#ask-hazelnut-swift

[jam3sacaster]

“How beautiful you are, my girl.”

(Rivals) Declan O’Hara x Reader

Suggestion by the lovely @laverna-fanfictions 🩷 / You trust your new boyfriend, Declan, enough to be your first..

18+ FANFIC / SMUT & Daddy Declan always 💋Short work. Reader character aged at 21.

Pulling periwinkle woollen socks over your glacial feet, you watched adoringly as Declan O’Hara kneeled by the fire, throwing jagged lumps of wood into the blazing fireplace. “There we are. That should keep us goin’ for a bit.” He beamed, rising to his feet and clapping his hands together to rid them of ash. The garden of The Priory was enveloped in a beautiful duvet of crisp snow, still falling and settling. Declan quickly snapped emerald curtains shut on the picturesque scene, and reached over the fireplace to turn on the radio. “And now, George Michael.” The tinny voice of the deejay spoke, promptly followed by Careless Whisper. “My favourite song!” You beamed, jumping to your feet and fiddling with the radio, increasingly the volume loud enough to make Declan’s face contort.

“Come here, you.” He sighed, pulling you tight to his chest — one hand wound around your waist, and one hand clamped onto yours. Declan was aware of your affinity to dancing and although not too partial himself, he would degrade himself enough to see the sparkling grin painted across your lips. Resting your rouged cheek against the warmed cotton of his taupe shirt, you pushed out an exhale. “I love you, Mr O’Hara.” You purr, fumbling over a few steps in your jumbled dance routine. “I love you too, girl.” Declan replies without missing a beat. He inched his face towards yours, chocolate moustache bristling against your lips. His sharpened eyes scanned your elegant button nose, your rounded lips, your twinkling eyes.

“Tonight, the music seems so loud.” George Michael warbled through the radio, as Declan crashed his lips against yours in passion, feral hands pulling at the hem of your golden satin dress. “Take it off.” He grunted, and you promptly pulled the dress over your head. Much to his pleasant surprise, the removal of your dress exposed your tremendous naked body — lustrously silky skin, huge breasts with rosy nipples and a neatly trimmed entrance to your soaking cunt. “Lie down.” Declan instructed, and you steadily lay against the shaggy mauve rug, adjacent to the fireplace. The stirring heat of the flames warming your blood, softening your nipples and coaxing you to spread your legs for your lover.

Stripping the constricting clothes from his person, Declan knelt on the rug to meet you, stroking his gargantuan cock, readying himself for entry. “Declan, wait, wait… I need to tell you something.” You splutter, covering your cunt with a hesitant hand. “What?” He interrogated, shuffling back in shock of your sudden outburst. “I’ve never… I’ve never actually… You know. Done this before.” You mumble.

Declan’s face portrayed quite the picture of bewilderment. You certainly suck my dick like you have, he thought to himself. “You’re joking, aren’t ‘ya?” He most certainly stifled a laugh as he spoke. “Why are you laughing?” You ask, sitting up on your elbows and furrowing your eyebrows in almost-fury. “I’m not, I’m not. Ya’ just…” He paused in disbelief, “Ya’ suck my dick like a fuckin’ porn star.” Chuckling to himself again and pinching the bridge of his nose softly, he was bracing himself for a swift smack on his arm… which you punctually delivered. “Declan! I’m being serious. I’m actually very nervous.” You mutter under your breath. “Well, do ‘ya want to? Do ‘ya t’ink ya’ ready?” Declan questioned, glaring at you expectantly with hazelnut eyes. All you could do was nod, and spit out a small ‘yes’ whilst removing your hand away from your wet spot.

Just the sight of your glistening, pink folds made Declan’s cock jump in excitement. You watched with bated breath as he inched towards you, grabbing a firm hold of your leg and resting it in the muscular crook of his shoulder. “Are ya’ definitely sure?” He asked again, and waited for your peep of a ‘yes’ once more. Lining the pink tip of his penis with your slick entrance, pushing himself into you at a painstaking pace — giving your body time to adjust to his sheer size. “My God, how beautiful you are, my girl.” The Irishman mumbled under his breath, his face twisted in pleasure. “Christ, how are you this fuckin’ wet?” His sultry voice growled, and in response, your muscles tightened around him, causing his eyes to clamp shut momentarily.

As he steadily begun to increase his pace, thunderous whimpers fell loosely from your mouth, toes curling at the newfound pleasure. “Fuck me harder, Declan. I can take it. I promise.” You plead, wisps of golden hair shadowing your leaf-green eyes. Following orders and placing his left hand on the mellow part of your waist, Declan thrusted himself into you with monumental vigour — his balls thumping against you and the delectable wet smack of your skin colliding with his providing the most stunning music to your ears.

Continuing his tempo for a mere matter of moments, Declan spat towards you, “Fuck me, I’m gonna cum already. Tighten it up for me again, girl.” You clenched your soaked cunt again, keeping yourself contracted around him. His resounding thrusts grew sloppy, and a droplet of sweat fell from his forehead, splashing onto the small of your back. Declan quickly pulled his cock out of you, straddling your chest with his fleeced thighs and pawing at his cock over your face. “Where do ya’ want it, love?” He spoke through gritted teeth. Without audibly replying, you open your mouth, waving a yearning pink tongue towards him. Grunting melodically, Declan released his hot load onto your tongue and watched as you swallowed it greedily. “Fuck, you taste so good.” You chime, licking across your lips and savouring the taste in its entirety. “Such a good girl.” He purred, stroking a rugged hand across your cheek.

[greghatecrimes]

PPTH Gang + What I Think They’d Order At Starbucks, brought to you in incredible and unnecessarily extra detail by a very tired barista!

House: Black eye (black coffee with two shots of espresso), adds his own cream and sugar very sparingly. Occasionally when he’s alone he orders a Caramel Ribbon Crunch frap (guilty pleasure).

Wilson: Grande hot latte with soy milk. He used to order the “skinny vanilla” (latte with skim milk and sugar free vanilla) but stopped because House made fun of him for ordering the white mom drink.

Cuddy: This woman will drink any kind of coffee she can get her hands on in the morning. Even really, really shitty coffee. She just needs something to get through the day. But if she’s got time for Starbucks, I know she’s absolutely getting a tall Brown Sugar Oat Milk Shaken Espresso with two extra shots of espresso (four total). (That is a lot of espresso for a small drink and she needs all of it). She looks so stressed out that the barista draws a smiley face or a star next to her name on the cup, or writes “have a great day!”

Cameron: The Taylor Swift latte. Grande skim latte with caramel. She’s a basic bitch but she knows what she likes, good for her! In the fall she’s 100% a pumpkin spice latte girl and she probably also has the date written on her calendar for when Peppermint Mochas come back in the winter. When asked her name: “It’s Allie, A-L-L-I-E. Thanks!” automatically spells it out to make the barista’s life 3x easier.

Chase: Cameron orders for him because Chase has no idea what the names for anything are. Also likes a good Peppermint Mocha around Christmas (Cameron got him hooked; he stops drinking them after the divorce). Rest of the year he goes for an Americano, iced or hot, with almond milk. His Starbucks name is Bob, which never fails to make Cameron laugh. (Now I’m imagining putting that order out and yelling “ICED AMERICANO FOR BOB!” into a busy cafe and Chase standing there cluelessly like “who? me?” until Cameron nudges him, and I’m laughing my ass off)

Foreman: Regular, plain ol’ black coffee, any kind of dark roast. He adds his own cream very liberally but isn’t a fan of sugar in his coffee.

Thirteen: I spent way too much time thinking of the perfect thing for her. If she just gets coffee at work, just regular decaf coffee is fine. The bitter taste wakes her up since there’s no caffeine. If she wants a nice coffee, I think she’d like a decaf Doppio (two shots of espresso) with a bit of almond milk, one pump of vanilla, and one pump of hazelnut. Hot or iced, but always decaf. Gently but firmly tells the barista to please make sure it’s decaf because she’s “caffeine intolerant” (not wholly a lie. Helps her avoid the caffeine jitters.) Never uses her real name, either gives a random one or just says “Thirteen, like the number” when asked for a name by the barista. Always leaves a tip when she has cash. Orders her drink iced at any time of year if she’s in the mood for it and gets harassed by House for it.

Kutner: Rotates between different superhero names for his Starbucks name (Tony Stark, Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Clint Barton, etc.). Taub wants to melt through the floor every time he gets coffee with Kutner and his order is called out. Kutner thinks it’s hilarious. I really feel like he would be happy with anything you give him, but I think his go to if he’s specifically at Starbucks would be a java chip frap despite the fact that Taub lectures him about it (if he’s gonna treat himself to expensive coffee it may as well taste good!!). Also RIP Kutner you would have loved the Dragon Drink so much (both for the badass name AND the fact that it’s purple)

Taub: Doesn’t go to Starbucks often, probably really only goes with Kutner. Just orders a regular latte or cappuccino. He says he doesn’t see the point of adding in all the flavors and stuff because it’ll just drown out the coffee. Might put some cinnamon on top if there’s a shaker of it on the condiment bar. Would add cinnamon or nutmeg at home if he has the luxury of having a late morning and making his own coffee.

Bonus! Amber: Drinks iced coffee in the middle of a blizzard. Could also down shots of espresso like they’re tequila. The most intense bitch. Would be very visibly tense or stressed when ordering but as soon as her order’s done she’d thank the barista pretty genuinely. Go-to order is a cinnamon dolce latte, no whip but keep the cinnamon dolce powder.

[hyukassubi]

🪡 13 | Queen’s Bloody Shawl/ Why Didn’t You Tell Me?

♡𓂃 Pairing -> (Former) Knight! Huening Kai x Seamstress! Reader

♡𓂃 Synopsis -> Growing up, you never believed in purpose, nor destiny. Simply following the path of life, becoming a royal seamstress didn't at all seem like a bad idea. Only thing is, it wasn't your idea.

Your best friend who just so happens to be the crowned prince knows what it's like to grow up having limited choices, and Prince Kang Taehyun doesn't want the same happening to you. The commander knight, in turn, has other plans for the future. After Huening Kai closes a profound chapter of his life, he seeks refuge from the chaos of his past, opting for a cozier lifestyle instead.

... And it just so seems that those plans wouldn't be fulfilled without you.

♡𓂃 Wc -> 1,809

That night, a woman was seen running around the entire castle.

Every nook and cranny, you peeped through.

Every forbidden area that was clearly off-limits, you looked into.

Any palace guard or maid that witnessed the scene would eye you in concern, ask what’s the matter, and tell you ‘good luck, babe, we’re rooting for you!’ which wasn’t very practical but nonetheless provided you even the tiniest bit of encouragement.

You’ve passed the Queen at some point, in the throne room admiring the crammed outfit collection her talented seamstress had made for her.

“Look, sweetheart, I may not know where that boy is, but you’re a badass running around like that in heels without breaking a sweat. Remind me to double your paycheck by the end of the month.”

Huffing out exasperated breaths, hair hanging limp like a ghost’s with your hands perched over your knees, you go, “Thank you, Queen.”

“Right back at you, queen.”

You ran out of that throne room in a heartbeat.

Because you were sick of seeing faces that weren’t Huening Kai’s.

But first, you moonwalked back to the Queen. “May I borrow that shawl?”

Outside the dimly lit corridors of the back gates, ankle-deep snow gravelled the dry dirt.

It was dark, it was scary, it was cold and it didn’t matter, because you’re still within the vicinity of the palace but he’s not.

He’s leaving.

The thought rings choruses in your head, echoing within the hallways of whirling snowflakes and thin air.

He’s leaving he’s leaving he’s leaving.

He’s leaving and you’re staying and there’s a hundred people in the palace, in this kingdom, but no one can replace him because no one can be as much of a determined dreamer like Kai no one can achieve that level of ‘can’t-order-a-bar-of-soap-at-white-markets’ shy like Kai no one can be as noble and kind and brave as your Commander Knight Kai Kamal Huening no one can ever be Kai Kamal Huening… and you felt so stupid for not recognizing that sooner.

The snowflakes cleared, still falling. So. Very. Gradually.

A figure.

A figure in the distance, so faint, so far away but certainly not out of your reach.

On a horse trotted from the forest to the gates, slowly at first, and then quickening its pace later— Huening Kai.

Commander Knight Huening Kai zooming at lightning speed on top of Hazelnut because he saw you there out in the cold and he didn’t want you catching a flu in the middle of winter so he sped his way to the castle gates while covering the bottom half of his face going:

“Y/n? …What are you doing here?”

You whipped your falling shawl across your face. “Looking for you. I was looking all over the palace for you.”

Funny how, when you said that, Huening Kai found his throat dry. “I…”

“Your nose…”

He clasps his face with a swift hand motion. “It’s okay.”

“It’s bleeding.”

“I’m okay.”

“No you’re not.”

You hiked up your skirt, stomping over to Kai who has promptly dismounted his horse, bent forward and getting blood tracks on the snow and is obviously not okay.

“I’m fine, really, it’s just a bloody nose, it’s just—”

Damn this hippie tie dye shawl, once chocking at your neck, now unraveled, smoothened out in your hands. You draped the piece of fabric around Huening Kai’s shoulders, wiping it over his face.

Huening Kai’s eyes widened… because… that’s the only reasonable response there is when that could’ve been your hands holding his face— Well your hands are holding his face but there’s that thin layer of fabric blocking any skin-to-skin contact so it isn’t the same but it could’ve been.

If it weren’t for that bloody shawl (literally), it would’ve been your palm anchoring his jaw, resting against his cold cheek, your fingers grazing the tip of his nose… trailing down his face… his lips, they’d reach his lips and—

“Stay still.”

So he did.

He did a very good job at staying still.

At least he thinks he is.

He tried so hard to hold back, not to move or jitter or squeal and cry cupcakes and rainbows while hugging his knees and rocking back and forth in a dark corner because he’s a Commander Knight for God’s sake he should get a grip.

Your other hand hooked the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

Closer to your face. (!)

“What factory were you made in? God, you really are so big.”

Huening Kai wanted to scream.

Guttural and deep.

A voice in him told him to manually tear his hair out too.

He probably looked so stupid right now out in the snow in a preppy shawl, one side of the fabric hanging along his chest and the other side snaking around his neck and face like a distressed mummy.

“There. Now, show me the way to your place.” You grabbed Hazelnut who was catching snowflakes on her tongue, the other hand on Huening Kai’s back. “Got any firewood? We need to get you warm and cozied up.”

Huening Kai didn’t utter a word. He didn’t dare to, cheeks growing warmer each passing second.

Chest numbing, heaving shallow breaths at the foreboding realization…

“Hm. Okay. I guess it really was just a bloody nose.”

Huening Kai’s home wasn’t much.

For a Commander Knight, you’d expect his place to be shrouded in marble from head to toe, displaced furniture made from pure gold? No.

He lived in a bungalow less than half a kilometer away from the palace.

Everything was made of wood. The walls, the ceiling, the porch, it was all a distasteful muddy brown. Bland, but peaceful. It shocks you how, in his living room, his fireplace hasn’t burnt the whole thing up into ashes yet.

“I told you I’m okay and not suffering from, I don’t know, hypothermia.” He joked, laying on a fading floral couch propped on a square pillow, stripped of most of his clothing, the only thing remaining was a white blouse and black leggings clad to his body.

Yeah yeah alright I get it. Also.” Turning your head one way, you reached for the coffee table behind you. “I made you something.”

Huening Kai watched the smoking hot cup floating his way, “Tea!”

“Mhm, it’s jasmine, with two scoops of honey and frothy milk. Drink up, Hyuka. Wait— actually, don’t, it’s hot—!”

Huening Kai slurped on the hot latte with a straight face, blinking twice, steam falling on his face.

“… Is your tongue not half burnt yet?”

“No.” But his cheeks probably were.

They definitely were. Oh, to have a lady wrap you in a shawl then lead you home and coddle you up on your couch near the fire where it’s all nice and warm and have her serve you tea.

He didn’t ask for any of this! But… Huening Kai sighs dreamily, staring into the pool of latte. “Thank you. For all of this. I mean you… you didn’t have to.”

“Not a problem—”

“But you did. Even though I’m a full grown man. Almost. A Commander Knight, too. Thank you.”

You fanned the steam away from Huening Kai’s face. “But— hey, you’re my literal childhood friend of course I’d—”

“It’s really sweet, though! I like the way it tastes.” It took you a while to realize he was talking about the latte. “It’s like it came out of a cafe, did it not?”

Yup, that was definitely about the latte. “No, no it didn’t…” Why did your lips press on the way they did? Like the words were sitting right there but you couldn’t bring it up.

In your head, the prince’s big voidful eyes and those mild words that panged like warning signs.

In front of you, a happy knight you knew all those years ago with all smiles and good vibes getting the well-deserved rest he needs.

He went on, “Exactly! Do you want some? Oh, nevermind, you probably tried it already before giving it to me… or did you not? Y/n?”

“Why?”

“Hm?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The latte grew a bitter aftertaste on the roof of his tongue.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were leaving?”

Oh.

It hit Huening Kai like a baseball bat to his face.

The news.

He forgot about that for a second.

He wishes to forget about it completely. “Who… told you that?”

“Taehyun.” You weren’t looking at his face anymore. You couldn’t bare it. “Taehyun did.”

"Oh..." was all he could say. At least at the moment, that's all there was to say.

And then he sat back up, frantic, “I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I mean- I wanted to tell you but-"

You couldn’t bare looking at his face anymore because it wasn’t entirely Huening Kai’s fault, either.

You were busy, were you not?

Sketching, cutting, sewing.

But it was all part of the job, wasn’t it? Like with Huening Kai and his mission…

“But what? The timing was off? You were too scared to tell me? You thought maybe if you just shut up for a while you can easily slip away? From me?” The lines began to blur, and you couldn’t tell who you were angry at anymore, whether it was Kai or yourself or the whole damn universe. Whatever the case may be, you still cared about Huening Kai and his feelings, so you said, “Kai, that's... You're braver than you think you are, you're kind, you're caring. Don't you believe that?"

He knows.

He knows you won’t hurt him.

He knows your words aren’t meant to hurt him… yet, they do.

"You're right.” Huening Kai breathes out, rubbing the bodice of the cup, staring deeply upon pools and pools of lukewarm latte. “Everything, it’s right."

It hurts, he wanted to say, your words hurt.

And it mortified him now, how he found his throat dry.

How all he could do was look at you… as if he had the right to, as if doing that long enough will make him remember the image of you forever because that’s all he’ll live off of for the next… your hand, it reached his.

Holding him, clutching onto him.

In the brink of silence, the last words he wanted to hear from you as the creases around your eyes tightened was:

“Are you okay, Hyuka?”

“I… think so?”

“I was too harsh on you, wasn’t I? I’m sorry on my behalf for raising my voice on you.”

“It’s okay.”

"Okay. Okay then. I trust you… and... I love you, Hyuka."

A mild whisper, not even the fireplace could hear.

They were said just for him.

They were just for Huening Kai.

And he knew.

He just knew, deep in his heart, he knew.

That you did not mean that in the way he wanted it to.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

♡𓂃A/n: WHY WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME WHY DIDNT YOU TELL ME THAT YOU WERE LEAVING GAHHHHHHHHH

♡𓂃Tags: @sweetheartsaku @imcringebutimfree @i-like-to-read-at-4am @pengningie @marloree @stormy1408 @blossommi @flaminghotyourmom

Reblog & review if you like my work !!

[magpiefngrl]

'Almond' for the word excerpt ask game? <3

Hey babe, thanks for asking!

What a word! I was pretty sure I'd never written it, and indeed, I couldn't find a single instance across all my fics, published or WIPs.

Then I started searching for the word 'nuts', went through several fics, and I eventually came across one instance of 'hazelnuts' in The Boy Who Died:

Malfoy would leave in the morning, in his now customary all black, the signet ring flashing on his left hand, and he’d return at nightfall, usually with a treat for Harry. Fresh strawberries in November, starthistle and brown sugar cupcakes, bite-sized treacle tarts, roasted hazelnuts. Harry wondered if Malfoy intended to fatten him up and eat him; if he’d somehow escaped the swift death by the Harriers for a more gruesome death in Malfoy’s oven.

send me a word and I'll give yous an excerpt

[tangentburd]

~ Oh So Fly! ~

From the rockin’ street doves to the coo-l Capuchines We’ll pick and peck apart every piece of bird-based bling Warmers, collars, capes… Gramma’s cornbread cowls? You might as well go back home with your head in a towel!

~ A nonsensical poem I wrote on pigeons and their Fabulous! Bread! Necklaces! for the recent "Toasty Mart" bread x animals zine hosted by @bycmykae. Thanks for the pun fun-filled experience!

Shoutout to @katsuayumu too for making all the super cute and delicious pigeon character art for this piece :D

🕊 [ Read the full poem on AO3 or under the cut! ]

🍞 [ Read the free zine via itch.io! ]

Greetings! Salutations! Birds of a feather! Welcome to the Bread Derby, sisters and brothers! The name’s Pasquale and I’m your host for today— Colomba of keen eye for fashions of the day ~✦

It’s party pigeon time down here in the square Where every-birdy’s decked in their fanciest neckwear Where the have-its flaunt it! And the have-nots want it! Where upper crusts and lower crumbs clash in showers of grit!

From the rockin’ street doves to the coo-l Capuchines We’ll pick and peck apart every piece of bird-based bling Warmers, collars, capes... Gramma’s cornbread cowls? You might as well go back home with your head in a towel!

We’ll see who’s the boss in their oven-baked best! And who’s burnt toast that’s only good for lining nests! Beaks up and b-ready, we’re starting the show Coo! Here’s our first lady—let’s fluffin’ go!

———

Behold! This uppity—I mean, blue-crowned royalty: The Duchess of Dovershire, come to visit from her county With her pearl-tipped crest as though dipped in icing And draped with a most exquisite braided bread ring Such graze! Delicacy! (Maybe a hint of power?) The air and flair of fresh-milled flour—

“How do you do? Your reds and greens are lovely!” Hold up, did... she just say something to me? Why yes ma’am, thank you! I adore them too! It’s just avocado bruschetta, nothing too frou-frou~ She chortles, nods; then away she struts: A portly, pleasant presence in her posh, plaited doughnut.

———

Kerfuffle from the crowds! Cue the world’s favourite Frillback: Pop idol Pae-Dae, in a cushy cape of flatbread Luscious curls of feathers bronze all across his wings A dishy dove indeed: he’s every fledgling’s prince! His shuffling feet pause, his misty eyes find mine I wonder what words might leave a beak so sublime...?

“Wish I could sleep, Mister Host, but I’ll do my best Ask me about the dramas I’ve been filming without rest Or how everyone thinks my wings are hazelnut flakes...” Sigh, a celeb’s life! You can’t ever get a break I’ll interview you next week! Now go and catch some Z’s Your tortilla blanket should be cosy—but don’t let your fans see!

———

An emerald dove patters by, sleeves shimmering green Donning the airiest, fairiest sourdough I’ve seen: Scored like a flower, flour dusted like a lace veil Aw, she’s proud of it! Look at her bobbing tail~ “My name’s Paige Pidgerton, I baked it just today I hope to open my artisan beak-ery someday!”

You’re a natural, miss, this here’s a work of art! But really, is that all you dream of deep inside your heart? She flusters, she flushes, her white headband askew The rosy eyes of a heroine’s fairytale come true! “Maybe... if I can’t bake for everyone in town Then at least for some-birdy I’m happy to be around.♥”

———

You hear them before you see them: Two lean, rugged doves Squabbling, squawking, crash-landing (on the) square from above “I told you to hurry, old man, now we’re late for the parade!” ‘Why don’t you stop by a corner shop again, you ingrate!’ Good day, gentlemen! I might have seen you somewhere, sir Aren’t you G.I. Low, that decorated war officer?

‘Some eye you’ve got, chap! Sharp as this one I’ve got left Better than my grandkid here who thinks he’s bloody EMS.’ “If this thumbdrive don’t reach later, I’ll be toast-er than my toast! Name’s Payload Swift, mister, I’m a racer turned pigeon post.”

(Aha! Do I sense a glorious generation gap? A question trap to set their wings and tempers aflap!) Living life in the fast lane? Your intake must be insane! Care to share with us your go-to holy grains?

“This grilled tuna sandwich melt from Leaven-Eleven’s Is the best thing since sliced bread—a taste made in heaven!” ‘It IS sliced bread, for heavens’ sake! See the junk this boy is eating? Not like this chipped beef on toast from back when I was serving It’s provisions! Nourishment! Blessings for the whole flock!’ “Yeah sure, if only you can eat it without a fork...”

———

A zig-zagging, a tango-ing, a high bird-song and dance A kererū, post-dine-and-wine, down on the bench in a trance That passé office plumage versus bland-as-heck handbag— Lady, your tastebuds are wrecked! And that fruit loaf’s a big red flag!

She waves her bottle—budget Pigeot Noir!—before my eyes “I’ve seen your shows on CooTube, you’re that real fly guy! That Nicobar fella who’s gone way up the pecking order...” Lady, your tastebuds are just fine! Ignore what I said earlier—

“Can you tell me how you’ve been eating every-birdy’s lunch? You’re now rolling in dough, but I’m just rolling off the branch... How can a common quill-pusher like me, Karolie Flee Fly to the top, eat all I want, and still be this carefree?”

Oh Miss Flee, let’s first put my inspiring haute coo-ture aside No matter what you’re doing, you should do it with pride! Push all the quills (and your bosses’ too) until you’re seen and heard But remember: there’s more to you than just this corporate bird!

Sure, your whites, greens and purples may not be the hottest stuff But if you’re a better you than yesterday then that’s good enough~★ That said, please just toss that brick of cursed candied fruit Get a loaf that tastes more chic! With marmalade to boot!

———

So there we go, folks—our roundup of this Derby: A true-blue cross-section of our bling-based society I’ve seen a future star baker, courier, wine connoisseur Stay inspiring, inspired and well rested, you youngsters!

Boast your bread-lace loud and proud, bake it till you make it The true slice-of-life is how you wear it and what you make of it! And to every-birdy else who’s stayed with us throughout— Beak thanks to you all! This is Col. Pasquale, signing out~♫

~ end ~

[thewolvesof1998]

I Can See You

I Can See You (3.1k, T)

Fluff and love confessions; Buck is a Taylor Swift fan and accidentally confesses his love to Eddie using Speak Now (TV). 

Eddie watches as Buck pulls into the firehouse parking lot, he’s sitting in his car waiting for Buck. Eddie doesn’t know when they’d started doing it but on the rare days they don’t drive together (on the nights Buck doesn’t stay over) whoever gets there first will wait for the other so they can walk in together unless someone is running late, which at the moment is Eddie since Chris has become harder and harder to get up in the last month. 

Eddie gets out of his truck and watches as Buck sings along to whatever song is playing in his car. It’s captivating but Eddie thinks many things about Buck are. He’s unashamed as he belts, singing into his phone like it’s a microphone. Buck looks up and makes eye contact with Eddie, who can feel his lips stretched in a smile. Buck smiles back, continuing his impromptu show, now singing to Eddie even though he can’t hear it from across the parking lot. 

Eddie watches for a minute or so before walking over to Buck’s jeep, drawn to him like he has his own gravitational pull, stronger than the earth's as if Buck is the only reason Eddie hasn’t gone floating off into space yet. As he gets closer he can hear the muffled music, he can see the blue of Buck’s eyes as they gleam from joy. Eddie can barely make out the words:

I see you, I see you, baby,

Oh, baby

The song ends and Buck grabs his duffle bag and is climbing out of his jeep. 

“What’s got you in such a good mood this morning?” Eddie asks, Buck wasn’t normally a morning person and that’s putting it lightly. Eddie wasn’t looking forward to having two grumpy sulking teenagers in the morning now that Chris is almost thirteen. 

“Speak Now TV” Buck says and Eddie can practically hear the duh that he almost tacks on. Buck taps their shoulders together as they start the short walk into the firehouse. 

“What now?”

Buck rounds on Eddie, stopped in the middle of the car park with an incredulous look on his face, “Don’t tell me you don’t know about Speak Now (Taylor’s Version), the rerelease of Taylor Swift’s third album.”

“Uhhh no…” Eddie tries to remember if Buck’s brought this up before but draws a blank. He obviously heard of Taylor Swift, he’s from Texas and also has a young son and sisters but he wouldn’t be able to name an album or know about any rereleases. 

“Eddie it's been all over social media for months, it got released this morning.” 

Eddie snorts, “Buck, when was the last time I check social media?” Eddie had Facebook and Instagram but the last time he’d been on either of them had been months ago when his sister had tagged him in a photo from the last family get-together. 

Buck laughs, “Oh yeah I forgot how much of a grandad you are.”

“Hey” Eddie protests, punching Buck lightly in the arm for the dig. 

Buck slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and pulls him towards the firehouse, “So it all starts with this guy called Scooter Braun…” 

Eddie listens as Buck recounts all the details as they get changed into their uniforms and as they head up to the loft for coffee. Buck makes the coffee and nearly knocks a mug off the counter from gesturing too much which he does when he gets like this. His eyes are bright, a slight flush on his cheeks and his body is so animated that Eddie can’t look away. Buck once told him that people found this part of him annoying, it had broken Eddie’s heart; he’d never been able to understand how anyone couldn’t find it endearing. Chris was like this when he talked about whatever topic had caught his attention, maybe that’s why Eddie found it cute; Buck reminding him of his son. Whatever the reason, it meant Eddie could be found listening intently to Buck ramble about whatever topic much to the amusement of their friends. 

Buck passes Eddie his coffee, he takes a sip, it's made exactly how he likes it; strong, black with a splash of hazelnut syrup Buck had once put in it and when Eddie had hummed his appreciation Buck continued to add it. They move over to the couches and sit down closer than necessary; Buck’s heat burning a hot line from ankle to shoulder. 

“…she rereleased Red in 2021, All Too Well (10 minute version) was at the top of my Spotify wrap that year. We knew that she was going to release Speak Now next when she hinted at it in the Bejewelled music video. She announced that it was coming out on July 7th at her first Nashville show. It’s July 7th, which is why I was listening to it in the car and why I am in a good mood this morning.”

“That’s uh wow, but why do you know all of this?” Eddie understood Buck’s interest in dinosaurs, space and zoo animals, it was because of Chris, but Taylor Swift? 

Buck ducked his head, his cheeks turning pink, “Uh when I was in college there was this girl, she was obsessed with Taylor Swift, so I listened to the original Speak Now so I could impress her, I liked it and kinda never stopped listening,” Buck shrugs self-consciously. 

Eddie knocks his shoulder into Buck’s, “Maybe you can play me some next time we carpool?” He doesn’t particularly want to listen to Taylor Swift, remembers that shake it off song that had plagued the radio for months, but he doesn’t want Buck to feel embarrassed about liking it. 

“Really?” Buck asks, biting his lip 

Eddie snorts, “Really. If it puts you in that good of a mood in the morning, you can play it every morning if it means I don’t have to deal with grumpy Buck.”

“I’m not that bad,” Buck pouts 

“There’s a reason why I drive us to work, Buck” Eddie remembers the last time Buck had driven them to work and the road rage that had almost ended in a fight. Buck was usually a golden retriever personified but early morning and people driving dangerously when they had Chris in the car was a bad combination. Eddie doesn’t know if he would have been any better in that situation but instead of investigating the feelings that had appeared at the sight of Buck so aggressively defending their son he’d made a joke about not letting Buck drive in the morning and Eddie had taken over the role. It’s the only time Eddie drives when they’re both in the car, Buck likes driving and Eddie likes sitting in the passenger seat sneakily watching Buck. 

Buck’s pout deepens, “It was one time, Eds.” 

Eddie wants to kiss the pout off Buck’s face. It’s not a new thought, but the strength of it shocks him, he feels the want deep in his bones as if the very atoms that make him up are screaming with the urge. He looks away from Buck and takes a long sip of his coffee. It was a little too hot and the burn of it grounds him.

Continue reading on AO3

[blissintheeyesofstarclan]

Moon 1 (pt 2)

Elsewhere, Ferretpaw was almost shaking with excitement as she followed Wheatstar out of camp. She had been eager for more training, constantly asking her mentor for new challenges. Today, they were going to explore a different part of the territory. As they found themselves at the roots of a hazelnut tree, Wheatstar suddenly froze. Ferretpaw came to a halt beside her, confused, until she caught the acrid, sour scent that had alerted her mentor. Before Ferretpaw could react, Wheatstar dove into the burrow the scent had been coming from. Wheatstar's heart pounded as she came face to face with the badger occupying the sett. With a shockwave of adrenaline, she twisted around and scrambled out, shouting for Ferretpaw to run. The badger had a savage snarl as it followed them up the tunnel, but they managed to escape, Wheatstar leaving behind tufts of fur in her struggle. Once they were safe, Wheatstar looked down at Ferretpaw with relief. "Remember this, Ferretpaw," she panted, "Always trust your instincts, but never let them lead you into danger." Darkdew was having a more peaceful time with Asterpaw. The two of them practiced new fighting techniques in a clearing, trading tips and tricks. Asterpaw, feeling a bit more confident after remembering the time he caught a huge rabbit, managed to surprise Darkdew with a swift attack. Darkdew purred, telling his apprentice to keep up the good work. Nectarwhisper had gone out hunting with Mothivy, trying to put use to Wheatstar's advice into different situations. Though he didn't find anything to mask his scent, with his patience he managed to catch enough prey to bring back to camp. Meanwhile, Mothivy had gone a separate way, drawn by distant howling. He discovered a wolf feasting on a carcass and waited for it to leave, hoping to scavenge any leftovers. Unfortunately, the wolf had cleaned the bones thoroughly, and Mothivy returned to camp empty-pawed. As for Shiningclaw, he had spent the day searching for herbs in the damp newleaf weather. Despite spending the entirety of sunhigh looking for thyme, he couldn't find any and returned to camp disappointed. As the sun began to set, BlissClan gathered in the camp, sharing tongues and prey. End of Moon 1

[antiquatedsimmer]

As Eddy and Silas toiled to rearrange the parlor, pushing the couch and armchair against the wall to create a cozy space for the upcoming feast, Helena took Lucile into her chamber, her eyes shining with anticipation after giving Lucile a bath.

"My dearest, I have a most special gift for you today," Helena announced with a touch of excitement in her voice.

Lucile raised an eyebrow, her tone tinged with uncertainty. "Thank you... Ma, but what for?" she asked, unsure of the occasion warranting such a surprise.

Helena's face lit up with pride as she replied, "Well, my darling, your father and I couldn't afford to give you any birthday presents this year. However, every young lady deserves a proper dress! I've spent countless nights stitching together this beautiful gown just for you!"

With a flourish, Helena unveiled an exquisite yellow dress adorned with meticulous plaid stitching, designed to gracefully fall just above Lucile's ankles. The ensemble was completed with a delicate petticoat skirt, pristine white stockings, and a brand-new pair of shiny black shoes. To add a touch of elegance, Helena had painstakingly crafted intricate white lace, And as the crowning glory, a yellow lace bow had been fashioned to rest delicately atop Lucile's head.

The sight of the dress took Lucile's breath away. It was clear that this garment was meant for the most grand and special occasions. Lucile couldn't help but wonder about the cost of the exquisite fabrics, knowing well that her family could ill afford such luxuries.

Lucile's gaze lingered on the numerous layers of fabric that were to be donned upon her. Her emotions were a blend of admiration for the stunning dress and a tinge of confusion as to why it was necessary for the present occasion. However, she was determined not to appear impolite or dishearten her mother. Summoning a smile, she exclaimed, "Oh, my! It is truly a sight to behold! The dress is simply exquisite!"

Helena's face radiated with pride. "Indeed, my dear, you shall look positively resplendent in it! But before we can attire you, please take a seat while I tend to your hair."

Lucille settled herself on the stool at her mother's vanity, feeling the gentle touch of the bristles as Helena skillfully brushed through her hazelnut tresses. The room was enveloped in a tranquil hush, the only sounds being the soft strokes of the brush against Lucille's wavy locks.

"Ma?" Lucille's voice held a hint of curiosity. "Is there something special about today, aside from it being a holiday?" She carefully phrased her question, mindful of not sounding unappreciative for the exquisite dress her mother had crafted.

The brush continued its soothing motion, and Helena, pausing for a moment, responded, "Holidays and social gatherings hold significance, my dear. It is vital for a young lady to present herself appropriately, both in attire and demeanor."

"May I inquire as to why, Mother?" Lucille's voice carried a touch of gentleness, her hazel eyes searching for understanding.

Helena paused in her brushing, meeting her daughter's gaze in the vanity mirror. "It is simply the way of propriety, my dear," she explained. "You were too young to receive formal lessons on such matters before, but now, as a blossoming young lady, it is essential for you to grasp these customs. It is a sign of refinement and grace, something to be admired." A tender smile graced Helena's lips. "You have grown, Lucile, and I am immensely proud of you."

Lucile nodded obediently, "Yes, Mother, I understand," she replied, her voice laced with a hint of apprehension. As her mother continued to arrange her hair, Lucile's thoughts wandered, and a tinge of anxiety settled in her heart. She couldn't shake the feeling that this occasion held a deeper significance, one that hinted at the swift passage of time and the expectations of adulthood.

[vespaer77]

Because, as we've established that our brain cells might have been separated at birth, lol, I'm gonna add to this again. Like the sugar free hazelnut creamer to your coffee. Or, something to that effect <3 And I'm sorry I'm always so long winded, y'all can tell me to shut up haha :o)

But it's important to note Gale's timeline. It's fudgy and we have a lot that's unconfirmed, but we can make some informed inferences, and there are some facts we know.

1 - Elminster, the Taylor Swift of Wizards (he's an exceptionally famous dude across Faerun), showed up on Gale's doorstep to basically say, "You're a wizard, Harry."

2 - Which honestly, is the dream of many children. A whole fantasy franchise has been built around it (and it's truly despicable author, unfortunately, but I wrote a pretty kick ass song about her and recorded it in the studio with a choir of trans/nb/gender fluid voices and it is single-handedly my best living memory). Gale's childhood has already been affected by something else that might have pushed him pretty hard in this direction: at some point he stops referring to his parents as a plural. He only talks about his mother, and no longer mentions his father. Now we don't know when he left the scene. Unlike with Wyll, as a player we're never allowed to ask him about it. He could've been older than 8 when father was gone. But we do know that Gale's last name is his mother's last name, so we could form a rational opinion or head canon around that. In any case, the loss of a parent in childhood, now matter how it happens, has a profound effect on a person. And while it is not confirmed, it is very possible Elminster showed up during an extremely vulnerable time in Gale's life.

3 - He was the youngest student at Blackstaff Academy. And while this, also, is never stated in the game, this can be put together, too, by reading about the academy out on the FR wiki pages and just... playing a wizard at a table in D&D =) How old was your lvl 1 wizard when you rolled them up? Were they 8? Probably not. The wiki really only lists a handful of children who have apprenticed at the academy over its long history, and we also have a canonical, in-game, example of a wizard who is beginning his apprenticeship: Rolan. Who is also very much not 8. And while it is not stated, one could possibly infer with full logic that a lot of the student body at the academy was significantly older than Gale. I mean, they weren't, like, 30, but the Academy is a lot like high school or university.

Not third grade.

(Or non-American equivalent, I know we break things out a little differently here, I can only speak from my own experiences.)

Gale was a child prodigy - he was incredibly intelligent and skilled (and he obviously still is - his INT score is pretty darned high lol). Composing the Weave came more easily to him than his classmates, who had likely already been studying and practicing for years before their apprenticeship at the academy was even granted. That's a really tough situation for a kid to be immersed in, even before any mention of becoming Mystra's Chosen. But it's particularly tough for a kid who may or may not be dealing with the loss of a parent, one whose support structure was so small.

4 - The year in-game is 1492, and we know that Mystra was fully reincorporated in 1487 (even though her essence was around and communicating before that). We also know, because Gale says as much, that before the events of the game (before he was snatched and tadpoled), he had been sequestered in his tower for a year. And we do know that Elminster was tasked with seeking magical prodigies and recruiting other Chosen. So from that, one could also infer that Gale's time spent with Mystra, and subsequently his relationship with her, could have spanned across four years.

He did say that first she was his mentor, then his muse, and then his lover. Even if the relationship spanned across three years, for a human that's a pretty significant relationship. There are a lot of marriages that don't last that long, haha ;o)

And while Mystra is not allowed to reduce, diminish, or take away any of his spellcasting ability, she could have removed the orb. And did not. (And I've already stated my opinion about Mystra allowing a live bomb to just... walk unchecked out into a world of innocent people, lol.) The orb, on the other hand, did what she was not allowed, and ate everything about him away from the inside. The silver fire she had given him. Seemingly, almost even, in exchange for sex. At least from his perspective.

This man sat in that tower and watched everything - *everything* - that had defined him, that he had worked so hard to achieve, that he had sacrificed his childhood and his body to have, just get devoured. Just slip away.

And if he and Tara hadn't figured out that the orb could eat the Weave from outside sources just as easily as it could eat away at him from within, he would have died.

Violently.

And he could have taken innocent victims with him.

I was lvl 2 when I pulled him from the sigil in the stone so he dinged lvl 2 when I first met him, but that's a pretty long fall.

So I guess what I'm trying to add is that absolutely yes, he is not just obsessed with his ex. He made a mistake that cost him everything. He is paying a punishment that is vastly disproportionate to the crime. But he believes the sentence is just because his goddess told him so. And how can be be a wizard if he doesn't believe her?

He is essentially that 8yr old boy again, back at square one, all alone with no support structure, trying to remember who he was before his whole life even happened. Before he was even a fully formed person. And he can't even be upset about it. Even that has been taken from him. He has to keep himself in a "glade of calm," as he calls it, because if he gets too upset or excited... boom.

(I also think this is why we start seeing such a dramatically darker shift in his character as we go from Act 2 and into Act 3 - the effects of the orb are being mitigated so he finally has a little freedom to start processing some of his feelings... as long as he can trust Mystra, who has tasked him with suicide, to keep her word.)

So when we meet him, we meet a man who has chosen to just swallow it all. To put his best smile on, and accept his penance with grace, devotion, and faith. To accept the responsibility for two people, because his goddess has tasked him thus. We meet a man who has armored himself behind smooth charm, a sharp and intelligent wit, and a thick shield of secrecy and a self-confidence that borders on arrogance.

Hell, it might be why he has abs, lol! He's beautiful! And we naturally feel things for someone who is beautiful. Ask anyone who is a fan of Kylo Ren, lol..... *sweats in Star Wars*

He is eager to ingratiate himself to us, and prove his skill and his talent. Because if he can convince us that we have some use of him, then he has some measure of value once more. And perhaps even a path forward, whereas before all he had was heartache and loss, and guilt and shame.

And solitude at the top of his tower.

So anyhoo, yeah! You are 100000% correct - he is absolutely mourning the loss of his magic. And that is a huge statement that was deserving of a little emphasis. I just think that folks who don' t get that don't have a full understanding of how very, very deeply that runs within this character.

It is his entire being.

i have established that any gale commentary or opinion that starts with he's obsessed with his ex is immediately invalid. I don't care if you or they have good points later in the commentary about his character.

If you don't have enough patience or braincells to look past him mourning his loss to mystra is actually about him mourning his loss of magic (which he has been doing for his whole life. thats like hating on an artist missing their sponsor because their sponsor left them and took all their tools with them) then I'm not giving you the same courtesy.

The audacity to comment on his character just to bash for him is getting old.

[strawberista]

⚅— @fangedstories asked: —⚅

⚅— ( splash ) : having fallen into a body of water  "I never learned to swim!!! Help me, Decaf!!" —⚅

Situation Prompts

— ★ ⚄ ★ —

"You're joking, right?" Hanekoma waded into the the water to go fetch his partner, "Why the hell did you go for a swim if ya can't swim?"

He was mostly joking, of course. They were out in the mountains, enjoying the last little bit of time they had for each other before they had to finally part ways as partners and go back to pretending they were just siblings (or hopefully, more that they never saw each other again...). The mountains were perfect for Hanekoma, who had grew up living his summers on his grandparents' rural property and rather enjoyed the life outside of the city just as much as the one within it. They had spent the the days enjoying the wilderness, the off times in expensive restaurants, and the nights wrapped in each other's arms in an equally expensive resort.

It was another day out on the trails, but this time his beautiful partner had tripped and gone headlong into a nearby creek. It wasn't large or swift enough to be dangerous, so even if he got pretty banged up he should have been fine. Except... He didn't know how to swim. Which meant Hazelnut was sinking to his death in this waist deep water.

Hanekoma wrapped an arm around Hazelnut's waist and pulled him back to the bank, shoving him up to safety while he crawled up beside him himself, panting hard. "Dumbass."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

(Hello! This is for the Sweet on You event! The feeling is honmei. ^^)

Fiddling with the heart-shaped box behind her back, she takes a deep breath before speaking. "Hey, Ace. This is for you." She hands the box to the redhead and watches as he opens the lid. Inside is an assortment of chocolates. "I was gonna ask Trey-senpai if he could help me with making chocolate, but I chickened out and just bought this. I hope you like it, though."

She bites her lower lip as nervousness envelops her. "I wanted to thank you for being a good friend. You're a jerk sometimes, but you've been there for me a lot and I really appreciate it." Her gaze flits to the ground and she could feel heat rise to her face. "... I like you. As more than a friend. It's okay if you don't feel the same way, I just wanted to tell you how I felt."

Sweet on You.

“Wait, seriously? Maaan~ And here I was getting excited about homemade choco,” Ace teased, wearing his usual cheeky grin. “But whatever! Chocolate’s still chocolate no matter where it comes from, so I’ll take whatever you’ve got!”

He popped a piece into his mouth, tongue cushioning the sweet against the root. The sphere melted into a clean creaminess, touched with a coffee note and a sprinkling of hazelnuts.

"Nah, don't sweat it. It'd be way more trouble than it's worth if I just left ya to flail around on your own. But don't expect me to be comin' to your rescue anytime soon after you just called me a jerk!" Ace puffed out his cheeks in a pout. "Knights in shining armor like me are rare finds these days! You’re lucky to have me.”

He was halfway through a second piece when your confession hit him. The smarminess left his face, chocolate catching in the wrong pipe.

Ace bolted upright in his seat, desperately smacking at his chest to help the sweet go down. After much unceremonious sputtering, he managed to meet your burning face--his own face burning from the effort of choking down a chocolate.

"You--" Ace paused to take in a gulp of air. "--are just so dumb, you know that?!"

His words were harsh in the quiet of the classroom.

You stared at your feet, embarrassment welling over you. You had considered the possibility of a swift rejection, but all the preparation in the world didn’t make reality sting any less.

“I understand,” you said, unable to meet his eyes.

There was a light tap on your head—and when you glanced up, you found Ace prodding you with the heart-shaped box. He frowned at you, his cheeks still pink, and an intensity set in his deep red eyes.

"... Of course I like you back, idiot.”

Ace collapsed back into his chair, hands resting behind his head. “Now wipe that sorry look off your face, you look totally depressing.”

His mouth stretched back into that familiar, cocksure grin of his.

“You’re at your best when you have a smile—so c’mon, show me one! Can’t have people thinking I make you unhappy, right?”

[wednesdayismyfunday]

Coffee shop cliche ( part 1)

Summary: Y/n has a cafe and Henry is her customer. ( Clasic Cliche)

Warnings: Most cliche and predictable thing you will ever read.

Pairings : Henry Cavil x reader ( female)

Yes , y/n works in a coffee shop and yes, y/n fell in love with her customer. It’s a walking cliche , but she can’t help it . He makes her knees week when he walks in. It’s a good thing he orders something different every time because if she had to remember anything when he came in she knew there would be trouble . He once told her he changes his order to keep her on her toes. He once ordered a latte with half almond milk , half oat milk and two pumps of hazelnut syrup. He said it was awful but drank the whole thing. He also sometimes ordered food. That made y/n very nervous because she was always so particular about the food. He said he can’t order everyday otherwise he would ruin his meal plan . Apparently he has a crazy fitness regime and meal plan when he is working . Every now and then he orders one of the muffins . Whenever he does eat something , he makes this incredible moan that drives y/n crazy . She will never forget the day he closed his eyes and moaned . Ever since that day she pushes her freshly baked muffins hoping it will be the day he eats another one. Just as she was putting out her freshly baked apple cinnamon muffins, she heard the door open .

“ Good morning Y/n.” Henry smiled. He stopped in his tracks and looks at what y/n was holding. The muffins. Every day he tried to ignore the muffins but not today !!

" Good morning Henry" she replied. Y/n was wearing a green sundress that perfectly clung to all the right places. Henry loved y/n in a dress, she normally wore a variation of an apron and dress. Today was one of his favorites. He was brought out of his daze by a sweet smell.

“ Freshly baked apple and cinnamon muffins.” Y/n sang.

“ I need two . I finally have 3 months off and I need to make up for lost muffins.” Henry said.

“Yes sir.” Y/n mock saluted .

“I would also love a hot chocolate.” Henry said nonchalantly. Y/n froze . He had never asked for a hot chocolate . He had asked for everything else the cafe had to offer but never a simple hot chocolate . He once asked for some orange juice in a coffee mug so people took him seriously .

“ A hot chocolate and 2 muffins.” Y/n stared at Henry as if he had grown two heads.

“ Why are you looking at me like that?” Henry asked.

“ Sorry. Coming up. You know I make the best hot chocolate in town.” Y/n smiled.

“ How come I don’t know this.” Henry asked.

“ You never asked for one.” Y/n replied. She handed Henry two muffins and started her work on the hot chocolate. Henry paid for his order and sat down on a chair close by.

“ That’s true. I have been dying to have a muffin. It’s agonising coming in here and being tempted.” Henry responded . He took the muffin out of the brown paper back, unwrapped it from the muffin paper and took a bite. He closed his eyes and leaned back into his chair. He was suppressing his moans. Something y/n noticed immediately. He looked so serene like nothing would ruin this moment for him. That was until another customer walked through the door. His eyes shot up and he quickly lowered his head down. He devoured the muffin like a silent assassin. The muffin never stood a chance. Y/n helped the customer, luckily all they wanted was a muffin. Once the customer left she brought Henry his hot chocolate and a small biscuit that he usually refuses. He politely accepts and eats the biscuit. He put the hot chocolate to his mouth and takes a sip.

“ God y/n this is incredible,” Henry whispers. Y/n blushes at the compliment and moves back to her post. Henry finished his muffin and hot chocolate. He didn’t have anything to do that day so he was contemplating sitting in y/n’s cafe and eating everything. He looked toward Y/n, noting the way she moved in the cafe. She was swift and angelic. He had been dying to ask her out for months, but every time he got the courage she would smile at him and he would melt. Maybe if he caught her off guard it would be easier.

“ Y/n what are you doing today ?” Henry asked.

“ Well the cafe closes at 2 today. Then I am baking for tomorrow.” Y/n responded.

“ Can I watch?” Henry asked nonchalantly.

“ You want to watch me bake?” Y/n replied. She could feel her face heating up.

“ Yes.” Henry said with confidence. He walked to the counter and crossed his arms.

“ No.” Y/n replied .

“No?” He replied . Henry was surprised by the answer . He thought she had a crush on him. She always blushed when he spoke to her . Maybe it was all in his head .

“ It’s a secret recipe.” Y/n mumbled , embarrassed by the reasoning. She would not be able to bake infront of Henry . She could barely make coffee with him watching.

“ I won’t tell a soul I promise”. Henry said as he mustered his best puppy dog eyes.

" Willing to sign a NDA ?" Y/n asked. Henry laughed.

" I will do one better, a pinky promise. " Henry put his finger out.

“ Fine. Come back here at 4:30. Bring wine.” Y/n said and accepted his pinky promise. Henry let go and gave his best smile

“ Good. See you then”

[trapperisbestboi]

The Stubborn Narrator™

A MenWritingWomen parody

Chapter 1

This is the story of a man named John.

John worked in a coffee shop.

His job was simple: he stood behind the counter and he pushed buttons on a coffee machine.

Orders came to him through notes left by the waitresses on the counter telling him what buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order.

John liked his job before, but since the pandemic precautions had to be taken and they made his work unbearable.

He was trapped behind that cold and lonely counter, he couldn't chat with the clients as they were allowed to stay at the tables outside exclusively and the face of the gorgeous young students working as waitresses were to be covered with hideous handkerchief-like masks.

The days had become monotonous, lonely and boring.

He had even tried to call back a few exes, in the hope of at least scratching a certain "itch" at least, but none were willing to risk their health for a couple of rides.

Such is the mistery of women.

They ask for handsome young men, with a humongous butternut squash and abs like King Bowser's carapace...but won't get close in fear of a simple flu.

And yet they should all thank the Lord just for being acknowledged by such an Apollonian beauty.

His skin was of the same colour as an F4 coffee that was smooth like silk, his eyes were like Italy roast beans, his lips soft and plump like pandoro and his voice was deep and powerful like thunder. His curly hair were the colour of the Hershey's Cookies & Chocolate bar and they flowed down like a natural frame around his clavicles.

Alas, what good is a Cupid without a Psyche?

Luckily one day, something unexpected happened.

Something that would forever change John;

Something he would never quite forget.

He came in an hour before the opening hours to prepare the supplies like he did everyday.

While he was putting the glasses in their place, Taylor Swift's Shake it off started blasting at full volume.

John tripped but managed to not break anything and answered his phone.

It was his boss, warning him about a new waitress starting that morning.

John thanked him with a smile, even though he couldn't see him anyway and ended the call before swearing at him.

J : "That dumbass couldn't just send a message like everyone else? And who cares, I probably wouldn't have noticed anyways!"

The rest of the hour passed with no other inconveniences.

The waitresses arrived and the day started like usual.

Around midday a loud crash was heard nor far from the café accompanied by a couple of curses and a young woman came running in the shop accompanied by the sound of her ass cheeks clapping.

Her skin was of the same colour as hazelnut ice-cream, her eyes were like smurf gummies, her lips thins and glossy and her voice was soft and clear like water slime. Her straight hair were the colour as the muzzle of newborn piglets and were pulled up in an adorably messy tall braid. She wore a purple sundress short and translucent enough to feed the imagination, but covering the amount needed to leave you hungry. She obviously wasn't used to run as could be vouched by her wide, round hips and the two huge pastry puffs hanging on her chest that moved in perfect harmony with her lungs that were trying desperately to recover.

M : "I...I'm sorry, there was a...a protest at the bus station and it wa...it was really far so I had to come with the...the bike..."

J : "It's ok...you're the new waitress right? Do you need to sit down?"

M : "Yh-heah"

The woman took the nearest chair and fell on it like the apple on Newton making her watermelons jump like a cat surprised by a cucumber.

M : "Hi...I'm-John?!"

The Venus accidentally said his name instead of hers, what an endearing silly rabbit.

J : "Do we know each other?"

She lowered her mask showing a smug smile under her tiny freckled nose.

J : "MARIE EFFING SMITH???

The flat, skinny idiot that was always late and constantly picked up fight with the buffest people in the gym that I had to rescue constantly??"

Marie got up and stood in the sassiest pose possible.

M : "One I'm not an idiot, if it wasn't for ME you'd still be in elementary school buster!

Two I was only picking up fight with them so you could show off in front of da girlz.

I will not address the rest."

Am I doing this correctly?

Feel free to give constructive criticism.

List of chapters + plot in link below

https://www.tumblr.com/trapperisbestboi/692758068194377728/i-think-by-now-we-all-know-the-literary-horror

[scuttling]

Paper Rings

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 10,191 Tags: SFW, Fluff, Literature, Friends to lovers, Everyone thinks they're dating, There was only one bed, Some angst with a happy ending, Confessing love in the rain, TW fire and blood/wound Summary: Some of my favorite tropes rolled into one cute fic inspired by Taylor Swift's Paper Rings. (lyrics and music) Link to A03 or read below! “Good morning, my friendly neighborhood crime fighters,” Penelope says as she enters the briefing room, wearing a dress that is bright bubblegum pink, with fingerless gloves and glasses to match. You, Derek, and Spencer groan your replies, because you just got home from a case last night, with less than seven hours between arriving at your apartment and returning to the office, and that is everyone’s least favorite thing.

You can’t deny that her typical sunny disposition makes you smile a little bit brighter, but you’re still exhausted, and even your usual extra large travel mug of breakfast blend is barely taking the edge off.

That’s probably why, when Aaron enters with trays of steaming espresso drinks from the cafe down the street, and a striped box of donuts, you act like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh my god, I love you. Thank you, I love you.” He got an array of basic drinks based on everyone’s usual orders, and you scan for one that has something with latte, but he takes one out and hands it to you, smiling when you take a sip and sigh—okay, he’s smiling with his eyes, but you are well versed in his body language and facial expressions, and he’s practically grinning at getting your order (triple one pump hazelnut extra hot latte) correct.

You are not the only one to notice.

“Get a room, you two; it’s just coffee,” Derek says, taking the white mocha from the tray and drinking half of it in one sip. “Now if you tell me there’s a bear claw in there, I’ll confess my undying love too.”

“I don’t know; I asked for an assortment,” he says, and it’s clear he did, but your cup has your name on it; you cover the ink with your hand and take another grateful sip. “I do know there’s a plain glazed in there, though,” he says a bit lower, just for you, and you smile, give his wrist a squeeze, and dive for it before Jennifer Jareau can get her hands on it.

That’s all the morning meeting consists of—bickering and bantering and caffeine and carb consumption—and when the group disperses, you follow Aaron to his office and sit down in the chair across from his.

“Thanks again for breakfast. You definitely raised the morale of the troops,” you say with a sip of your perfect latte, and he shares the hint of a smile.

“You’re welcome. It helps that you’re all so easy to appease.” He flips open his bag, pulls out a small, worn, paperback book, tosses it toward you. You pick it up, run your hand over the well-loved cover, and hum.

“The Call of the Wild—this made it into the Aaron Hotchner Nightstand Collection?” He arches a brow.

“It’s so overrated that it’s underrated; no one ever actually reads it, they just assume they know what it’s about. It’s a great book, if you’ll give it a chance.”

“Hey, you’ve read all of mine without complaint; of course I’ll give it a chance.” You take the last, sad sip of your latte and stand up, point out the door with your thumb. “Speaking of, mine’s still downstairs on my desk. I’ll be right back.”

Exchanging books started as an offhand comment one night, on a flight home from Georgia, when he’d mentioned that he never buys new books, only cycles through the same ten or twelve he’s been reading since college. He knows what he likes, finds something different in the text each time he reads, and you’d found something so profoundly beautiful about that that you’d asked for the list. You wanted to know more about the books that tug at his emotions enough that he’s read them day in and day out for over twenty years with no boredom in sight.

He’d done you one better, said he’d be happy to lend them to you, if you’d like, and that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. Seeing college-aged Aaron’s notes in the margins of battered paperback novels was a prospect too good to be true.

Of course, you couldn’t accept the gesture without returning one of your own, so you’d offered to share your favorite books with him too, only... you don’t exactly give him your favorite books. You purposefully buy the cheesiest romance novels you can get your hands on, pass them off to him while he hands you poignant, classic novels that have won literary awards and Nobel prizes.

Today’s is called Lord of Scoundrels, complete with a shirtless man on the cover, kissing a woman with dark, flowing hair and a light blue dress; you snicker the whole way to your desk and back up to his office—earning curious glances from the rest of the team—and when you drop it on the desk in front of Aaron, you watch closely for a reaction.

As usual, he doesn’t really give you one, just flips the book over, skims the summary on the back, and nods.

“Sounds interesting,” he says, and your heart does a little flip.

He could easily hand the book back, laugh in your face, refuse to read something so clearly out of his wheelhouse, but he thinks these novels are important to you, and he never fails to read them, offering his favorite parts the same way you do for his.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t.

“I think you’ll really like it. Sebastian and Jessica start out kind of indifferent toward each other, but the more they interact, the more they find they have in common. It’s very acquaintances to friends to lovers, if you’re into that.” He looks up with an expression you place as uncertainty, even if you’re not quite sure the reason for it. You smile softly. “I should get to work, but thanks for the book. I’ll see you at lunch?”

It’s been so nice lately that you started taking your lunch outside, sitting on a bench beneath a huge, shady oak tree, and Aaron had taken to doing the same; you both quickly realized it was stupid to sit outside together, apart, so you meet up in the bullpen now and walk out side by side, spend the hour talking about your books or the team or Jack or life in general. He shakes the uncertain expression, nods his head.

“Of course. Thank you,” he says with a wave of the book, and you head back downstairs to start your day.

You’ve become mostly accustomed to the feeling, but it still surprises you a little when all that gets you through the day is thinking about your next conversation with Aaron. A week later, you’re on a case in Pittsburgh, and you and Aaron are paired up to room together. That’s nothing unusual—it seems like you’ve been rooming together more often than not lately, which is fine by you; he’s tidy, quiet, always interested in a late night snack, pretty much the perfect roommate—but when he opens the door and you step inside, the single king size bed in the middle of the room takes you by surprise.

“Uh… do you think it’s a mistake? Or maybe they just ran out of doubles?” you suggest; he's kind of frozen in place, and while it’s not ideal, you know it’s not actually going to be a problem. You’ve shared a bed with JJ before, and Spencer, and even though you don’t feel the same way about them as you do about Aaron, you think you can manage a couple nights in close quarters.

“Probably just ran out of doubles,” he agrees after a moment; he doesn’t bring up calling the front desk to ask for another room, so you don’t either, just hang your clothes and head into the bathroom to change into your pajamas and do your nightly routine.

It’s a little awkward at first, and you don’t know why; over the last six months or so, he’s actually become your closest friend on the team, and conversation usually comes easily, but silence settles over the room uncomfortably as you slip between the sheets on your side of the bed.

He goes into the bathroom, does his own nightly routine, then comes out in his pajamas and turns on CNN.

You take out your book, pay no attention to Aaron, but the longer he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the news ticker on the television screen but not actually watching it, the more you wish he’d just get over himself and come to bed. If he’s trying to wait for you to fall asleep, he’s going to be waiting a while.

“So you were right; I love Buck,” you say as a way to start some conversation, to bring some normalcy to this unusual situation. You hold up the book you’re reading, the one he let you borrow. “His struggle between remaining loyal to his owner and answering the call of the wild—I love dogs, but I never imagined a book about a dog could be so moving.”

He turns back with a soft smile, then switches off the tv and heads over to his side of the bed; he pulls back the comforter, slides between the sheets, meets you toward the middle of the bed.

“I told you you’d like it; what chapter are you on?” He leans over to look, so close it wouldn’t take much to lift a hand and brush it over his hair; it looks unfairly soft, and part of you wants to card your fingers through it, to tug on it and mess it up a little. He probably wouldn’t even mind if you did.

“Chapter 7—I only have a few pages left.” You snuggle more comfortably against your pillow, lean into his shoulder, and move the book so it’s more evenly between you. “Want to finish it with me?”

He does, and you read silently at a similar pace; he reaches up to turn the pages, and you think about how these hands have flipped through this book so many times before, what he might have been thinking, feeling, while reading. It’s a more intimate act than you’ve shared with anyone in a really long time.

When you finish the book, you sigh, let the feeling of reading a really great story envelope you; you turn to face Aaron, and he’s looking at you… and then there’s a knock at the door that startles you both.

He gets up, walks over and checks the peep hole, then opens the door.

“Are you sure?” you hear JJ ask, and he steps back so she can enter the room; when she sees you tucked snugly into the middle of the bed, she shoots you a soft smile and mouths you’re welcome, which makes absolutely no sense without context. You’ll have to bring it up to her later and ask what exactly you’re supposed to be thanking her for.

“So you said the detective called?” Aaron prompts her, and she looks away from you, nods.

“Yes, he wanted me to ask if we could have a few agents meet him at the second crime scene tomorrow instead of the precinct, figured it could save a little time.” Aaron looks confused, like he doesn’t see why this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, but he ultimately agrees.

“Sure. You, Reid, and Prentiss can head straight there, if that’s what he wants. I’ll let them know in the morning.” JJ nods, and looks over at you, and then back at Aaron, who makes a kind but curious face. “Was there something else?”

“Huh? Oh, no, that’s it. I just didn’t want to forget. I’ll let you guys go—enjoy the rest of your night,” she says with a smile and a wave, and when he closes the door behind her, you both exchange a look.

She’s definitely acting a little weird, but it’s late, so you give her the benefit of the doubt.

You scoot over to your side, put the book on the nightstand and switch off your lamp; Aaron climbs back into bed and switches his off, too, and he turns to face the wall while you lay on your back and stare at the ceiling.

It takes about half an hour, but he falls asleep first; you turn to face him, watching his back, following the rise and fall as he softly breathes in sleep, and the peaceful rhythm lulls you into submission, and you drift off as well.

When you wake up a couple hours later, he is on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow, and you are draped over his back with your cheek against his t-shirt. It’s soft, and warm, and smells like him, and you glance at the clock and realize it’s too early to do anything but get comfortable and fall back asleep, so that’s exactly what you do.

The next time you wake up, to light creeping in between the curtains, Aaron is no longer in bed, but you’re holding his pillow, still warm beneath your cheek. He doesn’t act weird when you get up and start moving around, just pops out of the bathroom with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

“Got you a latte,” he says around it, gesturing to the desk and the pair of paper cups that sit on it, and you grin.

“Seriously, you’re my favorite human,” you answer, and you grab your coffee and lean against the doorframe, sipping and sighing until you’re a little more clear-headed. “Sorry if I crushed you; guess I was restless last night. I usually don’t move around that much.”

He just shrugs, spits out a mouthful of foam into the sink.

“You didn’t crush me. I’m pretty solid, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed,” you tease, looking at him over the lid as you take another sip. “Now hurry up and quit hogging the bathroom if you want to leave here at a decent hour.” He rinses, zips up his toiletry bag noisily for dramatic effect, and slips past you, rubbing a hand over your unruly bed head as he goes. The day passes quickly, with lots of interviewing witnesses, following dead-end leads, and bad police station coffee. When Aaron calls it and tells everyone to get some dinner, you all split off into smaller groups—Spencer and Derek go for Chinese, JJ and Emily opt for pizza, and you and Aaron end up at a retro diner with burgers and milkshakes and a plate of fries between you to share.

“I think we should be focusing more on the docks,” you say, dipping a fry in ketchup and taking a bite. “Even if that’s not where the bodies end up, it seems to be where the unsub is meeting with the victims. We could stake it out tonight, maybe. If you want.” You never want to step on his toes, because he is the boss, the leader, even if you’re friends too; you try to be careful how you phrase things, especially in front of other people, because you don’t want your comfort to look like disrespect, however unintentional.

“That’s a good idea. You and I can head down there after this; I’ll let the others know to patrol nearby, in case we need backup.”

He dusts off his fingers and pulls out his phone, types out a text, and you look around the restaurant—the place looks like it was ripped right out of the 50s, with a checkered floor and lots of red vinyl, a shiny jukebox in the corner. Out of place is a flatscreen tv behind the counter; during the day, when it’s busier, it might play news or sports, but you two are the only ones here at the moment, so the staff is hanging out beneath it watching a movie. It’s Titanic, you realize, when the iconic ‘Rose floating on a piece of debris’ scene plays, and you snort, take a long drag of your chocolate shake.

“I always hated this part. They could have found a way for him to survive, too. Unnecessary death for the heartache factor,” you say, and Aaron looks up from his phone to the screen, makes a sound of contemplation.

“I always thought it was kind of romantic. When you love someone, you’d do anything for them to be okay, even at your own expense. Even if it’s stupid.” You look over his face, study the features you know like the back of your hand, and you guess you can kind of see that, but you can’t say that, so you just sigh.

“I suppose you think Romeo and Juliet is romantic, too,” you tease, and he looks back at you, rolls his eyes.

“It’s very much of its time; it's a lot harder to suffer a miscommunication like that these days. And there is something to be said for star-crossed lovers—people who shouldn’t be together, for one reason or another, but can’t help but drift close anyway.” You swirl your straw in the metal cup, thinking briefly of how that happens to describe the two of you, and when you look up at him, you think you see a hint of that same thought on his face.

More likely, that’s just wishful thinking.

“I like the sword-fights,” you say to lighten the mood, and he laughs, and you both polish off the rest of your food and then head for the docks.

Two hours in and absolutely nothing has happened, but just when you’re ready to complain, or suggest playing I Spy or something, there’s movement from one of the shipping containers to your right. You nudge Aaron, point to the container, and you both creep closer, trying to make out the situation.

When you’re just around the corner, it’s clearly two men fighting, but you obviously don’t know if this is your unsub, two random guys having it out on the docks, or what, so you mutually agree to wait until you have some kind of sign that this is your guy. When one of them pulls out a hunting knife that looks vaguely similar to your murder weapon—as close as you can tell in the dark, anyway—you raise your guns and identify yourselves as FBI.

The unsub drops the knife, but fists his hands in the other guy’s jacket, manhandles him to the edge of the dock, and shoves him into the water, then jumps as well. You swear, and Aaron takes off his jacket, throws it on the ground, then his phone on top of it, and looks back at you.

“Stay here and call for backup,” he instructs, and then he jumps in too; you call the team from your comms, get a response from Emily, and then toss your phone onto Aaron’s jacket and follow him.

He, of course, went for the victim first, so you look for the unsub, who is not visible above the water. You completely submerge yourself, feeling for more than looking for him, because the water is cloudy on a good day and pitch black at ten o’clock at night; when you pop your head up for air, you see Aaron getting the victim up onto the dock, and the unsub bobbing a bit further out. You swim to him, limbs aching, and he seems to know it’s time to give up.

He’s winded, gasping for breath, so you keep him above the water to your own detriment, dragging him by his wet jacket instead of cuffing him, because you’re not trying to kill the guy or lug his unconscious body back to shore. You just barely keep your own head above water most of the time, coming up for big gulps of air when absolutely necessary.

You finally make it to the dock, and your team has arrived, so Derek pulls him out of the water, makes sure he’s alright, and puts some cuffs on him. Aaron’s hands are on you right after, getting you up on the dock, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

Despite the warm spring breeze, the water was freezing, and you can feel your teeth chattering. He rubs your arms for warmth, crouches down to look you seriously in the eyes.

“Thought I told you to stay here,” he says with an arched brow, a scowl you can tell is more concerned than angry. You wet your frozen lips and try your best to smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack.”

He looks at you like you’re an idiot, but fondly, if that’s possible, then hugs you so tightly, guides your face to press against his warm neck. How he’s not teetering on the edge of hypothermia is anyone’s guess.

“Your lips are practically blue. Stupid,” he murmurs, but his mouth dusts over your temple in what is unmistakably a kiss, and when you’re able to feel your lips again, you reciprocate, press them a little harder against his throat while you shiver in his arms.

It doesn’t mean anything except I’m happy we’re both alive. Probably.

That night in bed, he faces the wall, and you stare at the ceiling, but you wake up with your nose against the back of his neck. The way he’s breathing tells you he’s not asleep, and when you wrap your arms around him, he holds them tight. Things don’t change after Pittsburgh, and that’s okay. You are comfortable with the way things are, and you love what you have—lunches under the oak tree, the exchange of books, late night texts when you both can’t sleep, hands brushing when you walk to the parking garage, glances shared across the jet. All those things make it easy not to focus on what you don’t have, what you’re not even sure Aaron would want anyway.

You exchange books again on Friday at lunch: he hands you Beloved by Toni Morrison, a book you already know and adore, and you hand him Ravished by Amanda Quick.

“Dubbed the Beast of Blackthorne Hall for his scarred face and lecherous past, Gideon,” Aaron shoots you a glance—“that’s purely coincidental”—“was strong and fierce and notoriously menacing. Yet Harriet could not find it in her heart to fear him. For in his tawny gaze she sensed a savage pain she longed to soothe... and a searing passion she yearned to answer.”

You hold back a smile.

“It’s a modern retelling of a classic story—Beauty and the Beast,” you add, taking a bite of your sandwich. He looks you over like there’s something he wants to say, but he just tucks it under his arm and steals a piece of melon from your lunch.

“I have Jack this weekend, so I probably won’t get to read much, but it sounds intriguing.”

“Well I hope you like it when you read it. Tell him I said hi; it’s been too long since I saw him. I bet he’s looking more like you every day,” you say, popping a piece of melon into your mouth. He smiles softly.

“A little, but Haley says she sees her father in him, and I have to agree. We may have to wait a few years until he looks like me; he’s too cute for that now.” He doesn’t sound self-deprecating, just fond, but you can’t let a comment like that stand, regardless.

“You’re cute; the difference is that kids are cute all the time. You’re an adult, so sometimes you’re handsome, sometimes you’re cute, sometimes you’re hot… it can be hard to reconcile.” This time, he looks you over with something light and playful in his eyes, and it’s something you want to explore, but the timer on your phone goes off, indicating that lunch is over, so you just exhale softly and pack up your things.

You don’t talk much after that—his Fridays are usually busy with meetings, and he leaves in a hurry to pick up Jack, which is understandable.

Emily, JJ, and Penelope invite you out for drinks and dinner—“because we know Hotch is busy,” Penelope says, which has literally nothing to do with your weekend plans, but you don’t correct them—so you don’t linger either.

You go out for Italian, so you are sleepy and full of wine and pasta by the end of the evening, and you smile at your friends.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, guys. I had a really good time.”

“Of course,” Emily says, taking her last sip of Pinot Noir. “We barely see you anymore; it was long overdue.”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I should really try to drag my ass out of bed more often.” You can’t help it, though, that after a long day, your bed and a good book just call your name. You’ve always been introverted in that way. JJ laughs softly, chin in her palm, elbow on the table.

“Honeymoon phase. Give it another couple months and you’ll be past that.” You do have a new memory foam mattress that has made sinking into the pillows and blankets all that more indulgent, but you didn’t think JJ knew about that. And you’ve never heard of a honeymoon phase for a mattress before.

“Eh, I don’t think so. There’s literally nothing more satisfying on this earth.” The three of them exchange an amused look, but your phone vibrates, and that catches your attention; you smile when it’s Aaron, sending you a photo of Jack with a toothy grin and his hands covered in fingerpaint. You look up to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.

“Alright, we’ve lost her. See you all Monday,” Emily says, pulling you in for a hug; when she steps back, she smiles. “And tell Hotch we said hi.”

“I will,” you promise as you hug the other two. You hang back a moment, type out a reply—Looks like you’re having lots of fun without me!—and get into your car to head home.

You change into comfy clothes, drink a glass of water, and climb into bed with Beloved, and at around 9:30 you receive a reply.

Having the most fun we can without you. Maybe next time Jack is over, we can tempt you with dinosaur chicken nuggets and fingerpaint?

You smile, the happiest you’ve been all night—and that’s saying something, because you really did have a great time—and send back, It’s a date. Come Monday, you’re feeling pretty good, well-rested and relaxed from probably too much time in bed, but Aaron looks upset when he walks into the morning meeting. He keeps it short and sweet, and everyone disperses quickly, giving you sympathetic looks as you hang back to try to have a word with him. He clears off the white board, tidies up the table that doesn’t need tidying, and you place a hand on his back, gentle and comforting. He sighs, and you can feel the tension leave him almost instantly.

“Hey. What’s bothering you?” you ask softly, leaning around to try to catch his expression; he looks tired, sad, and maybe a little conflicted, leans into your touch.

“Taking Jack back to Haley’s was rough last night; it always is, but yesterday was really bad.” You know a little about this from weekends past, how Jack always cries when Aaron has to leave, how he feels terrible about it for the rest of the evening, but it must have been extreme for him to still be so upset. “And Haley…” He sighs again, runs his hand through his hair. “It’s like it’s one step forward, two steps back with her sometimes.”

“Why don’t we go sit in your office and you can tell me more?” You want to continue discussing this—that’s what friends are for, and he’s clearly in a bad state emotionally, you think it could help—but he just shakes his head.

“No, I… it’s okay. I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.” You take your hand off his back, lean a hip against the table and look up at him.

“I’m not just your friend when it’s all easy breezy, lunch in the sunshine, talking about our favorite books,” you say with a sad smile; he reciprocates a little, which is more than you expected. “I’m here when things are complicated, when you have bad days, too. The Monday blues especially.” One of his hands rests on the table, and you cover it with yours, lean in to press your forehead to his shoulder. “Let me be here, okay? Even if all you need me to do is listen.”

It takes a moment, and his eyes are wet when he finally responds; he inhales deeply, nods, and brushes his free hand over your head in something of a hug, murmurs a rough, “okay.”

You sit in his office for an hour—which, again, is more than you expected—listening to him talk about his weekend with Jack, how heartbreaking it was to take him back to Haley’s, how he tried talking to her about taking him more often and she just wasn’t sure she could trust him to do what he says he’ll do. He understands where she’s coming from, knows he’s been unable to keep his word in the past, thinks he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt; he hasn’t asked for advice, seems to just want to vent, so you just listen.

“Then I mentioned you, that you might come for dinner next time he’s over, and she was worried about that,” he says, exasperated, and you frown.

“Why would she worry about that? I’ve been around him lots of times.” It doesn't make sense, because Haley has always been nothing but sweet to you; Aaron looks up at your question, and it seems a little like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that part, though you can’t imagine why.

“It’s just different now… because he’s older,” he says after a brief moment of hesitation. “She doesn’t want him getting attached to someone who might not always be around, you know.” You sigh softly, because if that’s all it is…

You lean forward, take his hand, squeeze it tight.

“I’m always going to be around, Aaron. I can talk to her, if you want, tell her that.”

“No, it’s—you don’t have to do that.” He squeezes your hand back, closes his eyes for a beat. “Just hearing you say it, it makes things easier. I’ll talk to her again next time.”

You talk a little more, and he seems a lot better afterward, even if he is a bit less expressive during lunch; you figure any progress is good, but it makes you sad to see him so down, so naturally, you formulate a plan to help get him back to the Aaron you know and love.

At the end of the day, when he makes his way to the bullpen, you spin around in your chair, take him by the sleeve.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” you say in no uncertain tone of voice. “For a few hours. I’ll bring you back for your car.” He agrees with a fond look, and you lose yourself in the expression for a moment, then stand up, grab your things, and walk with him out to the garage.

Rush hour traffic is what it is, and you leave Aaron in charge of the music, which means you get The Beatles and The Who, Rolling Stones and Neil Diamond, and you’re both singing along and so much happier by the time you pull into the parking lot of the bodega nearest your apartment.

“Just running in for provisions—be right back,” you say with a grin, and when you return with two paper bags of loot, he looks at you like you might be his favorite person in the world with an age in the double digits. It’s a look you love putting on his face.

“Do I get to see what provisions you’ve acquired?” he asks, teasing, but you shake your head and tell him he’ll see it when you get there.

With a pit stop in your apartment to grab a blanket and a few throw pillows, you take him up to the roof and get things ready for your makeshift picnic. There is white wine, still mostly chilled; cubed cheese, far from gourmet but no less delicious; crusty french bread that was fresh this morning but at this hour is a little extra crusty; blueberries, because they didn’t have grapes; dark chocolate, because you share a fondness for it; and paper cups for the wine.

Aaron takes a look at your bounty, spread over the blanket, and smiles the first real smile you’ve seen all day.

“Fancy,” he teases, and he takes off his jacket, gets on the ground with you. You pour each of you some wine, pop a blueberry in your mouth.

“No, but I thought a meal—and I do call it that loosely—under the stars might do you some good.” You lift your paper cup and tap it against his, brush your fingers over his hand. “To the best boss, best dad, best friend I could ask for.” You take a sip, but he doesn’t at first, watches you with something simmering behind his eyes.

“Do I get to make a toast?” he asks after a few beats, and you smile, nod, and hold up your cup. “To the only person stupid enough to jump into a freezing cold river after me. To the only person I would consider eating a bodega dinner with. To the only person who sees me the way you do.” You both take a sip, which is hard to swallow around the lump in your throat. He looks into your eyes, then breaks the dark chocolate into slivers and hands you a piece like he didn’t just say the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to you before.

You eat, and talk, and drink, and when you’re done with dinner you put everything back in the bags and lay back on the blanket, side by side, and stare up at the stars. The moon is high and full, shining while the stars twinkle around it, and you can’t think of a single time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“This was really perfect,” Aaron says, almost a whisper, after about twenty minutes of companionable silence. “I can’t thank you enough for being there for me today.” You turn to face him, hands curled up under your chin, and he turns toward you as well. He’s so handsome in the moonlight your heart almost aches.

“You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted to see you happy.” You feel your eyes well up with tears, because he deserves to be happy; you sigh, blink them away, and he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead, rests them there for a long time. When he eventually pulls back, you bring a hand to his hair, brush it back at his temple, and then the creaking of the door makes you pull back, sit up.

It’s your neighbor from 422, who you’ve seen on the roof a handful of times, sneaking away from his wife to smoke a cigarette. He squints in the dark, recognizes you, and waves.

“Hey, 418! You’re not alone tonight.” Aaron sits up too, and you laugh softly.

“Nope, but we were just leaving. The roof is all yours.” Aaron stands, pulls you up, and you grab the blanket and pillows while he grabs the bags, and the two of you head back down to your place.

It’s after ten when you get the groceries put away, and you stand next to Aaron in your small kitchen, contemplating what you want to say next. Your mouth betrays your brain, says what you’ve been thinking but weren’t quite sure how to approach.

“It’s late; I know I said I’d take you back to your car, but you could stay here if you want. I have a spare toothbrush, and I know you have a spare suit at the office, and it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve shared a bed before.”

You’d completely understand if he’d rather go home—you hate when your plans are changed at the last minute, and you prefer to do your full nightly routine for your sanity’s sake—but he only nods, and you lead your way to the bedroom, show him the master bath.

You are in your pajamas, tucked into bed, when he comes out in his boxers and undershirt; he hangs up his suit in your closet where you’d left him some space, then climbs in beside you. He looks over at you, then past you, at your nightstand, which has a stack of books on it—none of them romance novels. You grin, busted after months of book exchanges, and he leans over you to look at the titles.

“Persuasion, To Kill A Mockingbird, One Hundred Years of Solitude—Beloved.” He looks from your copy of the novel to his, which you hold in your hands, and you shrug sheepishly.

“I like reading the notes you put in the margins,” you say meekly, hoping he’s not angry, but all he does is laugh.

“Let me guess: you don’t actually like romance novels.” He leans back against your pillow, and so do you, resting the book on your lap.

“I mean, I don’t not like them… but I’ve been buying those just for you.” The smile on his face is brilliant, and only makes you yearn for him more; things you have been purposefully not feeling are flooding your heart and mind and body now, with him so close, laughing over this stupid secret you’ve been hiding for so long. “And you, sweet man that you are, have been reading them, and discussing them.” You put your hand on his shoulder, and he ducks his head to laugh again.

“Since we’re being honest… I didn’t read all of them. I tried,” he says when you act offended, shoving the shoulder you’re resting against, “but some of them were so bad. I just flipped through, found something I thought could pass as my favorite part, and hoped to hell you didn't ask too many questions.”

You both laugh until you’re breathless—he is so different from how he was this morning it makes you want to cry—and when your laughter dies down you look at each other, sharing breath, two heads on one pillow; is it any wonder you bridge the distance, pull him close for a warm, gentle kiss?

When you break the kiss, you are instantly worried about what Aaron will do—you aren’t drunk, aren’t even tipsy, so you know he can’t be, so much bigger and more solid than you, but will he think it’s a mistake? He kissed back, you’re pretty sure, but maybe that was an accident, something done on autopilot—

He leans in for a second kiss, mouth deceptively soft, and you curl your arm around his back, press into it with lips desperate not to let this end now that it’s started. When you separate, you are both looking into each other’s eyes again, breathing a bit heavily, and you meet in the middle for a third kiss, the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life.

That kiss ends when you yawn in his face, and he chuckles softly, leans over and switches off your bedside lamp; you smile at the ceiling, and he wraps his arms around you, presses his lips to your shoulder, and tells you good night. The next day, the two of you arrive at work early so he can shower and change into his fresh clothes without anyone on the team noticing—not that you think they would really care, but they’re nosy, and a little annoying, so you both agree that’s probably for the best.

You don’t talk about the kisses, even though they’ve been the only thing running through your mind since they happened; you promise to discuss it at lunch, though, and that’s such a sweet, romantic prospect that you think you prefer it better that way anyway.

Only, you don’t ever get to lunch, because there’s an urgent case in Minneapolis, an all hands on deck situation, meaning even Penelope joins you on the jet. You debrief on the flight, hunker down in the conference room, and split up to cover more ground; you barely get to speak to Aaron the whole time you’re there except to be given instructions and to fill him on what, if anything, you’ve learned.

You don’t even make it to your hotel that night, working around the clock to catch the people responsible for terrorizing the city. It takes not one, but almost two full days, and when you board the jet on Wednesday evening, everyone is dead on their feet. You barely remember the flight or the trip home, and you fall onto your bed fully clothed and crash just like that.

Thursday is your birthday, which you almost forgot, and so you assumed everyone else would too. You should have known better, because even if your team can be annoying, they are still your friends, and they love you, so you are well and truly spoiled.

You are treated to a latte and bagels from Emily, purple cupcakes with silver sprinkles from Penelope, a piggy back ride from Derek, a book of poetry you’ve had your eye on from Spencer, and a card from JJ—really, it turns out, from all of them.

“Enjoy a romantic getaway on us?” There’s some kind of certificate in the card, and when you flip it over, you discover that it’s for a hotel and spa that offers couples massages, mud baths, intimate aromatherapy? You arch a brow. “Uh, thanks, guys. Are you trying to tell me something here?” JJ’s face falls a little and she points to the card.

“It’s a romantic getaway. For you and Hotch? Since things have been so hectic lately,” she says, but your ears are kind of ringing and your brain is stuck on the for you and Hotch part.

“Oh. Um. Sorry—it’s just kind of soon, I think? How do you guys even know about that?” you murmur. The two of you haven’t had time to discuss Monday yet, and you haven’t spoken a word to anyone; you wouldn’t have guessed Aaron would have either, but there is a gift certificate for a romantic getaway in your hands, and you’re kind of spiraling.

“Well come on, we haven’t exactly been pretending we don’t know,” Emily says, and you can feel the confusion in your features when you look up at her. “And you guys haven’t been exactly secretive. We’re happy for you, though.”

“I mean, we haven’t been secretive, but we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet. It’s only been three days.” You are met with looks similar to the one on your own face.

“What do you mean, three days?” Spencer asks with a frown. “You and Hotch have been dating for almost two months. Right?” he says, looking at the others, and they nod, but it’s tentative. Your first reaction is to flush, and you close the card, fan your face with it.

“You guys think… You guys thought…” You look at them, then up at Aaron’s office; there’s no way he can know that you’re having a moment, but he chooses then to come downstairs, coincidentally. He’s smiling at first, but it falls when he looks at your face.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” He presses a cool hand to your hot cheek, flicks his eyes over yours, and JJ makes a noise; when you glance over at her, she’s gesturing between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, we were wrong? What were we supposed to think?” Aaron frowns, not following, and you take a deep breath.

“They got me a gift certificate for my birthday. To a spa. For you and I to have a romantic getaway, because they were under the assumption we’ve been dating… for two months.” The way he pulls back quickly makes your stomach ache a little, but you say nothing. You should have known.

“You say I love you,” Derek begins like he’s listing evidence. “You have lunch together every day. You’re always smiling at each other.”

“Seriously, some of the softest, gooiest smiles I’ve ever seen,” Penelope adds.

“You eat together on cases, you’re texting all the time when you’re not together.”

“I’ve been pairing the two of you up in hotels since I first figured out you were dating,” JJ says, and the whole ‘you’re welcome’ thing suddenly makes some sense. ���I booked you that room with just the one bed so you’d maybe feel more comfortable about us knowing, so you’d see that we don’t mind.”

“You’re always looking at each other, always touching,” Spencer says. “In Pittsburgh—that was the first time you really hugged or kissed each other in front of us. We were trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was kind of a big deal.”

You look over at Aaron, try to gauge his reaction, but for the first time in a long time you can’t tell what he’s feeling. You can’t really tell what you’re feeling, either. Sadness. Worry. Loss? But what have you lost?

“We’re friends,” you say, even if it sounds weak to your own ears. “We’re… close.”

“We wouldn’t exactly make sense as a couple, would we?” Aaron asks rhetorically, and your heart clenches when he says that. He told you this morning that he’d made dinner plans for you, both for your birthday and to discuss the kisses, what they mean, where you go from here, but that doesn’t sound very promising anymore. “We’re just—”

“Star-crossed,” you say, but you feel like your eyes are vacant. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re stupid for kissing him, for letting yourself think he could feel the same way you feel, have felt for a while. Isn’t friendship enough? Don’t you already have this special bond so unlike what you have with anyone else in your life? Why press your luck? You know better than that. “We should get back to work.”

You don’t look at Aaron, so you don’t know whether or not he looks at you. JJ does, and you can tell she knows you’re upset, but she just nudges everyone on their way, and you take a seat at your desk—it’s covered in balloons and streamers, the Penelope special.

You’ve never felt less like celebrating.

At lunchtime, Aaron stops at your desk, and the two of you walk out to the bench, open your bags in silence. You’re almost halfway through the hour before he tries to speak.

“Uh. I. About earlier,” he finally gets out, looking down at his sandwich, and you shake your head even though he’s not watching you.

“It’s fine. We don’t have to.” You take a bite of your salad even though you don’t taste it. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. You are who you are,” smart, sweet, handsome, tender, caring, “and I am who I am.” Too quiet, too young, too impulsive, too silly, too emotional. He nods, looks at your face for the first time in a while, swallows.

“Right.” You’re due to exchange books back—his is on your lap, yours is on his—and he picks them both up. “I’m like this,” he says, holding up Beloved. “Faded cover, dog-eared pages, scribbles in the margins: middle-aged, divorced, a little broken, barely holding it together for the kid I don’t get to spend enough time with. You’re like this,” he says, holding up Ravished. “Fresh and glossy and shiny and new, with your whole life ahead of you, the whole world ahead of you. You could do anything, with anyone.”

You frown, because this is not what you meant, at all. How could he think that about himself, when the well-loved cover and the dog-eared pages and the scribbles in the margins are all the best parts of him?

“Aaron,” you say, but it sounds like pleading; you reach out to put your hands on his arms, but he pulls them back. His eyes are rimmed red, lips pressed together to hold back everything he’s not saying.

“I think lunch is almost over.” He packs up his things, leaves you with tears in your eyes and a wilted salad and a brand new romance novel you’re never going to read.

Later, he cancels dinner, says something came up, and you go home to your empty bed and watch Titanic and bawl your eyes out when Rose tells Jack she’ll never let go. Friday, you get another case. Weekend cases are no one’s favorite, but especially not yours, when you desperately needed that buffer of time away from Aaron to sort out your feelings and get back to some sense of normalcy. Instead, you’re flying to a small town outside of Nashville to catch a serial arsonist, and when you get to your hotel, you and Aaron are sharing a room.

At least there are two beds, this time.

You go with Emily and Spencer to a crime scene, walking around a house that was once picture perfect and is now all charred wood and ash, and you quickly tell yourself to get a grip and not look for metaphors for your own life while trying to solve a case. What kind of investigator are you? Pathetic, apparently.

You work until evening, and when it’s time to break for dinner, you buy a sad looking assortment of items from the police station vending machine and eat in the conference room by yourself.

It’s a good thing you do, because they get a call about the fire while everyone is still away, and you and a few locals are the first on the scene.

It doesn’t start out bad, mostly located in the back of the house, but you know how quickly these things can spread, and the fire department is working hard to put it out. One of the officers is talking to the family, and the mother is crying, so you come closer to figure out why.

“She said the daughter was supposed to be staying at a friend’s, but sometimes she changes her mind at the last minute and comes home. She can’t get ahold of her,” the officer says, and you nod, thinking.

“Where would she be? The front or the back?”

“Her room is in the front, second floor; if she’s here, that’s where she’d be,” the mother says, wiping her eyes with a tissue, and you tell the officer to stay with them, that you’ll take care of it. You talk to the firefighters—this town is so small there are only two that were able to respond, and they’re both busy trying to put out the fire, but they clear you to go in if you stick to the front of the building and get out of there as fast as you can.

Your team isn’t here yet either, too far out for comms to be effective, and you can’t get ahold of Aaron, so you make a judgement call and head inside.

The front of the house is so eerily normal it’s almost easy to calm your nerves and pretend the back isn’t in the process of being destroyed. You open the front door, run up the staircase, and call out for the girl; she answers, not from the front of the house, but the back—a bathroom maybe? Flames lick up the wall beside it, but you can get to the knob, and she comes rushing out, into your arms, terrified. You weren't expecting that, and you both fall back: your head hits off the floor, but she seems okay, so you tell her to run out the front door and find her mom.

You press a hand to the back of your head, and it comes back tacky with blood. There’s ringing in your ears for a couple of minutes, and then your favorite voice in the world comes through.

“Where are you? We’re here, where are you?” You’re getting hotter, and when you crane your neck up, you can see why: the fire is getting closer, creeping toward the staircase, creeping toward you. You inhale, cough, and press your walkie button.

“I’m upstairs in the hall; hit my head. It’s not safe.”

“I’m coming for you.” You groan. Stubborn man.

“It’s not safe, Aaron.” You hear the crackle of static, hope maybe he heard your warning and will wait until more firefighters arrive—but knowing him the way you do, that’s just wishful thinking. His voice rings out again, and despite the pain, you can’t help but smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack. Just stay put; I’ll be right there.” You close your eyes, drift in and out of consciousness; when you see him, all you can think is how ridiculously in love with him you are, and that you really hope you’ll be around to tell him. You are, of course, fine. Your head is the worst of it, even the smoke inhalation was mild, and the fire didn’t touch you, so there are no burns. Aaron doesn’t leave your side the entire time you’re being checked over, looks serious and concerned, though he smiles when the mother comes over and squeezes you so tightly you wince a little. It starts to rain, making the firefighters' jobs a little easier, and it feels oddly cleansing, after the day you’ve had. Someone offers you an umbrella, but you decline.

The fire is successfully put out, and the half of your team that didn’t respond to the scene responded to a call for suspicious activity, which ends up being your unsub. You are all happy no one was killed this time, and since you’re staying the night again, the group decides to grab a drink to celebrate. You don’t have a concussion, but your head still aches, so you pass, and Aaron passes with you.

You head to the hotel, park in the lot, but you don’t even make it halfway across before you stop, a hand on his arm.

“I need to say something,” you tell him, and he looks up at the dark sky like, right here? Right now?, even though you’re both already drenched. You nod, because if you don’t do this now you might never—almost dying always gives you an unhealthy amount of confidence, which you attribute to equal amounts of adrenaline and stupidity. “When we first met, I didn’t think we’d have a lot in common. We’re both quiet, but in wildly different ways, and I’m quick to trust and let people in while your guard is almost never down.”

He looks a little sad at that, and you realize you’re kind of doing what he did, putting the two of you into completely different categories, emphasizing the ways you don’t belong together. But that’s dumb, so you don’t give him time to focus on that for long.

“But being your friend, Aaron—the more time I spent with you, the more I came to feel like no one has ever understood me the way you do. No one has ever seen me the way you do.” Rain is pouring down all around you, beating against the pavement, flattening your hair against your head, but you don’t care. Regardless of his reaction, this is actually kind of perfect. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you—that was an accident, I admit. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You step closer to him, put your hands on his waist; he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t need shiny, glossy things; you're the one I want—faded cover, dog-eared pages, notes in the margins. I love you exactly as you are.”

He is gorgeous in the rain, water in his hair, dripping off his nose. His expression looks hopeful, and you pray to god that’s not wishful thinking.

“Say something, anything,” you beg, anticipation killing you, and he presses his hands to your cheeks and pulls you close for a deep, passionate, soulful kiss that says it all.

The words are nice to hear, though.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you either,” he breathes against your lips when the kiss breaks. “I told myself it was just a crush, because someone so young and beautiful was paying so much attention to me, treating me like more than just the guy giving orders. But the more time I spent with you, the more undeniable it became. You are everything good about the world—bright, optimistic, caring, funny, sweet. How could anyone not fall in love with you?”

You swallow hard, lean up to press your lips against his again.

“When you said we wouldn’t make sense as a couple…” He shakes his head.

“That was just me chickening out. After we kissed, I was all but ready to ask you to go steady,” he says, and you both smile, because he’s such an old fashioned dork, but god, do you love him. “And then we found out that the team thought we’d been together for months, and you looked freaked out, so I freaked out. I’m sorry. I should have made us talk about it sooner.”

“Classic pointless miscommunication,” you say with a laugh, and he chuckles too, kisses you again.

“Let’s go inside and get dried off; there’s a birthday gift in my bag I’ve been meaning to give you.” He takes your hand, and you head up, duck into the bathroom to change into dry clothes, squeeze the water out of your hair. There is a small, flat, wrapped present on your bed when you emerge, and you smile, sink down to open it.

It’s Romeo and Juliet, a brand new copy, but when you flip through it, there are blue inked notes in the margins. Aaron comes to sit beside you, touches your face like you’re something precious.

“The course of true love never did run smooth,” he murmurs, and you smack him on the arm with the book.

“That’s from A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I know you know that,” you say with a grin. He nods in admission, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, lean in for a warm, loving kiss. When you pull back, it’s with a soft smile. “Give me my sin again?”

“My pleasure,” he whispers, and you sink into his embrace and promise never to let go. The following week, you both leave work at noon on Friday so you can enjoy your romantic getaway. You drive to the spa, and Aaron reads over the brochure on his phone with a tone you find hilarious.

“Mud bath—I’m not bathing in mud. That’s counterintuitive.”

“It’s special mud; more like clay,” you say, but he snorts, scrolls.

“Seaweed wrap—nobody is wrapping me in seaweed. That sounds like a nightmare.” You laugh softly and take your exit.

“It’s supposed to be rejuvenating. JJ recommended it.”

“JJ weighs fifty pounds. It would take all the seaweed in the Atlantic to wrap me,” he says, and you roll your eyes, jab your finger into his ribs.

“But what if I get to unwrap you?” you ask, eyebrows raised; you briefly glance over and he makes a face of contemplation.

“Okay, that’s a maybe. Intimate aromatherapy—what does that even mean?”

“I think it means we do something that makes us smell good and then we go back to our room and kiss and stuff.”

“Now that doesn’t sound half bad,” he murmurs. “Foot massage? I’m not letting a stranger touch my feet, that’s weird.” You look over at him, squinting.

“You literally plugged someone’s bullet wound with your finger yesterday, but someone touching your feet is where you draw the line? Will you do anything on the list?” He scrolls down it, and his extended silence makes you laugh.

“Meditation. Couples massage,” he says, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh. “There’s a sauna.” You think of him, sweat-drenched in a fluffy white towel, and take a deep, calming breath. “I bet the room is nice; did you bring a book?” You smile indulgently, reach out a hand to brush through his hair.

“Yep. It’s called A Duke’s Wild Kiss…” He gives you a mildly withering look, and you lightly tap the bridge of his nose. “Just kidding. I brought To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.” His answering smile is brilliant.

“Are you serious?” You nod, and he gestures to the backseat, where your bags are. “That’s what I brought, too.”

You spend too much of your romantic getaway in your room, but it is really nice; you do the couples massage, though, and aromatherapy, and the sauna, and then you take turns giving each other a foot massage while the other reads To the Lighthouse out loud.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t, but somehow you get to keep him anyway. A/N: Though I snuck in a few parts of a few different lyrics, two lines in particular inspired this fic: 'Now I've read all of the books beside your bed' and 'I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this.' A lot of my fics lately have incorporated books... guess I better get reading!

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

[houseoflennoxx]

1 - 9 for the ask game you reblogged 😳

Oh, I wasn't sure if you were asking me just 1 and 9 or from 1 to 9, so let's go the second option, bcs yes. Hehehehe tysm, friend <3

 1.- Do you have freckles?

Hm, not really. I'm very pale, tho, so during summer I tend to have more!

2.- Do you drink tea or coffee? How do you take it? 

I drink both! I drink my tea with non dairy milk and no sugar, preferably English Breakfast. My stomach can't tolerate nor dairy nor warm milk, so my coffee is always iced, normally a hazelnut latte.

3.- What was the last song you listened to? 

I'm listening to music while answering this! Rn, the song is Money by The Drums.

4.- Do you sleep on your back, stomach or side?

Usually on my left side cocooned on my duvet.

5.- Do you sleep with a stuffed animal? 

Yes! They help me sleep! I usually sleep with a giant avocado squishmallow right at my face and my stuffed Winnie the Pooh near me.

6.- Do you prefer drawing or writing? 

Writing! I've always been awful at drawing

7.- What’s your ideal number of blankets to sleep with?

Hm, I just sleep with my duvet (with its cover, obv) and the fitted sheet.

8.- What’s your favorite band/artist?

I am a very musical person, so I can't decide on just one. My favourite artists are Taylor Swift, Vance Joy and David Bowie and my favourite bands are Simple Plan, The Fray and I'm developing an obsession with The 1975.

9.- When is your birthday?

On the 22nd of October, last day of Libra sesion (the best one!)

[celiamae99]

traitor j.d.

“You should sing at the open mic.” Hanna told me one afternoon, “Singing usually gets your mind off of everything that is going on and you definitely need to get your mind off of Jason.”

“Hanna! I’m fine!” I told her stubbornly, trying to make myself presentable for school today.

“Yeah and I’ve never been shoplifting before,” Hanna rolled her eyes at me. I gave her a look. “Look, you and Jason broke up, for reasons that I do not understand because you refuse to talk about them, but you need to move on.”

“He's dating someone else now.” I said quietly. “It hasn’t even been two weeks later and he’s already dating somebody else.”

“Let’s go,” Hanna said softly. “We can grab coffee along the way.”

When Hanna and I walked into the coffee shop, giggling about the newest Taylor Swift album. I looked up right as I bumped into somebody. Jason. He looked down at me and his eyes looked so guilty.

brown guilty eyes and little white lies yeah, i played dumb but i always knew that you'd talk to her, maybe did even worse i kept quiet so i could keep you 

Flashback

“Belle, you have nothing to worry about. I’ve just been driving her home after to school so Toby doesn’t have too, and it’s literally just along the way to my place.”

“I know,” I sighed. “It’s just after Noel...”

“I’m not Noel.” He told me, lifting my chin up. “I love you.” He kissed me breathless.

“I love you too,” I looked up at him shyly. I had more questions but I didn’t ask because I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answers.

and ain't it funny how you ran to her the second that we called it quits?

and ain't it funny how you said you were friends? now it sure as hell don't look like it

Present

“Uhh, hey.” He said softly.

I blindly reached for Hanna. “Hey Jason. We just came to get coffee. We’ll see you at the pep rally?”

“Sure, but Belle --” 

Hanna tugged me along and I followed her.

“Hey, Babe.” I heard him say softly and my heart sunk. I gripped Hanna’s hand tighter and Hanna gripped just as tightly as she ordered us our drinks.

“Yeah,” Hanna said. “A non-fat vanilla late frap with vanilla and hazelnut and a iced coffee with vanilla and sweet cream cold foam and a regular coffee with two percent milk.”

I glanced back at Jason and his girlfriend and quickly ran to Caleb when he walked in the door.

“Hey, what --” I sighed deeply, relishing in the person who was basically my big brother. “I really want to kill him.” He muttered holding me tightly as I tried my best not to cry.

“Let’s wait outside for Hanna.” He directed me outside.

“I’m going to sing,” I told him. “At the open mic night.”

“You’ll do amazingly.”

Later that night, I sat myself down at the piano and readied myself for singing.

“This song is called traitor.” Once I got to the chorus, I let go completely, singing all of my emotions.

you betrayed me and i know that you'll never feel sorry For the way i hurt, yeah you'd talk to her when we were together loved you at your worst but that didn't matter

it took you two weeks to go off and date her guess you didn't cheat but you're still a traitor

Flashback

“God, I just don’t know what to do anymore,” He told me, raking his hands through his hair aggressively.

“Hey,” I said plopping down next to him. “It will all be okay.” 

“I just hate my parents sometimes. They expect too much of me. I’m not like Ali and they don’t get that.”

“I know, I’m so so sorry.” I said, rubbing his back gently, slowly letting my hands replace his in his hair. “But you don’t have to be anybody else but you.”

He looked up at me and leaned over and kissed me.

Present

Now you bring her around Just to shut me down Show her off like she's a new trophy

And I know if you were true There's no damn way that you Could fall in love with somebody that quickly

Ain't it funny All the twisted games All the questions you used to avoid?

Ain't it funny? Remember I brought her up And you told me I was paranoid

Flashback

“I can’t keep doing this,” I screamed at Jason, shoving him back. “I can’t keep fighting with you and pretending that I am okay when clearly I am not okay. We are constantly fighting and hurting each other and I can’t do this anymore.”

“What are you saying?” Jason asked harshly.

“I’m saying this needs to change! Why are we the way we are? What changed? When did everything switch? Why!” I begged him to answer me, but he wouldn’t look at me anymore. “Is it her?” I said dully. I sank down on his bed, gripping my forehead and hair harshly.

“You’re just being paranoid,” Jason said. “I’m not with her. We are just friends.” He tried to reassure me, rubbing me.

“I just feel like this is failing. Like I’m failing. Like we are failing.”

“It will get better.”

Present

you betrayed me and I know that you'll never feel sorry for the way I hurt, yeah you'd talk to her when we were together loved you at your worst but that didn't matter

it took you two weeks to go off and date her guess you didn't cheat but you're still a traitor

Flashback

“I’m so done I’m done with you being paranoid all the time. All you can think about is A and how they are going to tear us apart or how I might be cheating on you but I’m not! And A won’t tear us apart unless we let them.”

“I can’t help how I feel! I’m just trying to be honest with you.”

“I know you are and I appreciate that but we aren’t going work if you don’t trust me or our relationship!”

“I want this to work, but I can’t change how I feel!” I screamed in frustration.

“Then I guess you know where this leaves us.” Jason told me softly, looking out the window.

“Yeah, I guess we do.” I shook my head, willing myself not to cry.

you betrayed me

god, i wish that you had thought this through before i went and fell in love with you when she's sleeping in the bed we made don't you dare forget about the way

Flashback

I knocked on Jason’s door hesitantly, wanting to grab some of the stuff that I had left there.

“Jase?” I called, walking in the back door that was usually always unlocked. “Jase, are you here?”

Jason bolted down the stairs. He was shirtless and his hair was devilish. I knew that look. I had given him that look before.

“I should have called,” I choked out putting two and two together. He had a girl upstairs.

“It’s not -- it’s not what --” He tried to say.

“I’m going to go.” I let out a dry sob.

“Jason?” My mouth opened when I heard her voice. Jason closed his eyes and I looked between the two.

“Really?” I asked quietly. “Really?” I turned around and stalked out of the house.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. It’s not -- Belle, it’s not what it looks like.”

“Then tell me what it looks like! Because it looks like you told me not to be paranoid about the person who is currently naked in your house probably sleeping with you in the bed that is ours!”

“I never did anything with her while we were together.”

“You’re still a traitor.”

Present

'cause i know that you'll never feel sorry for the way i hurt, yeah you'd talk to her when we were together you gave me your word but that didn't matter

god, i wish that you had thought this through before i went and fell in love with you

“You sang beautifully.” Jason told me at the counter, where I was waiting for Zach to come out with my coffee. I stared down at the counter. “I’m sorry that it had to take me hurting you for me to hear you sing. And I’m so sorry for everything.”

“God, Jase. I wish that you had thought everything through before I went and fell in love with you.”

“I will win you back.” Jason vowed as I walked away from my coffee towards Hanna, Emily, Toby and Caleb.