirror to continue.

"Yes! I know, but why exactly don't you want to?"

A silence reigned in the room, putting on my makeup but at the same time thinking about what to answer him.

As much as I resent the Waynes, they didn't do anything to Duke, until now, they treat him as he deserves and the last thing I want is to plant that seed of hatred towards them in Duke.

Because I know him, as soon as I tell him what my childhood was like in that mansion and those responsible, the first thing he will do is complain.

And at this point in my life I don't want any unnecessary drama with them.

I lowered the lipstick and looked at him.

"I never liked being in that mansion, since I was little I was always afraid of those giant, dark hallways, and I still am."

Duke stared at me in bewilderment. "Is that the only reason you don't want to come to the mansion?"

I nodded. "It sounds stupid, I know, but every time I walk down those halls it brings back bad memories."

That wasn't a lie.

Duke was silent for a few moments before coming up to me and hugging me.

"Aww, honey you are such a sweetheart sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

"Yeah, because you can be a brat sometimes too." I laughed as I ruffled Duke's hair until it was disheveled.

"A white lie won't hurt anyone." I thought while Duke laughed and tried to pull my hand out of his hair.

Without realizing it, it was already time to start. I said goodbye to Duke, telling him to go back to the mansion, but he insisted on staying.

Something I allowed, GOD, I should have begged him not to do it.

Because from one moment to the next while I was dancing, all the lights went out and when they came back on I felt like blood was flooding my mouth, like everyone was screaming in fear.

What happened? Why am I bleeding?

Duke, he was next to me trying to keep me awake, to not close my eyes.

It got to the point where I couldn't hear anything he was saying, it was complicated while I felt like a part of my body was bleeding non-stop.

I hate to see him cry, please look away... leave me here.

Please...

I don't want the last thing I see to be you crying...

Please...

She opened her eyes calmly and confusedly, all she could hear was the ringing in her ears. She thought she was in a hospital because of the light.

But when her vision stopped blurring, she realized that the light was not from a hospital spotlight, but from the skylight in the wooden ceiling.

"Wait...Skylight?" She muttered, feeling her voice raspy and her throat sore.

The bed wasn't that soft, it was really hard and uncomfortable but still [Name] didn't want to get up, after almost dying...

[Name] sat up in bed right away.

"I ALMOST DIE!" She literally jumped out of bed and ran to the closet to get her clothes.

She needed to see how Duke was doing, his desperate face and the way he held back the urge to cry and couldn't, broke her heart.

But it was when she pulled out a t-shirt that she realized.

"This isn't my size..." Confused, [Name] walked over to the mirror.

If Duke broke her heart, now she's literally having a heart attack.

"WHAT THE FUCK!?" [Name] could swear that any living thing that was near her would have run away in less time than it takes a rooster to crow.

She touched her face carefully, as if it would disappear or break if she touched it hard, this is so weird...a woman in her late twenties trapped in her fifteen year old self, god, what a hell.

[Name] She stepped back without taking her eyes off the mirror while she sat back down on her bed.

On the other side of the door, she heard someone knocking on it two or three times. Accompanied by a soft but direct voice calling her name.

"Miss [Name]"

[Name] immediately turned around to stare at the door, for a few short moments no one said anything, there was only silence.

"Are you okay? You didn't come down to breakfast. That's not something usual for you." Alfred said once he got no response from her.

"Yeah, I'm fine Alfred...I just stayed up late last night that's all..." She didn't know what to say, obviously it wasn't okay, but she didn't want any more problems in her head, she just wanted to focus on the main problem.

She literally just got younger, which would be a good thing if it weren't for the fact that she also came back to this damn mansion.

"Okay, miss, I'll be waiting for you with your breakfast, you need to eat something before you start the day." [Name] was about to reply until Alfred stepped in. "Also, Happy Birthday Miss."

She didn't say anything, she didn't want to.

Alfred walked away from the door, [Name] could hear his footsteps moving away through the hallways and down the stairs.

"Was it always this quiet?" She muttered in her mind as she turned her gaze back to the mirror.

She thought about her life before coming back here, it wasn't good, she didn't earn much from dancing, but... it was her life, a life that took her time to perfect.

And now, I go back to the beginning? Shit, no.

"Alive or dead, I don't care, either way I'm getting out of here..." She said with some frustration and tiredness. "Happy birthday to me...that's new."

With nothing left to lose, she gets back out of bed to find some clothes to change into.

It was her birthday and she had to look good.

And hopefully, it would be the last birthday she would spend in this mansion.

NOTES: Hi, I hope everything is okay, even if it's better than me, I had finished the 'prologue' a while ago but I was feeling a bit unsure that something felt out of place or "weird".

I repeat and reiterate, I can understand English but in terms of speaking/writing it I am still learning. Until I feel completely confident for now I will continue using the translator (my savior).

But if there are any errors (probably some, I hope not many) let me know, I want everyone to be able to read comfortably and as long as I can I will make it happen.

Anyway, I hope you like it, I love you! Muak muak💋💋

TAGS:

@crazycaoticsimp @closetreader1864

[augustjoy]

I’ve got you!

Based on the following ask: I want fluffy romance

It’s an Aaron Hotchner x reader (lmao daddy issues on fleek) anyways

I’d like to see like romantic tension building between them like it begins small but slowly gets bigger and it isn’t until reader gets into trouble (like say almost drowning because she never learned how to swim like my dumbass) that Aaron almost loses it a little and saved reader which makes him end up confessing to each other and they get together and it’s just fluffy romance because as much as I love the smutty stuff, I crave fluff so badly for my poor heart and for Aaron because baby deserves comfort too. Anyways Love you gorgeous

Aaron Hotchner x BAU! Fem Reader

Angst/Fluff

Word count: 2533

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, SLOW BURN, Age gap (non-specified), some explicit language, reader can’t swim, no use of y/n, Fem reader, reader has no physical description, canon typical violence, reader almost drowns, mention of Jack, Beth never existed in this okay!, mention of hospitals, team calls reader flower as a nickname! let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

Your first impression of Aaron Hotchner was at a lecture at your university. Jason Gideon had been leading the BAU and Hotch had just been an agent at the time, but you had been captivated by his intelligence and the way he carried himself. He was so confident and had this strength about him that drew you in. Not in a romantic way though!

At least that’s what you told yourself.

--

Aaron’s first impression of you was when you had been hired onto the team through Director Cruz. Mateo had brought you along with your file and handed you off to Aaron, informing him that you’d be joining the BAU effective immediately.

Initially Aaron was annoyed, this kind of thing hadn’t always worked out in his favor, having agents assigned to his team without his approval but, looking at you and your impressive file, he knew he had to give you a shot.

Glancing over to you he took note of your beauty. It wasn’t the obvious fake filter-like beauty, but something more natural. You had this air of warmth that radiated off of you, it was the type of energy that just made you feel comfortable around someone. He couldn’t help but think that if he’d met you some other way, that maybe he’d have asked you out.

--

Things between you and Aaron had progressed organically. The two of you had grown pretty close, being one another’s confidant within the team. You weren’t together, but the amount of time you two spent together suggested otherwise.

It all happened pretty quickly.

--

“Does Hotch always stay late?” You asked.

“Uh, yeah pretty much.” Emily laughed.

“What about Jack? He doesn’t go home to be with him? I mean…I, that came out wrong. I didn’t mean that to sound judgy, I just meant like doesn’t he want to go home?” You stuttered.

“I’m sure he wants to go home to Jack. His sister-in-law watches Jack when he can’t, but since Strauss died, they gave Hotch a lot of additional responsibilities for this team. Things that Cruz never took back on, so he has nearly double the workload now that he did back then.” Derek explained.

You stood there stunned to silence as the others packed their bags to head home for the evening. You hadn’t even noticed them making their way to the elevator.

“Aren’t you coming?” JJ questioned.

“You know, I just remembered I forgot to get the file for that case we had in Minnesota back to Hotch. He’ll be pissed if I don’t turn it in before our days off.” You lied.

“Do you want us to wait?” Spencer asked.

“No, you guys go ahead! Enjoy your weekend!”

You sat back down at your desk, attempting to make yourself look busy while the other piled into the elevator. Once the doors had closed you made your way up to his office…unable to hear the others…

“She’s got it bad.” Derek teased.

“So does he.” Rossi confirmed.

You gently knocked on his office door and waited for him to permit your entry. Once he did, you pushed the door open slightly and peaked in, waiting for him to acknowledge your presence.

“Oh hey, what are you still doing here? I figured you’d have left with the others.” Aaron let a slight smile slip past his lips.

“I was going to, but you’re still here. It didn’t feel right going home for the weekend while you are still here working your ass off.”

“I’m the boss, I’m always here working my ass off. Head home, enjoy the time off. Seriously.” Aaron suggested.

“How about instead, I do whatever I can to help you get through your work a little faster and I order dinner for us. Would you prefer tacos or Thai food?” You pulled up your maps app to see restaurants that were nearby.

“You should-”

“Don’t even try to argue with me Hotch.” You threatened.

“Tacos.”

“Perfect.”

--

That night you helped Aaron double-check the case reports and cross reference them to make sure they were all filed properly. It allowed him some extra time to complete some administrative work and when your food arrived, the two of you sat and laughed while enjoying your tacos.

--

Garcia, Emily, and JJ were all clutching their temples while chugging down coffee in hopes to alleviate their hangovers.

Spencer and Derek couldn’t help but chuckle at the girls and the fact that they chose to drink far too much last night, knowing full well they’d need to be up early to cheer on their fearless leader as he completed the annual FBI triathlon.

Dave waved to the others notifying them that he could see Aaron coming around the last corner.

“Wait where’s flower at?” Derek asked.

The team looked around to see if they could spot you, knowing that you would never miss this, given how close you and Aaron had become. Dave chuckled to himself and pointed over to where you were standing with Jack on your shoulders as he held up a large glittering sign.

Everyone cheered as Aaron crossed the finish line only, he didn’t stop to greet the team. He made his was straight to you and Jack, he assisted him in getting down off your shoulders and complimented the beautiful poster he had made.

“I had some help!” Jack replied, gently grabbing your hand.

You’d smile and wish Aaron a job well done.

The team would just watch from afar and wonder how the two of you could be so incredibly oblivious to the love you so obviously shared for one another.

--

“Wooo go Jack!” You cheered.

Aaron couldn’t help but chuckle at you, genuinely loving the bond you’d established with his son. It had started when Jack needed to spend a day at the BAU and you’d gone out of your way to get him snacks and print a few coloring pages for him. It had shifted to something deeper than that not long after. Jack would ask if you could come to the park with them or if you could help him with the poster for his dad or, like today for instance, if you could come to his soccer game.

You had packed up a cooler bag full of drinks and snacks for the three of you. Dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans, Aaron had never thought you looked better. You’d been so casual and comfortable, and when you hopped in the passenger seat of his car that morning something stirred in Aaron. A feeling he wasn’t sure he was ready to feel again, let alone give in to.

“Did you see that? I made a goal!” Jack hollered running over to your waiting embrace.

“I did buddy, you were incredible out there!” You praised.

“Dad, can we all go get lunch now? And maybe then we can go see the new spiderman movie?” Jack pleaded.

“Oh – bud I don’t, I uh. I’m not sure that’s a good –” Aaron fumbled.

“I would love to, as long as it’s not an imposition.” You smiled.

“It’s not! An imposition, I mean.” Aaron clarified.

“Well then! What do you want for lunch Jack?” You asked.

You’d spent the rest of the day with the Hotchner boys, going to lunch and then seeing a movie. Which led to you offering to make them dinner, and building Legos with Jack, and then a nightcap with Aaron. He’d offered you his guestroom and then to drive you home first thing and given that you were both tipsy…you were quick to agree.

What you hadn’t expected was breakfast. He and Jack had gone all out with chocolate chip pancakes…things were feeling a little too domestic. When had things gotten so comfortable?

--

As the feeling stirred in both you and Aaron, you had begun to notice all the little things you did for one another. Things that had just become natural for you both in the time you’d known each other, second nature at this point.

You always slid sticky notes in your case files before turning them in to him. Sometimes they’d contain a doodle of something silly or a quote you’d read somewhere that made you think of him. What you didn’t know is he saved them all. They were tucked away in the back of his desk drawer, a neat pile of multicolored paper, serving as a reminder of how happy you made him.

Aaron shared similar antics…only his served in the form of your favorite tea, left on your desk each morning before the others arrived so they wouldn’t know it was him placing it there. Though they all had their suspicions anyway. Every once in while…usually after tough cases, or if he knew you hadn’t eaten dinner – which he’d know because you’d fall asleep mid-conversation via text – he’d leave a chocolate croissant…your favorite.

--

Aaron had almost let his feelings slip once. Dave had caught the internal battle that Aaron was facing, he wore it as a pained expression and tense shoulders. Dave had reassured him that you were alright and there was no need to worry, only that didn’t help much. You had gotten hurt, and that only proved that it could happen again. This was a dangerous job full of pain and suffering. Aaron realized he couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt.

You had been away on a case; the team had found the unsub and were closing in on him. You had rounded a corner in your chase and came face to face with the man you were after, and he had gotten the upper hand. He’d gotten a few good punches in and knocked you on your ass. Aaron had been quick to return the favor once he caught up.

That is when this need to protect you had grown all consuming. Aaron decided then to offer to train with you, in the hope of improving your self-defense skills a little more. And that is where you found yourself on Thursday evenings. Aaron and you would go to the FBI gym and train for about an hour before going to dinner.

This tradition sort of kept going…it sort of progressed from self-defense training to just working out together. An excuse really, an easy way of spending more time together without it looking too suspicious.

--

Dave had pushed Aaron time and time again, practically begging him to ask you out once and for all. To which Aaron always had the same reply; “She doesn’t feel that way about me and even if she did, it wouldn’t be appropriate”.

“You must be blind if you don’t see how much she cares about you. Or perhaps I was wrong about you being such a skilled profiler.” Dave chided.

“Excuse me?” Aaron was stunned.

“She is in love with you Aaron. You’d have to be an idiot to not realize, and even worse to keep yourselves from the happiness you both deserve.” Dave scolded.

Aaron sat with that for some time…wondering if Dave was right. Maybe enough was enough.

--

This case started out fine…but would quickly become both yours and Aaron’s worst nightmare.

This particular unsub had been murdering people with seemingly no connection. Disposing of their bodies at the South Coast Shipyard in Newport Beach, California.

The team had been working for days, trying to catch this guy. He was meticulous and stuck to his MO, not straying from his routine even the slightest. Spencer had suggested that he might have OCD.

That is what led you guys to the shipyard to try and corner him. Catch him in the act. You’d been on edge about being so close to the water…truthfully you’d always been afraid of it. And one night in a drunken stupor, you’d let it slip to Aaron that you’d never learned how to swim.

So, when Derek shouted out that you were FBI and Mathias Edwards took off running, you’d been a little nervous to chase after him. You’d do your job as expected…but there was a sick feeling in your stomach as you sprinted on the creaky dock.

It was just you Derek and Aaron at the docks, you had been checking things out, knowing that he’d likely be scoping out the area to see what boats were docked so he could find his next dumpsite. You hadn’t expected him to be there so early.

The three of you had split up, chasing after Mathias. You, thanks to all the training with Aaron, were quick on your feet, catching up with him quickly. You were running down a long straight on the docks, carefully avoiding any rope or ties holding boats in place when Mathias jumped out from between two boats, shoving you full force backward into the water. You’d immediately screamed, flailing your arms in a desperate attempt to stay above the surface.

Derek had been coming from the other direction and was able to tackle Mathias and was working to get him in cuffs. It wasn’t until Aaron came around that Derek even knew something was wrong.

“Where is she?” Aaron shouted. “Flower, where is she?”

Derek stood up, pulling Mathias to his feet and shoving him in the direction of the SUV. “Mathias pushed her into the water, I figured she’d swim around to the ladder at the end of the dock.”

“She can’t swim!” Aaron panicked, wasting no time jumping in the water to find you.

Moving swiftly, Derek secured the unsub in the SUV before running back to help Aaron get you out of the water. He’d found you quickly dragging you by your arm to the surface and lifting you into Derek’s waiting hands.

He’d checked for your pulse and when he couldn’t feel it, he began chest compressions. Aaron heaved himself out of the water and back on to the dock and pressed his ear to your chest to listen for any kind of breath sounds.

“Go call for a bus!” Aaron commanded.

Aaron took over CPR and leaned down to listen for your heartbeat once more. When he again heard nothing, he attempted mouth-to-mouth. He continued on like this for a few more seconds before you lurched forward, sputtering up the water that had entered your airways. Aaron helped you sit up and pulled you into his embrace.

“Oh, thank God.” Aaron muttered. “I’ve got you sweetheart.”

--

You were taken by ambulance to the nearest hospital. They wanted to check your vitals and run a few tests to make sure you were alright. Aaron had insisted on riding along with you and held your hand the entire way. He was by your side the whole time.

“You can’t do that to me.” He whispered.

“What?” You rasped.

“You can’t scare me like that sweetheart. I don’t know what I’d do if we lost you.” His eyes brimmed with tears.

“The team would be okay.”

“Not them. Me and Jack. We can’t lose you baby. We need you; Jack loves you, hell, I love you too much, I don’t think my heart could take it.” You were both crying now.

“I love you too.”

[luminiamore]

soul

basketball player ony x spiritual reader headcanons

୨୧ he absolutely has to keep one of the crystals you gave him with him. at all times. if he ever realizes he’s forgotten it—whether it’s on the way to practice or heading out for a big game—he’ll drop everything. no matter how tight the schedule is, he’ll make his entire team wait while he runs back to get it.

୨୧ he knows how sensitive and drained you get when you're surrounded by so many energies at once, and he could never put you in that position. so, even though he would love to have you at every game, he never allows you to come. instead, he’s making sure you're waiting for him in the locker room after.

୨୧ he takes the time to lock the door, ensuring that no one can hear anything, especially the sweetest cries you make when he's celebrating a big win. and when the rivalry match doesn't end in his favor-he's just as committed to making you feel his frustration. he’d end up carrying you to his car when he feels like he’s thoroughly dumped his anger past your warm sticky walls, your legs becoming jello.

୨୧ he was never the type to open up about his feelings, let alone imagine a future with anyone. seeing how dedicated you are to growing and evolving as a person, something shifted in him. he respected you deeply, more than he ever thought possible. for you, he started putting in the work—learning how to be more vulnerable, more present, and more open.

୨୧ you both became teachers to each other. he’d never admit it out loud, but you were slowly unraveling parts of him he didn’t even know were there. and just as much, he pushed you to continue evolving, helping you through your own challenges with the same dedication he put into his training.

୨୧ you two rarely argue. or ever really stay upset at each other. if he does something to make you upset you let him know rather than playing mind games, vice versa. ony would rather die than let you go to sleep upset at him. you will always talk it out. and get your pussy sucked clean after.

୨୧ he said “i love you” first, and while he tried to keep his cool and act like it was no big deal— on the inside, he was terrified. what if she don’t say it back? the simple thought almost made him second guess his decision. you did, of course.

୨୧ call him toxic, but unfortunately for you—breaking up is not an option. deep down, he knows you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. he might make mistakes but he’s quick to learn from them, careful not to make them again. if you ever hinted at leaving, he’d beg on his knees, desperate to change your mind. his pride would be forgotten in a second.

୨୧ he’s the kind of man who starts taking care of himself because he knows that if he wants to be the best partner, he has to be the best version of himself too. he hits the gym regularly to clear his head, makes sure he’s eating right to stay energized, and starts working on his mental health—because you deserve someone who is just as mentally strong as you are.

୨୧ safe to say, you’re spoiled—but in the best way possible. he takes you to the crystal shop, and it’s like your personal shopping spree every time. he knows exactly what you need, picking out the most beautiful, rare crystals for your collection.

୨୧ he’s all in when it comes to your little quirks, even if it means spending hours at a thrift store. he’ll go with you, sifting through racks, helping you find those one-of-a-kind items you’re obsessed with. and when you find something perfect, he doesn’t hesitate. he’s dropping a bag, not because he has to, but because he wants you to feel special, like you deserve the best.

୨୧ all in all, he loves you. and it’s more than just the surface-level affection—it’s deep, real, and unwavering. he’s in love with you. every part of you. from the way you laugh to the way you challenge him to grow. you’re his lifeline, the one person who makes everything make sense.

[memezs-corner-of-the-osc]

Memez theory analysis ramble #2:

SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRETY OF TPOT 17.

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I’m dedicating a entire post to just the scenes with One and Doughnut because it tells us so much about One as a person:

Her demeanour throughout the altercation is something I’d like to bring light to.

One as a character is a manipulator who weaponises gaslighting by learning the characters psychologies to put them under pressure using her facade to sign as we’re all…..very aware by now.

What we learned here is are her downfalls: Temper and ego.

This is the face of someone who’s overly confident in everything she does, here she was not anticipating any failure in her plans.

I mean how could she possibly fail right, after all she’s tricked so many contestants-

And then reality hits.

Her egos down, she didn’t rehearse for this.

Now: let’s observe who one actually is under her act.

She resorts to violence to start with, trying to get a fear response from Doughnut.

Success: Ego back up tenfold.

She feels safe, like she has the upper hand.

So she starts her downfall: She starts giving Doughnut more information than he should know.

After all he’s going to take the deal, they all take the deal.

He can’t possibly escape and tell everyone after he just signs that little contract.

And so like the hawk she is she swoops back in to claim her prize, here she thinks she’s won in crushing the tough nut.

……unfortunately for her Doughnut is smarter then that and questions her, she hates being questioned as it ruins her whole shtick.

“Ughhh don’t worry about that Doughnut, after all is it so crazy to believe I’m just trying to help you?”

Mocking, condescending, setting up her “finishing blow”.

“Those friends of yours all agreed to it and look at all the fun they’re having!”

She can’t help herself and besides he’ll never get the chance to tell anyone so why not take the chance to unconsciously gloat to someone about it?

But it doesn’t work, he keeps questioning, second guessing and not trusting her act.

So she snaps and goes nuclear and goes to what she thinks everyone is can’t resist, themselves:

She tries acting like his friend one final little time, going with her plan B she set up.

She lays it all out, everything she knows about him and all the things in his life she rigged to happen in one last desperate attempt to regain control.

“Everyone gets to be a little selfish, it’s only fair.”

This is the line I’m going to go on a tangent on, it shows why One can do this guilt free.

She’s self justifying it constantly in her mind with a positive feedback loop, through her own delusions she sees fact.

It makes you wonder why she’s doing this and supports what I said last time, I still theorise she’s not here for the power, she’s here to make sure Two is powerless for her own pettiness.

One is a heavily Toxic abuser type person, she has warped morals that she bends to justify their own behaviour to herself subconsciously to get her own goals satisfied.

She has a ego or (at least acts like she has one to further her agenda) and will stop at nothing to the point of almost ending the universe to satisfy her needs.

And if she was friends with Two it would make sense if she used these manipulative tendencies on them and the other algibralians.

The scene with Six I will now circle back to basically confirms what I’ve been theorising with one quote: “She was supposed to be gone.”.

We have half her motive, this seemingly confirms One was exiled from the playground.

For what is yet to be seen.

Now let’s talk about the ending of the scene: What happens when someone defies her.

Let’s watch shall we:

She’s failed to make this man stoop to her level proving her psychology is wrong so she snaps, she’s never encountered this before.

She wants to feel like she’s won so she turns to a power trip, in a moment of rage she rips Doughnuts legs off and kicks him off to affirm to herself that she got the last laugh here and that letting him go is no issue.

I mean what can one man do without limbs-

And this right here is where I theorise Ones downfall begins, she got greedy adding Doughnut: a person who she knew could be a problem into the plan.

And where did it leave her?

With a wild card with context clues about what she was planning and with information about what’s behind her act on the loose, in her own greed I theorise she set in motion her demise.

And the kicker is even at the end she’s still affirming to herself that she didn’t really fail here by flying head first into the sun and that Doughnut was “just for good luck.“.

So I end off this essay of a post with a question: If this is how she treats her victims how did she treat her “friends”?

Thank you viewer for reading, the follow up to this will contain an analysis on Pencil (probably my favourite contestant by now) along with a few other misc things I want to talk about as this is already pushing it for this ted talk of a post.

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Hiii, loved to see that you a writing for arcane again. Tbh I just loved Isha and Jinx, so could could you make headcanons for how Jinx, Vi and Cait would be like taking care of or rising a kid with a girlfriend or s/o?

Sure I can! I don’t want he post to be huge though so I’ll break it up into three separate ones! Enjoy!

Family Bound

Raising or looking after a kid was not easy by any means, but taking care of one with Jinx was even harder

Jinx does not know how to be a paternal figure, or an older sibling kind of figure

She has really bad experiences with the only ones she’s ever known, so how was she supposed to fix that with some kid she’s not even related to?

But, for your sake, I feel like jinx loves you enough to try

If the kid was your sibling, I feel like she would be more reserved and distant from the child

In some way you and your little sibling remind her of herself and Vi when they were young and it’s not a good thing

She’s only able to take care of the kid once she separated those two things and finally able to bond with the kid

It takes a lot of time and patience from you for Jinx to be able to bond with the kid

If y’all found the kiddo, I feel like it would be easier for her to take care of it more than it being your sibling

When she does come around, Jinx can be very protective of the kid

She’s more the parent that doesn’t discipline and lets the kid get away with stuff, which causes some behavioral issues and arguments between you two cause that’s not really a good thing

So she has to learn from you how to take care of the child

She teaches the kid lots of things like how to invent gadgets, to make sure they work, how to protect yourself, and lots of other things like that

On more positive notes:

You’re the main bridge between the two so when they’re left alone together, they have no clue what to do or how to bond

But you do find little bits and pieces of a genuine bond forming between the two

You see the little smile Jinx wears when she finds genuine joy in taking care of them

She wonders how anyone could abandon their child or harm them when the one she takes care of with you is so beautifully innocent and childlike

In a way the kid heals the inner child and the Powder still inside of Jinx

She takes care of them in the way she wished Silco or Vi was

And she understands them in a way not even you can, especially if they show signs that Powder and Jinx did when she was young

She likes goofing off with the kid, and she likes playing around with them

You’ve found them roughhousing and giggling more times than you could count

and you’ve found them testing out bombs, which only happens when it’s in a safe place and a safe distance away

Jinx would never intentionally harm your guys’ child

She loves them so much that sometimes it’s scary to see how attached she has become

She doesn’t know what she would do if anything happened to you or the kid

She doesn’t ever wanna scare them, which has only happpened once

Jinx was having a freak out after everything has happened, probably after Vi was found to be an enforcer or after their fight

She was going through it, yelling, breaking things and crying and screaming

She didn’t notice how scared your guys’ child was until they started crying

Jinx felt her heart break, and even if she was ashamed of doing it, she ran out

She didn’t know how to handle the gaf she scare them so much

She was gone for a while and when she came back she was visibly distant

It took a lot of patience and reassurance for her to come back around the kid without being hesitant about every move

But the kid loved her, and when she saw your child was more sad about the fact she was gone, it broke her heart and almost healed it at the same time

She doesn’t know what she would do if they feared her badly

She loves coloring with the little girl or boy, and she likes helping them figure out outfits

She likes running around the lanes with them, or going to the old hideout

The two also love messing with Sevika as the woman has now joined your little mini family

Jinx and the kid often pass out together, both on the ground or wherever and limbs tangled and snoring with drool on the corners of their lips

Which means you have to carry both to bed a lot of the time

Jinx loves. Showing he kid to invent, and how to fight and everything

She loves seeing the sparkle in the kids eye when she shows them fireworks and anything Jinx

She and the kid have a bond you don’t know how to describe

She also doesn’t try to keep the fact of who she is and the things she’s done a secret from the child

Sometimes she can be harsh, but it’s from a space of love even if the kid gets hurt feelings

She always makes up for it though

[katiekatdragon27]

Hey. Hey, guys. You'll never guess what I've been drawing.

Glisten: ...??

Glisten and his lame ass boyfriends!!!!!! Cheers to art dumps <3

[CW: SUGGESTIVE JOKE] More doodles below cut:

So! I know most of you come for the shinyshrimp stuff (WHICH WE WILL GET TO) but let me yap about Glisten and Razzle for a bit.

I LOVE YOU GLITTERMASK THEY COULD NEVER MAKE ME HATE YOU GLITTERMASK-

Glisten and Razzle got together like 3 months after Glisten and Boxten broke up. Razzle never really looked to Glisten that much outside of acquaintances (cuz he was kinda sorta lowkey jealous of Glisten's charisma and stage-presence). In fact, they were much more focused on Vee and maybe possibly had a crush on her, which is really funny in hindsight with Dazzle lol. However, after learning that Vee was a lesbian/being very rudely rejected by her, Razzle found comfort in Glisten and fell head-over-heels almost immediately.

The only problem is, Razzle has -10000 aura. His ass cannot be flirty or cool-charismatic at all.

Glisten: What do you do when you aren't distracting? Razzle: (Glisten likes mysterious people) I sell drugs!! Glisten: ... Excuse me? Razzle: (But Glisten also likes kind people) But ONLY to kids in need! Dazzle: (STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP-) *defeated whimper*

Razzle thinks he's that guy (they're not, they're pathetic honestly lol)

Also like, Razzle is suuuper dense when it comes to everyone except Dazzle. They struggle with self-reflection and other-people reflection, so he is completely convinced he is doing all the right things, when in actuality, they are very very very cringe.

Razzle: No see Dazzie, this is why they call me Rizzle. Dazzle: (No one has EVER called you that.)

Denseness is one hell of a drug, aye, fellas?

Dazzle is being pulled through the wringer trying to preserve whatever was left of her (and Razzle's) pride. It's not working. Girl is fighting for their life every time she is dragged over by Razzle in order to say a horrible pick-up line to Glisten.

(This is all pre-relationship btw. After they get together it becomes an inside joke and Glisten retorts with his own awful (although not nearly as bad) pick-up lines)

Now the moment you've been waiting forrrr 🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

✨ Shinyshrimp ✨

I love them chat, I love them sm. They have so much drama and love and interesting things going on, they're so cool and fun n stuff and AUGHHHHH💥💥💥

Shrimpo being that one guy who craves affection but would literally bite anyone who gives it to him is so real to me. Homie wants a hug but ends up suplexing whoever hugged him outta reflex. Glisten, on the other hand, is one of the most affectionate people ever. He's not affectionate to everyone, but when you catch his interest (both platonic and romantic), he is very verbally and physically affectionate. He'll buy you things, he'll give you hugs, he'll let you invade his personal space, all stuff he would never let normies do.

Shrimpo loves this, however, homie has no idea how to deal with any kind of affection in a positive way. Cat-coded ahh guy. Glisten does find this amusing tho, so he's more inclined to be affectionate with Shrimpo to help him "get over it" in a way.

This is just for shits and giggles. I feel like everyone should draw this meme with their ships. It's a canon event at this point.

What can I say? He was hungry.

Can't forget my fankids. I love my fankids. I miss my fankids. I need to draw my fankids more istg I need to revamp their ask blog soon (especially with some new editions coming soon).

Also Hamlet looks smaller because most of his internal structure is made of ribbon and stuffing, so he shrinks into a ball when happy. He also loafs like a cat, what a guy.

Also also also what the skibidi sigma happened to my prep-jock ship?? Why is it backwards???

I drew these because I had a vision of the little doodle below and only thought it would work if they were swaped... sooooo... here we are.

Scapmi is a preppy goth-ish shrimp with an eye for fashion and artistry. With a smart mouth and a massive ego, he often comes off as an annoyance to others. He loves to be front and center in everything but often has to fight with his internalized idea that everything is a competition that he needs to win no matter what. It causes him a lot of stress and self-doubt, but he'd never let anyone see his weaknesses.

Gash is a shrap-toned violent mirror who speaks more with his fists than his voice. He hates everything that is not himself (and sweets) and makes sure people know that. He used to be a perfectionist, but after an accident permanently cracked his face, he dropped his "perfect" persona in favor of a messy, more hateful one. He wants connection but doesn't know how to express his needs in an understandable way, and that frustrates him immensely.

As you can see, match made in heaven.

Gash: DUDE, WHAT THE F*CK!? Scampi: There's a smudge on you- Gash: I DON'T CARE! LET GO!! Scampi: Not 'til I'm done. (Your natural blush is gorgeous; shame it's on you tho)

So yeah, swap shinyshrimp lore drop yippee.

Have a good one chat, til I reappear again✌️✌️

[w2beastars]

Waezi2′s thoughts on “Beast Complex” chapter 25

So, I know we were all disgusted by the freak South who dated a lizard who was the same species as him(ewww). So I am happy to tell you all that we are going back to some good ol' freaky furry romance.

Better yet, this chapter is about Haru and Legosi!

The main couple of Beastars now practically live together since their universities are pretty close to each other. Haru is doing her third year in college and Legosi, now with a clean criminal record, is doing his first year in college, studying entomology.

Good for you, Legosi :) It is never too late to get back to school!

So, the wolf and the rabbit has been together for three years now and (for the most part) live together. You know what that means...

Oh yeah! They sleep together!

... In separate beds! There is no sex whatsoever!

Haru asks the same question as the rest of us: HOW?!?!?

Well, the first night Haru spent at Legosi's place, the ussual happened:

Like most wolves, Legosi makes small bites when he gets overly exited. Haru didn't get hurt, she got a scratch behind her ear, it's not the end of the world.

But afterwards, their relationship has been... well, casual.

There is no sexy atmosphere between them since the biting incident. They still spend their free time together, but it is almost like they are a middle-aged married couple where they brush their teeth together and everyday stuff like that. It bothers Haru a great deal since she is a college girl and it makes her feel old, makes the two of them feel old. She would like to get wild while she is still young... But to be fair, don't you think you had plenty of fun already, Haru?

I'm not slut-shaming or anything, just saying.

Anyways, Haru contacts Juno. Yep, everyone's favorite queen wolf is back!

Two things I noticed is that Haru now calls her "chan", implying a bit more friendly relationship between the two of them. Second is that even though Juno is here to give Haru input and advise about wolves, we don't get to learn anything about what her life is like right now.

YOU ARE KILLING ME, PARU!!! YOU ARE TORTURING ME SPECIFICALLY BY NOT LETTING US LEARN WHAT HER LIFE POST-LOUIS IS LIKE!

As I was saying, Haru wants Juno to give her advice to kick Legosi's wolf instincts into high gear. Juno is unsure if that's such a great idea(no duh!) but share what would normally make a male wolf... excited.

There is just one problem... Legosi is... well, Legosi.

He is a terrible mix of extremely polite, concerned and dense.

Nothing Haru does triggers Legosi, he misreads the signals completely and Haru starts to wonder if they have simply lost their spark.

Then, one night as Haru goes to bed disappointed that she haven't unleashed the beast so to say, she sees that Legosi is awake.

It's full moon, and Legosi can't help it but to stay up and watch it. Even if it is bogus that the moon should somehow affect wolves, Legosi and his fellow canines are still emotionally attached to it. Haru says she can relate to this to some degree, probably because rabbits have a religious connection to the moon.

This is possibly the first thing their species have in common. So the two of them goes for a late night/early morning stroll, enjoying the beautiful moon.

The two of them just enjoy each other's company, it's nice and quiet. They are not tired from class or trying to study or doing everyday tasks, meaning they can actually connect on a emotional level.

And then we get the twist:

As stated earlier, Legosi accidentally scratched Haru's ear when he got "excited" and Haru assumed it killed the vibe between them. But this seems to imply that he was waiting for the wound to heal completely.

Or maybe it is because they are both relaxed that Legosi feels less anxious.

Either way, they don't spend this night in separate beds.

I'm gonna be honest, it was not the best Haru x Legosi story I read, I would have liked a bit more of the classic Paru insanity. But I very much enjoyed it, and this specific story shouldn't have that much crazy because it is about the lack of insanity in the wolf and rabbit's life. We get to see that Legosi can finally get a real career and even achieve his dream of working with insects and how much they have evolved as an actual couple, not just furry angst and tension between the rabbit and wolf. It also feels like Paru is ending Beast Complex for real this time to focus more on her other projects, and if that's the case then this was a nice way to end it.

I'm Waezi2, and thanks for wasting time with me.