#if i had a serial killer to catch i would also never write a thesis

[whos-hotter-jjba]

Preliminary Match - Pick your Favorite Kujo Jotaro

#i've been mean enough to snake pants jotaro and original flavor jotaro #all i'll say this time is #my boy is a sad fucked up grad student and it suits him #he's procrastinating his schoolwork by cacthing a serial killer like that's so relatable #if i had a serial killer to catch i would also never write a thesis #kujo jotaro #jotaro kujo #stardust crusaders #diamond is unbreakable #stone ocean #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #who's hotter jjba #rematch #hottest jjba character bracket #preliminary match #jjba minor

[yanderememes]

Solitary Love Chapter 8 (Yandere Giorno x Reader)

It's here! I was determined to post it this week so I really pushed myself to meet my deadline. I hope to post chapter 9 soon considering it's about 80% done. And I know I keep saying this, but for those who have been following this series and have made it this far... THANK YOU. Your support really does mean a lot to me.

It's thanks to your guys' support that I've been thinking about writing fics more and not just headcanons or make memes. But don't worry, that doesn't mean I'm abandoning them, just expanding my horizons! I would like to eventually write for other JJBA characters too like Dio and Jotaro. But I don't want to start several series and not keep up with any of them. I'm going to focus solely on this series so I can really give it my all.

The past few chapters were Giorno's POV so now we return to reader!

2 days left before departure

The sound of applause echoed throughout the room as the presenter finished his presentation. You were at a conference with the rest of your class and professor about the latest findings and research in the psychology world. Renowned Italian psychologists who revolutionized modern psychology were on the list of presenters tonight and you couldn’t be more thrilled and honored to be here.

Professor Hollman wanted to take this time for the class to really take something away from this whole trip across the globe. After all, he couldn’t bring his class to one of the world’s most beautiful countries under the pretense of “education” and not having them learn anything remotely related to their field of study.

With the conference coming adieu, many of the guests and presenters took this time to socialize and grab refreshments. These psychology conferences often lasted hours not only due to the presentations but also the criticism and bickering the older gentlemen and ladies had with each other over conflicting theories and beliefs.

Sighing, you took a sip of your water, praying you wouldn’t end up like them one day in the future.

“Signora l/n, was it? Dr. Hollman’s student.” you hear a voice say. Putting your cup down, you lock eyes with the man standing before you and realize the voice belonged to him. He was a fairly dark-skinned man with slick back hair of average height.

“Si (yes). I am y/n.”

“Fascinating thesis you presented. What inspired you to research it?”

You paused. How did he know about your thesis? You didn’t present it at this conference so where did he hear about it? Before you could ask, he seemed to have caught on to your confusion.

“I was an attendee when you and your class presented your theses. You probably didn’t see me but I do remember you and your work. Amazing job, by the way.”

“Grazie (thank you),” you flashed him a smile. “I was inspired to do my research on childhood trauma because it seems to be a common occurrence around the world, unfortunately. Freud was a lot of things, but he snapped when he said one’s childhood experiences can heavily impact your life into adulthood.”

The man laughed. “Infatti (indeed). Men marry their mothers and women marry their fathers which may perpetuate the vicious cycle. Perhaps may even be a factor to consider when examining Stockholm syndrome.”

That piqued your interest, “That would be an interesting study. What area of psych do you specialize in?”

“Criminal psychology. Stockholm syndrome, psychopaths, serial killers, kidnappings, you know, all the fun stuff.”

“Very fun,” you sarcastically said.

You both burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of your conversation. You never hit it off with someone as quickly as you did with this man. Giorno and Aurelio were a close second but you could tell Giorno had his walls up and was somewhat intimidating, to be honest. Aurelio was just fun to be around until his unfortunate accident. But this man was different. You both conversed as if you were long-time friends just catching up. You then realized you didn’t even grab this man’s name yet. So you asked.

“Loris Peralta, at your service, signora.” he smiled and bowed. “Seeing as I already know your name, y/n. I’d love to take you to dinner. How about it?”

Your eyes sparkled. A chance to go out with this charming fella? How could you refuse? “Alright. It’s a date,” you smiled.

He returned your smile with one of his own, “Excellent. I’ll come pick you up at around 7?”

You nodded excitedly, “I’ll see you at 7!”

***

“Ooh~ y/n’s going on a date!” your friend teased.

You couldn’t help but smile at your friend’s teasing. You were super excited for tonight to the point where you couldn’t stop giggling like a teen schoolgirl thinking about their crush. Although you’ve had your fair share of dates in the past, you weren’t quite as excited for previous dates as you were for tonight.

You decided to wear a long tight-fitted red spaghetti-strapped dress to accentuate your figure and show off your curves. While you were making some finishing touches with your makeup in the bathroom, you heard your notifications from your phone ring.

Hey y/n, my car broke down so I won’t be able to pick you up. Is it okay if we meet at the restaurant?

Putting down your makeup brush to reply to Loris, you felt a bit of disappointment. But it wasn’t his fault his car broke down. Things happen.

Okay. I’ll see u then.

“He’s here?” your friend walked in to check in on you.

“He said his car broke down and we’ll have to meet at the restaurant”

“Damn, that sucks. Want me to call a taxi for you?”

Nodding your head, you thank your friend and finish up with your makeup.

Sliding on your matching red heels and grabbing your clutch purse, you head out of your hotel room but not before saying goodbye to your friends.

“Bye guys!” you waved at them before turning the doorknob to exit.

“Bye! Don’t get pregnant!” your friends laugh.

Rolling your eyes and shaking your head, you leave close the door behind you and make your way down to get into your taxi.

***

It didn’t take long for your taxi to reach your destination. Glancing at your phone, the time read 6:50pm, so you were a bit early. Paying your taxi driver, you step out of the vehicle and wait by the sidewalk for your date just outside the restaurant.

It looked like he still wasn’t here yet. Maybe you were just too early. You stood there waiting for Loris and decided to message him to let him know you arrived.

Hey! I’m here a bit early lol. Lmk when u get here

You don’t expect him to reply right away so you just scrolled through your social media to kill some time before Loris got here.

7:00pm. Still no sign of Loris and no text messages from him. Okay, no big deal. You continue scrolling through social media.

7:10pm. Nothing from your date. You decide to message him again.

Are you here yet?

No response.

7:20pm. No text back and not a man resembling Loris in sight. This time you’ll try calling him. Pressing your phone up to your ear, you stood there listening to the ringing of the tone, waiting for this man to pick up his phone.

Your call cannot be connected to the person you are trying to call. Please leave a message after the tone.

Deeply sighing you hang up, not bothering to leave a voice message. Is he going to be a no-show? You couldn’t help but wonder that. Looking at the time again for what felt like the hundredth time, it had already been 25 minutes past your agreed time to meet. You haven’t heard anything from Loris since he told you his car broke down. You debate whether you should leave or wait for a few more minutes. If lady luck is on your side then he may turn up any minute now.

For better or for worse, you tell yourself you will wait for another 10 minutes. But when the clock strikes 7:30 and he still doesn’t show up or contact you, you’re leaving.

Time passed as you continued to try and kill time by playing on your phone. Refreshing your social media feed, watching Youtube videos, heck, even reading the news was appealing!

Finally, the time changed to 7:30 and there were no notifications from Loris. No calls either. Looking left and right and across the sidewalk, you did not see him for as far as the human eye can see. Keeping true to your word, you called for a taxi and made your way back to your hotel.

***

Practically stomping to the lobby of your hotel, you fumed as you were beyond pissed off and upset.

He stood you up.

You couldn’t believe it. This was the first time any date had stood you up. But oh no, you weren’t just going to ignore this. He’s gonna get a piece of your mind, the bastard!

You stood firm on the lobby’s floor and began typing furiously. You were too angry to let this simmer down and go back to your room right now.

At first, you were going to cuss him out and tell him how pathetic he was but after some consideration, you rationalized it probably wasn’t the best idea. What if that’s what he wants? What if he was some troll who enjoyed getting a rise out of people? Then you’d be playing in the palm of his hand. If you could take away anything that you learned in your psychology program, it’s that trolls like Loris do these kinds of things to get a reaction. Giving them a reaction only enables their behaviour to do it again.

So you erase the message you had written out for him and decide to be the bigger person.

Hi Loris,

I was really looking forward to our date tonight and after waiting for half an hour outside, I’m quite disappointed that you didn’t even bother to respond to any of my messages, let alone not show up. It was nice meeting you earlier today at the conference hall but I don’t think this relationship will work out. I wish you all the best.

Regards,

Y/N

Tapping the send button, a wave of exasperation washed away. Exhaling, you felt like you can finally breathe again after that stressful event you just experienced. You’d be lying if you said apart of you wished you had sent your original message, filled with cuss words and other vulgar things. But you figured this was for the best. You won’t stoop to his level. However, that didn’t mean your feeling weren’t hurt though.

“Rough night, huh?” you hear a familiar voice speak behind you. Turning around to see the owner, you found the face of a man you’ve been seeing a lot as of late.

“Giorno!” you gasp.

“Piacere di vederla (it’s nice to see you), y/n.” he flashed you his dashing boyish smile.

“What brings you here?”

“I was around the neighbourhood and thought I’d stop by to say hello to Signor Tocci. He’s a friend of mine and the owner of this hotel.”

You stared at him before quietly mumbling an “oh”. You couldn’t help but wonder how many connections Giorno must have. If anything you were astonished but he could have just known the owner from childhood or something.

Getting you out of your head, Giorno asked, “you look distressed. Did something happen?”

How did he know? Well, yes, you are a bit distressed after your experience with Loris but you always had a habit of concealing your true feelings, especially if they were negative. In your opinion, you don’t want to burden others with your negative emotions so you put on a mask and learn to deal with it yourself. You’ve been practising this for years and not even your closest friends would notice. So how did he? Did you make it so noticeable? You didn’t think so.

Regardless, it wouldn’t hurt to tell him, “My date stood me up.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Probably worked out for the best. He was an asshole. Acting all friendly when we met and then making excuses on our night out. He could have just told me he wasn’t interested instead of wasting my time like this.” you couldn’t help but sigh.

“You deserve better.”

You blush at his words, “u-uh. Thank you…” you turned your head to avoid eye contact. Damnit, you stuttered.

Compliments always did make you feel awkward. Giorno noticed this and you could see from the corner of your eye, he was amused judging by the look on his face.

You’ve encountered Giorno several times at this point during your trip here in Italy. You aren’t one to brag but you often did have gut feelings about certain people that were always on the nose. When you first met Giorno, he seemed like a well-mannered gentleman. Aside from the way he looked and dressed, the way he carried himself gave you the impression he was a man with power. That much was evident that night when you went clubbing. Still, he was surely an enigma with a strong charismatic aura around him. But this time you weren’t quite sure if it was merely his charisma and flowery language that made you blush or is he naturally suave with everyone?

“Don Giovanna? Were you waiting here all this time for me? Per favore, mi dispiace molto (please, I’m so sorry). Come into my office, we can talk inside.” an older man emerged from what looked like his office and interrupted your little conversation with Giorno. He wore a neat black suit and judging by his name tag, you can fairly make out he seemed to be the owner. Was this the man Giorno spoke of meeting with, signor Tocci? But why does he look so scared? The poor man was sweating like a sinner in church with beady eyes that didn’t dare to even blink, fearing if he blinked, it would mean the end of his life.

You were confused. Aren’t they friends?

“Tu sei perdonato (you are forgiven). I’ll be there shortly.” Giorno’s demeanour changed when he spoke to the signor. He’s always so light-hearted with you but ice-cold to others.

“I’ll go make you some tea!” signor Tocci frantically shouted and dashed out of the lobby.

Who on Earth was Giorno Giovanna? You asked this question to yourself before and were promptly reminded of the last time you were here in the lobby. You owed him an apology for mistaking and doubting his character! What better time than now? You’d be leaving the country in about a day anyways and would most likely never see him again.

“Giorno, I actually have an apology to make.”

The blonde was confused and waited for you to continue.

With a strong voice and straight posture, you spoke earnestly, “Actually, I thought poorly of you and was skeptical of your intentions. I guess I’m just a skeptical person in general, but after we went out for dinner together, I realized I was wrong and too quick to judge. Mi dispiace (I’m sorry). You’re a good man, Giorno.”

It was hard to tell what Giorno was thinking or feeling at this moment. His face remained blank and unreadable. But you got the sense he didn’t hate your little speech. You did speak from the heart, after all. His emerald eyes locked with yours before he began reaching his hand up to your face, softly brushing some loose strands of your hair and tucking it behind your ear. In a low but solemn voice, he spoke, “I hope you’ll continue to see me that way, y/n.”

Retracting his hand and placing it back to his side, he bid you farewell and motioned towards signor Tocci’s office, leaving you to question what his words meant.

#yandere #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere jjba #yandere jojo x reader #jojo golden wind #jojo part 5 #jojo vento aureo #giorno giovanna #yandere giogio #giorno x reader #yandere giorno #yandere giorno x reader #solitary love

[the-modernmary]

my best habit || aaron hotchner x reader (prologue)

Summary: When Aaron Hotchner ended your affair with him, saying that a serial killer was going after him and his family, you were content with the idea that you'd probably never see him again. Two years have come and gone since then, but when you get dragged into an FBI investigation as a key witness, you and Hotch are forced to come face to face with all the things left unsaid.

Warnings: Age gap (15-ish years), smut, degradation, unprotected sex. This story is 18+ older. This is not a story for minors.

A/N: Hello, hello!! I figured that since I've made a writing tumblr, I should post my story on here!! This is a multichapter story, so I am very excited to go on this journey with y'all!! I already have multiple chapters written and published, so these should be coming out VERY quickly. If you don't want to wait to catch up, you can read everything I have on ao3! This chapter starts as a flashback, and then the next chapter and the rest from here on out will be actual plot!

masterlist || read on ao3

“If you were waitin’ on the sunshine, blue sky

Cheap high, lullaby

Then my best habit’s letting you down”

- The Maine, “My Best Habit”

Two years earlier

Your eyes scanned the University Ballroom, your champagne glass practically ignored in your hand. You hated all these alumni networking galas and avoided going to them as much as possible. Old, sleazy lawyers with much younger women on their arm reliving their best cases with each other and expecting all the new law students to laugh when they were able to get their defendant acquitted because of some dumb technicality. It made you sick.

It didn’t help that you were already going in with a bad attitude. Your ex-boyfriend had dropped by your apartment that morning to pick up the rest of his stuff, and he decided that the best person to help him with that was the girl he had been cheating on you with. You caught them together three weeks ago, and you had been so stressed from midterms that you hadn’t even had the chance to go out, get drunk, and have wildly irresponsible rebound sex.

But you had to suck it up for the night, at least until you were able to get the answer you came for. After that, you could go back to your apartment, replace your too tight and too short dress with some nice pajamas, and watch trashy reality TV until you passed out on your couch.

You scanned the room a few more times until you caught sight of a tall man in a dark suit leaning against the bar. Bingo. You set your champagne flute down and ran over to him as fast as your heels could take you. Once you were just a few steps away, you quickly composed yourself and walked straight into his line of sight.

SSA Aaron Hotchner rarely came to alumni events here at George Washington Law School, citing that he wasn’t even a prosecutor anymore and had much more important work to do back at the BAU, but he was going as favor to his old law school buddy. Plus, it was either coming to this or going out to the bar with the team, and seeing as he had just signed the divorce papers with Haley, he wanted to be somewhere he wasn’t going to be profiled all night. The free champagne was also a bonus.

When you saw that his name was on the RSVP list, you knew that you had to go.

“Agent Hotchner?” you asked, giving him your best straight A student smile.

He refused to look up right away, not giving you the chance to charm him. “I’m not currently on duty. If there is a case you would like the BAU to look over, that’s handled by our media liaison,” he said absently, taking another sip of champagne.

You frowned but kept your hand out for him to shake. “That’s not what I’m here for, I-” You took a breath to compose yourself. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I’m a first year here- getting a joint JD and masters in forensic psychology. My goal is to become a prosecutor,” you pressed, and you were rewarded when he perked up in interest. He slid his drink on the table.

“Most law firms don’t usually want a prosecutor who’s going to empathize with the person you’re prosecuting,” he mused, and shook your hand, his grip just tight enough to pass as faux politeness.

You shook your head and clasped your hands behind your back, trying to ignore how warm his hands were. “I think the best prosecutors empathize with the defendants,” you admitted. “Isn’t that how you succeeded as both a prosecutor and as a federal agent? That’s actually why I came to you, I wanted to ask you a question... about my thesis,” you added quickly, figuring that the best way to get him to talk to you.

Aaron’s posture changed from half asleep to maybe listening, and your face went red. Sure, you only came to the event to talk to him, but you never thought that you’d actually get Aaron Hotchner to pay attention to you. “I didn’t empathize with the people I was putting in jail,” he told you, his voice ice cold. “That didn’t come until I worked in the BAU, and even now, I wouldn’t call it empathy. Just understanding of how they became the type of person they are.” He leaned sideways on the bar counter and you felt yourself shrink under his gaze. You shifted slightly and felt the hem of your dress move up your thighs ever so slightly. Aaron noticed too, if the lick of his lips was anything to go by.

You took his silence as your signal to ask your question. “You offered Jessica Michaelson a lesser sentence that had her released in just three years despite the fact that she murdered her brother in cold blood in his sleep. You had the evidence, why didn’t you push for premeditation?” you asked, and his eyebrow quirked upwards. “In the case The People vs. Michaelson,” you added unnecessarily, trying to break the silence.

“I know the case you’re referring to. I was the lead on it,” he reminded you, his voice edging on dangerous. “You know, most people aren’t interested in my days as a lawyer.”

You shrugged, hoping to appear more confident than you felt. “I’m not most people,” you agreed, biting down on your lower lip. His gaze was so intense, and it was affecting you in ways you couldn’t have imagined. It was turning you on, you realized with a start. It had been a while since you had last had sex, and it was driving you only slightly crazy. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

Aaron grabbed a champagne flute from a server walking by, and shoved it in your direction. You grabbed it cautiously. “Did you read the police report on the case?” he asked, and you nodded wordlessly, taking a sip of the champagne. The alcohol was making you bolder, and you stepped towards him. “Then you’ll know that there was very little physical evidence tying her to the muder. We chose to offer the charge that would have stuck instead of risking her being found not guilty.”

You gritted your teeth together in an effort to calm yourself down. “She murdered four people within the six months after she was released from prison,” you reminded him.

That seemed to have struck a chord with Aaron, and his steely persona seemed to fade ever so slightly. He sighed exasperatedly; you were obviously getting on his nerves. “The prints and DNA that were collected and put into VICAP when she was in prison are what got her caught in the end, and that was the evidence needed to lock her away for life. We wouldn’t have gotten those prints without her original charge. It all worked out.”

You groaned and threw your hands in the air. “You couldn’t have predicted that, though,” you argued. “And people have been found guilty with way less evidence than you had in the original case. I think you just felt bad for her, considering her brother was a real piece of shit.” You were being difficult now, you knew that. But there was something about Aaron Hotcher that was pulling you in, and you wanted to see how far you could push him.

Aaron gave you a predatory grin and he stepped towards you ever so slightly, finishing his drink. He must have had multiple drinks too, judging by the soft flush on his face. “Oh, you do?” He seemed amused now. He slowly raked his eyes from your face, down your neck, and down the rest of your body, and you forgot how to breath. You knew that it was inappropriate and that he was a highly respected FBI agent, even if he was kind of an asshole at the moment. You also knew that the two of you were crossing lines that neither of you should have even been close to, but you shivered under the weight of his gaze all the same.

You shifted back and forth, your brain trying to process what was happening. “Yeah, I do. And I know that you transferred to the FBI after Michaelson was arrested again, which makes me think that this case was your breaking point,” you ranted, your hands becoming more and more animated.

Aaron chuckled, but there was very little amusement behind it. “Are you sure you want to be a lawyer?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. “Because you’re starting to talk like a profiler.”

You arched an eyebrow at him. “No thanks,” you said firmly, and he just shrugged before making a move to walk past you. You sidestepped in front of him, effectively blocking him from going anywhere. But it was obvious that he was done talking about this.

In your mind, you had two options now. You could keep pushing him about a case that he obviously didn’t want to talk to you about, or you could switch gears in your brain and have him help you solve your... other problem. Aaron was attractive, and you were getting tired of guys your age. You noticed the distinct lack of a wedding ring on his finger, but there was still a tan to show that it had been there. So either he was recently separated or just trying to cheat on his wife. You wanted to not care whichever it was, but a pang in your heart told you to be considerate. Besides, you did not want to get involved with another cheater.

“Must be hard to be at these events without your wife here to scare off all the lonely female law students,” you mused cautiously. You didn’t want to come on too strong, but the alcohol in your system was slowly clouding your ability to be subtle.

Aaron cleared his throat, obviously taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation. “I’m not married,” he said, too quickly and too defensively. So he’s separated, you thought, and you stepped closer to him.

His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out your endgame. “Well, I would love to discuss your work as a prosecutor more when there are less… distractions around,” you whispered, your words breathy. “Tell me Agent Hotchner, do I make you nervous?” You sounded a lot more confident than you felt.

Aaron just smirked and grabbed your free hand, covering it in both of his, and the action was surprisingly soft, even if it was way too late for him to try acting suave. His eyes, on the other hand, told a whole other story. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes were practically black. “I face the worst people in society on a daily basis. Desperate law students don’t make me nervous. In fact…” He stepped towards you, looking around to make sure nobody else was looking. Aaron leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear with every word. “I think that I make you nervous. And more than nervous, I make you very excited.”

Your breath hitched as he pulled back, a smug smile gracing his lips. You yanked your hand back to preserve what little dignity you had left, but it was too late. “Now, if you would like to discuss my prosecuting career more in depth, then you can set up a formal meeting with me at the BAU,” he continued, obviously proud of himself and the effect he was having on you. He pulled out a business card and upon further instruction, you realized that it wasn’t even his. Jennifer Jareu the name read. “Our media liaison will be able to help you organize that. Now if you don’t mind, I am going to retire for the night.”

Aaron finished the rest of his drink and brushed past you while you were still trying to get your thoughts under control. “Oh, and you’ll make a wonderful lawyer someday, I’m sure of it,” he called over his shoulder, and that snapped you back into action.

You followed, running around him and cutting him off. “And if I don’t want to discuss your prosecuting career?” you asked, batting your eyelashes at him. “What if I was interested in a… less formal meeting?”

That was all the permission he needed. Aaron grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the ballroom, the two of you moving so fast that nobody in the room even had a chance to put two and two together. There was an empty hallway just next to the entrance of the room and Aaron pulled you in that direction, pressing you against the wall and kissing you fiercely the second the two of you were alone.

There was nothing gentle about the kiss, but in a strange role reversal, he let you take the lead. It’s certainly not what you expected from Aaron Hotchner who, until now, had been controlling every aspect of your meeting. You realized then that this was his way of making sure you were okay with what was happening- giving you a chance to back out and change your mind. You just answered by tangling your hands in his hair, pulling so that he was at just the right angle to kiss you.

Aaron dug his fingers into your hips, hard enough to make you gasp out. You were definitely going to have bruises the next day, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. He shoved his leg in between yours and tugged on your lip with his teeth, which made you whimper involuntarily. He smirked against your lips, obviously proud of the noises he was drawing from you. You pulled on his hair harder as a sign of irritation, but that seemed to only make him more amused as he pulled away to laugh into your neck.

“Are we just going to make out against a wall like we’re back in high school, or are you going to actually do something worth my time?” you breathe, fighting to keep your voice even and light. It only halfway worked as he dragged his tongue up your neck to your pulse point. And then he bit down, hard.

It took everything in your power to stay quiet, especially as he softly kissed the newly forming bruise. His attack on your neck was relentless as he pulled your hips and back forth against his thigh. You whimpered as you desperately tried to get any friction from the simple movement. Your skirt was now dangerously close to being pushed so far up your legs that you would be completely exposed.

You pulled away first- you had to or your legs were going to completely give out from under you. You desperately tried to get your breathing under control and, to your annoyance, he looked perfectly composed. The only thing giving him away was his slightly swollen lips.

His fingers trailed up your thigh, getting so close to where you want him. “What would you like me to do then?” he asked easily, his voice almost sounding bored. You were speechless, like your brain had just short circuited. There were a lot of things you wanted him to do, but the words were lost on the tip of your tongue. “If you want something, you have to ask for it.” That was a demand, and he punctuated it by pressing his thigh further into you. You were sure he was going to have a wet spot on his slacks. He took the hand not in between your legs and grabbed your jaw forcefully, his thumb resting on your bottom lip. “Use your words, little girl.”

You realize that the two of you were standing on the edge of a cliff, and you had the power to decide whether or not to jump over. It gave you a strange sense of power. Logically, you knew it was a bad idea. He was too old for you, obviously going through some sort of relationship trauma, and wasn’t somebody you could talk to your friends and family about. But the less rational side wanted him so badly it hurt. You wanted him more than you’ve wanted anything or anyone in a long time.

You noticed your strawberry colored lipstick was smudged ever so slightly on the corner of his mouth, and that’s all it took for you to jump off the side of the cliff. “I want you to drag me into the empty classroom just down the hall and fuck me senseless. I want you to use me,” you moan before taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking.

The look on his face is something you’ll never forget. There was a mix of shock and arousal, but also something primitive; His eyes darkened when you told him to use you, and there was a fluttering in your stomach. You couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or dread. Maybe even both.

He removed his hands from your mouth and legs, only to place his hand on the small of your back. He began walking towards the classroom you had pointed out, much too slow for your liking, but he knew exactly what he was doing. “You’re going to regret asking me to use you,” he practically growls in your ear, each word increasing your arousal. “Are you one of those lonely female law students you warned me about? So desperate and needy for a real man to bend you over a table and fuck you until you can’t walk straight? Ready and willing to whore yourself out for the first man who gives you a second glance?”

Your breath hitched as you stuttered out your answer. “Y-yes, Agent Hotchner,” you whispered as he opened the classroom door and guided you in.

As soon as the door was shut and locked, he was back on your lips again, lifting you so that you were sitting on one of the desks with your legs wrapped around his waist. “Call me Aaron,” he mumbled in between kisses, and you were all too happy to oblige.

You were a moaning mess at this point as his hands pushed your dress up to your waist. His hands and lips were somehow everywhere at once and you were so hot and all you could think about was getting your damn dress off, but Aaron seemed to have other plans.

He ran his fingers up your lace covered slit and he just chuckled into your lips. “You’re so wet for me, already,” he groaned and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan. “And I’ve barely touched you. Do my words really have that much effect on you? Do you like it when I call you a whore?”

He hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties and quickly pulled them down. You could feel his bulge pressing against you and all you could think about was how badly you wanted it. How badly you wanted him. Your hands moved down his chest to make quick work of his belt, and his pants followed after.

“Please, please Aaron,” you begged, desperately trying to create some friction against him. His fingers tangled in your hair and he pulled your head back so that you were looking at him.

“You’re so pretty when you beg.” His fingers slowly ran up your slit, not enough to give you any pleasure. He was teasing you and enjoying every second of it. “And I wish I could take my time with you. The things I want to do to you…” Two of his fingers entered you and you cried out loudly. “But somebody could walk in on us at any second. I’m sure they can all hear you moaning like a dirty whore, all for me. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you? So desperate for my attention and approval.”

His words turned you on more than you would have liked to admit. “Yes, Aaron yes. Please-” you were cut off by Aaron curling his fingers, hitting that spot that made you want to scream out in pleasure. But all too soon, they were gone.

He inspected his fingers, which were now covered in your juices, before bringing them to your mouth. “Suck,” he ordered, and you eagerly complied, wrapping your lips around his fingers and moaning at the taste of yourself. “I’ll just have to fuck you quickly here, and then you’ll be begging for more next time,” he groaned and finally- finally- entered you.

He didn’t give you time to adjust to him, thrusting roughly into you. He removed his fingers from your mouth and brought his hand to your neck. He didn’t put any pressure, but he wanted you to know that he could and would if you decided to get mouthy with him.

Your hands gripped the edge of the desk you were sitting on, your knuckles turning white. Your eyes started to close in pleasure as his hips slammed into yours, but they shot open as he tightened his grip on your throat. “Look at me. I want to see you when you cum,” he ordered, and you nodded the best you could.

“Yes sir!” you cried out, unsure of what else to say.

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, Aaron released your throat and moved his hand down so that he was stimulating your clit. You could feel the coil in your stomach tighten as your legs started to twitch. Aaron took this as motivation to slam into you even harder, relishing each time you gasped out his name.

His pace was unforgiving, leaving you gasping for air. Keeping your eyes open was a challenge, but you were able to do it with his soft mutters of praise. “Even brats like you can be good girls,” he groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic. “You just need somebody to fuck it into you.”

You were unable to respond coherently, so you just settled on begging even more, although you weren’t sure what you were begging for exactly. Aaron seemed to know, and he sped up his fingers against your clit. You wanted to scream out for him, but your voice wasn’t working. “What did I say before?” he asks roughly. “If you want something, ask for it.”

“Please… please can I cum?” you cried out, feeling yourself getting close to the edge. “Please let me cum around your cock!”

He nodded in approval and you had to muffle yourself in his neck to keep quiet. He fucked you through your orgasm, the overstimulation almost too much, but it wasn’t long before he was moaning your name, and you felt him fill you.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, both breathing heavily as the situation started to sink in. You just let a guy almost 15 years older than you that you just met fuck you in an empty classroom, and you really enjoyed it. Aaron, on the other hand, looked like he was going through a full crisis.

He pulled out of you slowly, and you winced at the feeling. He pulled up his pants quickly. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, looking around the empty classroom. “I don’t have anything good to clean you up with.” A box of kleenex caught his eye and he grabbed a few tissues. It was better than nothing.

You chuckled nervously and waved it off. “It’s fine,” you promised, your voice coming out shakier than you expected, but he ignored you. He wiped the mess dripping down your thighs. You were cold. He must have noticed, because he took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Aaron asked softly, and it was a full 180 from the way he had just been talking to you.

“I’m great,” you admitted honestly. “Seriously, that was… great.”

Aaron smiled at you- the first real smile he had given you all night. “It wasn’t too much?” he confirmed, and you suddenly remembered what he had said to you earlier. ...then you’ll be begging for more next time. Was he planning on a next time? You wouldn’t have minded it.

You shook your head and slowly slid off the table. You took one of the tissues and wiped up the mess that was left on the table. “Not at all. In fact, I could take more. Next time.” Your voice was light and airy. Aaron watched as you picked your underwear off the floor. There was no way you were putting those back on, not when you had no idea when the floor was last cleaned.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he teased, eyeing you carefully.

“Well I can’t keep it if I only have your media liaison’s number,” you reminded him, your eyebrow raised. Aaron chuckled and pulled out another business card, except this time it was his. You plucked the card out of his hands and inspected it carefully. “I’ll call you sometime. You can do all those other things we didn’t have time to do.” You were on your tiptoes now, whispering in his ear. “You know… my mouth can do a lot more than just ask for things.” As you spoke, you slipped your panties into his back pocket. You just laughed as you heard a soft gasp escape his lips.

You made your way towards the door, your legs wobbling dangerously underneath you. You were sure that you looked like a mess, but you didn’t care. All that mattered to you was Aaron Hotchner’s eyes glued to your ass. “Get home safe,” he told you and you let yourself smile. Maybe it was a bad idea to start sleeping with a recent divorcee, but the sex was great and you both knew where you stood with the other person. No feelings, just fucking out your frustrations and stress.

Oh yeah, coming to this event was definitely a good call on your part.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner smut #my best habit #my writing

[hammeredalcoholic]

Jotaro falling in love durring the events of part 4? 🥺🥺

hell yeah, my boy, my one true love ///

ah god this got so long,,, i just fucking love part 4 jotaro

in which jotaro catches feelings for the first time when he’s 28

rated: sfw

You were a stand user that had been there during the events of Egypt in 1989, helping Jotaro and the Stardust Crusaders on their trip to defeat DIO. It wasn’t easy, to say the least, but you were lucky you got out with your life. Unfortunately, as fate would have it, Avdol, Kakyoin and Iggy were not so lucky. 

You had stayed with Jotaro and Joseph as they recovered, and finished high school while bound to your hospital room. But after graduating, you had left Jojo to go study abroad in America. You had given him your contact information though, and told him that you would still check in with the Speedwagon Foundation if any help was needed. 

10 years had passed, and you had found your way in becoming an extremely talented journalist. You worked in New York City, and still continued to check it with the Foundation, despite no word of any bad news. 

That was until the summer, when you got a phone call from a number you didn’t recognize. Picking it up, you put your phone between your shoulder and ear, continuing to write out your report. “Hello?” 

“Hey.” That voice. It was familiar. Who was it? Your mind ran instantly back to Egypt and that delinquent who basically saved the world. You gasped and dropped your pen onto the paper. “Jotaro? Jotaro Kujo?” 

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s been awhile.” You laughed into the receiver. “A while? It’s been 10 years! You should have called sooner!” You heard him chuckle slightly. “I’ve been a bit busy.” 

Jotaro had asked you to come investigate some of the bizarre happenings in Morioh, Japan. Now you couldn’t just say no to that, could you? You spoke with your boss, managed to get a month off of work, and booked your ticket the next day. 

Arriving in Japan, everything hit you at once. You were finally back at home- albeit not your actual home town, but Japan is Japan after all. Getting off the plane and grabbing your luggage, you hauled yourself to the pick up center. Jotaro had said he’d get you at 2, right? It was 1:55 now- 

Your thoughts were cut off by a tall man in a white coat approaching you. You glanced up at him, and grinned ear to ear. Dropping your luggage were you stood, you ran up to him and practically threw yourself in his arms. 

“God, it’s felt like forever, Jojo!” 

He smiled down at you, as a thought crossed his mind. When did you become so beautiful? 

Soon enough you had met Josuke and his groupies. They were a nice bunch, but you had preferred to stick with Jotaro and Mr. Joestar, you were an adult after all. You had also been clued in about the happenings is Morioh, after Jotaro took you to a nice cafe to chat. 

“So yeah, that’s the gist of it.” Jotaro spoke slowly, sipping his drink and looking over at you. You were slightly taken aback, but then again, you did fight a vampire that had stolen Jotaro’s great grandfathers body, so it didn’t surprise you that much. 

“Bow and arrow, supposed serial killer. I would agree, it’s very bizarre.” You said, taking out your note pad from your satchel and writing a few words down. Glancing back up at the man in front of you, you sighed. “But, that doesn’t mean we have to get to work right away. Tell me what you’ve done in the last 10 years, Jojo.” 

Jotaro had told you about trying to finish his thesis for his Doctorate in Marine Biology, and how he was thinking about studying the starfish on Morioh’s coast. You also shared your accomplishments, and informed him of the company you worked for back in the States. 

The both of you sat and talked in that cafe for hours, until you had noticed the sun setting. 

Weeks had went by, and you had fought off your share of enemy Stand users. You were also getting closer to finding the killer and the bow and arrow, all while at Jotaro’s side. 

Jotaro on the other hand, was noticing things that he wasn’t sure about. He had noticed that you had created a successful life for yourself, as well as growing into a rather mature, but fun loving person. Your personality hadn’t changed much from Egypt, but the way you held yourself up did. 

Another thing he noticed was your lack of a wedding ring. As well as how your looks had become very attractive to him. It was unnerving to say the least, and he wasn’t sure how to go about it. He decided that maybe his old man would have at least some advice. 

Jotaro stood in the window of his hotel room, smoking a cigarette as he looked over at Joseph and Shizuka. “Old man, I have a question to ask you.” 

Joseph looked up at him, blinking a few times. “Eh? Well let me hear it, then.” 

He then thoroughly explained the situation he was in. He thought your personality was charming, your looks were attractive, and he wanted to spend more and more time with you as the days pass by. As soon as he was finished, Joseph looked back up at him, cradling the baby in his arms. 

“Ah, Jojo. You’re in love.” 

In love? Jotaro never thought he would be in love. That word bounced around in his head, especially when he got close to you, or interacted with you in any way. You were a strong stand user, independent and capable of handling yourself. He had learned this 10 years ago in Cairo, but now it was hitting him harder than ever.

He was in love. He was in love with you.

As soon as Jotaro had come to this conclusion, he decided that the best course of action would be to just tell you and get it over with. If you didn’t feel the same way, that’s fine, he just needed to know before you got in any sort of danger. So logically, he called you and set up a date of sorts, saying that he needed to discuss something with you.

The same day you were meeting up with Jotaro, many thoughts ran through your mind. What did he need to talk to you about? Did a new breakthrough happen? Did something awful happen? You weren’t sure what you would do if something like Egypt happened again. It took a long time for those wounds to heal. 

You walked along the street to the cafe, your mind on completely different things, and you managed to run into Jotaro. Face to chest. You looked up at him, eyes wide. “Jojo! Sorry, I was just thinking a little too hard.” He smiled at you, and said it was fine. 

Following him into the cafe, the same one you went to when you first arrived in Morioh. You ordered drinks and some light food, before actually settling into your seats. Looking at him from across the table, you sighed. “Did something bad happen? Is that why you wanted to talk to me here and not over the phone?”

Jotaro’s eyes widened. Is that what you thought this was about? No, is was something completely opposite. He chuckled slightly, tugging on his hat. “No, nothing bad has happened. Don’t worry about anything like that.” 

He watched your composure relax, and you put your elbows on the table, holding your face up. It was, in certain terms, fucking adorable. “Then what is it, Jojo?” 

Jotaro took a breath, but looked into your eyes. “I- um. I have feelings for you.” He coughed slightly, turning away from your gaze. “I actually think I’ve fallen in love with you.” He covered his eyes with his hat, awaiting your reply. 

You were shocked, to say the least. Jotaro Kujo… The man that saved your ass more than once back in Egypt, as well as here in Morioh, was in love with you? You couldn’t believe it, but you knew that Jotaro would never pull a prank on you like this. He wouldn’t joke about his feelings. 

Reaching over and grabbing his hand that sat on the table, you pulled slightly. He looked at you, and you swear you saw vulnerability in his eyes. He was definitely telling the truth. You smiled softly at him. 

“Jotaro…” You spoke his name this time, which caught his attention. He stared into your eyes, desperately looking for an answer. Your hand traveled up his arm, then shoulder, then to his cheek. Pulling him closer, you pressed your lips against his, in a sweet kiss. 

He melted almost immediately, his hands going to find your face, holding onto your for what felt like dear life. Like he would never be able to see you again. You stayed like that for a moment, kissing him, running your hands through the hair at the base of his neck. 

You pulled back slowly, tilting his hat up and putting your forehead against his. 

“Jotaro Kujo. I love you too.”

#jotaro kujo #jotaro kujo x reader #jotaro x reader #jotaro kujo imagine #jotaro imagine #jjba imagine #jjba x reader #jjba reader insert #jojo x reader #jojo imagine #jojo reader insert #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo part 4 #jjba part 4 #diamond is unbreakable #jjba part 3 mentioned

[opheliacassiopea]

CHAPTER 6.

TW: Mature language, mentions of alcohol consumption.

Flopping down on your sofa the next morning, you find yourself grinning at the thought of last night as you look through the many pictures that had been taken to document the events of the evening. You insisted on using your Polaroid camera to capture most of the evening, the walls of your apartment were littered with small snapshots of your life; the team, your friends outside of work, nature, anything that made you feel at peace. Your apartment, much like your appearance was how you expressed yourself and it was your sanctuary. 

Looking through the photos, Hotch plays on your mind. He looked good last night, so much so that you had to fight with yourself to stop stealing glances at him. You knew it was wrong to think about him like that, but it was nearly impossible when the man looked that good. Especially his hands, the prominent veins and the polished silver Rolex that sat on his wrist making him look even more attractive. Pulling out a photo of the both of you laughing at Spence’s attempts to beat Derek at a game of snooker, you think back to the conversation at the table.

“You did good, you did good, Pais”. ‘Pais’. Not Selwyn, not Paisley, Pais. As you repeated it, it sounded strange at first, or at least it did until you imagined Hotch being the one saying it and then it felt right. Did he realise the significance of giving you a nickname? The very word is defined as ‘a substitute for the proper name of a familiar person and often used to express affection, it is a form of endearment and amusement’. Surely he must have done, he wasn’t the type of person to do that sort of thing, something that..intimate. Plus, he knew you weren’t one for your name being shortened by just anybody. Was he trying to say something, to tell you something? Of course he isn’t you tell yourself, he’s your superior for God’s sake. Pushing thoughts of your boss to one side, you carried on about your weekend. Despite your plans not being thrilling, you were looking forward to them nonetheless. You had dedicated the time to catch up on much needed sleep and general self care and you were incredibly glad of the opportunity. Always valuing time to yourself, you couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed that the weekend vanished at a frightening pace. 

Flipping through the information brochure, you don't bother looking up at JJ who speaks to you “Spence tells me you’ve picked lecturing for the last module of your doctorate?”. The team, well you JJ, Prentiss, Morgan and Reid were currently sitting at the round table on your lunch hour, which was a rare occurrence with your schedules, you were nearly always working a case, or too swamped with paperwork. Garcia was hidden away in her lair doing who knows what, Rossi out for some fancy lunch and Hotch locked away in his office.

“Yeah, figured it couldn’t be too difficult and the genius himself has offered to help me prepare in the library so it seems like a win win if you ask me” you reply to her as you finally stop reading and look up at the faces around the table “what? It’s not like he’s writing my thesis, I’m just being resourceful and making the most of what's available, y’know?” you defend yourself, shrugging your shoulders.

“Oh so you’ll accept Reid's help, but not mine? You wound me pretty girl” Morgan teases, throwing an empty bottle at you, which you catch effortlessly and throw it into the bin, but not before you roll your eyes at him, sending him a cheeky smile as you do. 

Disconnecting herself from JJ’s embrace, Emily stands and crosses to you, picking up the brochure you were reading and scans over the information, before discarding it and spinning the chair you were sitting in toward her, clearly she could sense your apprehension. “You’ll do great Paisley, you’ll hit every inch of this criteria, I doubt you even need Reid’s help and besides, it’s not like you need another qualification to prove yourself, you’ve earned your place here” she tells you and you find that you have to force yourself to hold her gaze so you give nothing away.

One of the reasons you had multiple degrees was because on some level, you did feel the need to prove yourself, to prove you were doing something with your intellect and to prove that you did have a place on this team. Never did you want to be looked at as the baby FBI agent, who simply followed the others on the team like a shadow. On the other hand however, you genuinely loved learning and felt it was only natural to continue your studies to the highest level 

and you were proud of yourself for doing so, you’d come a long way since your childhood, but you didn’t want to dwell on that for long.  A few weeks pass and you soon find yourself sat in one of your favourite places; the older, dustier and lesser well known section of the bureau library, scanning over various notepads and books whilst feverishly typing at your laptop planning your first lecture. Looking across the table at Spencer, who kept true to his word and accompanied you to the library for assistance, you voice your initial plan for your first lecture in a few weeks. 

“I’m thinking of starting with nineteenth-century literature with the themes of crime and detection as a general focus and then work my way into psycho-linguistics with instances in literature, before moving on to case specific examples”. Whilst you held a close bond with Derek, you were good friends with Spencer too. The two of you would often hold mini academic debates between yourselves on the way home from a case, or on the phone in the early hours of the morning. From an outsider’s perspective it may look like something more, but that wasn’t the case, you genuinely just had a lot in common and it was nice to be able to watch Harry Potter over and over with somebody who gave no complaints. 

“What texts are you thinking of using? I personally think that Arthur Conan Doyle’s, Sherlock Holmes stories would be a fine choice. It’s more of an obvious one as the element of crime is incredibly apparent and the style of writing is fascinating on it’s own, so it would break the students in nicely I think.” Spencer reveals and you nod in agreement, returning to your typing.

The weekly sessions in the library seem nothing more than distant memories as you find yourself standing at the front of the lecture hall listening to Professor Moore’s introductions. You begin to wish you’d chosen a different final module. Why were you so nervous? You chased serial killers down on a day to day basis, surely you could give a lecture to a bunch of hopeful students for an hour?

“Much to your enjoyment, I will not be lecturing you for these next three months” Professor Moore informs her students in a lighthearted tone. You knew firsthand she was a good teacher and hoped her students didn’t expect too much from you. “This fine young woman will be taking over as part of the last module for her doctorate in criminology and psychology, so please be kind to her and don’t even think about any kind of tomfoolery in my absence, I will be dropping in and keeping in direct contact with Paisley so don’t think it will go unnoticed.” she looks at you and winks as she tells them “plus, she’s one hell of an FBI agent so she won’t tolerate it anyway”.

“Right well, thanks for that Professor. Uh, I’m Paisley and as you know I’ll be taking over for these next three months, hopefully you’ll find it as quick and painless as possible” you tell them, hoping it will break some of the tension and it does, you find the students take to you well as you dive in to the job you’re there to do. “We’re going to start with looking at nineteenth-century literature through the themes of crime and detection. I know this isn’t the big stuff right away and I apologise for that, but I find it’s better to develop a general understanding of the topic first, before delving deeper.” you tell them as you begin to pace the lecture hall out of nervousness.

“This is the century which saw the creation of the Metropolitan Police Force in London, the birth of private and police detectives, and the rise of investigations into the psychology and social causes of crime. The genres of detective fiction and the dramatic monologue which both emerged during this period will be largely focused on, but we’ll also take a look into less frequently studied genres like journalism to give you a full flavour of the period’s insatiable taste for crime”. Switching to the next powerpoint slide, you take a breath and steady yourself, maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. 

“Fictional texts are studied in the context of contemporary debates about crime, policing, criminal responsibility and madness, including legal texts and those related to the emerging science of psychology. We will be studying the texts through genre theory and cultural and historical perspectives”. As you look out to the back of the lecture hall, you’re able to make out the familiar figure of Dr Spencer Reid. He’d taken one look at you that morning in the bullpen and knew how nervous you were; you’d paced back and forth to the break room countless times, drinking far more tea than usual and barely uttering a word to anybody as you fiddled with the two necklaces that always hung round your neck.

You bite back a smile and continue speaking to the students “indicative primary texts for the semester will consist of a selection of popular crime ballads and the dramatic monologues about murder and madness by Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, along with a selection of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories. It’s absolutely essential that you all keep up with the reading. And with that, I’ll leave it there for now. Don’t hesitate to contact me with any questions and I’ll see you all next time”. 

Watching the students disperse from the room, you breath out a long sigh of relief and throw yourself into a nearby chair and by the time you get back to the bullpen, Spencer is practically screaming at the top of his voice as he tells anybody that would listen about how well you’d done in the lecture, speaking in just the right tone to be authoritative, but relatable and approachable. In short, he was incredibly proud of you and pride radiated off every inch of him. 

Two months had now passed and much to your surprise, it had now become part of your daily routine that Hotch would sit on the chair beside your desk during your twenty minute break at eleven o’clock each morning. At the start of your break you’d always find a cup of tea, perfectly made on your desk and each day you’d find yourself smiling as you knew who it was from. If Hotch was in a particularly good mood, he’d surprise you with a vanilla milkshake and raspberry muffin like he had done that very first time. If the team hadn’t picked up on it at first, they definitely had now, but they chose not to say anything. 

Some days you’d talk in depth about all manner of things, whereas other days you would find yourselves both working away in a comforting silence. Today was one of his chattier days and he greeted you with a smile as he placed a mug of tea down for you, and a mug of coffee for himself. “You’ve never told me the story behind all these little cartoon frogs pinned to your noticeboard” he begins, tracing his fingers over them as he looks to you for an explanation.

“You never asked, I’m surprised you didn’t use those profiling skills of yours to figure it out” you reply in a joking manner as you set your mug down. “To answer your question though, Spence asked me what my favourite animal was when I first started and when I told him it was a frog, he started to draw me one for each month of the year to help me settle in. I’ve got one of them tattooed on my ankle, I’m surprised you’ve not noticed it” you finish telling him.

“Can I see it? The tattoo?” he asks and you notice the nervousness in his voice and it makes you smile, seeing him almost shy is so unnatural you’re not quite sure how to act. You comply, kicking off your doc martens and pulling your left trouser leg up to reveal the image of a frog wearing a hat, sat on the edge of a teacup. It’s not the most conventional tattoo in the world, but you love it nonetheless. “It’s very you, I’ll give you that” he tells you as he helps you back into your shoe. 

You share a small laugh and you begin to pick up a file, ready to get back to work as the break comes to an end and the team filter back into the room and head to their desks. It’s Prentiss who asks you first “how’re feeling about your final lecture next week, Miss almost Dr Selwyn?” as she maneuvers a huge stack of case files from one side of her desk to the other. 

“Pretty good I think, just want to find out who the assessor is and get it over and done with to be honest” you tell her as you begin looking for a case consult you’d lost in a stack of folders.

“Doesn’t Hotch normally assess some of the final modules? He used to guest lecture with Rossi and Gideon quite a lot” JJ asks as she collects a pile of completed files from the table. 

“Actually no, he stopped guest lecturing once Gideon..uh...left” Reid fills you in “he thought it took up too much of his time and it was more productive to focus on leading the unit”.

“Huh, well at least you know it won’t be Hotch” Emily tells you and you smile in response as you dial the internal number for a copy of the police report for the consult you were working on. The rest of the day passes easily as you work through your files, thankfully not being interrupted by a new case and the rest of the week sailed by smoothly.

This was it, the final week of your doctorate. You’d been allocated reduced duties to allow time for the final hand in of your thesis, along with the multitude of exams you had to complete and you now you just had your final assessed lecture to complete. Arriving slightly earlier than anticipated due to your nerves, you decide to busy yourself replying to emails at your desk in the relatively empty bullpen, mulling over the happenings over the past week in the process.

Hotch had been keeping his distance and you didn't have it in you to figure out why, you’d just presumed it was just work and left it at that. Realistically you had far too much to worry about; the past week had left you feeling the most stressed you’d felt in years. 

Shifting your gaze to Hotch’s office, you’re able to see him talking on the phone, eyebrows furrowed together and jaw clenched. Clearly he’s not in a good mood and you’re thankful you’ll be out of the office all day. Checking through your notes one last time before you make your way to the lecture hall to set up, Hotch’s voice alerts you to his presence, you’d been so caught up in going over your notes that you didn't notice him leave his office. “Don’t you have a lecture to teach, Selwyn?”.

Before you can even look at him, he’s turned his back and retreated to his office. Pushing through the glass doors, you furrow your brows in confusion; what was his problem? It was only on your arrival to the lecture hall that your nerves began to kick in, this was it, once you’d finished teaching this class, your doctorate would be complete. Beginning to set up the powerpoint slides and distributing the resources for the lecture you find yourself slipping into a state of calmness as you worked, you could do this and you could do it well. Treat it like a case briefing you told yourself. Ten minutes later students begin to file into their seats and you’re pleased to greet Professor Moore who’s acting as the assessment supervisor. Toward the end of the lecture, you noticed an extra body had slipped into one of the seats on the back row and you knew who it was instantly. Aaron Hotchner. You’ve got to be fucking joking. He’d spent the better part of a week avoiding you and when he did speak to you, it was mostly dismissive and now he had the gall to show up to your final assignment. Swallowing the urge to throw one of the bulky textbooks at him for his sheer nerve, you continue explaining your current point to the students. 

“We’ve already been over the idea that psycholinguistics is the study of how the psyche responds to words and languages and this is how it’s distinguished from sociolinguistics. One focuses on the social dimension of language, and it’s stylistic patterns, whereas the other focuses on the expressive functions of language”. 

You begin to bring the lecture to a close, but not before thanking the students for their patience and hard work throughout the semester and you’re quick to express your gratitude to the professor for all her help and support. And just like that it was over, you were done. Hastily, you start to pack away the resources from the lecture in order to avoid a conversation with Hotch, his dismissive attitude had annoyed you all week and you weren’t thrilled at the sight of him in your lecture after the way he’d spoken to you this morning. 

“Can I help you with something?” you ask him in a cold tone, your eyes focused on shoving your laptop in your bag as you wait for his response, but you don’t receive one. Scanning the room one last time for any of your belongings, you promptly turn on your heel and exit the room, ignoring his calls as you melt away into the sea of scurrying students.

Things between the two of you eventually returned to normal, you weren’t even sure what ‘it’ was at this point and you didn’t care to ask, you weren’t even sure that it was normal. Hotch didn’t do these kinds of things or so you thought, but you knew better than to question it. Recently the team had been pushed in all directions, working case after case with little to no breaks, so it came as no surprise to you that the month of your graduation arrived in no time at all, acting as the perfect distraction for you all.

Pulling the garment onto your body, you admired the satin fabric of the deep purple dress you’d chosen to wear that day, it’s strappy sleeves allowing the many tattoos that graced the upper

half of your left arm to be shown off, along with the low neckline displaying the delicate tattoos on your collarbones. Before slipping on your graduation cap and gown, you add the finishing touches to your makeup, deciding to go for more of a dramatic look, if there was a day to go all out, it was definitely today. Giving yourself the once over, you feel a bubble of nerves form in the pit of your stomach, today was the day you were graduating and whilst you were excited, you felt apprehensive. Now that you were about to graduate, the pressure to live up to your new title was immeasurable and you were keen not to disappoint.

“Miss Paisley Anora Selwyn”.

You stand as your name is called, focusing on not falling over in your heels as you walk across the stage to receive your doctorate. There were no words to sum up how you felt, the moment was indescribable and as you walked back to your seat, you could hear a chorus of cheers and shouts from the team who insisted on buying tickets to watch the ceremony and later celebrate at one of the slightly fancier bars in the area. Luckily you’d managed to talk Penelope down from doing anything over the top and she very reluctantly agreed, making you settle instead for a compromise that allowed her to buy you a extravagant gift instead. 

“Tonight we’re here to celebrate Dr Paisley Anora Selwyn, many many congratulations” Dave begins the toast and you inwardly cringe at the use of your middle name.

Midway through the pleasantries, you feel Hotch’s hand resting on your lower back and you resist the urge to turn and smile up at him, instead opting for shuffling closer, a slight blush creeping onto your cheeks as you do so.

“Dr Paisley Anora Selwyn” the team echo as they raise their glasses to you, all grinning from ear to ear.

As the night progresses, you lean back against the bar, taking stock of the day. It was hard to believe that only three months ago that you were sat up till the early hours of the morning studying, the end seeming to be miles away, and now you’d finally done it. That wasn’t the only thing on your mind though, much like usual, Hotch occupied your thoughts. All throughout the night there had been subtle touches, stolen glances, and silent conversations between the two of you, and you loved it. Appearing next to you at the bar, Hotch’s arm slips round your waist, pulling you closer into his side as he congratulates you.

“I’m proud of you, well done, Pais”. 

#criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #fbi #behavioural analysis unit #aaron hotchner #aaron #aaron hotch hotchner #ssa aaron hotchner #hotch #ssa hotchner #hotch x you #hotch x reader #hotch x oc

[loviswriting]

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure: Bizarre Beach! Torn Between Scylla and Charybdis!

JJBA part 4 fan fic. Chapter 1: Morioh Mermaid, the perfect thesis for Jotaro?!

Summary: During his stay in Morioh, Jotaro needs to come up with a subject for his doctoral thesis in marine biology! Strange happenings in the waters of Morioh beach piques Jotaros interest, making him investigate strange sightings of a mermaid, followed by injured surfers! In hopes of finding a subject for his thesis he teams up with Kishibe Rohan and Joseph Joestar to solve the mysterious happenings! Is it the work of an actual mermaid or is there a Stand user lurking around the corner?!

Number of chapters: 9

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Total word count for all chapters: 12 749.

Chapter 1 word count: 1659

Authors note: this is my first fan fic, I tried my best and hope you will enjoy it! You may also read it on my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20937995/chapters/49778429

The summer of ’99. A hot summer in the small town of Morioh. A good place to spend the day was at Morioh beach; a flawless tourist spot with hot sand, soothing waves, laughter and ice cream for anyone in need of a cool refresher. However, it seemed that flawlessness was coming to an end lately, with reportings of bizarre accidents involving swimmers and surfers...

One of the beaches’ common visitors were Jotaro Kujo. Not primarily for the ice cream and water, but rather for reading the newspaper and secretly meeting up with agents from the Speedwagon Foundation. Jotaro had just had one of these undercover meetings with an agent sitting on the other side of the bench giving information about the serial killer Kira Yoshikage. However, the trail was currently very cold and Jotaro had not been given any useful information. But Jotaro was confident he would track down Kira with the help of his Morioh friends; Josuke, Koichi, Okuyasu and Rohan and in the worst case even his gramps Joseph. He had faced off with many strong adversaries before, although it was many years since he had defeated the strongest one of them all; Dio. But Kira was not the only adversary Jotaro currently was facing. No, there was another one, even more powerful than he had imagined: finding a subject for his doctoral thesis in marine biology! Despite being in Morioh, a wonderful seaside town, he was at a total block on what to write about, and he had only a few months left before the next semester started and he was to present the first draft of his thesis. Although being a delinquent in high school, Jotaro now was an A-grade student and aced all his tests and assignments. He had grown a lot of pride in his studies and he wanted to give it his best. He wouldn’t settle for just any subject to write about – he wanted to find the best subject to write about, something to bring out his true potential as a soon-to-be marine biologist. So he spent as much time as he could near the harbour or the beach, in hopes of finding inspiration.

Inspiration, however, would not come easily. As a way to pass time, Jotaro read through the daily newspaper to keep up with happenings in Morioh. A headline in the paper caught his eyes; “Third accident this week in Moriohs waters”. Recently, Jotaro had not had much time to spend at the beach or harbour and felt he had to catch up on recent events and started reading: “Following the two latest incidents in the waters around Morioh beach, a third has happened. Unlike the previous two swimmers, who are currently in a bad condition at the hospital and unconscious, this surfer managed to overcome what seems like an unlikely happening! Kenji O'Hara, 32, claims to have seen a mermaid in one of the waves during surfing. He went around for another pass with the waves, to try and spot the so-called mermaid again, only to slightly spot her and then crash into some sudden violent waves. Although startled, he was able to quickly get back to the beach with his surfing board, getting away with a few bruises and cuts on his legs. “Man, that was totally bizarre, but I swear I saw a mermaid in the waves, the second time it felt like she reached for me! Maybe she wanted to make me her merman!” states clearly delirious O'Hara.”

Mermaids are not a real thing, Jotaro was sure of that, but it was indeed bizarre and his gut feeling told him there might be more to this than what was on the surface. Perhaps something lurked deep down in these accidents. He decided to dig, or rather dive, a little bit further into this. Jotaro took out his cell phone and dialled a number. “Hey. This is Jotaro. I need a favour… meet me at the hospital in an hour,” Jotaro hung up and rose from the bench he sat on. There were potentially two more witnesses to this so-called mermaid and Jotaro could not wait to get more information. 

For starters, his sense of justice told him something was wrong and had to be righted. And besides that, although his big doubts, if there truly is a mermaid at Morioh beach… then he had the perfect subject for his thesis.

Exactly one hour later, Jotaro stood in front of Morioh hospital, he was wearing one of his favourite outfits: a pink long-sleeved shirt under his white coat, which today was ornated with gold coloured decorations of two kissing dolphins shaping a heart and a pointy triangle with the letter J. His white hat also had gold coloured ornaments, of a single dolphin and a sun. Jotaro rarely wore those as he treasured them a lot, being gifts from his seven-year-old daughter Jolyne who made them in art class. He was, of course, also wearing white pants. What would this visit at the hospital give him? Would it shed some light on this mermaid sighting? Soon enough, he would know. Jotaro pondered this, standing in the shadow of the entrance roof, enjoying a slight breeze, for about fifteen minutes until his nephew Josuke showed up, wearing his usual dark blue school uniform. Jotaro often wondered if Josuke even owned anything else than that, he always wore it, even on weekends, and Jotaro felt it made him look like some sort of cartoon character. At least he himself modified his stylish white outfit with different coloured shirts and various ornament; that was how adult life just was, succumbing to the importance of looking good and keeping up with the latest fashion trends. “Ooii Jotaro-san!” Josuke shouted as he walked up to him waving his hand, “What's up? A lead on the Kira case?” he asked curiously with a bit of seriousity glowing in his eyes. Jotaro shook his head, “Unfortunately, this is unrelated. There have been accidents at the beach waters. I’ve decided to investigate what is causing them. Two of the victims are at the hospital, injured and unconscious” Josuke gave him another serious look, “… could this be another Stand user?” “It’s too early to make any guesses. It’s more likely dangerous wildlife. Remember, Stand users are drawn to other Stand users, which I doubt these victims are. Besides that, if they are not Stand users, then they should not be able to see a Stand, but this Kenji-guy claim to have seen a mermaid...” Jotaro shrugged off the possibility and went into the hospital doors, entering the calm and sterile white room, only a few people sitting there, some talked with a police officer, perhaps family to one of the victims of the recent happenings at the beach?

After a quick request at the reception, they got the room numbers for the injured swimmers. They went upstairs to the first room, where Josuke healed the first injured surfer with his Crazy Diamonds ability. However, the swimmer had not seen any mermaid and had suddenly blacked out in pain when swimming. Jotaro got no information at all and felt quite disappointed, the duo then went for the next room, further away in the corridor. “Seriously Jotaro-san, a mermaid? Those do not exist. This Kenji-guy must have hit his head too hard against the waves or something,” Josuke said jestingly, gesturing with his arms. Jotaro did not answer, just silently walking onward. Shortly they arrived at the next room, where an unconscious woman lied in a bed. “Let’s heal her and wake her up, Josuke”, Jotaro said as he approached the woman and nodded towards her. “Yeah. Crazy Diamond!” Josuke called out, summoning his pink and light blue stand, proceeding to heal the woman with a soft touch and then wake her up. Jotaro briefly explained that they were investigating the accidents at the beach, and asked the woman about what happened to her out at sea. “I was out swimming and making light dives into the water when suddenly I saw a beautiful woman swimming a few meters away from me under the water! She was truly stunning, aah…” the woman said, clearly mesmerized about the thought of the woman she saw. “What happened then? Did you notice anything strange?” Jotaro pursued. “Well, she was so beautiful, I almost thought she was a mermaid! I never saw anyone else besides me up at the water’s surface, I only saw her under the water… that was kind of strange, now that I think about it. Haha sorry, my mind is still a bit cloggy after just waking up!” she laughed and scratched her head. Another witness! Jotaro thought and tried to pry deeper, “Do you remember anything else?” The woman silently thought for a bit, “No, when I tried approaching her, she disappeared, and then I felt a hard hit in my back and lost consciousness…” “Okay, thank you for your time,” Jotaro said and started to make his way out. “No, thank you, kind doctors, for making me better so fast!” she replied happily and waved her hand. Josuke waved back at her on the way out and walked up to Jotaro, “Huh, mermaids?? Again? What’s this all about!” “I do not know, that’s what I’m trying to find out, but something is strange about this,” Jotaro said as they walked down the stairs to the main floor, “I’m heading back to the hotel. Thanks for the help, I owe you one. Later.” The nephews parted ways and Jotaro called a cab to get to the hotel. A mermaid? Could that really be it? But what caused the accidents to happen? Even if there was a mermaid, that did not solve the mystery behind people getting injured. There were no sharp rocks in the area around Morioh beach, so the cause had to be something else. Jotaro was determined to find out what.

CHAPTER 1, END.

Thanks for reading!

#jojos bizarre adventure #jjba #jotaro #josuke #fan fic #jjba fan fic #writing #writblr #diamond is unbreakable #jjba part 4 #jjba diu

[yangholic]

Peephole | Five

word count: 1,515

warnings: lowkey sexual tension, swearing

a/n: enjoy this quick update! i may not be able to write for a few days because my finals are this week and i have a huge thesis due, so enjoy this early gift~

Life often imitated art, at least that’s what you believed as you perused the local gallery. Houses in the middle of oceans, staircases made of 88 ivory and ebony keys, disembodied heads, all painted in muted colors, highlighting the dismal world of Surrealism. You viewed the world similarly to the likes of Breton, Magritte, and Dalí: strange and beyond rational explanation. Perhaps that was the reason why you were with Jimin in the first place, how you overlooked his murderous side. In your mind, none of it was real, just bizarre fantasies and delusions.

Gazing around the small venue, you scanned the crowd for Jimin. He was sat on a bench, wistfully staring at a painting, unmoving, unblinking— and Gods, did he look beautiful. While you looked and felt fragmented, like a Surrealist Exquisite Corpse, Jimin appeared as if he could have delicately crafted from the hands of Pre-Raphaelites. Every ounce of him held poise, from the soles of his feet to his rosy, cherubic cheeks. Seemingly captivated by his ethereal beauty, you joined him on the bench, studying the painting that enthralled him. An optical illusion of a skull, its bony structure comprised of various weapons. Knives, guns, hammers, brass knuckles, instruments of violence, torturing devices. Any other sane person would look at the painting, mumble ‘aha!’ as they contemplated the meaning before moving on, but Jimin was utterly transfixed, borderline obsessed with the painting.

You kept your voice low, barely above a whisper, “Jimin?” Although his gaze was still fixed beyond him, towards the painting, he replied with a noncommittal hum. His response, or lack thereof, bothered you, so you pressed him again. “Jimin?”

“Hmm? What is it, jagiya?”

“Why?”

Apparently, your gentle nagging was enough to recapture his attention, his mahogany eyes now focusing on you. Ringed fingers curled around your cheeks, affectionately cradling your face in his hands. “Why do I call you jagiya? Because you’re my girlfriend and I really li–”  

“That’s not what I mean. Why do you do it,” you mumbled, eyes downcast. “How can you do it?” It pained you to ask about his heinous side, especially knowing just how quickly Lee Jimin could end your life. But in all honesty, after witnessing his remorseless brutality without the protective barrier of your peephole, you craved to dig deeper into is psyche. After a scarce few seconds, as if he were testing himself and his patience, Jimin relinquished his hold on your face, his hands dropping to his lap. “You know,” he said, focus returning to the macabre skull, “I think I should be the one asking you, Y/N. Why are you alive?” You blinked, caught off guard by his rebuttal, hoping you had just misunderstood. “Wh-What?”

“It’s difficult to answer the question ‘Why do you kill?’ just as it is to answer the question, ‘Why are you alive?’ It’s simple: to live is to kill.” Flabbergasted by Jimin’s response, you found yourself speechless. His attitude had not changed, he was still the lively, warm Jimin, whose voice was full of mirth. But the words which he spoke were detached from his persona— full of indifference. “Human nature is inherently violent,” Jimin began, hands laced together in his lap idly, “But whether we act upon that or not is up to us. Like a praying mantis who decapitates her mate after sex, I target those who I see as weak— vulnerable. And I just do it, like it’s a natural instinct. There’s no reason why I have these impulses, other than I just do. But unlike those weaklings who might kill in self-defense or for self-preservation, I don’t feel any remorse.” Jimin pauses, drawing in a shaky breath as a small tent forms in his slacks. “Only complete serendipity. Like as if I were on cloud nine.” Unclasping his left hand, he carded through his hair to relieve the itching, murderous, delicious tension that riled him up. “Plus,” Jimin paused, “My rule is that I only kill those that deserve it. Criminals, rapists, scum of the Earth.”

“So that woman from earlier–”

“She was embezzling money from Hoseok, the studio owner, and I just happened to catch her red-handed,” Jimin explained, laughing at his own morbid joke. Instantly, you perked up, now more intrigued. “So you’re basically a vigilante then?”

With a scoff, Jimin shook his head, “You’re too naïve, Y/N. I’m not a good person, not in the slightest.” Cocking an eyebrow, you waited for clarification, while Jimin returned his focus to the painting on the wall. “I kill lowlifes because it makes it less suspicious. If I were to take an innocent woman off the street and mutilate her beyond identification, all of Seoul would be on the lookout for a serial killer. But if I end the life of a convict who had previously assaulted three women, no one would bat a fucking eye.”

Without warning, Jimin abruptly stood and stretched, a sliver of his abdomen peeking out from under his dress shirt. “Let’s go check out the next exhibit,” he said, offering you a hand while changing conversational topics expertly. You silently accepted both alternatives, mindlessly trailing behind the blonde as he led you to a less populated section of the quaint museum, one that mainly focused on sculptures and pottery. It baffled you— how could someone as considerate and wholesome as Lee Jimin find satisfaction in plunging a blade into another human being? You struggled to wrap your head around his philosophical justification behind his murderous tendencies. Jimin made killing seem simple, easy, understandable, which made him all the more frightening.

“Jimin, I just,” you faltered, unsure of how to proceed, “I don’t really get why it is that you kill, but you should really stop.” The dancer’s eyebrows furrowed in irritation, visibly annoyed by your declaration. “I just… Don’t want you to get caught by the police.” Jimin immediately called your bluff, a coy smile twitching at the corner of his lips. With a breathy laugh, Jimin strode past you and towards a sculpture, it’s weathered marble now a dull, aged yellow. Back turned to you, he spoke without a care for confidentiality, “What is better: a virgin who kills, or a bastard that doesn’t?” Your eyes widened in shock, the small room suddenly feeling like a sweltering desert as heat traveled to your face. Swallowing thickly, you attempted to ward off the blush that tinted your cheeks, “I-I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

The blonde turned around, umber eyes sparkling with raw, unbridled lust. “I’m a virgin, you know,” he giggled while winking flirtatiously, only flustering you further. “I was always waiting for the right person, the one who would accept me. All of me.”

•·················•·················•

Being in a relationship with Lee Jimin taught you a lot of things. For one, he mainly preferred sour foods and had a distaste for mangoes. You also learned that he wore contacts due to poor eyesight, but only donned his thick-framed glasses for night-time reading. Most importantly, Jimin never verbalized when he was bringing home the next kill— he simply sent you a text message with a time. Those texts were his own way of asking you to accept him.

Accept him as a boyfriend.

A lover.

A murderer.

When you watched Jimin from your side of the peephole, it was as if you were watching a movie starring the blonde bombshell next door. You paid little mind to the blood and gore, each occurrence leaving you more desensitized than the next. And after each session, Jimin would come over and make you dinner, chatting idly about your day or his latest choreography. Every night after he would retire to his neighboring room, you would lie awake and curse your initial impulse to look through the peephole. You were a pervert, and this was your punishment.

Fatigued, as usual, you began your morning routine, or lack thereof. While the daytime consisted of you browsing the internet and participating in paid surveys as a form of income, it was sporadic at best. Most of the time, you would stare at the ceiling in a stupor, waiting for the inevitable arrival of Lee Jimin. Today, though, deviated from its usual lackadaisical schedule. The ringing of your doorbell drew your attention away from your cellphone’s screen, the arrival of an uninvited guest urging you to rise from your sheets. Sliding into house slippers, you trudged across the room and into the threshold, unlocking the deadbolt, but not the security chain. Peeking through the sliver of open door, you were surprised to see a well-dressed man sporting a brown blazer and charcoal turtleneck, his black hair coiffed into a lazy pompadour.  He was scribbling something into a small notebook, the pen furiously scratching against the tiny sheet of paper. Noticing your presence, the man flashed a dimpled smile and introduced himself before procuring a badge that was concealed behind his lapel.

“Good morning, Miss Y/N. My name is Detective Kim Namjoon, from the Seoul metropolitan police. May I ask you a few questions concerning your next-door neighbor Lee Jimin?”

prev | next

#bts yandere #bts yandere au #park jimin yandere #park jimin yandere au #jimin yandere #jimin yandere au #jimin serial killer #jimin serial killer au #park jimin serial killer #park jimin serial killer au

[wazowskiofthemikevariety]

BDRP wrimo Day 3: In script format, write the opening of your character in a popular TV series

The EX-Files, or The X-Files where Mike is Scully if Scully believed with her whole heart that not all demons/ghosts/ghouls were bad and where Sully is Mulder if Mulder didn’t believe in anything and was just using the FBI’s resources to kill everything he could find so they send in a lawyer to try and get dirt on him so they can finally fire his ass. (But spoilers, that I don’t get to since this is an opening,: They become best friends and Mike’s loyalties no longer belong to the Bureau.) 

EXT. - NIGHT - WOODS

Surrounded by trees the only sound is a man struggling to run, his BREATH and FOOTSTEPS are messy. He breaks through the brush, finally visible, but only just. He is wearing pajamas and no shoes. Odd for a romp around in the woods. At night.

He's looking over his shoulder, looking but not seeing. Something is chasing him. He looks for too long and trips over something, a branch or a root or a rock, is unknown.

He looks up. A blinding light makes his features clear, there is blood on his forehead and scratches on his cheek. He has shut his eyes against the light. 

LAUGHTER makes the man attempt to open his eyes. He shields the light with a hand, his palm is dirty and bleeding, too.

The LAUGHTER gets louder.

EXT. - DAY - WOODS

Laying face down is a man. Gloved hands turn him over to reveal he is the same man from earlier, still in his pajamas and the blood on his face has dried. 

The coroner, LEONARD QUIGGLY, a middle aged man with greying hair and thick framed glasses that match his square face, is looking the man over, frowning.

A man is taking pictures. Uniformed officers are surrounding the area with numbers and caution tape.

Two men are looking down at the corner. VICTOR is balding and stocky, he is of the mindset that it's too cold and too wet to be standing out here doing his job.

JACOBY is only a few inches taller than his partner, biting his nail as he looks on with worry. This is his first dead body. It shows.

As the coroner works Jacoby gets restless.

Victor points to the man's face, stepping so he is standing directly over the man's head.

                                              VICTOR

                          That's Nathan Weston.

                                             LEONARD

                          Is that a positive I.D.?

                                            VICTOR

                          He went to school with my son.

                                             JACOBY

                           Was it an animal?

                                            LEONARD

                                     (Shaking his head)

                          No. These markings are too precise. See here?

Leonard lifts the man's shirt. The scratches are not like the ones on the man's face. They are, as the coroner said, planned. Almost like he was used as a canvas to a drawing.

Victor tilts his head at the display. He and Leonard exchange a knowing look.

                                            VICTOR

                          Can you check his back?

Leonard turns the man in his pajamas over, lifting up his shirt. The markings are there too. But there's something else. Victor steps forwards and sighs.  

Victor walks away from the scene quickly, not looking at the other officers as he passes. He has somewhere to be that is not there.

                                            JACOBY

                                    (Looking after his partner in confusion )

                          What does that mean?

Jacoby looks at Leonard but Leonard will not meet his eyes, he is too busy looking at the man. The boy, Nathan Weston, and the cuts that adorn his body.

INT. - DAY -FBI HEADQUARTERS IN WASHINGTON D.C.

A man walks up the stairs of the entrance of the FBI building. Around him men and women pass by as they go about their day. An elevator dings, heels clack against the tile below them.

He approaches the front desk with a bright smile for the secretary sitting there.

                                             WAZOWSKI

                          Agent Michael Wazowski.

INT. - DAY -FBI HEADQUARTERS - OFFICE

MICHAEL WAZOWSKI, a young know it all whose courage outweighs his infinite amount of fear every time, walks through desks. He is taking in his surroundings, smiling at people he passes, while also making headway for where he is supposed to be.

He walks down a hallway until he stops at a door. He knocks gently three times.

                                            V.O. MAN’S VOICE

                          Enter.

Wazowski opens the door. An older man reading a newspaper is sitting at an important looking desk is inside waiting for him. His name is LANDERS, a man who once loved his job but is too old to do anything else now.

Wazowski approaches the desk.

                                            LANDERS

                          Agent Wazowski, thank you for coming on such short notice. Please, sit.

Wazowski sits as directed. His eyes drift to the two other men that are in the room. One looks younger, older than Wazowski himself, and is sitting in a chair just off to the wide of Landers’ desk. He smiles back at Wazowski when they make eye contact.

The other man is standing in the corner, not looking up from a spot on the floor. His arms are crossed and Wazowski can't really make out his expression. He can't look at him any longer, Landers is addressing him.

                                            LANDERS

                          We see you've been with us just under three years.

                                            WAZOWSKI

                          Yes, sir.

                                            LANDERS

                          You went to Law School. Passed the BAR, but decided not to practice. How did you come to work for the FBI?

                                            WAZOWSKI

                          Well, sir, I was recruited out of Law School, actually. I didn't think I would be cut out for the field work so I went ahead and took the BAR but after second thought I realized that the FBI could be a place where I could distinguish myself.

                                            LANDERS

                          Are you familiar with an Agent by the name of James P. Sullivan?

                                            WAZOWSKI

                          Yes, I am, sir.

                                            LANDERS

                          How so?

                                            WAZOWSKI

                          By...reputation. His family's name proceed's itself. He is a Yale graduated psychologist who wrote a monograph on serial killers possessed by demons, used to help catch and exorcise Jennifer Jordan in 2005. Generally thought of to be the best analyst in violent demon possessions. He had a nick name at the Academy. Scary Sullivan.  

                                            LANDERS

                          What I will also tell you is that Agent Sullivan has developed a consuming devotion to an unassigned project outside the Bureau mainstream. Are you familiar with the so called X-Files?

                                            WAZOWSKI  

                          I believe they have to do with unexplained phenomena.

                                            LANDERS

                          More or less. The reason you're here, Agent Wazowski, is we want you to assist Sullivan on these EX Files. You will write field reports on your activities along with your observations on the validity of the work.

The man in the corner looked up then. Wazowski caught his eye, faltering for a moment before looking back to Landers.

                                            WAZOWSKI

                          Am I to understand that you want me to find evidence to defraud the EX Files, sir?

                                            LANDERSw

                          Agent Wazowski, we trust your education had provided you with to make give a proper analysis to the methods that are being used on the project. You'll want to contact Agent Sullivan shortly. We look forwards to seeing your reports.

INT. - DAY - FBI HEADQUARTERS - BASEMENT

An elevator dings. Wazowski steps out into a dingy hallway that is poorly lit. There are boxes of files lining the walls. He makes his way to the end of the hall where there is barely any light left.

Wazowski knocks, in contrast they aren't as sure to the ones he had made earlier.

                                            V.O. MAN’S VOICE

                          Sorry, no body down here but the FBI's most unwanted-!

Wazowski pushes the door open anyways to find JAMES P. SULLIVAN. Bulky, spoiled, good at hiding inside himself. Confident in a way that is learned, not naturally born. He is sitting at his desk so his height is hidden for the moment. His back is turned to the door, the file he is reading open as he bends over to read it.

The office does not look like the professional ones upstairs.  There is no method to the madness. Pictures of shadow figures, of pentagrams, of people adorn the walls. Files are spilling out everywhere. Wazowski is horrified.

Still he enters.

Sullivan turns, looking up from the file. Wazowski waves.

                                            WAZOWSKI

                     (Walking forwards with his hand outstretched)

                          Agent Sullivan. I'm Michael Wazowski. I've been assigned to work with you.

                                            SULLIVAN

                    (Taking Wazowski's hand)

                          Isn't it nice to suddenly be so highly scrutinized?

Wazowski's eager demeanor shifts.

                                            SULLIVAN

                    (Going back to his file, dismissive)

                          So who did you take off to get stuck with this details? Wazowski?

                                            WAZOWSKI

                          Actually I'm really looking forwards to working with you. I've heard a lot about you. And your family.

                                            SULLIVAN

                          Oh, really? I was under the impression that my dad sent you to spy on me.

                                            WAZOWSKI

                          If you have any doubt about my qualifications or credentials-

                                            SULLIVAN

                          You're a lawyer. You teach at the Academy. Got your undergraduate degree in demonology.

Sullivan pulls a stack of papers from under a heap of files, the top few falling off. He stands, reading the top page.

                                            SULLIVAN

                          "A proposal on legal processes of Demons, Michael Wazowski, senior thesis," now that's credential, humanizing demons.

                                            WAZOWSKI

                          (Defensive)

                          Did you bother to read it?

                                            SULLIVAN

                          I did. I liked it. It's just that in most of my work demons don't necessarily sit in a court room to stand trial.  

                          Sullivan passes by Wazowski , walking to the door. He turns the lights off behind him leaving Wazowski to stand in the dark.

                                            SULLIVAN

                          Maybe I can get your opinion on this though.

Sullivan moves back into the room, turning on a projector and returning to a laptop.

On screen is a body. Nathan Weston in his pajamas, face up.

                                            SULLIVAN

                          Montana male. Age 22, no explainable cause of death. Autopsy showed nothing. Nada.

The picture changes, showing the cuts along Nathan's abdomen.

                                            SULLIVAN

                          There are, however, these lines all across his body. Not deep enough to kill him, not even deep enough to need a stitch. Lawyer Wazowski, tell me, can you I.D. these marks?

Wazowski stepped closer to the screen, apart of the projection displaying on his body as he does.

                                            WAZOWSKI

                          Claw marks, maybe? Or knife wounds made by the attacker. A rune of some kind?  

Wazowski turns back to Sullivan, who changes the slide.

                                            SULLIVAN

                          How's your chemistry? this is the chemical found on the surrounding tissue.

                                            WAZOWSKI

                          It's organic. I...don't know, is it some kind of synthetic protein?

                                            SULLIVAN

                          Beats me! I've never seen it before either. But here it is again in Astoria, Oregon, and again in Maysville, Kentucky.

The slides change. Two different bodies show on screen. Both with the same markings on their skin. Wazowski turns to look at Sullivan.

                                            WAZOWSKI

                          Do you have a theory?

                                            SULLIVAN

                          I have plenty of theories. Maybe what you could explain to me is why is Bureau policy to label these cases as unexplained phenomenon and ignore them and then expect the public to abide by laws to these creatures.

Wazowski has no answer, so he says nothing.

                                            SULLIVAN

                          You're of the mindset that demons aren't all evil? Right? That we can just, sit down and have dinner with them? Have rational conversations with them?

                                            WAZOWSKI

                          Logically, we as a society can not record all demon summoning, tears in the rift, or portal openings. We also cannot have a record of every possessed physical being walking around. And even then methods use for exorcism are barbaric, without any thought on the host until the demon is extracted. I could be a demon right now, and you'd be having a rational conversation with one, wouldn't you?

                                            SULLIVAN

                          Conventional wisdom. You know this Montana male is the fourth person in his town to die under mysterious circumstances. Now when convention and the law aren't able to give procedure to these beings, are we to just stand by and allow these things to happen just because people like you think they deserve a change to explain themselves? Would you be saying that to a human capable of these things?

                                            WAZOWSKI

                          The boy obviously died of something. If it was due to a demon it's plausible it was something missed in the postmortem, if he was murdered, it's plausible there was a sloppy investigation. What I find is the notion that you'd think an intelligent being that we know little to nothing about in the grand scheme of things would be lacking in empathy or emotion of any sort. Just because you've never run into one living a normal life here outside of the Underworld doesn't mean they aren't here. You just have to know where to look.

                                            SULLIVAN

                          That's why they put the "I" in FBI.

Sullivan smiles and walks off towards the desk he had been sitting at.

                                             SULLIVAN

                          See you tomorrow, Wazowski. Bright and early. We leave on the very first plane to Helena, Montana at 5 am. 

Wazowski stands there for a moment longer unsure of what had just happened, but he smiles because whatever it was that had happened, he had won. 

#bdrpwrimomary #i tried my best #and had to use sully because that's his partner in crime #and we don't have one so i feel as thought it was safe aha