#and i am aware of the fact that the ~taking real political stands thing didn’t refer to what I'm thinking of

[nooradeservedbetter]

+

[agent-whiskeys-sweetheart]

Meant To Be

Pairing: Hotch x F!Reader

Summary: You are studying to be an FBI profiler with a little over a year left before graduation. When the BAU team shows up in your town for a case you jump at the chance to shadow them for a day. However, things quickly take a turn when you meet Aaron Hotchner, your future boss. And the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met. 

Warnings: None! A little dramatic??? This is a purely self indulgent, love at first sight kind of fic so just prepare yourselves. 

Word Count: 4,063

A/N: So I had a mild stroke trying to figure out the timeline for this series so please just don’t look too much into it lol.

MAY 2006

FORT WORTH, TX

It was just barely six in the morning when you pulled into the parking lot of the precinct. Although the sun hadn’t peaked over the horizon yet, you were surprisingly awake. In preparation for the day you had gone to bed at eight the night before which left you well-rested and alert. There was no way you were going to let yourself be off your game. Not today. Of all your classmates, you had certainly progressed the quickest. Due to your high success rate, your professor had authorized you to shadow the team of FBI profilers that were coming to your city for a case. It was an amazing opportunity for someone with a over a year left before graduation so you immediately accepted. Not allowing yourself to make even the slightest mistake, you planned everything down to the last detail in the days leading up to this. Nothing would be able to faze you. With the confidence of a woman who’d been working in this precinct all her life, you strode into the lobby. The receptionist asked for your ID which you quickly displayed. It was only temporary but even so, there was a certain amount of power you felt when she cleared you to continue into the building. After stopping briefly to ask for directions you made your way back to the Police Chief’s office. When he hears your knock, he looks up from his paperwork with a polite smile.

“Well, good morning. What can I help you with?” Clearing your throat, you prepare your most professional voice as you reply.

“My name is Y/N L/N. We met earlier this week. I’m going to be shadowing the team of profilers who are flying in today.” Recognition crosses his features as he makes his way over to shake your hand.

“Of course. I remember. It’s nice to see you again. You’re very punctual. That’s a good skill to hang on to.” You smile in gratitude. “Well, the profilers aren’t here just yet. If you’d like you can wait in here or we can find an empty desk for you.” 

“Actually, I was hoping I could look over the case files. I’d like to be as up-to-date as possible before they arrive.” As he nods, the two of you make your way into the hallway. Towards the back corner of the common workspace is an empty desk that he allows you to sit at. While you put your things down and take a seat he disappears long enough to retrieve a file folder and set it on the desk in front of you. 

“This should be enough information for you to be able to help out. If you’ve got any questions in the meantime, you know where I’m at.” With another polite smile, he leaves you to continue his paperwork. It doesn’t take long for you to read the case file. There had been a conspicuous string of murders in the area, which began about two weeks ago. Four couples were murdered in their homes, all wealthy without children. A list of witnesses and family members had been compiled to make the interview process a little easier. You predicted you’d most likely be helping one of the profilers in questioning the people on this list so you tried your best to memorize the names. 

It seemed like hardly any time had passed when you heard the main doors of the precinct opening to reveal a group of five people walking up to the receptionist’s desk. The sight of them immediately perked you up. It was difficult to make out any individual faces at first but you knew these must be the profilers. As they each scanned their IDs and made their way into the main workspace you quickly gathered your things so that you would be ready to move the moment they were. It didn’t take long for the Chief of Police to reappear, welcoming the profilers and showing them where they could set up their equipment. Every member of the team had a distinctly different look and behavior but they all seemed to work in unison. Even though they’d only been there for five minutes they exuded professionalism and efficiency. As you watched them you had to remind yourself to breathe. You had as much right to be there as them. Admittedly they did have a lot more experience than you but that didn’t change the fact that you’re all on the same team now. 

Waiting patiently, you finish putting the case file back together and fold your hands to rest them on the edge of the desk. When the Chief of Police calls you over you gather up your things and make your way around the various desks to stand next to him. 

“This here is Miss L/N. She’s a student at our local university. She’s gonna be tagging along with you guys today for a little real-world practice.” As he introduces you, you take the opportunity to study the faces of the people in front of you. There is only one you recognize for certain. They all have their attention set on you as well which makes you suddenly very aware of yourself. “Anyway, I’ll let you all introduce yourselves.” With a nod, he turns to speak to you. “If you don’t mind stopping by my office at the end of the day, I’ll get you all checked out alright? In the meantime, have fun I guess.” He adds with a laugh before finally leaving you alone with the others. 

The first one to extend his hand to you is the one person you are familiar with. More than familiar, seeing as he is kind of your hero. You had been the one to initiate the arrangement, having sent him an email a few weeks ago. He had seemed more than willing to let you work with them for the day and he was nothing but helpful, just like you knew he would be. Seeing him now was nearly surreal.

“Y/N, I remember.” He begins, shaking your hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jason Gideon, as you know. Glad to have you on board.” 

“It’s absolutely an honor to meet you, sir. I’ve been a follower of your work since I knew what profiling was. I am so grateful for this opportunity. I am more than ready to help in any way I can.” As you speak, a warm smile lights his face. One of friendliness and hope.

“Of course. I think I speak for my team when I say we’re grateful as well. Not many people in our field get a chance to guide the next generation to a life of helping others. Anything we can do to support you as a future member of our team, we’re happy to do.” This response is entirely heartfelt and shocking to you. Of all the ways you’d imagined this interaction starting, this wasn’t what you had in mind and yet it was exactly what you needed. 

“Thank you, sir.” Was all you could manage as you work to maintain your fading air of professionalism. 

“Well, with that I’ll let everyone do their own introductions.” Almost immediately another man stepped out of line and reached for your hand. He was very conventionally handsome and the way he carried himself told you he knew that he was good-looking. The smile he flashed you was contagious as you shook hands with him.

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart. I’m Agent Derek Morgan and I am very excited to get to know you.” The woman next to him has to pull him away, shooting him a look. She seems very severe and yet when she turns to look at you there is a distinct kindness in her eyes.

“Knock it off Morgan. You’re gonna scare her off before she even gets a chance to meet anyone else.” She says over her shoulder, taking your hand. “I’m Elle. If he keeps bugging you, I’ll be more than happy to rough him up for you.” Morgan holds his hands up defensively when he catches Elle’s eye again before giving you a small wink. 

“Nice to meet you both.” It’s hard to contain your laughter but you manage, giving a small smile instead. Another woman is standing beside Gideon who shakes your hand. She is very beautiful and seems to exude confidence and grace. 

“I’m JJ. I’m the Communications Liaison for the BAU. We spoke briefly last week.” You nod in recognition. She had helped you coordinate the time and place to meet up for the day.  

“Of course. Very nice to meet you in person.” 

“Likewise. We’re excited to be working with you.” She gives you a warm smile which you gladly return before looking to the last person in the small group. He looks to be about your age, very sensibly dressed with a nice posture. There is a slight awkwardness in the way that he shakes your hand but he gives you a quick smile and you can see that he has a hidden friendliness in his demeanor. 

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” He says shortly to which you politely nod. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” With that, you turn back to Gideon to ask about your assignment for the day. However, you can’t help but feel like something is missing. “I read through the case file this morning so I can be of use wherever I’m needed. Did you have an assignment in mind or will I be moving around throughout the day?” 

“I think it would be beneficial for you to work with SSA Hotchner. He should be here any minute.” That’s what was missing. Hotchner. You had heard his name before but you didn’t know much about him. As you waited for him to arrive, Gideon began delegating tasks to each of the other members. Despite not being given a task yet you listened intently until the front doors of the precinct opened. 

However you had pictured Hotchner, the man that walked through that door was the furthest thing from what you expected. The sight of him striding in from the lobby made your breath catch in your throat. There was an innate power in the way that he moved. So much purpose and intensity. His eyes were dark and they found your face almost immediately. It was enough to make you squirm but you maintained your composure. Gideon turned to greet him before gesturing back towards you. “This is Y/N L/N. She’s a student who is here to shadow the team for the day.” 

With the slightest hesitation, you extended your hand toward him. His eyes didn’t leave yours for a moment as he shook your hand. 

“I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner. It’s very nice to meet you.” He spoke with a clear sense of professionalism. 

“It’s nice to meet you too. I’m looking forward to working with you. I have a feeling I’m going to learn a lot from this experience.” 

“I hope so. It was very smart of you to seize this opportunity. It does not come around often. Soak up everything you can today and I’m sure it will bring you a lot of success in the future.” You listen to him intently, nodding with a small smile. 

“Hotch, would you mind if she rides along with you today? We’ve got a list of witnesses we need to speak to and I think it would be good for her to get out in the field rather than being stuck here doing paperwork.” Gideon interjects, looking to both of you as he proposes the idea. Hotchner looks around the precinct briefly for the other team members before giving Gideon his attention again.

“Of course. Do I need to brief her on the case?” 

“Actually, I already familiarized myself with the case file before you all got here this morning.” You interrupt before Gideon can respond, causing both the men to look at you. “Sir.” You add, clearing your throat. They both share a knowing look. 

“Perfect,” Hotchner replied, with a respectful nod. Satisfied with the interaction, Gideon dismissed himself to begin his work leaving the two of you alone. “Give me a few minutes to speak with the Chief of Police and then we can get started. Would you mind waiting out front for me?” You nod eagerly which prompts him to walk back toward the Chief’s office. Once he has disappeared around the corner you make your way to the front of the building, stepping through the main doors. The cool morning air brings with it a sweet wave of relief. You hadn’t realized how hot you were until you had stepped outside. Nerves were already building up in your system when you were being introduced to the rest of the team but meeting Hotchner had tipped you over the edge. There was no denying that he was a very handsome man. The evidence was in the blush that was surely covering your face. Mentally scolding yourself you take a deep breath. You were a professional and you would act as such. No matter how deeply moved you felt when he looked into your eyes like that. 

A few minutes later Hotchner made his way through the front doors causing you to stand at attention. Moving briskly, you followed him into the parking lot and pulled yourself into the passenger seat of the dark SUV he had just unlocked. He remained silent as he began typing an address into the GPS before pulling out of the parking lot. Once you were on the road he looked over at you briefly.

“How much do you know about questioning witnesses?” He began.

“Quite a bit. I’m only about a year away from graduation so I have a fairly advanced understanding of a wide variety of concepts that pertain to profiling.” Watching the GPS, he nods. Feeling a tinge of awkwardness, you allow your eyes to stay focused on your lap.

“Good. Any real-world experience?” 

“Unfortunately no. In my courses, we do simulate certain scenarios fairly often but there isn’t much opportunity for real application.” 

“Well the best advice I can give for today is to stay quiet and watch me. If I need you to speak up, I will tell you as much. Otherwise, don’t say anything. It isn’t that I distrust you. It would just be irresponsible of me to allow someone with zero field experience to question the victim’s friends and family during some of the most difficult times of their lives. Especially without having seen what they’re capable of beforehand. I’m sure you understand.” 

“Oh absolutely. I completely understand. I know that I’m here in more of an observational capacity today. And even if I wasn’t, you’re the boss. No explanation necessary.” Hotchner is quiet for a moment. If you hadn’t been so preoccupied with avoiding eye contact, you would have seen the remnants of a smile on his face.

“I should have you talk to the rest of the team. They could learn a thing or two from you.” This causes you to laugh lightly. 

When you finally do decide to look at him the sight steals your breath yet again. He is bathed in the golden light of the rising sun and he seems almost ethereal. You can see a flash of his deep brown eyes which seemed very soft now in the glow of the sun. As though he could feel you looking at him he turns to meet your eyes although this time you don’t look away. The two of you sit there in what seems like the most eternal moment, dancing in and out of each other before he breaks away to look back at the road. For a moment you could almost swear you saw something there in his eyes, something almost like longing. It must have just been a trick of the light. 

“So, what made you decide to be a profiler?” The moment is over as quickly as it began as he speaks up. 

“Well, I’ve always had a deep fascination with the human psyche. Finding out what makes people tick. Picking apart their personalities, their behaviors. Growing up that almost felt like the only way to understand the kids around me. By studying them. Every friendship I had felt like a science project. When I found out that I could use that ability to be part of something bigger than myself, to make the world just a little brighter ... well, it was really a no-brainer.” 

“That’s very ... noble and, honestly, very uplifting to hear. With this job, you experience a lot more bad days than you do good. Sometimes it is hard to remember why we started doing this in the first place. It’s people like you that remind me this job is worth it. Hang on to those beliefs. They’ll help keep you sane, I can promise you that.” With a nod, you give him a kind smile.

“I will. I promise.” It isn’t much longer before you arrive at the first house. The interview is fairly straightforward. You stay close by Hotchner’s side as he introduces the both of you. Once you’re inside you sit quietly as he begins asking questions, merely listening and taking mental notes of the way he conducts himself. It is over fairly quickly and then you’re both back in the SUV and off to your next destination. The next two interviews are the same. On the third, he lets you ask a few routine questions. It is a simple gesture but you are very grateful for the experience and you handle yourself very well. 

Your final interview is with the parents of the latest male victim. When Hotchner knocks on the door, it takes a minute for it to open. Standing on the other side is an older man with a tired expression. 

“Yes? What is it?” The man says briskly. Hotchner pulls out his badge.

“I am SSA Aaron Hotchner with the FBI. This is Miss Y/N L/N. May we come in?” Hearing the term FBI causes the man’s expression to darken rather quickly as he looks between the two of you.

“Where’s your badge?” He questions, nodding in your direction. Remaining silent, you share a look with Hotchner. After a second of thought he gives you a small nod of approval.

“I’m not actually an FBI agent yet, sir. I’m a criminology student at the local university. I’m shadowing Agent Hotchner today as a learning opportunity before getting out in the field myself.” 

“A learning opportunity?” It takes the man almost no time to answer and you can hear a significant shift in his voice. “You’re using my son’s death as a learning opportunity?” 

“You misunderstand--” Hotchner begins in your defense before you quickly cut him off with your own response.

“Sir, I can’t begin to fathom what you’re going through. But I can promise you that my lack of experience is entirely made up for by my desire to see the person who did this to your son pay for it. It doesn’t take training to see that your son deserves justice for his death.” The man is silent but keeps his eyes locked on yours. 

“My wife and I have already told the police everything we know.” 

“We know, sir. It will only take a few moments of your time and anything you can tell us might be crucial in finding your son’s killer.” 

“No. No, we’ve already talked about this more than any parent should ever have to. If it’s that important go ask the police what we said.”

“Please, sir--” Before he can finish, the man smacks the door frame.

“It took the deaths of eight innocent people for you to swoop in and save the day. You really think I want to waste a second of my time speaking with you? I have nothing more to say. Now get out of here.” With that, Hotchner nods before turning to leave which prompts you to quickly follow. As you get near the SUV you are startled by the sound of the man’s door being slammed shut. Once inside you release the breath that had been caught in your chest. When you look over at Hotchner his expression shows a deadly calmness and you are suddenly struck by the idea that he must be pissed at you.

“I’m so sorry. That was all my fault. I upset him. I shouldn’t have said anything to him. I should have just kept my mouth shut like you told me to. I had no right to do that. I’m sorry.” The crushing weight of embarrassment and guilt settled over you. This morning you had felt more than ready but now it seemed like the day had been filled with challenges you couldn’t possibly have prepared for. In only a few hours you had managed to show your boss that you are completely incompetent. You ready yourself for what must surely be his wrath however when he turns towards you his expression shifts from one of unwavering calm to gentle kindness.

“It’s okay. I’m not angry with you. What you said was perfect, it’s exactly what I would have said. You were establishing a rapport with him to gain his trust. You did the right thing. Believe me, it wasn’t you. There is nothing either of us could have said that would have gotten a different result.” When he sees that you are still wary he shifts in his seat to face you more directly. “As a future member of my team, you have my trust. You handled yourself very impressively today. You’re going to make a very fine addition to the BAU.” 

His words ease your anxious mind as you nod quietly. Soon after Hotchner is pulling back out onto the street to take you both back to the police precinct. After a minute of silence he glances over at you.

“So ... are you still sure you want to do this?” The question catches you off-guard but it takes you no time at all to answer.

“More than anything.” This time you do catch the faint smile that crosses his lips which causes you to give a small smile in return.

“Good.” Is all he says for the rest of the ride back to the precinct.

The day is over much more quickly than you had hoped for. When you step back into the police building you make a beeline for the chief’s office, remembering his request that you find him again at the end of the day. You return your temporary ID and he fills out a form for your professor to verify your activity for the day. Once the formalities are over he bids you a good evening and shows you back out to the main workspace. The team all gather briefly to say their goodbyes as well. You thank Gideon profusely for allowing you to join them before shaking hands with the rest of the team members. As you make your way to the exit you see Hotchner standing near the main doors. 

“Thank you so much for letting me tag along today. I really learned a lot.” As you say this you extend your hand which he quickly takes. 

“Absolutely. It was a pleasure working with you and I look forward to seeing you again in a few years. In the meantime, here’s my card.” He reaches into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out his business card which he hands to you. “If you ever need anything, feel free to give me a call.” Tucking the card safely into your pocket you thank him with a smile before heading out the main doors to your car. 

Once inside you pull the card out of your pocket and sit for a minute, staring at it. Unable to control yourself you let a giddy smile paint your face. After the day you had, a year has never seemed longer. The anticipation of your future at the BAU looms over you but rather than filling you with nerves it brings you hope and excitement for the things to come. Opening a small compartment on your dash, you tuck the business card away before heading home to get a good night’s sleep filled with wonderful dreams.

Tags: @talesfromtheguild @lannister-slings-and-arrows @gamingaquarius @gryffindorwriter @nopeforyou @sheerfreesia007 @roxypeanut @ohpedromypedro @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @readsalot73 @the-mechanical-angel @races-erster @maxlordd @pascalisthepunkest @paintballkid711 @hotchafterhours @h0tchner @ssahotchswife @ssahotchhner @technotic-prophecy @klinenovakwinchester​

[pingutats]

my dearest darling

in which you and harry spend a sunday morning having coffee & cake, and spontaneously decide to go engagement ring shopping together.

warnings: a little suggestive at the end. mostly just pure fluff!

word count: 3.4k

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

The little alleyway off the main street filled with café tables is a perfect place for you and Harry to sit unseen. In fact, in this little alcove, it’s easy to watch the world pass by the two of you. It’s a nice reprieve from the usual of the world watching Harry. 

He’s wearing sunglasses anyway, just in case—despite the overcast weather. 

You frown at him, resting your elbows on the table and lacing your fingers together to rest your chin on. “I really think that makes you more conspicuous.”

He scrunches up his nose. “Nah. Or at least, if people notice, they’re going to notice an odd bloke in sunnies, not me.”

“They’ll notice it’s you.”

He glances at the busy footpath. “‘S working so far, love.”

A young waitress rounds the corner from the cafe’s front entrance and sets your coffees down on the table. You move your elbows off the table politely to give her space.

“Thanks,” Harry says, reaching for his black coffee. 

You smile at the waitress as you wrap your hands around the latte you ordered, warming up your freezing fingers. You notice the way she hesitates before she leaves, how she looks at Harry like she wants to say something before before quickly spinning on her heels and walking away. When she’s out of earshot, you look at Harry. “She knows.”

He shrugs. “That’s different.”

The waitress reappears a minute later with the little cakes you ordered. This time, she’s braver. “I’m so sorry—are you Harry Styles?” she asks, saying his name in a voice that’s akin to a reverent whisper.

His eyes dart to you for a split second and he raises his eyebrow enough that only you’ll notice, conceding to you, then smiles at her. “Yeah, I am. Sorry, what’s your name?”

You watch him navigate the encounter easily, like you’ve watched so many times. The girl asks for a photo and he politely declines, explaining that he doesn’t want to draw attention, but offers to sign a napkin for her instead. He a short message (nice to meet you, all my love) to her and draws a couple hearts after he signs his name, then passes it to her with a sweetly genuine thanks her for her support. 

“Oh my gosh, no, thank you,” she says earnestly. “It was so, so nice to meet you.” She glances at you, then, and her cheeks go even pinker. “Thanks,” she says again, and then she’s gone.

You let a giggle free at the awkward way his fans treat you, like they don’t know if it’s appropriate to talk to you as well, and how they struggle to find something to say to you anyway. Once it might have bothered you. It’s just amusing to you now. You raise your brows at Harry. “All your love?” you tease, quoting the message he wrote on the napkin. “Where’s my share?”

He pouts from behind his sunglasses. “Don’t be like that.”

You kick his shin gently underneath the table. “I’m kidding around. She was sweet. I like watching you do that, you’re so good at it.”

His foot swings around to trap your ankle between his. “Trying to play footsie at eleven o’clock on a Sunday morning? You little minx.”

You roll your eyes and wrench your foot free, rattling the table as you do so. He laughs—a sharp barking ha! that makes you smile through your embarrassment at causing a small commotion. 

“Who’s conspicuous, sorry?” he asks.

 You shake your head at him and stab your fork into your apple and cinnamon muffin. He keeps giggling as he slides his own plate with the carrot cake to his side of the table and picks up a fork himself.

“Mm, that’s good,” he says after he swallows his first bite. “Better than the one I make.”

“Well, baking isn’t known to be one of your talents.”

He claps a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded.” He leans over the table and skewers a piece of your muffin on his fork, dodging your attempts to swat his hand away with great agility. He pops it in his mouth triumphantly, cocking his head like he’s challenging you. 

In return, you steal a piece of his cake. 

“That was a much larger piece than what I took,” he accuses. 

You shrug.

His phone, face down on the table, dings. He glances up at you. 

“Check it,” you tell him. You know he only has alerts on for his closest friends—otherwise his phone would be ringing all day long. “I don’t mind.”

He bites his lip apologetically and flips the phone over, reading it. “Oh, it’s Tom. Hang on a sec.” He starts typing back.

You crane your neck around to read the message—something about Tom being free at the end of July, and Harry is giving a thumbs-up to that.

“Where are you off to?” you ask. 

“France, maybe,” he replies. You’re aware that discovering this kind of information so suddenly would be jarring for most couples, enough to even incite a fight—but you and Harry aren’t exactly a normal couple, and international trips are just part and parcel of your relationship. Hell, he goes on world tours for months at a time. You’re lucky, you suppose, that you function just as well long-distance as you do when you’re living together. 

“Lads’ trip?”

He sends the message and clicks his phone off, leaning back in his chair. “Nah. Taking you to Paris and getting down on m’knee in front of the Eiffel Tower,” he says, nodding sagely. 

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, Tom’s there to get the photos.” He shovels a forkful of the cake into his mouth and then points his fork in the general direction of a street busker playing a violin across the road. He swallows. “And I’m getting that guy to play a little tune, for the atmosphere,” he adds. 

You raise your brows. “Oh, you’ve got budget for this, then.”

He smiles. “Nothing but the best for my dearest darling.”

You snort.

He carefully cuts a piece of cake with the edge of his fork. “Nah, we’re thinking of doing a trip down to his friend’s studio in—somewhere in France, I can’t remember really. Friends and family welcome too, if you want to come. Apparently it’s a real nice place.” He eats his mouthful and then lifts his sunnies to look at you with clear eyes. “We are getting married, though. I mean that.”

Your cheeks threaten to burst from how badly you want to smile, but you force yourself to assume a serious face, just to humour him. “Of course we are.”

Despite the butterflies it inspires, this conversation isn’t new. You’ve been with Harry a couple of years now and you both know you’re on the same page when it comes to your shared future. There are no hard plans, but the direction is set. You’re getting there someday. 

He puffs his cheeks out. “I feel like you aren’t taking this as seriously as I am.”

You sigh melodramatically. “Well, sweetheart, I haven’t seen a ring yet.”

“A ring? You should have asked,” he drawls, then suddenly sits up straight and points a finger at you. “Don’t take that as a challenge. I want to be the one to ask.”

You shrug. “Can’t make any promises.”

His arm shoots forward to grab at your hand and you almost laugh out loud at the puppy-eyes he’s making at you. “No, please, baby, I swear you can do everything else, but let me do the proposing bit.”

In your heart, you’re happy he’s so insistent, because this is exactly how you want it to be too. In your mind, though, you really enjoy tormenting him. 

“I’ll think about it,” you concede, and he groans.

“I’m buying a ring soon as I can, just to lock it in,” he tells you as he destroys what’s left of his carrot cake.

Once you’ve finished and Harry’s gone up to pay for the coffee and cake (he also took a moment to lean over the counter to snap a group selfie with the waitress who served you earlier and a couple others too) you walk back up the street in the general direction of your car that’s parked a few blocks down. The weather is pleasant today and the sun is even peeking out from behind the clouds now, justifying his sunglasses. 

Your mind starts to drift (his arm wrapped loosely around your waist anchors you to the real world) as you think about how nice it is to be with Harry, how you’ve learned to appreciate each physical moment you have with him because they are so precious. After the tours, the promotional trips, the film sets, and all the little things in between, you understand how to be with Harry. You know not everyone can handle a life like this, and you’re sure that if it wasn’t Harry whose return you awaited, you wouldn’t be able to either. But he always returns. 

Harry comes to a sudden halt in front of a shop window, gazing in. You’re nearly yanked off your feet as you keep trying to walk with your arm around him—he’s so steady that he doesn’t budge. You stand next to him and look into what you realise is a jewellery store. 

“What do you think?” he asks. 

“Huh?”

He looks down, his arm squeezing around your shoulder. “Said I’d get you a ring, didn’t I?”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “What, today?”

“‘M not asking. Just preparing.”

You raise your eyebrows up at him. “That is… that is really a technicality.”

“Humour me,” he says. “C’mon.” He shepherds you into the store, steering you by your shoulders. 

It’s small and pretty in here, the air from the fans cool against your sun-warmed skin. There are hardly any other customers at the moment, so you have some kind of valuable privacy. There are a couple of glass counters that run along either side of the store with meticulously placed themed displays inside them. You gravitate immediately to the closest thing, a cluster of rough amethysts hanging from necklaces. 

“Aren’t these so cute?” you comment to Harry.

His arms wrap around you from behind and you reach up to grasp onto his crossed forearms resting against your chest. “Oh, yeah, they are.”

You stay there looking at the necklaces for a little too long—it’s not like you’re really that fascinated by the jewels, but more that you’re just enjoying Harry’s head leaning over your shoulder and his chest pressed to your back as you stand there. When your gaze meanders along the counter and you see something new, though, you shake free of his grip and follow your whims.

This store isn’t labelled out front with a massive brand. You’re pretty sure it’s an independent jeweller, judging by the neat description cards that accompany each small collection, explaining the theme in a lively and personal manner. This is what makes you really fall in love with the place and feel sure that this is where you’ll find the perfect ring. You know Harry could afford any ring from any famous brand, the heaviest jewels imaginable, easily worthy of a feature article in Vogue magazine. He could probably organise to have a diamond dug up fresh specifically to go on your finger. 

It’s the fact that Harry could give you anything in the world that makes you not want it at all. Special, to the two of you, isn’t something that you’ll find in wealth or the crowds that adore him.

It’s found in a day like this.

“Oh, my god, H, look at this one,” you gasp, grabbing his wrist and pulling him over.

He bends over the counter, his gaze following the line of your pointing finger. “Oh, that is pretty,” he says. 

It’s a simple gold band with a small, neatly carved diamond fixed to it. It isn’t flashy at all, which is what drew you to it. You knew he’d like it too. Despite the decadence of his performances, he can be a different man behind closed doors and you love that part of him. The secret part, the one that only you know so well. 

“I’m in love with it,” you tell him.

Harry nods. “Yeah, I think that’s the one.”

You never doubted that he would agree, but his assent sends a bolt of excitement up your spine. It’s all so real, suddenly, and you can’t wait to see him on his knee for you, to see that ring on your finger. You know your ring size off by heart (how could you not, being in a relationship with the jewellery connoisseur that Harry is), so there’ll be no need for you to try it on today. You’re left with only the raw anticipation of the day he’ll slide it onto your finger. 

His hands come down to rest on your hips as you both stare at the ring. You imagine you can hear his heart, knowing that it’ll be beating erratically because his excitement must match yours—you know how he feels about the idea of marriage. 

He spins you around to face him, leaving his hands on your hips. He looks at you very seriously. His sunglasses are resting on top of his head now, pushing back his curls and revealing his green eyes and furrowed brow to you.

“You know, if we’re seen buying an engagement ring…” he begins, trailing off. He shrugs. “Just want to think about that.”

You screw up your nose. “According to some magazines we got married last week, and also six months ago. Just being in here is probably going to spark something.” You glance behind you, as if you’ll see journalists scribbling away on their theories, then flatten your palms against his chest, smoothing out his shirt. “I’m happy to ignore it. I want to just do our thing, H.”

He nods, pursing his lips, and gradually the crease in his forehead disappears. “Okay. Good.” Twin smiles spread over your faces and you have the feeling of being two giddy kids, high-schoolers about to have their first kiss. Something new, unknown, exciting, that the two of you are going into together. His eyes are practically sparkling at you. If this was a cartoon, you think his pupils would be shaped like hearts right now. Something is starting to bud and you can feel it growing up inside you and between you, preparing to bloom. 

“Alright,” you say, breaking the insulating silence to draw you both back to the real world. 

He blinks a couple of times as if he’s just waking up. “Alright,” he echoes. “Let’s get it.”

He waves over a man drifting through the store in a neat suit and points at the ring. “Excuse me, can we please have a look at this one?”

The two of you watch the man unlock the cabinet and slide the plate of rings out, placing it on the counter. He picks up the one Harry pointed out. “It’s a lovely one, sir.”

“It is,” Harry says. His hand finds yours and squeezes your fingers. “What size is it?”

The man checks the price and tells you, and your mouth drops open. Surely there is something supernaturally perfect going on, because it’s exactly your size. You and Harry look at each other incredulously. 

The man seems to notice your unspoken conversation, because he helpfully adds, “We can resize it if you need.”

Harry chuckles. “No, it’s perfect. I think…” he trails off, looking at you. “What do you think?”

You nod at him, grinning. You rub your thumb over the back of his palm as he tells the man, “Thank you. We’d like this one, please.”

You stand slightly behind him as he pays for it, flexing your hands and wringing them in front of you. You know it’s all in your head, but your left ring finger is tingling as if it senses that it’s missing a piece. You really just want to wear the ring at this minute, but when the man selling it to you offers, Harry shakes his head quickly. 

“I’ll hold onto it for now,” he says. He accepts the little box from the man and slips it into his pocket. “Thank you so much.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, sir. Enjoy it, and congratulations to the two of you.”

Harry snakes his arm around your waist as you walk back out to the street. His hips knock against you as he squeezes you into his side, and you can feel the little box in his pocket. You can’t help the grin that takes over your whole face. You worry you look like an idiot, smiling so widely at nothing, but when you glance up at Harry, he looks exactly the same.

Your car is parked down a quieter road and you get to relax a little once you’re away from the crowds of the main shopping strip. You can walk a little more slowly and Harry loosens up a bit. His hyper-vigilance starts to strip away. You can see the tension in his shoulders dissolving and here’s your Harry, emerging from his defensive layers. Most people wouldn’t notice this change, but you do. You feel how he adjusts the grip of his hand on your hip, how he leans into you a little more as you walk. In your closeness, you can smell his cologne and you think of how you watched him spray it on this morning—and how you’re going to be watching him do that for the rest of your lives.

He glances over his shoulder and you copy him. The narrow street behind you is empty, but you don’t get a moment to really register this before you feel his arms tighten around your waist and you’re swept off your feet for a second as he crashes his lips into yours.

You close your eyes, letting the kiss envelop all your senses. The sweetness of the cake’s icing lingering on his lips; his arms locked around your waist, holding you up; the rapid beating of your heart. He pulls away slowly and your eyes flutter open. His face is just inches from yours and he’s looking at you with such intensity you feel naked. Not for the first time, you’re in awe of how impossibly green his eyes are; you could make a palette from every forest in the world, and it wouldn’t hold a candle to what you see in front of you right now.

“Y/N,” he says. He cracks a grin. “I’m so fucking happy.”

Your reply is simply to grab him by the back of his neck and pull him in for another kiss. Your hand tangles in his hair and you feel his tongue running along your bottom lip before he pulls away again quickly.

“Fuck,” he says, sounding lost for breath. “Need to stop before I make a fool of m’self in public.” He even physically takes a step back from you, his eyes comically wide.

You giggle. Your gaze travels down his body and you notice the indent of the box in his pocket. “Is that a ring in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

He shakes his head at you. “You’ve gone all giddy. ‘M getting you home right now and then we’re celebrating properly.” He turns around and starts walking towards the car, his long legs carrying him faster than you can keep up.

Your stomach flutters imagining what his idea of celebrating might be. Suddenly, the only thing on your mind is getting back to your house as soon as humanly possible. You run after Harry, skipping around in front of him and jogging backwards as you waggle your fingers in his face. “So, when are you going to pop the question?” you ask.

“Oh, honey,” he says, patting his pocket with the ring. He grins. “It’s going to be when you least expect it, I’ll promise you that.”

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed—if you did, a reblog or a message is really encouraging and lovely for me to see!! the title is taken from the song by etta james.

this fic is the first part of a series called “here we are in heaven,” and i’m really really excited about it. you can read my earlier fic, at last!, if you want to see where this will end up, but there will be more parts to fill the in-between. plus blurbs and stuff! let’s chat about it! 

my masterlist can be found here. have a beautiful day!

[abybweisse]

Do you think Tanaka knows that Sebastian is something other than human, aka a demon? And if so, does that mean he is aware of Ciel's contract with him? In his regular (not shrunk) form, he is shown to be very intelligent and observant. Also sorry if this has already been answered in the manga, I'm still trying to fully catch up to the current chapters.

This hasn’t been answered in the manga, but I and others have blogged about it. I don’t think I’ve ever gone too deep into this topic before, so here ya go!

⚠️ long post ⚠️

Personally, I don’t think Tanaka quite knows he’s a demon, no. But he must have some ideas… and a lot of questions.

Tanaka does realize that something is way off about real Ciel. In fact, in ch141, Tanaka is standing right next to real Ciel and Undertaker when this conversation occurs:

Sebastian: I am quite certain you lost your life that night. I would not be here otherwise.

Undertaker: Eureka! Right on the nose, you are… master butler!

Real Ciel: It’s true I died once that day.

Undertaker: What does it matter if he’s alive or dead?

Undertaker then explains that real Ciel’s “reanimated”.

And Tanaka might have overheard part of the previous conversation in ch130, before he had actually stepped out to the stairs and made his presence known to the readers. That goes:

Bard: H-hey. What the hell’s the deal with this guy, Sebastian!?

Real Ciel: Sebastian? I see. So you’re Sebastian. This is the first time we’ve actually met. How dare you do that to me that day.

Sebastian: I too… have never encountered someone like yourself.

So, Tanaka… being the smart guy he really is, regardless of how he’s being portrayed at any given time, has quite possibly gathered enough information to at least get the sense that Sebastian is someone (or something) not quite human.

If he heard the previous conversation, he knows that:

Real Ciel and Sebastian hadn’t actually met before, so real Ciel was already dead, or at least he was near death and no longer conscious. [We are to understand that Sebastian devoured his soul in order to cross over into the human realm, so real Ciel is officially dead by the time Sebastian takes any form before our earl and the cultists.]

However, Sebastian did something to real Ciel’s body. [Again, we know that he devoured real Ciel’s soul, but this could also be about removing the ring from real Ciel’s guts and then starting that fire.]

Sebastian has never encountered such an advanced reanimated corpse before. [Sebastian does go on to question Undertaker about the corpses on the Campania and at Weston, so Tanaka knows the walking and talking corpse he’s serving tea to is not quite like whatever Sebastian dealt with before, when he came back to the manor and was given a “day off”.]

From the conversation he definitely heard, he knows:

Real Ciel died and has been reanimated by Undertaker.

Sebastian would not be “here” if real Ciel had not died.

Tanaka’s main questions that might remain would be about what Sebastian did to real Ciel’s body (but more importantly his soul) the day real Ciel died… and what Sebastian actually means by saying he wouldn’t be here without real Ciel’s death. Would Tanaka realize this has more to do with real Ciel’s soul than his body? That’s the real question we have to ask to figure out whether Tanaka quite gets what’s going down.

Yana-san says in an old tweet that individuals are largely shaped by the people who raise them. Each person has their own dark or evil streak, but whether that becomes a strong part of their personality depends largely on influences by those closest to them in their formative years. She says our earl is greatly influenced by this demon, Sebastian. She also says Vincent loves his family (another tweet, I think) but has a very wide evil streak. Then she says that Vincent was mostly raised by Tanaka, hinting that Tanaka has a dark side we have hardly seen… yet.

Then we have all those demon cultists who are super excited (in ch135) to get their hands on Vincent’s children. The guy selling the kids doesn’t know who they are, otherwise he would have priced them much higher. The buyer recognizes them immediately and, without saying what he knows, says they are worth more than twice that. And then they are recognized by the guy who’s essentially just hosting them at his house before their… um… debut. I’ve written a few times before that the two main cultists (the two men at the sacrificial altar) are — I’m pretty damn sure — the same two guys standing in the background, in ch32, during Baron Kelvin’s memory of trying to talk to Vincent.

These two mysterious guys:

The weirdo who procures the kids for the sacrifice is the same guy who shows up at Kelvin’s manor just to tell him he managed to get those kids. Then grossly says he and the others will make up for Kelvin’s inability to attend. 🤢

Ok, so even if those aren’t the same two guys (but I think so!), Vincent was still being hovered around by people who participate in the occult, including ritualistic orgies and sacrifices to demons, trying to summon them. This is the first (and only) sacrifice to work for that cult, but that doesn’t seem to bother most of them, since (as Sebastian says) most demon cults are just about debauchery.

We don’t know how much of this Vincent ever knew about, let alone ever took part in (I hope not!!), but… I suspect he at least knew about some of it. It was his duty as Queen’s Watchdog to know about such things and keep the general public unawares of it. Not even necessarily to put the practices to an end. He probably allowed his fellow Evil Nobles to do as they pleased… as long as it didn’t become a problem for the crown. Or directly involve his own family. Like, he would never have offered up his own children to these creeps. But random waifs? I think he knew what the cultists were doing (generally) and just… turned a blind eye to it. 😔

You know how our earl stops Vanel and his thugs from selling drugs in England for the Italian mafia… but allows Lau to operate his opium den? Lau works as an informant for our earl, so they have a working relationship. It’s kind of like that, to me. When Vincent is watchdog, he allows some things to happen while stopping others. If it’s getting out of hand with polite society (like deaths amongst the peerage) or causing scandal for the queen, he breaks it up. But if it’s a fellow “evil noble” who acts as an informant or a colleague, and it’s only causing problems for the local riffraff on the streets, then “ok”.

I know that makes Vincent look bad, but… come on. He was the previous earl of Phantomhive and Queen’s Watchdog. He joked to his kids about being quite good with knives and saying hogtying is his specialty. He’s an Evil Noble.

All this tangential info about Vincent and the other Evil Nobles is to get to this: If Vincent knew what was going on with his fellow Evil Nobles, in general, so does Tanaka. Tanaka probably already knew that there were demon cultists amongst the visitors who came in and out of Phantomhive Manor.

But does Tanaka realize that’s how real Ciel died and Sebastian came “here”? If he doesn’t realize it yet, I think he might eventually figure it out. If not on his own, Sebastian might eventually reveal the truth.

If Tanaka does already know… that could be just about the only reason why he has stayed behind at Phantomhive Manor, serving the reanimated corpse of the rightful heir… unless he’s just biding his time to return to our earl’s side… with useful information about real Ciel and the other lords of the stars….

[mdawritings]

“Arrested” [Aaron Hotchner X Female Reader]

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Rating: E

Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader

Wordcount: 8,510

Summary: 

The BAU is working a case in the DC area: an unsub killing women outside of nightclubs and bars. When you get arrested and manage to end up in the same precinct as Aaron Hotchner, the team discovers that their unit chief has been sleeping with a MUCH younger woman. Even more importantly, they discover that aside from being Hotch's fuck buddy, you have had direct contact with the unsub. Told through cute and smutty flashbacks throughout your relationship with Aaron.

AO3 Link

It had been weeks since you’d seen Aaron. The first week you didn’t see him was because of a case over the weekend in Florida. You had sent him a few scandalous pictures while he was flying home…

You rest your head against the arm of your sofa lazily. You reach for the phone and look at the simple text from Aaron. “On the way home now. I want to see you soon.” Just those words send bolts of happiness, excitement, and arousal through you. You press the top of your phone to your lips to suppress your growing smile. You text him back.

“Been imagining your hands touching me instead of my own”

Aaron picks up his phone at the chime. He reads the message from you and can’t help but start to stir a little. God, the thoughts of you home alone… touching yourself thinking about him. Yeah, that definitely does something to him. It’s not like you weren’t in his thoughts the entire time. It's difficult to focus on a case when all he really wants is to be home, buried under the covers with you, taking in your light, yet intoxicating perfume. Touching your soft, perfect skin. Hearing you scream his name… He almost lets out a moan but catches himself and looks around the jet at his sleeping coworkers.

He quickly replies to your message, “Oh yeah?”

You jump up from the couch, exhaustion rapidly dissipating from your previously sore limbs at the thought of seeing Aaron tonight. Memories of his large hands touching, groping, squeezing your body flood into your mind.

You hurry to slip on the purple lingerie set you bought. You stand in front of your bathroom mirror. You take a few minutes, capturing some, quite honestly, fucking amazing photos.

“Missing the feeling of you buried inside me” You send the photos along. You grow even happier at the thought of him getting a fucking hard-on while just a few feet away from his sleeping coworkers. You revel in the effect you manage to have over such a powerful, dominant, authoritative man. It makes you especially proud to think about his normal demeanor, stoic, hard-faced, serious, and how easy it is for you to reduce him to simpering, whimpering, moaning mess under your touch. Your phone chimes a mere seconds after sending the photos.

“You are torturing me. We HAVE to see each other when I land”

You fell asleep in your bed in that lingerie waiting for him. You didn’t see his messages until the next morning, saying the sitter for Jack fell through and he probably wouldn’t be able to see you until next weekend.

At the start of the second week, he got called away to a case in California. That one took up the whole week and by the time he got home, he was way too exhausted to spend time with you.

This kind of thing went on for two weeks. A full month without Aaron had been torture. It wasn’t like you expected him to drop everything and come running to you. You understand he has a kid to take care of and an FBI unit to run. Plus, it isn’t like you two are really dating. Do you sometimes wish you were? Hell yes. Is it reasonable or feasible? Absolutely not.

That doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy what you have going on right now. He comes over to your place, tired and frustrated from a long day at work, and he— well he fucks your brain out. You’re always working hard on your Ph.D. and Aaron’s job is just plain stressful. You both need and enjoy the amazing stress relieving benefits of casual sex. You do enjoy each other’s company without having sex sometimes. It usually happens on those weekends when you or he or both of you are way too exhausted. But really, it's the moments after sex that make you question what you truly are to one another…

Your heart rate begins to steady and you can’t help but smile up at Aaron. He looks down at you with that small Hotchner version of a smile. It’s a smile that wouldn’t seem like much to anyone else, but you know how infrequently he lets the corners of his mouth turn up in happiness. “How do you do it?”

You soon realize after letting the words out, (and from the confusion on his face), that he cannot, in fact, read your mind and understand what you mean, “How do you go from seeing all that bad out there in the world to lying in this bed with me with that adorable smile on your face?”

For a split second, you think you’ve said something wrong. The smile falls from his face and his brows tense up. You always tease him about his eyebrows, telling him the more he frowns the more wrinkles he’ll get.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to cross a line—”

“I don’t want to pull you into all this… my work. I want to protect you from it.” Your heart practically sinks into your stomach. That’s not the type of language you use with your casual sex partner. Then again, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t worry every time he leaves for a case. You worry that you’ll never see him again. You won’t even find out he’s dead because no one knows about the two of you.

“Y/N,” he pulls you out of your thoughts. His voice cuts through the silent room and you look back up into his soft eyes. They’re searching your face, scanning your behavior. You can tell he’s trying to figure out what you could possibly be thinking.

“Stop doing that,” you warn him, but your tone is light-hearted, “That whole studying my behavior thing you do.”

“Profiling,” he corrects you and runs a hand over your hair. The action is like a natural reflex for him, he’s not even consciously aware he’s pulling you closer to him.

“Right. That. Stop profiling me,” you laugh.

“Well, how am I supposed to know what’s spinning around in your head when you zone out like that.”

“I’m thinking about the fact that you listen to me rattle on and on about statistical physics but you don’t talk about your job.”

“You need to stop talking about physics after sex. It makes me feel like I’m sleeping with Reid,” he laughs and notices your confusion, “He’s a coworker of mine. You’d like him.”

You’d like him. That phrase sticks with you. Does that mean he wants you to meet his coworkers someday?

You’re not sure why you and Aaron never discuss a real relationship. Well, it’s more like Aaron never discusses a real relationship. Aaron doesn’t really discuss anything. The first time you really talked to him you thought his closed-off nature was charming, dreamy…

“Aaron Hotchner… right?” You look over the man who has just walked up to the bar next to you.

He reaches for the beers he’s just ordered, obviously for a group, but stops as you call out his name, “I’m sorry do I know you?”

“You work for the FBI… Behavioral something unit.” Your laugh sounds loud and obnoxious to you, but to him, it’s bright and cuts through the din of the chaotic bar.

“Behavioral Analysis Unit,” Aaron’s eyebrows furrow. He looks you over before turning his attention back to your face, searching it for answers.

“Oh god!” You're not really the type to strike up a conversation with a man in a bar but you’re feeling bold, not to mention empowered by the liquor, “I must seem so crazy. You gave a talk at Georgetown I attended. I’m a Ph.D. student there. It was about criminal psychology.” His face softens as he begins to realize you’re not a crazy stalker nor an obsessed fan. You stick your hand out for him to shake, “Y/N Y/L/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you, again, I guess,” He nods as he shakes your hand. You can tell he’s just trying to be polite and he glances over his shoulder at a group of people at a booth. Their eyes are all on you two. He wants to go back but something about you is drawing him in. “So you’re pursuing a Ph.D. in psychology?” He moves to sit at the bar next to you.

“Actually no.” You feel flush rushing into your face as he moves closer to you and sits down. You can’t help but look over his body. He’s much closer to your height now that he’s sitting down. He’s wearing a black quarter zip and dark jeans. His hair is neatly gelled back. He does not fit into this atmosphere. “I’m getting a Ph.D. in physics. I conduct theoretical research on the experimental implementation of quantum computing with trapped ions in— I conduct research.” Your blush deepens.

Aaron smiles widely at your ranting before jumping in, “So what were you doing in a criminal psychology lecture?”

Your face feels hot with embarrassment, “I snuck in. It sounded interesting.” You shrug slightly and reach for the drink from the bartender. “I almost didn’t show up, but then a classmate told me one of the FBI agents was very attractive.” You give a small wink before reaching for your check for your drinks from the night. “And she was right, Agent Prentiss is drop-dead gorgeous.” Your attempts to keep a poker face fail, your lips curling with delight.

Aaron laughs as he takes the check from your hands. “You don’t have to—” You protest slightly but Aaron holds up his hand to silence you.

“My treat. As a thank you, for breaking the rules to see my lecture.” He shares in your smile as he hands the bartender his card, paying for your drinks. Your ex just broke up with you a few weeks prior so you came out to cheer yourself up. Seeing Aaron Hotchner up close and personal is… definitely a pick me up.

“Do you have a business card or something?”

“Uh… yes.” Aaron is hesitant to hand it over but reaches into his wallet for one. You grab a pen and take the business card from Aaron. You scribble down your number on the back and hand it to him.

“This is my number.” You hold it out before reaching for your purse. He looks down at the number and then back up at you. For a grown, adult man, he doesn’t seem to understand. You can see confusion written all over his face, it’s quite adorable honestly. His face though it seemingly remains emotionless, in just the few minutes you’ve spent talking to him, you see hints of smiles hidden under a professional, powerful exterior.

“Call me sometime. You know, so I can pay you back for that drink.” You stand up from the bar, legs weak from the heavy drinking you’ve done, “Or if you just want some company.” He nods slightly in response and you turn to leave. You can’t help but turn for a second to watch as Aaron walks back to his table of what appear to be friends. One of the women looks back at you and smiles the most infectious, sweetest smile at you. You return it and move to leave the bar.

It wasn’t until late that night that you got a call. The drinking your sorrows away didn’t stop once you left that bar. You were curled up on your couch, a glass of wine clutched in your hands.

“Hello?” you mumble into the phone, pulling the blanket around your shoulders tighter.

“We didn’t really get to talk much at the bar, but I’m pretty sure you made some promises about paying me back for that drink,” A stern man’s voice cuts through the phone.

“Aaron?” you ask momentarily confused, “It—It’s late, are you drunk?”

Your laugh rings through the phone and it’s that laugh that has Aaron so intensely drawn to you. He can’t help himself. He needs to be near you, “Just go to the door.”

You stand up, “My door? How did you get my—oh right. FBI agent,” you muse and open your door. And there he is, standing at the door with the phone pressed to his ear. He pulls it away and hangs up. “This is incredibly creepy, I hope you know that.” You lean against the doorframe, pulling your large sweater around yourself tighter. His eyes run over you. You grin slightly, catching his wandering gaze, and at that, he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“So about that drink you owe me.” Aaron takes a few hesitant steps into your apartment. He closes the door behind him, “How about you pay me back wit—” he starts to talk but you don’t let him finish his sentence. You grip his shirt and pull him close, your lips melting against his.

It’s messy and passionate and needy. You struggle to stumble along, guiding him towards your bedroom and his hands are touching every inch of you. He hurriedly pulls your sweater off and tosses it off to the side before unzipping your dress. You let it fall to the floor and kick it off as you match his frantic pace, pulling off his shirt and pushing down his jeans. He lays you down gently and reaches around to unclasp your bra.

“Holy fuck,” Aaron groans as he takes a second to take in your naked body.

Then he’s leaving a trail of soft kisses down the expanse of your chest and breasts. He travels down further. His lips brush against your inner thighs, his stubble tickling your skin. He smirks up at you wickedly as he grips your thong in his teeth, pulling it down your legs. You already know your soaking wet pussy will give away just how bad you want him right now.

He doesn’t hesitate, he goes to work on you. Licking and stroking and rubbing your clit. Your back arches and you grip the sheets and his hair. You massage your breasts, panting heavily as two of his fingers press into you, his tongue flicking your overly sensitive bud of nerves. “Oh god, Aaron yes!”

His name rolls off your tongue and you continue to chant it like a fucking mantra as his somehow rough yet gentle touch drives you wild. You feel the knots building in your stomach. Your legs tremble with pleasure as your eyes shut harshly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You’re panting intensely at this point and the whole room practically slips away as your orgasm hits and your body feels out of control. Every nerve ending on fire. And Aaron is merciless, he continues to lick and tease as you ride out your high.

He can’t help but grin proudly at the number he’s done on you. As he comes up to plant a few more kisses on your lips, you feel his rock hard erection pressing against your thigh. You kiss him hungrily while fumbling to stroke him through his boxers.

The groan the emerges from his lips is… holy fucking shit it’s sexy. You flip the two of you over so you’re on top of him, your chest pressed against his. You dip your hand into his boxers, pumping the entirety of his length. You feel him getting harder and his cock twitches in conjunction with a loud, throaty groan. “Y/N." His eyes flutter open and he grabs your arm to still your motions. “I need you, now.”

Within seconds he’s peeling his boxers off, you roll the condom down onto him and you slam your hips down on his. You can’t contain the loud gasps and moans as you feel your walls stretch around him. Fuck it’s been too long since you’ve had sex. You’re still for a second and Aaron bucks his hips, needing friction, needing to thrust and feel your tightness around him.

“Oh god." Your eyes are practically rolling back in your head as Aaron takes an agonizing pace, lifting your hips all the way up just to slam them all the way back down again.

He has a vice grip on your hips and you can feel the bruises forming under his fingertips. You grind your hips against his as you ride him faster. “Fuck you feel amazing,” Hotch lets out another one of those agonizingly sexy groans.

“I’m close,” you whine out. Aaron reaches to rub your clit with his thumb as he starts thrusting his hips up to meet yours chaotically. That combined with his large cock hitting your sweet spot sends you tumbling over the edge once again. It’s not long after that you feel his cock throbbing deep inside you, his hips messily thrusting and his face contorted up in pleasure. His panting becomes rapid and it's not long before he’s coming undone inside you. You flip off of him to collapse at his side on the bed.

“So when are we doing this again?” you pant heavily and hear a beautiful sound beside you. The sound of Aaron laughing.

Sometimes you worry if he’s embarrassed by you. I mean, you’re a few years shy of 20 years younger than him. You’re still in school. He was starting college by the time you were out of diapers. He runs a whole goddamn unit of the FBI and you’re still a student. You both are in entirely separate places in life, how do you reconcile that? It’s not as if he keeps you secret. Jessica knows you and you met his son Jack one time. Besides, you’re not really showing him off either. Not that you have many people to show him off to.

Like said, it’s been weeks since you’ve seen him which has just left you to sit around and overthink just about everything.

Aaron is working a case in DC. You saw the news reports the other day. Women were turning up dead in alleyways behind popular nightclubs and bars in the downtown area. Despite this horrifying news, you were happy when he told you the case was at home. It meant less travel. Less travel means Aaron is less tired. Which means more sex for you. And god, did you need sex.

It’s your friend’s 27th birthday and in an attempt to keep her from crying about getting a year older, you and a group of friends promised to go out drinking with her. You reach for your phone to check for any messages from Aaron. You would drop all your plans if he told you he was coming over tonight. There is one new message but it’s not exactly the text you were hoping for.

From: Aaron:

Please be safe for the next few days. Don’t go anywhere alone. Call me if there’s any trouble or if you need anything at all.”

You furrow your brows. It’s not news that Aaron cares about you and wants to look out for you but usually while on a case it’s radio silence from him. Yes, if you were really in danger he would want you to call immediately, but usually, he tells you he needs to focus on the job and nothing else. You dismiss the text, chalking it up to the presence of a serial killer in the city you both live in. Hell, you were pretty freaked out too. You had seen the girls on the news, 20-30, with your hair color and around your height.

You let out a long sigh, knowing you are most definitely not getting laid tonight. It’s time to get stupid drunk with your friends and enjoy your night anyway.

It does not take long for you and all your friends to reach the perfect level of sloppy drunk. Seeing as you all haven’t been out in months, what with some of you pursuing real jobs, grad school, med school, and whatnot, there hasn’t been a lot of time for screwing around as you did in college.

“So come on! You cannot still be single,” your close friend Sarah screams in your face over the music.

“It’s complicated,” you feel your words starting to string together. They’re not quite slurred but it’s getting there, “He just comes over, fucks my brains out, we spend some time together, and then it’s over.”

Your comments provoke a loud response of laughs and cheers from your friends, “So we don’t even get a name? Or a job? Or where you met him?”

“He guest lectured a course on abnormal and criminal psychology a few months ago,” You start to explain but Sarah is cutting you off before the words have left your mouth.

“Months? This has been going on for months?” You roll your eyes. The bartender places another full tray of shots in front of you guys. She nods towards a man at the edge of the bar. As you look up, he gives you a small wave and smiles. Creepy.

“No, I ran into him a few weeks after and I just gave him my number.” You down the shot, souring your face up before reaching for a lime wedge to chase it, “And then things just happened.”

“Name? Job? Age?” Another friend rattles off at you.

“Isn’t this Sarah’s birthday? Shouldn’t we be talking about her?” You try and steer the conversation away from yourself. You turn back to the bar and see that same man who sent you the shots staring at you. Even when you turn away you can feel his eyes boring into the back of your head.

“Well I want to know, so this is a birthday present,” she continues to pry and it drives you crazy. You're just not ready to share what you and Aaron have with the world.

“His name is Aaron and he works in the FBI and he’s 45,” You mumble that last part into your glass as you take a long sip.

“He’s how old?” Your friend’s jaw drops and another friend grins widely. Your face is burning hot at embarrassment and all the attention.

“Can we all just shut up and drink?” you command forcefully before downing your own.

Hotch looks down at his phone, waiting for any sign that Y/N has seen his text. He doesn’t panic though. She has a life, she’s busy. She probably has plans for the evening. Maybe she’s out… with someone. Aaron shakes his head slightly before forcing his attention to the case. But his mind wanders. Would she go out with someone? It’s not like anything between them is defined. I mean, he would never go out with anyone else. He just wants her. If she wants to go out on a date she can do whatever she wants. Yet, Hotch can’t help but feel the jealousy coursing through his body. The idea of someone else touching her… yeah, that makes him angry.

His more rational thinking takes over. Maybe she’s busy with school work. He knows how hard she’s been working on her research. He fails to hide a smile as he thinks about the way her face lights up when talking about her research. The passion she has for her work is extremely adorable...

You hear three short raps at the door, “It’s open!” you call out as you rush to get all your thoughts down on your computer. You hear the door open and the footsteps approaching.

“You leave your door unlocked? Do you realize how incredibly unsafe and unwise that is?” You can hear that Aaron probably has his stern face on, judging by the disapproval in his voice.

“I knew you were coming,” You shrug and gnaw at your bottom lip furiously as you work, “I just need one moment. I was thinking that in a controlled quantum environment...” As you start to ramble Aaron’s hands snake around your waist. He pushes your hair to the side, placing feather-light kisses along your neck.

“Mm,” He mumbles against you.

“Wait, wait,” you moan, “If you keep doing that I’m going to lose my train of thought and I will never forgive you unless you can formulate how to create thermal distrib—” He nips at your skin and gives your hips a squeeze. Your groans grow louder.

“The physics can wait,” Aaron growls against your skin, turning you around so he can passionately kiss you, “I need you now.”

The panic doesn’t ease because Aaron reaches to call you once again. You don’t pick up because well… you’re a little preoccupied drowning your liver. He thinks, if you had just given a small ok text, he would know you’re safe. But he’s panicking. He continues to panic for the next hour until something unexpected soothes that anxiety. The sound of your screaming drunken voice radiating throughout the entirety of the precinct the team is working in. But as soon as the wave of anxiety dissipates, he feels his stomach drop.

“I’m a victim here!” you screech and cement your legs in place so that the officers holding your arms are practically dragging you.

“Ma’am please!” You kick your legs violently as the officers try to seat you in a chair. They undo your handcuffs and redo them so that your hand is cuffed to the desk. “We’re understaffed and backed up so you sit here and shut up while we get you booked.”

“He was feeling me up! Under the skirt over the panties. He grabbed my ass, I’m sure I have a mark you wanna see it? He assaulted me!” you continue to screech and reach for the hem of your dress, ready to flash every cop in the precinct your ass.

“So you smashed a bottle over his head? Real ladylike,” one of the officers steps forward and holds your hand tight to keep you from lifting the dress.

“Don’t I get a phone call.” Now your words are slurred together. That last round of shots before you got arrested is hitting you hard.

“Once we book you.”

“I know a federal agent. From the FBI,” you spell out the letters obnoxiously, “Do you even know what that is?”

“Yes, I’m sure the federal government will come running to post your bail. Stay here. Don’t move,” the officer commands and you hold up your handcuffed wrist to demonstrate that you’re quite frankly incapable of going anywhere.

“Oh my god,” Prentiss lets out a small laugh from the conference room. “I can hear her through the closed doors.”

“Well, most of this room is glass and sound travels through the glass just about the same as it does air. A better insulating material would be a foam or fiberglass or even a mineral wood composite,” Reid clarifies before giving that signature tight-lipped smile.

“She is… really something,” Morgan laughs and nudges Hotch, “Hotch look.”

Hotch turns and sees what he’s dreading. He sees you, drunk out of your mind. Your skimpy dress is somehow simultaneously riding low on top and riding up on the bottom. You have a small cut lip and a little bit of blood on your dress. His brows furrow deeply. “Oh god,” he mutters under his breath.

“These cops are supposed to stay in the bars and clubs for protection. Why are they wasting time on drunk girls?” Rossi finally chimes in.

The cops finally get you settled into a chair and you kick your feet like a child. “Call the FBI! I know them.”

“Oh does she now. You guys know her?” JJ rolls her eyes and laughs, “I am so glad I never got arrested when I was in college. My parents would’ve killed me.”

“College? Girls do not look like that in college,” Morgan smirks.

“We have to focus on the case,” Hotch's jaw tightens as he sees Morgan look over your body. It’s not something new for Morgan but when he’s making those eyes at you specifically, Hotch feels that surge of jealousy again.

“Call them! Call Agent Aaron Hotchner.” You lean back and try to cross your arms, but your right hand is yanked back by the cuffs.

The team all turns to Hotch with wide eyes. “You know her?” Rossi smirks.

“Where exactly do you know her from?” Emily fights the grin growing on her lips as she looks over her stone-faced boss.

“I’m sorry what?” The cop glances down at you.

“Aaron Hotchner with the Behavioral Unit Analysis Science thing or something like that he’s in the FBI he’s unit chief. I know him.” You roll your eyes at the cop who is speechless, “Oh god. Are you that thick? A-A-R-O-N H-O-T-C-H…” you trail off the alcohol inhibiting your spelling capabilities, “N-E-R. Aaron Hotchner! Call him and he’ll tell you to let me go.”.

The cop glances at some of his coworkers before looking at the conference room. You follow his gaze and see Aaron with a large group of other well-dressed agents. “Oh fuck,” you mutter. Aaron opens the glass doors and steps out of them walking towards you.

“So how does he know this girl?” Prentiss tries her best to hide her spying on you and Aaron.

“I got money on babysitter,” Morgan nods.

“No way, she’d be with Jack right now. I’d say she met him at work." JJ leans against the desk, watching Hotch as he looks down at you, crossing his arms.

“Then we’d all have seen her before. Plus she wouldn’t be telling them she knows the FBI. She would technically be part of the FBI. Why not use that?” Rossi rubs a hand over his goatee.

“He’s sleeping with her,” Reid states simply before turning back to his geographical profile on the board.

“What?” Multiple members of the team turn in shock, not only at the statement but at the fact that Reid is the one making it.

“No way. She’s… at most 27 years old.” Morgan shakes his head, “She is not Hotch’s type.”

“Are you jealous that Hotch has more game than you?” Reid teases without turning away from his work.

“When was your last date, pretty boy? Huh?” Morgan hits him on the back of the head playfully.

“Officer.” Aaron steps in between you and the officer. Good thing, because two more minutes with that guy and you would be charged with a lot more than resisting arrest and public disturbance.

“Aaron!” you squeak, “I didn’t know you were here!”

“Well, she’s definitely not a coworker. She called him Aaron.” Rossi nods at the rest of the team still in the conference room. For a team of profilers, their attempts to hide the spying are weak at best.

“I’ll take care of her.” He doesn’t bother looking at you, but he gives the officer his best unit-chief glare.

“Sir we have a process to go through here. We’re still processing her arrest,” the officer attempts to argue with Hotch but you can see the discomfort clearly in the officer. He struggles to meet Hotch’s eyes.

“Please officer, we have much more to deal with here. I want to find this guy before another body drops. We need you out there patrolling the bars for the guys, not the drunk girls the creeps hit on.” Aaron takes on a stern voice.

“Yes agent.” The cop is visibly annoyed but isn’t willing to get into a fight with a federal agent all over your stupid drunk ass.

“Are you injured? You’re bleeding.” He grabs your chin in his calloused fingers, turning your face from side to side to assess the small cuts. You almost moan into his touch but remember the current location.

“No, no it’s someone else’s.” You turn out of his grip, trying to push his hands off.

“Someone else’s? What did you do?” Fuck. Aaron is furious with you. His arms are crossed against his chest and you can see the veins in his neck standing out. The tone he takes with you is harsh and you’re not used to him speaking with you like that… at least not used to it outside the bedroom.

“It’s not my fault okay!”

Aaron holds the bridge of his nose frustratedly, “Y/N. I have a serial killer to profile, catch, and stop from murdering innocent women. Can I just get the truth?”

“This creepy guy kept sending me and my friends drinks all night so when I went to the bar to get us another round he came over. Things got messy.” You shrug your shoulders. “Can you take off these cuffs now?” You hold out your wrists, pouting out your bottom lip. You can physically see him soften at that.

As Aaron reaches for the key and undoes the cuffs, he shakes his head at the stench of alcohol seeping out of you, “You’re gonna have to do better than things got messy.”

“I just…” You pause, knowing the details of the story are going to make him upset but he wants the truth, “I knew he was a little off. Weird and creepy and pushy, you know?” You rub your irritated wrists, “So he starts talking to me, offering me some drink. I know better than to accept a drink from a stranger so I turned him down. That's when he grabbed my arm and well… tried to cop a feel.”

“Cop a feel?” Aaron’s jaw has tightened and his hands are clenched so tightly at his sides his knuckles are pale.

“He slid his hands under my dress.” Your hand ghosts over the sore spot on your bottom where the man dug his fingers into your flesh, “He grabbed my legs and then my ass and then… and then he tried to get his hands in my underwear.” You show Aaron the red marks on your inner thigh. You’re not sure what you expect from him, but his face remains hardened. The only emotion readable on him is anger.

“The blood is from self-defense,” Aaron begins to understand.

You nod, confirming his statement, “I grabbed the first thing I could and smashed him on the head. I think I sliced his eyebrow. By the time the cops came, he was gone and I was in cuffs.”

Aaron looks back at his team in the conference room. In a poor attempt to hide their spying, they all rapidly turn their eyes to their work. He takes a few steps closer to you, his eyes looking over the red bruising on your cheek. He fights every urge to reach out and touch you, stroke your face softly and kiss your lips, “Did he hurt you? We should get a medic to check you out or–”

He doesn’t have a second to finish that thought. “Hotch, another body just dropped,” Morgan and Prentiss come rushing out of the conference room, “We’re going to the crime scene now.”

Aaron nods at his team members, “Call me if anything stands out.” The team nods and Aaron reaches for your arm, walking you towards the rest of the team, “I don’t want you alone right now. You’re going to sit here and keep quiet, understand?”

You bite your lip and look around at the team, still pretending as if they’re not listening in, “Jeez way to embarrass me, Aaron,” you mumble under your breath as you drop down into a chair with a loud sigh like a child.

JJ can’t help but come over to talk to you, “I’m Jennifer." You give her your name, "It's so nice to meet you Y/N, how do you and Hotch know each other?”

“Hotch?” you let out before quickly realizing the nickname for Aaron. You shake her hand, “Oh Agent Hotchner and I are just fuc–“

“Friends,” Aaron cuts in, “Y/N and I are friends. We have a case to get back to,” Aaron frantically changes the topic of conversation but your little comment doesn’t go unnoticed by the team members. Even Reid is smiling slightly at your comment.

You sit back in your chair and take in the sight of Agent Hotchner, Unit Chief of the BAU. The confident and commanding energy he exudes is immensely attractive. It’s not long before the agents that left for the crime scene, Morgan and Prentiss return with news for Aaron.

“Sir we found something weird at the crime scene,” Morgan steps back into the room.

“Weird?” Hotch cocks his head slightly to the side.

“There were droplets of blood over the victim’s dress but it wasn’t her own,” Morgan shakes his head.

“But you called and said she had no defensive wounds, he drugged her like the others. How could he have been injured?” Hotch turns back to the other case files.

“We’re not sure,” Emily shakes her head, “It’s possible it’s unrelated but maybe he might have been hospitalized for something recently?”

“What about any witnesses?” Hotch nods, “Any people at Churchkey bar see anything unusual? A man that was a little too forceful with women?”

You snort slightly at that, “I wouldn’t say that’s unusual for a bar.”

Hotch shoots you a hard glare that shuts you up for good, while Prentiss lets a smile shine through.

“The bar was mostly cleared out. Apparently the bar was packed earlier tonight but it cleared out after a bar fight broke out.” Morgan informs the team.

You bite your lip harshly. Aaron told you no talking but… this is more important, right? “Wait, Churchkey bar?” You finally speak up and all the agents turn their attention to you.

“What about it?”

“That’s the bar I was at tonight.” You trail off at the end of your sentence.

“You remember someone or something off?” Rossi looks over your body language.

“I think I talked to the unsub. I think... I’m the one who injured him." You unconsciously wrap your arms tightly around your body.

“You think you could walk me through the night? Tell me about him, it could really help us,” Morgan moves to sit on the edge of the desk to face you. "We could do a cognitive interview." He nods at Hotch.

"A cognitive?" You look between the two men.

"It's a memory recall exercise. We would walk you through the night and you tell us as much as you can," Morgan explains gently.

"And it could help you find him?" You ask, unsure how much you remember about him.

"You might not realize the type of details that help us form the profile." Morgan places a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

Aaron clears his throat. “She’s not sober enough for a cognitive." You can tell that the fact that his personal life is bleeding into his work is driving him crazy.

“If I can help catch this creep, I want to help. I’m fine.” You touch your finger to your nose a few times in an attempt to demonstrate your sobriety.

“Then you should drink some coffee before we start,” Aaron dismissively addresses you before turning to leave, “And I’m going to want the whole truth.” He stalks off towards the interrogation room.

Rossi runs to catch up with Aaron, pulling him off to the side. “Aaron, you cannot conduct this cognitive.”

“Excuse me?” Aaron snaps, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Take a step back, pretend she’s not someone you clearly care about,” Aaron rolls his eyes at Rossi’s comment but plays along as he continues.

“She’s a young girl… just how young is she?” Rossi raises a brow at Aaron, losing his train of thought.

“Dave.” He lets out an exasperated sigh.

Rossi holds his hands up in defense, “Fine, okay. She’s a young girl, she’s a little drunk, and she’s been sexually harassed in a bar by our unsub. Who do you send in to talk to her?”

“The least intimidating figures to her,” Aaron nods.

“So definitely not the angry boyfriend who wants to kill anyone who touches her,” Rossi clarifies.

“I’ll send in JJ and Prentiss,” Hotch sighs and turns before pausing, “And I’m not her boyfriend.”

Rossi simply smiles and pats Aaron’s back, “Ok boss.”

You sit up in your chair tiredly as Emily and JJ walk into the interrogation room.

“Hi Y/N, I’m Agent Prentiss and you’ve already met Agent Jareau,” Emily sits across from you.

“He can hear us, right?” You bite your lip and look towards the glass.

“Who can hear us?” JJ takes a seat and places a file in front of you.

“Aaron.” You search the glass, knowing that you won’t be able to see him but that he definitely can see you.

“Oh uh-” Emily pauses, unsure what to say in response.

“Do you want more privacy? I can ask the agents to leave.” JJ starts to stand.

“Hearing this would help them figure who the killer is?” You’re gnawing your lip hard enough to draw blood, a nervous habit Aaron never hesitates to point out to you.

“Yes,” JJ sits back down.

“Then it’s fine.” You look over one last time, “Just make sure Aar— Agent Hotchner,” you correct yourself, “Make sure Agent Hotchner doesn’t lose his shit.”

“No promises,” Prentiss smirks and lets out a small breath, “We’re going to walk you through the night. If it gets to be too much you let us know and we’ll take a break, okay?”

Well, now you’re really nervous. You let out a small breath, “Okay.” You close your eyes as Agent Prentiss starts.

“You’re in the bar. It’s crowded…”

“Y/N I think he really likes you,” your friend Sarah laughs. “Come on go talk to him.”

“No, I really shouldn’t.” You feel dizzy and light on your feet from the alcohol the man has been plying you and your friends with.

“Why?” Another friend chimes in, “Big strong Agent Hotchner going to punish you for talking to another guy?” Your friends taunt you playfully.

You smile widely at them, “Yes, yes he will.”

“You naughty, naughty girl!” Sarah laughs. You feel eyes on you and look back to the man at the bar. He’s hunched over in his stool. He looks nervous, but he smiles sheepishly at you and waves. It’s not long before he’s calling the bartender over again and pointing at you animatedly.

“Next round is on me,” you say softly to your friends, keeping your eyes on the man’s face, memorizing every detail you can. His face is young but worn and tired. The wrinkles on his forehead tell you he frowns a lot. They’re lines that appear on Aaron’s face too. You think about how you tease Aaron about smiling more. God, you miss Aaron right now. You wish he was here to make you feel safe. As you walk up to the bar, your presence causes the man to stand up and move closer.

“I was going to order you and your friends more drinks. I ordered you a vodka soda. It’s what you’ve been drinking all night, right?” He stutters slightly as he talks to you. He slides a glass over to you, but you know better. Strange man... drink that you didn’t see the bartender actually make... no way.

“I was actually going to order a beer,” you try to reject the glass, “You take the vodka soda though. You’ll see why they’ve been my go-to all night. He’s been making them very strong.” You look at the bartender, ordering a beer. You pray that the young bartender senses your discomfort.

“Come on it’s a harmless drink.” The strange man moves into you, pushing the glass closer. “You have the drink, we’ll get to know each other better… you’ll like it. I can make you like it.”

Thinking about his words sends chills down your spine. You have to take a moment to let out a shaky breath.

“Are you sure you want to continue listening to this?” Rossi eyes Hotch. Hotch’s face is contorted so harshly into a mixture of anger, disgust, and sadness. His neck muscles tense, his arms are tightly crossed against his body. He doesn’t even acknowledge Rossi.

“Can you keep going?” JJ eyes your face. You nod.

“No thank you, and no more drinks for my friends and I. We can get our own drinks.” You turn to grab your beer but soon the man stops you. He grabs your wrist tightly, placing his other hand behind your back. He pulls you flush against him. His rough, calloused fingertips grab and scratch up your thighs, under the dress. He grabs your ass so hard you want to scream out. He continues to trail his fingers up, hooking around your panties and—

A sickening shattering noise and cracking erupt as you swing the beer bottle at his head. The man screams. “You bitch!” He slaps your face. You stumble back, falling on the floor, cutting your hands on the broken glass from the bottle. Your skin is sticky with alcohol and you glance down at the blood on your dress. The bar grows louder. The commotion intensifies. You feel a friend’s hands wrap around your arms pulling you up off the ground.

“Wait he—!” You look around for the man but he’s nowhere to be found.

“Not long after that I was being shoved into a cop car and escorted here.” You finally open your eyes and look at the two agents.

“I can make you like it?” Emily asks you to clarify. She speaks slowly clearly enunciating her words but you can hear the disgusted tone in her voice.

“That’s exactly what he said.” You wrap your arms around yourself, “Does that all help?”

“Yes, yes it does,” JJ reaches out to touch your hand gently. Your eyes flick back to the one-way glass. You can’t see Aaron but you can tell he’s probably fuming. He probably has that signature scowl on his face.

“Am I—” You clear your throat and try to adjust your dress for more modesty, “Can I go?” Prentiss gives you a sad, pity-filled smile and nods. You stand up quickly and exit the room in a rush, colliding with Aaron’s strong chest as you do. You look up into his eyes and you see something in his face you’ve never seen in all the times you've been with him: sadness. You bury your face into his chest and his arms wrap tightly around you. “I was scared,” You choke out as his large, warm hands rub circles into your back, “I needed you.” You ball up his shirt in your fists. You’re not one to cry easily, but your body shakes as you breathe heavily.

“I know,” his voice cracks as he rests his chin on top of your head. He runs one hand over your hair softly, shushing you gently, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

You pull away from his chest and frantically pull his lips down to yours. A strong hand goes to your back, holding you close to him. You hear the interrogation room door open behind you, the two agents stepping out, but neither you nor Aaron break the kiss. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” Aaron breathes against your lips, pulling you back into a tight hug. “You’re safe here with me now.”

———

You lift the heavy metal knocker and let it slam down twice, waiting for the door to open. When it does, Rossi envelops you in his arms, a wide smile spreading across his lips. He grabs your face tightly, kissing each cheek joyfully. “Bellissimo! I’m so glad you could make it.” Rossi places a gentle hand on your back and leads you inside.

You walk into the crowded kitchen and the members of the BAU all turn and smile back at you. Aaron moves towards you and quickly gives you a soft kiss on your lips. “I’m so happy you’re here." 

“I’m so glad you’re finally home.” You pull away from Aaron to make the rounds hugging the people who are like family to you at this point.

Morgan wraps a friendly arm around your shoulder and can’t help but tease Aaron, “Hotch, you couldn’t be bothered to pick up your girl?” He turns to smile at you while Aaron shakes his head.

“I had to stop by the research lab so I just had my classmate Tyler drop me off after we finished up." You shrug.

“Tyler, huh?” Rossi grins, hoping to rile up Aaron a little.

“Is he cute?” JJ chimes in with a laugh.

Aaron quickly clears his throat, hoping to change topics. He raises his brows at you, “So do you want to share the news or should I do it for you?”

“Oh my god, you’re totally preggers!” Garcia squeals and runs to hug you again. You glance at Aaron and can only laugh.

“No, no.” You smile as she pulls away and you look at the shocked faces of everyone in the kitchen, even Aaron looks a little rattled. You playfully nudge his arm, “See what you did? Always causing trouble.”

“Me? If I recall correctly you’re the one who got arrested for being drunk off your ass and trying to fight a serial killer.” His comment elicits a series of small laughs from everyone.

"Yeah and it helped you catch him, so really you all should thank me for being drunk." You playfully argue with Aaron. "Anyway, the actual news. No, I'm not pregnant." You point at Penelope as she opens her mouth to say something else. 

“You’re looking at the proud new owner of a Ph.D. in physics!” You do a small cheesy spin as the rest of the team congratulates you, “Handed in my final thesis paper today.” Aaron smiles proudly as you move back to his side.

“Yeah that’s great and all but you’re still two Ph.D.s behind me.” Spencer can’t help but tease you. In the past year, he’s become one of your closest friends, especially since Aaron can’t even seem to begin to understand your thesis research.

“All right cool it kid.” You joke with him.

“Kid? I’m older than you.” Spencer laughs. Aaron comes closer to wrap his arm around your waist. The gesture is comforting and just this touch sends waves of pleasure through your body.

“Reid might have two more Ph.D.s than you but he’s got nothing on your good looks.” Prentiss winks at you.

“She’s got that right,” Aaron smirks as he kisses your cheek gently.

“Ok, ok, enough small talk.” You feel your face flush, “I came here to learn some cooking from chef Rossi, not talk about how hot I am.” You see Aaron roll his eyes with a smile and you pull him close as Rossi starts the demonstration.

“I love you so much, you know that?” Aaron has his arms wrapped around you from behind. He speaks softly so only you can hear.

“I know,” You smile, happiness flooding through your body, “I love you too.”

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Fifteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: NSFW!!😈😈 please disregard colorado window tinting laws for this chapter

***

Cassian has yet to regret getting Nesta that personalized record, despite the fact that she plays it everyday on repeat with a near obsession. Is this what true love is? Letting your girlfriend blast the same songs through your home again and again, and never tiring of it? Never tiring of her?

He doesn’t get to ponder on it, because while Nesta spends the week lazing pantsless around the house (“I’m getting ready for the party,” she states while he rubs her feet. “Spiritually and all that.”), Cassian has to figure out how to turn the cabin into an inviting space for forty wealthy guests.

All of Nesta’s shit gets shoved in the back of his bedroom closet. Personal items and framed pictures of the two of them are swiped off any surfaces. Lights go up around the house. Catering is secured.

By the time it’s all finished, the cabin has been stripped of all warmth and familiarity and turned into something chic and upscale, suitable for a small gala. Nesta stares around at the space when it’s done, her face revealing nothing.

Cassian points to the small sitting area on the second floor, directly above the open living room, that leads outside to the wraparound balcony. “We’ll be able to see fireworks from there,” he says. He turns to see Nesta’s face is still carefully blank, the way it is when she’s thinking too many things at once. “You sure you want to do this?” he asks. “It’s not too late to cancel the whole thing.”

She looks at him in horror. “It most certainly is. The party’s tomorrow.”

“Still not too late.” Cassian might not have that much power in the overall Night Court hierarchy, but for Nesta he could figure it out.

She smiles wanly but shakes her head. “We’re doing this, and we’re not letting it go to hell like last time.”

***

Nesta knows her sisters are aware that she’s on the guest list for the party (though she can’t imagine what Cassian’s explanation for that one was), but she still stiffens when she enters the cabin through the open door. Her eyes fall on various men and women that she’s never seen in her life, all glammed up and dripping self-importance, until recognizing Feyre and her boyfriend laughing with an older couple in a corner. The only thing that brings Nesta a little peace is that the snide woman, Amren, isn’t here tonight, having chosen to spend New Year’s with her boyfriend in California instead.

Nesta eases up when nobody takes notice of her, though a few nearby guests throw appreciative glances in her direction. She looks like a disco ball in her sequined wrap dress, and a freezing one at that. She shuts the door behind her, sealing the winter air out, but quickly pulls her hand away from the knob. It feels like the door isn’t hers to touch. She realizes that even though the cabin is her home, no one here except Cassian knows that.

Speaking of Cassian, she needs to find him. Nesta is not such an advanced creature that she knows how to survive in a room full of strangers on her own, and she no longer cares if anyone finds her clinging to Cassian weird.

She makes it three feet before she’s accosted by Morrigan, carrying her usual champagne glass like it’s an extension of her.

“Nesta!” she exclaims, loud and bright as ever. She smiles broadly, with too many teeth. “You’re here.”

Nesta blinks in response. She doesn’t understand how Morrigan benefits from this exaggerated excitement. Is it supposed to be insulting or polite?

“By the way,” Morrigan adds when Nesta doesn’t reply, “what exactly are you doing here?”

A heavy arm slides around Nesta’s shoulders, pulling her close. “I invited her,” says Cassian with a smile. “Because she’s my friend, and this place is practically hers.”

“Oh, I think that’s an exaggeration,” Nesta says sharply, trying to step away from Cassian.

He holds her closer. “No it’s not. We were roomies for over two months, remember?”

Morrigan winces, looking between the two of them. “Right,” she says slowly. “I keep forgetting that. Cassian is like this with everybody,” she says apologetically to Nesta. “Don’t take him too seriously.”

Nesta nods solemnly, wanting this conversation to be over. “I won’t.”

Her exit is made clear when the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it,” she says quickly, escaping from under Cassian’s arm.

Hurrying to the door, she swings it open.

Eris Vanserra stands looking irritated on the other side. He freezes when he sees Nesta, and then his face lifts into a smug grin. “Oh, this is too good.”

“So Cassian Madani was your sugar daddy all along?” Eris asks her later.

“Say sugar daddy one more time. I dare you.” Nesta stands near the stairs with her arms crossed, trying to pretend she isn’t associated with Eris. Which is more than a bit difficult when he keeps badgering her with questions, and Cassian is giving the two of them odd looks from across the room.

“I mean, what are the odds?” he laughs.

“My sister is dating his CEO brother.”

Eris throws her a look of surprise, but Nesta says, “How do you even know him?”

Eris sticks an hors d'oeuvre from a nearby platter in his mouth. “He manages security and logistics at every event Night Court is involved in. Can be a real pain in the ass to work with when I’m trying to get shit done for my dad’s company.”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” she retorts.

They’re interrupted by Feyre and Rhys appearing before them, Feyre with her hostess smile and Rhysand with an inquisitive look on his face. Nesta can’t tell which one of them is more attached to the hip of the other.

“Eris,” Rhysand greets smoothly.

“I see you’re already acquainted with my sister,” Feyre says. Her tone is tense, either because she’s still pissed at Nesta or—even worse—she feels protective of her.

“We’re classmates,” Nesta says tightly. “Does it matter?”

Feyre tries not to look hurt. “No—I just didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.”

“Ladies,” a new voice says warningly. Cassian’s left whatever droll conversation he was stuck in and made his way over to them.

“Is the entire party congregating here?” Eris looks around himself.

“No, we are not,” Cassian says, all his usual friendliness gone around Eris. “I just came to ask Feyre to talk to the representatives from Spellbreaker before they pull all their money out of our latest operation.”

Feyre’s eyes go wide and her tattooed hand goes to her chest. “That’s not really my job—”

“Oh, come on, darling.” Rhysand slides a hand around her waist. “I’ll go with you; the art of negotiating is easier than it looks.”

Nesta nearly pukes in her mouth, but she maintains a careful blank face until Feyre and Rhysand are successfully out of sight. Cassian turns to Eris with a stony look. “You’re still here?”

Nesta sighs internally; this man has never hidden his feelings in his life.

Eris shares an amused glance with Nesta as if he’s thinking the same thing. “Is there anywhere else I should be right now?” he replies.

“Maybe in hell.”

Nesta claps a hand on Cassian’s shoulder and fakes a smile at Eris. “Tell your brother hi for me,” she says while pulling Cassian away. “I miss talking to a sensible redhead.”

“That’s because you have awful taste,” Eris calls after her. Nesta drags Cassian deep into the hallway, where no one lingers.

She releases him without flourish. “Are you doing okay? Because it seems like you’re having a harder time with this than I am.”

“I’m fine,” Cassian defends. “I was just hit with a terrible memory back there.”

“Like what?”

“That you’re friends with Eris.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. Friends is a very liberal term, but she won’t correct Cassian while he’s acting like this. “Thank you for helping with Feyre and Mor,” she says instead. “I didn’t need it, but I still appreciate it.” It’s a hard thing to admit, but she wants him to hear it.

“I was just trying to get you alone,” he says, leaning against the bathroom door. “I’ve been trying to get you alone all night.”

Nesta looks him up and down, from his white dress shirt and tied back hair to his uncharacteristically polished shoes. “For what?” she says warily. “If this is about a sex thing, don’t bother. There’s nowhere in this house for us to go without raising suspicion.”

Cassian pushes off the door with a dark look. “I wasn’t going to suggest staying in the house.” He holds a bronzed hand out toward her. “Wanna get out of here?”

***

Cassian doesn’t remember how he ever managed to fit all six-four of himself into the cramped backseat of his truck when he was fucking girls in college, but for Nesta he figures it out somehow.

Her pretty little dress is shoved down to her midriff, baring her arms and flushed breasts, and her skirt is bunched up high enough that Cassian can watch as he moves his fingers inside her. The glow of lights from the cabin lands on her perfect face as she throws her head back in pleasure, and he can only watch her in awe.

He laughs lowly when she whimpers and eases a third finger into her wet heat, in no rush to return to the party anytime soon. Let them all wonder where he and Nesta wandered off to.

But Nesta has far less patience than him; she pulls him in for a frenzied kiss and uses the distraction to slide her hand into his boxer briefs, palming his cock. He groans into her mouth as she pulls out the length of him from his unzipped pants, and it’s at that very moment that two voices interrupt their panting.

“Thanks,” a muffled female voice says from outside the truck. Cassian looks up through the dark tinted windows to find—Jesus Christ—Mor accepting a cigarette from Rhys. The two of them stand some feet away from the truck, unaware that anyone is occupying it.

“Some way to end the year,” Rhys is saying, watching the clear night sky. Nesta’s gone completely still beneath Cassian, not needing to get up and look to know who stands in the driveway. “Would have been even better without Nesta terrorizing Feyre at every turn.”

Sickness turns Cassian’s stomach at hearing such ugly words about Nesta come from his brother, but that sickness is quickly replaced by rage as Mor huffs a laugh. “She’s not that bad,” Mor says, taking a pull from her cigarette. “Though I could do without the attitude at every damn gathering.”

Rhys clicks his tongue. “She’s always been like that, even when the sisters were kids. It kills Feyre.”

Cassian glances down at Nesta, terrified of what he’s going to find on her face. But Nesta doesn’t look hurt or enraged like he expects. Instead, she’s listening closely with her brows furrowed, studiously intrigued.

Noticing Cassian’s attention on her, she meets his eyes and her breath hitches. A blush takes over her cheeks, and she clenches involuntarily around the fingers still deep inside her. Cassian realizes that his fury is written all over his face. And she likes it.

His anger at his friends flickers—or rather, transforms. Slowly, he pulls his fingers out of Nesta. He sits up a bit straighter and kneels properly on the backseat, earning a curious look from her. Hunching so his head doesn’t hit the truck ceiling, he wraps his hands around her thighs and maneuvers her legs up, up until they’re hooked over his shoulders. She nearly chokes at the new position.

He adjusts them so his cock is pressed right up against her sex, and looks out the window again, where Rhys and Mor are still talking. It’s all idle gossip, he knows, but... “What do you think, baby?” He slides his length over her slick folds. “Should I go out there and defend your honor?”

“Absolutely not,” Nesta gasps, shaking her head.

“And it’s like when she’s not quiet as a brick, she’s being rude,” Mor rants outside, flicking her cigarette. “I know Cass is friendly with everybody, but I have no idea what he was thinking inviting her here.”

“Oh, she’s not so quiet when I have my head between her legs,” Cassian murmurs at Mor. He glances down at Nesta with a knowing smirk. “She’s not so rude when I give her the right incentive, either.” He pats her bottom lip with his thumb, the bright red lipstick smearing. “Isn’t that right, Nes?”

“Bastard.” Nesta squirms, trying to line up her entrance with the head of Cassian’s cock. She’s not even listening to the conversation outside anymore.

“I think he likes her,” Rhys says, his breath clouding in the freezing night air. If only he knew. “We don’t always use reason when it comes to people we like.”

“Maybe,” Mor ponders. “But I can’t imagine it going anywhere. They’re too different.”

“I disagree,” Cassian mutters. He finally gives in to Nesta’s efforts and pushes inside her, sliding to the hilt in one thrust. She claps a hand over her mouth to stifle her moan.

“There are plenty of things we have in common, don’t you think, Nesta?” He sets a steady rhythm with his hips, pumping in and out of her. “Like how well we fit together.” Her head bumps the car door with every thrust.

“You—you’re gonna rock the truck,” Nesta tries to whisper. Cassian hides his smile in the crook of her knee at the rare use of informal contraction. She’s adorable.

“We wouldn’t want that to happen,” he teases, leaning forward to take a pert nipple into his mouth. A whimper slips past her lips; she’s nearly bent in half beneath him. With this new, deeper angle, Cassian moves slow enough that Nesta feels every solid inch of him.

His loose hair falls around his face as he drops his head to the center of Nesta’s chest. It takes every bit of restraint he knows not to suckle at the space between her breasts, not to leave reddened marks there that everyone will be able to see when they go back inside. But damn if this position isn’t driving him crazy.

Mor, Rhys, everything beyond the haven of the truck falls away. He doesn’t know if anybody is still outside, or if people have noticed his and Nesta’s absence from the party. He doesn’t care, not as he swears and thrusts particularly deep into her tight warmth.

Even her hand can’t contain the sound she makes at that.

Cassian moves one of his own hands to the crown of Nesta’s head, creating a barrier between her and the car door. With his other arm, he locks her thighs into place against his chest, and begins slamming relentlessly into her.

“CassianCassianCassian—”

He silences her with a searing kiss, and flicks her clit with a calloused thumb. Nesta scrabbles at his arms, at the seat upholstery, as her orgasm crashes into her. Her walls milk his cock almost painfully, and with a few more thrusts he’s coming, too.

As he rides out his climax, he intertwines their fingers together and presses them to the freezing window. Outside, there is no one to see the handprint they leave on the fogged up glass.

***

Nesta needs a moment to catch her breath while Cassian zips himself up. Leaning against the hard truck door, she achingly fits one arm back into the sleeve of her dress, then the other. “I think I have a bruise from where that seatbelt buckle stabbed me in the ribs,” she mutters.

“Where?” Cassian looks her over, but she waves him away and reaches over to dig in the back pocket of the driver’s seat, finding a packet of makeup wipes she left there some weeks ago. She plucks out a wipe for herself and tosses the rest of the packet at Cassian’s chest, which is covered in her lipstick marks.

He accepts the wipes with a “thanks” and begins rubbing at his reddened mouth and neck. Nesta watches him instead of wiping at her own lipstick, taking in whatever the light of the moon highlights: his unbuttoned shirt, his loose hair that fell forward into her face while they fucked, his skin peppered with her marks.

He notices her stare. “What?” he says, smiling.

“Have you ever done that before?” She nods outside to where Mor and Rhys were standing ten minutes ago. It wasn’t exhibitionism since nobody had seen them, but it still felt... dirty.

Cassian snorts, starting to button up his shirt. “I’ve done far worse.” He meets her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten off to the sound of other people shit-talking my girl, though, so that’s new.”

Nesta blushes, and pretends to look around for her shoes to hide the reaction. She’s always known her bedroom experience was pathetically limited, but she’s just now starting to realize how much of that was Tomas’s fault. Not only was he boring when it came to sex, but he left her too hurt and untrusting to try anything with other men until Cassian came along.

Cassian nudges Nesta’s knee, and she finds him already holding her heels. Instead of letting her take them, he takes her feet and starts putting them on for her. “Clean yourself up,” he directs as he buckles a silver strap into place. “It’s almost an hour to midnight.”

Right. Cassian tosses her her panties, and she uses them to clean up the mess between her thighs before discarding them on the floor. “Don’t—” he tries to protest, but sighs and gives up. “You’re filthy.”

“You love it.” She picks up her forgotten makeup wipe to scrub at her smeared makeup. “Do I look okay?” She turns her face to him after a moment so he can check.

“You missed a spot.” He takes the wipe and rubs at her chin. “There,” he says softly, gazing more intimately at her than usual. “Beautiful.”

She most certainly doesn’t look beautiful right now, with the mess that’s been made of her face and hair. But he seems to believe it all the same.

I love you. The thought comes to her suddenly, unexpectedly.

“What?” Shock turns Cassian’s face.

Nesta blinks, realizing the words weren’t only in her head. “What?”

“You said—”

“I said ‘Let’s get out of here’,” she says quickly, swinging her legs down from the seat and reaching for the door handle. “Let’s go!”

She shoves out of the truck without waiting for Cassian and foots it for the cabin, breathing harshly like she just fell from a great height.

***

Nesta goes straight to the master bedroom to redo her makeup and pick up a new pair of underwear. She knows it’s cowardly to leave Cassian downstairs, stuck chatting with wealthy donors and unable to follow her, but she won’t let him confront her about the confession that spilled back in the truck. Not yet.

When she finally finds the courage to stick her head out of the room, she nearly jumps at the sight of Azriel leaning against the hallway wall.

“What are you doing in my brother’s room?” he says, as if he was waiting for her to come out.

The best lies are half-truths. “Avoiding people,” she answers vaguely, exiting the room fully and shutting the door behind her. She clears her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Snooping.” He pushes off the wall and slides his hands into his pockets. “It’s interesting; I don’t think I’ve seen you all night, and now I find you in Cassian’s bedroom of all places.”

What is this, an interrogation? “I’m good at blending in,” Nesta says. “Few people ever notice me.”

“And I’m good at observing,” Azriel retorts, dark amusement gleaming in his gaze. “Where did you run off to earlier?”

Nesta looks him up and down, too bored to bother answering him. “I’m going to go now.” She shoves past his shoulder and walks away, leaving him too stunned to follow.

She comes across Elain near the top of the stairs.

“Nesta,” her sister says in surprise. Her brown eyes flicker past Nesta’s shoulder, to where Azriel still lurks in the hallway. She looks back to Nesta. “I wasn’t sure if you actually came tonight. I haven’t seen you at all.”

“Yeah, I’ve been hanging around.” Nesta waves a dismissive hand. It’s like Christmas Eve never happened between them. That’s the wonderful and terrible thing about sisters, Nesta supposes: there are no apologies, only moving on and moving past.

“Well, you look like you’re doing good.” Elain seems distracted. “I wish we could talk more, but I don’t have time for a fight tonight.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Azriel says, who’s snuck up behind Nesta. “If it’s me you’re worried about, I was just about to leave.” He’s addressing Elain, but won’t quite look her in the eyes. He turns to Nesta instead. “Happy New Year.” And then he’s gone down the stairs.

Elain stands there looking torn, wondering if she should go after him or not, but then Nesta says, “Why do you assume I would start a fight?”

“I—”

“Because if I remember correctly, our last fight was started by you.” She crosses her arms.

Elain sighs. “I just said I don’t have time for this.”

“I’m asking a question in response to a comment you made unprovoked.” When Nesta is calm, she can talk circles around Elain all night.

Elain throws her hands up. “It was just a stupid comment! I said it because we argue all the time. I can’t remember the last time we talked without arguing.”

“September twenty-eighth,” Nesta snaps.

Elain’s mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. You got the loan for your flower shop approved and you called me to celebrate. I was happy for you.”

Elain shakes her head, but Nesta can’t read what she’s feeling. “You remember the most inconsequential things.”

It doesn’t sound like an insult, so Nesta shrugs. “Don’t bother me and I won’t bother you.” She turns to go on her way. Of course, Elain doesn’t stop her. She’s never been one to get in the last word.

***

It’s ten minutes to midnight and Cassian still hasn’t been able to get a hold of Nesta since she ran from the truck. He doesn’t know why she’s running from such a simple truth, but he doesn’t plan on giving her much more time to hide. He has so much he needs to say to her—

A hand comes down on his shoulder as he’s about to slip away upstairs to find Nesta. Cassian turns to find Rhysand there, wearing the serious face he only uses for work-related business. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Cassian is not in the mood. He already had to repress the urge to find Mor and Rhys and tear into them when he returned to the party, and now he’s not sure if he can manage a conversation with his brother without snapping. Without spilling everything he’s worked so hard to hide.

“Not now,” Cassian says, trying to act chill. “It’s almost midnight and I’m trying to catch the...” He trails off as his eyes catch on Nesta, who’s appeared at the second floor sitting area with Eris.

“...fireworks,” he finishes. He turns to Rhys. “Let’s go upstairs to watch.” Half the guests, including the rest of his friends, are probably already outside for the countdown.

He keeps his eyes on Nesta as he climbs the stairs. Watching as she takes notice of him and quickly turns away, smiling at Eris instead. She lets the dickhead place his hand on her back to guide her out to the balcony.

Rage and disbelief take Cassian by the throat. Hiding in another man’s arms to avoid him? Coward fucking move, Archeron.

She steps outside with Eris, and before Cassian can follow he’s stopped once again by Rhys grabbing his arm. “Cass, will you slow down and listen to me for a minute?”

“What is it?” he snaps impatiently. They’re stopped at the top of the stairs, and other guests flow past them as they head for the balcony doors.

Rhys inhales, getting visibly irritated. He says, “I got a call from one of our overseas partners the other day—”

“Rhys!” Feyre calls from the balcony doors, waving her arms at him. “Get your ass over here, it’s almost midnight!”

Rhys turns to his girlfriend, his face lightening. “Be right there, darling.” He gives Cassian a sharp look. “We’ll finish this later.”

Cassian only nods and whirls on his heel, nearly shoving people out of his way to get outside. To get to Nesta.

Up on the wraparound balcony and down below on the frosty ground, guests are lined up with their partners, wrapped up in coats and eagerly awaiting midnight. He barely feels the cold, but he knows Nesta must. He should have grabbed a coat for her.

“Thirty seconds to midnight!” someone announces, answered by loud cheers.

Spotting shining red hair, Cassian grabs Eris by the suit jacket and whirls him around. “Where’s Nesta?” he demands over the loud chatter.

Eris makes a face like he’s been manhandled by a filthy dog. “Clearly not with me,” he retorts, shoving Cassian’s hand off him. “She got all pissy and went that way.” He gestures at a faraway section of balcony where most of the guests are crowding, hoping for an optimal view of the fireworks.

“TEN!” Someone starts the countdown. Others quickly catch on.

“NINE!” Cassian heads in the direction Eris pointed, searching through the sea of glitter and gold for a glimpse of Nesta.

“EIGHT!” He hears his friends calling after him distantly, asking where he’s going.

“SEVEN!” He catches sight of Nesta.

“SIX!” He doesn’t know what he’s thinking as he navigates through the crowd, reaching for her. But he knows she’s shining brighter than the moon right now. He knows he’s been fooling himself since the moment she stepped into his cabin this past September.

“FIVE!”

He closes in on her, her back turned to him.

“FOUR!”

Let’s not go out of our way to hide this anymore, they agreed after Christmas Eve. Let’s just be ourselves around our friends and family, and they’ll find out when they find out.

“THREE!”

In Cassian’s defense, he’s simply being himself in this moment.

“TWO!”

He takes Nesta by the elbow and spins her around. She meets his eyes in surprise. “Cassian. I was looking for you—”

“ONE!”

He pulls her into his arms and kisses her.

***

a/n: punk 57 was a shit book but i gotta give it credit for the truck scene

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein

[queenshelby]

Unexpected Circumstances (Just Friends Part 7) - Cillian Murphy Imagine

Featuring: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: SMUT

Words: 5789

Notes: I have decided to include one of the requests I received in this series as I didn’t know how to best write it as a standalone at this point. I think it makes sense as part of this series as trust between Cillian and the Reader has been clearly established. I might still write a stand-alone piece as well incorporating the same request as this is the sort of Smut I like. So, stay tuned for that!

------

The Letter

It has been five weeks now since Cillian and you admitted your feelings for each other and things were going great.

Some days you couldn’t believe how lucky you were to have found a man like him, someone who cared not only for you but also your son Max.

Cillian adored Max and Max enjoyed Cillian’s and Cillian’s children’s company.

Cillian would often pick Max up from preschool when you had to work late and prepare dinner for you and Max. Max thought that this was fantastic since you were a terrible cook.

But, despite this, it was sometimes difficult to arrange dates when you both had children to look after. You both tried to work around this issue as best as you could but, realistically, you only managed to have three sleepovers per week, mostly when Cillian didn’t have his boys. This was when he came over to stay at your house and you always hated when he had to leave.

After all, you were madly in love, a feeling which was unfamiliar to you. You wanted to be around him all the time and whenever you weren’t together you missed him.

As expected, you received some backlash from strangers due to your age gap but you tended to ignore the frustrating comments. They didn’t know you and they didn’t know your relationship.

The comments you received from your friends were nothing but supportive and even your grandmother thought that Cillian was good for you, much unlike your previous partners.

You still haven’t told your parents about your relationship, but your sister was aware. She followed Twitter quite eagerly and loved Cillian’s TV Show hence the reason you told her.

Your sister was concerned that your father wouldn’t approve of your relationship due to the large age gap, but that wasn’t a problem you were ready to face yet and little did you know that you were about to have bigger problems than that coming your way.

Bad news was about to hit you like a freight train. It was 10am on Friday morning. You were working from home while Max was at preschool as the doorbell rang.

It was unusual for the postman to drop off letters personally. Usually that meant that you had to sign for your letters, which was never a good sign.

You thought that it must be a vehicle recall, or notice of some sort. But it was worse. It was a letter from your real estate agent advising you that you will be required to vacate the premises within 30 days.

You could not believe it. It was difficult enough for you to find this townhouse as a single mother in an area where the schools were decent enough. You were always on time with your rent and never missed a single payment. You had no idea why you had to move out.

You called the real estate agent immediately and were advised that the owner is returning from America and requires the premises at the end of the lease term. There was nothing you could do.

The real estate agent advised you that there were no suitable rentals in the area within your price range but that they were willing to give you a good reference should you find something else with a different agent.

You were devastated. The last thing you wanted is to take Max out of preschool just after he made some friends. Furthermore, Cillian’s youngest son was attending the same preschool and it was a perfect arrangement for the both of you.

As you went on with the day, you put your non urgent work aside in order to search for rentals online as, all of a sudden, the doorbell rang.

‘Oh Cillian… I totally forgot’ you said as you opened the door.

‘You forgot our date?’ Cillian chuckled as he walked in the door, giving you a quick kiss.

‘I must be the worst girlfriend’ you said with some embarrassment. You never forgot a date with your boyfriend before. After all, it was what you looked forward to the most.

‘Relax, it’s fine Y/N’ Cillian said before noticing that your face was slightly flushed and your eyes were red.

‘Are you alright though? You look like you’ve been crying’ Cillian said as he ran his hands over both of your arms. He knew that something was wrong.

‘Yes, I just had a very stressful and shit morning. I am alright now though’ you said as you walked into the bedroom to get changed, ready to go out for lunch.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Cillian asked from the hallway.

You took the letter which you received from the real estate agent from the sideboard in the hallway and handed it to him.

‘I’ve just been searching for a new rental but they are either too expensive or out of the area. But, I have found one in North Dublin and the schools there have halfway decent reviews so…’ you explained and, before you could finish your sentence, Cillian interrupted you.

‘The schools here are much better Y/N. I don’t think you should change Max mid-term; it will put him behind’ Cillian said.

‘Don’t you think I know this?’ you asked frustrated. You were still quite upset about having to move.

‘I will lose the enrolment as soon as I move out of area. Despite, I cannot drive backwards and forwards with work. I barely make pickup time now with the hours I am at the office’ you added just as tears began to build up in your eyes again.

‘Common, sit down’ Cillian said as he sat down on the bed next to you and wrapping his arms around you.

‘I might have a solution’ he said as he wiped your tears away.

‘Go on then’ you said, still sobbing.

‘You and Max could move in with me. That way, we could spend more time together and Max won’t have to change preschool and can start year one with Charlie’ Cillian suggested.

‘Move in with you? Cillian, don’t you think it’s a bit too early for that? We have only been together for 5 weeks’ you said.

‘Yes, but we’ve known each other for a few months now. Seems like a perfectly reasonable timeframe’ Cillian chuckled, making you laugh. You knew that he was being sarcastic. He always had a good sense of humour.

‘Coming from the man who just a couple of months ago didn’t want to settle down’ you smiled.

‘Well, that was before I got myself such a beautiful girlfriend’ Cillian said before giving you a passionate kiss. He could taste the saltiness from your tears but it didn’t seem to bother him.

‘You are crazy, you know that’ you chuckled after your lips drifted apart.

‘Well, you do that to me’ Cillian said while cupping your face with both of his hands.

‘We would, however, need to work on your cooking skills’ he added jokingly, earning him a nudge.

‘Very funny’ you said with a laugh.

‘Seriously though, what do you think?’ Cillian asked.

‘I think Max would really love this idea and I would love nothing more than sharing a bed with you every night. I am just worried that you will get sick of me after a while’ you said.

‘I don’t think I could ever get sick of you Y/N. Just your cooking’ Cillian chuckled before telling you that he loved you.

‘I love you too Cilly’ you said before kissing him passionately.

‘Is that a yes?’ he asked.

‘It’s a yes, thank you’ you said before pushing him back onto the bed.

‘The lunch reservation is at 1pm Y/N’ Cillian said as you hoovered over him.

‘Forget about lunch’ you responded just as you threw your t-shirt to the floor.

However, just as you were getting down to business, your phone rang, not once, but twice.

It was Max’s preschool and you knew that it was urgent.

You quickly returned the call and were told that you must pick up Max as he had a fall on the playground.

You got dressed quickly and drove to preschool to pick up Max. You were advised to go to hospital to see whether Max’s arm was broken.

Being cautious, you followed the teacher’s advice and took Max for an x-ray at hospital. Luckily, it was just a sprain which should resolve with some rest. Unfortunately, by the time you got to leave the hospital it was 6pm. You were there for hours.

Cillian suggested that you and Max come over to his place for dinner. You gladly accepted the offer and this allowed you both to talk to your kids about moving in together.

As you told them, they were beyond excited and Max was quick to arrange a sleepover for the following night.

You and Cillian agreed but, for a change, arranged a babysitter to look after your three boys allowing you to go for dinner and to the movies with your friends which was something you didn’t do very often.

Movie Night

The next evening, Cillian’s sister came over to watch the kids. This was the first time you met someone from Cillian’s family and she was quite excited to get to know you.

Apparently, Cillian had told her and his parents about you already.

After you chatted with her for half an hour, you both made your way to the restaurant.

Unfortunately for you, your friends had invited Jeremy, unaware of the fact that he continued to message you daily much to Cillian’s frustration.

Regardless of this, both you and Cillian were polite as you sat down across from Jeremy and your friends.

‘What did you guys do with the kids tonight?’ your friend Amy asked.

‘My sister is looking after them at my house’ Cillian responded.

‘What about Max?’ she asked.

‘Max is at Cillian’s house as well’ you said, which is when your friend Amy slipped the news. You had already told her that you would be moving in with Cillian just before he starts filming again.

‘Oh well, better to get used to it. Living with 4 boys soon Y/N eh? That shall be interesting’ she said.

Her comment quickly raised a lot of questions, in particular from Jeremy.

‘You really are becoming a sugar baby Y/N aren’t you?’ he said sarcastically, causing Cillian to laugh. He tried very hard to take Jeremy seriously, but it was difficult.

‘A sugar baby? Is that even a word?’ Cillian asked.

‘You know what I mean’ Jeremy said.

‘No, please enlighten me’ Cillian responded.

‘Alright’ Cillian chuckled.

‘It’s none of my business Cillian, but why is that you actors have to get involved with women who are so much younger than you?’ Jeremy said.

‘You are right, it’s none of your business Jeremy’ you said harshly while Cillian tried hard to bite his tongue.

Your friends quickly changed the conversation after that but you couldn’t keep your hands of your boyfriend that evening simply to annoy Jeremy and Cillian played along.

‘I am sorry he’s been a tool’ you whispered into Cillian’s ear as you walked to the movies with your friends.

‘I find it very difficult to remain polite around him’ Cillian said.

‘I know’ you responded just as the theatre opened.

You took your seats and, to your frustration, Jeremy sat down right next to you, causing Cillian to get annoyed.  

After what Jeremy had said to you and Cillian, you refused to speak to him and largely ignored him until the movie started.

About twenty minutes into the movie, you started to get rather bored. You couldn’t believe that you had to be there for another two hours. Who decided to choose a two- and half-hour movie in French, with subtitles? Of course, you did, without doing any research.

You looked over to Cillian and noticed that he was disinterested in the movie as well and stopped reading the subtitles. It was evident, he was somewhere in dreamland, probably thinking about how he could annoy Jeremy after his most recent insult.

Noticing your boyfriend’s disinterest in the movie, you reached for his hand, running your hand over the top of his gently. You had his attention now and he gave you a warm smile for all you could tell in the dark theatre.

Taking his hand into yours, you guided it on top of your thighs which is where it sat for a while. Not getting the hint, you arched back into your seat and guided his hand further up beneath your loose cotton skirt.

Whilst you couldn’t see much, you noticed Cillian turn his head towards you. Just as he did, you guided his hand further up your thigh while biting your lip. You tried hard for your eyes not to leave the movie screen.

He finally got the hint and squeezed your thigh gently before handing you your cardigan from your bag.

You placed the cardigan across your lap just as Cillian lifted up your skirt slightly beneath it, giving him better access.

You glanced to your right to ensure that Jeremy, who was sitting next to you, didn’t see what Cillian was doing.

Luckily for you, he was intensely focused on the movie although, no doubt, your boyfriend would have preferred if Jeremy knew what you were doing. After all, Jeremy had just insulted him and it wasn’t long before Cillian and you got together, that Jeremy had told him that he would like to get into your panties.

Just as Cillian’s fingers wandered up your upper inner thigh, you released a sigh and parted your legs slightly while making sure that your cardigan provided enough cover.

By the time Cillian’s fingers reached the apex of your thighs and touched your panties, they were already damp.

You were grateful that the theatre was so dark because your skirt was up to the top of your thighs and draped over Cillian’s hand which would otherwise have been clearly noticeable beneath the thin cardigan.

You were panting with desire, just from Cillian stroking and squeezing your thighs and running his hand over your wet panties.

You slid down a bit in your chair and spread your thighs even more. The adrenaline rush had your inhibitions going out the window.

You could hear a slight chuckle from Cillian as he noticed you pushing your body down against his hand.

Just in that moment, you felt his fingers sliding your panties to the side.

Within seconds, he dipped a finger inside your wet entrance, gathering some of your natural lubrication, then moved it upwards toward your clit.

You sucked in a breath through your teeth, hissing quietly. By that time, you both had completely stopped paying attention to the movie.

Cillian started in a slow rhythm, circling your clit a few times, then dipping down shallowly into your entrance, repeating it over and over.

Your fingers were digging into his forearm on one side and onto the armrest on the other.

Your hips were moving of their own accord as you were whimpering quietly as Cillian’s fingers moved in and out of you.

Suddenly, it hit. You groaned quietly, gripping boyfriend’s hand, pushing his finger into you even deeper and grinding your clit against the palm of his hand.

Your walls clenched around his fingers as your orgasm washed over you and you couldn’t help it but let out a shallow moan.

‘Are you alright Y/N?’ Jeremy asked, noticing the sound you made while looking at you with some confusion.

‘Yes, I am fine’ you said bluntly and with a deep breath while Cillian pulled his fingers out of you with a grin on his face.

You handed Jeremy your popcorn before rearranging your skirt and handing Cillian your cardigan. At this point, he needed it more than you as his erection pushed against the zipper of his jeans.

‘Follow me’ you whispered into Cillian’s ear before standing up and excusing yourself, walking past Jeremy.

‘Where are you going?’ Jeremy asked.

‘Bathroom’ you responded. You were still annoyed with him and he wouldn’t get anything from you but stern and short answers.  

Cillian waited another minute or two before following you so that he wouldn’t raise any suspicion.

You waited for him in the front of the cinema with a big smile on your face.

‘You choose the worst movies’ Cillian said with a cheeky smile.

‘I have been enjoying it so far’ you smirked before taking his hand and pulling him towards the parents’ room.

‘Y/N, I don’t think this is a good idea’ Cillian said as you locked the door behind you.

‘Relax, it’s 10pm. No one will need this room until tomorrow. We will be safe. Despite, I know you, this won’t go down any time soon unless we get to it’ you smirked as you placed your hands on Cillian’s crotch before crashing your lips onto his with haste.

Without wasting any time, you unbuttoned his jeans and pushed down his zipper before running your hand inside his briefs and stroking his hard cock.

‘You’ve got ten minutes’ you said after breaking the kiss and before turning around, leaning forward over the wash basin.

Within seconds, Cillian lifted up your skirt and pushed down your panties before lining himself up with your wet entrance.

You smiled at him in the mirror as he gently pushed your legs apart and grasped the perky butt cheeks before him.

Cillian pried them apart and stepped forward. He was flush against you and you couldn’t help it but release a soft moan.

His cock slipped between your legs, and the head glided across your sensitive lips.

‘Fuck I want you so much’ you moaned as you pushed back against him in anticipation.

Without words, Cillian pulled back a little and then pushed up into your tight tunnel.

‘Fuck’ you moaned loudly as your walls stretched to fit his length inside you.

‘You got to be quiet’ Cillian whispered from behind you as he began to thrust in and out of you.

He gave you barely a moment to brace yourself before he gripped your hips and pulled back. His cock slipped out almost the whole way before he thrust his hips forward and dived back into your heat.

Cillian set a hard pace, knowing that you didn’t have much time together before someone would get suspicious.

You could hear his laboured breathing behind you as you held onto the basin tightly.

‘God yes’ you moaned quietly as the tip of his cock hit your cervix over and over again.

Cillian smiled at your reaction and reached down to grab your thighs. He spread your legs even wider. By that time, you were on your toes, with no leverage of your own.

‘Don’t stop’ you whispered as you could feel another orgasm build up in your stomach and, within seconds, your walls constricted around him.

You cried out a little too loudly, and your whole body shook as your orgasm slammed into you.

Cillian kept his brutal thrusts up as you rode out the waves of pleasure. Your legs trembled before him and he smiled as you whimpered with every thrust.

The contractions around his cock and your moans sent Cillian over the edge also and, shortly after you came down from your high, he reached his and filled you with his warm cum.

‘Fuck Y/N’ he moaned quietly as he slowly began to relax, his face resting on the back of your shoulders, kissing them gently.

After he came down completely, he pulled out of you and you could feel the mixture of his cum and yours drip down your thighs.

Cillian handed you a paper towel but you declined the offer and simply pulled up your panties.

‘I like to remember this for the rest of the night’ you grinned before giving him another passionate kiss.

Your comment earned you a chuckle but, deep down inside, Cillian liked the thought of knowing that your panties will be wet from his cum for the remainder of the night.

After making sure that no one was around, you left the room together and made your way back to the theatre together.

‘You’ve been gone for a while. Is everything alright?’ Jeremy asked as you sat back down next to him.

‘Yeah, I had to make a phone call’ you said just as Cillian sat back down next to you.

You both had a cheeky grin on your face as you watched the rest of the movie.

‘The movie was great, wasn’t it?’ your friend Alice asked as you left the theatre and Jeremy agreed simply because he knew that you chose it.

‘What did you think about the twist towards the end Cilly?’ she then asked.

‘Yeah, uhm…yeah it was alright’ Cillian said, not knowing what she was talking about.

‘There was a twist?’ you whispered to Cillian as you walked outside the theatre.

‘I think we missed the majority of the plot babe’ Cillian whispered back before taking your hand into his and following the others to the pub.

Jeremy kept starring at you and Cillian and you could notice the frustration on his face. You enjoyed it, a lot.

Later at the pub, Cillian received the usual attention from some young females. It always made you chuckle but it really annoyed Jeremy.

Despite the fact that Cillian enjoyed Jeremy getting annoyed, it soon became too much for him and, after about three drinks, you both decided to leave.

Getting Down to Business

You called a taxi and drove back to Cillian’s house.

‘It’s unbelievable’ you giggled sheepishly and slightly tipsy from the three gin and tonics you had earlier.

‘What is?’ Cillian asked, closing the door behind you.

‘All the attention you get from all of these young women every time we go out’ you said.

‘What can I say, it’s Tommy Shelby Effect’ Cillian laughed.

‘Hmm I think I get it’ you said and, just after this comment, you kissed him passionately just as his sister walked out of the living room.

‘Alright, I am going’ his sister chuckled.

You both thanked her for looking after the children and made your way to the shower. You both smelled like beer and popcorn.

Just as you got into the large shower together and were talking about the evening, Cillian couldn’t help it but complain about Jeremy.

‘You know, I am yours Cillian!’ you said as you ran your hands over his chest.

‘You are mine, are you?’ he chuckled in response to your comment which reminded him on his script for Season 5 of Peaky Blinders.

‘Yes…’ you whispered into his ear just before biting his earlobe gently while the hot water ran down in between you.

Cillian’s hands soon moved from your back down to your naked butt cheeks while his lips kissed the bare skin on your neck.

‘I love you Y/N’ he said in between kisses.

‘I love you too Cillian and I want you to fuck me as if you own me’ you whispered. ‘Take me the way you want to’ you added seductively.

‘You’ve been watching too much of this TV show’ Cillian said with a chuckle, referring to a new TV documentary series that you were watching on Netflix about BDSM.

‘It’s intriguing though, isn’t it?’ you asked running your hands over Cillian’s chest and down in between his legs. He grew hard almost instantly as you touched him.

Your face was inches away from his and you could see pure hunger and lust aflame in his eyes as you were stroking him gently. His warm breath fanned over your face like an aphrodisiac and the want in his eyes was intoxicating.

He remembered the last episode of the documentary quite well and grabbed your hair at the back of your head gently, causing the hot water to run down your breasts.

You bit your lip with excitement, fire building up in your eyes.

‘You really want to try this don’t you?’ Cillian asked, causing you to nod.

‘Alright’ he sighed with a smile and, with his free arm, he pushed you onto your knees almost instantly.

That’s it, exactly what you wanted.

He pulled on your hair, making you look up at him while you were biting your lips.

You suddenly felt a wretch in your stomach. Cillian wasn’t normally that forceful with you and you knew that, for him, it was a roleplay more than anything. Being with an actor clearly had its perks.

‘Is this what you want?’ he asked, causing you to nod again.

With his hand still firmly in your hair, he guided your mouth towards his hard cock.

You open your mouth willingly and, within one thrust, the head of his hard cock hits the back of your throat, making you gag.

You didn’t even try to pull away and he slowly and deeply began to thrust in and out of your mouth, giving your barely enough time to breath.

You gave into his rhythm as the warm water was running over your back.

‘God, your mouth feels amazing’ Cillian moaned, knowing that you enjoy it when he is talking to you while were intimate. You loved the sound of his voice.

Just as you got used to the sensation of being forced up and down his cock, he began to tweak one of your erect nipples with his free hand, causing you to moan around him.

‘Good girl, keep going’ Cillian said with a slight smirk as he toys with your nipple, pulling and rolling it between his fingers.

The pit of your stomach was set aflame and your thighs were slick with your juices.

With his cock in your mouth and your nipples being aroused, you are under sensory overload.

As he continued to thrust in and out of your mouth, you closed your eyes trying to concentrate on the raw pleasure that was radiating from your body in waves.

‘Look at me’ he demanded, causing you to open your eyes again and dig your hands into his thighs as he kept going.

‘That’s it’ he moaned, thrusting into your mouth a few more times before pulling you away from his throbbing cock and your mouth comes off with a satisfying pop.

Some small tears were running down your cheeks, your mouth sore from opening so widely and your hair was still in his hands. He roughly wiped away the saliva around your mouth and wrapped his hand around your throat gently.

You looked up into his blue eyes and wanted nothing more than for him to take you, fuck you hard.

‘Common, let’s take this to the bedroom’ he said as he began to notice the water getting cold.

‘Yes sir’ you winked, earning him a chuckle.

‘You defiantly are serious, aren’t you?’ Cillian said as you dried each other off. He was slightly out of his comfort zone but decided to play along as he could see the desire in your eyes. You were by far the most adventurous and kinky woman he’s ever been with.

Moments later, you made your way to Cillian’s bedroom.

‘I don’t think so’ Cillian said firmly as you reached the edge of the bed.

With his hand on your throat gently again and the other on your waist, he guided you towards the large reading desk in the bedroom.

‘Turn around’ he instructed and, as soon as you complied, he pushed you down onto the table.

Just as you your face leaned against the cold wood, he took both of your arms and secured both your hands behind your back.

Electricity shot down your spine as you tried to struggle out of his grasp teasingly.

You were completely under his control just as you wanted.

He put your two wrists wrapped around one hand and with the other, slowly traced a finger up your inner thigh.

You bit your bottom lip to keep yourself from moaning too loudly.

Cillian took his time, exploring every inch of your thighs and ass.

‘So sexy’ Cillian said as his fingers brushed against your wet folds, causing you to whimper.

He continued to run his fingers up and down your pussy, teasing to put his fingers in.

You whined and struggled against his grasp, your wetness started trailing down your thighs.

‘Oh god yes’ you moaned as Cillian slowly eased his fingers inside, scissoring his fingers as he went.

‘Shh’ Cillian said, knowing that you had to remain quiet with the boys in the next room.

Your mind went blank as pleasure shot through your nerves, spreading like wildfire.

Cillian’s fingers swirled around inside of you languidly, leaving no space unexplored and, moments later, he brushed against your g-spot causing you to jerk.

‘Stay still’ he said as he pressed his body down, immobilizing yours.

He knew very well that you liked to squirm when he reached your sweet spot as the intensity was too overpowering.

This time, you wouldn’t get away, no matter how hard you try.

‘Oh god Cillian, please’ you yelped, the feeling of his fingers on your g-spot being too much for you to handle.

But Cillian wouldn’t let you squirm away and you soon learned that you had to just give in, surrender to him.

But, just as you relaxed and could feel your orgasm approach, he pulled his fingers out of you.

‘Did I say you could come?’ he teased as he placed his fingers into your mouth, making you taste your wet juices.

‘No sorry’ you said, hoping that he would put his fingers back inside of you.

‘Sorry what?’ Cillian asked sheepishly.

‘Sorry Sir’ you grinned just before you ran your tongue along the length of his fingers.

‘Good girl’ he whispered just as he trailed his fingers back down towards your wet entrance.

Within seconds, they entered you again and continued where they left off.

You tried hard not to come right away and, after several more minutes, you couldn’t control it any longer.

‘Cillian please, can I come?’ you moaned, your walls already beginning to contract around his fingers.

‘No Y/N, you cannot’ he said, withdrawing his fingers once again, pulling your head back on your hair and kissing you passionately.

Just as he pushed you back down, you could feel him line himself up with your entrance.

Your hands were still pinned behind your back as he pressed the tip of his cock into you slowly. Your walls clench instinctively.

‘Don’t you dare come until I’ve given you permission’ he murmured into your ear as he pushes into you torturously slow.

‘I promise I won’t come without permission’ you said as you could feel Cillian’s body against yours and his hands gripping over your hands pinned behind your back and your hair.

‘Good girl’ he whispered as he continued to push inside you slowly until he was completely inside.

You tried to wriggle so you could adjust to his size, but Cillian held you in place. He slowly moved out until only the tip remained inside and thrusts back in deeply.

You moaned loudly into the table as he continued his rhythm, fucking you slowly but deeply. Your mind blanks, pleasure rocking through your body.

You could feel him tighten his grip over your hands as he slowly pulls out and slams into you, eliciting a yelp.

‘Yes, oh god, yes’ you moaned loudly as he began to pick up the pace, knocking you almost breathless.

Your moans caused Cillian to place one of his hands over your mouth gently. You were way too loud.

You felt like a wound-up toy, yearning to be released from the tension. With every thrust, you come closer to your orgasm. He's hitting you fast and deeply, but not enough to send your over the edge. You whine and whimper, weakly struggling against his body. You are so close, teetering on a cliff.

‘Please’ you moaned into his, desperate for your release.

‘Please what?’ Cillian asked as he thrusts in and out of you and removing his hand for just one moment to allow you to speak.

‘Please let me come’ you responded.

‘You will need to do better than that’ Cillian said as he thrusts into you even deeper.

‘I do anything, please’ you moaned, your walls beginning to clench around him.

‘Anything? Hmm, alright, that seems like a fair deal’ Cillian said picking up the speed.

With those words, you let go. Pleasure rocked through your body like a wave.

You tried to fight the feeling of falling and flying at the same time as your orgasm washed over you.

Cillian moaned at the same time as he felt your tight walls close around his cock and, with three more thrusts, he came inside of you.

You could feel his cock throb inside of you as your legs shake from the powerful orgasm.

Just as you both came down from your high, he slowly pulled out of you, causing some of his cum to leak out.

He released your hands and helped you up from the desk.

You turned around to face him and, with one of your hands, you reached in between your legs collecting some of his cum before licking it from your fingers suggestively.

‘I enjoyed this’ you smirked, causing Cillian to stare at you in disbelieve.

‘You are naughty, aren’t you?’ he chuckled just before giving you a kiss.

‘Yes I am’ you smirked before you both made your way to the bed.

By that time you were exhausted.

You curled up in each other’s arms and shared some gentle moments together.

‘I am looking forward to sleeping in this bed with you every night’ you said.

‘So do I’ Cillian responded, before turning off the light.

Morning After

The next morning, you got woken up by the smell of pancakes and three missed calls.

Your father had tried to call you to congratulate Max on his recent soccer medal.

You returned the call and handed the phone to Max while you joined Cillian in the kitchen for a coffee. Just as you were drinking your coffee, you listened to Max speak to his grandfather on speaker.

‘So how have you been Max?’ grandpa asked.

‘Good poppy, we are having pancakes’ Max said.

‘Mum made pancakes? Do they taste any good?’ grandpa laughed.

‘No Cillian made pancakes. Mum and I are moving to his house soon and then we can have pancakes every weekend’ Max said.

‘Cillian? Who is Cillian?’ grandpa asked.

‘Mum’s boyfriend’ Max responded, causing you to choke on your coffee.

‘Can you please put your mother on the phone’ he said.

To be continued…..

  ‘

[little-mad]

Downsides of Thievery Pt. 13 (Final)

~ Previous Part ~

Gavin couldn’t stop himself from turning over his shoulder to look at Rael, who apparently had information about his theft from the alteon diplomat. Immediately, Gavin was suspicious. What information could Rael possibly have about something he hadn’t witnessed? Anything he knew that the Emperor wouldn’t already, would have to have come from Gavin himself… “Oh shit, he’s not really talking about that is he?”

What did Rael hope to gain in telling the Emperor that Gavin had been commissioned to steal from the diplomat? Was he just doing his duty as a soldier by divulging everything he knew? Or was there something more to it? When Gavin had first told Rael that he had been hired to steal the ring, he’d seemed surprised, but hadn’t expressed any desire to confess the truth. Then again, Gavin had already proven unable to read Rael.

“Very well, go ahead,” the Emperor prompted, hands folded on the table as he looked at Rael with interest.

Gavin stared back at his former captor, unable to take his eyes off the giant man. “While Gavin Stone chose not to disclose this to the public, in our time together he did reveal to me that he was in fact hired by a third party to burgle Lady Elyth,” Rael explained smoothly. “So while Gavin Stone did perform the actual deed, the idea was not his own.” His voice had the same formal, all business tone it’d had when Gavin first met him, and yet this time there was a vague hint of...was it desperation? No, it couldn’t be. Gavin had to be just imagining things at this point.

The Emperor gave an interested hum. “Intriguing,” he remarked before turning to look at Gavin. “Is this true?” he inquired.

While Gavin hadn’t been planning on explaining the full circumstances of the robbery to the Emperor, he wasn’t about to deny it now that Rael had done so. Lying at this point would only make him look more suspicious than he already did. “Yes, sir,” Gavin replied, hoping the honorific wasn’t an improper term to use with the Emperor.

The giant sovereign gave a nod of understanding. He took a long, thoughtful pause as he considered the new information before focusing back on Gavin. “Is there a reason you didn’t report this?” he asked, a serious look in those yellow eyes of his.

God, it was intimidating enough being stared at by a giant, but being stared at by a giant who ruled over an entire dimension of giants was just something else entirely. And Gavin had thought meeting Orlando Bloom at a music festival when he was seventeen had been daunting. Gavin swallowed. “Keep it together,” he ordered himself. If he wanted the Emperor to treat him like a person, it was possible he would need to earn his respect first.

“Sir, whether I was hired or not doesn’t change the fact that I committed the crime,” Gavin started. “And since I don’t know the real name of the man who hired me, I didn’t see a point in reporting it to authorities.” There was also the fact that Gavin had never really been one to snitch, especially on his fellow criminals, but he wasn’t about to say that part in a room with a soldier and a political leader.

“I see,” the Emperor responded pensively. “Well, I consider taking responsibility for your own actions to be quite noble,” he told Gavin with complete sincerity in his voice. “Truthfully, I never took Ashryn’s suggestion very seriously,” he admitted. “I’ve worked quite hard to develop a peaceful and friendly relationship with humankind, and I am not about to undo that by mistreating my first human convict.”

Gavin’s eyes widened. Did he hear that right? Did the Emperor really just, one after the other, call him noble and say that he wouldn’t lock him up in a display cage? It was hard for Gavin not to let a wave of relief crash over him. The news was great, but he still didn’t know what fate did await him. Not being treated like an animal really was the bare minimum after all.

“Um...so what are you planning to do with me?” Gavin found himself asking. He was sick and tired of the uncertainty, of not knowing what was in store for him. Whatever his sentence might be, he just wanted to know what it was already so he could start figuring out how to cope with it.

The Emperor’s eyebrows lifted slightly. He seemed somewhat taken aback by Gavin’s abrupt question. It was possible the man wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to that way. Gavin hoped he hadn’t done something taboo. He wasn’t intending to be disrespectful, he just really didn’t know how to interact with literal royalty.

Apparently, the Emperor wasn’t too upset, because a small smile had taken form on his face. “Well,” he began, glancing back at Rael. “I find myself quite fascinated by your willingness to speak up in front of me in order to defend this human.”

“Is that what he did?” Gavin asked himself. Had Rael really been standing up for him? Was it really more than him just doing his job?

“You were aware that many important figures have negative opinions of Gavin Stone, and yet you risked your reputation by speaking up for him,” the Emperor went on.

Suddenly everything was beginning to make a lot more sense. The whole scene out in the hallway...it had been all about Rael protecting his reputation. He couldn’t choose a human over an alteon, lest he risk being looked down upon by his peers. Of course, none of that made what he’d done okay, but at least Gavin understood why now. “Does this mean he had some kind of change of heart...is that why he told the Emperor about me being hired…?” he pondered to himself.

The Emperor’s gaze suddenly returned to Gavin. “I believe I have decided what your sentence will be,” he announced firmly, a satisfied smile on his face that Gavin wasn’t sure how to take. “Since the two of you have clearly established the foundations of a relationship, I have decided that, in order to atone for your crime, you will serve under Rael as an assistant for a minimum of one year.”

Gavin’s mouth fell open, but before he could even form a coherent thought, he heard Rael’s stunned voice exclaim from behind him, “What?!”

-

The word had slipped from Rael’s mouth before he could stop it. He had just been so shocked by the Emperor’s announcement that all thoughts of propriety and manners suddenly flew out the window. “Sorry, your majesty,” he quickly recovered. “I just--I wasn’t expecting that.”

Take a human on as an assistant?! It was completely unheard of--of course it was unheard of, humans were tiny people who lived in another realm, why would one ever serve as an assistant to a common alteon soldier? Rael didn’t even know what to think. The Emperor clearly trusted him enough to put Gavin in his ward, but what the hell was Rael supposed to do with a diminutive person tagging along with him while he worked? Plus there was the matter of he and Gavin’s last encounter. Something told Rael the human didn’t much want to hang around with the person who had threatened him not once, but twice within a few hours.

“I’m aware that it’s unorthodox, but to be frank, this entire situation is unorthodox,” the Emperor stated. “This way, Gavin Stone will be able to serve his punishment while learning about and experiencing our realm.” It seemed the relationship between alteons and humans was even more important to the Emperor than Rael had realized--he was completely breaking away from the norm for the sake of diplomacy.

“Are you sure it won’t be too dangerous?” Rael had to ask. On a regular basis, his job wasn’t typically overly treacherous, but even the mildest thing to him could be potentially life threatening to someone as small as Gavin.

The Emperor offered a gentle smile. “I’m certain Gavin Stone will be quite safe in your hands, Rael.” It was easy for him to say that, he didn’t know what Rael had done just ten minutes prior--if he did, he would probably never let Gavin within a hundred feet of the temper-prone excuse for an Imperial Guard soldier.

“Uh--excuse me, sir,” Gavin piped up nervously. He was facing towards the Emperor, so Rael couldn’t see his facial expression. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see it. “What exactly can someone like me do as an assistant?” the human inquired, voicing the question that Rael had been pondering.

“You will do whatever Rael requests of you,” the Emperor told him simply, then turning to Rael said, “You may utilize him as your assistant how you see fit, so long as he isn’t put in significant danger of course.” Rael couldn’t believe how much faith the Emperor seemingly had in him. Where did it come from? This was by far the longest interaction he’d ever had with the ruler of Iaela, so why did he seem to trust a random soldier so much? “I’ll have some furniture and attire made up to suit a human. You are also free to request any accommodations you think you may need,” the Emperor added, already scrawling down notes on a sheet of parchment.

Rael opened his mouth, but he had nothing to say. He just couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He’d gone from disliking humans to being made the guardian of one in a matter of hours. He still wasn’t sure about his opinion on humanity as a whole, but he couldn’t deny the fact that one particular human had penetrated the tough exterior he had built around himself.

Like it or not, Rael cared about Gavin. He never would have spoken up to the Emperor if he hadn’t. As strange and inexplicable as it may be, he needed to accept the reality of the situation. Gavin would be his ward for at least a year. They would be spending a lot of time with each other. Rael couldn’t keep pretending to be indifferent to the tiny man.

~

After being dismissed from the meeting with the Emperor, Gavin had been carried off by Rael, taken to what he could only assume was Rael’s quarters. The entire trip there had been silent, because what the hell was Gavin supposed to say? He was so mentally and emotionally confused at this point that he couldn’t even begin to make sense of anything.

Rael’s room was small and simple; it contained only a bed, side table, and little chest of drawers. On the way in, Gavin had noticed the hallway had been filled with doors, which led him to believe this area was entirely made up of the rooms of soldiers. At least Rael had his own space, the last thing Gavin needed at the moment was to be faced with more alteons.

“Gavin,” Rael spoke up, finally breaking the silence that had stretched out between the two of them. “I know you’re probably not pleased with this arrangement.” Gavin stared up at Rael from where he stood on the bedside table. The giant was sitting on his bed, but of course, he was still looming high over the human. “I...I understand why you would feel that way,” Rael’s voice was uncharacteristically hesitant, Gavin could hardly believe this was the same person who had yelled at him earlier.

A long sigh blew out from between Gavin’s lips. “I sure hope you’re leading up to an apology here,” he snipped, folding his arms firmly over his chest. He wasn’t going to put up with some indirect expression of regret, nah--that wasn’t going to fly. If Rael wanted his forgiveness, he would have to make an apology as clear and plain as day.

There was no derision or amusement on Rael’s face, just a solemn frown. “Ashryn wanted me to prove myself by...reigning you in,” the alteon explained in a stormy tone. “I was too afraid of harming my reputation to not take the bait.” Clearly Gavin’s assumptions had been right. “But I was wrong...and weak for not standing up to Ashryn. For that, I am sorry.” It was hard to believe Gavin was hearing those words being directed at him from Rael. A few hours ago it would have seemed impossible.

As good as it was to hear the apology, Gavin still felt like there was something Rael wasn’t entirely grasping. “Listen, I know I look pretty tough, but you’ve gotta realize how--how freaky it is when you use your size against me.” Admitting he was afraid wasn’t really something Gavin loved to do, especially considering he was trying to convince alteons that humans weren’t weak little babies, but Rael needed to know the effect his actions had.

The size disparity between the room’s occupants suddenly became even more strikingly apparent. Gavin was standing and Rael was sitting, and yet Rael still absolutely towered over the human. No matter how equal the two may be intellectually, Rael would always have a huge automatic advantage over Gavin--and that was something they would both have to come to adapt to if they were going to be living and working with each other for the foreseeable future.

“Are you afraid of me?” The sudden question stunned Gavin. He wasn’t sure why, because it had always been something in the back of his mind. Maybe it was just shocking hearing Rael ask it so bluntly.

Gavin paused. How was he supposed to answer this? He had definitely had fear inflicted on him by Rael on multiple occasions, but was he really and truly afraid of the guy? Gavin gave a weak shrug. “I don’t really know...I guess sometimes…” Rael gave a tight nod, as if he had been expecting that response. “But other times you’re just a big, awkward dork,” Gavin quickly added.

A very slight smile pulled at the corner of Rael’s lips. “Alright, I’ll promise not to use my size against you anymore, if you can promise not to call me a ‘dork’ again,” he said the words so seriously, and yet the growing grin on the alteon’s face gave him away.

Gavin chuckled. “Fine, but you gotta promise not to give me any weird assistant jobs, like polishing your scabbard or some shit.” He really didn’t know how much someone of his size could really be of use to a giant, but he supposed this arrangement was better than being thrown into a cage.

Rael raised a single dark eyebrow. “Oh, but you’re probably the only one that could actually reach the inside.”

A grumpy frown took shape on Gavin’s face. “Okay, next rule: no size jokes at my expense!”

A warm, genuine laugh escaped from Rael. In a flash the giant man was reaching forward, and before Gavin could dodge backwards, a massive index finger was ruffling his hair, making the already messy locks even more of a disaster. “No promises.”

Gavin let out a long sigh. Somehow he had gone from being a professional thief to the assistant to a gigantic, elf-eared man from another dimension. “At least it’s more exciting than being a damn doctor.”

I was originally gonna make this two parts but I decided to just make it one big chunky final chapter! This story was kind of like the introductory prologue to Gavin and Rael so there's definitely room for more about them in the future if people are interested. I had a ton of fun writing this and totally appreciate all the nice comments and such that I got!

I've got a busy few weeks ahead of me but feel free to send in prompts/commissions for my ocs. I just may take a little while to actually get to them.

[elisela]

do you know how to do take-aways? (read on ao3) derek x stiles, g, 2.2k, au, meet cute, fluff, kid fic

prompt: call me for @tylerhunklin

--

"Hey Scott," Stiles says, jamming the phone receiver between his shoulder and ear so he can go back to typing with both his hands. "Desk duty is killing me, man, do you know how much of a backlog on paperwork there is in this place? Fucking ridiculous—"

"Stiles," Scott cuts in, “I have a call I need you to take."

Stiles sits up straighter and frowns. "We've got people out on patrol—"

Scott's laughter is warm and familiar in his ear. "No, it's not a patrol thing. I'm gonna transfer it over to you, okay? And I’m still coming to bring you dinner tonight."

"Roger," Stiles says, lazily snapping a salute despite Scott not being able to see him. There's a pause and a click, and he slips back into his professional mode—the one his dad definitely wishes he would use more often. "Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department, this is Deputy Stilinski, how can I help you?"

"Hi," a small voice says. "Do you know how to do take-aways?"

He frowns, glancing over at the display on the phone screen. He'd think it was a joke except he doubts Scott would patch that through, and there's a childish tone to the voice that's difficult to fake. "Like subtraction?" he asks.

"Yeah," the voice says. "We learned it today but I don't remember and I gotta do my homework."

He presses his lips together so he doesn't laugh and slouches, relaxing a little in his seat. "Sure do," he says. "What's your name?"

"Talia Marie Hale," she says promptly, and Stiles scribbles it down on a piece of paper. "How do I do five take away five?"

"Can you put up five fingers?" he asks, and she makes a noise of assent. "Okay, now put five of them down." He hears her counting in the background and he copies the number the shows on his display underneath her name, then clicks over to run it through the system. When she stops, he says, "okay, how many fingers do you still have up?"

"I don't have any," she says. "How do you write that?"

"Zero," he says. "Do you know how to make that? It's like a big o." He waits another moment before asking, "is anyone in the house with you, Talia?"

"Yeah, my auntie," she says. "But I can't ask her questions while she's writing unless it's an emergency."

He can't catch himself before he laughs. "What made you decide to call 9-1-1?"

"My teacher said if you ever need help you can call," Talia says. "And I really need help. What's seven take away three?"

--

The second call comes in three days later. He's peeling apart his turkey sandwich and layering Doritos on it, providing much-needed crunch, when his phone rings through from dispatch. "Sup, Scott," he says, because Scott's the only one who ever bothers to call him directly.

"Sorry, Stiles, just me," Kira says. "I have someone on the line for you. Given that she asked for you by name, maybe you could remind her that this line is for emergencies and talk to her guardian?"

He presses the top slice of bread back onto his sandwich and leans back in his chair. "Got it," he says, and waits for the click. "That you, Miss Hale?"

"Hi, Mr. Deputy Stilinski,"  she says, tiny voice chipper in his ear. "I'm really confused about this take away."

"Hit me," he says, and she giggles.

"Ten take away six," she says. "I put up all my fingers but I got confused."

He hums and glances around his desk. "Are you with your auntie again today?" he asks, and when she confirms he adds, "do you have any toys at her house?"

"I'm at my house," she says. "Auntie watches me while Daddy's away for work, but she's busy writing her thesis so I can't go in the office."

"What's your dad's name?" he asks.

"Derek Samuel Hale," she says. "And my auntie's name is Cora Elizabeth Hale, and my other auntie is Laura Margaret Hale, and my dog's name is Ruffio Hale. Like from Hook. Auntie Cora named him because she said Daddy was scared of Hook when he was my age and she likes to make fun of him. Daddy tried to rename him but he only wants to answer to Ruffio now."

He writes it all down with a grin—even the unasked for information—and flicks at his mouse to wake his computer. "Your aunt sounds pretty cool," he says. "Okay, go get ten small toys and we'll get your math done. Blocks, if you have them."

He runs Cora's name through the system as he waits, just to make sure Talia isn't being left with someone irresponsible, and finds nothing of consequence. He keeps the list, though; he'll tell Talia not to call 9-1-1 anymore unless it's an emergency, and if she does, he'll get in touch with her dad then.

--

"Little red h-hen makes s-sop," Talia reads, and pauses. "That doesn't sound right. What's ou?"

"Spell the whole thing for me," he says, and corrects, "soup," when she does, spearing a piece of microwaved chicken and popping it in his mouth. He's quiet while she reads, only interjecting when she needs help, trying to eat silently in the background. She mostly spells the comprehension questions for him and he reads them to her, and when she finally thanks him and hangs up, he looks up to see his dad standing over his shoulder.

"Hey, Pops, I finished the file on—"

"When did your desk turn in to the homework helpline?" Noah asks, frowning, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

"She only calls on my break, it's fine," he says, waving a hand to brush away the question before picking up the file. "Anyway—"

"Are her parents aware?"

"I left her aunt a voicemail on Monday," he says, and when his dad just looks at him, he sighs. "Fine, I left her a message last Monday and I haven't heard back, but she's not alone in the house, nothing bad is going on, she's just—lonely, I think." It's something he understands; after his mom passed away, he'd started calling Edith, who worked the front desk of the station when he was a kid, every night his dad wasn't home.

"Call again,"  Noah says, "and next time, make whoever is home with her aware of it. Once or twice is fine; every day for weeks is a problem."

--

"Here," he says, and Talia gives him the first letter promptly before pausing and spelling out the rest. "Good job. Um, said."

He might be extending their time on the phone, just a little. He likes talking to her; she reminds him of himself, her elementary drama always makes him laugh, and she likes asking him questions about being a deputy. So he’s not really looking forward to asking to speak to her aunt and put a stop to all this.

When she seems like she’s winding down, he sighs. “I know you’re not supposed to interrupt Auntie Cora,” he says, “but I was hoping to talk to her. Can you tell her Deputy Stiles is on the phone?”

“Oh, Auntie’s not here,” Talia says, and Stiles feels the beginning of a heart attack coming on before she adds, “Daddy’s home now. I’ll go get him.” He hears a thunk and then little feet running, her calling out for her Dad before there’s a muffled thump.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hi,” he says, “this is Deputy Stilinski from BHSD—is this Mr. Hale?”

“This is,” he says, and if it’s possible to fall in love with a voice, Stiles does so right then. Soft and gentle, just a bit of concern, and he has to stop himself from running Derek’s name through the system to get a photo. His dad is already irritated with him for encouraging Talia’s calls (and, you know, for the whole stopping a bank robbery in progress thing that led to the injury that landed him on desk duty), he doesn’t need to add misuse of resources to the list. “Is everything okay?”

He takes a breath and explains, starts from the beginning and includes how he gave Talia his desk number so she would stop calling 9-1-1, makes sure to add that he’d tried to get ahold of Cora—and leaves out the fact he hadn’t called Mr. Hale directly even though he could have easily done so—and when he’s finished talking, he adds, “I didn’t mind, honestly, she just told me today that you were back in town and I wanted to let you know.”

There’s a pause where he holds his breath and hopes that Mr. Hale doesn’t think he’s a creep, or doesn’t demand to speak to the Sheriff—but he just lets out a breath and says “I am so sorry, I’ll absolutely talk to her, it won’t happen again.”

“I really didn’t mind,” he says again, because he also doesn’t want to get Talia into trouble. “She must get home from school at the same time my break starts because she always called at the same time, I wasn’t busy. Just making you aware.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Hale says. “Deputy—” and isn’t Stiles going to have dreams where his name is said like that, low and grateful and—

“Sorry?” he asks, flushing when he realizes he’s lost track of the conversation. “I didn’t catch that.”

“I appreciate what you did,” Mr. Hale says. “I’ll talk to her.”

--

Talia doesn’t call the next day.

She shows up instead.

“Mr. Deputy Stiles!” he hears from the front, and his head snaps up to see a little girl with long dark hair looking around the room, envelope clutched in one hand, the holding onto the hottest man Stiles has ever seen and holy shit, he suddenly believes that karma is very real and he has clearly done something good in his life to earn this kind of reward.

He starts to stand, and her eyes catch his and light up as she tugs her dad towards him. “Miss Hale?”

“Hi!” she says, flinging her arms around his waist. He hugs her back and looks over at her dad, who gives him a sheepish look and shrugs. “I got a hundred percent on my sight words test and Daddy said we could go to ice cream to celebrate and then when we were at ice cream he said we should do something nice for you because you helped me so so so much and I really wanted to come here anyway because I want to see a real jail and Daddy said if I was really really nice and asked politely then maybe you could show me some handcuffs—”

If this is what he’s like, he’s starting to understand why it was difficult for him to make friends in school, because she just does not stop, and doesn’t leave an opportunity for him to get a word in. He crouches down so he’s eye-level with her and waits it out, accepting the envelope when she finally runs out of words and beams at him. “Thank you,” he says, and when he opens it up to find a drawing and a handful of gift cards, he looks up to Mr. Hale. “You really didn’t have to, Mr. Hale,” he says, wrapping one arm around Talia’s shoulders when she darts in to hug him again.

“Derek,” he says, and when he smiles, Stiles is pretty sure he’s found God. “We don’t want to take up your time, I just wanted to thank you.”

“But—” Talia starts, and falls quiet when Derek looks at her again. “I can’t even see the people in the jail?”

“It’s not really a jail,” Stiles says, shrugging, “just a holding cell. And there’s no one in it right now.”

“Boo,” Talia says. “Can I meet your Sheriff?”

“Lia,” Derek warns, and she sighs explosively. “Sorry about—all this. I talked to Cora and she knows to give Talia a little more attention during homework time, so she won’t—she shouldn’t—be calling you again. Talia, we need to get home. Say thank you and goodbye.”

“Bye, Mr. Deputy Stiles,” she says, and he knows—he knows—that her sticking out her bottom lip and pouting is nothing more than a manipulation tactic, but it hits him all the same. “Thank you.”

--

“Deputy Stilinski,” he says before he fully has the receiver to his ear, wadding up a piece of scrap paper and tossing it at Jordan’s head to get his attention. He motions to the pizza box laying on his desk—dinner for the station courtesy of Derek, who clearly didn’t know the going rate for tutors given the sheer amount he’d dropped on gift cards—and makes a grabbing motion. They’ll be having station dinners for weeks—so long as they cater to his busted foot and bring him what he wants. Otherwise, he’s spending it all on himself.

“Hi,” someone says, and “sorry, this is Derek Hale, Talia’s dad?”

“Hey,” he says, sitting up straighter. “How can I help you?”

“I—” there’s a pause and a muffled sound, a conversation happening just outside of what Stiles can hear. “Sorry, I—I wanted to ask if you would be interested in getting coffee on Saturday. With me,” he adds, and Stiles can hear it when he cups his hand over the microphone and says, “Talia, stop.”

It’s like a record scratch in his brain. “Coffee?” he repeats. He’d thanked karma for smiling down on him, but he’d figured the encounter with Derek was one and done. “You want—with me?”

“Yes,” Derek says, “although my daughter is also extremely interested and I believe is willing to fight me for you.”

Laughter bursts out of his mouth before he can stop it. “You know, I think Talia did call dibs first,” he says, grinning. “What if we all got coffee and then you and I went for lunch?”

“I can work with that,” Derek says. “It’s a date.”

[staticscreenwriting]

LOVE LIKE THE MOVIES // BUCKY BARNES // 7

SEVEN - SERENDIPITY

Trigger warning: Alcohol, food

Masterlist

Summary: This is a story of boy meets girl. The boy, Bucky Barnes, finds himself thrown into a world that seems so different from everything he’s ever known. The girl, (Y/N) knows entirely too much about rom-coms and is quite particular about the way she eats her popcorn. Bucky meets (Y/N) a few months after returning to NYC. He knows almost immediately that becoming her friend is inevitable. This is a story of boy meets girl. This is a story about love. (Bucky Barnes x female!Reader // a few spoilers for TFATWS)

“Okay, that’s ridiculous!” Bucky mumbles around a spoonful of fruit loops.

“What is?”

“This,” he responds and points his now empty spoon accusingly at John Cusack. “This whole fate thing. The book, sure, might happen. But the dollar bill? Never!”

(Y/N) puts her empty bowl on the couch table, turning her body towards Bucky and sitting in a criss-cross style. “You telling me you don’t believe in fate and soulmates and that some people are destined to be together.”

“No,” Bucky retorts in a tone that implies it was a silly question to even ask him. “I am 106 years old. If those things were true you'd think I would've found my destined partner by now."

"Maybe you have" (Y/N) shrugs. "Maybe it's Leah. Have you called her anyway?"

Bucky looks down sheepishly into the colorful milk swirling through his bowl. "No."

“ What? Why not? “

“Because it hasn’t — oh I don't know. It just hasn’t felt right.”

He’d been debating on giving her a call many times, never actually going through with it. At first, it was for a fear of failure, rejection. Now though, Leah doesn’t cross his mind as much as before. His thoughts, he noticed recently, are occupied by another person. And it wouldn't be fair to Leah or himself to try and build something on shaky ground at best.

“ Dude, I’m educating you on romance and you are too afraid to call this girl? “

“ Educating me? You are forcing me to watch rom coms. “

“ Forcing you? “ (Y/N) gasps and dramatically slaps her hand to her chest right above where her heart is. “ Are you saying you’re not having fun? “

There’s a smirk on her face, tiny and barely there but he notices it anyway. He’s started noticing the small things. Like how her nose scrunches up when she smiles and how she twiddles with her fingers when she’s nervous.

“ If I didn’t have fun I wouldn’t be here. “ Bucky replies and bumps his leg against her knee. Truth be told, he’d be here anyway. Even if she’d make him watch the most boring movie in the entire world he’d stay right there with her. Sometimes the world doesn't seem so rough and ruthless when she’s there beside him. Sometimes he feels like he could genuinely be happy.

“ Good, “ (Y/N) responds and places a quick kiss on his cheek that very nearly gives him a heart attack. Soft touches are something she grants him every so often and while he is getting used to it, it’s still foreign. It’s something he enjoys quite a lot though.

“Anyway, soulmates finding their way back to each other despite all odds is such a rom-com stable. Like the kiss in the rain or the airport chase or the top-of-the-stairs-moment.”

“ The what ? “

(Y/N) scoffs at him as if she’s never been asked a more ridiculous question in her life.

“ The moment when the girl gets a makeover or she dresses up in some ballgown and her love interest waits at the bottom of the stairs for her and when he sees her he’s so enamored and enchanted by her and ideally there’s some cheesy 90s love song playing in the background. And she meets him at the bottom, walking in slow motion obviously, and they don’t kiss or anything but the looks they share are enough to let the audience know what they feel for one another.”

Her words are heavy with passion and longing and magic and for a second Bucky wishes, he could be the one to give her that moment.

“ But okay, grumpy. You go on not believing in soulmates. I’ll change your mind one day, trust me.”

He doesn’t doubt it for a second.

They sink back into their blissful calm as John Cusak and Kate Beckinsale reconnect on the ice rink in front of Rockefeller Center as an ocean of Christmas lights twinkles in the background.

“ I’ve never been ice skating there. Been living here for so many years now and that’s still something I’ve never done. “ (Y/N) pipes up, a longing swinging alone with her words. “ Have you? “

“ Mmmh. Used to take a lot of girls on dates there. “

“ Oh sorry, I forgot you were a big charmer back in the day. “

“ Saw the first-ever Christmas tree getting set up in 1933. '' he continues to say. Sometimes talking about the past makes him sad. It’s a time he will never be able to go back to. A man he will never be again.

But sometimes, like today, he’s able to recall little snippets of memories and remember how he felt in that exact moment. And those are worth all the pain that thinking about the future might bring.

“ That — is weird flex but actually really cool. “

Bucky doesn’t think of himself as cool. He’s a grumpy 106-year-old who is completely disillusioned with the world around him. If (Y/N) thinks so though, he’s not gonna try to change her mind.

She snuggles back into him, body leaning against the smooth vibranium arm. A part of him he never felt really belonged to himself. Something he had been given to kill, to defend, to fight. If something so dangerous can be a place of comfort to her, Maybe, he thinks, it’s not so bad after all. Maybe sometimes you just have to let go of the part and change your perspective of things.

For a while, they get lost in the movie, in the fictional love of two strangers. He remembers the romance novels his mothers used to read. The way she would get lost in them. Maybe to escape her own life for just a second and follow along with the stories and the people that seemed so much grander than her own existence as a housewife stuck in a life that seems too small to contain her in all her wonderful glory. His mother, Bucky always knew even at a young age, deserved more than she had been given. She was smart and funny and she loved her kids as much as a heart could love another. But her days were dull and her marriage was one of convenience more than anything. She had ideas, beautiful stories swirled around her head, and she’d tell them to him and his sister before she’d tuck them into bed. And yet that is where they stayed, in her mind and in her children's memories. She was never resentful though. She took things as they came and she made them beautiful.

He wonders sometimes, what would’ve come from her ideas if she had been given the chance to tell them to a bigger audience. She could’ve put those rom-coms to shame.

A knock on the front door startles (Y/N), making her get up from the couch and follow LAdy towards the entrance. There’s a definite lack of warmth where she used to be and Bucky feels himself missing her already.

“ It’s probably Robin, she left her favorite jacket here the other — mom? “

The air fills with a chaotic mix of several voices one speaking over the other while the charm on Lady’s collar underlines it all with a jingling sound like that of a small bell.

Before he can even think about how to react, (Y/N) steps back into the living room followed by two more people. A woman who looks like an older version of her and a man. They seem lost in conversation still, talking about their travel to NYC and the fact that the man, who Bucky assumes is (Y/N)’s father, refused to ask for directions.

That’s until their eyes fall on Bucky. The woman regards him with a gentle smile on her face, polite and warm as mothers usually are. The man though. There’s something in his eyes, in his demeanor, that changed once he set sight on Bucky and it doesn’t feel good. Bucky knows what it’s like to be recognized. People see him and then they see all the bodies left in his wake, all the blood on his hands, all the pain and the suffering and the —

“ Sergeant Barnes. “

They used to call him that in Wakanda, as a sign of respect, he believes. To make him realize that they do not see him as the thread he used to be but the man he once was. Other than that it’s been a long time since people referred to him as Sergeant Barnes. It’s a title he takes pride in, something he worked hard for. It also belongs to a man he isn’t anymore. Bucky isn’t sure he still earns it. Still owns it.

“ Uh — hello. “

“Dad, “ (Y/N) says and pushes past her parents to stand next to Bucky. Her hand rests on his arm as a sign of comfort and reassurance. He appreciates it very much. “ Mom. This is Bucky. “

“ I can’t believe it. “ her father exclaims, still not taking his eyes off of Bucky.

“ Dad. “

“ I can not believe it. I can’t believe you! “

There it is. Although Bucky has always been very aware that he wasn’t nearly worth (Y/N)’s time, having it thrown in his face hurts more than he likes to admit.

“ Dad … “

“ You know James Barnes, and you tell me nothing about it? (Y/N) I’ve — I’ve spent so much time researching this man revising all the information people before me have gathered and making sure his legacy and his place in Steve Rogers' life get acknowledged and now I’d have the chance to ask him personally and you — you keep it a secret from me? “

Wait … what ?

“ Bucky, “ (Y/N) says and looks up at him with her gorgeous eyes that never seem to fail at calming him down. “These are my parents and as you can tell, my dad’s a big fan of yours. “

The next few minutes are a chaos of handshakes and nice-to-meet-yous and hugs. Her mother hugs Bucky real tightly, the way mothers do when they know someone needs a hug. And she doesn’t flinch when she feels the metal arm. She just hugs him a little tighter.

“ Why are you guys here? “ (Y/N) asks as her father throws an arm around her shoulder

“ Well, you asked us to look after Lady while you’re gone. “ her mother replies as if it’s the obvious answer.

“ Yeah, but we don’t leave until Friday afternoon. It’s Thursday. “

“ That is truuuue. But dad and I thought we’d surprise you and take you out for a nice dinner since we won’t be spending Christmas together, we thought we could at least try to make up for it. “

(Y/N) shakes her head at her mother’s words. “ I told you guys, it’s not a big deal. You go enjoy your cruise. “

“ And we will but you’re our girl and we want to take you out for dinner. Give your old parents that much, will you” her father jokes and ruffles her hair as if she was just a little girl and maybe she is in that moment, wrapped in his arms.

“ I uh — Bucky and I had plans. “

“ What plans? “ her mother asks, eyebrows raised.

“ Watching movies. “

“ Oh, those aren’t plans. Go get dressed! “

“ And James will obviously come with us, “ her dad adds “ I am not done asking him questions. “

It’s not December yet but the restaurant is already decked out in Christmas lights and tastefully placed sparkly ornaments. The soft lull of Christmas carols being played on a piano flows through the room and Bucky is thankful to discover that while so much has changed, many of those songs have stayed the same. Maybe things aren’t all different right now. Maybe the fundamental things have stayed the same. Like the feeling of being with your family sitting by the tree, singing songs that have been passed down from your parents to you.

(Y/N) sits next to him, lips painted the exact same shade of red as her slouchy knit sweater. She looks so cozy and comfortable and soft and if he’s being really honest with himself, all he wants to do is hold her tight and get lost in her warmth. But this is good, as good as it can ever get, really. Sitting next to her, across from her parents who have been nothing but kind to him. They’re eating good food, drinking delicious drinks and her parents are sharing funny and slightly embarrassing stories about (Y/N). This is the first time he’s meeting anyone’s parents as the man he is now. And even back in the 40s things weren’t this calm and easy. If you went to meet a woman’s parents you better came prepared. This feels nice. Like he gets to be part of a family for just a teeny tiny moment.

“ So, how long have you guys been together? “ her mother asks around a fork of tiramisu. While Bucky only looks at her with wide eyes, (Y/N) almost chokes on her wine.

“ Mom, we’re — not. We’re friends. “

“ Oh,” her mother replies, looking unconvinced as her eyes move back and forth between (Y/N) and Bucky “ I guess I must’ve read that wrong. Shame, you would make adorable babies. “

“ Mom!”

Bucky’s sure his cheeks are the same color as her sweater and her lips and her fingernails. A beautiful bright red. Like a Santa’s hat.

“ I know, babe. You’re an independent woman who makes her own decisions and if you decide not to have babies that’s alright with us. As long as you are happy, so are we. Lady makes for a wonderful substitute grandchild. Just sayin’ if you were to have babies with Bucky they would turn out really cute. “

“ Okay, how about we stop talking about my imaginary potential future children, huh? You go tell me more about work, dad. How about that? “

As her dad starts talking about some history classes he teaches and the students, Bucky notices the change in (Y/N)’s demeanor. Her laid-back ease is gone. She keeps fidgeting with her hair and the rings on her hand. Without really thinking about it, like his body is working on autopilot, Bucky reaches out and grabs her hand under the table. It’s still weird, touching soft skin with his metal hand without the intention of inflicting pain. It’s nice though. It’s wonderful.

She doesn’t let go for a long time.

Restrooms in restaurants are places where time is slightly altered. You’re sheltered from the noises of the main room but they’re still faintly audible through the door. The clinking of glasses and cutlery, the laughter, and the voices as they flow together like waves in an ocean.

It feels like you get a break from the real world for just a moment. To catch yourself. To take a breath. To look at yourself in the mirror and decide your next steps as the music sounds from the overhead speakers in a duller version as if someone wrapped the lyrics in thick cotton padding.

(Y/N) washes her hands while looking at her reflection. Today’s a good day. It’s not going the way she has expected it but it’s a good day nonetheless. Bucky and her parents get along like a house on fire. It’s a nice feeling but it also makes her so acutely aware of all the what-ifs floating around her head and her heart. Would it feel like this if she and Bucky were more than friends? Would it feel this — right?

Before her mind can come up with an answer to her own question, the door to the restrooms swings open letting in a sliver of the noise outside. Her mother steps in and looks at her with that signature mom smile. Like she knows you better than you know yourself. And maybe that isn’t entirely wrong.

“ Your dad and I are going to take a cab to the hotel. We’ll come over to yours tomorrow before you leave. Is that okay? Bucky said he’d walk you home.”

Of course, he’d say that. He’s a gentleman. He’s Bucky.

“ Sure that’s fine. I’m glad you guys came a day early. I missed you. “

“ We missed you too, baby,” she responds and pulls (Y/N) into a hug.

“ Now tell me something,” she says and takes (Y/N)’s face in between her hands. “ You and Bucky. There’s something there. “

(Y/N) shakes free from her mother's touch and faces the mirror, leaning both hands against the marble sink. “ Mom, can you leave it. “

“ I see the way you guys look at each other. I — you haven’t been this happy in so long. He makes you happy. “

As she lifts her head and looks into her own eyes in the mirror, (Y/N) feels a flood of emotions wash over her. Emotions she’s tried so hard to suppress and others she wasn’t even aware were there in the first place. And it’s all comes crashing down pulling her under and spitting her back out.

“ So what if he makes me happy. We’re not gonna happen. I can not lose a friend and he can’t either. It would kill us both. “

“ Oh honey, “ she goes to pull (Y/N) into another hug but she just shakes her head in response.

“ No. No, mom. It’s okay. I’m okay with it being the way it is. “

“ Are you sure? “

Is she? (Y/N) looks back at herself. You think you know yourself and what you want and how you feel and then someone asks you, truthfully asks you if you’re sure. And you can only stare and wonder. Well, are you?

And sometimes it’s way easier to lie, to both the other person and yourself, than to really face your fears and your feelings and everything you do or don’t understand about yourself.

“ Yeah. I am sure. “

It’s true. New York City never seems to fully go to sleep. There’s always a light on somewhere, guiding you through the dark, guiding you home.

It doesn’t fully go to sleep but it slows down. The air gets heavier, the noise gets quieter.

(Y/N) and Bucky slowly make their way through the familiar streets of their neighborhood as the city lights and the stars fight over who gets to shine more brightly upon them.

It’s a chilly evening, winter is truly just around the corner, and the air feels pregnant with the promise of snow and yet (Y/N) feels a warmth course through her that is unlike any other. A warmth that can only be brought on by being with your loved ones.

“ It’s a lovely night,” she says as her heels create a clip-clap sound against the pavement.

Bucky has his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jacket and his ever-present scowl decorates his face and yet, even Bucky can’t deny that it is a lovely night. One with so much potential. For — for lovers.

“ It really is.”

“ If life was a movie, “ (Y/N) says “ this would be when we realized that we're in love"

Bucky only raises his eyebrow at her, pushing her to elaborate. And maybe it’s a bit selfish. Maybe he just wants to hear her entertain the thought of them two as something more for just a little bit longer. Even if it’s just pretend.

“ We’d get a montage of some quirky dates that we didn’t realize were dates. Then the camera would pan down on us tonight, walking underneath the stars, the city lights glowing around us. There’d be some piano music in the background to set the mood. We’d have a deep talk about our fears or messed up childhoods or the meaning of life. And then you’d make me laugh and I’d accidentally hold your hand. You’d drop me off at my door, think about kissing my lips but then end up kissing my forehead. Once you leave I’d lean against my door, sink down to my floor, and grin like a fool because that’s the moment I realize I am in love with you and the audience would sigh in relief because they knew all along. “

“ That sounds nice,” Bucky replies, eyes staring into the distance as he tries to picture it all, safe it as a mental snapshot to go back to in quiet moments.

“ Yeah, well what a shame life is not a movie and we’re not in love. What a waste of a lovely night. “

“ Guess it’s perfect for a couple, huh? “ Bucky has to agree with her.

“ Mmmh. Or at least someone not in heels, “ (Y/N) jokes looking down at her shoes.

“ You want me to find a couple? Gift our night to them ? “ Bucky asks as they continue their journey down the Brooklyn streets.

“ Absolutely not, sir! “ (Y/N) responds and links her arm with his as she pulls him along. “ I like our night. I want to keep it for ourselves. “

And so they continue their walk home. Words that want to be said, that need to be said, hang heavy in the air, and yet they both decide to stay quiet and just enjoy the silence and comfort of their lovely little night.

The door feels like mocking her as it comes into view, cutting their moment short, putting an end to this blissful night.

She doesn’t want it to end. Doesn’t want to go inside and quite literally close the door to all the possibilities this night seems to hold out to her. If she was just brave enough to reach out and grab them.

(Y/N) unlock the door and turns back around to face Bucky. Something seems to hang in the air right between them and that feeling only gets stronger as their eyes lock. For a moment all there is, is silence and an abundance of unspoken words. And a fear that comes with speaking them. Of messing something up. Of being vulnerable.

Bucky smiles at her then. She loves his smile. It’s so rare but it’s so beautiful to look at. It gives you the feeling of having done something right.

“ Thanks for today, “ he says as if there’s anything to thank her for.

“ For what? “

“ Letting me be a part of your family. Thought maybe you didn’t want your parents to know about me. Thanks for — not being ashamed of me or anything. “

“ Oh Bucky, “ she says and grabs his hand, “ You are my friend and I love you. I’d never be ashamed of you. If anything I’m a little embarrassed by the way my dad kept pestering you with questions. Uh — why are you looking at me like that. “

“ You love me? “ his voice comes out but a mere whisper and his eyes are wide in shock.

“ Yes. You’re my friend, I love you. Bucky when — when was the last time someone told you they love you? “ (Y/N) asks as her hand softly strokes the side of his face.

“ 1942 “

“ Well, guess I’ll have to keep reminding you then, make up for lost time. I love you, Bucky Barnes. “

She can’t even blink before she’s wrapped up in his arms. Despite what one would think, Bucky is always warm. Even the vibranium arm. Everything radiates warmth and comfort. She could stay here forever.

Slowly he pulls away, looks deep into her eyes, lowers his head, and places his lips against her forehead. “ I love you too. “

He smiles at her once more then leaves. And while she won't admit it to anyone, ever, (Y/N) goes inside, leans against her door, sinks to the floor, and doesn't even try to suppress the foolish smile spreading on her lips.

Robin’s laughter fills the halls of the beautiful Inn where just tomorrow she’ll say I do.

“ This was your doing! You scheming little shit.” (Y/N) grumbles from the corner of her mouth as she slides up to Robin.

“ It wasn’t, “ the red-haired girl laughs “ but I wish it was. It’s hilarious.“

Redstone Lodge is a beautiful Inn located in upstate New York. It looks out onto a lake and is surrounded by lots and lots of Christmas trees all year round. It’s made of bricks and big wooden panels. Very rustic and yet cozy and elegant. In the yard, there’s a huge tent with a wooden floor and a see-through roof. That’s where the reception will be held tomorrow.

Redstone Lodge has 35 rooms all of which have been distributed to the various guests. They’re beautiful rooms with nice decor and comfortable beds. Well — a bed. One. Singular.

“ This is like some fanfiction trope, Robin. There is only one bed? “

“ Look," Robin says and pulls (Y/N) closer “ if you want to switch, find someone to switch with. I’m sure someone is willing to. But I’m just saying that if you two are friends, shouldn’t you be able to sleep in a bed together and not make it weird? “

She has a point and she knows it and she also knows that (Y/N) knows it.

Huffing a breath of annoyance (Y/N) grumbles an “okay fine” before letting Robin be taken hostage by yet another overly excited aunt and returns to Bucky’s side as he stands on the front steps looking out into the vast area. It really is a beautiful place to get married.

“ Hey so uh — bad news is that this is the only room they have so we’ll have to share a bed. Good news is they got some movies to take up to the room and I found some really dope rom-coms. “

“It's okay, don't worry. I promise I won't hog the blanket,” Bucky says and nods his head into the direction of the lake “ wanna take a walk? “

“ Sure. Yeah, why not. “

In all honesty (Y/N) isn’t the biggest fan of walking around the woods with no particular destination in mind and yet she can’t help but feel a sense of happiness fill her as she links her arm with Bucky’s once again.

She realized a while ago that she tends to gravitate towards his left side. It isn’t a conscious decision but maybe it’s a good one nonetheless.

Maybe it’ll show him that every part of him is worth loving, even the ones he doesn’t love himself.

“ When was the last time you did something crazy? “

He doesn’t like the way those words sound tumbling from her lips. He does, however, like very much how her eyes sparkle in the light of the setting sun. Their walk had turned into a bit of a hike and by the time they’ve finally made it back to the lake, the sun is about to set. Everyone seems to have retreated back into the lodge, maybe to sit by the big cozy fireplace or up to their room with their several beds. More than one. plural.

Bucky doesn’t want to let go of their time together though. Not yet. Just a little bit longer. And if that means agreeing to one of her weird ideas, so be it.

"Uh well, I fought aliens a few months ago."

"Huh … well see that's not an answer I was prepared for I mean more like, when did you last do something stupid but fun?"

“Like dancing in the middle of a street or having a cake fight in a parking lot?”

“Yeah …. like that.”

She looks at him again with that mischief and that softness. Like a mix of all things that make you feel alive shine back at him from her eyes.

“Wanna go swimming?” (Y/N) asks and smirks at him.

“Now? It’s freezing.”

“ I know,” she replies and shrugs her shoulders “ and I know it’s silly and dumb and we’ll probably get sick but I kinda wanna do it anyway. Wait … can you get sick?”

“Huh?”

“Because of the serum.”

“You know, they didn’t exactly give me a manual when they injected it so — guess we’ll have to find out.”

“So you’re in?”

Bucky only nods his head in agreement. She doesn’t need to know that he’d agree to anything she suggests. Any little thing.

The woods around them are dark and thick and where they probably should be scary they are comforting now. They’re a shelter from the eyes of onlookers. A safe roof and walls to keep their little bubble safe and hold their moment tight and safe.

“Holy shit, it’s freezing!” (Y/N) hisses through clenched teeth as the water reaches up to her shoulders, the straps of her yellow bra the only colors shining through the dark night.

Don’t think about it. He has to tell himself. Don’t think about the fact that she’s only in her underwear. Don’t think about her soft skin and her smile and what her body feels like against yours. Don’t!

He doesn’t have to scold himself for too long before a cold splash of water hits him right in the face.

“Oh, you made a mistake” Bucky calls out to a laughing (Y/N) who tries her best to tread water and get as far away from him as possible but fails to do so, being wrapped up in his arms only seconds later.

For the next few minutes, they splash around like children at the neighborhood pool.

The cold of the night and the lake rattle their bones but neither of them seems to care as a familiar warmth wraps itself around their hearts.

It’s really fascinating how the little moments can become so meaningful. How one person can mean so much so quickly. How drastically your life can change just because of one single person and their kindness and their love.

“Oh-oh!” (Y/N) exclaims excitedly and lays little enthusiastic slaps on Bucky’s shoulder “let’s do the dirty dancing lift. You can lift me, right?”

“I have a vibranium arm…”

“Right. Yeah. Right.”

Bucky places his hands on her waist and pulls her a little closer, trying to ignore the incessant thumping of his heart that feels like it wants to break out of his chest. “Okay on 3.”

“One”

Her eyes look deep into his as if trying to search for something in them. Secrets. Hidden feelings. The truth.

“Two”

And when she smiles, almost shy, it seems for a second that she’s found whatever she’s been looking for. He hopes she likes the secret she uncovers. He hopes it doesn’t scare her off from loving him.

“Three”

In a swift motion, he lifts her up above his head, holding her strong and steady as drops of water, cold as ice, rain down on him while (Y/N) laughs and stretches out her arms.

“We did it! I’m flying, Jack!”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” She retorts and lets out another laugh. Yeah, maybe he’s freezing his ass off but to hear her laugh like that, makes it all worth it.

He doesn’t let her fall over like they do in the movie, instead, he grips her waist tighter, slowly and gently lowers her back into the water. And when she’s back right in front of him, chest against his, he should be letting go of her, but he doesn’t.

While his head keeps screaming at him to just let go, his heart tells him otherwise, makes him stay right there.

(Y/N)’s arms move across his chest and gently wrap themselves around his neck before her fingers start to delicately play with his hair.

He wonders if any person has ever felt the way he does in that moment. He wonders if maybe a poet or a writer or a musician has and if maybe they wrote a poem or a book or a song about it. Maybe that would help him understand. Maybe he could read it or listen to it and keep this moment captured in that piece of art forever. Because he fears that no memory can ever do justice to the way he feels when she moves closer.

When her hand cups his face when her nose nuzzles against his so gently as if she’s afraid he’ll pull away any second.

It’s just them and their wildly beating hearts and the woods providing them shelter and the water setting the scene and the stars shining down upon them.

It’s just them — until it isn’t.

“(Y/N), Bucky? You guys out there?” Robin's voice calls out into the night as her silhouette appears against the light coming from the porch of the Inn.

“Yes, it’s us. We’ll be right in.” (Y/N) calls back, having moved away slightly. The spell is broken and Bucky lifts his hand off of her, immediately missing the contact.

“It’s freezing, we should probably go inside.” She says and grants him a smile, though it doesn’t entirely reach her eyes and he can faintly see her shivering.

“Yeah let’s go. Get you warmed up.”

They don’t talk about their moment as they head inside and get swallowed by the group of people all hyped up with excitement for the coming day.

Bucky is sure though that as long as there are stars in the sky, he will not forget this moment however fleeting and insignificant it might seem.

TAGLIST FORM (fill this out to be added)

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[immaturityofthomasastruc]

#5: The One With Astruc's Self-Insert

In my introductory post, I said the main inspiration for this blog was @hypocrisyofandrewdobson​. For those who don't know, Andrew Dobson is an infamous webcomic artist known for drawing webcomics that tend to demonize people he's come across in public or people who disagree with him online (either critical of his art or his political views), while portraying himself as the victim or wise man calling them out on their differing beliefs.

If you want to learn more about this guy who I consider to be far worse than Astruc, check out the blog in question. And no, I don't know why he draws himself as a blue bear.

Why am I talking about this? It's one thing for some schmuck on the internet to use his work to respond to criticism, but the creator of a popular animated series dedicating an entire episode to attacking his critics and trying to get others to feel bad for him is another story.

The second episode of Miraculous Ladybug's third season, “Animaestro” served as a wake-up call for fans (myself included) to make them realize how immature Astruc could be. The plot centers around the premiere of a movie about Ladybug and Cat Noir directed by Thomas Astruc, who voices himself in the original French dub.

And this isn't just a brief cameo like what Stan Lee did in the MCU. Astruc is the Akumatized person this episode, so there's naturally a lot of focus on him. Throughout the first half of the episode, Astruc portrays himself as this timid man who nobody recognizes or respects, like this idiot who doesn't know what animation is.

Doorman: This is a private event, sir.

Astruc: Huh? Excuse me? I'm Thomas Astruc, the movie director.

Doorman: You filmed Cat Noir and Ladybug? What are they like in real life?

Astruc: Er, it's an animated movie. It's all cartoon characters. We don't actually film anyone. See, there's this whole team that draw the chara—

Doorman: Whatever. Who would want to see Ladybug and Cat Noir as cartoon characters?

Get it? Wasn't that meta joke hilarious? This is how much I was laughing:

And Astruc continues to get about as much respect as Rodney Dangerfield when he interacts with other characters like Jagged Stone and Chloe.

Jagged Stone: Ladybug is one of my best buds! I can't wait to see her movie!

Astruc: Well I—I'm the director, so actually it's more my movie, so to speak.

Jagged Stone: Oh, so you're the one who created the story?

Astruc: Well, technically the screen writers wrote the story, inspired by Ladybug's exploits.

Jagged Stone: Oh, okay. So you did all the drawings?

Thomas: No, no. The animators do all the drawings.  

Jagged Stone: So what do you do then?

(Later on...)

Chloe: So you're the one responsible for this movie?

Astruc: Yes, yes! Exactly! That's me!

Chloe: Then you were the one who left Queen Bee out of the trailer. You're lame, utterly lame.

I can't believe Astruc had a scene where he interacted with Chloe and didn't insult her at all.

The episode is determined to make the audience feel bad for Astruc. Nobody respects him and what he does. Isn't that saaaaaad? Nobody cares about animated film directors like Walt Disney or Tex Avery anyway. Not even these stupid children understand how hard Astruc works.

Several Children: Ladybug! Where's Ladybug?

Astruc: Hey there, kids!

Teacher: Ladybug isn't here children. We came here to meet the director of the movie. Children: (frowning in disappointment) Aww.

(Astruc looks visibly disappointed.)

Way to insult your primary demographic, Astruc. I thought you said kids have a better understanding of these stories when people criticized the writing of a certain episode (It's that scene in “Puppeteer 2” if you're curious/don't value your sanity).

It's almost like you're using that as an excuse to half-ass your work while still getting to claim this show is so groundbreaking.

In case you can't tell, “Animaestro” is one of those episodes. The ones where the showrunners decide to dedicate an entire episode to attacking critics of the show in a blunt fashion. Whenever a show addresses criticism, they either create an obvious strawman character to parrot the opinions of fans who don't like their work, or have someone defend the show and insult the critics directly.

The problem isn't that they're ignoring criticism. It's their show, and they aren't obligated to listen to critics or fans who don't like the direction the show is taking. On the other hand, they aren't obligated to fight back like this and treat their audience like crap. Any show that does something like the three clips I showed you usually comes off as petty and immature because they dedicate so much time to insulting the critics. 

Even during the Akuma fight, Astruc has to call out Ladybug for having problems with his movie in-universe, obviously representing critics of the show Astruc claims have no right to criticize the show while it's still airing.

Ladybug: What's with that trailer too? I am not scared of cats, at all.

Astruc/Animaestro: You haven't even seen the movie and you're already slamming it?

Cat Noir: He does have a point, you know.

Ladybug: I wasn't slamming it. It's called constructive criticism!

Yeah, how dare Ladybug be angry that this movie is portraying her as a powerless coward dependent on Cat Noir as opposed to a confident and brave superhero. She just doesn't understand the genius of Thomas Astruc!

And of course the character Astruc claims is “perfect” is the one to take his side.

And that's another problem with this episode, the metatextual references. Before he gets akumatized, Astuc says he spent three years of his life working on his movie. I get that time in this show is weird (we somehow had episodes taking place on the first day of school, Christmas, Valentine's Day, and the first day of Summer), but how did Astruc's self-insert work on a movie based on a superhero who has only been active for a year? Meta-wise, it's an obvious reference to the scorn Astruc has gotten from fans after working so hard on his show, but the only people who would get that reference are the ones who are aware of Astruc's reputation online.

Self-Insert aside, I actually think the titular Animaestro is one of the more visually impressive Akumas featured on the show. Animaestro takes on several forms based off several different forms and eras of animation, like flash, anime, rubber hose, and they all stand out. Granted, some of them are obvious parodies of other characters like Goku or Sailor Moon, but the actual Akuma fight is fun to watch. According to the Mexican Miraculous Ladybug Twitter account, this episode took two and a half years to create, and it shows. It's too bad the story behind it is completely insufferable, almost like the cartoon equidistant to Pixels.

But then comes the part that honestly makes the episode worth it, mainly for how unintentionally hilarious it is. Do you want to know what Animaestro's weakness is? Do you really want to know?

Animaestro is physically incapable of moving unless someone is watching him. I am not making this up.

Ladybug and Cat Noir literally defeat Animaestro by getting everyone to stop paying attention to him.

I could make so many jokes with this, but I can guarantee you're already thinking of something just as good, if not better, than whatever I write.

And there's the end where Astruc gives Marinette his ticket to the movie, which prompts Marinette to kiss up to him for no real reason.

Astruc: Sorry, I guess you don't know who I am either.

Marinette: Of course do. You're Thomas Astruc, the movie director!

Astruc: She recognized me. Somebody actually recognized me!

Nothing happened to make her change her opinion on the Ladybug movie, she didn't really say anything to him earlier in the episode that connects to this exchange, and outside of a few lines Animaestro said, she doesn't even know why he got akumatized (even though ironically she and Chloe accidentally contributed to it because of the awful subplot involving Kagami I talked about last time). If anything, it comes off less like she actually appreciates Astruc's work, and more like she's stroking his ego just to keep him from getting akumatized again.

So yeah, this episode is awful, and the fact that it came out right after the controversial “Chameleon” only proved to show what kind of direction the show was taking this season.

But honestly, even if Astruc still wanted to make about how he doesn't get enough respect the episode could have potentially. All he had to do was make a simple change: Instead of making it about validation for Astruc as a creator, make it about validation for animation in general.

It's a common misconception that animation is only used for shows and movies aimed at children, so the episode could reflect it. Instead of the huge turnout where several celebrities appear at the premiere, instead, the turnout could be a lot smaller, with the media dismissing it as some stupid kiddie flick. Instead of getting akumatized because he gets humiliated in public/getting no respect from anyone else, Astruc gets akumatized because he sees the audience didn't go wild for the movie after the premiere. All he can hear them say is that it's just “kids stuff”.

So when Astruc is Animaestro, he goes on about how important animation is. How it's helped produce propaganda since World War II. How it helped improve special effects in big blockbusters. How the medium is used to create movies that simply can't be filmed on a physical set.

After defeating Animaestro, Ladybug shows up to talk to him. She had seen the movie earlier, and actually enjoyed it. She had a few problems with the story, but they were just minor nitpicks and inaccuracies Astruc wouldn't know about, and she was blown away by the animation. She tells Astruc not to be deterred by his critics, and continue to do what he does. As a designer in her civilian life, Ladybug knows the joy creating brings her, and both she and Astruc want to spread that joy through their work.

Back at the premiere, Astruc thinks about what Ladybug said to him when he sees some kids reenacting a scene from the movie. Astruc walks over to them and asks what they thought of the movie. They said they loved it and how energetic it was. When he tells them he is the director, the kids' faces light up and they say they want to do what he does when they grow up, bringing a smile to Astruc's face.

Isn't that a much more humble approach instead of what we got? It would have helped Astruc come across as more sympathetic, especially with animation fans. But instead, we got an entire episode of Astruc whining about how misunderstood he is.

And you know the footage used for the movie at the beginning? Remember that, because I have a huge rant about it saved for a later post.

For now, here’s an example of a creator appearing in his work done right.

[pretoriafics]

Therapy sessions with the devil

I'd did this request yesterday on my Portuguese blog, and I thought that you guys would love it!

Anonymous asks: Y/N is a therapist who works for Vought and is doing a few evaluations on the Super.

Word count: 1.806 Contain: Therapist!Reader x Homelander Warnings: Mention of sexual violence, mention of serial killers, mention of cases of children with psychopathy, mental disorders. +16 only Versão em português aqui  PART 2 THE BOYS MASTERLIST

Your profession was gratifying.

You loved the idea of helping people, getting to know each other better, and getting them to learn to deal with life's challenges. For you, being a kind of "confidant", where people could talk about their lives without any judgments, was an honor and your purpose. You believed that it would make the world a better place.

However, it also had its burdens. Some things were difficult to hear, even for you with all your knowledge and professional background. Patients who suffered from sexual violence, for example, demanded of you a stomach that you were not always able to have. It was something you talked to your therapist about, and you kept a mantra in mind: After all, you were still human, and it was okay to feel that way.

And when Vought invited you to work as a therapist for The Seven, you went nuts. It was the chance of a lifetime!

Or, at least, this was what you thought at the beginning.

It was not uncommon for you to hear things that made your stomach a little sick, just like when The Deep told you about the way he “welcomed” Starlight. You felt nauseous but, on the outside, remained impassive, just watching him as a silent request to continue to talk.

All of them were, simply, not only media products but also puppets of the advertising world. You already had some political patients, and in fact, you thought The Seven was a similar case: Both went to that market with the intention, many times, to help people. However, they ended up corrupted in the middle of the road, forgetting their whole purpose in helping others.

You saw a point in common between The Seven: Everyone, with perhaps the exception of Starlight, was too worried about their own egos to be real heroes. They were all too narcissistic.

But Homelander was the worst of them.

The childhood phase was the most important part of a person's life. A traumatic childhood could lead to a troubled adult, as in the case of Mary Bell and Beth Thomas. Homelander's case was no different: his non-affectionate childhood, being raised as a laboratory rat, was the bigger reason to make him that kind of man.

Although at the same time you were fascinated about to study a mind like that - since one of the reasons why you did psychology would be to unveil the secrets of the human mind - each therapy session was daunting and made you rethink your job at Vought.

In short, you were interviewing a serial killer. Easily one of the most cruel and unhealthy.

"Good morning, Homelander." Your voice was soft, just like the smile you gave to the super who just sat on the couch.

"Good morning, Doctor." He returned the smile to you, but the smile on his own way: The corners of your mouth pulled to the side in a smile that you recognized as fake.

"So..." You put your hands on your knee, looking at him with the best receptive look you could pretend. There, in that office, your sessions with Homelander made you feel you deserved an Oscar "How was your week?"

“Well…” He lay down on the couch, his blue eyes staring at the ceiling, and his hands joined in front of his stomach “Nothing new. In fact, he had a little incident with Maeve. Sometimes she is so… pathetic. ”

"What happened?"

It took a while for Homelander to actually get some confidence in you. In fact, he only started telling you things in detail when he realized he could get something out of the sessions. They were productive to him, they made him think. You didn't know if you were thanking God for getting something out of him, or if you should cursing yourself because of the horrors he tells you.

"Maybe you saw something about the 37 Flight on the news."

"The one who had been captured by the terrorists?"

"Exactly! Maeve and I had to rescue the plane. We managed to take down the terrorists, but when I killed the last one, in the Pilot's cabin, I hit the plane's controls with the lasers. And then, the flight was doomed. I told Maeve that our job was done and we should leave, but she was reluctant. He wanted me to save the passengers! ” He laughed, but a natural one. "Can you believe that?"

Oh, it was going to be a long therapy session...

"And what happened next?"

“What did she want me to do? That I fly 137 times from the plane to land? Ah, pathetic, pathetic! ” He shook his head, clearly humorous. "Now, just imagine: You are on a flight with 137 people shouting 'Help, Homelander!', While your stupid partner insists that you should do something to save everyone. I was losing patience so I threatened everyone with my eyes, and they finally settled down. I don't blame them, I mean, they are so vulnerable. They are bugs! ” He looked at you, the corners of his mouth pulled in a fake smile. "No offense."

Homelander was a cold-blooded killer. Not only, but like Ted Bundy, he was a narcissist. He liked the feeling of power that invaded his body when he saw that people feared him, and when he felt that he had the power to decide whether that person would live or not. He didn't mind if killing people just for fun was against the law. Homelander didn't care about the law or any kind of rules. Furthermore, just as Bundy believed he was fully capable of defending himself in his court's judgment and did not need lawyers, Homelander thought he was an incarnate God walking among the 'bugs', simply because he had powers.

"And how do you feel about Maeve?"

“She bothered me a little with the drama on the plane, but that's okay. I am sure that after I spoke to the journalists, near the wreckage of the flight, she understood. This is all going to be an excellent opportunity to make our presence in the army happen. ”

A sociopath.

Empathetic behaviors aren't part of him. He was unable to have that feeling. Self-centered, Homelander was unable to love. The relationship he had with Stiwell, for example, was far from loving. He didn't feel it, quite the opposite: Homelander had a feeling of possession with her. She was his, and nobody else's.

A doubt hammered in your head: Homelander was intending to drop the plane? Your stomach was upset, you felt bad about that therapy session. How could Vought leave someone like him in The Seven?

The answer was simple: They didn't care. Homelander was profitable, and that was all that mattered.

That was one of the times when you thanked God that Homelander was self-centered enough to lie on the couch and just think about your own life, instead of analyzing you and realizing that you were completely terrified. It was as if a misstep, a wrong word, was going to cost his life.

And you would end that today.

You conducted the therapy session normally. In the end, you shook hands with Homelander as you always did and closed the door. Tears invaded your face as you thought of each life that was lost in vain on that flight, and, worse, you were sure that Maeve would tell you about the flight at her therapy session, early next week. In an attempt to calm down, you took some coffee and sat down in front of your MacBook. There, sipping coffee, you wrote your resignation letter.

Alright. You were free.

Or at least this was what you thought.

 * * *

Another week has started, and the fact that you worked at Vought made you get a more comfortable office, in addition to increasing your service price. You were ending your day. Your last patient had left the office, and you were about to go home when you heard a familiar voice from your couch.

"I miss you in the tower."

Homelander looked at you with his pairs of sick blue eyes, his fake smile, and his murderous hands behind his body. He was standing next to the couch, and you felt your whole body freeze. A lump formed in your throat, and your hands vibrated in pure dread.

So he would kill you there? In your office?

Trying to take control of the situation, you faked a slight smile.

“Sorry, Homelander. I didn't saw you here. Need something?"

"Actually, I do." He started walking towards you slowly. "I didn't want to end our sessions, so I came to ask you what our new schedule is going to be."

You narrowed your eyes.

"I thought Vought was going to hire someone else to work with The Seven in my place."

“In fact, they put an incompetent in your place. I really prefer that we continue where we left off. ” He stopped in front of you with his smile, his eyes emanating pure insanity "I like our therapy sessions."

“I'm glad that you like my job and that you appreciate our results, Homelander” You gave him a smile, but inside you were still in pure dread “But I don't have appointments available. My schedule filled up easily after I came to this new office. ”

“Oh, but I'm sure you can fit me in your schedule. I can pay you well. ”

How to say no to Homelander without putting your life at risk?

You walked over to your tablet, on your desk. You took it in hand and slid your finger on the screen, analyzing awhile. You didn't need him to tell you that you would be paid well. In fact, you were fully aware of that. The point was that you could exchange all the money in the world to be at peace, without having to deal with Homelander. Without much choice, you concluded that you would reserve a single day for your therapy sessions with him. That way, your head wouldn't get so tired when you still had to deal with other patients.

“Are you available on Friday morning? At nine."

He nodded, giving the same smile he did when he achieved something. One of pure contentment.

"Of course!"

"Great so." You typed 'Homelander' in the space corresponding to the hour. You put the tablet down on the table, next to your MacBook “There, it's done. Friday, at nine in the morning. ”

“Ah, perfect! Thank you. Have a good night."

"Good night, Homelander."

He walked over to your balcony. With a jump, he flew through the sky. You lay on your couch, terrified. Would you never get rid of him?

All that was left for you now was to be the therapist of the incarnate Devil.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

When We Were Young Part Two

Part One | Next Part | Masterlist Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Rating: T

Notes: Not beta-read

Warnings: Uuuuuh none

Summary: You’d only caught glimpses of Mycroft when he’d returned to Ferndell, but it was so unmistakably him. 

You thanked the attendant that put your luggage on the overhead rack before you settled in your seat. Part of you had considered lingering on the platform, looking around and waiting for Sherlock, but it felt ridiculous. He’d surely been winding you up the day before; he’d done that when you were younger, when Mycroft had already started to tick you off, and had grown bored with your ‘antics’ as he’d call them (even at that age). Sherlock knew, back then, that it wouldn’t take much longer before you were on the verge of tears and stomping off to Eudoria. As you’d gotten older and looked back, you’d realized that that was just a tactic to get you to go away. Why he’d bothered to act as such last night, though, you simply didn’t understand. You leaned back, a book in your hands as you waited for the train to depart. “Have you room for two more?” You straightened and turned your head at the sound of Sherlock’s voice, brows raised at the sight of him standing in the doorway to the compartment. “I’m only seeing one of you at the moment,” You said. “Mycroft will be right along.” You carefully shielded your displeasure, but the quirk of Sherlock’s brow told you that you weren’t careful enough. You gestured to the seat across from yourself before returning your attention to your book. Sherlock sat directly across from you, a book and a notebook in his own hands. You eyed them with interest before lowering your eyes to your book again.

“What are you reading?” Sherlock asked as he opened his own book. “North and South,” you answered. “Do you like it?” You did, quite a bit, but you weren’t sure you wanted Sherlock making a mockery of the subject matter, or your swooning over Mr. Thornton. But then you remembered what he’d told you a few days ago about your handwriting, ‘You’re outspoken, comfortable in your own skin’. “Yes, I do,” You answered crisply, turning the page. There was a moment of silence between you before you asked, “Have you any news about Enola’s whereabouts?” “No.” You pursed your lips. Somehow you didn’t believe that; maybe you didn’t want to. Sherlock was brilliant. If he had no leads, there was a higher likelihood of Enola being lost. “Would you tell me if you did?” You asked. Sherlock didn’t answer right away, and when you glanced up, you found him watching you, eyes gentle.

“I know you’re worried about her, dove,” He said softly. It was so straightforward, still utterly Sherlock, but for once, this acknowledgement of your emotion didn’t feel like an indictment. You lowered your eyes to your book again, fully intending to focus, but you could feel the weight of Sherlock’s gaze on you still. “Ah, there you are, Sherlock.” Your attentions were averted at the sound of another voice at the door of the compartment. You’d only caught glimpses of Mycroft when he’d returned to Ferndell, but it was so unmistakably him. He regarded you with a pleased shock as he stepped inside, removing his hat and sitting beside Sherlock. “You look like you’ve rather grown up to be... Well, respectable,” He said, eyes carefully sweeping your person. You arched a brow. “And you look like you’ve rather grown up,” You returned before you shifted in your seat, fully intending to return to your reading. “Your parents are in good health?” Mycroft pressed, insistent on upholding the rules of polite conversation, despite it only being the three of you. “They are well as can be expected,” You answered with a polite nod. “And you are well?” “I am, thank you, Mr. Holmes.” A pause, you assumed a respite as you turned back to your book. “You are... Unmarried?” Mycroft asked. You bristled, fingers tightening around your book as you lifted your eyes to his again. A fair question - hands covered in gloves, Mycroft wouldn’t be able to see a ring if you’d been wearing one. “Yes,” You confirmed. “And yet you travel alone,” He observed, “Quite precarious for a woman in your position.” You knew better than this. You weren’t going to sink to the level of Mycroft’s ridiculous little game - you could see his spoiling to rile you up, his eagerness to call you on your impending outburst. He was waiting for it. Instead, you let your shoulders sag a little, your head tip to the side as you regarded him. “Needs must, Mr. Holmes. Unfortunately my father isn’t well enough to travel, which is one of the things that’s necessitating my travel into London in the first place. If he were well, or if my parents had been fortunate enough to have sons, as yours had been, I might not be in this situation. But if you’d be so kind as to lend yourself as my companion for the duration of this journey, I’d be incredibly grateful,” You answered in a steady voice, offering Mycroft a bashful smile. Mycroft’s excitement spoiled so fast you swore his mustache wilted a little. He faltered, clearing his throat before nodding and mumbling a, “It would be my privilege,” before opening his newspaper and shielding himself behind it. Once he was out of sight you allowed your smile to drop, and you rolled your eyes as you sat up straight. You made to turn back to your book, eyes catching on Sherlock’s on the way. He was smiling, fully, warmly - something you hadn’t seen directed at you in a long time. You felt a thrill run through you, and you couldn’t help the small smile, a real one, that grew on your own lips at the sight. Neither of you spoke, just returned to your respective reading materials. -- The train ride was spent in amiably awkward silence; Mycroft reading a paper and tutting over the reform bill, Sherlock and yourself immersed in your own books. Now and again you’d feel him watching you over the top of his, and you’d feel the urge to squirm, or bring your book up a little higher to block him out of your field of vision, but you kept carefully still. You wouldn’t let him get to you as he had on the path back from Ferndell. You’d been kicking yourself all night for snapping at him the way you had, letting him get the better of you. But what had bothered you, more than the fact that you’d started to lose your temper, was the fact that he’d actually seemed affected by what you said. The look in his eyes, the little clench of his jaw - and then to push it all down in a second. You’d wondered if that was what he needed to do in order to work on these cases, set the emotion aside, hone in on the facts. But you weren’t a case. You tried not to dwell, to instead focus on your book, but knowing he was watching you, that he was so close by, was just so distracting. -- “I trust you’ve someone to meet you at the station?” You’d said what you’d said to get a rise out of Mycroft, but he seemed to be taking his role as companion very seriously. “I have, yes. My uncle,” You nodded, closing your book and folding your hands atop it as the train pulled into the station. You’d hardly read a word after a certain point, you’d merely been turning the pages for the sake of appearances. “Your father’s brother?” Sherlock asked. “Mother’s,” You corrected. His brow furrowed at that, and he loosed a, “Hm.” “Problem?” You asked. Sherlock shook his head before directing his gaze out of the window. You took the moment to look over his profile, admire his strong jaw and the curl of his hair. You didn’t let yourself longer too long, strongly aware of the fact that Mycroft was still there. Sherlock and Mycroft were both out of their seats as soon as the train stopped. Sherlock offered his hand to you. You took it, letting him help you up. You loosened your grip on his hand, and he took a moment to do the same before he reached up, fetching your luggage down from the overhead rack. Mycroft stepped back, gesturing for you to go. You stepped out ahead of them, nodding in thanks. They followed you out of the compartment and off of the train. "I know you two have quite a bit to do, you don’t have to wait with me,” You offered as they stopped on either side of you. “Nonsense,” Mycroft said crisply, “I wouldn’t dare leave a lady unattended.” He offered you his arm, and you saw that glint in his eye, still egging you on. You matched it with the smile you’d given him before, wrapping your arm around his as you headed for the entrance, Sherlock trailing close behind. “There’s my uncle,” You said as soon as you spotted your Uncle Cornelius. He was smiling, red-cheeked (likely from the sherry he’d already dipped into and not a mid-morning chill). You made the necessary introductions to Mycroft, but when you turned to Sherlock, you narrowed your eyes, “I presume you two have already met?” Cornelius opened his mouth to contradict you, but the additional darkening in his cheeks told you that you were right. You let out your own knowing, “Hm.”  Mycroft cleared his throat. “I’ll get us a hansom,” He addressed Sherlock. He nodded to Cornelius, then yourself before stepping away. Cornelius reached out, taking your bag from Sherlock. “Do I even want to know how you two are acquainted?” You asked, clasping your hands behind your back and turning a sweet smile up at the both of them. “Mr. Holmes was kind enough to... Assist me with a personal matter last year,” Cornelius admitted. You nodded. “I see,” You said, “And this wouldn’t have anything to do with the actress that you took up with that subsequently tried sell your Rembrandt to the Louvre without your say-so, would it?” Cornelius let out a shaky, embarrassed laugh, eyes darting between yourself and Sherlock. You nodded, sighing, “Right.” “Sherlock!” Mycroft called from a ways away. You all turned at the sound of his voice to see him waving Sherlock away. You looked up at Sherlock. “If you find anything out about Enola--” “I will let you know,” He nodded. He glanced at Cornelius before he turned to face you fully. “Might I call on you while we’re both in town? -- If I have an update on Enola,” He clarified. You nodded. “Of course,” You said. Sherlock nodded. He turned, shaking Cornelius’ hand and saying his goodbyes before he left with Mycroft. You watched the two of them disappear into the crowd before you turned back to see your Uncle Cornelius eyeing you curiously. “What?” You asked, frowning. “I believe, my dear, that you are interested.” Your frown deepened to a scowl. “Try not to read too deeply into a woman’s interest, Uncle. You may find yourself short another Dutch Old Master.”

[ladyonfire28]

Came back from my little break for that new article ! Here is the translation of Adèle and Aïssa’s interview for Libération. It’s a very long, but very interesting one. So i recommend to read it. There may be a lot of incoherencies so please tell me if something doesn’t make sense ! 

Aïssa Maïga and Adèle Haenel : «Finally there’s something political happening»

They stood up together at the César and have since been striving to invent a common front against all forms of discrimination. For "Libération", actresses Adèle Haenel and Aïssa Maïga retrace the journey of generational awareness.

Some kind of symbol. A large mural, in tribute to George Floyd, a 46-year-old black American who died on 25 May when he was arrested by a white policeman, and to Adama Traoré, who died at the age of 24 on the floor of the "caserne de Persan" (Val-d'Oise) following an arrest in 2016, was painted at the beginning of the week on the façade of a building in the 10th arrondissement of Paris. Close by, the Adama Committee organized a press conference on Tuesday. Words, demands and the announcement of a new march to fight against police violence. It takes place this Saturday in the capital, from the Place de la République to the Place de l'Opéra. The organizers dream of seeing a huge crowd come together. This demonstration comes at the heart of a tense period. Young people are demanding answers and action, while many police officers feel that the Minister of the Interior is letting his troops down in the face of the scolding.

In the street, we will find associations, politicians and many people. Adèle Haenel and Aïssa Maïga will be there. Not a first. They were already present on  June 2nd at the rally in front of the Paris high court. The actresses didn't really know each other before the last César ceremony, marked by the speech of one and the shattering departure of the other. Since then, they have never left each other. Both describe the moment as a "turning point". The fights converge.

When the idea of a cross-exchange came on the table to put words to their commitments, they did not hesitate. On Thursday, in a roadstead near Belleville, Adèle Haenel arrived first, followed by Aïssa Maïga. They are not of the same generation, the journeys and paths are different. The styles too. The one who got up at the announcement of the prize awarded to Polanski goes up and down, talks with her body. The one who, at the same ceremony, invited to count the black people in the room appears calmer, stays seated on her chair, speaks in a low voice. Adèle Haenel and Aïssa Maïga complement each other.

From where are you speaking?

Adèle Haenel: I speak from my personal political background, rooted in feminism, a background that is shaken by the worldwide movement around police violence and by the French movement around the Adama Committee. I would say that taking charge of my own history has given me the ability to deal with other broader issues that do not immediately affect me. I'm talking about a kind of political awakening. This desire to show my support for the families of the victims, for the political movement against racism and police violence in France, and for the actors who take a stand. I'm thinking of Omar Sy, Camélia Jordana and you, Aïssa.

Aïssa Maïga: This intersectional awakening evoked by Adèle is a place where I have been for a long time without necessarily being able to name it. For a long time, the racial question in cinema was so pervasive in my life that it cannibalized everything else. I felt that it was less difficult to be a woman, in a world that discriminates women, than it was to be a black woman. The work done by Afrofeminists in France and abroad put the words in my mouth that I didn't have because I didn't have that heritage. I am speaking from a place that is on the move and that is not made up of certainties, that is made of interrogations, especially about the fact that I can implement changes on my own scale. And I'm also speaking from a place that is purely civic and is tinged with various influences. I didn't grow up in a poor suburb, I didn't live in financial precariousness, I come from a rather intellectual middle class, it gave me certain tools, and yet I haven't escaped this very French thing, a soft racism, rarely seen but which is haunting... because it's omnipresent.

Why did you get involved with the Adama Committee?

A.M.: Because this is a fight for justice. It was Assa Traoré who came to meet me during the release of the collective book Noire n'est pas mon métier ("Black is not my job"). I knew her from afar, I knew her struggle, and she appeared. The support became obvious and it has really taken shape in the last few months. I was immediately impressed by this woman, her quiet strength, and this ability to forge a bond, to think of her family drama in political terms. Her voice matters. She's not just an icon: she allows a movement to emerge.

A.H.: For me, it's even more recent, I had to go through a problem that was going through me, that involved my body in discrimination in order to mingle with other injustices. I was listening to what Assa Traoré was saying and I was struck by her determination and intelligence. But it is only very recently that I also became physically aware that I could not fail to support this woman and the whole fight against police violence and racism, in the same way that I am taking up the fight for feminism and against sexual violence. I can't have it two-tiered.

On June 2nd, more than 20,000 people gathered in front of the High Court of Paris, at the request of the Adama Committee. An unprecedented turnout, with many young people, why?

A.M.: The Adama Committee saw very well the link between George Floyd's drama and their own. The death of Adama Traoré, choked under three gendarmes, was materialized before our eyes with the unbearable images of Floyd's death. The French youth who look at these images cannot fail to make the connection, it is obvious. There is also a form of accessible activism that is developing via social networks. Activists will involve others through simple, accessible sentences: if you are not a POC, you are still involved, it is your responsibility to listen and take an active part, at your level, in the fight for equality. There is also the idea that we need to establish a link between police violence, the racism that can be found in other social spaces, the issue of gender equality, the environment, and the urgency of dealing with these problems now. There is also a form of anxiety among young people: they are told that in fifty years' time there will be no more water. And finally the feeling of injustice, which is omnipresent and linked to the circulation of images on social networks. Police violence follows one after the other, and this creates an accumulation effect. It is not just a dogmatic political vision, but a reality that is lived or perceived as real.

A.H.: There is a turning point in the effectiveness of the movement as well. This feeling carried by Assa Traoré that we are powerful. It's not just ideas that go around the world, it's ideas that make the world happen. It gives hope and responsibility to a whole generation.

During Aïssa's speech at the Césars, in which she confronts the profession with the near-invisibility of actors, filmmakers and producers from French overseas territories and African and Asian immigrants in French cinema, you are in the room, Adèle. You don't know each other yet. Do you understand her speech immediately?

A.H.: It's obvious, but it's not immediate, it takes a little time to understand the extent of the racist mechanism when you, yourself, haven't been forced to see how it works. I was brought back to particular assignments, but not to this one. So it takes a long time before it becomes unbearable evidence. When Aïssa takes the floor, it's courageous because the room is very cold and it's making it even colder. I thought it was funny and I thought "finally, something political is happening".

Did you both understand that people find it violent to count black people in the room, and even that they might find it paradoxical to split the audience?

A.M.: Counting isn't splitting, it's measuring the gap between us and equality. When it comes to inequality, to be blind to color is to be blind to the social burdens that come from our history and the imagination that flows from it. I am fighting for art and culture to deconstruct racial fictions. In our field, cinema, there is a tendency to believe that when a few exceptions appear, the problem of racial discrimination is solved. I do not think that my presence, that of Omar Sy, Ladj Ly or Frédéric Chau, Leïla Bekhti, for example, however gifted they may be, exonerates French cinema from an examination of conscience. There is always an over-representation of people perceived as non-white in roles with negative connotations - and it's not me saying this, it's the CSA, through its diversity barometer. There are still too few opportunities for younger people, who today in 2020 deplore what I deplored when I was starting out. Still too few non-whites behind the camera and almost no one in decision-making positions. I started this job when I was 20 years old. I am 45. A generation, not a few exceptions, should have risen. It hasn't. And it's unbearable as a citizen, a mother and an artist.

At the César ceremony, I deliberately used a inflammable symbol. If we refuse to measure differences in access to opportunities in terms of racial discrimination, perhaps we are accepting the status quo. Today, we need concrete action by decision-makers and numerical targets in order to measure progress. A few personal successes, however brilliant they may be, cannot justify the violence of large-scale unequal treatment.

A.H.: The substance of what Aïssa said to the César is relevant, it speaks to the moment, and being shocking has the virtue of awakening. The criticisms that followed were "I agree but"... In fact, it means that even when the substance is right, the form is never the right one. It's a form of censorship, there are people who have the right to speak and others who don't.

A.M.: Allowing oneself to express anger head-on is taboo because we are actresses and we are supposed to preserve the desire that others project on us. And also because it highlights the precarious nature of this profession: are you able to overcome your fear, to express your opinion, with the risk of losing something?

A.H.: From my point of view, that of a white woman - forgive me for putting myself in this position, but it's still unfortunately an assignment - I see that when I spoke about what happened to me personally, I received a lot of support, especially from people who are not especially on our side. However, as soon as I spoke up, politically, to say that giving the prize to a rapist fleeing from justice was an insult, all of a sudden I was really overstepping what I was entitled to do, what I could interfere in...

Do you think there's a "white privilege"?

A.M.: Words are so tricky...

A.H.: When Virginie Despentes uses the term "white privilege", it's a bit related to Aïssa's gesture when she counts the black people in the room. It's a question of pointing out, by calling up words that should be those of the past, the gap between the evolution of universalist ideals and the facts of manifest exclusion at work. Provocation points out this flaw and invites us to close it.

Is there state racism?

A.M.: I don't know about "state" racism, it would have to be written into the laws to say that. The right word is systemic: it means that there is something that does not allow for real equality, something in the established rules that allows a small number of people to discriminate without being worried. What also raises the question is the inertia of the state in the face of the continuation of systemic inequalities.

From what you say, we are at a turning point in the struggle against racial, gender, social and other forms of discrimination...

A.M.: I felt the turning point in 2018 with #MeToo, Time's Up, and when I saw all these women from such diverse backgrounds (in the streets) after Trump's election. It was an image I had never seen before in my generation. It was in the United States, and yet something happened to me in France, because I had been dreaming of this convergence for a long time. I'm not here to defend my chapel. I'm not going to be satisfied with a breakthrough if blacks have more roles while Arabs and Asians are still in a degraded situation in French cinema. The convergence I'm talking about didn't quite take place at the time of #MeToo, which quickly became a white women's movement in my eyes. In French cinema, there is also the "50-50 for 2020" movement [collective for parity and inclusion founded in 2018, editor's note] that I saw coming like the guerrilla movement we had been waiting for for a long time, pragmatic, quick, positively impatient, very constructive. The work done in favor of parity is colossal. On the other hand, I regret that diversity is the next program. But it cannot be the next program for me, that is the mistake. I've talked about it very openly, and frankly in a fairly relaxed way with some of them.

A.H.: Much more relaxed than I was, by the way!

A.M.: And then I said to myself that the battles are progressing on different levels and that we're going to have to find some kind of alignment. The fight for women's rights is not just a women's issue, it's a men's issue, just as the fight against racism is not just about POC. And it wasn't until 2020 and the murder of George Floyd that there were those voices, especially white voices, that said, "This is my problem too." Including in France, where this awakening of consciousness is made possible by the work done by the families of victims of police violence.

A.H.: In my political journey so far, I had forgotten to understand the places where I am not just in a situation of domination. I am also, as a white woman who is not in a precarious position, in a dominant position in certain aspects. Understanding that, feeling that, is essential. My political agenda was focused on feminism, and I didn't realize that it was implicitly white feminism, unintentionally excluding. What Aïssa says seems fundamental to me: the agenda that would order one cause after another is not conceivable and leads to inertia. It leagues us against each other in identity issues that are sterile, since they reiterate the terms of oppression. This is a major issue in the effectiveness of political struggles: how can we mobilize without reiterating the categorization we are fighting against? This implies understanding that there is a deep articulation between all systems of domination and that there is a need to defend these causes in a cross-cutting manner.

Aïssa's speech on June 2nd, during the demonstration initiated by the Adama Committee, called for a fair, dignified and positive representation of minorities in the media. But who can judge what is dignified and fair? Only the ones who are affected ?

A.H.: Today, in France, female characters in films are implicitly white women: I have a much wider range of possible jobs than that offered to a black actress. But in my field of so-called universal women, very often, women are offered satellite roles around male characters. These roles take up what is considered to be the normal white female nature, of restraint and reification. What appears natural here is a cultural construction of identity that is done precisely through stories. This is one of the reasons why the political stakes of representations in the cinema are so important.

Is this a criterion for assessing or rejecting a work? What should be done with existing works that have been reassessed as problematic?

A.H.: Works must be recontextualized. They are not created out of nowhere, out of time. Let's question them! That doesn't mean that we stop watching them, but that we ask ourselves what their political substratum is and what they convey. Questioning representations is a sign of vitality. And that does not mean that we would no longer have the right to see these works.

A.M.: With this waltz of statues of slavery figures in the United States or in the French overseas departments at the moment, the citizens gives their answer. Either the work must be contextualized, in a museum or in a place with a historical explanatory note, or it must stand out.

Is it women, more willingly than men, who carry this convergence of fights ?

A.M.: I feel a change in the scale of our lives, a major turning point in the way we perceive each other and allow ourselves to hybridize in these battles. Regarding the massive presence of women from cinema in front of the High Court on June 2, I wonder. In particular about my own capacity to build bridges... while guaranteeing the visibility of the fights against discrimination against women or POC. How do we ensure that the fight against discrimination, for equality and equity, is as visible as the rest? I am not at all sure how to do this. But it has to be done. When, the day after the César, I received a text message from Adèle, even though we don't know each other, and she writes to me to say "I heard you. I'm here. Let's meet", it can be as simple as that.

Why did you send that text?

A.H.: Because of the solitude in this room. And the brave gesture of saying what she said on stage. We'd met the same evening and maybe I hadn't caught the moment, I was captivated by our own event... That is, what had happened after we'd, let's say..., gone to get our coats a bit earlier in the dressing room... (Aïssa Maïga laughs) And I thought, let's not forget the constructed gesture, the political intentionality of Aïssa in there. I wanted to get closer to her courage. So I think that we shouldn't talk about masculinity by saying "men", that we should consider masculinity as a field of organization of power with its own complexities, and its intersectional repercussions. I refer to Angela Davis' book, Women, Race & Class, on the issue of the difficult articulation between the civil rights movement in the United States and the emerging white feminist movements where there was a lot of racism. Why don't we think of ourselves as spontaneous and necessary allies between categories of discrimination, racial, social and gendered? We need to take the history of this division seriously in order to work on it and overcome it. As Assa Traoré does in an ultra-intelligent way when she says "Whatever your religion, your sexual orientation, wherever you come from, whatever your skin color". It is an invitation to self-criticism of our own movement. This is my discovery at the beginning of this year: the self-criticism of my history as a white feminist.

When you get up during the César, is it thoughtful or impulsive?

A.H.: This award was a claim to the right to do whatever you want as long as you are at the top. That is to say: rich white men who don't feel concerned when we talk about violence. What it means beyond sexual violence is that there are people to whom repressive laws do not apply. It's as if the police and the laws shouldn't act against them, but around them... And that's what you feel in that moment in the room. What happened on César night was a dissolution of the status quo. Now it's either you stay in the room or you don't stay in the room.

A.M.: And it was important to be there at the César, because I read a lot about boycotting that evening, but for me there was no question of backing out. A boycott is not just staying at home behind your television, not being there without anyone really noticing. It was important to say that the home of cinema is also our home, our space, our place of expression. We are in a position to speak out and for that to have the virtue of provoking discussion. When that person wins that award, it's the time of the turkey, where someone praises the rapist grandfather, when everyone knows. And you're breathless, you can't move, time becomes elastic, everything is extremely heavy, it's unreal. You enter another dimension. And the fact that a person manages to regain possession of time, to become master of their time and master of their body by standing up and saying no, it put oxygen back in, it woke us up. Adèle and I looked at each other two or three times during the evening, we knew we were together. There was something like a physical experience. We boarded the ship together.

We're spotting the allies.

A.M.: That's right. And time returned to normal when Adèle, Céline Sciamma and others, including me, got up. It was a coherent political gesture in which many people recognized themselves.

Do you think that your political positions, formalized at the César, can have an impact on your career?

A.M.: The question is how do you break a family secret? Festen is one of my favorite films. (Laughs) I wasn't born at the time of the 2020 César, it's the result of a personal journey and a legacy. Others before me have spoken, for example Luc Saint-Eloy and Calixthe Beyala on the same issues at the Césars in 2000. When Canal + and the César invited me to come and give an award, I said "yes, but I want complete freedom". Blowing up a family secret is a movement for self-liberation, it's an essential meeting with yourself. Choosing to be on the side of silence, of the status quo and therefore of injustices with full knowledge of the facts is something I was quite incapable of doing. The consequences for one's profession are not that one doesn't care, but spitting out what one has to say is a top priority. The question of what it is going to cost behind it is resolved by the feeling of freeing the word, provoking debate, making a generational contribution to the fight for equality, which in essence concerns us all. I have an appointment with myself around 60, 65, the age when my children will be about the same age as I am today. There is something about transmission. I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror. I don't want to tell myself that I haven't taken advantage of my little privilege of being a POC exception in French cinema to the detriment of all those young people I meet on the street, who aren't white and who say to me with fear in their stomachs, "Do you think I can still do this job?"

What about you, Adèle?

A.H.: The message that was sent to me very clearly by a casting director is that I will never work again. Obviously, this person was very sure of himself, since he wrote it in print capital letters about a dozen times. What do you say when you ask for respect and silence? They say, "Don't speak out politically because it's not your role". But also: "Don't take the lead artistically either because you're an actress, you have to follow the genius of your director". This whole structure is part of this culture where you shouldn't listen to yourself but to submit. I don't know what the consequences will be for my job. What is certain is that I will never regret it. We did something that night that freed the voices of a lot of people. That is worth much more than all the threats to my career, which in any case is always fragile, because it is a precarious environment. If I totally respected the rules and said, "Yes, yes, you have to separate the man from the artist", that wouldn't stop me from being able to get out of the game. It's as much about inventing one's life as trying to open up the future.

Written by Cécile Daumas , Rachid Laïreche and Sandra Onana. Photo by Lucile Boiron

[valley-of-the-lost]

I don't know if you watched BPA, but.. I have a question, that I don't know if you can answer this, but it's been nagging at me (this is a multi-part ask, this will be a quick rundown): A blog that used to be interested in Barbie claimed that BPA has some racist undertones; this is because, as they claimed, due to the antagonist (who has, as they put it, brown skin) tries to take over the kingdom of a white princess/queen. 1/?- Barbie Multiverse Anon

Okay, so, a quick explanation. This ask has been sitting in my inbox for a few days, and I sincerely apologize to Multiverse Anon for making them wait this long for me to weigh in on this. When I received this ask I was neck-deep in part of an art challenge that wore me out and I had not watched BPA (which I assumed was Barbie Princess Adventure) at the time, and I felt that this was the type of ask that I needed to chew on for a couple days and talk to some people before I was certain of my thoughts on it.

Now, I have done some cursory research, watched Barbie Princess Adventure myself, and bounced it off some of my friends for their take as well. Thus I will attempt to answer this to the best of my ability.

I do agree with the unknown blogger in question that Prince Johan is a brown-skinned character, and that the plot has racist implications due to the combination of this, him being the antagonist, and the fact that his kingdom lost a war to Amelia's prior to the plot to drive his motivation hence why Amelia is taking over the rule of both her own and his kingdom. However, I disagree with them that this is an ongoing theme or that there's a pattern of racist undertones in previous Barbie movies. At least from my own knowledge. 

(under a read more because I don’t want to clog people’s dashes, this is not a simple topic to unpack + the movie did some weird things I wanted to explain too)

Before I really delve into the meat of why I take this stance, I want to quickly discuss why I had to even assert that I agreed that Johan is a brown-skinned character as its own point on the off-chance someone else encounters the same initial weird impression I did. You can skip this part if you want, I'll put a triple asterisk where this ends (***).

Prior to watching BPA myself, I did some cursory research on the Barbie Movies wiki, prompted by this ask. I put together that Johan was probably the antagonist that was being referred to, but when I was on his page, his wiki picture was just this.

This was all I had to go off of at this point, because he didn't have a screenshot gallery for me to cross-reference him throughout different points in the movie. So the conclusion I drew at the time was "he just looks like a tan white guy". This impression was reinforced by his light eyes and recycled Ken face model. I cross-referenced this with some friends, and we came to the conclusion that at best he looks racially ambiguous, with no reason to think he was a character of color unless there was other indication about his race in the movie itself.

And then I watched the movie. And changed my mind when I saw what he looked like in these scenes.

Johan looks noticeably darker than he did in his single wiki picture, especially when next to other more obviously white characters like Barbie and Amelia. His skin tone is closer to Alphonso whom I would call a brown character pretty confidently in the same movie (I wanted to minimize comparisons across movies to eliminate the possible different variables that would come with it).

While this might not be as noticeable to other people casually watching the movie, I found this a bit jarring myself because I was focusing on his skin tone in particular due to the subject of the ask and my initial impression from the wiki picture when he was arguably at his lightest in the whole movie, as well as when he was introduced he was at his darkest because it was set at night. Also the way the animation team decided to shade him to convey that its nighttime confused me because he looked a lot darker than I thought someone of what I assumed his skin tone would look. And then the next scene with him and Barbie further confused me, because he suddenly got this reddish undertone that really highlighted their difference in skin color.

(Barbie’s hands are on the left and Johan’s are on the right for sake of direct comparison)

Finally, in his last scenes in the movie, Johan's skin tone is most like that of his wiki picture's. Darker than Barbie's when they stand in the same shot but light enough that he could've passed as a tan white guy. What cemented my confusion is that he still looks like this in the throne room, where he was before when dancing with Barbie so it should reasonably have the same lighting and bring out that reddish undertone, but no he still looks like that. So my final conclusion on him was that since he looks like a brown-skinned character in around 2/3s of his scenes and there's a 2D painting of him in the bg when Barbie and Amelia are kidnapped, that he is indeed a brown-skinned character and the animation department probably fucked up their lighting which messed with how uniform his skin tone looked across scenes. ***

Now that I've explained my process of confusion and then final agreement that Johan is indeed brown-skinned, let's discuss how this compounds with other elements to create a rather unfortunate picture. I'm afraid its a bit worse than Anon described.

First off, the added context of the history between Amelia's kingdom of Floravia and his kingdom of Johanistan. Prior to the movie proper, these two countries fought in a war and Johanistan eventually surrendered to Floravia. The two countries signed a treaty that said that after her coronation, Amelia would rule both Floravia and Johanistan.

There is a severe lack of critical details about the war itself, such as what caused it in the first place, which really works to the film’s disadvantage, since the absence of clarity does little to clear up the questionable implications of what is known about the relationship between Floravia and Johanistan.

Amelia’s kingdom is the one that took over Johan’s initially, since they won the war and Johanistan would be ruled by Floravia’s queen, with the implication being that she’d depose Johan’s family, the original ruling family. While the lack of details makes it so it can’t quite be said that Floravia is colonizing Johanistan, it also means that it can’t be said that Floravia is not colonizing Johanistan. What is known about the war is very broadly reminiscent of tactics white people have used to colonize other countries, such as using a war to depose the original royal family for the colonizer’s own gain (the US colonizing Hawaii by staging a coup against their ruling family because the white plantation owners got mad) and putting the other country in a disadvantageous position with a treaty (Opium Wars). This would probably just be viewed as normal Kingdom vs. Kingdom politics if... well Johan wasn’t a character of color.

Combined with viewing this movie through the lens of real-life racial biases (which people are predisposed to do because we're inherently based in reality), the likely conclusion drawn is that this white ruler (Amelia) is effectively ousting a character of color (Johan) and his family out of power and force-assimilating his country, and there's simply not enough clarity about previous events before the movie takes place to dispel it sufficiently.

This also poisons the plot proper because Johan's motivation is to take advantage of the law that the rule of both kingdoms falls to him if Amelia doesn't show up to coronation and regain rule of his own kingdom and Floravia as a nice plus. The intention was probably to show him as greedy for wanting lone rule of Floravia and Johanistan, taken together, it honestly comes across as the movie villianizing a character of color because he wants to regain sovereignty of his own kingdom from a white ruler. Its completely understandable that Amelia wouldn't want to lose her own kingdom especially coming off of war, but also her kingdom is also the one ousting out the previous royal family of Johanistan without giving any good reason why they can't compromise.

The effect would be somewhat mitigated if another character of color had a similarly prominent role as Johan on the side of Barbie, but there's really not. The closest I'd argue would be Alphonso, but he doesn't have equal plot relevance. This does, in my opinion, make Barbie Princess Adventure's plot give off racist vibes like that unknown blogger said. But I do not agree with them that there's a "pattern" of racist undertones in other Barbie movies.

Due to the lack of details of what exactly they meant by a "pattern" of racist undertones, I am assuming they mean a consistent pattern of racism across the movies, for example the movies consistently dipping into anti-Asian sentiments with their villains, or their plots inherently having racist vibes woven into them like I just talked about in BPA.

Despite the Barbie movies occasionally dipping into offensive territory, in my personal experience I have not observed a pattern of racist undertones or consistent racism targeting a specific group. I acknowledge that I could fully be wrong and a lot of things could have slipped past my notice, especially since I have not seen all the movies, but from the ones I have seen I have not observed a pattern with regards to this. However, I will point out the offensive/iffy things in the movies that I know of, with varying degrees of detail depending on how much I can remember. This is by no means a full compendium of all the problematic stuff Barbie films have touched on but these are the ones I am aware of at present.

Barbie of Swan Lake - Antisemitism. There was a TikTok on this somewhere that discussed this more in detail that I can't find but will link if I do, but what I do remember was Rothbart was given an extremely large nose which is reminiscent of the "Jewish nose" ethnic stereotype. Also there was something about his name and Tchaikovsky himself being antisemitic and those views being reflected in his ballet. I don't remember all the details I'm sorry and google wasn't giving me much.

Barbie in the Princess and the Pauper - Antisemitism. Preminger hits a couple of antisemitic stereotypes in the movie, such as having a noticeably larger, hooked nose compared to the other male characters which is reminiscent of the ethnic stereotype of the "Jewish nose" and being greedy and corrupt (literally mining every singe piece of gold out of the mines) which is a stereotype of Jewish people. His name is also of Jewish origin which by itself wouldn’t be a necessarily suspicious thing but combined with those other tropes it does add up.

Barbie Diaries - Tia, a black woman and also the only one with curly hair in the cast, making an iffy comment about "getting the tangles out of her hair". POC with different hair textures have gotten a lot of racist shit for their hair so even though this is a small oneoff comment seeing Tia talk about her hair like this in a negative manner rubbed some of my friends with curly hair wrong.

Barbie in a Mermaid Tale 2 - Polynesian racism. Another friend of mine who is Hawaiian brought this up in Mermaid Tale 2, when Merliah and co decided to have a luau (which is a traditional Hawaiian party or feast usually accompanied by entertainment) in Australia. My friend found it a bit iffy they were doing this when most everyone is white, but what they found worse was when poi was being served in the luau. Poi is a traditional Polynesian dish, but in the movie they claimed it was an Australian and Hawaiian dish, which its not, there’s no Australia in its origin. And then there was a "gag" where the people eating the poi were gagging on it, so essentially this movie was making a joke out of another culture's aesthetics and food.

Barbie Princess Adventure - Reread the above text.

Maybe my sample size isn’t big enough but I’m not seeing a pattern or a trend here, which in my opinion would be a larger cause for concern because for these movies their issues are largely contained to their specific movie, and a pattern would be indication of a wider problem. Maybe you see a pattern I don’t, that would be completely valid.

Now, do I think this means you can’t enjoy Barbie Princess Adventure? No, I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I said that because I still enjoy some of the Barbie movies I listed above that I just said also have problematic elements (Swan Lake and Princess and the Pauper specifically). But I do think it is good to at the very least be aware of it, hear it out, keep it in mind. At the same time I understand why people would be turned off by this topic because they’re here to have fun riding the serotonin of childhood nostalgia and not delve into discourse.

But I hope I answered your question to your satisfaction Multiverse Anon! I’m going to go take a nap now I’m tired 😭.

[queersatanic]

Bisexuality & Discrimination By Lani Kaahumanu

Source: Bi women: the newsletter of the Boston Bisexual Women's Network, Vol. 3, No. 6 (Dec. 1985-Jan. 1986)

Full text:

One of the biggest “jokes" of the Lesbian/Gay parade every year was observing the bisexual contingent. As far as I was concerned they were a bunch of closet cases, not deserving of serious consideration. As a lesbian, I felt superior in some ways and was embarrassed for them. How naive to take the bisexual “stage” seriously. I was sure their confusion would clear up and they would “come out” when they let go of the very real heterosexual privilege they were obviously clinging to. Why else would anyone say they were bisexual?

This deep rooted contempt and ignorance of bisexuality is common in the Lesbian/Gay community. It is these attitudes that kept me closeted. The few times I was sexual with a man, it was understood that l was a Lesbian who still had some issues to “work out” with men. I didn't even consider bisexuality; it wasn't a legitimate possibility. Furthermore, I would be ostracized from the supportive women’s community and run the risk of [losing] all my friends.

When I first claimed my bisexuality the panic and feelings of isolation were overwhelming, but I knew that trusting myself was the only way to live life no matter what the outside circumstances. I realized that my biphobic attitudes were in direct proportion to my own suppressed bisexual feelings. My new found awareness had nothing to do with privilege, or an inability on my part to make a choice. These feelings had everything to do with being a bisexual in a world that denies our existence.

Since enforced heterosexuality affects us in ways we are still discovering/recovering from, I want to discuss the validity of the idea of stages, and the fact that for my sexuality, Lesbianism was a stage. Now this could be taken as a rather shocking, politically incorrect and unsisterly statement. lt is not meant as such. I am not denying Lesbian existence by expressing my sexual attraction for certain women and men. It doesn't make me wishy-washy, confused, untrustworthy, or more sexually liberated. It makes me a bisexual.

The polarized heterosexist “norm” and, to a lesser degree, the homosexist “norm” sees bisexuality exclusively as a “phase” from one to the other and perhaps back again, invalidating it as a way to be, a chosen sexuality per se. However, if we take a closer look, we see that in our lives we have exploratory periods. Many Lesbians and Gay men had heterosexual and/or bisexual stages before they clarified their homosexual feelings. It is in this way that exclusive heterosexuality and homosexuality are often transitional for bisexuals. So what's important here, is that no matter where your sexual preference ends up, it is the use of the word “stage” of “phase” as a oneup attitude that hurts every one of us.

Bisexuals have been part of the heterosexual communities since the beginning of time. We are an “invisible” minority within both categories. No matter which community a bisexual “belongs to,” hiding feels the same, in that it perpetuates the experience of isolation, fear of discovery/loss, alienation, self doubt—the list goes on and is all too to those closeted. But because AIDS is a menacing presence, there is a false sense of “security” one gets from staying in, or returning to the closet. It is important for me as a lesbian identified bisexual woman, who is politically dedicated to and active in the feminist movement, to discuss bisexuality, as a valid lifestyle, to challenge the prejudices and encourage people to come out.

Regardless of how I want to label or not label my behavior, it must be discussed when I am getting to know someone. I feel a sense of responsibility about being honest with who I am and what my sexual behavior is—whether or not I call myself a bisexual, a lesbian, a lesbian identified bisexual, or even a lesbian who sleeps with men on occasion. It is the behavior that is important. Whatever same/cross sexuality combination there might be, labels and behavior are not mutually exclusive. When some people are made invisible, and others more politically/socially correct it forms new or maintains the old hierarchies. There is no politically/socially correct sexual preference. There is sexual behavior that is on a spectrum of many possibilities.

Since we live in a society that is based and thrives on dichotomous, either/or assumptions, the decision to come out as a bisexual makes the issues surrounding personal behavior and labels confusing, to say the least. When I was coming out I understood that I would be seen as a traitor, weakening lesbian pride and unity. The self doubt and isolation I felt were very real. There is a grain of truth that coming out undermines the lesbian gay movement because bisexuality gives credence to the homophobic/heterosexist belief that there is no such thing as a homosexual. But it is also true that in the long run not coming out as a bisexual undercuts not only the personal liberation of bisexual people, but it perpetuates the equally dangerous belief that there is no such thing as a bisexual.

I recognize that homophobia is at the root of biphobia. I came to lesbianism long before my sexuality was clear to me. I lived an open lesbian lifestyle for four years. I cannot deny the importance of this experience, nor do I want to. For me lesbian identity is more than, and/or in addition to sexuality; it is a political awareness which bisexuality doesn't [alter] or detract from. 10 years ago when I left my husband and full-time role of motherhood, it didn’t make me less conscious of what being a mother means. In fact, it gave me a deeper understanding. I am still a mother. That experience cannot be taken away from me. In much the same way, my lesbian awareness isn't lost now that I claim my bisexuality. When I realized my woman-loving-woman feelings, and came out as a lesbian, I had no heterosexual privilege; yet there were important males in my life, including a son. I am a bisexual because it’s real for me, not in order to acquire or flaunt the privilege that is inherent in being with men. My political consciousness is lesbian but my lifestyle is bisexual. If I keep myself quiet for another's sense of pride and liberation, it is at the cost of my own which isn't healthy—emotionally, politically or medically. Not only is it unhealthy, it’s ineffective.

Since I have come out I have triggered many lesbians to blurt in whispered confidence—“I have a man in the closet. You're brave to be so open. What am I going to do?” These are not easy times. AIDS has given biphobia free reign in the lesbian community (and admittedly with much less destructive effect than how AIDS is fueling homophobia in society at large). It is all right to trash bisexuals, not to trust us for fear of AIDS. Bisexuals are untouchables to some lesbians.

We have to deal with oppression in a constructive way or we will be factionalized forever. Time is running out. We have to see the whole and the part we play in it. Forming family communities with people who share your sexual identity is important, but trashing is nonproductive. The sexual choices we make are equally valid for our individual experiences. AIDS is not a gay disease; it is a human tragedy, a plague that doesn't recognize boundaries. I urge bisexuals to take a political stand, and to become a visible, viable energy force. It is important and timely to open this dialogue in each of our communities. Nobody belongs in the closet. The only way to get a sense of “our” community is for us to begin to speak out and identify ourselves. When we verify the connections and the networks of our oppression, we build a unity that avoids the, "I'm more oppressed than you" syndrome.”

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Reprinted from the 1985 Gay Pride March magazine, San Francisco.

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Lani Kaahumanu is a feminist writer, actor, political activist and mother of 2 living in San Francisco. She has B.A’s in Women Studies and Psychology from San Francisco State University, and is currently working on a book on bisexuality and the feminist movement. She co-coordinated the BI-POL contingent in the 1984 Lesbian Gay Freedom Day Parade which won the Cable Car Award for The Most Outrageous Contingent.