#don’t make mugs unless you want to drink plastic

[acorviart]

hobby crafts and great and everyone should get into a hobby craft, but I really really really really need people to do at least a little bit of research into what they’re interested in and learn important things such as that fact that polymer clay, air-dry clay, and resin are NOT food safe. yes that includes clay that’s been coated in a clear coat like mod podge (the dishwasher safe mod podge is not food safe)

the reason that some* ceramics are food safe is because glazes melt into essentially a thin layer of glass on the surface, and the clay is heated to a temperature that vitrifies it. and I say some because not all ceramics/glazes/firing temps are food safe, and that’s a whole other deep dive of research for people who get into ceramics. but the point is that most people can’t do that at home, so they look into non-ceramic materials and assume that’s a cheaper and easier way to make food-safe items, when really what’s going to happen is all these materials will leach into your food, especially with heat applied

also can resin creators wear proper PPE with gloves and respirator, I am begging you, that shit is toxic to touch and inhale

[formulaforza]

—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. the beauty of winter, the second time. minors dni. nsfw warning under the cut. 7.7k part one part two part three part four part five

18+ because: hate sex, rough sex, spanking, hand job, biting, choking, orgasm denial (m to f), unprotected sex, brat taming, name calling (slut), oral (m receiving), angst, angst, more angst.

Arthur turns the corner into the kitchen, swinging around the wide, arched door frame. You’re stood at the island, the chilly edge of the granite countertops pressed against the exposed line of skin between your shorts and your top. A plate of toast sits on the heavy ceramic plate in front of you, and you make a shaky-handed attempt at spreading mashed avocado over the dry, cool bread. Charles clears his throat a few feet away, pulling his coffee mug off the machine shelf. It’s not even steaming.

“Ciao Arturo,” you speak. Even your voice sounds sweaty. “Dimenticare la testa?” Forget your head?

Arthur’s eyes dart between the two of you. Charles, you, and then back again. Charles is lucky, his back is turned to the whole thing. You’re the one who has to deal with his questioning glances. He stirs sugar into his cold coffee, and the spoon clinks against the sides of the mug painfully loud. 

Arthur smiles. “Occhiali da sole,” sunglasses, he says, reaching for the plastic frames on the counter, pointing them between you and charles. “sto interrompendo qualcosa?” Am I interrupting something? 

You glance at Charles, still stirring his cream and sugar, and you realize he won’t be turning around, not while his brother is in the room, not while he’s still got a bulge in his shorts. You almost laugh. “Nope. I’m making breakfast, he’s being a bitch.”

“Ah, so, the usual?” Arthur jokes and you nod, try to stifle a laugh so you don’t get an earful later. You fail, and Charles is flipping both of you off over his shoulder. You raise your brows knowingly towards Arthur—See? What did I tell you? “Ok, well. I’ll see you guys out there?”

“Yup,” you nod. “Probably in like an hour-ish? For me, at least.”

You watch, butter knife in hand, as Arthur trudges out of the house, the shuffling of his nylon snow pants and the thud of his heavy boots across the floor. He slams the door shut behind him, a quirk of the old house—the refusal of the heavy door to latch shut unless you threaten to pull your shoulder out of its socket when you close it. You’d spent half your childhood trying to shut it properly.

“A bitch?” Charles is teasing as soon as his brother is gone, abandoning the coffee he won’t be drinking and slotting comfortably behind you. He pokes your sides, has you curling in giggles as he continues through his own laughter, “I’m a bitch?”

“You are!” You laugh out, escaping his grip and pointing the avocado covered butter knife at him. “I’ll cut you.”

“Sure you will, baby,” he smiles, and then he kisses you because you’re alone and he can. There’s been lots of kissing just because you’re alone—just because you can—as of late. Since that one date you’d agreed to a few weeks ago, and all the subsequent basically-almost-half-dates-half-hookups you’d experienced since. Officially, though, there has been no second date. Unofficially, you’re dreading knowing he’s going to ask any time now. 

It’s not that you don’t want to date him, you’re just not sure you want to be dating him. It’s the difference between what you’re doing now, or having fun and being happy and keeping it all to yourself, or making it into something, turning up to joint-family parties in the same car with an overpriced bottle of wine and listening to your grandma talk about your kids having his hair. It’s belonging to yourself or belonging to him, and you just aren’t sure you’re ready to belong to anyone. 

He’s ready, you know. You know, because he all but wrote it down for you in Vegas. Your agreeing to go out on a single date was the consolation prize, the taunting, the holding what might be over his head like a carrot on a string. 

“We have to be more careful,” you say, wiping the last of the green fruit onto the practically stale toast. It’s been twenty minutes, at least, since you’d put it in the toaster. “Arthur’s silly, but he isn't a fucking idiot. None of them are.”

“Eh,” he shrugs. “I’m not worried.”

“Well, I am.”

“Why?” He laughs. The two of you are on such different wavelengths right now it isn’t even funny. “I mean, would it really be that bad if they found out we were seeing each other?”

You bite down hard on your toast, you have to because it’s so stale. “It would, actually,” you say around the dry bread. Crumbs fall to the counter below you. You sweep them off with your palm onto the floor, and then under the edge of the counter with your sock-covered foot. 

“Oh, come on,” he says, all nonchalant. He takes a sip of his cold coffee and winces, cradles it in his hands like it’s going to provide him any warmth. You don’t laugh, don’t even want to. “They’re going to find out eventually.”

“Says who?”

“We aren’t going to keep it a secret forever.”

You nod. Slow and intentional. “Keep what a secret?”

“Us.” You hate the casualty of it, of the label, of the grouping you two together. You hate that he can just say it like that, let it fall from his lips like it’s nothing. 

“There isn’t an us.” You choke on it—us—like it’s a swallowing sword. It’s not that you’re… opposed to the idea of us, so much as this is the last way you wanted to start referring to the two of you as a unit. 

“I mean,” he dumps the coffee into the sink. “We’ve been fucking for a year, dating for a few weeks.” The coffee gurgles in the drain, echoes through the kitchen. He flips the sink faucet on. “I think there’s an us to be talked about.”

“We aren’t dating, Charles,” you’re quick to correct, because, well—you aren’t dating. “We’re seeing each other,” you take another bite. It’s not good, beyond just the toast, you think maybe the avocado was a day from being perfectly ripe. “It’s different.”

He fills the mug to the top with water and dumps it again. “Okay.”

“I’m serious,” you insist, but your inflection betrays you. 

“Okay.” He repeats the action, drops a dollop of dish soap into the bottom of the mug and swirls it around so fast the water spins out over the edge of the mug. Fill it, dump it, swirl a sponge around angrily, fill it again. 

“Dating is like, dating is like a label.” Dump it again. “We don’t have a label. We’re free to see other people if we wanted to.” You drop the toast onto the plate, three notes taken from it, each progressively worse. 

“Okay.” Fill it, dump it—until the water isn’t soapy anymore. He leaves the mug face down on the dish strainer, carefully, without making a sound. It’s impressive, his silent, brooding, angry act. You know he’s full of it, that he wants to scream at you so bad. It annoys you, almost—that he won’t shout.

“Is that all you’re going to say to me?” You say, because you don’t like the implications of him refusing to yell at you. That’s like. It’s almost. You can’t even face it. 

“What is it that you would like for me to say?” He spits, slams the faucet off. You almost flinch. Almost. “That I don’t want to see anyone else? That I think you’re full of shit and feel the same way I do!?”

He’s never—he’s never yelled at you before, not really. Sure, he raised his voice in Vegas, he did. But he’s never yelled at you. Your dynamic has always been sharp, yes, but it was never loud. It’s always been grounded in the smart-ass comments, in the quick wit, the silence of arrogance and annoyance and frustration. It’s never been loud. It throws you off balance, completely off kilter. You don’t know why you wished for it, why you were annoyed with his previous refusal. You—you don’t like it. Not at all. 

You can’t think straight, much less speak straight. “I don’t know, like… I don’t know.”

“Like, like, like,” he mocks you. His words are like venom. He’s such a fucking child. “Like, what!?”

“Jesus fucking Christ!?” You yell right back, aren’t even hurt by the mocking so much as annoyed it’s the best he could come up with. He’s better—smarter—than playground insults. You expect more from him at this point. “Are you fucking seven years old!?”

“Maybe!” He slams his hand on the edge of the counter. You hope it hurts as bad as it sounds like it does. “Maybe I fucking am!” You scowl. This is an ugly look on him. You don’t know what you ever fucking saw. 

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck you!” He wags a finger at you, he actually fucking does it, points a finger at you like he’s scolding you. 

You smack his stupid fucking finger out of the air and when you do, he grabs your arm, pulls you crashing into him, into his lips. He kisses you, and you kiss him back, but there’s nothing romantic about any of it. No, no. This might be the angriest you’ve ever seen him, all teeth clacking, tongues fighting, hands groping. 

It’s reminiscent, almost. Of the time that really wasn’t all that long ago, even if it feels like half a lifetime. To the time where his only goal was to shut you the fuck up, when the only reason he fucked you was because he thought someone needed to put you in your place. 

He’s not taking his time with you. Not today, not this time. No, he’s pulling your shorts down fast, grabbing at your bare ass and pulling you flush against him.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, pulling the short locks, pulling his mouth to yours. Everything is so greedy and selfish and a fight—a fight to win the unwinnable game. 

He’s crude with it, crass almost—the way his fingers move against your cunt. Quick, hard, mean. You hate yourself for how wet you are, how easy you make it for him to slide in a finger, and then another, to fuck into you with a burning curl. 

When you settle into it, just as your breath picks up and your hips start to move against his hands with some semblance of rhythm, he’s pulling his hand away with a guttural fuck, moving back to your ass, giving it a hard smack. 

Two can play at that game, you think, hand diving into his shorts. You take his cock and stroke him, impatiently thumbing pre-cum over his head and fucking him with your hand. He’s hard before you have to do any work, had spent the morning half-way there already. 

He bites on your bottom lip so hard you think it might bleed. “I fucking hate you,” he says into your neck, biting the skin there, too. 

“Good,” you say, lips curling into a naughty smirk. “I like it like that.”

He’s rough when he moves you around, almost shoves you, turns you and bends you over the countertop. It’s cold, even through your shirt, it’s cold. You push the plate away, the half eaten toast relegated to the other end of the kitchen island. 

There’s no teasing, no warning. Just him, fucking right into you, leaving you grabbing at the smooth granite for any sort of stability, to brace for all of him. You can feel the fabric of his shorts; he’s got them pulled down just enough to have his cock out, and it reminds you of the fucking sauna this summer. 

In the same way you were given no warning, you’re given no time to adjust. He’s already fucking into you with hard, measured thrusts that slam you against the edge of the counter. You think he might fucking break you, split you right down the middle. It hurts so good. 

He’s quiet, lets the sounds of your skin smacking against him do all the fucking talking, tell the story the both of you already know. You can’t find the words. You’re just there, against the cool granite, full. Full. So fucking full. 

It’s unlike him to be so quiet, but, you don’t mind it. You don’t think you can hear another sentence out of his mouth without wanting to walk clear off a cliff. 

Gibberish moans are forced from your lips before you can even process them. “Fuck—fuck you,” you manage to sputter out, and then he’s reaching around to cover your mouth with a flat palm, leaning over you and whispering in your ear all husky. 

“Shut the fuck up, or I stop,” he says, and you nod. You nod, but his hand holds steady, moves slowly down around your throat, applies just enough pressure around your neck to make everything that little bit hazier. You choke on your words, bite back moans until you taste copper. 

When he’s had his fill, he’s turning you back around to lick into your mouth and hoisting you up onto the counter, taking you like that instead. Harder, harder. Impossibly fucking harder. You’re scratching lines over his back, dragging your nails over his skin and whining against his shoulder. When you toss your head back in a last-ditch effort to keep yourself quiet, he laughs—and then you’re looking at him.

The eye contact goes on for what feels like a decade, him fucking into you with reckless abandon while maintaining a steady, furious glare. He pushes his forehead against yours, lips just out of reach, ghosting over yours with every thrust of his thick cock. 

You open your mouth to moan, feel the threat of your orgasm in your core, in the way he perfectly fucks you. 

“Fuck you,” he breathes into your mouth, and the anticipation of the kiss that never comes burns. He breaks his glare, can’t look at you any longer, can’t kiss you, either. His eyes fall to your body, to the space where he disappears into you. He’s captivated by it, watches with a hard stare as he fucks you senseless. 

You could see his denial of your orgasm coming before you started fucking, so when your leg starts to shake and your cunt clenches around him so nicely, you’re unsurprised by his, “don’t you fucking dare.”

The problem for him is, he forgets that you’re just as pissed, that you don’t give a fuck what he says. No, you know that he’s all fucking talk, could never actually bite what he barks, not with you. He’s all talk, and he’s just as close as you are. Nothing short of your families walking through the door right now would get him to stop railing against you. 

So, you come around him, feel a special kind of satisfaction at the way his face contorts, at his canding, “God,” and the way he comes tumbling after you with a groan and a fuck. 

(four hours later) 

“Qu'est-ce qui a rampé dans son cul et est mort?” What the hell crawled up his ass and died? Lorenzo asks in the ski lodge. Both of your families are eating lunch at one of the restaurants on the mountain, and Charles, in his ever ending broodiness, opted to sit at the farthest possible end of the table from you and his brothers. Mostly, from you. He sits silently in a conversation with your father and brother-in-law, ever the entertainer. 

“Il est dans une de ses humeurs,” he’s in one of his moods, you reply. “J'ai râlé toute la matinée à la maison,” bitched all morning back at the house.

“Ouais,” yeah, Arthur adds. “Quand je suis retourné chercher mes lunettes, il ne s'est même pas retourné pour me parler,” when I came back for my sunglasses he wouldn’t even turn to talk to me.

“Je parie que sa copine lui manque,” I bet he misses his girl, Lorenzo settles, rocks back on the legs of his chair. A pang of green runs through you, gross and envious. 

“Sa copine?” His girl? You ask. 

“Ouais. Chaque fois que je l'appelle, il me dit "j'ai quelqu'un chez moi" ou "je suis chez un ami,” Yeah, everytime I call him he’s talking about “I’ve got someone over,” or “I’m at a friend’s house,”” Lorenzo reasons. Your jealousy is replaced with mortification as you realize Charles not only has a girl, but that the girl is you. 

“Someone should call her,” you say. “Get him laid so he isn’t so fucking annoying.” Lorenzo laughs and Arthur offers up a half-hearted smile, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Your phone rings on the tabletop. “Arthur!” You scowl. “Gross! I can't stand Charles.”

“Je dis juste que pour deux personnes qui prétendent se détester, vous passez beaucoup de temps ensemble,” I’m just saying, Arthur defends, for two people who claim to hate each other, you two spend a lot of time together. 

We don’t—you want to tell him—we don’t spend a lot of time together, but then you think of all the times they don’t know about, all the nights and all the hours and all the days. “Cela aurait effectivement beaucoup de sens,” It would actually make a lot of sense, Lorenzo laughs. “He likes pulling pigtails.”

“I know you love me boys, but I wouldn’t touch your brother with a ten foot pole,” you insist, and it sounds convincing—at least in your own head. Only time will tell, you suppose, if you managed to convince them of the lie. 

You enter the family room seven and a half minutes before Charles does. Where he is for those seven and a half minutes, you don’t care, as long as it’s not anywhere near you. Your families have always done this a couple days after the New Year, your own little joint Christmas celebration. Over the years, you’ve found it to be varying levels of both endearing and infuriating. 

“It’s hot in here,” you say, plopping yourself down onto the sofa, fanning yourself with a magazine from your mother’s coffee table. 

“Really?” Your sister peruses, eyes unmoving from her phone screen. “I was about to put on a sweater.”

“Yeah,” you continue, abandoning the magazine and instead opting to gather your hair into a messy, half-twisted knot off the nape of your neck. “I’m on fire.” You secure it with the thin black band from around your wrist, look to your sister as you pull loose pieces out to frame your face. “What’s the damage?”

She assesses the situation, pulls a few more hairs out of the knot and twirls one around her finger. “Has your hair always been so shit as holding a curl?” She asks. You nod, tucking all of the loose strands behind your ears in a swift movement. 

Charles is here now, lingering in the archway between the family room and the kitchen, his hand leaving indistinguishable fingerprints on the trim above his head while he nurses a beer, nurses a conversation with your brother-in-law. His hair is a fucking mess and you’re going to kill him, something you become so, so certain of when you notice the buttons on his shirt are mis-aligned, that just above his waistband, a single piece of plastic is missing, loose threads left in the wake of the long lost button. 

As if second nature, your fingers trail over your own, down the linen shirt that clings to your figure. A missing button. He has a missing fucking button. Your eyes don’t stop at the torn threads; all the way down to his sneakers, all the way back up to his messy hair. 

He brings the glass beer bottle to his lips gently, parting them ever so slightly to allow the smooth brew to cool his throat. When he pulls it back, his lips are damp with condensation and ale, tongue swiping the pink skin clean. 

“I need a drink,” you announce, standing from your seat and moving to the kitchen. He doesn’t move out of your way when you approach the doorway, has this stupid, satisfied smirk on his face as he takes another swig of beer. It’s the look he only gets after he has you. 

“You broke a fucking button,” you mutter as you squeeze through, finger grazing the loose fabric strands that hand above his waistband. He stiffens at your contact and now you’re the one with the rotten, pleased smile. 

“Leave a gap,” he says, looks past you and into the family room. You haven’t wanted to punch him this bad in at least a week, maybe two. You longed for the days when it was all you worried about: finding the next opportunity to hit him. Things were so much simpler then, so black and white. Now it’s wild colors and they’re all bleeding into each other to create a particularly shit-toned shade of brown. 

Given the opportunity, you’d go back. Back to the Ski Lodge and Vegas and the sauna. Back to Monaco and the yacht and that one chilly winter night. All the way back to last year, to the club, to right before the club. You’d stop yourself if you could. But you can’t, can you? No, the best you can go back is ten minutes. 

(Ten minutes earlier)

“Fuck you,” he groans, hushed and gravely, rutting up into you.

The closet is hot and humid with the air that pours in through the attic entrance. Dark, too: smells like fabric softener and lemon furniture polish–not that you’re smelling any of it now. No, right now all you can smell is him, raspberry and incense and a summer hike through a forest. 

All you can feel is him, the stretch of his dick as it fucks deep into you. You moan against his hand, the calloused palm muffling your whimpers, cheek flush against the drywall. “Show up with your fucking ass out,” he says, hand forcing the hem of your skirt up higher, higher than your hips, slipping under the fabric of your shirt to cup your breast.

He’s fucking up your hair. You’d spent half the morning curling it and here he is, running his rough fingers through the hairsprayed strands like he owns them, like he has any right to knot them into a messy ponytail. You swat his hand away from your hair, and it snakes around your neck. “Don’t be a fucking brat,” he goads, the heavy weight of his fingers leaving you white and fuzzy with pleasure. 

You shake your head, free your mouth from his palm and pant, “Fuck you,” you spit. “Fuck–ah,” he ruts up into you with all the force he can muster, pulling you off the wall, bringing  your back flush against his chest. “–fuck you.”

He laughs, buries it in the skin of your shoulder, biting a purple bruise into the space there. “Bab–God, so fucking tight.” Your back arches against him, body moving, craving, begging to feel more of him, all of him. Every last inch. 

You can feel him in every nerve ending and it still isn’t enough. You know he can give you more, that he can leave you sweaty and sleepy and monolingual if he really wants to. You know, because he had you sprawled out on his bed last weekend, dried tears crusting on the corner of your eyes, muscles weak and chest heaving against his sheets. 

Tears prickle your eyes when his grip on your throat tightens, when he pushes to see how far you’d let him go. You move a hand to wipe them before they fall. You still have to face the family after this, can’t walk out there with black streaks running down your cheeks. The tangled hair is more than enough to get them asking questions. 

His hand moves up your jaw, locking into your hair again and turning your head to face him. Look at me, he says, pulling you into a hard kiss. His long, measured thrusts fuck you open. His dick makes you drunk; floaty and dizzy and off balance and so, so fucking needy. You’re close, he states, knows your subtle breathing changes well enough that it doesn’t even have to be a question anymore. You nod against his lips, lick into his mouth, across the scrape of his sharp teeth. “I’m gonna. I’m coming,” you choke, breathing shallow and rapid. 

“No,” he whispers, hard and gravelly into your ear, biting on the lobe. A hand moves between your legs, dips into your slick and sends a jolt through your entire body. You don’t even know which hand he moved, can’t feel anything but his two fingers circling your clit, his dick fucking into you. “Not yet.”

His instructions are thinly veiled, but you’ll follow them anyway. Your body writhes against his hand, hips fighting your mind, moving in any rhythm that might make you finish harder, faster, even a second sooner. 

Your leg shakes under you, muscles weak and strung out. “Give it to me, Charles,” you beg. You know he’ll let you come as soon as he does. “Want you–fuck–want it so bad.”

“Ouais? Putain, such a slut for me.”

You nod eagerly, try to shake away the thoughts of release with it. He makes it so fucking hard. “I am, I am,” you insist. You are, you are. For him, every fucking time. 

You know he’s close the same way he knows, the micro-changes in his movements, his breathing, his words. You know he’s fucking close when he loses his rhythm, tries to bury himself impossibly deep inside you, to actually rip you fucking open. 

“Where?” He asks, offers you the option only because you aren’t in the privacy of an apartment. As of late, he’d been having his way with you, getting you messy and marked with him. Clean up is significantly harder in a fucking linen closet. My mouth, you mumble. Let me taste you.

He nods, picks up the steady pace of his fingers. You first, he instructs. “I want you to come for me, baby.” The pet name, always the pet name. Even when you’re this pissed at each other, it’s the only word your brain holds onto when you come around him, clench tight and quiver on his dick, muffling your own cries with your hand.

He pulls out of you with a whine and a mumbled fuck, a hand on your shoulder, turning you, pushing you down to your knees swiftly. There’s nothing careful about the way he fucks into your mouth, bruises the back of your throat as you muffle your gags around him. “Your fucking mouth,” he groans. “Makes me fucking crazy.” Your eyes meet his and you roll them, hollow your cheeks and swirl your tongue and watch, like it’s the greatest thing you’ve ever seen–watch his face contort when he comes undone, thick stripes of him painting the back of your throat. 

You swallow. Clean, no mess, wipe the spit with the back of your hand and flatten your hair, twist what’s left of the curls into some semblance of what they were before he pulled you into the closet by your wrist. 

You hurriedly re-button your shirt and flatten your skirt over your thighs. You’ve been gone too long, both of you have. Your families are going to catch on if you keep it up like this, all horny rendezvous in humid closests because he can’t keep his hands to himself. 

His hair is pointing in every which direction, and when he runs his hands through it he misses a chunk. You reach to fix it and he swats your hand away. 

You scoff. “Stay here, leave a gap,” you tell him and he rolls his eyes. You’re the brat, though, right? You turn the doorknob slowly, peek your head out into the empty hallway. He laughs behind you, what the fuck are you doing? “I’m going to the bathroom,” you quip.

He reaches over your head, wraps his fingers around the edge of the door and pulls it all the way open, moving forward until he’s flush against your back. “No UTI’s on your watch,” he mumbles. 

You elbow his chest. “I said to wait here.”

“Fuck that,” he says, squeezes out behind you and the door. His feet are heavy on the hallway floor as he dips into the kitchen. You scurry in the other direction towards the bathroom.  

It’s your parents anniversary party where it all comes to a messy boiling point. Thirty years of love, twenty-something years of parentage, and still. Still, you surprise them when you knock on the apartment door with a boy on your arm. A boy who, you assume to the surprise of Arthur and Lorenzo, is not their brother. The person perhaps most surprised by your bold decision making, however, is Charles. He’s glaring holes into you all night. 

You try to take it as a compliment. You look good tonight, took careful consideration of your hair and makeup and clothes—your best black cocktail dress, all silk and long sleeves and exposed back, and your highest nude heels. You look good, and you like to think he notices, even if you’re nearly certain he’s watching your date more than you.

Your date, Jean, the friend of a friend and a blind date two weeks ago, hovers behind you like a lost puppy in his crisp white shirt and freshly pressed black slacks. He’s French, as french as they come—spends his evenings smoking cigarettes on the balcony and drinking wine with a careful pallet, distinguishing between the sweetness and the high notes and the low notes and all the wine terms you don’t understand. He’s a bit hushed and likes to make fun of your pronunciation and loves, loves, loves sex. 

You don’t know how you get separated from him, where he disappears off to, You don’t know what compels you to follow the sightline of the stare that burns into you, to follow Charles out onto your parent’s balcony, but you do. You do, and the air is chilly and you shudder, skin prickled with goosebumps. You can hear the music playing through the glass door. If it wasn’t so terribly cliche, you’d swear la vie en rose is filling the air. 

“Hey,” you nod, and he acknowledges you with nothing more than the raise of his brows. He leans against the balustrade, the cold metal of the railing clinking against his rings. You stare into the bottom of your wine glass, swirl the liquor round and round.

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” He asks, and you look up to him. He’s not looking back, smirking down at the ground at nothing in particular. 

You roll your eyes, swallow down on the pit knotting in your stomach. “Oh, please,” you scoff, halfhearted and lackluster. “Like that would ever work on you,” you reply. 

He chuckles, cranes his neck to look at you. “Maybe not,” he says, “but your games are always so fun.” His voice is low, unplayful. Horridly serious, despite the laugh. 

“I don’t play games,” you replied, step closer to him, to the edge of the balcony. You lean against the railing, gather your hair and pull it over one shoulder. Everything is so weird now. 

He quirks a brow, lets a genuine laugh slip and looks at you again. “What’s Jean, then?”

Your cheeks burn red but you refuse to let him get the upper hand. “Why do you care? It’s none of your business,” you shoot back, all spite and venom and irritation. You knew he’d be here and yet, still. Still, you hoped it wouldn’t be like this. 

It was naive. Moronic, even. You should have known better. 

He leans in closer, your faces no more than inches away. “Oh, but, it is my business when you’re trying to make me jealous,” he says, voice hushed, almost disappearing into the sound of the street below you. 

Your eyes drift away from him, back into the apartment, into the dynamics of your families, into the way Jean hides in a corner nursing a drink. He’s so nervous, needs constant babysitting. You turn back to Charles, to his pink cotton shirt, top two buttons undone. It’s begging to be ironed. “And what if I am?” you challenge, and your voice threatens to betray you, to expose the vulnerability you try so hard to conceal. 

A flicker of something, something you’re too scared to properly identify, flashes across his face. “Then you’re wasting your time,” he replied, voice tinged with the same something his expression is. 

Your frustration bubbles. He makes you mad in a young way, in a fiery sixteen year old girl way. Pissed at the drop of a pin over nothing in particular. “You think you know me so well?” You ask, and he smiles down onto the street. It makes you angrier. “Well guess what? You don’t.”

There’s an air of arrogance about him. He drips with it. “I know more than you think,” he says, dips his head in the direction of the party, or your date. “And he is not your type.”

You couldn’t hold back your retort if you wanted to. “Oh? Tell me then, Charles, what is my type?”

“That guy is a bitch,” he says, stupid, satisfied smirk on his face, digging dimples into his cheek because he thinks that he’s so, so funny. “So, for starters, your type is someone with the confidence to make you come.”

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment, with anger. His words cut through you like a hot blade, the lack of decency, of basic respect. He gives more to a stranger than he does you, at this moment. You’d come to expect a lot of things from him over the years, but never, never, was blatant disrespect one of those things. He’s been raised better, you knew he had been, that Pascale would be red with fury if she heard him speak to anyone—much less you—like that.  “Go to Hell, Charles,” you say, quiet, steady, without a single crack of betrayal, and then you’re turning to head back inside.

The sliding door is cracked, and you almost literally run into your date, standing just out of view from your previous spot on the balcony. You’re even more embarrassed at his eavesdropping, but it’s not like you can blame him, not with the show you and Charles always manage to put on.

Jean is visibly uncomfortable, all flushed cheeks and red ears. “Est-ce que ça va?” Are you okay? He asks, and the concern in his voice is evident, even through the embarrassment. 

You force a smile, hope he hasn’t heard most of the conversation with Charles and attempt not to burden him with the emotional complexities that come with your past, with your present. “Je vais bien,” I’m fine, you reply, downplay the whole event. “C'est juste un truc de famille,” It’s just a family thing. 

Jean nods, and it’s so uncertain you know he heard what you hoped he didn’t. “Je l'ai écouté,” I heard him, he admits, and your stomach churns. “J'espère ne pas avoir aggravé les choses,” I hope I didn’t make things worse.

You wonder how that would be possible—how things could get any worse than they already are. 

“Ce n'est pas de ta faute,” It’s not your fault, you say, half-apologetic, half-hushed. “Charles et moi avons une histoire compliquée. C'est juste... difficile à expliquer,” Charles and I have a complicated history. It’s just… difficult to explain.

It’s not that difficult to explain. You and he hooked up a year ago. Since then, you’ve hooked up a lot. The feelings have been felt, the emotions turned, the hearts dropped. But you’re past it all now. You’re past it, both of you. It’s history now. It’s history. It’s history. 

Jean gives you a half-hearted smile, and you know then that it’s as good as done between the two of you. He clears his throat, looks past you onto the balcony, onto where you assume Charles is still preparing more salt for your wounds. “Je devrais rentrer chez moi,” I should go home, he says, “Réunion anticipée demain,” Early meeting tomorrow. You know it’s a lie because you know he doesn’t work on Sundays, but you’re not in the place to call his bluff, not when you’ve got a full hand behind your back. 

You offer to walk him out to his car, but he turns you down. You don’t give him the option to avoid your company on the walk to the elevator. It’s silent, the sound of your feet on the floor, the elevator moving up through the shaft, the dinging of the doors. 

He steps inside, presses the ground level button and when the doors close between you two, you know it’s the last time you’ll see him intentionally. You wait five minutes before you’re pushing the elevator button, too, stepping in and heading down to the floor level. You need air. You desperately need air, and the balcony of the apartment is no longer a safe place for you. 

You cut into an alleyway between your parents’ building and the neighboring one, lean against the chilly brick wall and close your eyes. 

Breathe in, breathe out. It was never supposed to turn into this. The whole fucking point was that you didn’t want it turning into this, all messy and boundariless and bleeding over into the rest of your family’s dynamics. That was the whole point, it was. Your whole reasoning in Vegas, on the trail, after his best win. The whole point was to keep the damage minimal. 

In. Out. You don’t know what the point of it all is, anymore. Why you’re still playing this game when it’s clear the rules are so long broken they can’t be remembered. You need to just. You need to just let it be. Let it be what it’s supposed to be. 

In. Out. You know that it would work with Charles, you know it like you know your own hand. You know it would be good, and you used to be able to rationalize why the tiny little chance you were wrong outweighed any potential. You can’t rationalize it anymore, you can’t. You want to, because it’s easier to keep on, keeping on. But you can’t. It just doesn’t make sense anymore, not even to you. 

Breath in, breathe out—until you hear his feet scuffing on the sidewalk. 

They’re hurried, and you figure they’re making their way to you. You listen to them walk past the alleyway three times before you open your eyes. He’s pacing, typing away rapidly at his phone screen, brows furrowed, hard lines running through his face. He’s typing and pacing and muttering about something under his breath. 

“Charles,” you speak, and he jumps, completely and utterly startled by your presence. He sighs out your name softly, like he’s going to startle you back, and then he’s approaching slowly, cautiously, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Who are you texting?” You ask. 

“Who do you think?” He says, offers up a weak chuckle, and then, before you can say another word, “I’m sorry.” His voice is ridiculously sincere, all drowned in guilt and regret. His eyes are soft, his lips pursed. “I shouldn’t have said that, It was stupid and immature and I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You sigh. “Yeah, it was,” you admit, voice half tinged with resignation. 

He takes another step. His posture is so docile, lacks any kind of defense. He knows he fucked up. “I can be a real fucking idiot, sometimes,’ he continues, a rare example of self-awareness. 

Despite your frustration, you nod. “Yes, you definitely are.”

He leans against the bricks next to you and you look up to the sky again, close your eyes and breathe the air again. Anything to keep your resolve, to keep your wits about you. 

“But, you have to admit. I was right about one thing.”

Even closed, your eyes tell the whole store, scrunch and wince before rolling open to look back at him, certain that nothing you invite to come from his lips is going to make any of this better. You frown because curiosity always kills the cat. “And what was that, Charles?”

“I know you,” he huffs, pushes air past his lips like he knows better than to do what he’s about to do. “Well enough to know you know he isn’t a match for you, that you only brought him around to make me jealous.”

Honest, honest, it wasn’t your intention. It was an added benefit, sure, but it wasn’t the intention. No, the intention was to move past Charles, to finally, finally move on from what the two of you had. The problem with that, though, is that somewhere over the course of the last year, your type had become Charles. You’d tried to force the attraction with anyone who was opposite, to the antithesis of Charles, and that’s how you wound up with Jean. He was different, in every category, and the line between hate has always been very thin, you reasoned with yourself. Very thin. Very thin, you knew, because you walked it with Charles for twelve months. For all of the seasons. 

“It hurt,” he admits. “It really bothered me seeing you with someone else and that’s not an excuse for what I said,” he continues, and you drop your head to look at him. He’s looking at the sky, too. Like he’s trying to rationalize his own words with even himself. “it’s not, but it’s the only explanation I can give you.”

Somewhere on the street, an overhead light clicks on, fills the street with orange, cuts harshly around the buildings and into the alleyway where you both stand. It casts hard shadows on everything, on everything but him. It lights him softly, somehow, apologetically soft like the universe itself wants to apologize for his actions. 

You think maybe you should be the one who’s sorry, the echoes of your spat still hanging in the air, heavy in the darkness just a few steps away. 

Your voice trembles when you speak. “I didn’t know it would hurt you that much,” you admit. “I was just trying to move on, to prove that I could.” Prove to him, or prove to you—you aren’t sure. 

The pretense falls between you, almost suddenly, all at once, and the air is different. It’s not angry and it’s not apologetic. It’s just. The air is just shared. Shared pain, shared sadness and hope and understanding. 

“You know,” he says. “You know you don’t have to pretend with me.” His voice is soft, but it’s firm, unwavering. “I never wanted you to.”

Your breath catches in your chest, heart pounding fast. Fast. Faster than you can think. You can feel it in your toes, in your temples, in your fingertips. He looks to you, your eyes meeting and your heart jumping that much more. “I can’t pretend anymore,” you admit, below even a whisper. It’s a miracle he hears you. “I can’t pretend I don’t care about you, Charles.”

He reaches out, fingers brushing against the skin of your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even noticed had slipped. He murmurs your name, half-pain, half-hope, and you finally recognize it, the something about the way he looks at you, the way he talks to you. The something, you finally see it. It’s been looking you in the eyes this whole time and you’d been so blind to it all.

He was wrong in Vegas, you could be this smart and that dumb all at once, because here he is, looking at you and speaking to you the same way he always does, and for the first time you see it for what it is: tender, candid, and utterly consuming love. 

"I've been so scared," you confess, voice quivering. "Scared of losing what we have, scared of ruining everything if I let myself fall."

He holds your gaze, a comforting anchor in the midst of the uncertainties. “I’m scared, too,” he admits, and you find solace in it. That even him, who’s known for how long now—you can’t remember, even he feels scared. You don’t even care if he’s lying, if he’s just saying it because he knows it will make you feel better. You don’t care, because it does. It makes you feel so much better. “But, I’m more scared of not trying.”

The truth hangs in the air between you, fragile but undeniable, a connection that has endured far more than it should have. “I don’t know what we’re going to do,” you say, voice finding steady ground now, your eyes locked on his. “But I’m done denying what’s been here all along.”

He cups your face with both hands, a sweet smile on his face, a stutter to the way his Adam's apple bobs. His thumbs brush your tears, and he says your name so sure. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he says. “Through all of the painful silences and the complicated, unspoken shit.”

Tears stream down your face now, a mixture of everything overwhelming you in the best way. You place your hands over his, hold them against your face like it’s going to ground you to the reality of his words. 

“I’ve loved you, too,” you whisper, voice riddled with quiet intensity. “I have,” you laugh. He smiles. “Even when I didn’t fully understand it, even when I pushed it away.”

Charles leans in, forehead resting against yours, breaths sharing the little space between your lips. “I want to be with you,” he says, a plea. “I want to be with you, even if it’s messy and uncertain.”

Your face is half as bare as your heart, now, and you’re sure he’s got mascara all over his thumbs, that you’re a real sight for sore eyes. But when you kiss him, he kisses you back.

He kisses you back, despite it all, despite how long you made him wait. He kisses you back and somewhere in the space between the kiss and the tears, you both find the space to laugh and you know you’ve made the right decision. The decision to leap. 

For him, you don’t know why you ever hesitated. 

[dnangelic]

@longerhuman asked: sneaking into the niwa’s residence was hardly a difficult task for someone as nimble as dazai , though he was admittedly faced with an onslaught of dread when he viewed his dear friend’s house up close for the first time . a mansion ? for that little pint sized twerp ? how utterly ridiculous ! though needing to get to the second story was tedious in concept , it was a piece of cake for someone who regularly kept a rope on his personal for his suicidal proclivities . once he hauls himself over the balcony’s ledge , a brown grocery bag cradled in one arm , he’s careful to approach the window as quietly as possible , steps against the pavement light &. weightless as a feather . he made quick work of unlocking the window with one of the pins he kept hidden beneath his wrist bandages , &. ushered his body into the building the moment it opened , sparing no time to observe the house’s architecture though it was of begrudging interest . ❝ niwa - saaaaan ! wake up , you’re going to be late for school . ❞ he calls out loudly from the windowsill despite it being midnight on a saturday , perched on it’s ledge in a crouch , the brown paper lowering to rest beside him . dazai tried to squint into the darkness in an attempt to see if his little companion was already awake , but with one eye covered by a perpetual bandage , his vision was greatly stunted . he waited until he could hear signs of life &. movement on the other end of the room before pulling a pistol from his waistband . it’s immediately raised towards the boy’s bed , a resounding click of the safety being turned off echoing on daisuke’s bedroom walls . ❝ i’ve prepared something to remedy a problem of yours . ❞ with dazai , this was never a good thing . in his organization , he was notorious for making devil concoction hotpots that were so despicable &. dangerous , anyone who had the misfortune of being forced ( usually held at gunpoint ) to taste test them often suffered delusions , hallucinations , or the occasional brain - bleed . ❝ get up , walk to the bag on the windowsill . unless you want to get shot . who knows , maybe niwa - san is finally feeling suicidal on this particular day ! ❞ he keeps the muzzle steady &. trained on what appeared to be the red - head’s figure . ❝ ne , niwa - san is a growing boy , right ? but i keep thinking — how come he hasn’t gotten any taller ? it’s just awful , so i used my ginormous brain to construct a hotpot that is guaranteed to extend your vertical profile . there’s just a few side effects … nausea , potential death , seizures , cramps , headaches , hallucinations , voice - cracks — but don’t worry about any of that ! ❞ inside the brown bag is indeed a metal bowl with a plastic , fog covered lid held over the top with black duct tape . next to it is a mug , purple in hue , with a removable lid that contained cold milk . ❝ it’s imperative that you drink the refreshment I supplied right after tasting the remedy . it’s a natural activation for my potion — &. if your puny , shrimp - like stature is any indication , you’re in desperate need of milk … it might just help you get bigger ! ❞ he certainly didn’t supply the milk to combat the spice infested main - course , that would be far too considerate . the hotpot isn’t actually a hotpot , though he would refer to it as such — he didn’t even make it himself . it’s mostly homemade spicy curry he got from a trusted coworker of his , with some strange , inappropriate additions such as non-poisonous mushrooms &. gummy worms mixed in to make it seem inedible &. foul . unlike his usual concoctions , it’s void of drugs or anything that could possibly be fatal . ❝ you’re going to eat it , won’t you ? i spent all this time &. effort preparing this meal for you . besides , if your eyes melt out of your head … then you must not be worthy of living another year . ❞ // sorry . this is so long . i’m so sorry . 🙏 happy bday daisuke !

it's not entirely an unfamiliar voice , but through daisuke's waking grog it's initially impossible to discern . sleep could be a precious commodity at times for the hectic niwa : every morning he was expected to dodge one of the many violent death traps his mother had no qualm sacrificing his very own bed for , complete with challenging expectations such as : get dressed within one second ! pick this lock with your right hand , and hack this security system with your left within five ! it's thus the gentle rouse of dazai's whispers that perhaps shocks him the most . eyes snap open and the red-headed boy scrambles and flusters into a sit upwards in an instant --- only to be met with the black barrel of the other's gun . ' wh ... ' he gasps and covers his mouth , both hands blocking out any of his own voice . why was his life always like this ?! if he screamed , no doubt the entirety of his family , and even dark would wake up , a dozen members rushing all at once towards the upper floor . but then what would happen to dazai ?

' u-um , ' obedient despite the tremble of woken-terror and speeding adrenaline in his legs , he stiffly marches himself towards the bag on the sill as demanded , both of his hands held haplessly upwards . frankly , spoken as someone who was meant to be a professional escape artist , there were better places to place objects of supposed threat like this . it's a surprisingly sharp comment that daisuke decides to keep to himself , dazai's own spoken words stuffing themselves into his ears instead . when he considered it , just what was anyone supposed to say in these sorts of circumstances ?! ' ... g-goodnight , hello to you too , wah --- ' his vertical profile , huh . maybe , if this had been just about anyone else , the niwa might have been dumb enough , or maybe just desperate enough , to shut his eyes and willingly guzzle anything down for just a few more inches of height . but this looked really bad .

dazai wouldn't actually go so far as to kill him , right ? in his own house , in his own bedroom , and on his very own own birthday !? even knowing that the other's sense of humor could be cruel and callous , he would have never guessed that it could truly extend this far . daisuke still isn't sure whether to flee , to turn about and beg his case to the boy behind the threatening pistol , or to , despite it all , continue to trust the other . he thinks --- even if it's a fatal poison , his entire family was still here . towa-chan , his father , his mother , each with unique specializations that could be rushed to if things truly turned fatal . so the niwa grips his fists and shuts his eyes ; nods his head . he would eat it , though --- what kind of crazy test was this really supposed to be ?! at midnight under the moonlight with the floral , vine-rose waft of azumano's breeze caressing his cheek from the open sill , it could have been as romantic a stage as romeo and juliet's balcony . alas , the tragedy was only to come : pushing through every emotion of alarm urging him not to do it , he takes his first bite .

... it tastes weird .

it's horribly sweet in a few bizarre areas , and the chewy texture of dazai's additions mingle strangely with the unmistakably strong taste and burgeoning spice of curry starting to inflame his tongue . daisuke coughs , practically collapsing onto the sill , his head flung into the center of both of his arms , as if he had just been whacked from behind . the boy's tolerance for spicy foods had always been low , despite the way he seemed to regularly suffer at the hands of it thanks to any innocent , oblivious chefs-in-training . maybe he really would die from something like this . the sentence has barely left his thoughts before he suddenly rejects it , lifting himself from the sill with a small slam and an intense look of determination in his eyes , despite the shimmering wells of tears budding up at the corner of each iris . he wouldn't give up as long as there were things left that he wanted to do on this day .

the milk comes next , and though it hardly assists in alleviating any amount of the strange , incoherent blend of tastes rampaging across his tongue , it at least soothes enough of the burning sensation to allow daisuke to speak , albeit forced through coughs and dewy tears . ' --- i did it , ' spoken as a point of challenged and triumphant pride . the sense of it slips away fast as it had arrived ; daisuke's voice softens and hushes down into a burnt and haggard whisper . ' b-but , dazai-kun , why ... ' on this particular day . his birthday ? ' was this ... ' supposed to be his birthday gift from the other ?!

without another word a hand reaches out to touch at the other boy's skin --- ' w-wait , dazai-kun , ' before the either of them might have even realized it , daisuke was already holding his friend by the wrist . ' i ... had a feeling that something like this might happen . no , what i mean is --- i was really hoping that i'd get to see you today . ' uncertain as ever as to whether or not the other would sneer at or decline any sort of invitation , leaving nothing but empty absence and still silence behind . in the shared present between them , he still doesn't know what was supposed to come next after this ; whether or not dazai had been planning to escape as swiftly as he had entered , or if the boy would find another reason to stay . daisuke clings to them before they could potentially vanish , a single plead in his voice .

' ... before you go , will you come with me to the kitchen ? please , ' gently , he takes the other out of the bedroom and down the house's steps , still dressed in nothing more than his pajamas , cheeks flushed bright red . bare feet quietly patter along the ornate tiles of the niwa's residence ; they pass by carved railings , the crystal chandelier of the main foyer , and the myriad vases , sculptures , and gold-framed portraits lining the halls until finally they arrive at the building's sole kitchen . daisuke doesn't meddle with anything inside and steps further towards the family refrigerator , quietly opening it . retrieving a single , carefully clear-wrapped slice of cake , he offers it out to the other with a small smile . this was it , precious as a fragile bird's nest in his hands . something that he had been carefully preserving for the other .

' dazai-kun . here . ' the blush across his cheeks remains visible even in the dim light of night . ' i tried ... to think about it really carefully . whether or not you would like things like parties , or what i might be able to do for you . ' yes , even on his very own birthday . ' in the end , i still don't know whether or not dazai-kun gets a lot of things like this all the time ... or if he even likes sweets . but i thought that even if we didn't get to spend time at a party together , or maybe if he was just busy or didn't like things like that , then maybe i could at least get the chance to still give him something . '

insisting upon its acceptance , placing the dessert , plastic fork , and disposable plate into the other's grasp , daisuke is fast to turn their shared direction about , practically sliding dazai across the floor in a guide of them towards the front door . ' ... you have to get out of here before somebody wakes up , okay ? ' nevermind the trouble of having to explain himself and an unexpected guest if they ended up caught . his mother , upon ever realizing that the family mansion of thieves had been so easily broken into , would no doubt turn devastated before becoming even stricter with the fatal traps set out for her son . daisuke's peaceful , unhindered night-time bathroom breaks would be completely over .

' but --- i'm really happy that i got to see you . ' there's nothing but sincerity in his voice ; a warm glow . the palms of his hands on the other's shoulders like this , it's the closest thing to the sort of tight and warm embrace that he wishes that he could have happily given to the other . any happier , and it might have been the great phantom thief dark himself bidding the mafioso farewell from the doorway . the pound of his heart wouldn't have been able to stop for hours . ' ... thank you so much , dazai-kun . ' he grins and he waves . this much was more than enough . ' for coming to visit me today . '

[ijustwant2write]

The Nice One-Fred Weasley x Muggle!Dursley!Reader

(GIF credit to @avocadosalad2​)

Masterlist

Prompt List

Tag List: @obsessedwithrandomthings​

Requested by anonymous: 'I have this idea about Fred Weasley falling in love with Harry’s muggle cousin. a dursley. Maybe y/n and Harry were always really close and she obviously knows all about magic. She’s the only person, Harry actually loved and trusted as a child and that didn’t change when he found out he was wizard so there really close, he sees her as a sister. Maybe he wants to introduce her to ginny because Harry wants her approval. And reader ends up liking Fred, and Fred likes her back.'

Characters: Fred Weasley x Muggle!Dursley!Reader, Harry Potter x Muggle!Dursley!Reader (cousin), Weasley Family x Muggle!Dursley!Reader (platonic), Hermione Granger x Muggle!Dursley!Reader (Platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Mention of neglect/child abuse, lots of fluff

                                     *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sitting back in a plastic chair, I looked out of the huge window of the coffee shop, sighing as I realised it had started to rain. I never minded the rain really, but it had been like this since May, with no sign of a proper English summer in sight. Harry returning to the table with two mugs of tea distracted me, and I smiled as he set them on the table, sitting opposite to me.

“It feels like ages since we did this.” I said, blowing over the top of the tea.

“Yeah, I’m sorry I’ve not called or contacted you in any way recently.” he apologised, casting his eyes down.

“Harry, you don’t have to be sorry for anything.” I reassured him.“You’ve been making your life in...well, your world. We’ve all grown up, had to get used to becoming adults and such. Though it is a shame we haven’t seen each other for over a year.”

“Year and a half actually.”

“I wasn’t surprised when you invited me here though. Of course, this is under better circumstances. I’m not having to drag you out of the house to avoid my parents.”

“No, this is much nicer.”  he chuckled.“How are they by the way? I was able to see Dudley last month.”

“They’re fine, same as always. I don’t see them as much as I should, though I do call them often. Sometimes it’s hard you know, especially after all that’s happened in the last few years.” I took a sip of tea, finally able to start drinking it.

Harry seemed hesitant to speak again.“Actually, I was wanting to ask you something.”

“Yeah?” 

“Do you remember me talking to you about a girl called Ginny?”

“Ooh, has my little cousin fallen in love?” I was teasing until I saw the genuine smile on his face.“Wait, Harry, do you really like this girl?”

“W-well...I h-have for a while, we actually told each other our feelings when, when other things turned serious. And it’s been going good between us, really good, which leads me to my question.”

I was confused as to where this was going, but waited for him to carry on.

“I was wondering if you would come meet her?”

“You want me to meet her?” I excitedly repeated. 

“Yeah,” he smiled back,“there’s going to be a birthday party for me at her family home. She’s a Weasley.”

“Wait, isn’t that the last name of your friend Ron?”

“It is.”

“You’re dating your best friend’s sister?”

“I’ve already talked about it with him! Do you remember I stayed with him over that summer, and I wrote to you from there?”

“The Burrow!”

He nodded.“They’re more than happy to have you there.”

“Of course I’ll come Harry! For now, you have to tell me everything about this Ginny girl.”

The party was two weeks away, and I could not contain my excitement as it got closer and closer. Although Harry had told me much about the wizarding world, he was the only wizard I had ever met (unless I counted that giant man that had tracked us down when Harry first found out he possessed magic, though there weren’t any introductions), and I was extremely excited to meet more of them. Would they constantly be using magic? Would they just conjure up food and drink? And would they be comfortable with me there? I knew that Harry wouldn’t leave me alone unless I was one hundred percent comfortable with everyone.

It was surprising that Harry hadn’t become irritated with me on the day of his party. He was coming to pick me up, and I had greeted him with an over excited tone, setting off a party popper which made strings of confetti land on his head. I had never been able to celebrate Harry’s birthdays publicly, always sneaking into his room or under the cupboard to give him a small present and a hug to wish him happy birthday (once I was earning my own pocket money, or sweetly asking dad for a few pounds, I would buy him cupcakes as a birthday cake, stashing away sweets for him after he saw how much we were given). Dragging him into my flat, I demanded he close his eyes, dashing in and out of the kitchen with a stupid grin on my face. Counting down from three, I giggled as Harry opened his eyes, smiling when he saw me holding a cupcake with a candle in my hands.

"You didn't forget."

"Of course I didn't. Is it...is it alright?" I became worried, wondering if I had brought up bad memories.

"No, no, I actually missed this. It was one of the things I looked forward to each year."

He blew out the candle, sighing when I urged him to close his eyes and make a wish. Harry then pushed me to get a move on, his eyes widening when he saw me pick up two presents with wrapping paper, as well as a smaller one on top. I walked past him before he could say anything about them, handing him the keys to lock up.

As we turned up at the infamous Burrow, I couldn't help but stand back in awe. It was like nothing I had ever seen, and although shabby looking, very put together, it had some sort of charm to it, it was so different to other houses. Harry had already taken a few steps forward, stopping when he noticed me not move.

"(Y/N)?"

My eyes snapped back down to him."Oh, sorry."

"It's going to be fine." he said, coming to stand beside me.

I just nodded, walking next to him and standing back when he knocked on the door. A short woman opened it, squealing with excitement when she saw Harry, and as she dragged him in for a hug, she playfully scolded him for knocking, claiming that he could waltz in whenever. Staying outside, I poked my head in, still holding the presents in my arms. I watched as Harry was engulfed in numerous hugs, everyone wishing him happy birthday as well as joking and laughing with him. It shocked me. The only time I saw him this happy was when I was able to cheer him up as kids (and that was extremely hard to do when he lived in the hell hole I called home), but a sudden wave of emotion attacked me, I was so happy to see him being treated right.

"Everyone, this is my cousin, (Y/N)." Harry interrupted my thoughts once again, gesturing for me to step inside.

Sheepishly walking in, I held onto the presents a little tighter, smiling through the awkwardness. There were so many of them standing there.

"Here, let me take those from you love." a man who seemed to be the dad offered, placing the presents on a nearby table. Now I was out in the open.

"So this is the decent one?" one of the younger lads said to break the silence.

"Ronald Weasley, you mind your manners!" the woman scolded him."Don't mind him dear, it's lovely to meet you. Harry has never stopped talking about you."

"He's right though," Harry said,"this is the nice one."

"It's nice to see that Harry stayed in such a lovely place, and with lovely people."

Really (Y/N)? That's the first thing you come out with?

"Oh what a sweetheart." the woman gushed."Believe me, they look like angels, but they don't act like one."

Harry soon broke us into a general conversation, attempting to introduce me to everyone. This family was so different to mine. It felt more loving, as if they didn't hate to be around each other all the time. They included each other in every conversation, they laughed together, joked around with each other. And they also included me.

We were sat around a long table, squeezed amongst one another with food and drink laid out. I had Harry one side of me, and his old friend Hermione on my other. I believed that she and Ron had romantic connections, but I was hoping she would shed some light on Harry's love life, as Ginny was sat beside him.

"They've only recently become public. Everyone knew that they were together, it was bound to happen. But we all acted surprised anyway." Hermione and I giggled, drowned out by the sound of everyone talking.

"Oh bless him, he seemed very happy when he mentioned her. That's why he invited me actually, he was wondering what I would think about her. They don't seem to be able to keep their eyes off each other."

"Someone else seems to have their eyes on someone." she smirked.

I followed her eye line, seeing one of the twins looking in our direction before averting their gaze. I had remembered that they were each wearing the same jumper but with different colours, thankfully making it easier to tell them apart. It had been Fred looking my way, and I hated that I was blushing already; no one had looked at me like that for a long time.

"I'm sure that was nothing." I mumbled.

"If you say so." I heard Ginny say, making me whip my head round to her. She was leaning forward to look at me, and I saw Harry holding back a laugh.

"Come on, I haven't even spoken to him."

"Maybe you should. Perhaps this was meant to happen."

Molly stopped all chatter across the table, standing up to announce that it was present time. Heaps of presents were pushed down to our end of the table, Harry was shocked by how many there were, but stuck right in. After thanking all of the Weasley’s for their sweet presents, especially Ginny. With my presents left, I felt all eyes on me, nervous as to what they would think of my gifts.

One was a collection of books he read when he was younger (until my brother got angry at him and ripped out the pages), the other was two shirts I knew would look nice on him. The last present was a photo book, which I had had personalised; on the front it said ‘Harry’s Memories’, in a beautiful swirling style of writing. The toothy grin on his face fell slightly, and I began to panic again. Everyone waited for him to open the book, a slight tension in the air. Harry slowly opened the book, reading the message I had left for him in his head. It entailed fond memories we had, and how proud I was of him for setting out to school by himself, and how many times he was brave enough to put himself on the line for his friends and family. Turning the next page, a breathless laugh left his lips when he saw the photos I chose. Unfortunately there weren’t many of us together, or of him in general, but I had raided our old cameras back home to find any photos I had taken of him without my parent’s knowledge. After flipping over another page that turned out to be blank, he looked up at me, as did everyone else.

“It’s blank so that you can fill it. I knew you wouldn’t want memories of home, just...just me I suppose. But I’m sure you’ve got better memories to put in there now.” I shyly explained.

“This is amazing, thank you (Y/N).” Harry said, hugging me tightly.

“The pictures aren’t moving?” Ginny questioned.

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion.“Your pictures move?”

Once dinner was done with, along with a round of singing as the birthday cake came out, we all broke off into smaller groups. This would have given me an opportunity to speak to Ginny, I had a strong feeling that she was absolutely perfect for him, they seemed well matched, but I still wanted a chat at least. However, Harry had stolen her away, and it wasn’t the right time to intervene. As I thought about who to talk to, Fred walked up to me, leaning against the kitchen counter top as I was.

“Thought you looked a little lonely over here.” he said, but it wasn’t in a cocky way, he was being genuinely kind. 

“Thanks.” I laughed.

He smiled.“I-I didn’t mean it like that.”

I looked up at him.“No I know what you meant. I was actually thanking you.”

“Ah.”

There was a moment of silence as neither of us were sure what to say next. Suddenly, something popped into my mind,“You know, I’ve seen you before.”

“What?”

“When you came to rescue Harry, in your flying car. I was in my room, but my room was next to Harry’s, so I could just about see you and your brothers.”

“That was so many years ago.”

I nodded.“I just remember how shocked I was when I saw the car, but also how relieved I felt when I saw Harry get in there. I was in trouble for not going to my parents straight away though.”

“You don’t sound like a typical Dursley at all.”

“I suppose I’m not. I was never the favourite, for some reason Dudley was. But I was so focused on keeping Harry somewhat happy that it didn’t matter. I just got good results at school, made friends and kept the biggest secret in the world.”

“It is slightly strange having a Muggle about.”

“How do you think I feel? The dishes are doing themselves over there!” I gestured to the sink where there was a floating plate and sponge. He laughed at that."That would be so useful to have at home, especially after a long day."

"So," he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning towards me,"what do you think about our families combining?"

I took a sip of my drink, following his eye line to Harry and Ginny."I can't express how happy I am for him."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And I'm not just saying nice things because Ginny is your sister. Harry had a long talk about what happened in the past, he's mentioned her, well, all of you, a lot. You've all been able to give him much more than I have."

"That's not true. Harry has expressed multiple times how he didn't know what he would have done if you weren't there for him."

"Seems like everything has worked out perfectly in the end. It even feels right me being here."

"I can agree on that."

"Even if I'm a Muggle?"

"Can't say that's the first thing I noticed about you."

My eyes widened slightly, slowly looking down into the content of my cup."Fred, if I didn't know any better, I would say you were flirting with me."

"Thank god you noticed, thought I might have to start using pick up lines."

"You still can if you want to."

"Nah, think I'll save that for a first date."

"If you're asking, then the answer would be a yes."

"Well, glad that's been sorted."

I giggled quietly, trying not to show how much I was enjoying this."Do I get to find out where you're taking me?"

"If I'm honest, I wasn't sure if I would get this far."

We laughed together, catching the attention of his parents who were with Hermione and Ron. We quietened down, finding it hard to hold back on giggling. Before we could even continue speaking, Harry was approaching me, and I knew he wanted to find out what had happened since he left me alone.

"So, uh, what are you two talking about?" Harry failed to play dumb.

I rolled my eyes, placing a hand on his shoulder."OK, whilst you interrogate my date, I'll go talk to your girlfriend. Sound like a deal?"

"D-date?"

"Don't act like you weren't listening. Relax Harry, this is your party after all."

I heard him sigh to Fred as I walked away."You two are going to be trouble, I just know it."

[neonacity]

HYACINTHE | CHAPTER 4: JAEMIN X READER

SUMMARY: 

Na Jaemin is far from being your typical 20 year old. Instead of slaving through college, he wastes away his hours cracking safes. Weekends that should be spent partying with friends consist of illegal races on good days and small scale bombings on bad ones. 

Na Jaemin is far from being average, unless you consider being a member of Seoul’s top organized crime family normal. There is no such thing as a sense of normality and peace in his trainwreck of a life, so when he met a barista who was brave enough to call out his dangerous taste in coffee, he was like a moth to the flame. Everything about her is normal, which means she is forbidden to him, in all sense of the word. So why, then, does he always find himself at the front steps of her shop, breaking all his personal rules even if he wishes he could stay away?

A/N + Disclaimer: this is a side story to Black Daisies, my main mafia fic feat. 0T23. While the plot is based on the main story, this can also be read as a standalone fic. As usual, this is purely a work of fiction and in no way am I implying any member of NCT to behave the way I write them here. 

TW: crimes, heists, potential death, mentions of drugs and other illegal activities.

PAIRING: Jaemin x Reader 

CHAPTER 1 / CHAPTER 2 / CHAPTER 3 / 

FIC TRAILER

MASTERLIST

"Hi. Can I have one iced americano, no sugar, with an espresso shot, please?" 

 My hands froze and hovered momentarily on the drink I was preparing as I heard a male voice say that from the counter. I didn't turn around to check who it was, but my boss—who is currently helping me man the cafe today—was quick enough to dash the pit-pattering of my chest. He hooked the order slip on the board in front of me and my eyes immediately raised to read the name there. 

"One to-go, americano for Youngho." 

I sighed internally. Whether it be from relief or disappointment though, I don't really know. A part of me wanted to be in denial of my emotions, but I realized you can only go so far if the person you are trying to fool is just yourself. 

It's been almost three months since that night that I last saw Jaemin. I wish I didn't know the exact number of days that passed since then, but I do and I couldn't help it. Every little detail of what happened was still marked fresh in my mind, especially the feeling of hollowness that exploded in my chest when I woke up that morning to see them gone.

If not for the chip on the edge of the table left by Jeno as he tried to hold a half delirious Haechan down that night, I could have easily brushed off everything as a fleeting dream. But it isn't. It is a nightmare, at least in my part. 

He really meant it when he said he would leave me alone. 

There were no calls, no messages, no visits, nothing. It was like he didn't exist at all, the past year spent with him nothing but an imagined illusion. 

We were back to being strangers again, exactly like how he wants to. If you think about it, it's selfless of him to do this, but I hate it. I hate it with everything I have. 

Why? Because now I have to live through the feeling that I'm the only one suffering from all of that has happened. I couldn't watch the news anymore without thinking about him. For heaven's sake, I couldn't even get an iced coffee order without freezing like a statue because I remember him. I hate it. I hate every single moment without him, as much as I didn't want to admit it.

I placed the plastic cover over the finished drink with a soft sigh before turning to hand it over to the customer. At least I can still manage to put out my well-practiced, service smile. 

"Iced Americano for Youngho," I called out into the receiving area as I slipped a straw on the cup sleeve. A tall man looked up and walked over to me to receive it. 

"Thank you for coming to Brick and Beans. I hope you visit us again soon," I said in autopilot, my words so well-rehearsed that I didn't even have to think through while delivering them. The customer smiled at me before giving me a wink.

"I sure will. Thanks for this, sweet cheeks." He turned and left the shop, leaving me slightly confused. 

My attention was then called by my boss who had just finished wiping down the counter. The man—who really has been more of a father figure than an employer for me—gave me a warm smile and motioned me over. 

"Can we talk? I have something to tell you." 

I briefly glanced at the clock. It isn't my break time yet, but the store is empty so I guess it will be fine. I shrugged. 

"Sure."

"Grab a cake for you and me while you're at it," he nodded towards the pastry fridge before walking towards the nearest empty table. I wordlessly took two slices of basque cheesecake, his favorite, before following him. The man has a mean sweet tooth and we both know it.

He was silent for a little bit as he took the fork to take a bite of his treat. I waited patiently for him to speak, hands politely folded over my lap.

"I'm going to sell the cafe." 

I blinked and stared. I wasn't expecting that at all. 

"You're… what?" 

He sighed and leaned back against his seat. He looked a little sad over what he just said but he managed to offer me a small smile.

"I'm getting older. You know how much I love this place because I started it with my late wife, but I really can't continue to manage it anymore. My children, unfortunately, do not have any plans of continuing the business. And they've been asking me to retire, too." 

I nodded slowly, taking the news bit by bit. 

"Do you already have a buyer, ahjussi?" 

"I do. It is kind of strange, actually. Someone offered to buy off the franchise at such a perfect time. And for a very good price, too." 

That made me smile. I've had this job ever since I started college so it makes me a little sad that it's going to have a new owner, but I really am happy for him. I just hope whoever buys it off takes care of it really well. The old man loves this place to bits. 

I felt him take a hold of my hands from across the table. I looked up and was met with a fatherly smile. 

"Don't worry. You won't lose your job. The new owners said that they aren't planning to change anything here and I told them that they had to take you with them." 

That made me almost want to burst into tears. I squeezed his hand back in return. 

"Ahjussi... You didn't have to do that. I can always look for another job." Who am I kidding? I know it will be hard for me to land another sideline especially with all the financial hiccups I am already dealing with so this is really sending me over to the edge of tears. 

"Nonsense. You are part of this business. You've done so much for this place so you deserve this. Don't worry, they said yes to my condition." 

I gave his hands another squeeze and he answered back with a fatherly pat. 

"Thank you…" 

"You're welcome. Just promise me, when you become a doctor, you'll give me free checkups, okay?" 

"No, I won't. Because you will always be healthy and won't need my help at all," I said with a wrinkle of my nose. 

That sent the two of us laughing. 

"When will the new owners take over?"

"By the end of the month," my eyes rounded with surprise and he nodded in understanding. "I know, I know. It really happened too fast. I can't turn down the offer though. To be honest it was way beyond what the business is worth." 

I sighed. "Well… as long as you are sure about them." 

"I am. For now, I'll be here for a bit with you. I just need to enjoy my last days here. So just don't mind your old man, okay?" 

I grinned. 

"Only if you promise to give me a free cake every day you are here." 

He reached out to ruffle my hair. 

"Deal."

----

It was a slow day at the cafe so my boss decided to turn down the jazz music that usually floats from the speakers in lieu of the television volume. It was an odd hour in the afternoon and I found myself smiling as I watched him flip the channels over to look for a good show to watch while I dried some mugs. Just then, the overhead bell on the door dinged, welcoming with it a pair of uni-looking kids. 

My boss looked over, but I was quick to jump to action instead. "I'll take care of it," I mouthed to him, to which he gave me a smile before turning his attention back to what he was doing.

"Hi. Welcome to Brick and Beans. What can I offer you today?"

"We'll have one dirty chai latte and one irish coffee over ice. Make it to go. " 

The couple offered their names and I nodded as I punched their orders on my POS. "Would you like some pastries to go with that?"

"No, that's all."

"Got it, you can wait over there to the side. I'll have your drinks with you shortly," I said with a smile. The girl pulled the boy over into the receiving area to continue their conversation. 

"So what I'm saying is, we gotta go. Tonight is going to be epic. The bets will be high for sure. We can get some mean cash if we put it in the right car." 

The other gave a soft snort and started drumming his fingers against the wood of the counter. I let their conversation act as white noise while I worked behind the bar.

"I don't know. You're not even sure who is going to be there." 

"Jeno is in the line-up. That at least is confirmed."

I dropped the metal scooper I was using on the floor with a resounding clang. 

The three others in the room looked over to me as I hurriedly picked it up with shaking hands. I gave all parties a sheepish look before turning on my back to continue what I was doing. 

This time, I was full-on listening. 

"If Jeno's going to be there, then it is a goner. There's no chance for others. It'll be full-on suicide," the boy said thoughtfully. The girl, however, shrugged in reply. 

"They said the others might come, too. You know, to make the run a little bit more balanced," she offered. 

"You mean the seven?"

"The Four, at least."

"Oh shit."

"Uh-huh. So I'm telling you, we gotta be there man. If we can't bet then fine, but we have to see it. It’s been ages since they actually went on lane." 

I didn't really know how I managed to finish what I was doing, not with how hard my heart was beating in my chest. I'm not sure how many Jeno's there are in this part of town, but I am sure as hell that there is only one who is a member of a seven-piece 'group.' 

"Here's your order," I said thinly as I pushed the finished drinks over to them by the counter. The boy offered his card and I took it quickly, all the while thinking of what I should do next. The few seconds of me typing away at the terminal was the longest quarter minute of my life.

"Here's your receipt. Thank you for coming and see us again," I said, my voice a little weaker than usual. The couple gave a quick bow before turning to leave, drinks in hand. 

There are two ways this could go. I could let them out of that door and have my only possible chance of getting in contact with any of the boys leave with them. Or I could call after them and…

I whipped around to call out to my boss, my figure already halfway out from the bar. 

"Ahjussi, I'll be back in five minutes, sorry. I promise I'll be quick!"

He had barely looked up when I started running out the door.

-----

"Excuse me!" 

The duo looked back at me, then at each other in confusion as I tried my best to hurry up to them without landing on my face. God, why do they walk so fast? They were just a few seconds ahead when they left the shop! Thankfully, they stopped at my call, giving me a chance to skid before them as I tried to catch my breath.

"Um… Is there a problem? We paid, right?" The boy asked me with an odd look. I waved my hand before finally trying to answer. 

"Yes. I uh—"

Well, I obviously didn't plan this out clearly. How do I say this now without sounding like a lunatic? 

"I heard your conversation earlier. You were talking about Jeno."

The pair exchanged glances again, this time tinged with suspicion. It was the girl who answered this time. 

"Yes, we were. What about it?" 

"I… I just want—to maybe know where he is? You were talking about tonight's—"

"The drag race?"

I stopped for half a heartbeat before nodding. 

"Yeah. The race. I wanted to come, too, but I don't really know the address." 

The boy cocked his brow at me in blatant suspicion. It took all of me to pull out all the basics I learned from drama class back in high school to remain calm before his withering glare. 

"You know Jeno but don't know the address? That doesn't make any sense," he said as he crossed his arms over his chest. "If you've been in one before you should have been included in the text blast."

Oh shit. 

I could feel my palms growing cold from nervousness. Still, I tried pushing on. 

"W-well, I was invited before by one of them. But then things fell apart and I started not getting any of the...texts anymore," I said, not having the slightest idea of what I am saying myself. What's ironic though was that what I just blurted out was sort of a half-truth, too.

Apparently—and miraculously—it also made sense by the look of understanding that dawned on their faces. 

"I see…" the girl trailed off. She cleared her throat and looked at her friend before glancing at me again. 

"Look, I can give you the address, but promise me that you never got it from me when someone asks, okay?" She asked. The boy looked at her incredulously.

"Are you crazy? She was already shadow banned!"

She shushed him and waved her hand off to shut him up. "Look, this is a girl thing. Don't mess with it. Just go ahead to the car, I'll take care of it." 

He scoffed but stalked off towards the direction of the parking lot. 

She turned towards me again and pulled her phone from the pocket of her leather jacket. I watched as she unlocked the screen before showing it to me. 

"Do you have your phone with ya? Here, take a photo of this address." 

I swear I could almost kiss her. I scrambled to get my phone from my back pocket and didn't waste another second to take a snap of her screen.

"Thank you so much." 

She nodded in understanding before locking her phone again and shoving it into her pocket. "Hey, a girl's gotta stand up for another. Who was it? Was it Haechan?" 

"Um…" 

She didn't wait for me to finish. 

"Really, whoever it is among them, I can't really blame you. They're all cute, but they do need to be taken down a notch when it comes to girls. Those boys," she tsked. "Dangerous." 

Oh…

Oh. She thought I was an ex-fling who wanted to teach one of them a lesson by crashing the race. I let that sink in before a frown settled on my features. 

Well, aren't you one? The devil on my shoulder cackled at me sardonically. 

"Glad to have helped though. But remember, you didn't get it from me, okay?"

With a wink, she strutted off, leaving me staring at her retreating form. 

----

I told myself I simply wanted to see him again. 

I reminded myself that for the hundredth time tonight as I parked my car on a free space by a gravel road, my eyes roaming the darkness beyond. The place looked deserted, and I had to do one last check if I really put in the right coordinates on my map before finally turning off my engine. The road beyond was wide but uncemented and to its left is a half unfinished building with metal banisters reaching out to the sky like skeletal arms. I swallowed. Every little thing about the space beyond screams danger.

Which probably means I am in the right place. 

I reached out to zip up my jacket and pulled the hoodie over my head before getting out of my car. My sneakers crunched on the gravel as I made my way towards a low wall circling the building beyond. 

Just try and take a look. You don't have to talk to him. You can keep your distance. 

I repeated that in my head again and again as I approached what I assume to be the entrance. A part of me still wants to berate myself for doing this but I am too far gone to try and play the denial game again. I want, no, I need to see Jaemin's world.

The moment I passed through a crack on the wall, it felt like I stepped into a different world. It opened up into an even wider area, the shadows of a multi-lane road behind the abandoned building beyond. Milling around is a throng of people, some smoking, others sipping on red cups on their hands. Some cars were parked against the wall I just passed, their headlights on with music booming out of their rolled down windows. 

I tried to swallow the lump on my throat as I looked around. Already, I felt out of place in the crowd, but I steeled myself to push on, my hands digging deeper into the pockets of my jacket.

"Hey." 

I looked up to see a boy around my age wave at me. He was also holding a red cup and what looked like a bundle of paper. My eyes widened as that came into focus when he got closer. 

Money. 

Wads and wads of cash. 

"You put your bets already?" He asked as he stuffed the bills into a small belt bag hidden beneath his oversized shirt. He pulled his phone out then, unlocked the screen, and looked at me, waiting for an answer. 

"Uh…" 

He gave me an odd look.

"Who are you betting on?" He asked again. 

I gave the first name I could only think of. 

"Ja-Jaemin," I stuttered.

That earned me a low whistle from him as he typed away at his phone, probably to record my choice of 'player.' "I don't know, man. Dude seems pretty out of it lately, but whatever floats your boat." He stuck out his hand to me then, and it took me a few seconds to realize what he was asking for. 

"Oh," I scrambled to grab my purse. I was in the middle of pulling my card from my wallet when I saw his face. Slowly, I put it back to reach out for bills instead. 

"Cash only." 

I sheepishly handed him the last few hundreds I have. He took them, expertly flipping through each bill to count them off. 

"First time, eh?" 

I nodded. 

I watched as he slipped the money into his already overflowing belt bag, thinking that he would leave after that. Instead he nudged his head towards the direction of the building and motioned me along. 

"Come on then. At least try and get a good look at your first race." 

I blinked in confusion but ran after him as he started walking away. 

We stopped at the front row of the half ring of people that had already gathered in front of the abandoned rafters. Just then, a huge spotlight shone over the road behind it, driving everyone to erupt in cheers. Parked in a single line at the foot of the road are five cars, headlights opening one by one.

"Jaemin's the yellow one," the boy nodded towards the one occupying the third lane. I stared. I know next to nothing about cars, but I know enough to be sure that none of the ones in front of me now are something you can buy from your run-of-the-mill auto dealer. Lowered, with shining reams, and a low motor hum that reverberated to where I was standing, I could only briefly compute in my head how much each of those customized rides must have cost. 

I heard the boy beside me snort amusedly. "Your first race and you get to see this. I'm telling you, this happens once in a blue moon," he said with a smirk. I didn't say anything, my gaze never leaving the yellow car. 

Slowly though, I noticed the crowd's noise die down dramatically the same time that a petite form walked out from the building. The woman stopped in the middle of the road and raised her hand into the night sky, a small pistol in her grasp.

Everyone has gone so quiet now that you could almost hear a needle dropping. Just then, the resounding bang of a gunshot pierced the air. Few other large spotlights turned on simultaneously, revealing the snaking road ahead that was disguised under the darkness earlier. I gasped. The roaring sound of engines blared beyond and with a new uproar from the crowd, the cars were speeding ahead, leaving trails of light in their wake. 

My heart was beating so hard against my chest as I tried my best to follow the speeding cars ahead. I was only able to comprehend the real expanse of the road the moment each ride took over its lanes—the place looked more like an abandoned air dock field more than anything else. I was barely aware of my nails digging on the palms of my hands as my eyes switched from Jaemin’s car and the others, particularly on the deep red one that he was currently toe in toe with. The space between the two were a hair’s breadth away and I could almost swear their sides would collide any second. 

That went on until a curve on the road appeared. It was the last turn before the finish line and the crowd turned wilder as the nose of each car tried its best to take the lead. I didn’t even realize that I was holding my breath until the last second when the yellow one took over the inner space of the road before swerving successfully ahead.

Everyone around me erupted in cheers. I gave my own gasp, hands covering my lips before joining the rest.

Jaemin’s yellow lambo parked on the finish line, the rest of the race participants trailing behind. I watched as his door opened, revealing his beautiful wide grin and tousled hair. He was glowing, cheeks flushed from the adrenaline. I was so caught up in the image that I barely noticed Jeno appearing from the red car, followed by Renjun, Mark, and Haechan from the other rides. 

I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I watched with a smile as they huddled over Jaemin, playfully pushing and cajoling him for his win. They looked happy, carefree.

But it seems like they aren’t the only ones who were out there in the road. My gaze moved back to Jaemin's car when I saw his passenger seat open. As if in slow motion, a girl got out of it, wearing the same wide smile the others have. The group hooted at her as she joined their huddle. 

That’s when I felt as if time has stopped.  

The smile on my face slowly faded as I watched Jaemin wrap his arms around her before pulling her into a tight hug. 

---

A/N: Hey guys! This is going to be the second to the last chapter of Jaemin’s side story! I originally wanted to finish it in one go, but I thought it would be nice to release the epilogue on Nana’s birthday! So yes, that’ll be out on the 13th, lol. Thank you so much to those who have continued reading this side fic! <3

Chapter 5 (END)

Taglist: @negincho​, @springdaybreaks​, 

[yungidreamer]

Fatherhood Seonghwa

There is a small chance I will do this with other members, but let’s see.

Summary: Seonghwa and his wife decide to try for kids, something they both have always wanted. The news they have a baby on the way is almost the happiest moment of his life, along with all the experiences to follow.

Wordcount: 5.8k

Content warnings: like 80% fluff, 20% smut. Very adoring relationship that follows them having a baby and the adventure that is. Pregnant sex, emotional sex, lots of sentimentality.

taglist: @latte-fairytaekwoon​ @ateez-angel​ @little-precious-baby​ @choisans-dimples​ @twancingyunhoe​

Music: To Build a Home by The Cinematic Orchestra and Cinnamon by Jome

They had started trying a few months ago and she had never expected to see the second line on the test so soon. Excitement and nerves flooded her as she looked at the little plastic stick. She had thought they would have a little more time, though she couldn’t think of what they would have needed it for. Seonghwa had been making plans since they first discussed trying. Plans for the babies room, plans for names, plans for clothes and accessories, and had even spent hours online already looking at strollers, cribs, toys, swings, and gliding rockers. Every day he came home with another plan or idea that had popped into his head during the day, a bright sparkle in his eyes as he told her all about it.

Part of her wanted to just snap a picture and send it to him right away, but she didn’t want to miss seeing his reaction. It was sure to be priceless, so instead she went to find a little box she could wrap up and give him as a surprise over dessert tonight. They needed to have something special, but she couldn’t let him know until the time was right.

“You ordered dinner for us tonight?” Hwa noted as he came in after work.

“I wanted to have my favorite meal tonight,” she answered, coming up to give him his hello kiss. “I was just hoping you wouldn’t be late today. The pancakes aren’t as good when you have to heat them up again.”

“You could have told me and I would have been sure to be home on time,” he scolded gently, his hand resting on her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” she shrugged. “If there was something important… I could have waited.”

“Next time tell me,” he insisted. “Then I can at least let you know if something has come up so you aren’t just waiting on me.”

“But I didn’t have to wait,” she pointed out.

“I just want to know, love,” he pressed a kiss to her temple before brushing past to change before dinner. “Go ahead and sit. I’ll be right there.”

She nodded and walked to the kitchen to check on the two little cakes in the fridge at the same time she got drinks for the both of them to go with dinner. Hopefully he wouldn’t come poking around in there. If he saw them, she thought he might start suspecting something was up.

Setting a plate and a drink for each of them on the coffee table, she wrapped herself in the throw on the couch and turned on a little something for them to watch while they ate. Seonghwa quickly returned, now dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, and cuddled in beside her, plate on his lap. She couldn’t keep her hand from pressing against her stomach now and again as she ate small bites of the kimchi pancakes tucked in against his side.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asked, having noted that she was pecking at her food more than eating it.

“Yes, just taking my time,” she shook her head, making a special effort to take a bigger bite.

“You aren’t dieting are you?” He turned to look at her, setting his plate to the side. “If we’re trying, now isn’t the time to be trying to lose weight, my love. Do you want to take a walk after dinner?”

“No, no, I mean, we can, but I’m not trying to be careful about eating,” with a sigh she set her own half finished plate down and started to get up. “I’m just nervous. Look I got us something special for after dinner and everything.” She pointed out as she headed to the kitchen to get the two little strawberry shortcakes… and the little ‘gift’ she had wrapped for him. Seonghwa stood up, following his wife into the kitchen to see what she was upto.

“Grab a couple of small plates for me?” She asked as she opened the refrigerator door.

“Little forks too?” The question was spoken over the slight clang of dishes hitting each other and then the counter.

“Yes please,” she agreed, carefully removing the box from the shelf. “Can you make a couple of coffees as well?”

“Of course,” he agreed, happily pulling a couple of mugs from the cabinet. Transferring the cakes to the little plates, she took them out to the coffee table, tucking the present in the folds of the blanket as she waited for him to come with the hot, coffee filled mugs.

Seonghwa emerged from the kitchen, a broad grin on his face as his eyes landed on the red and white dessert. He loved how loving and thoughtful she was, always happy to make a special effort...just because, and he loved it.

“Thank you, jagiya,” he kissed her cheek, holding the little plate in his lap. “I love strawberries.”

“I know,” she giggled, loving the tickle of his breath against her ear. “I wanted to talk to you about something, though.”

“Is it about trying?” He questioned, stiffening slightly in his seat, a flutter of nerves filling his stomach. “Are not ready? We can wait if you aren’t--”

“No, wait… are you not ready?” A quick jolt of worry when through her at how quick he was to talk about waiting.

“No, I just thought, maybe you weren’t,” he soothed. “And as much as I want to have a baby with you, I want us both to be really ready for it. It would be okay, if you weren’t yet. I can wait for you.”

“Well,” she cleared her throat, grasping the little box in her hand as she began. “You don’t have to wait.” Handing him the box, she bit her lip as she watched his hand take it, a little questioning look flitting across his face. Flipping it over, he carefully tore open the wrapping paper before lifting the lid off the box. It took him a second to recognise what lay on the puffy cotton lining but when it hit him, an expression of absolute delight came across his face. His jaw dropped and he pulled the test out, looking closely at the little window.

“Two lines mean baby?” He asked, letting the box drop to the floor.

“Yes,” she nodded with a bright smile.

“We did it?” He asked, his eyes flitting between her face and the test. Giving him a confirming nod, she took the test and put it on the table with their deserts. Emotions burst through Seonghwa like a flood. He didn’t think he had ever felt joy like that before in his life. Tears obscured his vision as he leaned forward to bring his lips to hers in a kiss of pure happiness. A thousand thoughts went through his mind in a jumble of questions and plans, hopes and dreams.

“There is so much I have to do,” he gave a watery chuckle, kissing her eyelids as he pulled her into his lap. “We need to paint the baby’s room soon so the paint isn’t too fresh when the baby comes home. And furniture. It will need somewhere to sleep, unless we are co-sleeping? Even if we are, the baby will still need a crib for naps. What about maternity clothes? Should we go shopping--”

“Aein, let’s just be excited for tonight,” she laughed sweetly. “We can plan tomorrow. For today, just kiss me?”

“Forever,” he promised, framing her face as he took her lips in a celebratory kiss.

“Hwa, can you loosen your grip a little,” she asked as she lay on the exam table for their first ultrasound.

“Sorry,” he gave her a chasened smile. “I’m just so excited. I want to meet our little bean. It doesn’t feel real yet even though I know it's in there.”

“I know,” she nodded, looking down toward her belly. “What if the test was wrong? What if it’s not there when they check?”

“It will be,” his voice was full of confidence as he smiled down at her. “And if it isn’t then we get to keep trying. I’ve enjoyed that part too.”

“Hush,” she snapped quickly, a blush rising on her cheeks. “What if the doctor came in?”

“Then they would know how madly in love with my wife I am.” He gave a shy smile and rubbed her hand between both of his, letting out just a little of his nervous energy. She just shook her head and let it fall back onto the paper covered pillow. In only a few more moments the door opened again and a neatly dressed middle-aged woman came in dressed in cheery yellow scrubs.

“Hello everyone,” she smiled down at them both, making her way over to the other side of the exam table. “This is your first visit with us, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Seonghwa said from beside his wife. “Will we be able to see much this time?”

“Well lets see,” the nurse gave him a patient look. “First thing I need is for you to lift your shirt and tuck this in to keep the gel from getting on it. And then we will undo your jeans a little and put this towel over your lap to keep those clean as well.” She nodded, taking her shirt up and tucking the towel in over it as the nurse lowered the waistband of her jeans and tucked a second towel in around her hips. “Very good. Let me grab the gel from the warmer and we can get a little on your tummy so we can see baby more clearly.” She turned and pulled a large bottle from a holder on the wall. Putting a generous blob onto the now bare tummy of the mother to be, the nurse picked up the sensor of the ultrasound and began her examination.

Seonghwa leaned forward, eyes glued to the screen filled with smudges of grays that went from almost black to almost white. He practically held his breath as he waited to see something, though he wasn’t sure what he was really looking for.

“There we are,” the nurse said, looking at the screen.

“There what is?”  He asked, seeing only a black blob on the screen.

“Right here,” she pointed at a small spot inside the black blob. “Do you see that little flutter? That is baby’s heartbeat.”

“That’s it?” He stood up to lean closer, as if getting nearer the screen would make it clearer.

“That’s it,” the nurse chuckled. “I know it is hard to see and it doesn’t quite look like a baby just yet, but it is there and the heartbeat looks good.”

“It’s okay? It’s really there?” She asked, eyes glued to the same place as her husband’s.

“Everything looks wonderful,” the nurse confirmed, handing a tissue to Seonghwa to wipe away the silent, happy tears that were rolling down his cheeks.

“Okay, do we want it to be cherry or black?” Seonghwa asked as he looked at the baby furniture set they had chosen on the website.

“I like the cherry better,” she replied, biting her bottom lip. “I know you like neutrals and all, but I want the baby’s space to have some color and warmth.”

“What about the wall color?” He turned to look at her directly, pulling her against him as he looked up into her face. “We don’t know if it's a boy or girl yet. Are we going to wait to know before we pick colors?”

“I was thinking… I don’t want to know,” she told him nervously. “I think I want it to be a surprise.”

“You don’t want to know?” His eyebrows raised in surprise. “What about baby clothes and toys?”

“Well there are plenty of clothes that work for both and I was thinking of a mint color for the walls of the room,” she looked at him, cupping his cheek as she looked into his questioning gaze.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Warm natural shades for our little whoever. What about a theme? Maybe make it like a secret garden? Plants and butterflies and flowers?”

“I like it,” she grinned. “Someplace relaxing and welcoming to take care of baby.”

“Good, cherry it is then,” he leaned his head against her chest, taking a moment to listen to the sweet sound of her heartbeat.

“Can we get some netting to put around the cradle?” She suggested. “We can put some flowers and stuff on it rather than a mobile.”

“I love the idea,” he giggled. “What about daisies and those little black and white butterflies? I could dangle some with fishing line so they look like they are floating?”

“Oh I love it,” she gave a happy sigh. “The room has so much light. Let’s hang crystals in the window, get rainbows sparkling on the walls.”

“Rainbows all over,” he chuckled. “And a little moon nightlight.”

“Thank you for indulging me,” she said gratefully.

“Indulging you? No, jagiya,” he beamed. “I love the idea of our baby growing up in a safe little garden surrounded by rainbows and butterflies.”

“Yeah?” She kissed the tip of his nose.

“A little garden for our little fae,” He nuzzled, lifting his lips to hers. “Our baby is going to be so beautiful, just like their mommy.”

“You mean like daddy,” she corrected with a chortle.

“No love,” he shook his head. “You always take my breath away, my love. If we have a baby that has your face, I would consider them to be so lucky.” Unable to think of something to say to that, she settled for pulling his face to hers, giving him a warm, sweet kiss.

“Did you know little Hyunjin is the size of a mango right now?” Hwa asked, not looking up from the book he was reading from beside her on the couch.

“A mango huh?” She asked, splaying a hand on her sweater covered bump. “Actually that sounds really good right now. I don’t suppose we have any, do we?”

“Mango? No but I can run to the store,” he let the book close and started to stand up.

“No, you don’t need to do that,” she waved at him to come back and sit with her on the couch again. “It’s just a whim. I’m not even that hungry at the moment.”

“But you are hungry,” he said, moving to go into the kitchen. “Fruit? I think we have some, let me see what we have,”

“No—” she started before giving up as he disappeared into the kitchen. “I don’t need to eat anything at this point. I already feel like a whale.”

“What was that, babe?” He asked, carrying a bowl stacked high with fruit.

“Nothing,” she sighed. “I’m just… not that hungry at the moment.”

“But our Hyunnie needs plenty of energy to grow big and strong,” he coaxed gently. “Grapes for my babies?” Seonghwa held a couple up near her mouth and made little om-nom-nom sounds at her.

“I don’t know that I want to eat,” she sighed tiredly. “I feel… gross.” She cringed at her own words.

“Gross?” He sat up ramrod straight and looked down at her slumped figure.

“You don’t have to say I’m pretty or something,” she huffed, slouching down into the couch even more. “I know it’s hormones and stuff but I don’t like feeling like I am huge and bumping out in all the wrong places.”

“Wrong places,” he sputtered, placing the bowl of fruit on the table.

“Forget I said anything,” she sighed, pulling herself into a sitting position. “Just hand me the fruit. I’ll eat.”

“Um-mmm, no love,” he shook his head, hooking a finger under her chin to bring her eyes up to his. “Don’t I tell you every day how pretty you are so sweet and round with our baby?”

“Yes, but you have to say that,” she shook her head and looked away.

“I have to because it’s true,” he assured her, pulling her to sit in his lap. “Every time I look at you my heart swells with gratitude and pride that you are carrying my baby. I look at you and I fall in love over and over. If I woke up tomorrow and didn’t know who I was, my heart would still know you, my love for you is so deep.”

“I know you love me,” she shrugged. “But I don’t think you find me pretty like you used to. I know I don’t.”

“You’re right,” he admitted, picking her up to carry her to their bedroom. “You’re even more beautiful to me now.”

“You don’t have to say that,” she shook her head as she clung tightly to his shoulders. “And you don’t have to carry me. I know I’ve gotten heavy.”

“Shush, you are light as a feather, my love,” he said as he stepped confidently through the hallway and into their room. Laying her on the soft duvet as close to the center of the bed as he could manage, he turned on the string of lights that wrapped around the top frame of the four poster bed, bathing them both in their soft, warm glow. “I’m an idiot to have let you feel like you are anything but a goddess like this.”

“Look at me,” she huffed and hid her face behind her hands. “My hips have gotten huge, I have all these stretch marks, my boobs don’t fit in my bra right, my thighs are bumpy, and look at how my arms even jiggle.”

“Your boobs have grown,” he agreed, giving a thumbs up and giving an approving wink and click of his tongue. “More to fill my hands.” Reaching out, he gently cupped them with his elegant fingers. “And the stretch marks, I’ll never be able to see them without feeling so much gratitude for how you got them. You’re like magic; growing a whole new person inside you.”

“It doesn’t make them any prettier,” she shook her head.

“They are pretty to me,” he soothed. “Let me look at you, my love. It’s been a little while hasn’t it? I’ve been so worried about not making you uncomfortable with my wants, I made you think I didn’t have them. Let me show you how much I still want you.”

“You don’t have to make a big show of it just because I feel ugly,” she gave him a half smile.

“It’s not a show,” he insisted, guiding one of her hands to come and rest on the erection confined in his slacks. “I want my beautiful wife. I want to hold her and feel her around me again. It’s been too long.”

“Not just to make me feel better?” She made him promise. “You really want me?”

“So fucking much,” Seonghwa stretched out beside her, turning her hopefilled face to him. Closing his eyes he pressed his lips to hers and took a moment to feel the brush of their softness against his own, feeling a sweet pang course though him. The soft whimpering sound she made when his hand slid down from her face to graze along the side of her neck undid him and he found himself groping clumsily to remove their clothes like he was a bumbling teenager all over again.

As quickly as he could manage, and with far less grace than he had hoped, Seonghwa pulled off both of their clothes, leaving them as physically naked as their emotions were. He had been holding back, trying to give her space and provide her with every comfort and meet her every need. The first few months nothing had changed almost to where he wasn’t sure the baby was still there until he touched her tummy or he saw the weary nausea the little creature caused her. But when that first pooch started to show he started being cautious. First, just being sure not to let his weight rest on her too heavily, then having her straddle him when they made love. Slowly he noticed how she moved differently and became shyer with letting him see her like that. He hadn’t pressed her, or asked her why, not wanting her to feel pressured by his wants when she had already given him so much.

He coaxed her to lay out on the duvet, open to his gaze, and sat up beside her on the bed. His eyes traveled the length of her from head to toes and back without hesitation, taking her in. She was so beautiful. It was obvious to him now, and he should have asked, that it hadn’t been discomfort or a lack of desire that had brought that reluctance from her. It had been shame in her beautiful body. She hadn’t wanted to be on display when they made love.

“I’m sorry I let you think even for a moment that you were anything less than beautiful,” he apologized gently.

“You didn’t,” she tried, but Hwa gently touched her lips.

“When you pulled away I didn’t ask,” he shook his head. “I forgot to tell you how beautiful you are. Something I should do every day. I won’t slip again.” He swore, lifting one of her arms so he could kiss the inside of her wrist. “Every day I’ll pick something about you and sing it’s praise until you understand the way I love and adore every inch of you.”

“You don’t have to,” she looked up at him, reaching to pull him close. “Just make love to me.”

“Hush,” he teased. “Let me do this right.” Reaching out, he spread a hand out over her stomach, gently rubbing the soft roundness there. “I think I want to start with this. This beautiful curve that says how much you love me. So much that you let me fill you with new life and are loving and nurturing it in a way I can’t for almost a year. It’s… such a gift. And when I look at you all round and full, all I can think is that I would do it a hundred times just to see how breathtaking you look filled with my baby.”

“You don’t find it… weird?” She asked, watching his hand move over her belly.

“Weird?” His brow furrowed.

“I mean aside from being fat,” she pulled herself up on her elbows and looked at her stomach like it was something foreign to her. “There’s someone in there. And I think they can already feel and hear what’s going on.”

“It is a little funny,” He admitted, curling up beside her so he could press his forehead to the bump. “Hello little Hyunjinnie. You should know how much I love your mommy. You are here because we wanted to have something so special together. I’m going to make love to her and you’re just going to have to close your ears for a little bit. Because she was my wife before she was your mom, so I have prior claim, okay?”

“Hwa,” she laughed.

“My child and I are coming to an understanding, okay?” He laughed, a joyful sound though his expression looked slightly pained as it was wont to do sometimes.

“I love you,” she laughed, a happy tear sparkling down her cheek.

“Now,” he said, moving to lay down on the bed and guiding her to roll onto her side so he could spoon her from behind. “Let me make love to the most beautiful woman on earth.” He slid one thigh between hers and pulled her flush against his body. Pressing a kiss to her shoulder, he let his hand wander, cupping her breast and stroking down the curve of the side of her belly until his fingers reached the apex of her thighs. He could feel her becoming damp and slid a teasing fingertip over the soft slit of her lips.

“Oh Hwa,” she breathed, arching against him.

“Tell me you want me,” he whispered into the shell of her ear.

“I need you like I need air right now,” she murmured, using her hand to guide his fingers to brush her pulsing clit.

“I left my girl alone for too long,” he cooed. “I let her go feeling unloved when I really wanted nothing more than to live buried inside her. To make our two bodies one.”

She moaned as he made circles around her sensitive nub.

“Please,” she begged breathlessly. “I want you inside me. I feel so empty without you.”

“Empty,” he teased, speeding up the movements of his fingers. “When I’ve left you so full?”

“It’s not the same,” she whined.

“I know,” he soothed, kissing her shoulder. “Come for me like this and I’ll fill you up with all of me.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating on the feel of his fingers and the warmth of his breath against the back of her neck. Her body fluttered and Hwa whispered praise for her beauty and her heart. She came apart in his arms, becoming a squirming mess as he held her against him. The sounds of her pleasure drove him wild. He had missed this, had missed the warmth of her body, the smell of her hair, and the sound of her going wild at his touch.

“I love you,” he whispered as she came down, holding her and nipping at her sweat salted skin.

“Hwa, you promised,” she whined, grinding back into his lap.

“I will,” he promised, pulling back enough to reach into the bedside drawer. Pulling out their old familiar bottle of lube, he got himself ready to enter her waiting body. “Are you ready for me?”

“I have been… so long,” she sighed, lifting one leg up to allow him access to her body.

“Angel,” he murmured, pulling her close and lining up his body with hers. “You are so beautiful. You are my everything. Thank you for giving me the gift of your love and this.” His palm caressed her bump as he pushed inside her. “Everything you bring to my life is a gift.”

“Oh Hwa,” she groaned, twining her fingers with his as he held her flush against him. He whispered words of love as he slid himself in and out of her body enjoying the sensation of her surrounding him, something he had been too long without. She was his haven and his comfort and the closeness made his heart swell in his chest. He could feel the prickle tears tickling the back of his eyes as emotion rolled through him like stormy waves.

His orgasm hit him with the intensity he hadn’t felt since their wedding night, that first time when he was with her when she was really his. It wasn’t their first time, but it was the first time they belonged to each other.  It had meant everything to him and for a moment he had worried she would judge him for letting the rush of sentimentality overwhelm him as he collapsed onto her. Instead she had offered him love and comfort, entwining her limbs with his until he couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the other began. He had laughed and cried and held her until the light of dawn had shown through the window of their hotel room. Only then had they let exhaustion pull them under. He would never forget the shine of her skin in the milky light of dawn. That perfect moment had not been matched until this one as they lay together, spooning and sticky in the candle like glow of the string of lights.

“My everything,” he panted, pressing a kiss to the back of her head and balling their fists together as he kept himself buried inside her as he slowly went soft.

“Love you,” she slurred sleepily, letting her eyes close.

“Do you need help changing babe?” Seonghwa asked from the opposite side of the dressing screen.

“No, I don’t think so,” she sighed, fidgeting with the gauzy sleeve of the maternity dress. She stepped out from behind it, feeling a little self conscious with her belly out on full view.

“You look beautiful,” he beamed at her, leaning down to give the baby a kiss before leaning in to press a second to her lips. “Ready for some pictures?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, waddling forward. “I’m just not sure about the bare belly thing.”

“You look incredible,” he assured her. “But we can make some adjustments if you want to cover up a little more.”

“No, its okay,” she put a hand on her lower back as a little dull pain flared there. “But I’m warning you. We are having some little alien moments with Hyunjin on the move.”

“Hmmm?” He asked, his eyes locking on her belly as he walked beside her.

“Here,” she turned so he could see the other side and paused, giving the lower part a little pat. After a second the tiny outline of a hand pressed back.

“Well, hello there baby,” he cooed excitedly, brushing a hand over the little bump.

“I think we are doing some somersaults getting ready to come out,” her voice was a little breathless and strained. Seonghwa straightened up and moved to support her as they walked over to the place that was all set up for their pictures.

The photographer took a few candid pictures as the couple moved around to get comfortable. They were one of the most precious couples he had had the honor of photographing. Seonghwa was clearly smitten for his wife and their unborn child and his wife glowed when she looked at him. They were that sort of forever couple, he had decided moments after meeting them. Death was going to be the only thing that pulled them apart, and with any luck, that would be decades and decades in the future.

“Oh god,” she whimpered, holding onto the bar as she knelt on the bed in the delivery room, another contraction squeezing her.

“You’re so brave, baby,” he praised. “You’re doing so well. Just a little longer now.”

“Hwa it hurts,” she wept, her face contorting as the pain peaked again.

“I know,” he gave her his best watery, brave smile. “But you’re doing such a great job. I promise I will change every diaper the first month if you just keep pushing.”

“I’m trying,” she ground out between hiccoughs of pain.

“You are and you’re doing so well,” he cupped her cheeks as the nurse reached between her legs to catch the baby as it emerged. She let out a sharp cry just before the shoulders finally came out, allowing the baby to soon come out with just a couple more pushes.

Hwa looked down at his sleeping wife, holding little Hyunjin in his arms.

“She worked 36 hours to bring you into this world, you know,” he murmured to the baby as it slept against his bare chest. “We should both try to be very, very nice to her, okay?”

Hyunjin fussed slightly and Seonghwa bounced them gently to lull them back to sleep. Another hour of sleep for her he hoped. The baby would need to nurse but she needed a rest. She looked so small in the bed, slightly pale and exhausted. Understandable, he thought to himself, after pushing out a person today.

“I’m coming,” she murmured quietly, padding down the hall to the baby’s room. Seonghwa was still asleep in their bed, but if he heard the baby fussing, he would be up in a flash, either offering to bring the baby to her for a feeding or trying to heat up a bottle she had pumped over the last couple of days.

She suspected Hyunjin wasn’t really hungry, just thirsty and a little cranky. A few minutes of nursing and rocking would probably be enough. Picking them up, she took a seat in the quiet gliding rocker and opened the front of her night gown. Pulling out her breast, she rubbed the nipple on Hyunjin’s tiny pink lips, coaxing them to latch on. The baby eagerly opened and locked onto her nipple with happy little coos as the cuddled into the warmth and comfort of her body.

“That’s my baby,” she cooed, closing her eyes as she held the happily suckling baby in her arms that rested safely on the nursing pillow in her lap. The sucks of Hyunjins mouth became less frequent and their breaths grew longer until they happily fell asleep still half nursing from mom as she succumbed to sleep herself.

That was how Seonghwa found them when he woke up to an empty bed a little while after. Carefully taking the baby from his wife’s limp arms, he tucked them into their crib before he knelt down to close her nightgown for her. He knew he probably couldn’t get her back to bed without waking her up, but he was going to try anyway. Gently taking away the nursing pillow, he set it in its place beside the crib before carefully working his arm under her armpits and knees, lifting her into his arms so he could carry her down the hall. She stirred in her sleep, cuddling into him and saying his name softly. He shushed her as he tucked her in under the covers, pulling them high up until they were tucked in up to her chin.

Placing a quick kiss on her forehead he quietly made his way out of the room again to sit for a little bit with the other most precious person in his life. Hyunjin was still happily sleeping so Hwa took a seat in the rocker, determined to spend just a little time keeping watch over them as they slept. But as a new, sleep deprived parent himself as well, he soon found himself nodding off as the rocker moved smoothly under him.

“Hyunjin, are you ready to go to school?” Hwa asked, kneeling down to straighten their jacket and fix the couple of buttons they had put in the wrong holes.

“Yes, daddy,” They grinned happily, picking up their big yellow backpack.

“Good,” he grinned, kissing their forehead and looking at them with all the pride and love that was bursting in his heart. He always saw his wife looking at him from behind those little sparkling eyes. “I’m glad you’re letting me walk you on your first day. I know mommy would have been happy to do it too, but I really wanted to take you.”

“I know daddy,” they nodded, taking his hand as they made their way out the front door. “It’s all you have been talking about this week.”

“You are doing this so I stop, aren’t you?” He laughed, his eyes pinching in that same almost pained look as he looked down at them with pure affection.

“No daddy,” Hyunjin shook their head and looked up at him earnestly. “I wanted to walk with you too. Then you can be the last person to give me a hug before my big day when I become a big kid.”

“Oh of course,” He nodded seriously, walking at the pace set by the little person who would always be his baby, no matter how old they got. “My baby is growing up so fast.”

Masterlist

If you got this far, feel free to send me an ask if you have a preference for the next member. If not, if I decide to continue, I might do it in age order.

[alpacaparkaseok]

Lost & Found

Pairing: Park Jimin x soulmate (oc)

Warnings: Insecurity, anxiety, abandonment

Word Count: 1.6k

a/n: *long sigh* finally. This story has been haunting me for months now. I was so tempted to just go crazy and start uploading it because I love it so much. But If I’m uploading this, it means that we’ve made it to the promised day! Yay! You guys, I think this may be one of my favorites. Which, if we’re being honest, all of my works are my favorites. But this is everything.

That is all. Please read and enjoy. Let me know your thoughts, I’d be overjoyed to hear from you.

Chapter 1. Unbreakable Bond

It was easier than I thought it would be; breaking the bond. Perhaps I was just desperate enough. Practically begging on my knees as I stood outside the dingy apartment building, knowing that this was irreversible.

Wanting it to be irreversible.

The woman’s name is Christina, and she gives me a wary look as she explains the cutting process. Her own severed thread is a testament to her underground business. I trust her.

“I need you to be absolutely positive about this,” she warns. “There's no going back once I cut the thread. It will be nearly impossible to find your soulmate.”

That’s the least of my problems. I know that it’ll be all too easy to check in on the whereabouts of my soulmate; after all, he rarely goes anywhere without it being broadcasted to the entire world.

“Burn it.”

Warning me about the impending heat as she pulls out a blowtorch, I hear her sigh. Christina gathers up my thread and places it delicately atop a metal slab. 

The little warehouse attached to her apartment offers little distraction; there are a few scattered tools laying about and nothing else but dull gray walls. In a time like this, a distraction would be nice.

“Do you ever regret it?” I ask, an uneasy turn of my stomach pushing the question out. Christina pulls her faceguard down, gesturing for me to look the opposite way. My shadow takes up the entire wall as she fires up the blowtorch.

“Me?” I can feel the heat of the fire, but I refuse to flinch. “Not really. But I do feel a bit bad for my soulmate.”

I frown at the gray wall. “Why?”

Christina shifts to get a more direct angle on the thin red thread that hangs from my finger and extends to disappear under the door. “You’re not the only one who is about to lose a soulmate today. At least it’s your decision.”

Staring at the unforgiving gray wall, I have plenty of time to mull over her response. However, the second I begin to worry or feel sorry for my soulmate, I remember the sweaty palms and crippling anxiety from earlier.  

As Christina takes a step back after nearly thirty minutes, turning the blowtorch off, I turn to assess the damage. Frowning at the still intact thread, Christina snorts.

“Don’t move.”

She takes a lofty hammer in her hands, bringing it down hard on the thread. I gasp as sparks fly into the air, my thread tightening around my finger and pulling. Grabbing my hand, I struggled to remain upright on the stool.

“We’re almost there!” Christina huffs, bringing the hammer down again and again. Sparks continue to fly, one landing on my shoulder and burning a small hole in my shirt. My hiss of pain is cut short as the pressure on my finger suddenly loosens, nearly causing me to fly backward since I was straining against it.

My breath comes up short as Christina removes the hammer from atop the thread, and I see what happened.

The formerly vivid red hue fades to a dull color, almost a brown-red like dried blood. I watch as the frayed ends begin to retreat, one end slipping off the table and disappearing under the door.

I push off the stool, ripping the door open just in time to see the red thread glinting under the moonlight, drifting away on a breeze. Retreating to its other half.

Glancing down at my hand, I hold up my finger where the other frayed end stops just a few centimeters away from the base of my finger.

“Yeah, it’ll stay like that,” Christina says as she comes to stand beside me. “Unless you want me to burn your finger off…?”

I give her a dry chuckle. “No, thanks. It’s alright like this.” I tilt my head, marveling at the fact that I’m looking out into the world without my thread obscuring my view. “So...will his thread just disappear?”

Christina shakes her head. “Your threads, while cut, still mirror each other. So his will look like yours in a few minutes when it catches up to him.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

She invites me back inside, offering me a salve for my aching shoulder that was burned, frowning as she tells me that it will most likely scar.

“I’ll just consider it a souvenir,” I mumble. Christina laughs.

“That’s the spirit.” She passes me a mug of apple cider, sitting across from me at the same metal slab she calls a table where my thread was severed. “So, do you know who your soulmate is, then? Is that why?”

I take a long sip of the cider, my mind instantly replaying the scene from hours earlier. “I know who he is. Although, I wouldn’t say that I cut it because of who he is. He’s a great guy, actually. Top notch.”

Christina raises her brows at me. “Really? What makes you say that?”

I pause to look at my frayed thread, the string of fate loved by the world over. The thread that I always thought would bring me joy beyond belief, but made me realize that it would be better to let go.

For him.

“Do you know BTS?”

Christina sets her mug down with a loud bang. “Do I - of course I know who they are. Why?” Her expression turns to horror. “Why?”

I wince, taking another sip of my cider. Holding my hand up to display my severed thread, I wiggle my finger. “Park Jimin.”

✂

Jimin is in the middle of his dinner when he feels a sharp tug on his red thread. Chuckling at it, he holds his hand up for the thousands of fans watching his live to see.

“My soulmate is acting up, I think.” He watches as the comments flood in, most everyone mourning the fact that they are not his soulmate. A few people tease him about it being them on the other side of the thread, and while he knows that they’re simply joking with him, he can’t help the increase in his heart rate.

If only.

The thread tightens around his finger, making him hiss in pain. “Ouch,” he mutters, pulling back against the thread in order to sit still. “Sorry, everyone. What were we talking about? Oh, right. The concert today -”

Jimin whines as the thread pulls even harder, nearly causing him to spill his drink. Pulling back as hard as he can, he gives the camera an apologetic smile.

Then, his eyes widen as an idea strikes him. “Do you think I should follow it?” He asks excitedly. He hasn’t ever heard about people’s threads pulling them in the direction of their soulmate when they’re not even in the same room, but maybe she’s here, staying at the same hotel-

“I’ve gotta go!” Jimin shouts, blowing a kiss with his free hand before promising to visit everyone again soon. “Thanks guys!” Ending the live, Jimin shoots out of his chair, barely remembering to grab his room key before bursting out of his room and into the hallway.

Following the pull of the thread, he grins as he follows it to the elevator. Punching the button as hard as he can, he jumps from one foot to another as he waits for the doors to open.

“C’mon, c- bingo!” Sliding into the elevator with a gleeful shriek, he ponders for a moment before deciding to hit the ground floor.

Jimin’s cheeks are red with excitement by the time he reaches the lobby of the hotel, not even noticing when a couple of the bodyguards that escorted them to the concert venue today see him and immediately start following him.

“Mr. Park!” One of them calls. “Mr. Park! You can’t just leave without some form of security!”

Jimin hardly spares him a glance as he bolts for the exit where his thread continues to pull him. “Then follow me!”

The bodyguards chase after him into the night, exchanging concerned glances as Jimin follows after his thread like a convict on the run.

They nearly tackle him as they round a corner he just turned a few seconds prior, stumbling to a stop as they see Jimin standing still in the middle of the empty road.

“Mr. Park,” one of them pants. “Where are you going?”

Jimin stays completely still, the sudden lack of tension from his thread causing his heart to stop. Glancing down at where it’s wrapped around his finger, he feels the exact moment his heart stumbles to a stop.

Floating on a breeze, he sees the other end of his thread. Skimming along the ground like a plastic bag tossed about by the wind.

“What is it?” Jimin breathes out, the question leaving his lips without his consent. “What is it?”

There’s a chill that settles over him as the thread comes closer and closer, making Jimin retreat almost as though he could stop it from reaching him.

“No!” He yells, taking another step back as the end of the thread now arrives at his foot. “No! Not like this!”

The bodyguards watch on with disbelief as the thread works its way up to Jimin’s hand, slowing to a stop just below his finger. They’re continually glancing down at their own threads, making sure that they aren’t about to stumble upon the same ugly fate.

But it’s just Jimin with the cut thread. It’s just Jimin, who falls to his knees with a dull thump. Staring down at the thread, raising his shaking hand and grasping the frayed edge.

“Are they…?” One young bodyguard asks. His senior shakes his head.

“No. The thread turns gray when they die, remember?”

“Then what happened?” He asks again, eyes wide.

His senior sighs heavily, heart breaking at the sight he’s only ever heard stories about. “They must have found someone to cut it.”

The young bodyguard gasps. “Cut it? Is that even possible?”

Jimin’s sobs answer the question for him, the sound echoing off the buildings. One by one, lights turn on in the surrounding apartment buildings as people wonder what the commotion is all about.

Jumping into action, the bodyguards swarm Jimin, picking him up and supporting him between the two of them. Jimin’s body is weak and limp as he shouts and sobs.

“C-come back to me.”

next

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[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Aaron Hotchner / August Part I

Request: Hotch and reader become unlikely friends after a broken doorknob brings them together, and maybe start to feel something a little more? (College AU) 

Word Count: 8,224

Warnings: Fluff, angst, mutual pining, mentions of Hotch’s dad and difficult home life, Haley being jealous, a kiss (*gasp*), 

He was never yours, you thought, your fingers grasping at the pen, the same hands that had held his once. You knew that, but you let him in anyway.

Into your apartment. Into your life. Into your heart. 

And then you let him go. 

Out of your apartment. Out of your life. Out of your heart. 

You signed your name, placing it on the arrangement of fresh cut white lilies, wrapped in plastic, before handing it to the florist.

But you wouldn’t now, not again. 

~~~

A knock on your door roused you from sleep. A groan on your lips, you rolled over on your bed, kicking off what remained of your thin blanket draped over you. A cool breeze rolled over you, cutting through the thick, sticky August humidity, but it wasn’t enough to lull you back to sleep. And the sharp rapping at your door certainly didn’t help. You grumbled, stuffing the pillow over your head, hoping whoever it was would take a hint. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Apparently not. 

You threw yourself up, face twisted in a scowl, as your eyes flickered to your clock: 12:17 AM. 

Yet another knock, and you pulled on a robe over your tank and shorts, draping it over your shoulders, “I’m coming,” you growled, and the fourth knock stopped short, and you tripped over nearly every piece of furniture in your sleep, throwing open the door, “what?” 

He blinks, his dark hair as black at the night behind him, several locks falling in front of his forehead, “Sorry, I, uh—” 

“Hotchner?” you tilt your head, crossing your arms, “what are you doing here?” 

And it’s his turn to be confused, “I’m sorry, do we—” 

He didn’t remember you — how lovely, an unwelcome interruption who doesn’t bother to learn your name. You tell him your name, and it still doesn’t register, “We’re in the same criminal justice class? The one we literally started last week?” One of two summer classes that you seriously believed that you conned into taking, all in the hopes that you would be able to finish up your degree a semester earlier. If you passed, you would be done next semester.

Red runs across his cheeks, “I’m sorry, I sit in the front, I—” 

You wave him off, while fanning yourself with your hand, “I don’t care honestly, just why? Why are you here?”

A flush climbs his neck, “I just moved in next door, and I got locked out of my apartment. The door handle is rusted over, and my roommate is out of town—” 

“And?” you rubbed at your brow, your manners didn’t exactly shine at 12 AM. 

“Could I stay with you? Just for tonight,” he held up his hands, “we have that midterm tomorrow in Crim, and I really—” 

“So you remember the midterm but not my name huh?” and the flush bridges over his nose and cheekbones, “I’m kidding Hotchner.” you scratch your head — on one hand, you didn’t want to let a stranger into your apartment, but at the same time, you didn’t want him to sleep outside his apartment, you sighed, “take the couch, but I’m locking my door, and I don’t want you disturbing me unless I’m somehow sleeping through the exam tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, I—” you wave him off, “I really appreciate—” 

“Just come in,” you yawn, stretching your tired muscles, still heavy with the sleep you were deprived of, but just like that, you felt your mind rouse, sleep deflating from your head in a slow leak, “ugh fuck.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I’m wide awake now,” if looks could kill, you were sure your criminal justice class would be investigating Hotchner’s murder, “I have a hard time falling back asleep once I’m awake.” 

He raises a brow, “I thought you were exhausted?” 

“Well tell that to my brain,” you groan, collapsing in an armchair, covering your face, “now I’m going to be up until 5 AM.” 

He glances at your kitchen, “How about I make us some tea?” you look up, lips twisted in a frown, “decaffeinated, if you have it?” 

“Third drawer from the left,” you snuggle into the chair, hoping to lull your brain into a false sense of sleep.

  His voice cuts through your haze, the familiar click of the gas burner, “Can I ask you something?” 

“At your own risk,” you mumble, utterly too comfortable. 

“How did you know who I was?” the sink knob squeaks as he turns it, the rush of water, the quiet hum of the water as it filled the cups he was undoubtedly rinsing now, “there must be at least fifty people in that class.” 

“You make a hell of an impression, Hotchner,” you sigh, shifting in your chair, wiping the sweat from the back of your neck, “the first day of class, you argued with the professor about his opinions about criminal justice reform and the necessity of it, or as he put it, the unessential nature of it. ” 

“Well, his opinion was wrong,” you laughed, eyes still very much shut, “his opinion wasn’t even based on facts, he was just dictating to us on his own notions—” 

“I know, and you made sure he knew that,” you finally opened your eyes when you heard the tea kettle whistle, “that’s why I remembered your name — the way he asked you for it, and the way you replied—” 

He poured the hot water into each freshly washed mug, “With hopefully with an equal amount of respect,” 

“A very minimal amount,” you propped your head up on your elbow, watching him bring over the mugs. 

“So an equal amount,” you take the mug from his hand, pressing it against your lips, warming your lips, chuckling, “I give respect to those who deserve it.” 

“And what does that mean for me?” and he smiles. 

He raises his mug, a wry smile on his lips, “Well considering you could kick me out at any point, I have the utmost respect.” 

You roll your eyes, hiding the smile on your lips by taking a sip, “Smart.” 

~~~

And you soon learned Hotchner was very smart — when he touted his 100% on the exam a week later, next to your measly 98%.

“You owe me two points, Hotchner,” you would say to him, walking back to your apartment building, the humidity as thick as a fog. You tugged at your oversized shirt, hanging loosely around your torso, but somehow still sticking to your sweaty body. You felt like a drowned rat who hadn’t even had the pleasure of being in the water, “I would have gotten your score if someone hadn’t woken me up in the middle of the night.” 

“Well, how about instead of talking the professor into giving you two points, how about a coffee instead?” he offers, hands in his pockets, “on me.” 

You grin, “It better be.” 

~~~

“FBI track?” you whistle lowly, sitting across from Hotchner in a coffee shop around the corner from your building, “some ambitions you got there, Hotchner.” 

“I aim high,” he takes a sip of his drink, “What? Can’t see me as an agent?” You shrug, your eyes flickering over his form, biting your lip — well he would look good in a suit and tie, wouldn’t he? And the vest— “What are you smiling about?” 

“Just imagining you as a G-man,” you admit, a grin on your lips, “let’s just say I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“And what high aspirations do you have?” 

“Nothing too fancy,” you stir your drink, watching the liquid swirl, “law school is the plan, hopefully eventually landing at a corporate firm and then move into the nonprofit sector.” 

“You don’t seem so excited,” you shrug. 

“Not everyone has high hopes and dreams, G-man,” and he rolls his eyes, lips pressed into a purse, unconvinced, “well I would love to be a writer, but I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” he raises an eyebrow, “or you’re too scared to try?” 

“Cute mind games, nice try,” you sigh, eyes falling to stare at your drink again, “it’s hard to believe in yourself when you’re the only one who does, and I can barely manage it.” 

He leans back in his chair, black locks falling across his forehead, “Well, how about I pick up the slack?” 

“You don’t have to say that—” 

“I want to,” he cuts you off, and you glance up, his gaze utterly paralyzing and earnest, that you almost want to believe and maybe you do just a little — otherwise that thump against your ribcage is something else — some other feeling you are not ready to contend with. But you don’t get the chance. He breaks your gaze to glance at the clock, and curses, “I have to get home. My girlfriend is going to be calling me soon.”

Your heart twists, but you ignore it, because this was enough — this moment was enough, “Yeah, get home quick. You gotta tell that girlfriend of yours about that grade of yours. Nothing is hotter than a nerd,” 

“Speaking from experience?” you scoff, and he pauses, “can we do this again sometime? This was fun.” 

It was enough, right? 

You smile, “Of course.” 

~~~

“Fucking fuck—” you hissed the shattered glass all over the floor, and the hot liquid splattered across the wood, “Shit.” you stare at the mess, cursing, stepping over the broken glass, as you pick up the shards with a cloth napkin, grabbing the broom and dustpan from the closet. 

You sweep up the mess best you can, but now before cutting your finger on a shard, “Shit, fuck,” you wrap the cloth around the wound, digging through the drawers for a bandage. Fuck your roommate for going away for the summer, and also moving everything around while digging through the apartment for their shit. You slam the last drawer shut, no bandages, but you found a dozen condoms of varying shapes and colors — not exactly useful for treating a wound. 

So either you walk down to the corner to the store with a cloth wrapped around your finger, or you could tie this cloth around your finger while you studied. 

Well, you glanced at the door, there was a third option. 

You and Hotchner had seen quite a bit of each other over the past few weeks— June bleeding into July — studying, watching TV, grabbing bad coffee after class. He was one of the only people in three years who had made you comfortable to be yourself — to admit to things you would have never dreamed of telling, without guarantee of a memory wipe (well maybe if he joined the FBI). 

What was it about him anyway? 

He opened the door, a smile pulling at his lips, before he glanced at your hand, “What happened?” 

“Cut myself on some glass, do you have a bandage neighbor?” you glanced at the door knob, “I see the landlord finally fixed your door knob, so I won’t have any more late night visits.” 

“Come in,” he herds you in, shutting the door behind him, “give me a second, I have to find the first aid kit.” 

You grip the cloth, watching him dart around the apartment, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed in concentration — you particularly enjoyed the way his lower lip— no. No you could not do this. 

“You’d think a first aid kit would be easier to find,” you call after his disappearing back, “since ‘first’ is in the title.” 

“And where’s yours?” he asks, as he walks back into the living room, kit in hand, “I don’t think you’d be over here if you found yours.” 

“Ah, I like the company,” he raises an eyebrow, placing the kit beside you, “plus I don’t have to use my own bandages,” you watch him grab a paper napkin, running it under water, before returning. You reach for the cloth, but he brushes you off, taking your wrist, “you don’t have to—” 

“It’s fine,” his eyes remained concentrated, as he pulled the rag away from your finger, “it’s mostly stopped bleeding now, it’s not so deep.” 

“Really, Dr. Hotchner?” and you hissed a little as he cleaned the wound, red staining the nearly translucent tissue, “did you ever consider a career in medicine?” 

He clicked his tongue, his hand was so much bigger than yours, his touch gentle, sending warmth blooming up your body, “Biology puts me to sleep,” he raises his eyes, “no jokes. Plus,” he scrunches his face and pulls the napkin away, grimacing at the blood, “I don’t like blood.” 

You chuckle,  “Come on, Mr. FBI agent, won’t you have to deal with a lot of blood?” 

His lips twist in a line, “Actually seems like I may see you in law school,” 

You furrow your brow, “What do you mean?” he sighs, grabbing a bandage from the kit, peeling the backing off of it, “Hotchner—” 

“Law school is a safer option. I can still put bad guys away, I can be a prosecutor, and I won’t be at risk of getting shot—” 

“Bullshit,” you cross your arms, “it’s not what you want.” 

“It’s not always about me—” 

“This is your life,” you get up, and his shoulder sag, “we get one life, Hotchner — are you going to waste it doing what other people want?” 

“You’re one to talk,” he snaps, “you should be a writer, but you’re going to law school, just like me.” 

You know he’s right — you know you’re a hypocrite, but you don’t care, “Why did you change your mind?” 

Your question is quiet, but heavy — it hangs in the air, in the silence, and you feel as if you know the answer already, “I was talking to Haley,” and you hold your tongue, “it’s safer if I go to law school. It’ll be better when we start our life together.” 

“Hotchner—” 

“That’s not the only reason,” he swallows thickly, he slumps in his chair, “my father — he—” his voice broke. 

You shake your head, throat dry, “You don’t have to—” 

“He abused us,” he says quietly, “He worked a lot, and if it wasn’t for that, I…” he trailed off, glancing down, “but when he was around…” he scoffed, “nothing was good enough. No one could please him, not my mom or my brother. I never tried. He didn’t like that,” he ran his fingers across his face, flinching as if he can still remember the blows, “It wasn’t long after he gave me a black eye and broke my rib that he had shipped me off to boarding school. And I never looked back.” 

Your chest aches,“Aaron—” 

“I want a good job, and I want a good life,” his eyes are hard when he looks up, “ I don’t want to be the kind of husband that my wife isn’t happy to see. I don’t want to be the father who isn’t there. I want to give them everything I have, and if this is what it takes…” he shrugs, biting his lip. 

“I understand, I get it,” and he nods, taking your hand again to place the bandage over your cut, “But Aaron, one thing?” he smooths over the bandage with his finger, glancing up, “just don’t lose yourself along the way, okay?” 

Your fingers entangle with his, he squeezes your hand, “It’s a promise.” 

~~~

There’s a knock on the door, but you don’t bother to get up from your bed. Only twisting in the sheets, burying your head in the soft comfort of the pillow. And you hear the faint and familiar call of your name through the plaster thick walls and paper thin doors.

And you knew how this went. 

So you rolled out of bed, stalking over to the door, but instead of opening it, you frowned at it, rubbing at your forehead, “What?”

“Some way to greet someone who brought you today’s notes and assignment,” and you sigh, opening the door, plucking the assignment from his hands, tilting your head. 

“Thank you. Anything else?” 

He frowns, “What’s wrong?” you sigh, shaking your head. 

“You sure that you’re here to study criminal justice? Maybe you would be better off as a Psychology major,” you mutter, allowing him in, as you collapse on the couch in a huff. And you see him sit, waiting and watching, and you slump against the cushion, “what?” 

“Words are dangerous around you,” he shrugs, “I’m waiting for them not to be.” 

“I’m just having a bad day,” you cross your arms, words sharp, “have you ever had one before?” and then you crumple at the hurt that flashes across his face, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry — this is why I wanted to be left alone.” 

And he moves, sliding in beside you, grabbing the TV remote from the coffee table, “You up for something light?” and you furrow your brow, “or we could watch what I want to watch?” 

“What are you doing?” 

“You clearly don’t want to talk about it, but I’m not going to leave you alone,” he shifts next to you, gaze unverring from the now lit TV, casting the contours of his face in a low light, “so what are we watching?” 

He clicks on some medical drama, and you snatch the remote from him, hiding your smile from him, as your shoulder brushes his, “Not this.” 

~~~

Aaron doesn’t remember when he falls asleep, but he does. When he wakes up, the sun has already peaked over the horizon, the low hum of the TV rousing him from his sleep. And he stirs, before feeling a distinct weight on his shoulder, the mumble of his name near his ear, and fingers brushing his thigh. 

His eyes flutter open, and he realizes where he is. 

Shit. You both had fallen asleep. His neck aches as he turns to look at you, making him pay for the position the muscles were forced to contort to the night before. He glances at you, biting his lip. You snore softly against his shoulder, lips parted. A few strands of hair fall across your forehead. He brushes them back, tucking them into place. He should move. He should wake you. But he doesn’t. He watches you sleep a moment — you were so peaceful, unlike yesterday. 

There was a part of him that wished you would have told him what was wrong. Told him what was bothering you. Told him what was on your mind. Told him everything about you. 

But that was normal right? Friends always want to know everything about each other? And he would consider you a close friend, right? A friend, a good friend. Just a friend. 

You murmur his name again, under your breath, and he feels a small shiver run down his spine, as he shuts his eyes again, finding your hand and resting his on top. 

Just a few more minutes. 

~~~

“Hey Hotchner,” you knock at his door, clutching your binder to your chest, hearing only silence in return. “I wanted to give your notes back, and see you were free, open up,” still nothing, you knock harder, “come on. I know you don’t have class today, I really don’t want to go to that movie alone—” Your fist nearly collides with a person’s face as the door whips open, and you rear back, finding not Hotchner, but a very upset girl, “hi, uh—” 

“Who are you?” she crossed her arms across her petite frame, her blond hair tied in a loose pony, bangs hanging loose and framing her face. 

“Hi,” you say your name, plastering a weak smile on your lips — you weren’t used to this much hostility this quickly (usually at least took five minutes before someone hated you this much), “I’m Hotchner’s neighbor, we’re in the same criminal justice class. I wanted to return his notes and see if he was free—” 

“He’s not,” a saccharine smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, “He’s spending the weekend with me. I’m his girlfriend, Haley.” 

You nod, “He’s mentioned you before, it’s nice to meet you—” 

“And you,” her fake smile informs you that it very much has not been nice to meet you, as her eyes flicker to the bathroom, “Aaron’s busy, but I’ll let him know you dropped by—” and you open your mouth, holding the notes up, “I’ll take those. Thanks again. Bye!” 

The door shuts, as you stand mouth open, staring at the door. 

And that was Haley. 

~~~

You see Aaron the next Monday in class, as he slides in beside you, rubbing his eyes, hair askew, “What happened to you?” 

“Didn’t sleep very well last night,” he mumbles, pulling his book from his bag, and you frown, opening your mouth again, only to be interrupted by your professor. 

Class passes in a painfully slow haze as always, with one exception — Hotchner wasn’t taking notes. Usually each class he would be thoughtfully taking careful notes, while you scribbled every word the professor said, hoping your notes would be legible when needed later. But today, he wasn’t. Instead, he stared straight forward, his pen unmoving, lying flat against the page between his fingers, but he wasn’t looking at the professor. Not really anyway. His eyes were glazed over, his brow impossibly furrowed, expression twisted under a thick haze of anxiety and worry. Even when the professor adjourned the class for the day, he still sat, staring at the blank notebook page. 

“You planning to attend the next class? Heard that Immunology is a hot ticket,” and he jerks from his thoughts, blinking as he glances around the quickly emptying classroom. 

“Shit,” the expletive flies from his mouth, as he gathers his things, shoving them unceremoniously into his bag, following you out of the room as students for the next class begin to file into their unassigned assigned seats. 

He doesn’t say a word as you both schlep back to the apartment building, the only accompaniment the low buzz of flies, the too warm embrace of the sun, and the silence that hangs between the two of you, much like a funeral march. 

“Okay,” you said, standing in front of him, “what is going on?” 

“Nothing, I’m fine—” 

“So you don’t want the notes from today?” his mouth opens and closes, shaking his head, “Hotchner, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to — but I just want to know you’re okay.” 

“I’m having a bad day, you ever had one before?” he echoes your words, before a smile pulls at the corners of his lips, a heavy sigh following it, but your gaze is unwavering, “You really care, don’t you?” 

Your cheeks burn, ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat, helplessly exposed, scratching at your skin under his steady gaze. You hide it under rolled eyes and a coy smile, “That’s what friends do, isn’t it?” 

Friends, just friends. Because that was all you were. That was why you cared. 

And you don’t notice the corners of his lips falling or the dimmed amusement in his eyes, “Of course,” he sighs, “I’m fine, just long distance with Haley has been hard on both of us.” 

You nod, not bothering to bring up your tension injected meeting in the hallway, “I understand, it’s tough doing long distance,” 

And you see an unreadable look cross his expression, before it’s gone in a moment, and he just sighs, “Yeah.” 

~~~

Things don’t get better. 

When Haley isn’t here, Hotchner is constantly on the phone. And when she is, you could hear the faint sound of yelling through your all too thin walls, until you chose to put on headphones to drown out the noise. 

You don’t want to hear his heart breaking anymore than he wants it broken. 

He’s quiet in class, and snapping when he’s not. He comes out less. He declines your invites. He spends most of his time on the goddamn phone. 

And it stings. 

You stare at the wall you share, the apartment feeling wholly emptier than it did at the start of summer. You glare at it, a cross between huff and a sigh filling the silence for a moment. How did Hotchner weasel himself into so deeply in his life that you felt his absence? 

Three years at this school, and you had barely made a friend. It was hard in large lecture halls and even small classrooms lined with people who were nothing like you. It was harder when you often left class right after. It was difficult to connect to people, it was difficult to get beyond small talk. But it was never difficult with Hotchner. 

Not once. 

You supposed that’s what made this so difficult. And there was nothing more to it than that — right? The question lingered in the back of your mind, an unspoken thought that did not wish to be punctuated with a question mark, but nevertheless was. 

It was stupid. It was so stupid. You lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, pulling a cushion over your face — hoping it would be enough to drown out the “evidence” your mind presented as signs of his affection — it wasn’t. 

He stayed with you that night. Like a friend would. 

He always is looking at you, longer than necessary. You’re imagining it. 

He was so gentle when you got cut. You were hurt, he was trying to help. 

He told you about his dad and about his dreams. Again, a friend? He trusted you, but it doesn’t mean he has feelings. 

He fell asleep with you on the couch. And then went back to sleep. You paused. That was one thing you couldn’t explain. 

You were awake when he had woken up, you had felt him rouse because you had already awoken yourself, his name flying from your lips without a thought when you saw him, felt his solid presence, his head resting against yours. You panicked. So you pretended to be asleep, and you felt him awake, heard his pause, felt his touch, and then felt him settle back in beside you. 

But you didn’t know why. 

It was easy to explain things away, it was simple — but nothing was simple when it was him. Nothing was easy. 

~~~

"No I'm sure, I don't want to go to the party tonight." you waved off Alex, who still followed you instead, her arms crossed. 

“You shouldn’t be waiting for him to call,” you furrow your brow, as she jerks her head toward the wall you and Hotchner shared, “you need to move on.” 

“I’m not waiting, I’m just tired, and unlike you, I haven’t had the entire summer off, and just came back after a fabulous vacation,” you cross your arms, lips pursed, but you know that she sees right through you, “just go, Alex. I’ll come to the next one I promise.” 

She sighs dramatically, shaking her head, "I'll see you tomorrow." The door shuts behind you and you groan. 

What the fuck were you doing? 

Who were you kidding? You collapsed onto your couch, facefirst into the couch cushions. You knew what the fuck you were doing — the exact thing you promised to never do, you sighed loudly into the cushion, pulling a pillow over your head — canceling any plans in hopes a guy would call. A guy — a guy with a girlfriend who he was in love with, one who didn’t give you the time of day anymore, and one who was barely a friend now. 

But still, he wasn’t just any guy was he? He was Aaron Hotchner. 

And that was the fucking problem. 

But right now, you turned your head to glance at the clock, your main problem was that you were still conscious, and that meant it was time to go to sleep. You looked to the wall you and Hotchner shared — you weren’t going anywhere tonight, that was for sure. 

~~~

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

You groan, pulling the pillow over your ears, “This is a joke, right?” and again, you are stumbling out of bed, half asleep and half blind, eyes barely open, “who is it?” But a part of you knew the answer before you even asked. 

“It’s me,” Hotchner intoned, and you opened the door, frown on your lips dropping when you saw his face — even in the dark, you could see the tell tale sign of tear tracks on his cheeks, barely glistening in the dim light, “can I come in?” 

You step aside, shutting the door behind you, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, and he catches a glimpse of your hands crossed across your chest. He scrubs a hand down his face as he slumps down on your couch, “I just...broke up with Haley.” 

The words echo in your ears, as you gape at him, blinking, “You...what?” you shake the shock from your mind. He needs you right now. He needs your support. 

You slide next to him, “I’m so sorry, Hotchner, I—” the words die on your lips, as you see him stare at the floor, his gaze blank, “hey—” He finds your gaze, his eyes glassy but somehow still so steady, and your heart stutters in your chest, “It isn’t your fault.” 

He gives a bitter chuckle, “How do you know that?” 

“Because I know you,” you tuck one leg under the other, one hanging off the end of the couch, “and I know you wouldn’t hurt anyone, much less Haley, intentionally.” 

His expression is inscrutable as his eyes fall to his lap, his teeth grazing his bottom lip, and he looks back to you, “Are you sure?” 

And the question hangs in the air — words wrapped up in meaning, tucked away behind punctuation and subtext. And he’s looking at you — a look that you can’t pin down, but it makes your heart squeeze harder in your chest and your blood turns molten in your veins. Why is he looking at you like that? And why for so long? The way his eyes linger make you want to believe — makes your foolish heart want to believe — maybe, maybe there’s something more to his question, something he’s asking you without asking you. A question within a question, that only makes your head spin and butterflies bloom in your stomach. 

“Of course I am,” a statement within a statement, tentative and as unsaid as his, but the words were on your tongue like an ice cube, rapidly melting away like your hope was that maybe — maybe this was something more. But the moment is broken when he looks away, and silence encroaches once again, strangling and consuming — you have to say something, anything to break it. More than that, you needed to do something — so you said the only thing that occurred to you, “Do you want to go to a party?” 

~~~

You were surprised. 

And you weren’t sure by what more — the fact Hotchner agreed to go to a party on a weekday or the fact he was two shots ahead of you now. 

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived. The blaring music shook the fraternity house to the screws and joists holding the building together. The kitchen had been set up as one giant alcohol station — bottles of every kind of cheap alcohol lining the counters and shelves, much of which Hotchner was helping himself to. 

He was pouring himself another shot, and another beer into a red cup, as you watched him, eyebrow raised. 

“Pace yourself,” you tell him over the music, as he downs another, no chaser, the chaser long forgotten, but Haley seemingly wasn’t by the melancholy scrawled across his face, “have you eaten a single thing tonight?” 

“Isn’t the point of college parties to drink?” his words are more than a little slurred, his usual crisp intonation down for the count, and his balance was barely existent at this point, swaying as he spoke. 

“To drink, not to leave in a body bag,” you say, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder, and to your surprise he doesn’t brush it off — no, his hand rests over it, holding it there. His eyes flutter shut, as he leans against your hand and his, “You alright there?” your cheeks burn as his eyes open again, his gaze intense and steady, and you see something you hadn’t seen before — a look that you can’t decipher. 

“Let’s go,” he says suddenly, his hand around your wrist now, dragging you through the kitchen and the throng of people in the house. 

“Where are we going?” you call over the roar of the party, but you don’t know if he even hears you, his head still turned as he weaves through the crowd, and up the stairs, until he pulls you into an empty bedroom, the door shutting behind you. Moonlight streams in from the window beside the bed, what little light illuminating his figure in the inky black between the shutters, “Hotchner, what is—” 

“I just wanted to say sorry,” he shakes his head, sitting on the bed, gaze dropped to his feet, “sorry for pushing you away. I didn’t mean to— I didn’t want to— I just—” 

“It’s okay,” you find your way to his side, the creak of the bed beside him making him look to you, “It happens. You were going through something. I’m not mad—” 

“You’re important to me,” he shakes his head again, insistently, “I shouldn’t have— I was a fucking ass, I just—” 

“Hey, I know you’re a fucking ass,” and he scoffs, “who’s the bigger fool? The person who’s an ass or the person that’s friends with him?” 

“I always knew you were a nerd, but Star Wars, really?” he grins, elbowing you, “you are full of surprises.” 

“Takes a nerd to know a nerd,” and he leans back, palms splayed against the bed, “I am a person of many facets.” 

“I know,” he whispers, finding your gaze in the dark, “And that’s what I love about you.”

You blink, your heart stuttering in your chest, “Hotchner—” 

He leans forward, his fingers cupping your cheek, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes and back again. He’s so close, you can see his eyelashes flutter as he stares at you half-lidded, the heat from his body radiating off of him, as his chest nearly brushes yours now, “I’ve wanted— I want to kiss you,” he murmurs, his words sending warmth blooming across your cheeks — his scent consumes you — pine, musk, and mint, your breath stolen by his words — ferreted away in the night that covers you both. 

“Please,” you whisper into the night, and when his lips brush yours, you wonder if it is real. Or a dream of your own design in the dark. But no, it’s real as the forehead that brushes yours after he parts a moment, “Aaron,” you sigh against him. 

Your lips find his again, noses brushing, and he lingers this time — more sure, but still hesitant. Just as hesitant as you are. He’s sweet on your lips, sliding against yours softly, his thumb brushing at your cheek, before your fingers knot themselves in his hair, deepening the kiss. You want more, you need more. And you hear him moan against your lips, a deep rumble that sends a shiver up and down your body. 

Then his tongue runs across your lips and you taste it — the alcohol on his lips, and you remember — Haley, the drinking, everything — it had been just to get over her. 

And your palms press against his chest, stopping him, his quiet pants still warming your lips, “I can’t do this.” 

You couldn’t be his rebound. Not after all of this. Not after what you felt for him, what you still felt for him. You didn’t want to be something he’d used to forget, something he’d want to forget. You couldn’t be his second choice. You deserved more. You wanted more. 

But you also wanted him. 

A moment passes, another, and he pulls back, “I understand,” he nods, “I’m sorry if—” 

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t—” you cut off, “I’m sorry if I—” 

“You didn’t,” he rises slowly to his feet, rubbing at his eyes, “let’s go home?” 

The walk home was in silence, which was somehow more eruciating than the two hour of constant, deafening music you had just endured. Your head throbbed, and whether it was from the alcohol, the music, or the night — you glanced at Hotchner — that was up for debate. Your nausea burned at your throat in time with your headache hitting a crescendo —- just not at this particular moment. 

“Good night,” were the only words he managed when he dropped you at the door, stumbling into his own apartment. And you only realize as you slide into bed that you realize you didn’t explain why you couldn’t — why you couldn’t kiss him. But with your face pressed against the cool pillow, the memory of his lips on yours lingering, and the siren song of sleep, you couldn’t dwell on it. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, the sandman’s embrace too tempting. There was always tomorrow.

~~~

Or maybe there wasn’t, you realized as you stepped out of your apartment, at least, not a tomorrow that included him. After pacing for an hour, convincing yourself to talk to him — to say something about last night — after you had re-lived that kiss a dozen times, after you practiced what you were going to say to him, and after you realized he was worth the risk. 

But you weren’t to him. 

But Haley was. 

Her lips pressed against his, right where yours were last night, her bags dropped beside their feet. His arms winded easily around her waist, comfortable and familiar, pulling her somehow impossibly closer than she already was. Her fingers cupped his cheeks, evidence of tears gliding down her cheeks. He inhales her breath, as they part, murmuring things only the other can hear, until your door bangs against its frame, still helplessly open behind you. 

Their eyes snap to you, and you have to tuck away the hurt and pain quickly — quickly, your lips somehow finding itself in a small smile, even as your heart splintered to pieces in your chest. 

His mouth opens silently, eyes painfully wide a moment, while Haley greets you with a smile, your name from her mouth painful to your ears, “It’s so nice to see you again. Aaron told me he wouldn’t have been surviving class without you.” 

Painful because you can’t hate her, painful because it isn’t her fault, painful because maybe in another life you could have been friends, painful because you had to fall for her boyfriend — “Of course,” you manage to find your voice, “someone has to keep their head on straight.”

And you had to. 

“I keep mine on,” he withers under both of your gazes, “sometimes.” His eyes linger on you a moment too long, but Haley doesn’t seem to notice, instead, stepping over her bags, and pulling you aside a moment. 

“I just wanted to apologize for how I acted before,” she shakes her head, “me and Aaron have been having a hard time lately, and I think I took it out on you — but we’re okay now. I just don’t want any bad feelings between each other because I know you’re a good friend to him.” 

Friend, the word rings in your ears, “Of course,” friend, and you wonder if your ears are bleeding by now, “we’re good. Don’t worry about it.” 

You find him unable to meet your eyes, his stare fixed on Haley instead. 

Of course. 

You were just friends after all. 

~~~

You don’t see him much after that. 

And you prefer it that way. 

There was only one more class before the final, and you arrived late, slipping into the back of the lecture hall, tucked away — out of sight. 

You left before it ended, sparing one last glance at Hotchner. 

Out of mind. 

The exam rolls around soon enough, the study period relatively short for summer courses, and you find yourself packing as you finish studying. But still, your mind drifts to him in between moments of taping up boxes and trying to remember the answers you scribbled on the back of flashcards. You would have been studying with him — he would have quizzed you while you boxed up your kitchen, he would have teased you for your barely legible chicken scratch, and he would have been here. 

But he wasn’t. You folded the flaps of yet another box down, tape gun in hand, pressing it to the lip of the box. 

Out of sight, the rip of tape across cardboard, But was he out of mind? 

~~~

“You’re moving?” he catches you moving boxes out of your place, the van you rented outside, sticking his head out of his apartment, his brow furrowed. 

“I am,” you continue down with your boxes, and he moves forward to help you, but you brush by him, heading down the stairs, “I got it, thanks.” 

But he doesn’t let you go, “I thought you still had another year left—” 

“I’m finishing a semester early,” you reply, opening up the trunk again to place the two boxes in the back, “and next semester I’m studying abroad. That’s why I did summer classes.” 

“Studying abroad?” he blinks, “when—” 

“I’m going home for two weeks, and then I’m flying to Switzerland,” the thump of the boxes is loud in his silence, as you slide them into place, “that day I wasn’t doing well— It was because I had gotten rejected from the program. My financial aid hadn’t pulled through,” you pull the trunk closed again, locking it, before brushing past him and  trudging up the stairs again, “But last week, my financial aid office helped me to find a private lender. So I’m going.” 

You hear the slow clunk of his shoes following you up, as you grab another two boxes, and you finally glance at him, finding his lips in a thin line twisted in something resembling a smile, “Congratulations, I’m really happy for you.” 

“Thank you,” you nod, bite your lip — biting back the words burning on your tongue — hauling the last two boxes into your arms. You try to slip past him again, but he grabs a box from your hands. 

“At least let me help you with this,” at least let me do this if not anything else — unspoken words lingered in the air, his fingers grazing yours as he took it, hefting it with relative ease. 

“You know, I’m happy for you too,” you say when you slide the box into place, after unlocking the trunk again. His brows knit together, and it’s not from the strain of carrying your things down the stairs, “I mean it,” and his eyes meet your gaze — you see too many emotions to pull them apart — sadness, regret, worry — and a few you don’t care to pick apart. It doesn’t matter now, “for you and Haley, it’s great you worked it out. You’re good together.” 

And you know it’s true. He’s happy, lighter than he had been for weeks, but now, his shoulders seem so heavy, weights pressed upon the corners of his lips and against his brow. 

“We are,” he shakes his head, sighing, “I just wanted to say s—” 

“We’re good,” you cut him off with a small smile, and you shut the van up, locking it. You turn back to him, only to find his lips pursed, glancing between you and the van, “I’m not leaving until tomorrow morning, so this isn’t goodbye. Can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

He chuckles, “Intent on dragging this out?” 

“I’ll never make it easy for you, Hotchner,” your hands slip into your pockets, walking back up to your apartment, adding, “but you’ll always have my respect and my friendship.” 

“I know,” he says softly, over the low buzz of the hallway fluorescents, “you’ll always have mine too,” he frowns, looking at your door and his, a question on his lips. 

“I should get to bed early,” you turn to unlock your door, “I’m leaving at 7 tomorrow.” 

“Right,” he shakes his head, stepping back, before sparing one more smile, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I should too —  you don’t mind if I say goodbye tomorrow right?” 

You shake your head, “I expect it, bright and early,” and he rolls his eyes, “Good night Hotchner.” 

“Good night,” he says your name, and even as you shut the door behind you, you love the way his mouth curls around your name — achingly and annoyingly perfect. And you remember what else he could do with those lips, how your name felt whispered against your own lips — 

And you remember who those lips would be kissing for the foreseeable future — at home, at their engagement, at their wedding. You catch yourself, heart twisting unto itself, and you had almost forgotten that it was broken — for a moment. 

And you know — you know then that you can’t say goodbye to him. 

Not in person. 

Because you wanted him still, despite it all. And wanting was enough — for a time. But now wanting only hurt because you were wanting what you would never get. You wanted him — but he was never yours to begin with, was he? 

He wasn’t yours to lose — but you did. 

And he would lose you too. 

~~~

Aaron had woken up on time. 

He woke up before his alarm went off, eyes fluttering open to sunlight streaming in his bedroom window. And he tossed off his sheets, rubbing at his eyes. 

He couldn’t be sad — he was happy for you. 

You were graduating, you were moving on, you were doing something you always wanted to do. He sat up, throwing his legs over the bed, pressing his fist to his lips, elbow digging into his thigh. He only wished he was brave enough to go after what he wanted.

What he wanted, his eyes drifted to the picture of Haley on his bedside table, did he even know what he wanted?

He slips out of bed, brewing two cups of coffee — knowing you would be on the road for quite a while. He still had some time before you were leaving.

He opens his apartment door, finding your apartment door open. The landlord pokes his head out, “Hey Hotchner, that doorknob treating you well?” 

Aaron raises an eyebrow, “It’s fine, what are you doing?” 

“Just going over to see what the damage is and if I’m going to be returning that security deposit or not,” he fussed over the clipboard in his hand, pulling the pencil from behind his ear, “looks like the apartment was in relatively good shape so guess I’ll be mailing a check.” 

“Mailing?” Aaron blinks, and the landlord tilts his head. 

“How else do you suppose I give something to a tenant who has already moved out and split?” In that moment, he brushes past him, peering into your empty apartment — the only things left were those of your roommate’s, “Left about an hour ago in a rush, couldn’t even wait for me to do my walkthrough.” 

He was on time, he was early even, he stepped downstairs to only find the truck long gone. 

But he was still too late. 

Always too late. 

~~~

But always wasn’t always forever. 

“Hey, stranger,” you nestled the phone between your cheek and your shoulder, hands full with a bread dough you were currently trying to knead for its next proof, “it’s been a long time—” 

“Did you hear?” 

“Hear what, Alex?” her voice grows quiet on the phone, “what’s wrong?” 

“You know how I’ve been organizing in preparation for the reunion in a few months?” and you lick your lips, moving to wash your hands. 

“Yeah, you told me about that and said on uncertain terms could I refuse to attend, unless I’d like to risk certain bodily harm,” you shook your head, “I didn’t forget, so is that what—” 

“It’s Haley, Haley Hotchner?” 

You pause, “Yeah Hotchner’s gi— wife?” 

“She died, just a week or two ago,” her voice falters, “I just heard about it from Paul, do you remember him? He was in your poli-sci class. He’s in the FBI too. I wanted to get Aaron’s information, and he told me it probably wasn’t a good time. And I pressed him and then….” 

“Oh my god,” you rested your back to the counter, “How did she—” 

“He didn’t get into details, but it was pretty fresh it seemed like. He’s still on leave, and the funeral is soon.” 

Your hands shook, squeezing your eyes shut as your mind returned to that summer — his smile, his laugh, his touch, his care — “When is it?” 

She says your name slowly, “Why?” 

“I have to go,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “I have to go see him.” 

[koskareevesismyqueen]

Echo’s Girl, Part I

Pairing: Echo x f!reader

Description: Becoming clone trooper Echo’s girl

AO3 link here

Link to the optional explicit part coming soon

Rating: teen

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: none

Author’s note: This is more of a set up chapter for reader and Echo’s relationship. I will be posting an optional chapter for 18+ audiences in the next couple of days (please please please only engage if you are over 18 and prepared to read NSFW content). There will be 4 parts and we’ll see Echo next as an ARC Trooper! I hope you enjoy this part – if you do please consider reblogging it to share it with other people.

Part I – Clone Trooper

Your first fieldwork assignment. You were nervous, so kriffing nervous. You knew exactly what you had to do but somehow, being dropped off at the Grand Army of the Republic’s barracks, surrounded by soldiers and weapons and war ships made it all the more terrifying. You weren’t quite sure if you were built to be here. No, you knew you weren’t built to be here. You were a scientist and that’s where you were comfortable, in a lab or in the field conducting research. But with the Republic’s funding your best option was getting transport via the GAR, so here you were. You make your way off the taxi speeder, nervously playing with the straps on your bag as a soldier jogs his way towards you. You gulp. This was getting scarier and scarier by the second. How were you supposed to last on a warship for a week?

“Doctor?” He asks as he steps toward you.

“Uh, not yet but yes,” you say and his brow furrows in confusion, but he holds his hand out to take your bag anyway.

“Captain Rex,” he says with a shy smile, “I’ll take you to meet the rest of the boys. We’ll all be around for the next week until you’ve left us for your mission, so it’ll be good for you to have a few friendly faces.”

You nod and follow along, trailing behind him like a lost puppy, completely and utterly out of your depth but trying hard to stay afloat. He takes you over to a group of soldiers who are milling about, clearly enjoying a few moments of peace.

“Men, I’d like to introduce you to our guest. She’ll be staying with us for the next week until we drop her off for her mission. She’s no soldier so if anyone wants to accompany her, show her around so she can get used to being here…”

One of the soldiers steps forward, white armour with the signature blue decals that match the rest of the men, then his own unique handprint that adorns his chest. He reaches up and takes his helmet off and in that moment your heart stops. Yeah, every single man here looks exactly the same. But there’s something about him. You take a deep breath and smile as all the other men and Rex melt away. You hold out your hand to introduce yourself and he smiles sweetly in return.

“I’m Echo. We’ll load up onto the ship, get your stuff in your room and then once we’re in hyperspace I’ll give you the grand tour.” You follow him, suddenly feeling a little less lost and like you’ve found a little piece of home.

♡

You relax a little more once the ship has lurched into hyperspace. You’re no stranger to space travel but it still makes you feel a little queasy each time. Now you’re comfortably travelling and Echo’s grand tour has started you feel like you can semi settle for the next week at least. If you had to live this life for much longer you don’t think you’d cope, but it’s okay for now. Echo shows you the important spots like medical areas, the canteen, and transports. He even takes the time to show you a few quieter spots where you can get a little peace and quiet if you need it. For a few moments you stand in each spot drinking in the silence and the shades of blue that hyperspace creates, thinking about how peaceful the silence is with Echo. At one point, you tilt your gaze to look up at him and the way the blue falls over his features. He moves his gaze to meet yours and for a moment you stop breathing, worried your little crush was coming on too strong. But he just smiles that sweet, warm smile and gently takes your hand to pull you towards your next destination. He lets go of it as soon as you’re heading the right way, but you feel the lingering sensation of his touch on your palm and will him to hold your hand again.

Kriff, you think to yourself, suddenly disgusted that you weren’t acting like a lost puppy but a love sick one, you’d only been away from normal human contact for a few hours and you were already acting like this?

“That’s pretty much everything. We don’t have much to do during travel time apart from prepping for the next mission and we generally have to stay out of the cafeteria unless it’s our designated time to eat, but I guess I could chat with the service droids and see if you get special exemptions?”

“Yeah, that would be great. I need caf to keep me fuelled while I keep sorting through literature,” you say with a small chuckle as you hold up the data pad.

“So, what’s your research about?” Echo asks as you head back towards the cafeteria.

“I’m monitoring purrgil movements. We know…not a lot about them and now with the war on and more ship movement we need to predict their movements to ensure safety. I’m trying to better understand them, breeding patterns and movements so we can avoid them during ship movements.”

“Oh, so, I guess you’re working to protect the clones in a roundabout way?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I’ve never thought about it that way before. I just think of it that I’m protecting the purrgils too. Most people just think of them as a nuisance but they’re beautiful creatures which have been massively looked down upon. It’s sad, and I hope my work can change people’s opinions.”

You walk into the cafeteria and the white walls are a stark contrast to the grey of the rest of the ship.

“Wait here,” Echo says, motioning to an empty table, “I’ll go and chat to the droid.” Echo jogs off and you can’t help but admire him for a second before turning your attention to your data pad. You flick through your schedule, moving around what work you had planned for when to make your schedule for the next week a little more…hyperspace doable. The soft sound of two plastic mugs clinking off the table pulls your attention away from your work and instead to Echo’s warm smile.

“Droid says you can come in whenever. Even gave us hot cocoa now to seal the deal,” he smiles triumphantly as your eyes light up.

You take the mug in your hands, cradling it as you allow the heat to rise through you, then take a deep sip. It’s the kind of rubbish hot cocoa you had on camping trips when you were younger. It’s good.

“Mmmmmm,” you say between sips, “this is amazing. If I ever need something doing while I’m here, I’m coming to you Echo. Your negotiation skills are supreme.”

He lets out a soft chuckle which fills you with a warmth that the hot cocoa never could, and the two of you launch into easy conversation. You tell Echo more about your research and how you got into it, your life on Coruscant and everything that goes with it. He tells you about life as a clone trooper, growing up on Kamino and his brothers. The time passes fast and your schedule for starting up on work goes through the window but you don’t mind at all.

“Hey, Echo,” another clone trooper says as he jogs up to your table. He’s similar looking to Echo of course, but with a tattoo of the number 5 on his temple and facial hair on his chin. You briefly remember seeing him near Echo at the start of the day, although you can’t remember who Rex introduced him as, and assume the two are close.

“Hey, ner vod,” he quickly introduces his brother as Fives.

“We’re going to the onboard 79s tonight,” Fives turns his gaze to you, “you’re welcome to come, save you from being bored to death by this one all night,” he punches Echo in the process, and Echo glowers back at him.

“Yeah, sounds good. Any excuse to get away from doing work anyway.” Not that you had managed to do more than rearrange your schedule so far, which had been pointless anyway as you had ended up spending all afternoon with Echo instead.

“Okay, well we were going to head down in a couple of hours so I’ll see you then. Echo, we’re going to do some training to kill time. You in?”

Echo looks at you uncertainly.

“It’s fine, I should probably get a little work in and take a shower first anyway.”

“Can you remember where you’re going?”

“Yeah, roughly. I’ll find my way.”

“Okay, well as long as you’re still not wondering around the ship lost I’ll come grab you at 1900.”

You watch Echo go with Fives, a small smile creeping across your lips and a giddy feeling searing through your veins.

♡

You’re on fieldwork, you didn’t exactly plan to bring any nice clothes. You have a couple of pairs of leggings which at least flatter your figure and a couple of cropped vest tops that you usually sleep in. When you pair them together you don’t exactly look party ready, but you decide that you look good enough for whatever an onboard bar is like for clone troopers. You pull your hair out of its braids and put on the very small amount of makeup you packed. You decide, all in all you look good. But the nerves are eating you alive right now. Partly at not wanting to make a fool of yourself, but also the fear that you were maybe misreading Echo and making a fool of yourself that way. You shake your head to clear the negative thoughts, then jump at the knock on your door.

You step out and Echo is waiting for you, playing with his gloves and you hope, for a brief second, that he feels as nervous as you.

“You look amazing,” he says, his voice wobbling slightly. He had to be nervous, had to be.

You smile back, “so, this onboard bar?”

“Oh, it’s not much,” he says with a small laugh, “just a corner that was quiet enough for us to find a new use for it. We thought it’d get shut down, but I guess they decided a little down time was good for us.”

And he’s right. When you arrived at the ‘bar’ it’s not a lot at all. A dark space strung with whatever artificial lights had been found around, upturned boxes and storage containers. The bar itself was only obvious because of the sheer number of troopers milled around it. You suddenly feel a little self-conscious, the only female there, and almost as if he can sense it Echo protectively wraps his arm around you. The attention of the gazes pinning you immediately shift and you feel instantly better. Granted, it shouldn’t take a man’s protection to make you feel safe but with Echo it felt too good to deny. He guides you over to the makeshift table where Fives and a few of the other guys from this morning are sat.

“So, how did you manage to put up with this one all day?”

You let out a soft chuckle, “I grew up with 5 sisters, believe me I can put up with a lot.” But you lean back a little and give Echo a soft nudge, resulting in him giving you an affectionate smile. The night goes on and it’s incredibly easy with the boys, especially with Echo guiding you through in moments where you feel unsure. It’s obvious how close they all are, especially Echo and Fives who you now know grew up together. Rex makes a brief appearance although you get the impression that it’s more to keep up appearances and morale than actually wanting to be there. You can’t help but feel that he’s a little preoccupied, although you can’t blame him either.

You’re there for a few hours before you decide to call it a night. After all, you do have work to do at some point and you had spent a whole day away from it. Not wasted, because spending the day with Echo had been fun. But it was still time away from work that you couldn’t afford in the long run.

You turn to Echo, gently squeezing his arm to get his attention.

“You okay?” He asks, the liquid courage clearly showing as he takes your hand and rubs his thumb over your knuckles.

“Yeah, I was thinking of heading off soon. I have a bunch of work to catch up on tomorrow so I should probably wake up early.”

“Sure, I’ll walk you back.”

“Oh, it’s fine Echo. You stay here, I can find my way back.”

But he’s clearly made his mind up because he links in fingers in yours as he stands up, so you follow.

“Bye guys, it was nice getting to know you all tonight!” You call out as they say they’re goodbyes (and a few whistles in reaction to your’s and Echo’s entwined fingers).

You walk in peaceful silence back to your room, although you can tell that Echo is gearing up to say something. You stop when you reach you door, gently squeezing Echo’s fingers as an almost goodbye. But instead, he takes your other hand in his so the two of you are facing each other.

“I, uh. I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed spending time with you today. It’s nice to have a break away from the guys sometimes. And, I really like, uh, you. Specifically.” You smile at Echo’s words, his nerves feeling you with the sweetest feeling. Knowing that he clearly won’t make the move himself, you pull your hands away from his and place them on his cheeks, pulling the two of you together and your lips to lock. For a second, he pauses, clearly a little taken back. But then he gently places his hands on your waist pulling you into him and you deepen the kiss, fireworks exploding through your veins with ecstasy. After a few moments you pull away, willing your legs to keep working and not turn to jelly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Echo,” you say before placing a final soft kiss on his cheek and escaping into your room.

♡♡♡♡♡

[amyscascadingtabs]

don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you [chapter 2]

CHAPTER TWO: see me in hindsight, tangled up with you all night

excerpt below, read whole thing on ao3

Amy doesn't return to the office until after she's spent a good hour at home. First, she showers, washing off yesterday's old makeup and grime and letting the warm water run over her shoulders as she lets the sweet scent of raspberry shower gel replace the vague smell of old beer and sweat. Her back is sore; probably thanks to Jake's lumpy mattress, she thinks, and wonders for a second if she should add buy new mattress to the contract before deciding it’s far too much. That's relationship stuff, and that's point one of the contract; that's not what this is.

She blow-dries her hair and replaces her makeup, taking extra care to try and cover a pink mark that sits just a little too high on her chest before giving up and picking a different shirt instead. Then she fills the biggest coffee cup she has, eats a buttered slice of toast standing up, and feeds her pet fish before rushing back out the door.

She probably looks fresher than most days once she's done, but she's still worried Gina can sense something from her secretary desk as Amy walks in. She raises a brow in greeting like she's actually interested, which is rare in itself, and Amy can feel her eyes on her as she walks into her own office and closes the door behind her.

Amy starts regretting her decision as soon as she's opened a new document. What is she even supposed to name it? Friends with benefits contract is too obvious. FWB-C sounds like code for something. Sex agreement makes her sound like someone who’s read Fifty Shades Of Grey too many times (which really is just once). Jake and Amy is a wedding invitation, Rules too general. She puts her head in her hands, staring at the blinking line, and groans. Then she writes in Jake, looks at that for a moment, and adds stuff after. Not her proudest, but it'll have to do.

Amy’s relieved she doesn't have much work to do today, because she spends every free minute she can come across tweaking details on the document, adding and removing sections to suggest. When she's finally happy with the result, she saves it in a personal folder she can be sure no one’s ever going to open, and praises the office-gods for the fact that she has her own printer.

~

There’s a faint smell of artificial lemon in the air of Jake’s apartment as he welcomes her in, and the thought that he might have cleaned for her makes Amy blush. It seems unlike him, but the living room area does appear less cluttered to her than it did this morning, so maybe he isn’t totally incapable of it. She still doesn’t want to check his cabinets.

“You cleaned,” she says instead, nodding to the couch that looks almost neat now. “You expecting to get lucky tonight, or something?” Jake’s cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink, but then he shakes his head and points to her outfit. “You’re one to speak.”

All Amy’s done is put on a maroon floral blouse with lower cleavage than she’d ever do for work and put on a touch of pink lipstick, but he’s not completely wrong. She still chooses to ignore him. “I’ve got the contract. Should we do this, then?”

He offers her an orange soda, which she declines, but accepts a mug of Earl Grey tea from a package that seems to have remained unopened since before the brand last changed its design. A hot drink might calm her nerves, she hopes, but it ends up being quite the distracting experience to watch him make it for her. She tries to read through the contract one last time while searching for spelling errors she knows aren't there, her eyes keep being drawn to his hands as he holds the label of the teabag between his thumb and index finger, bobbing the bag a few times with focus once he's finished pouring the water into a New York Knicks mug. It's hard not to think about how those fingers felt dancing across her skin yesterday, massaging the sides of her breasts and holding on to her inner thighs, and it's harder not to imagine what they'd feel like another time –

“Tea,” he interrupts her thoughts by placing the mug in front of her. “Thought maybe you wanted a cup that didn’t say NYPD on it.”

“Well, you're right in that.” She brings it to her lips, almost burning her tongue and hoping he didn't see. “You want to read it on your own, or should I read it to you?”

Jake sits back in the massage chair closest to her, spreading his legs and putting his palms on them before shooting her that disarming smile again. “You read it.”

Amy swallows hard. “Okay. Section one: relationship status. This arrangement only works if we're both single. We’re not bringing more people into this.”

“What about an open relationship?”

“No. Still complicated. This is complicated enough with just us. If either of us gets in an actual relationship, it's over.”

Jake nods. “Cool. Next rule?”

“Section two: appropriate behavior. We're not dating,” she says, pointing first at herself and then at him with the ballpoint pen she brought from work. “So we can't behave like we're dating. Outside of our apartments, we're strictly friends. Or acquaintances. Honestly, it's weird we're even friends.”

“But you admitted we're friends.”

“Sure.” She takes another sip of the tea. “But that means no public flirting, no inappropriate comments, no like, commenting heart or fire emojis on Instagram pictures –”

“Are these rules for you or for me?” Jake winks. “I know my selfies are stunning, but I’m sure you can control yourself.”

“For both of us. Section three: we part in the morning. No exceptions. Staying overnight is okay, but once we wake up, we’re done.”

“What counts as morning in this scenario? I’m not going to have to get up at six a.m., am I?”

“Not unless you stay at my place when I have work.”

“I’ll remember not to do that, then.”

“Great. Section four – protection.”

“You have an entire section on that?” Jake looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“It’s important!” She exclaims, feeling herself getting defensive. “I have an implant, so we’re safe from pregnancy, but it’s either condoms or you need to get checked.”

Jake nearly spits out some of his orange soda, coughing slightly. “You must be fun at parties.”

“I’m actually a nationally accredited and registered chaperone.”

“What is that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Are you going to do it or not?”

“Fine. You, then?”

“I will if you want me to.” Amy shrugs. “But I haven’t slept with anyone since my ex, so we should be good.”

Jake’s eyebrows fly up. “Really?”

“That so surprising to you?”

“A little? In the least jerk-ish way possible, you must get, well… offers.”

“People don’t flirt a whole lot with their lawyers,” she says, shifting in her chair and crossing her legs. “And it hasn’t been my focus. Are we good with the contract?”

“Actually, I want to add one more rule.”

“Yeah?”

Jake leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head and flexing his biceps through the green shirt with a smug grin. “You’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”

Amy looks at him for a moment, trying to determine whether or not he’s joking, but he doesn’t waver, so she leans forward and draws a fifth section sign on the blank space left on the document. No developing feelings or this ends, she prints out in capital letters, signing her name on the allotted line.

“Won’t be a problem.”

Jake signs the contract, and Amy tries not to grimace at how messy his signature is as she places the document in a thin plastic folder, promising him a copy tomorrow.

“Cool,” Jake nods. He’s messing up his curls with his right hand again, the way she’s noticed he does when he’s trying to flirt. She wonders if it’s strategy or nerves. “So, are you doing anything else tonight, or...”

“What, contract signing’s got you all hot and bothered?”

“I mean, seeing you in full lawyer mode. It’s not, not hot.”

“Double negation?” Amy scrunches her nose. “Oh, you’re going to have to make that one up to me.”

“Maybe I will,” he says, and she needs only to notice the way his eyes darken to know that it’s on.

Amy can feel her legs still shaking a little as she hails a cab outside Jake's apartment just after, and she closes her eyes in the backseat and wonders how it's possible to feel this amazing, this satisfied from a cocktail of what she knows is mostly dopamine and oxytocin. It still makes her feel all giggly, like she can't stop smiling to herself.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket, and she picks it up to read a text from Jake.

Fucking hell that was SO GOOD.

Maybe this friends with benefits thing won't be so bad after all.

~

[mimzy-writing-online]

How To Clean Your Room When You Have ADHD

A huge problem for people with ADHD (or any neuro-divergent condition or physical disability really) is not knowing where to start. You have this big project in front of you and you have no idea what to do first.

This is a guide based on the years of practice I’ve had learning to clean my room even when my mental illness and chronic fatigue is trying to ruin my life (and failing.) These are the steps I take, what helps me best.

This guide is designed to give you a chance to make a large, effective change in your room that positively helps your mental health. You are not expected to be perfect, you are not expected to do everything if it’s outside of your limitations, just do your best (and don’t push yourself too much... but I never listen to that self-advice, oops.)

Most important step: eat breakfast and take your meds. Trust me when I say this will keep you going, both in the energy and focus departments.

Next, try to recruit a friend or family member to help. By help I mean asking them to keep you company and keep you on track. Talking them will help keep you going, and give you someone who can offer an idea or suggestion if your ADHD gets you stuck.

Calling a friend over the phone is a good substitute if you don’t have someone to be in the room with you today.

Music is a good alternative to keep you moving if that’s all that’s available but trust me when I say having another friend with you helps a lot.

Supplies:

Trash bags

Empty hampers

Ideally access to a nearby washing machine and dryer

Micro-fiber clothes

Long duster

Prep:

Open your curtains (ideally) for the vitamin D and focus. Or turn on a lamp with a light quality/intensity you find comfortable.

Strip your bed. Take pillows, blankets, sheets, and pillow cases off. 

Washing sheets and pillow cases is mandatory because 1) it’s sooo so nice to go to bed at the end of the day and smell clean sheets, and 2) clean sheets are good for your skin, especially clean pillowcases if you have problems with acne.

Washing blankets, comforters, and duvet covers are optional. You should do it from time to time, but it’s not a priority like sheets and pillow cases. Some comforters and blankets can only be washed under specific conditions, or possibly only when absolutely necessary (because like, you stilled coffee or soda on it or your pet did something rude on your blankets.) Check wash requirements on the tags.

You can still probably ignore it unless you really want to. Again, this is about making a sizable change that positively affects you, not being perfect.

Put your sheets in the washing machine and put the rest of your bedding back on your bed and leave it there until you’re ready to put the sheet back on.

Next is laundry. Pick up every item of clothing off the floor or on nearby furniture. Every item. Even if you think, “I only wore this for a few hours the other day and there are no stains.” Wash them. 1) they smell like your floor, and that’s not a nice smell, and 2) trying to separate cleanish from definitely dirty is pretty demanding on mental focus spoons.

Just shove all those clothes in a hamper. It’s quicker that way. You’re going to wash them after your sheets.

Next clean up all the trash on your floor. Take a trash bag but don’t put in a trash can. You’re going to be dragging it with you while you work from section to section.

Food trash must go. 

Packaging and plastic wrap must go. 

Old school work can stay if you’re still taking the class or especially proud of that project, but otherwise just toss it. Find a folder or drawer for what’s left and store it away for now.

Start throwing trash on surfaces like desks, nightstands, dressers, and bookcases away.

Do not try to organize the inside of your drawers unless you’re planning to get really thorough. But that’s not today. Today you’re getting the basics done as efficiently as possible so you can feel better in your environment.

Take glasses, plates, mugs, and silverware into the kitchen.

Start working on cleaning up clutter on your desk and nightstand first. Next is dresser and bookcases. 

Use the micro-fiber clothes to pick up dust as you go. It keeps it from piling up, does not brush dust into the air, and goes quick this way. Dust tv and/or computer screens.

Pick non trash or clothing items off the floor. Try to find a permanent spot to either store or display it. If you can’t, maybe find a box to put those items in and revisit this problem later.

By now your sheets should be washed. Throw them in the dryer and wash your blankets if you’re ambitious. If not, wash your clothes next.

Take a break and have a snack, drink some water, maybe have a caffeinated drink.

Look at your room and feel proud, but also a little overwhelmed because it’s not done yet, but it’s getting there. Don’t worry. You can do it, I believe in you.

Procrastinate getting back to work. That’s okay. You have an hour before your sheets are clean, now is a good break time. Set an alarm for when your sheets should be dried and do whatever you want.

Alarm goes off, break over.

Dust the corners and tops of your walls to get rid of cobwebs. Having a taller or sighted person if this task is out of your ability (like it is for me on the eyesight front).

One last check for any dust around your bed. Move drinks away from your bed, nightstand and nearby surfaces.

Sigh, feel tired, and go grab your clean, warm sheets. Move your clothes or blankets from the washer to the dryer.

Come back, push all the blankets onto your (mostly?) cleaned up floor. Put the flat sheet on.

Feel tired and collapse on the covered mattress for a moment. You’re doing so good, and you’re almost there.

Make the rest of your bed.

Be very proud of yourself because you got a fucking lot done and I am sooo so fucking proud of you dude.

Optional things you can after this step:

Fold and put away laundry. This is a little concentration heavy. Make sure your friend/family member is nearby to help you stay on task. 

I highly recommend Marie Kondo’s folding method personally, saved me a lot of space in my dresser. Developing a set method for folding clothing makes it a lot easier to fold and put away in the future because your subconscious brain learns the motions and can practice them without you having to think too closely on it.

(She has several videos on YouTube, shorter than five minutes mostly, very visual with clear instructions, so it’s ADHD friendly, though not super blind friendly)

Now that your room looks a lot better, try putting those items that didn’t have a set place before. Your brain is probably seeing it like a whole new room and feeling refreshed.

That’s it, you’re definitely done now. Rest and relax. 

Turn on your favorite music, start doing your favorite task if you have the spoons, take a nap if you don’t have the spoons. Feel proud of yourself because you did a good fucking job.

It’s like... midnight now, and I’ve been up for two days, (because my ADHD brain was too loud last night to let me sleep. Mood? Mood.) I’m maybe a little too tired to edit this coherently, but you know writing these guides and posting them with minimal editing is so very on brand for my original posts.

Goodnight guys, I am off to bed!

I hope this helps <3 please leave me a comment in the replies or tags because I love going back to see what you guys left on my posts (believe that that I absolutely do this to my How to Write a Blind/Visually Impaired Character guide any time it gets fresh activity.)

Good luck, take care, and goodnight <3

[whump-town]

Heart Attack

This one goes out to whoever said “death. this is how i confess love”. 

I will write the other fic as well 

Warning: Major Character Death (rip my favorite big old idiot)

The initial weakness in his left arm is not noteworthy. The deep ache, daggers shooting from the inside of his wrist to the clavicle, are sadly not either. Chronic pain is just a part of his daily life and after the ugly, deep scars Foyet left on his forearms, not even simple movements are free. He’s always assumed Foyet put them, the long slashed scars that look nearly self-inflicted, there just for show, claiming him perhaps but certainly to maim. Doesn’t matter right much now, all he knows for certain is that it hurts and there’s nothing he can do about it.

It happens so frequently that it nearly slips his mind-- as much as pain can but what he really means is that the coffee in his hand slips. He’s standing in the kitchen, contemplating taking an Advil to at least dull the pain enough to better concentrate on the book he’s been trying to finish since Friday. “Fuck.” His left hand just releases the mug. He liked that mug. Advil it is.

His days pass in quiet contemplation. Just him and these beige walls. He misses the days that were filled by Jack’s toddling steps, rampant little footsteps, and happy squeals of delight. Coming home to the sound of some new band Jack’s conjured up and is going to torture him with for the next week until he moves on to the next. He misses Emily and Dave and having drinks on his couch. Being forced to go to Dave’s for family dinners and Emily coming by, uninvited, of course, to eat his ice cream and make fun of his documentaries.

Now he’s alone most of the time. Well, unless Jessica coming by to count to his pills counts. He doesn’t really think it should but she means well. Someone has to make sure he doesn’t just die on them but would they even notice?

Not immediately, not for a while.

Maybe if something strange happens on a case but those calls come less and less frequently. No one needs his specific knowledge. Emily is becoming an assured leader and she doesn’t even call him to fuss about the idiots that he hired and left her to deal with. He and Dave don’t really talk anymore. The best he gets, these days, is a quick update if someone gets hurt just so that he doesn’t worry if it pops up on the news.

Jack is off at college now. Hotch can’t blame him for being fairly radio silent but it does give him something to work with every few weeks when Jack does remember that he exists and sends a thousand-odd texts his way.

So, if he just… died no one would notice until Jessica’s Thursday visit. Even then, she’s just here to look at the pillbox he leaves on the counter for her easy access. She just checks what she has to and leaves. Life goes on.

As he’s crouched on his kitchen floor, mumbling very inappropriate and obscenity-ridden things, he feels that lightheaded fog encroach. Something that he really only knows from other encounters, one that he doesn’t associate with immediate danger. He takes a fist-full of medication each morning and roughly two list lightheadedness as a side-effect. While a dangerous fallout of Foyet’s stabbing is this strange platelet problem that messes with his iron. So while he sits for a moment and breathes through the feeling of his body trying to give out on him he assumes this problem is what it always is: his awful health.

He gets the coffee cleaned up with a towel but leaves the towel over the broken bits of the mug. The cartilage in his knees saw better days roughly twenty-years ago and by the time that the coffee has been contained, he can hardly stand the pain in them. So, guiding himself with a hand on the counter (then leaning on the wall and using a kitchen chair and so on and so forth until he gets to the couch) Hotch limps away from the kitchen.

He’s never been so thankful for his habitual manners as he sinks into the cozy couch and finds his heated blanket already plugged in and sitting on the lowest heat. A fire hazard? Yeah probably but if this damned blanket kills him one day then so be it. He finds some background noise in a nature documentary about penguins and closes his eyes, waiting for the blanket’s heat to soothe his old bones.

Despite how far he’s pushed himself down into the blanket, his body breaks out in a cold sweat. His chest tight and arm throbbing or maybe stabbing-- he can’t tell the difference right now just blinded by the pain. Blind and so stupid and as he sits up, shaking he’s shivering so hard, he knows what’s happening.

Haley used to dismiss his fears with soothing promises. She wouldn’t let something like this happen to him. They’d get old together “so old we start to wish one of us would just die and get it over with but every day I’ll turn over in our bed and find your craggy, old face right beside me and I know I’d still love you so much it hurts”. But Haley died before she even turned forty and he’s spent too many birthdays and anniversaries alone to know she couldn’t have meant that.

Drunk, vulnerable with the recent loss of Haley and the sudden return of Emily he’d admitted to this fear. Not just dying alone but of dying like his father-- a hated bastard on the outside with no family and no loved ones. To paint the wall with the horror in Dave and Emily’s face could stand as a solid reminder that he is loved but those faces mean nothing. The way that Emily had hugged him that night is nothing. Despite their assurances, he can feel his heart skipping beats. Painful kicks, each one.

He is alone. Gasping as he struggles to fight off his anxiety and crying through the agony ripping chest. Alone. Curled down into himself to try and find some comfort.

He manages to call 911. As he’s blinking tears from his eyelashes there’s a moment where the only number he can think of is Garcia. For years her number was his emergency number and now … He’s still thinking about her when the operator picks up but he’s losing his functions so fast. Settling back on the couch, using what’s left of his energy to tuck his feet back under his black he does his best to stay awake and hum in response to questions.

He thinks about Garcia. She’s always there, he finds, in his mind and every accident he’s had. Even during Boston despite the fact that she just joined the BAU. She’s always there and he wonders if she’ll appear this time. Talk his ear off about David Bowe but hold his hand tight enough that he never has to question if she’s really there.

Heart attacks hurt a lot worse than internal bleeding but he’d, personally, still put it under being actually stabbed.

He doesn’t hear the paramedics arrive or even feel the IV being placed in his arm. Though unconscious, he gives the faintest whimper of discontent as he’s lifted and pulled away from the couch. Not given the chance to brace for the cold winter air of March in Virginia just moving and moving fast.

“Agent Hotchner?”

He groans, turning his head from the penlight shining down in his face. Though he moves his face, he can’t escape the tight pressure across his ribs. Constricting tightly. The agent bit catches him by surprise-- he’s been “Mr” now for some time. Very few people still throw the “agent” in there.

“There you are--”

The sirens make it hard to hear. His hearing has been going for some time but if there’s one thing he can take from this encounter it might be that he should invest in the hearing aids he’s been putting off for a while now. He blinks up at the woman talking to him. Gently pumping a blood pressure cuff around his bicep and calling his name when his eyes slide back shut. He does try to stay awake but he’s in a lot of pain and he’s tired. Even retired he doesn’t get much sleep.

He’ll have to remember to tell JJ that. She’s always worried about his sleep schedule (or lack thereof) and thought, or rather hoped, his retirement would bring him the chance to finally catch up on two decades’ worth of lost sleep. She’ll be disappointed but not surprised.

It’ll give him a reason to reach out, to talk with them.

“Stay with me, Agent Hotchner.”

The world rocks and something that taste like plastic is placed over his face, wrapped around the back of his head.

“Deep breathes, you’re doing just fine.”

The cold air hits his sternum and his eye fly open, panicking as hands touch his bare skin. Oh, God. Foyet. I have to stop-- someone much stronger than him grabs his wrist. Two hands push his shoulders down into the gurney and he can’t fight. Can’t move.

“Agent Hotchner,” someone tries to calm him. “We’re trying to help you. I understand you’re in a lot of pain--”

He wants to go home. Away from the cold and the hands that keep touching him. “Dave?” he pants, turning his head and searching through the hazy mess of people. He cries softly, tears stinging his face as they slide down his face. He wants to recognize one person, to know one of the hands belongs to someone he trusts. Dave is okay. He likes it when Dave touches him. It’s calming and reassuring and he wants someone to call Dave. “Please,” he whimpers, curling his legs as he feels someone tear the worn fabric of his jeans. “No. No.”

He’s confused and he’s in pain and he wants all these people to stop touching him.

“Aaron--”

No, no he doesn’t like that. He cries out, failing to dislodge the hands as he kicks out. All his height, all the power he’s spent decades learning to command is useless. “I want to go home,” he rasps desperately. He can’t move, anymore. They’re holding him down and he can feel the drugs pumping into his arm. Too cold and too fast and it all hurts. Why are they hurting him?

“Just stay with us, Agent. We’re almost done and then--”

For the first time in nearly twenty years, all of his pain just is gone. He feels nothing for a blissful second. Around him, there’s a panic. The machines attached to him frantically going off as his heartbeat goes from rampant, wrong to gone. The pain comes back suddenly, sharper than before, and he turns his head with a moan as his lungs contract painfully. He coughs, rasping as his chest heaves.

He slips back under the haze but this time the pain stays.

He chokes as they try to intubate, fighting weekly but he’s too far gone to even move away from the touch anymore. Dave isn’t there. He wishes Dave were here. Dave always cups the side of his head, speaking in soft Italian that he’s never managed to pick up. But it’s soft and gentle and Dave. Garcia doesn’t hold his hand-- she always holds his hand. There’s not the soft scent of lavender that comes in with the hard rain that is Emily Prentiss. No one to jostle him for his carelessness and then crawl up into the bed with him. Reminding him of memories he’s nearly forgotten of when they were just kids.

No Jack.

Jack’s at college.

He comes in at 9:45 a.m.

By 10:15 a.m. there’s a doctor over his chest. A nurse makes quick work of trying to get a hold of a medical proxy. There’s a kid, he has a son, but there’s no contact information listed for him. She gets voicemail twice from the numbers that are listed.

Jessica is in a meeting. Her phone is on silent. It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d had her phone. He’s thirty minutes away and his heart gives out only twenty minutes after he arrives at the hospital.

Dave is in Seattle, sitting in a puddle of rainwater and trying to contain his anger as Luke changes a tire on the SUV. His phone is too wet to work. He won’t get the news until nearly two hours later when he and Luke arrive back at the precinct. Emily will not cry for nearly a week after she gets the news. She tells Jack.

The doctors assure them that there was nothing they could have done. It was a freak accident. They always knew this was a possibility, an outcome that was very real with the amount of damage done to Aaron’s heart. It’s been broken so many times… And standing in that hospital, shivering under the intensity of the air conditioning and the white burning paint, they are left with the burden of knowing he protected them tell the very end.

But they never reciprocated that care.

[darklightacademias]

Dark Academia Stationary

This includes stationary to feel like a dramatic Romantic poet and school supplies to feel Aesthetic in the classroom:

A black or brown leather satchel (duh). Be careful if you carry too many heavy books because satchels are not great for your bag if that is the case.

A black or brown leather backpack if you carry too many books and want to take care of your back. I think a vintage grey or black backpack with belts also works.

A small and simple pencil case in grey felt, or leather.

A black fountain pen

A small metal ruler

A black marker (like a sharpie)

Highlighters in muted shades??? If that’s what you preffer? Light Zebra liners?

white, gold, silver and copper pens

A black leather notebook as an agenda/ bullet journal.

A metal mechanical pencil in silver or gold.

Muji notebooks and pens and everything muji. Muji rocks.

Binders and folders. Unavoidable. Get them in black or transparent. I preffer when they are plastic over paper because they scuff less.

Sticky notes. Post it actually makes some in black, which is why you have white and gold and silver pens for.

Index sticky notes. I like to separate my binders and notebooks and books with index sticky tabs to make topics easier to find. I like to get them in black or white.

If you choose the route of technology (like I did) because technology is unavoidable and practical, you can make it more DA if you choose a solid and dark color for your case, a DA inspired background (maybe a literary quote or something like that) and avoid stickers. Leather cases are great, but not really protective. So get a black case for your phone, tablet and computer.

Also, still in the technology part: laptop and tablet covers if you want extra protection for them. There’s beautiful ones inspired in books or choose one in solid and dark colors. Or get a leather or pleather case. Technology can be aesthetic.

Get a label maker/ embosser with the black tape and white letters.

If you like to take your own food to school or college then get something cute like a small wicker basket, a linen bag, you can knot bento boxes with a linen square like the Japanese, or get a cute bag like from Modern Picnic.

Bring snacks in small plastic boxes. You could get glass boxes but I don’t trust myself with glass, I’d likely shatter it by accident.

Now to the desk stationary part:

A feather quill pen with a holder and ink case

A set of wax seals sitting on the table.

Leather notebooks stored haphazardly or neatly on a shelf or piled on top of the desk.

A vintage library lamp like those found in Oxbridge.

Hardbacks. Could be new or old. Could be paperbacks. I preffer to keep my books on the shelf unless it’s the one I’m reading but half read books around the room is very DA.

A set of watercolors in a wood box. Could be another type of paint. What you preffer.

A lacquered box with letters in them.

Sketchbooks filled to the brim with your art and clippings and drawings and pictures.

Dried flowers in books.

Maybe get a desk with a locked drawer so you can keep secrets there.

Get a fancy carafe and glass to keep with water because hydration is important!

Get a delicate China tea cup to drink tea on your desk. Or a huge mug. Depends on how much caffeine you need.

Get a nice pencil holder in glass or ceramic and put solid color pencils, pens, and silver mechanical pencils.

Letterheads with your initials

Thick letter paper made with flowers

Beautiful envelopes.

Keep a small dish or box with stamps to send letters easily. Or you could make a letter writing set in a beautiful vintage box and keep there the envelopes, the letterheads, the wax seals and the stamps.

I just love boxes. They are so mysterious. What do people hide in them. I don’t know. You don’t either. Only the owner of the box.

Have a dish with polaroid pictures of your friends.

Get gilded frames and put black and white or grainy pictures of your loved ones in there.

Make a picture of your lover in oil or water color, frame it and keep it on your desk.

[lyrical-panic]

“I Told You Not to Bother Me!”

Tenya Iida and sibling reader

Summary: Quarantine has hit 1-A pretty hard. Today, they’re supposed to be starting their fist official Zoom meeting as a whole class. However, class rep Tenya Iida’s younger sibling has nothing to do, and decides to crash their brother’s Zoom call just for the fun of it.

PLEASE NOTE! 

I’m tagging this with “Iida x reader” stuff to make it easier to find. The reader is Tenya’s sibling, and THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS PURELY SIBLING PLATONIC. I’M NOT HAVING ANY OF THAT HITACHIIN BROTHERS SHIT IN HERE.

. . . . .

Tenya set up his laptop, and navigated to the Zoom application. He double checked his school supplies, reassuring himself that he had everything that he needed.

Let’s see. Pencils, erasers, pencil sharpener, loose leaf paper, note books, a few highlighters... is my phone on silent?

His phone chimed. Tenya picked it up and unlocked it, chuckling at the convenience of the timing.

Well, that answers that. He muted his phone, and opened his messages.

(Y\N) Iida: 

(Y\N): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qLpyTnhf2-c

Tenya, whom had lived with this kid for 14 years, nervously clicked on the link. It was a short video, and tied together well with the meme. He let out an undignified snort, then ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his glasses in embarrassment, despite there being no one was there to witness.

Me: I wasn’t going to contradict you. The sheer amount of memes regarding the misfortunes of this year that you’ve sent me prevents me from doing so.

(Y\N): Lol. Not sorry

Me: I gathered. I’m about to start a Zoom meeting with my class. Please don’t disturb me.

(Y\N): 

Tenya slid his phone aside, and input the entrance code to the Zoom meeting.

Izuku’s green head was the first thing to appear on the screen. Tenya’s lips quirked up at the sight of the boy’s many All Might posters papering the wall behind him.

“Oh, Iida’s on!” The freckled boy announced. “Hi, Iida!”

“Hello Midoriya. Hello, everyone.” Tenya greeted.

So far, himself, Izuku, Momo, Shoto, Katsuki, Ochaco, and Mr. Aizawa were the only ones in the call.

“Hey, Iida. How’re you doing?” Ochaco asked as the words Tsuyu Asui joined flashed across the top of the screen.

“I’m doing quite well, thank you.” Tenya nodded as Tsuyu’s face flickered on. “Hello, Tsu. How are you holding up?”

A few minutes (and several text messages reminding the missing classmates to join the call) later, everyone had trickled in. Many looked as though they had just woken up, despite it being nearly 10 A.M.

“Ok, so now that we’re all here, we can start.” Mr. Aizawa drawled. A few people smirked as his face filled the screen. He was wrapped in his usual yellow sleeping bag, and held a huge steaming gray mug.

The sleepy teacher began reviewing the protocol. “I’ve got you lot for ten minutes now, and another ten minutes in two hours. We’ll do morning announcements, I can answer questions, the usual crap. After that, Present Mic will join the call and I’ll hang you all over to him for English. 

As Aizawa explained how classes would work for the quarantine, Tenya heard his bedroom door open behind him. You strutted into your brother’s room as if you owned the place, and flopped down on his bed, opening your book.

“What are you doing?” Tenya hissed, muting his microphone. “I told you not to bother me.”

“Relax, dude,” You smirked “I’ll be quiet.”

“Why are you even in here? Don’t you have your own class?”

You shrugged. “I’m not having video calls for all my classes. I don’t have to be on Zoom for another few hours.”

Tenya shot you another withering look, before returning to his call. What have they got hidden up their sleeve?

However, to the bespectacled boy’s surprise, you were true to your word. You lay on Tenya’s bed, silently reading. For almost an hour, the only sounds either of you made where the scratch of Tenya’s pencil on his paper, or the quiet flicker of you turning the pages of your book.

Present Mic’s English class ended, and Ecto Plasm signed on for math. Still, you were silent. Tenya, who didn’t seem to trust you at all, kept glancing over at you, shocked at how long you had kept quiet. You had abandoned your book in favor of scrolling through your phone, but your brother was still completely surprised. Tenya let a wave of relief wash over him. Maybe they’ll actually leave me alone for the meeting. I mean, I’d rather be alone, but beggars can’t be choosers with them, I suppose.

The relief did not last long. You swung your legs off the bed, walked behind the boy, and planted both hands on his shoulders. He visibly flinched, unsure of what you were planning.

“Teny, I’m going to go get a snack.” You stated calmly. “You want anything?”

“Um, do we still have iced tea?”

“I think so. Want me to bring you a glass?”

“Yes please,” Tenya smiled, still slightly bemused.

“You got it, chief.” You ruffled his hair before sidling out of the room.

“Who was that?” Momo asked, startling Tenya back into the call.

“My younger sibling, (Y\N). I guess they’re hanging out with me.” He answered. “They’ve been unusually quiet. It’s slightly unsettling.”

“I had to lock my room to keep my siblings out.” Tsuyu commented. “I don’t trust them to stay quiet.”

A few minutes later, you returned with two glasses of iced tea in hand, and a sleeve of Girl Scout Thin Mints tucked under your arm.

“Please don’t tell me you intend to eat all of those cookies.” Tenya eyed the plastic covered column as you handed him his drink.

“Mayhaps,” You grinned, setting your own glass down on the night tabled before throwing yourself back onto the bed. 

“(Y\N), you know you shouldn’t-”

“If you’re fast enough, you can have a few.” You shoved two Thin Mints into your mouth defiantly. Sighing heavily, Tenya snatched the sleeve away, taking a cookie for himself before placing it on the other side of his desk.

“Ugh, Tenyaaaa,” You rolled over on the bed, grumbling. “You’re not my moooom.”

“No, but I’m your older brother.” He rolled his eyes. “Now, please be quiet. You’ve disturbed my class enough.” He turned back to his laptop, slightly abashed. “I’m very sorry for the interruptions.”

“Not a problem.” Ecto Plasm said cooly, resuming his lesson.

Tenya glared daggers at you as you slunk around him, stealing your Thin Mints back. You stuck your tongue out as you retreated back to the bed. Tenya fought the urge to throw his math book at you, deciding that it’d be best if he just return to the lesson.

. . . . .

“Ok, unless anyone has any questions, I’m signing off.” Mr. Aizawa rubbed his still tired eyes. “You guys can hang out and talk for a little longer if you want.”

The teacher left the call as his class bid him farewell. Katsuki was next ot go, followed by Fumikage and Yuga.

“So, anyone do anything fun this weekend?” Mina asked, moving her camera as she flopped onto her bed.

“My mom and I had a board game day.” Izuku replied. “We played almost every one we have. It feels like it’s been forever since we hung out like that.”

“Ugh, felt that.” You sauntered over to lean on the back of Tenya’s chair. “This guy never wants to hang out with me anymore.”

“I’ve been busy!” He protested.

“We’re in hecking quarantine, Four-Eyes!” You threw your hands into the air. “There ain’t much to be busy with.”

“Nobody leave the call, I’m getting popcorn!” Denki’s image shook violently as he grabbed his phone and ran. 

“Yeah, this is getting good!” Hanta laughed.

You grinned, giving the camera an exaggerated sweeping bow. “Thank you everyone,” You grinned maliciously at Tenya, who gulped involuntarily. “I’ll be here all quarantine.”

[solalunar-eclipse]

Team Dark: A Holiday Special

Chapter Three: Rouge

One | Two

Word count: 5900 words

Warning: entomophagy again (more eating bugs)

Author’s Note: I believe it’s the winter solstice today, so happy winter solstice! I heard once that there used to be a holiday around this time called Saturnalia to celebrate this solstice (way cooler than my holiday name which definitely wasn’t borrowed from a game)

Thank you to everyone who read this fic, but in particular to @maddgirlzartz, @feliner, and @teamxdark for your wonderful comments! I always love to see what people have to say about my writing, and it was great to read what you thought of this little holiday story I wrote.

...

Rouge was the first person to wake up on the third morning, which was a surprise in and of itself. Normally, Shadow or Omega would have gotten up by now, but she figured that watching movies until late last night had made both of them need some extra time in bed (or at the outlet).

The bat crawled out of bed and flapped her wings, coming to hover silently above Shadow’s bed. She watched him sleep for a moment (and briefly entertained the notion that this might be creepy before deciding it was his fault for falling asleep in a room with her). All of the stress and worry that normally lined his expression was gone right now, making him look so much younger as he lay curled up underneath a thick quilt. 

She almost felt bad about what she was going to do.

Almost.

Folding her wings tightly against her back, she crashed onto Shadow’s suddenly no-longer-asleep form and screamed, “Happy Wintersday!”

Shadow gasped and flailed under the covers for a second, before realizing that it was just Rouge and they weren’t, in fact, under attack. He struggled to catch his breath, wheezing, “Why...the heck...would you...do…”

“Because it’s a holiday, hon!” she chirped, grinning wickedly down at him.

The hybrid resigned himself to being Rouge’s new bed. “...happy Wintersday.” he muttered, looking significantly less upset than he should.

Omega had powered on in a rush when Rouge had yelled, and he was now staring at the scene in front of him with something akin to resignation. “What in the name of Chaos are you two doing.” he said flatly, in a tone that suggested that he really didn’t want to know what they were doing.

“Happy Wintersday, Omega!” Rouge said brightly, deciding not to respond.

Shadow said the same, but his statement was rapidly followed by a very loud growling noise.

Omega looked slightly confused, but Shadow just sighed. “Rouge, that was you, wasn’t it.”

“What can I say, hon? It’s wintertime- time to eat!” she said a little too loudly, ignoring the spreading pink blush on her face.

“Sure.” Now it was Shadow’s turn to smirk. “You’re hungry because it’s wintertime.”

“Shut up!” she huffed, smacking his arm. “Anyway, we’re not ready for breakfast yet. I bought something for the two of you first.”

“I thought we were exchanging our presents tomorrow before the party.” Omega said skeptically.

Rouge grinned. “I know. This is something extra.”

She enjoyed their expressions of dread following this statement immensely.

…

A minute later, Rouge had dug out the crux of Operation: Festive from her suitcase, only to be met with decidedly unappreciative stares.

Omega was the first to realize what was going on. “Oh. Oh no. No way. There is a zero percent likelihood of me wearing that ever. I will not compromise my coolness.”

“What is that?” Shadow asked, using a tone that implied that he was looking at something disgusting, not Rouge’s awesome plan.

“That is what you are going to wear.” She smirked.

His eyes widened in horror. “No.”

“Come on...won’t you please just do this one thing for me?” Rouge asked, using her warmest, gentlest voice. She knew for a fact that neither of them could resist that.

Shadow trudged forward, accepting the offending item as Omega reluctantly snatched his from her hand. The bat felt just a tiny bit guilty, but not enough to make her regret this.

Specifically, buying the three of them matching ugly sweaters.

“Matching as a team can be cool, but never like this,” Omega sulked as he put his on (it had taken a miracle to get one in his size).

“It’s clashing with my stripes…” Shadow muttered unhappily.

Then they both began to glower at her, for some reason. “And yet you still manage to look decent in it somehow.” the hybrid grumbled.

Rouge glanced in the mirror. She supposed it wasn’t unflattering, per se, but it definitely didn’t complement her body type like most of the clothing she wore did.

“Come on…” she said, honestly pleading with them. “If you really hate it I won’t make you wear it, but I was looking forward to this…”

Both of them immediately looked anywhere except at her.

“I guess it’s warm enough.” Shadow conceded reluctantly.

“I will tolerate it for one day and no longer.” Omega informed her flatly.

“Yesss!” Rouge cheered, smiling brightly at them. “I so owe you guys.” 

“Don’t forget it.” the robot remarked.

…

Overall, the morning was really nice- although Rouge’s family was horrified when Shadow chose to eat his hot chocolate by alternating spoonfuls of cocoa mix and drinks of boiling water instead of out of a cup like everyone else. She loved seeing her family’s reactions to the various gifts she’d brought, since she’d spent quite a bit of time picking those out. Omega was the center of attention, as always, and every child was vying for his opinion on their specific gift.

As Rouge relaxed next to the fireplace, sipping her own steaming mug of hot chocolate (with the powder and water combined, thankyouverymuch), she felt someone tap on her shoulder.

The bat turned to see her mother sitting down next to her, looking very tentative.

“Honey?” she said softly. “I know I mentioned this yesterday, but...would you ever feel comfortable telling me about how you met your friends? I’m not asking because I’m judging them,” she added quickly, holding up her hands, “I just...want to know who they are to you. And you don’t have to do it right now, either, just maybe someday?” She’d begun to rush her words out at the end, clearly feeling at least a little nervous.

“Aw, Mom, you know I’ve been having fun telling stories this whole time!” Rouge got into a more comfortable position. “Oh, but these are some of the craziest ones I have. Promise not to freak out, okay?”

“I’ll do my best…” her mother said cautiously.

Rouge took a deep breath to get started. “Alright, so, I met Shadow when he was trying to blow up the planet with a giant cannon-”

“You what?!”

“You said you wouldn’t freak out!” Rouge protested good-naturedly.

“Yes- but- a giant cannon??” her mother gasped.

“Mom, seriously.”

“Fine…”

…

Rouge was halfway through her story about “that time with Infinite” when it happened. She was leaning extremely far forward- which didn’t happen unless she was truly invested in what she was saying- and holding her mug of cocoa off to the right to keep it out of her way.

Unfortunately, to the right was exactly where the fireplace was. 

And since she was wearing a dangling sweater… the end result was a lot of shrieking from both Rouge and her mother as she swatted furiously at her sleeve in an attempt to keep the fire from burning her arm. 

The younger bat frowned at the end result, though, which was a very scorched and blackened sleeve that did not match the green sweater at all.

Her mother looked rather frightened at this, but Rouge assured her that it was nothing bad, she’d been through far worse- hadn’t she just said as much?

Eventually, after some more questions along the lines of “are you sure you’re alright?”, the two calmed down enough for Rouge to resume her story.

Her mother was clearly fascinated (and slightly horrified) by her tales, although she seemed particularly sympathetic to her daughter’s predicament of “I’m the only one with a brain on this team so I’m holding everything together like ninety percent of the time”.

Once she was finished, though, Lila looked at her nervously. “You won’t be too busy with all this work to come visit us...and maybe call occasionally...will you?”

Rouge smiled warmly at her mom. “No way. I love hanging out with you guys! Just because I have Shadow and Omega now doesn’t mean I’m ditching you guys- it just means more family.”

The older bat looked relieved. “That’s good to hear...I love you, sweetie. And I’m so proud of you.”

“...thanks, Mom….” Rouge said, ignoring the tight feeling in the back of her throat.

They hugged again, of course.

…

When Rouge finally caught up with her other family, though, she found an absolutely hilarious sight.

Somehow, two of her uncles and several kids had managed to wrangle Omega into allowing himself to be decorated with tinsel and lights, so he looked less like a carefully engineered machine of destruction and more like a very expensive Wintersday decoration. Shadow was hiding in a corner, meanwhile, and growling at anyone who dared to come within ten feet of him with any decorations.

Which happened to be just about everyone.

Rouge was determined to see her friends properly decorated, however- and hopefully tease them in the process. She started the process by sticking a poinsettia plant on Omega’s head and draping a strand of lights over his shoulders. He glared at her, but refused to move, likely making sure not to drop the plant on any of the various young children swarming around him. “The pot’s plastic, but you’d better not move anyway.” she warned him, earning an even more intense and furious glower in return.

After that, she rushed upstairs to grab a couple of special items, including one for her makeup kit. She’d dismissed it as unusable and too childish before, but now? Now it was perfect.

Smearing a copious amount of both items on her hands, she walked into the living room (after stopping to grab one other thing from a box just outside the door) and made a beeline for Shadow. He hissed at her, his teeth bared.

“Stop right there.” he growled menacingly.

“Come on, hon!” she protested, fighting her ‘mischief smile’ down. “Do you see any decorations in my hands?”

“No…?” Shadow answered cautiously.

She frowned just the right amount, leaning in slightly to inspect his quills. “Hang on, Shadow, you’ve got something in your quills right there…” she said, trailing off as she began to brush at his uppermost quills.

“What? What is it?” he barked, and she struggled to keep from bursting into laughter.

“There, I think I got it.” she said. “Probably just a-”

Omega interrupted her, his eyes switching to their half-moon shape. “Shadow. You have been pranked most egregiously.”

He looked shocked. “Wh-wha-?” he stammered, reaching up to touch his quills.

The bat grinned the moment his hands came away sticky with glitter gel.

“Rouge…” he snarled, a murderous gleam appearing in his eyes.

She patted him on the head once, slipping a holly sprig out of her glove and tucking it next to his ear simultaneously. His expression morphed from furious to perplexed to- when he saw his reflection in the window- straight-up deathly angry. “There you go, all festive now!” she chirped in a manner she just knew would irritate him.

Five seconds later, a scream that was very much ultrasonic rang through the house, followed by a wild-eyed bat and a hedgehog blazing with chaos energy. A faint shriek of “not the carpets!” came not long after.

Eventually, though, Shadow settled down (after cornering Rouge on top of a bookcase and attempting to climb said bookcase for revenge). He accepted that ‘okay, maybe it doesn’t look completely terrible’, and at least allowed the bat to spread the glitter around evenly.

“None of those moronic hats.” he’d snapped at Omega, who was trying to put a pointed red hat with white trim on his head. “I don’t care if they’re historical or traditional or whatever, I have heard far too many comments regarding my quills and starfishes already in my lifetime.”

Rouge cackled. “Ahah- starfish. That’s too good!”

“Don’t you start-!”

...

Not long after, though, he seemed to have made peace with his fate, as Rouge caught him curled up like a cat in front of the offending fireplace from earlier, a blanket draped over him and his eyes closed peacefully.

She didn’t really want to disturb him, but by the time she’d walked over he was already up. “What now?”

“Lunch, then the video call.” she said.

“Oh right- I nearly forgot. You did pack the presents, right?” Shadow asked her.

“That was Omega’s job.” she said, before giggling at the flash of panic that appeared on his face. “Don’t worry, I made sure they came with us.”

“You’d better. I didn’t bring a Chaos Emerald and there’s no way I’m wearing myself out with a Chaos Control for Sonic and his sunshine crew.”

Rouge snickered again. “I’m sure Knuckles and sunshine have never ever been compared before in the history of this planet- he’ll punch you out if he ever hears that.”

Shadow rolled his eyes. “Fine. I know you’re trying to be more friendly with him, so I guess I’ll be decent so your sweet-talking doesn’t fail.”

“Good!” Rouge clapped her hands together once. “I still can’t believe Sonic was so impatient he insisted we do this a day before- we’ll all be exchanging presents at the party tomorrow anyway.”

“You can’t believe Sonic was impatient?” the hybrid scoffed. “Please. He’d fail the marshmallow test every day.”

The bat hid a grin behind her hand, before walking off. “Come on. Lunch.”

Shadow grumbled something about “but I’m warm here”, but followed her anyway.

…

Later, after some frantic rushing-upstairs and fumbling with phones after lunch ran just a little bit too long, the video finally clicked on.

“Hiiii!” Sonic called brightly once they could see each other. “Happy Wintersday!”

After the various exchangings (and re-exchangings when people got mixed up) of “Happy Wintersdays”, the blue blur got right down to business.

“So. Presents.” he said, rubbing his hands together with a broad grin.

“Oh, chaos, you wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through just trying to keep his hands off your gift.” Tails groaned, looking tired at the very thought.”

“He wouldn’t let me touch mine!” Sonic whined.

Knuckles sighed and rolled his eyes. “Sonic, you’re not supposed to touch them. It’ll ruin the surprise. You know, he’s spent at least an hour total staring at your present today, Shadow.”

The hybrid smirked. “Did he really.” 

“No!” Sonic shrieked through the connection, his face turning slightly pink.

“Yes.” Tails said smugly, clearly wishing for some revenge after dealing with the energetic hedgehog.

“Ugh, fine, whatever, now can we just open them already?” Sonic huffed.

“Yeah...but you can open yours last.” Knuckles added, earning a horrified look from the hero.

“I’ll go first, then~!” Rouge sang, tearing into hers. The bat let her eyes burn a mocking hole straight through the camera and into Sonic’s disappointed pout.

When she pulled out the present, though, her smirk faded as she gasped happily. “Knuckles! You didn’t!” It was a small white box with golden embossed letters spelling out the name of a well-known jewelry store.

She didn’t fail to notice how Knuckles averted his eyes, looking tense and...slightly upset?

But by then, she’d opened the box and her attention shifted again to the gorgeous diamond necklace inside. It was fixed onto a fine silver chain, and the diamond itself was held in a swirl of more silver.

“I mean...I guess it’s okay…” the echidna muttered weakly.

That was when Rouge noticed the little slip of paper inside the lid: 100% Cubic Zirconia.

So it wasn’t a real diamond- why should she care? It was beautiful and shimmery and a very thoughtful gift, which all counted for plenty in her books.

“It’s wonderful, hon!” she said cheerfully, putting it on.

“Sorry about, you know…” He sighed, his pride clearly wounded. “Guarding the Master Emerald’s a full-time job...and it doesn’t exactly get you the big bucks, you know?”

Rouge smiled warmly and reassuringly at him, making the echidna blush. “It’s nothing to be sorry for. I love it.”

“That’s good, then.” His shoulders sank slightly with relief.

“Now you open yours!” she insisted, changing the conversation. “It took me some serious work to find, so I want to see your reaction.”

Knuckles tore the paper and opened up the cardboard box….

His silence spoke volumes as his eyes widened considerably.

The echidna pulled out a pair of high-tech sunglasses, all points and cool colors. Then a sort of-necklace, made mostly out of metal. Some steel covers for his spikes. A pair of gloves with more steel woven into the fibers….and a long, thin crystal.

He put on all of the gear and grinned at Rouge. “Remind you of someone?”

“As a matter of fact…” she said, watching comprehension dawn on everyone else (except for Omega, who she knew would have some questions later), “...I do recall a certain echidna who saved me from a rather fiery doom…”

“And I,” he added, smirking now, “remember getting called a creep who just wanted to hold a specific bat’s hand.”

They both burst into laughter at the memories, looking back on them now with fondness and a touch of embarrassment.

“Is it my turn yet?” Omega asked impatiently, already holding his present.

Not waiting for an answer, he ripped open the long cylinder, revealing a cardboard tube with something inside. Shaking it out, he found...

...blueprints for a giant cannon. Specifically, a cannon to be installed in his chassis.

Omega’s eyes sparkled- literally, they turned into sparkles. “Yes.” he said, sounding pleased. “Yes yes yes. This will be very good.”

“It’s all ready, too!” Tails exclaimed. “I just need to wire it into you.”

“Do it tomorrow.” he insisted.

The kitsune seemed pleased with the reception of his present, but was all too eager to get to his own gift.

Opening the box a moment later, his eyes also widened to double their usual size. “Wh- what!? An antimatter injector? Some new chaos drives?  You can’t get those anymore! And- is that nanotech assembly gear?? Where did you find these?”

“Oh, you know.” Omega said nonchalantly, pretending to examine his steel fingers. “Places.”

“Very top-secret places.” Rouge said, her face hurting from grinning so much.

Sonic was the only one who looked even remotely distressed. “Isn’t...isn’t that illegal?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve become a G.U.N. sympathizer now, Sonic.” Shadow said teasingly.

The blue hedgehog scoffed. "As if! If it's G.U.N.’s stuff then it's totally fine." 

His pretense of sulking completely dropped when Shadow began to carefully unwrap his own present. The hybrid, unlike his friends siblings, tugged carefully at each corner of the box, making sure not to tear any of the (slightly crumpled) paper.

Once it was finally open, his expression became softer than usual. "You remembered."

"Of course I did!" Sonic chirped. "Can't leave a friend in the lurch, now can I?" he added with a wink, smiling.

Shadow lifted the box out of the paper to reveal a small makeup kit- no, make that two, Rouge realized. One had some eye shadow in several shades of black, silver, purple, and red, as well as a black eyeliner. The other, which she noticed he was hiding slightly, had what appeared to be some jewel-tone and pastel colors in eyeliner, not eye shadow. 

So that was what Shadow had meant by ‘you remembered’. Rouge remembered too- specifically, she remembered Shadow griping loudly because he wasn’t allowed to use her makeup kit when she needed it. It was hers first, after all.

Rouge smirked. "It looks great, hon! I might need to borrow that sometime…" She trailed off, her knowing grin growing to blatantly wicked proportions.

"No!!" Shadow and Sonic yelled simultaneously.

"Dude, I literally got him this so he wouldn't steal yours! Don't you dare!" Sonic gasped, looking more than a little frustrated.

"Relax, boys, it's alright." Rouge said calmly- which only served to rile Shadow up further. "I'm only teasing, you know."

The hybrid scowled and clutched the boxes possessively, making Rouge smile again. He could be such a little kid sometimes, but she preferred it infinitely to the grownup facade he liked to project.

"Alright, Sonic, now you can go." Tails sighed, with the air of someone who had almost given up trying to impose rules on a hyperactive toddler.

"Allllright!" the hero whooped, ripping into his gift with no mercy.

Once it was open, though, he frowned, seeing only a dark wooden box. "Uhhhh...what kind of present is this?"

Shadow leaned forward in anticipation. "Open it and find out."

Sonic flipped open the lid- and froze, eyes shining in shock and pure joy. "No way…" he breathed.

Tails's fur bristled. "Oh, no."

"What? What is it?" Rouge strained to see. "He didn't even tell us, what is it?"

Sonic grinned. "Candy!" he gasped, sounding like an excited little kid. "Loads of it!"

He turned the box around to reveal several rows of neatly stacked candy bars, including several 'extra large' ones. 

Knuckles's eyes widened, the echidna having just gotten his first good look at the contents of the box. "Oh chaos…Shadow, he'll be bouncing off the walls!"

"Yes, but that's your problem, not mine." Shadow sounded sarcastic, but Rouge could see the happiness in his own expression- clearly Sonic's joy was infectious.

"Hold up- why's the bottom so loose?" the hero asked suddenly.

Shadow's smile became almost predatory. "Open it and find out."

Sonic lifted the tray...and his smile grew to rival that of the sun’s rays themselves. “Bro! Dude! You did not!”

“What?” Rouge shrieked, feeling irritated and left out.

“Dude, there’s, like, so much chocolate in here! Where’d you get all this??”

Shadow looked like he was physically forcing down a grin by now. “Places. Also, there’s no dark chocolate, so I’d better get a great thank-you card considering that I decided to cater to your trashy tastes.”

“Yeeeee- wait.” Sonic frowned. “Hold up, I don’t trust you just yet…” he said, glowering at the box. Apparently he was talking to the object, not the hedgehog.

He rattled the tray.

“What the heck, man?” The hero stared into the camera. “How much more is there?”

“You know what I’m going to say.” Shadow answered, raising a brow and looking pleased with himself.

Sonic lifted the tray very cautiously this time, as though there were a bomb underneath.

“Yo! Yo! Yo! You got- you got it, how’d you find this, where’d you get it? I saw it, y’know, on TV, but I thought it was a scam!! Dude! Is this real life??”

“Apparently,” Shadow said, finally giving in and smiling as proudly as he could, “foot-long candy canes are in fact a product that you can buy. Consumer culture has truly come a long way.”

“A foot long?” Omega asked, looking far too interested to have any healthy thoughts about it. “Show us.”

Sonic reached into the box, mumbling something about how his face was starting to hurt, but he didn’t look upset in the slightest. He pulled out a candy cane that was as long as his leg, letting out a little giggle as he did so.

“Look at this! Holy chaos, it’s so big!” He held it up to the light and stared, his eyes bright. “What the- it’s literally, like, the same distance round as my arm!”

Rouge cackled. “I need to get some of that, hon!”

“No.” Sonic hissed, but he was still smiling. “Mine...all mine…” He began to pet the candy cane, cradling it in his arms, and Rouge heard a soft snicker to her right, where Shadow was.

The blue hero had clearly heard it as well, his head snapping around to the camera in time with Rouge’s to see Shadow hiding a laugh behind his hand.

The bat noticed that Sonic’s jokes were more effective than Shadow let on...

As it was, though, they had to say goodbye soon. “We’ll see you guys tomorrow for the party, right?” Sonic asked hopefully.

“Of course. We would not miss it.” Omega folded his arms. “How could you ever think so low of us.”

Tails giggled.

“Well…” Knuckles said reluctantly, “I...guess we’ve gotta go for now.”

“Us too,” Rouge muttered. “People are gonna start a search party if we don’t head down soon.”

“See you tomorrow, right?” Sonic added hopefully. 

“Yes.” Omega confirmed. “Tomorrow. When I will get a cannon.”

“I’ll make sure to do it ASAP!” Tails chirped.

“...happy Wintersweek.” Shadow said, far more warmly than usual.

After another round of well wishes, Rouge shut off the call.

Immediately, Shadow took his treasure and escaped into the bathroom, while Omega began to pore over his blueprints, probably processing (read: fantasizing about) how best to integrate the cannon into his fighting style.

Rouge flopped back onto the bed and sighed, a small smile remaining on her face as she played with her necklace. Shadow and Omega had both looked so happy...and she felt great, too.

Chaos, she was getting sentimental. A far cry from her early hardened days with G.U.N.

Far better than those times, too, she decided. Far better.

...

It was the Final Dinner Of The Family Reunion, and Rouge was so ready.

Everyone banded together in the kitchen throughout the afternoon, slicing, basting, cooking, and otherwise handling food to prepare a fantastic, show-stopping feast that all of the family would be talking about for weeks. Rouge had needed to fry, bake, and mash different kinds of potatoes and sweet potatoes, set up a casserole, make half the macaroni and cheese, prep some kind of gravy...and she got a light load.

The best part was when Omega was roped into helping and ended up wrist deep in a bowlful for crickets mixing them with seasoning, she had to admit.

Shadow didn’t give her any dirt at all (something she was still sulking about a little), just generally being quiet and going exactly where he was needed when he was wanted most, sometimes even showing up right before someone called for him.

Rouge groaned internally. It was some weird sort of Ultimate Lifeform stuff, she was sure. (His quiet, antisocial nature probably meant that he wanted attention to be called to himself as little as possible, too.)

But now, her mood took a sharp turn for the better, as the food was finally ready. She practically launched herself into the dining room, vaulting over the back of her chair to sit down.

This was the hardest part, though.

Now, the bat had to literally sit on her hands to keep herself from tearing into the food that was right in front of her. The smells of the various different dishes floated through the air, many of them were placed perfectly within reach, and they looked so good…

And she couldn’t touch any of it until every. Single. Person. Sat down at the table.

“Ugh…” she groaned, attempting to vocalize her discomfort to her companions.

Sadly, when your best friends/idiot brothers are a robot who doesn’t need to eat and a hedgehog who barely needs to eat, you get absolutely no sympathy from either of them. Immature and rude. She huffed quietly to herself.

Thankfully, the promise of a giant meal brought everyone together quickly, they all raised their glasses, and then-

Slamming her glass down, Rouge snatched a serving spoon millimeters from another bat’s fingers. Shadow and Omega watched, their faces morphing into something akin to an awestruck expression as the table exploded into chaos. Rouge filled her plate through sheer cunning and- in one case- a vicious staredown and tug-of-war for control of the meat knife (which she won).

“Remind me never to get between her and food, Omega.” Shadow whispered behind her back.

“Affirmative.” the robot muttered.

Several minutes later, Rouge’s plate was filled to her liking and she began to devour her food, as did the rest of her family. Some of the relatives who were significant others, not related by blood, watched with an equal mix of fascination, morbid curiosity, and horror as the bats at the table scarfed down the food as though there was no tomorrow.

Eventually, Shadow took some food, but Rouge didn’t look at what. She had more plans in mind for the other member of Team Dark.

When Omega turned his head for a couple of minutes to display the various hilarious robotic spinning motions he could perform, Rouge snagged several pieces of food and rapidly arranged them on his plate.

The robot returned to the table to discover a giggling Rouge, a smirking Shadow, and several slices of meat, some green beans, and artfully placed ketchup that, among other things, formed two circles on the top of the placement and an omega logo on the upper right part of one of the meat pieces.

Essentially, it was a food Omega.

Rouge had expected some irritation on his part, a shout of “THIS LOOKS NOTHING LIKE ME”, perhaps, but instead Omega took several pictures.

He fiddled with his phone for a few minutes (tiny phone + giant robot hands = lots of difficulty), before sliding it over to the bat.

All of his profile pictures, on every social media site and all of their group chats, were now displaying the same image as his plate.

“Yes! He appreciates art!” Rouge yelled, showing Shadow, who promptly snickered behind his hand.

“Excellent. Let’s go hang it in a museum.” he remarked dryly.

The rest of the dinner passed relatively without incident (although one of Rouge’s uncles and one of her aunts had to be pried off of the fruit platter after both refused to let go).

When dessert showed up, however...things changed.

The main creation that Rouge’s mothers had brought out was a three-layer chocolate cake made with lots of icing. Various other sweets surrounded it, and Rouge noticed several members of her family looking at it with a near-vicious gleam in their eyes.

She was definitely surprised- but pleased- to see Shadow’s reaction, though. 

He stared at the cake like it was a Chaos Emerald and he’d just fired a few hundred Chaos Spears without a break. Rouge grinned as she saw him lean forward slightly in his seat, never breaking eye contact with the sweet confectionery. 

“You like that, hon?”

Shadow jolted back to reality, clearly unaware that he’d just been eyeing the cake with an expression normally reserved for feral lions when they’d spotted a particularly plump zebra.

“It seems...well made.” he conceded.

“Okay, so in Shadow-speak that means ‘I want some and I want it now’.” Rouge corrected, smirking at his indignant expression even as she turned to her mom. “Hey Mom! Can Shadow have some cake over here? A big piece?”

Within seconds, a large slice of cake was handed over and Shadow was left speechless. He blinked, then picked up his fork and poked it once, as though he expected it to disappear. 

“Are you going to eat it? You can’t do that with your eyes, you know.” Omega remarked from Rouge’s other side.

Shadow glowered at him and stabbed the fork into the cake, bringing up a piece and shoving it contemptuously into his mouth. The glare faded the second he tasted it, though, his eyes widening again.

“What’s in this?” he asked, the moment he’d swallowed his slice. (Rouge cursed to herself again at the loss of teasing material. Maria had really taught this guy his manners when he was young...)

“It’s nothing much, honey.” Rouge’s mom said warmly. “It’s just a lot of chocolate and cocoa.”

“It’s amazing.” he said quickly, before turning his undivided attention back to the cake and scarfing it down in a manner that made Rouge proud.

Halfway through the piece, the younger bat grinned at him. “See? You’re practically related already.”

Shadow looked like he didn’t know whether to scowl or keep eating, so he settled for a rapid glare in between bites. 

Rouge laughed for a full five minutes after that.

…

Late at night, after her shower, Rouge walked back into their room only to see Shadow sitting upright, his silhouette framed by the rays of the moon. Omega was still awake, too, just two red circles of light showing and the rest of his body shrouded in darkness.

“You two okay?” she asked carefully.

“I’ve been thinking…” Shadow said quietly. “...about how much you’ve had to do for us. You single-handedly built this team up from the ground, even as Omega kept on going off to do his own thing and I dealt with...various issues. I wish there was some way I could express...how much...” He trailed off, clearly unable to find the right words.

Rouge felt a big smile grow on her face. “Awww…” she said gently. “I did this because I wanted to, don’t you know that? Sure, I wanted you two to stop fighting, and sure, I figured it just made sense at the time, but in the long run...we really work well together, you know?”

Omega spoke up next. “Regarding what you said yesterday, Rouge...I do believe that I am better off with you two than alone. Mostly because it enables me to achieve my-

“-actually, forget that. Never tell anyone else that I said what I am about to say. Or…or else. I have, for a while, had one goal: to destroy Eggman and his inferior creations. However...I have also had, for a somewhat shorter amount of time, a second goal: to...protect and...help, in whatever way they require, my...teammates, or friends, or siblings, whatever you call it.” 

He had trailed off into mumbling by the end of it, clearly disliking how much his little speech had contradicted his usual ‘big bad robot’ personality.

The only noise after that was a high-pitched ‘aaaaaaaa’ from Rouge.

Shadow smirked faintly at her reaction. “Do I need to make a dramatic announcement as well?”

“Shut up.” Omega muttered petulantly. If the robot could scowl, Rouge knew he’d be doing so.

“No, hon. Only if you want to.” Rouge said to Shadow, ignoring Omega’s comment.

“Then I suppose…” He clutched one inhibitor ring for a moment. “....I will simply say that I am...happy. Here. With both of you.”

After a couple minutes of comfortable silence, Rouge and Omega both made their way over to the middle of the room, where Shadow’s bed was. Somehow, they worked it out so that all three sat on the mattress and the bat and the hybrid each leaned against one of the robot’s sides, their arms meeting around the back of his metal casing.

It would have made a strange silhouette if anyone could have seen them then, a spiky head and a bat wing the only defining features next to the bulk of a giant robot. But they didn’t give a single thought to how anyone else viewed them.

They were good for each other, even if nobody else had the sense to realize it. All their rough edges and jagged pieces from their pasts just meant that they understood what it was like to go through difficult times and come out the other side.

All three had been alone at some point.

But none of them would have to go through that again.

And Rouge decided on something as she leaned against Omega, her hand on Shadow’s arm. 

The family you find is just as important, and just as real, as the one you’re born with. Many people have one but never the other, but Rouge realized that despite all the terrible things she’d been through…

...somehow she’d been lucky enough to have both.