#I really loved this when I first wrote it...

[ozlices]

another super insulting part of the watcher situation i haven't rly seen ppl addressing much

ryan deadass saying smth like "nobody else on youtube has made tv quality content"

like... i really feel like it's important to highlight that bc not only do they obviously have no respect for their audience, but that statement shows they have no respect for their peers in the industry, either.

not to mention it is a shining example of bleeding arrogance to such a high degree, you will straight up fucking lie bc you're truly convinced you're that special when you're anything but.

there's been NUMEROUS online creators who were recognized by entertainment industry workers BECAUSE they made tv quality content & even full stop blockbuster quality content.

bo burnham started on youtube & is now one of the most wellknown & loved standup comedians of our generation, with numerous netflix specials & even a movie he wrote & directed under his belt.

the try guys, fellow ex-buzzfeed employees, had their own tv specials on food network (based off their youtube shows, btw) & a documentary made about them as well

rosanna pansino has also been on numerous food network shows both as a host & a judge

quinta brunsun, another fellow ex-buzzfeed employee, went on to create her own whole ass sitcom that has been highly praised

matpat cameo'd in the fnaf movie because of his theories & multiple other fnaf creators had small cameos through the employee of the month board easter egg

markiplier made multiple high-quality shows on youtube & is now working on a highly anticipated movie (he was also planned to cameo in the fnaf movie but couldn't due to conflicting schedules with his own movie)

hot ones got their own tv gameshow due to their popularity & they are still one of the most wellknown, beloved & respected internet shows

many short films made on youtube went on to premiere at film festivals & even in theaters

the hit horror film "talk to me" was created by youtubers rackaracka

webseries of actual fucking tv shows have also existed for literal decades

the list goes on.

to seriously think that overproduced bullshit is all you need to make "tv quality content" is not only tone-deaf, but shows they do not even know what they're talking about. many tv shows & huge blockbuster movies are made with absolutely microscopic budgets & small teams, & they still get praised & awarded for the passion, dedication, & creativity that shined brightly under those restrictions.

the blair witch project is probably the most wellknown & highly praised example of this, but it is far from the Only example

it is a whole other slap in the face, again ESPECIALLY when puppet history is one of their most popular shows, to spit in the face of internet history. to see the success of their predecessors, even ppl they fucking worked with at buzzfeed, & deny them of all their success & efforts to get where they ended up.

no, y'all are not the first people to make "tv quality content" on the internet. FAR from it. because your crap isn't even genuine "tv quality".

but you are the first ones to ever disrespect not only your audience, but your own fucking industry & your peers on this level.

& you are the first & i sorely hope the only fuckwads dumb enough to pull a stunt this fucking stupid, out of touch & utterly tone deaf.

#mine #watcher #sorry this is hopefully my last post but this pretention grated me #& im floored nobody has mentioned it #like sincerely how fucking dare you? what the fuck is wrong with you? #how far up your ass is that building long stick??? #not to mention youtube is 18 fucking years old. #it is literally statistically impossible for a website as huge as youtube is to exist that long #& never have any 'tv quality' content on it. be mother fucking serious. #many ytbers were recognized by entertainment industry marvels BECAUSE they made content that was already tv quality #fuck off.

[coco-loco-nut]

Iconic

pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

summary: you make it your life goal to embarrass Oscar and annoy him, keeping things fun in his life

masterlist

———————————

“He’s so cute,” a girl sighs in the McLaren fan zone.

“He really is,” you smile, leaning against the barrier.

“Oh my god, hi!” the girl gasps, recognizing you from your boyfriend’s Instagram. You haven’t had social media since you were cyber bullied in middle school, so you were a mystery to his fans. It also let you go to fan zone and have fun with them. You also run a fan page for Oscar on Instagram.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind that I am standing here?” you say, holding a folded poster in one of your hand and an arm full of friendship bracelets that Oscar helped you make.

“Not at all, oh my god. Sorry, it’s just that you are so iconic,” the girl says and you quirk your eyebrow.

“How so?”

“You don’t have social media which is iconic, but all the fans know how nice you are, and you are always hanging out with us here,” one of her friends say, you nod along.

“Of course I would be here, I gotta support Papaya boys,” you smile. “Wanna help me embarrass Osc?” you ask the group around you.

“It would legit be our honor,” the one laughs, you laugh with her.

“Here,” you take off some friendship bracelets and exchange them with the girls.

“You are the best WAG,” another girl says and you blush a little, dutifully putting on each bracelet.

“I really do try. I even run a fan account for Osc,” you laugh, not revealing more than that.

“No way, that’s actually icon behavior,” the first girl says and you grin.

“Want to see the sign?” you ask, excited to show your latest sign off. Oscar tried to look but you refused to even work on it until he left the hotel.

“Yes!” you are quick to unfold the sign. Your neat handwriting carefully placed each letter just large enough so Oscar could read it.

“Omg, I can’t wait to see his reaction,” one of the fans say, the area is brimming full now, ready for the drivers to come out in a couple minutes.

“Make sure you get pictures of his reaction, he’s so cute when he’s embarrassed,” you giggle, getting ready to hold the sign in front of you as Lando walk onto the stage, excited to see what you wrote this time. He reads it and laughs, turning towards where Oscar is entering. You watch his brows furrow as he reads it. Oscar- I want to eat you up like a pastry :). The Australian’s face turns bright red as he laughs and winks at you, trying to hide his awkward embarrassment at the pickup line. It wasn’t your best, but it was the perfect amount of cringe. Lando gives you a thumbs up from the stage.

“You were right, his face was priceless,” the fan says as you watch Oscar push back his mousy brown hair before putting the hat back on. You swear you might be drooling while watching him, but you catch his gaze falling on you too.

“I LOVE YOU OSCAR!” you yell as he waves goodbye to the fans, giving you a wink. You make sure all of your friendship bracelets are given away before thanking the fans for being cool about you chilling with them. You head back to the paddock, scanning your pass, and beelining to the McLaren motorhome.

“Y/n, can I have that sign?” Lando asks and you happily hand it over.

“As long as you don’t use it to steal my man, have at it,” you chuckle as the Brit hugs you in thanks before walking away.

“Eat me like a pastry?” Oscar gives you an amused smile. “You do know my parents watch that, right?” His favorite thing about you his your playfulness, you can be serious when needed, but your teasing and jests keep his life fun.

“Oh, I know, your mom helped me with that one, the fans loved it too,” you laugh. “You did look so hot up there,” you slightly exaggerate checking him out.

“Why don’t we go back to my drivers room and you show me how you’d like to eat me?” Oscar whispers in your ear, trying to seduce you, but you resist.

“Oh, I’d probably start with the thighs, best muscle to fat ratio in my opinion. Hm, now I’m kinda hungry, what is in hospitality?” you ask, moving towards the food area. Oscar wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you back towards him as he picks you up to carry you to his room.

“Nope, don’t start things you can’t finish,” he says, clearly a little hot and bothered.

“Osc, I’m not a cannibal, I don’t actually eat humans,” you tease, not giving up on what you started. Oscar clearly had a different interpretation, maybe the right one, maybe not.

“Shut up before I make you shut up,” Oscar growls in your ear, quickly turning you on and making you drop the joke.

“Yes, Mister Piastri,” you say, knowing it’s affect on him as he drags you into his room, locking the door behind him. Oscar was a couple minutes late to his meeting, Lando holding back giggles as Oscar walks into the room.

“I see the fans aren’t the only ones who love Y/n,” Lando whispers to Oscar, who shoots him a glare. Meanwhile, you scroll Instagram using your fan page, laughing as some of them post the pic of you and the sign, the comments calling on your to reveal yourself via the fan page. You make a post about it as well just to blend in, thirsting over Oscar as well. You can’t imagine if he ever finds out about the account.

“Good luck, Osc. Drive safe,” you kiss him before he puts his helmet on.

“I am always safe,” he gives you his usual awkward smile, you smile back as he puts his helmet on. He squeezes your hand before walking over to the car. You take a seat in the garage, the headphones unflattering as always.

Your stomach drops as there is a crash late in the race, but you are instantly relieved when you realize that Oscar made in through and no one was hurt. He ends up in P2 for the race and you join the team in celebrating at the podium.

“Thank you for being my number one fan, even when you run a secret fan account,” Oscar hugs you in his drivers room.

“How? What?” you play if off but he just laughs, pulling out his phone.

“My private account follows you,” oscar laughs, and you just stare at him.

“That’s actually you? I thought it was a fan,” you quickly pull out your phone and request to follow his account, which he immediately accepts so that you can see all the cute posts he makes about you.

“Stop, Osc, you’re basically running a fan account for me,” you say, admiring his posts, including one from today of you holding the sign. You quickly type a comment that has the other drivers replying like crazy claiming that they found your secret account.

“You two decent?” Mark Weber’s voice says through the door, after a confirmation from Oscar, he lets himself in.

“Why wouldn’t we be decent, Mark?” you ask from the couch.

“I used to be a driver too, and after your fan zone sign nothing is off the table,” Mark shrugs causing you and Oscar to blush. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you great race, I will see you in a few days,” Mark tells Oscar before leaving the room again. You still aren’t sure how Oscar was able to bag the former F1 driver as his manager. Oscar yawns and you notice how tired he is, sleepy Oscar is your favorite version of Oscar.

“Alright, let’s get you back to the hotel, first loser,” you tease, helping him gather his things to leave.

“Hey,” he groans at the jab.

“You could be Lando NoWins, my love,” turning your jests onto his teammate.

“That is true,” Oscar yawns, holding your hand as he leads you to his chauffeured car.

“Osc, would you marry me if I was a worm?”

“Who said I’d marry you at all?”

“Alright, that’s it, I’m deleting your fan page,” you pull out your phone. Oscar basically tackles you in the back seat as he lunges for the phone.

“I take it back, I’ll marry you right now if you want,” Oscar pleads.

“Who said I wanted to marry you? Do I look like a worm?” you retort, putting your phone away. Oscar just sighs in defeat.

“God gives is strongest people his greatest challenges, I’m not strong enough for this,” he groans a few seconds later, the tiredness setting in.

“Sorry, baby, I promise you will get unlimited cuddles when we get back to the room,” you smile softly, holding his hand tight.

“I love you,” he whispers, his beautiful brown eyes gazing into your eyes.

“I love you too.”

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #lando norris #unhinged behavior

[januaryembrs]

THE KID HITS BACK | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [4]

Description: The THREE times things feel weird between Spencer and you because you're just best friends.

Length: 21k (this is HALF of what I wrote for this chapter before I split it into two parts :0)

Warnings: explicit hints of suicidal ideation, as I have said in the last two chapters, Bugsy has really struggled with losing Emily and has been in a bad place. it is mentioned once or twice but please read with caution if you feel topics of mental health, not vividly described but the effects of it, are mentioned. Spencer's addiction is also mentioned. Violence, blood, swearing, usual CM warnings. Also there is a brief mention of SA (bugsy gets spanked by a stranger in a casino), again if this is triggering please be cautious. EXPLOSION. Emily and bug argue + fight. Bug + hatch fight. Bugsy takes no prisoners in this one won't lie. Spencer and bugsy turn each other on accidentally.

authors note: this was supposed to be a lot longer (I've had to split it with the next part released in a few days time) and yet every time I tried to upload to Tumblr, it crashed because it was over 30k words ;-; OTHER HALF IS COMING SOON.

previous chpt | next chapter

The one where Emily comes back.

She felt the headache as soon as she woke up. She’d experimented with Molly her first week of college, hated every second of it after she had prattled on for two hours to some other random freshman about the breakthrough research in enzyme-replacement therapy like she was catching him up on an episode of the Kardashians. She’d tried the odd few brownies, though they usually turned her stomach the next day and made her paranoid for about a week, before she swore them off entirely for their yummy, sober counterpart. 

She should have known what to expect when she woke up, but then again, if she had been smart enough to pre-empt how awful she’d feel the next day, she probably wouldn’t have taken the little pink pill with a candied love heart on the top at all. 

The duvet was soft against her face, and for a moment she didn’t care about anything except chasing the warmth it provided; just that she was cosy and it smelled nice, smelled familiar. 

Her eyes pinged open when she realised that whatever that familiar smell was, it was very much not her own sheets. And she was very much not in the clothes she left the house in last night. 

Bugsy sat up too fast, that much she knew, because in the time it had taken her to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, reach for the side table where she hoped to find her phone, a home phone, or just any working phone she could call someone off, she felt the room that smelled like a dream spinning around her. 

Her legs turned to jelly, her stomach tossed with a mix of nerves and nausea, and, graceful as ever, she fell face first to the ground with a thud, smacking her temple off the corner of the bedpost on her way down. 

“Fuck,” She whined, raising a hand to her brow that thudded with more than the side affects of last night, and she was quick to hear footsteps approaching as if in a half run. The door to the bedroom dragged on the thick sherpa carpet as it swung open, and she blinked wearily up at the culprit. 

“Alright, up we get,” There were hands slipping under hers before she got a chance to see anything that wasn’t a blurry mess of brown hair and worried eyes, and it wasn’t until she heard his voice she felt herself sigh in relief, “Of course you wake up the second I turn around,”

“Sencer?,” She cleared her throat, hands latching onto his shoulders as he lifted her back onto the bed, “Spencer?” She tried again, her lips chapped, her skin clammy. 

“Good morning, to you too,” His voice was soft, quieter than usual, like he knew just how delicate her head was and changed his tone accordingly, “Did you sleep well?”

“Morgan- where’s Morgan, I thought we…” She murmured, turning her head in confusion to the window where Spence had gone so far as to pull the curtains closed for her, seeing just the smallest crack of daylight filtering over the bed sheets. Her hands ran down his chest, her eyes lost and dazed, like someone had taken her batteries out, and Spencer took it as an opportunity to hand her the glass of water he’d got her and two advil. 

“Morgan’s safe; he went home, he said he had a wonderful night,” Spencer lied, hoping she was just a little out of it that she didn’t catch him in it. She always knew when he was lying. But, as he’d suspected, she barely picked up on it, her lips pouting in confusion when she took note of the medicine he’d given her, “Drink up, Morgan said you did a lot of dancing last night, you’re probably dehydrated.”

“I did…” She echoed him, trailing off when the blur of the nightclub caught up to her, and she remembered exactly the last time someone had handed her a little tablet like those ones. Her heart plummeted, her eyes widening into saucers, and she swore she might have felt the glass crack beneath her palm with how tight her grip became. She looked up at him, and instantly picked apart the pity and the sadness swimming in his honey pooled eyes, “You know,” 

He nodded softly, his hand coming up to stroke her hair away from her face, his gaze falling to where she felt something sore and achy forming on her forehead, bleeding into her brow. 

“Spence-” Her own groan of pain cut her off when he brushed over the bump on her temple, and she understood she had perhaps hit it much harder than she’d initially thought.

“Let’s get you breakfast, and then we’ll talk,” He whispered softly, concern thick in his voice, and for the first time in months, she didn’t fight it. She just listened, and let him love her.

-

“God, I am truly pathetic,” She muttered, sipping her coffee with a scowl in between the maple ladened pancakes going down with a vicious chomp on her fork. Her other hand was occupied holding a bag of frozen peas to her head, where a nice dark bruise was spreading its way over the right side of her face, spider webbing out into a black eye. 

“You’re not pathetic, everyone makes mistakes,” Spencer tried reassuring her, but he couldn’t help but smile as she devoured breakfast with the anger of a raccoon being dragged from a garbage bin, “You’re safe, that’s all that matters,” 

She sighed, and Spencer didn’t actually think she had ever been so grumpy around him before, “Spencer, look at me,” He did, he had been all morning, but he did as he was told anyway, “I’m a federal agent who took molly from a frat boy all because I can’t just grieve like a normal person and cry my pathetic little heart out and be done with it. I crashed your night because I can’t even handle a little ecstasy without needing supervision and I just got into a fight with your bedframe,” She finished with a huff, dipping her next mouthful of pancake in the puddle of maple syrup she’d created on the plate, “And the fucking bedframe won.” 

He smiled despite himself, reaching out to hold her wrist gently, making sure it was her turn to listen to him now, “Bug, I grew up being shoved into lockers and swirlied my whole life. I was the only kid in a classful of seniors that used to wedgie me so hard I had to have the school librarian, Mrs Addler, walk me between classes. Believe me, I’ve seen pathetic and you’re not- why are you crying, Bug, don’t cry,”

He remembered this bit, the mood swings, when he would pendulum between exhaustion and irritation straight into sadness and hopelessness, like there would never be an impasse between them unless he did more of the thing that had made him feel so awful in the first place. Still, he gently took the bag of now slightly soggy peas from her head, wrapping an arm around her back and scooching his chair to sit next to hers as she dropped onto his shoulder with a weepy sniff. 

“I’m crying because I just thought of baby you all alone with Mrs Addler-” She sobbed loudly, and his heart bled out in his chest with warmth. No one had ever cried for him. “How could they be so cruel to you, I swear if we ever see those bastards, I’ll show them how we settled things in Russia-” 

He chuckled, shaking his head, and she snuggled closer to him the way she had last night when the only thing keeping her on earth had been his body heat. 

“It wasn’t all bad, she used to share her butterscotch with me,” He said with a small smile when she raised a wet glance at him. 

“You know, you never have to be alone again, right?” Bugsy murmured, and he swore his heart might have just jumped right up into his mouth then and there, “You’re my best friend in the whole world, and I promise I’ll never leave you again. That was… selfish of me, I’m sorry I was so selfish.” 

Spencer felt his throat tighten as he looked at her, innocent and entirely truthful, like he could ask anything from her right this second and her god’s honest words would be ‘Anything for you, Spencer, I’d do anything for you.’ He had never had anyone look at him like that, nothing even close. 

“You’re my best friend too. And you weren’t selfish, you were grieving,” He choked out, and she tucked herself beneath his chin then, satisfied with the response, but his stomach turned sour when he remembered what he was going to tell her last night, what he should have told her months, years, ago instead of lying to her. Because he knew she would understand, knew she would get him the way no one else had even tried to, because she was just her. “I have to tell you something,”

She sat up straight, sensing the seriousness in his tone, and looked at him with imploring eyes, still sleep-addled and slightly wet around the edges. 

He cleared his throat, “When I told you I was allergic to narcotics since I was born, that wasn’t entirely true, and I’m sorry I lied to you,” Her brows softened, creasing in a way that told him she was worried, or she knew where he was heading but couldn’t find a voice in her to say anything. He ran clammy palms over his pyjama pants, “There was a case, a while back, where we were tracking an UnSub to this farmhouse in the middle of Atlanta. Me and JJ got split up and the UnSub took me hostage in his father’s shed,” 

She stayed quiet, but she quickly took his hand in hers when she saw him fidgeting with it in his lap. He smiled at her weakly, and squeezed her fingers gently, telling her he was okay to talk about it no matter if his chest was rattling and his face felt like fire. 

“He was very sick, the UnSub. Tobias. He took on an alter of his dead father because he couldn't handle life without him. Even though his father was extremely violent and abusive, he still loved him enough to never want to let him go,” His lip pulled between his teeth for a moment, and he couldn’t look at her for what he was about to say, “Tobias tried giving me something to stop the pain of his father’s beatings when he would front and being a drug addict himself, the best thing he had was dilaudid. So, he gave it to me for the three days I was with him before the team found me,” 

“Spence,” She said softly, knowing he would hate to hear an ‘I’m sorry’ because she hated those two words with a passion, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” 

“No, I want to, it’s just a little… fuzzy in parts,” He whispered, and she nodded, gently knocking her head against his jaw to let him know she was there to listen, “After the case wrapped up, everyone got home and just sort of pretended things went back to normal, even though I felt like I was drowning in everything that had happened, and the only thing I could think that had stopped the pain was the dilaudid. So I took more, and more, until I was using every other day, sometimes even at work to cope with the cases,”

“Did anyone know?” She asked, lips pressed tight as she scolded herself for talking, but he stroked her hand with his thumb to show he didn’t care if she asked questions, “Did Emily know?” 

He nodded gingerly, “Everyone knew, but no one could do anything, or say anything, because otherwise Hotch would have to file a report on me, and I’d be forced to leave the team,” 

“So no one helped?” She said, and there was an unexpected trace of anger in her tone that he knew too well. He’d be lying if he said that there were more than a handful of times when he was at his lowest he didn’t curse the team out for not giving a single shit about his condition. But when he’d sobered up, when he’d got clean and back to his usual self, he knew they were trying to do what was best, that they were in uncharted waters as to what would be the correct approach to helping him that wouldn’t diffuse a bomb that could ruin all of their careers. 

“There was nothing they could do, Bug. If they said anything they would be just as liable as me for what I was doing, the same way Morgan and I aren’t going to say a word about what happened last night,” He pointed out, and she seemed bitter as if she knew he was right but hated the point of it anyway. 

She held onto herself for long enough hearing that, and he saw it coming before it came as a shock when she threw her arms around him, hugging him tighter than she ever had before, not crying like she had been, but full to the brim of sadness and grief and mourning, as if she was trying to squeeze it all out of him so she could take it on for herself. 

“You’re never going to be alone again, I swear, Spencer,” 

And he believed her with everything in him. 

–

Bugsy had been back in the field for five weeks now, looking healthier than ever thanks to Hotch’s insistence she joined Beth for triathlon practice despite the fact she really had started feeling more like herself. 

It had only taken six months, but who was counting, right? 

Sure, walking past Emily’s desk had stopped her in her tracks the first day she got back, and Morgan had quickly jumped in to distract her with a cup of coffee, leading her over to the kitchenette and far away from the empty table her sister’s things had once been on. 

She was still adjusting to this alternate reality version of the BAU where Emily wasn’t there to protect her and watch out for her, and where they didn’t bicker about who got to ride shotgun with Hotch because Bug loved when he would drive fast (he pretended not to notice but would floor it when they hit the freeway), or when they would butt heads over who finished off the biscuits Emily kept in her secret stash (it was almost always Bugsy sharing them with Spencer and Penelope, when the three of them would gossip in Pen’s lair at lunchtime.)

She was adjusting, slowly yes, but there was one thing to keep her going, to keep her holding her head high as she walked past Emily’s picture on the way, full of smiles and dark hair the day she’d been instated in the bureau, her excitement tangible even through a piece of paper and a thin sheet of glass. 

There was one thing keeping her going, and it wasn’t Penelope’s cheerful good mornings she showered her in the minute she entered the building, it wasn’t Beth’s runs that would take everything out of her even though she felt stronger than she ever had, it wasn’t Rossi’s insistence on cooking for her once or twice a week because ‘he had more wine he could ever need alone and she could stir the pasta while he chopped the meat’, and it wasn’t even Spencer sticking to her side like damn velcro since she had been back. Although, they played a pretty big part in it. 

No, the one thing keeping her going was revenge. 

Morgan had let it slip accidentally, the morning she had come back into the headquarters to fill in some forms with Hotch and Strauss before Hotch was reassigned to Pakistan, when she had slinked into his office with an apology ready at her lips for the way she had behaved, to which he was going to say he had no idea what she was talking about because that was how things had to be, only to find file upon file upon caseload on Ian Doyle splayed all over his desk, and she quickly realised Derek was not one to let sleeping dogs lie either. 

And, reluctantly, he had let her help, because he hated the idea of them keeping secrets from her. Especially ones that involved them secretly tracking down the guy who killed her sister, who had threatened to abduct, torture and kill her if Emily hadn’t gone after him first. 

Because Bugsy was always going to be her little sister, no matter how grown and headstrong and stubborn as an ass she was. And Emily had had zero intention of letting Bugsy come even close to danger at the hands of Ian Doyle or any other motherfucker dumb enough to think they’d get away unscathed making threats to her sister. Which was why Emily had been the one to track him down first, no matter who she had to trample on, what lines she had to cross.

And now it was Bug’s turn to reciprocate the favour. 

The one thing that bounced around her head with every step she took across the BAU floor was how Ian Doyle would look when she dragged him to hell and back and everything in between, when she made him burn the way she had burnt. 

Hotch had been away on temporary duty for the month, bar the occasional phone call where he checked in on her directly or through Spencer, and it wasn’t until she walked into Morgan in a blunt exchange with his own cell that she realised he was perhaps closer to coming home than she’d thought.

The man nodded, and bid the mystery caller goodbye before he flicked a look up to where Bugsy had entered his office with a cup of to-go coffee and an expression of intrigue. 

“We got him,” Morgan said, and it was the three words she had been waiting to hear for two hundred and fifteen days. 

They had found Doyle. 

She was in the back of an SUV not even two hours later, strapped to her neck with tactical gear and two loaded pistols holstered at her hips. 

“You’re sure you’re alright to do this?” JJ asked from her place beside her, noting the way the girl’s leg was bouncing, her fingers twitching as the three of them crowded around the screen linked to the surveillance camera set up outside Doyle’s apartment, Spencer and David watching an identical feed in the next block over, outside the safe house his son, Declan, was supposed to be in. 

Only, when they’d arrived, the little blonde haired, blue eyed boy that was the only thing Doyle gave a damn about in the world was gone, two agents and his nanny lying dead on the floor. 

“Put it this way, JJ, I’m going in after that son of a bitch whether you guys cover me or not, and it would be real nice to have back up,” Bugsy said simply, like she was reciting the weather, not ready to rain hellfire on anyone who got in between her and wringing Doyle’s neck. 

The blonde woman exchanged a look with Derek, the two of them cautious about her behaviour, but thought better than to try stop her when she had just as much right as any of them for justice. 

Before any of them could say another word, a car sped around the corner of the cul-de-sac, veering and wavering between parked cars, narrowly missing theirs by an inch, and red-blue blaring lights came racing after it within seconds, the siren full blast and no doubt waking the neighbours. 

Or at least one neighbour in particular, as they spotted the curtains twitching in Doyle’s apartment, and they had their first sign of life in hours. 

“He’s in there, someone’s in there,” Bugsy pointed to where the fabric moved in the dead of the night, unholstering one of her weapons and bursting the back door to the SUV open. 

JJ clicked her radio on, speaking into her shoulder as Morgan was a hair width behind Bugsy, equally armed and ready, “We got movement on Doyle, we’re heading up to search his apartment,” 

“Be careful, keep an eye on the kid,” Rossi ordered, he and Spencer adjusting their positions in their SUV, waiting for forensics to show up and investigate the nanny’s house. Spencer licked his lips nervously, and he could only imagine what was going through Bugsy’s mind at that moment, wishing more than ever she could have just stayed with him and let Morgan and JJ catch Doyle. 

But she would never. She had nearly ripped Rossi’s head off for suggesting it even. 

–

She’d seen him move up to the roof, had taken the stairs in twos, and she felt like kissing Aaron the second she saw him for all that cardio paying off a treat. She heard Morgan panting behind her, urging her to wait up so she wasn’t going in alone, but she didn’t listen, not when she was this close to getting that rat in her grasp and squeezing the life out of him barehanded. 

She kicked down the door leading to the roof from the stairwell, her pistol drawn high and sharp and Morgan’s steps racing up behind her were the only sound for a moment. 

He was here somewhere, watching them, god only hoped they had caught him unaware before he could call in his own backup. 

Taking a careful step out onto the concrete, willing herself to take a deep breath and calm herself; she checked her nine o’clock, checked her three, before her boots crunched under her and she moved further out onto the roofing. Flicking a look around again, her eyes squinted against the moonlight that did little to no good, searching for even the smallest movements that would give him away. 

“I heard you wanted to see me, Doyle,” She said loudly, hoping he would fit the profile they’d put together and want to tie up his loose ends once he realised who she was, “Truth is, I’ve been wanting to see you too,”

She had barely a second to react as she felt something hard slam across the back of her head, and she realised he had hit her with a rogue, loose pipe, hard enough for her to stumble forward, dropping her pistol when his body soon followed to tackle her completely to the ground in the effort to grab for the gun himself. 

But she felt like body was alive with excitement, like the pain in her skull didn’t ache, didn’t matter, because she had him in her reach. 

It took her barely a second to bring her elbow into his stomach, winding him hard enough he weakened his grip on top of her, then another hit square across his jaw, another to his temple, one to his already crooked nose and she threw a downward thump into his groin for good measure. 

He hissed, cursing her something vile, and it was only then she saw the grey-blue eyes of the man who had killed her sister with no remorse, who had taken the person she loved unconditionally within a blink of an eye. 

“You recognise me?” She said, a manic smile on her face as she raised the other gun from its holster, kicking him hard in the knee she’d seen him limping on, a bullet wound shaped scar giving his weakness away in seconds.

She wasn’t the only enemy he’d made in that business of his, but she sure as hell would be his last one.  

He fell to the floor, his eyes wary as he looked up at the girl he had spent weeks collating photos of, the girl he’d had two of his best men tracking, snapping pictures of her going about her day to day life before he sent them to Emily. Because she would know what that meant no words needed. 

This was her sister. Her little sister she had fought tooth and nail for, that she had given her life for. Her sister, who had the same rock solid loyalty to her family as Lauren had. 

“Do you want to know where you went wrong, Doyle?” She asked, and her voice wasn’t calm like her body was, it was hiding the glee she was taking from his alarmed expression, like they both knew she was the last person he would have expected to be grabbing him in the night, “Your mistake, Doyle, was not killing me first,” 

She raised her finger to the trigger, feeling for a second the same thrill as when she popped that molly just to forget everything that was happening. Because she had tunnel vision, and pulling the plug on Ian Doyle’s pathetic existence was the solution. 

Until Morgan’s hand came over hers, and his voice was closer than she’d expected to her ear. She’d barely heard him creep up on her, she realised with a jolt. 

“Don’t do this, kid,” 

“He deserves it,” She spat, hating the sorrow in his voice when he pointed the gun away from Doyle who wiped his fingers beneath his nostrils and pulled back with a wince and a blob of blood over the back of his hand. 

“I know he does. But we need to find Declan, and we can’t do that without him,” Morgan’s voice was deep and bitter, knowing full well he had to be the one to take the reins as much as he would love to just let her have at him. 

Her nose scrunched in disgust when Doyle laughed at her annoyance, and she quickly holstered her weapon, pulling the cuffs out of her back pocket and helping Morgan yank him off the floor. 

“I got some friends that would love to meet you, honey,” Doyle said through a wheezing breath, despite Morgan’s rough hands shoving him forward towards the stairwell. 

She chuckled however, her face still bitter, her eyes something nasty and wild as she flanked his other side, “Don’t worry, I have some friends for you to play with too, Doyle.” She tightened her grip on his arm just to make it hurt, “I wonder how the Chernuses would feel about you and your men being so close to their turf. You ever fucked with the Russian Mob, Ian?”

His smile wiped clean off his face at that.

-

“How’s it going?” Hotch asked, and she barely had time to comment on the fact he looked rather dashing with a beard and a tan, or that he had lost ten pounds, before he was straight back to business, even after an eighteen hour flight. 

“He won’t talk. He said the only person who could have helped us find Gerace would have been Emily.” She replied, rubbing her hands over her eyes with a huff, “Just another dead end,” She threw the file onto the roundtable, which was slowly piling up with documents relating to anyone Ian Doyle had ever had relations with.

Hotch’s face tightened. He took a single moment to enjoy the calm that overcame the room, took a second to enjoy the fact she was looking normal and healthy compared to when he had all but barged into her apartment to force her on a run. 

Because he knew the normalcy they had found themselves in now was about to be flipped on its head, JJ confirming with a nod from the other side of the room that she was on her way. 

He turned to look where Morgan, Rossi and Reid had walked in, Reid stroking a gentle hand over Bugsy’s hair where she hunched over the table and flicked through some files for anything to keep her mind off of going into that interrogation room and ripping into Doyle. She flicked a small smile up at him as he passed her, leaning over her shoulder to take half her workload off her. 

She looked happier than she had in months, and he was about to take it all away again. Hotch swallowed the self loathing that threatened to choke him alive, and opened his mouth. 

“Everybody have a seat,” The team looked up at him in confusion, but followed orders, JJ moving around the table to stand beside him, the same reluctant look on her face when she saw Bugsy’s frown.

“Why?” Morgan asked, seeing as no one else was going to, “What’s going on? Everything alright?”

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team,” Hotch began, his eyes immediately flicking to where the youngest Prentiss faltered, “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. But the doctors were able to stabilise her,” 

Bugsy’s ears started ringing just hearing her sister’s name coming from his lips, said so casually and blunt that it felt like he had punched her in the stomach and she thought she was maybe over estimating how well she had overcome the grief. 

And that hadn’t even been the worst part, she quickly realised. The doctors were able to stabilise her. 

“And she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration. Her identity was strictly need to know. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security,” Hotch said, avoiding the piercing eyes that were slowly melting between confusion to heartache to one she finally could land on, horror. 

No one breathed for a moment, no one said a thing as the words sunk in, and she felt her entire body wash over with a gut wrenching numbness as it dawned on her what he was saying. 

Emily never died on that table like JJ had said. She had never died at all. 

“What?” Her voice was tiny and childlike when it came out, and she felt like she was stuck in the world’s worst nightmare, like she could claw and scratch and rip at her skin just to wake herself up from this terrifying dream where Hotch had lied and Emily had left her and everyone who was supposed to care about her had kept her in the dark. 

“She’s alive?” Garcia asked, tears in her own green lined eyes, looking at Hotch with utter shock. 

“But we buried her,” Spencer found it in himself to murmur, because none of this made sense and if any of what Hotch was saying was true, then he knew things were about to become really ugly. 

“As I said I take full responsibility for the decision; if anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me,” And it was only then he looked at Bugsy fully, properly, since he had opened his mouth. 

He could have swore he had never seen such complete and utter betrayal written across someone’s face, let alone directed towards him. Because he knew that’s what it was. He knew he had taken every scrap and shred of trust she had placed in him since that day she ran away from her own wedding and found herself stuck in that very same office, hugging him tightly with her sodden veil and even more soaked white dress, he had taken everything vulnerable she had ever given him and spat it right back at her. 

He felt like crying but before he could think too hard about it, he saw Emily walking down the hall and her own face was just as, if not more, devastated than his own and he knew he had to be the one to stay strong. 

Garcia’s head snapped to the doorway, the sight of it leading Spencer and Rossi to do the same, and Morgan’s face morphed into anguish when he took a look for himself. 

Because there, looking like a glowing beacon of everything they’d been missing in seven months, was Emily Prentiss, alive and well. 

She seemed lost for words, her eyes falling to her sister who seemed to force herself to look up at her from where she was staring in wide eyed terror at the table, as if she was struggling to comprehend any of this, or like the building was falling down around her and she was in complete fight, flight or freeze. 

But she did, she looked up at her after a second, her face unrecognisable to Emily for a moment, and it took all of three moments where she seemed relieved to see her, before it curled into a vitriolic anger Emily had never, never seen from her. 

She looked like she was ready to kill her with her bare hands herself. 

Penelope was first out of her seat, practically flying across the room to grab her close friend in a hug, a complete bubble of sobs and wails, her pigtails shaking with her rattling chest as Emily hugged her tight to her. 

“Oh, my god, it’s real-you’re real- like I can actually touch you and you’re safe and not in that god awful box-” Penelope was a catalyst for the rest of the team standing up to take their turn crying on the woman’s shoulder. 

That is, the rest of the team except Bugsy. 

She remained in her seat, her gaze falling back to the mess of files that all of a sudden felt a complete waste of time, felt irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Who cared who was Doyle’s financial advisor between the years of 2005 and 2007 when Emily was alive and they had known the whole time. 

And the more she thought, the more furious she got. And then the more furious she got, the stiller she became; an atomic bomb ready to detonate at the slightest prod. 

“I am so sorry, I really am,” Emily said as Spencer had wrapped his giant arms around her tentatively, smelling her perfume and feeling his heart ache with how warm and alive and healthy her body felt. “Not a day went by that I didn’t-”

But a sound cut her off, one none of them were expecting in the slightest. 

Bugsy was laughing. 

Not the sweet chirp she normally gave, or the hearty one that came from her gut that they hadn’t heard in months, but something manic. Something frenzied, beserk. Deranged. 

Hotch’s head snapped to her, Emily’s too, though she had already taken note of the fact her sister hadn’t so much as moved from her feet, and stupidly she had hoped it was the shock sinking in. 

But her eyes were cruel, her teeth more of a snarl than a smile and the laugh she gave was that of a person over the edge. 

The straw that broke the camel’s back, she believed it was called. 

“She never made it off the table,” Bugsy imitated woefully, her eyes snapping to JJ, who felt smaller than she ever had under the hatred in them, though the girl’s nasty smile hadn’t let up, “You are good, Jennifer. You really got me there, hey maybe if the agent thing doesn’t work out then acting is alway an option for you,”

“Bug-” Hotch started, only for her to stand up so harshly her chair nearly tipped back, but she didn’t seem to care as she rounded the table towards him in a bitter chuckle. 

“And you! I didn’t know you had it in you. But very good, Hotch, very well played out. For a second I thought you actually gave a fuck about me,” She fist bumped his shoulder, a little harsher than something innocent behind it, before something spiteful settled in her tone, “But then again, you are nothing if not professional, aren’t you? I guess a suicide on your team would look terrible on your report card,”

“I think you need to calm down and let’s talk about this for a second,” Hotch tried to jump in, his brows furrowed enough to make him look annoyed but anyone with two eyes could see the worry that brewed there, that chased her as she retreated to where her jacket was slung over the back of her seat. She laughed again viciously, shaking her head. Grabbing her coat, she headed for the door where Emily stood helplessly, not knowing what to say for the best, and she thought for a minute her little sister was going to address her. 

But she didn’t; didn’t even look her way as she approached, and it wasn’t until Hotch rounded the room after her with a fixed gaze she showed any sign of stopping. Not until he reached for her arm with a tight grip, a call of her name, did she even halt in her step. 

“Stop, let’s just talk,”

“Let go of me,” Bugsy snapped, and it was the first time she actually gave way to the anger she felt, the amusement coming from a place of distraught long gone. She sounded pissed.

“Listen to me, we had no choice here,” Hotch barked, because it was the only way he could communicate when he felt this lost. And that’s what he was; he was losing her. They all were. “And I would have thought you’d be able to stop being so spoiled for one god damn second to see we were protecting-”

Her palm whirled around faster than he could have ever anticipated, slapping clean and sharp against his cheek, hard enough the air was sucked out of the room and his words died in his throat. 

Penelope gasped. Spencer’s eyes widened. Emily took a heavy gulp. 

“Bugsy!” Emily said in horror, and it was then her little sister’s eyes actually set on hers, every bit as cruel and hateful she’d expected.

“I want nothing to do with you, do you hear me? I don’t want to talk to you, or see you, don’t even speak that name, I don’t want it from you anymore,” Bugsy pointed at her with crooked, bitten nails Emily knew all too well, “You left me. You left me.”

With those three choked words, the other’s could only watch hurricane Bugsy whirl and burn and crash her way out of the room.

–

She sat on the steps to the federal building, perfectly dressed agents filtering around her with the occasional tut in disgust. 

She couldn’t really blame them; her face was wet with tears, she was pretty sure there was snot running out of her nose hastily, and between her free hand, the other of which was pulling at her hair, was a cigarette that swirled its grey smoke around her head with a horribly addictive smell. 

She heard footsteps approaching her from the back, different from the rest, and felt someone stop beside her, sliding to their ass on the step.

“Spencer, if you’re going to tell me this is taking seven minutes off my life then please can it wait for another day-” Bugsy started with a tearful cadence, only to be cut off by a woman’s voice. 

“I was actually going to ask if you had a lighter,” Erin Strauss said, pulling her own menthol cigarette between her lips, and Bugsy dug around her pocket for the cheap ‘I <3 Virginia’ lighter she had snagged on New Years, clicking the flame out long enough for her boss’s boss to light the tip, “I heard you gave Aaron a shock,”

Bugsy stayed silent, taking a drag that burnt her lips and tasted awful, but it was the only thing she could turn to that would calm her even in the slightest, even if it was just the chemicals.

“Bit of an understatement,” She mused, exhaling softly with a frown, “Did you know?” 

“Are you going to slap me too if I said yes?” Erin asked, and Bugsy gave a small, wet chuckle, shaking her head, “Would it matter if I did?”

 “No, I guess not,” She replied, breathing in through her nose, “I want to feel sorry, but all I feel is just … empty. Why did JJ and Hotch know what happened to her but she didn’t think to tell her own sister?”

“Probably because you’re the one she loves the most,” Strauss picked over the hem of her navy blue midi dress that had been pressed neatly just that morning, and now here she was sitting on the steps to her building helping a girl in crisis chainsmoke, “It was how she ended up there in the first place, right? Because she wanted to protect you,” 

 “She left me torturing myself for months that her death was all my fault; believe me protection was not what I needed,” Bugsy said harshly, her final drag reaching the brown stub, and she scowled as she doubted it on the concrete floor below her, tucking her knees up to her face and resting her head on them. 

Erin sighed, patting her on the back gently, not wanting to cross any lines for such a fragile girl, but not wanting to leave her entirely alone either. 

“Our most basic instinct is not for survival but for family.” Strauss quoted, taking one more breath of her own cigarette before she squished it under her heel quickly. “Paul Pearsall,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bug asked quietly, tilting her head onto her cheek to look over at the woman.

“It means you can hate her as much as you can right now, but sooner or later, you’re going to need her, or she’s going to need you, and you’ll wish you never pushed each other away,” 

2. The one where you pretend to be a couple.

Her hair was shorter, Bugsy noted, where she saw the back of her sister’s head from her desk. It looked nice, not that she would tell her that. 

She wouldn’t tell her anything. 

It had been eight weeks, three of which Bugsy had spent taking a leave of absence and been forced to see the designated federal councillor for her behaviour towards Hotch. She had gone to the handful of sessions to keep him off her back, but had stayed quiet for most of them, except the one where she got the psychologist to tell her the dirt on her recent, messy break up so they’d have something to talk about at least.

She had only really been speaking to Spencer the weeks since she had returned to work, had handed the slip of paper that declared her fit to work to Hotch with a smug look on her face, daring him to extend her sick leave as punishment for the tantrum she’d thrown. 

She knew it was dragging, knew most of the team were at least trying to adjust to the shellshock of Emily being back from the dead, but then again, the rest of the team hadn’t been writing their own eulogy so the burden wouldn’t fall onto someone else if they ever found her unresponsive. 

In the time Emily had supposedly been dead, her mind had wandered someone cold and dark and alone. Worse than any of them had ever thought it had been, worse than they gave her credit for. 

Only for it to be fake. As though she was the star of her own Truman show, with a laugh track playing on loop in the back; her own friends, people she’d considered family, watching her kicking and screaming and fighting through every breath for some sort of relief from the pain, a pawn in their little sitcom of horrors. 

Morgan had forgiven her sister with little resistance. She’d always known that, to Morgan, trust was higher than anything in his books. Yet with some soft words and tears shed, Derek had cracked and accepted Emily back warmly like nothing had happened. Rossi and Penelope had just been happy to see her, happy to have her back and very much not dead, so convincing them she was innocent had been no big feat. The only other person who had put up nearly as much fight as her had been Spencer. He had told her about the spat he and JJ had gotten into for being an accomplice to their pain, but even he was beginning to warm back up to her sister, not that she could really blame him. 

Emily was putting in overtime trying to get back into her good books, while she couldn’t even stand to look at her without remembering how hard she’d cried when she realised Nico and Sergio would be in her apartment alone and confused if she had been sad enough to do something rash. 

“Good Morning,” Emily’s voice was nails in a chalkboard, two arms winding over her shoulder to plonk two take out coffees in front of her and Spencer, one with his name written in black ink on the lid and the other with a dozen hearts dotted over the cup, a little doodle of a lady bug and a bumble bee cuddling. What she supposed was meant to be the two of them. 

Spencer watched Bugsy fight the urge to roll her eyes, surprisingly somewhat progress for her since the first two weeks of Emily even being near her resulted in the two of them screaming at one another until they were separated. Emily was growing tired of being punished for trying to keep her sister safe, Bugsy was full of hatred for every lie they had told her. 

But he saw the way she immediately knocked the coffee into the trash without a second thought, ignoring the fact she would need to take out a very heavy and wet bin liner later, if only to drive the point home to her older sister. I don’t want your charity. 

Emily faltered for a second, her eyes snapping to him as if he could do or say anything to help her out, but he could only give her one of his awkward, straight smiles, because he had absolutely no intention of pushing Bugsy to heal any faster than she was doing like everyone else was, nor did he want Emily to feel like he didn’t care she was hurting too.

Emily gave a resigned nod, daring to pat her sister on the shoulder. “Better in the trash than thrown over my face, right?”

She moved away from the woman’s desk, shooting a disheartened look at Reid as she passed him and he murmured ‘thankyou’ for his own coffee, until the sound of JJ calling them into the round table room cut off whatever she was going to say back. 

Spencer thoughtlessly handed Bugsy his own latte, smothered with caramel and cream the way he liked it, and she took an appreciative sip without a word. 

He hadn’t brought up that night, hadn’t spoken about the way she’d pressed her lips to his for a split second the night Morgan had dragged her over to his apartment to sober up. And because she hadn’t brought it up either, he assumed she didn’t want to talk about it anymore than she wanted to talk about what had got her there in the first place. 

He had helped her brush her own teeth more than once in the early days of her grief, hell he had even had her lips against his, so when she handed him the coffee cup back, he didn’t think much of it when he continued drinking the hot caffeinated goodness. 

Bugsy was wired differently in his brain, everything about her was different than how he felt about everyone else. So if she didn’t want to talk about kissing him, if she wanted to forget it ever happened, then he would swallow his feelings and accept she didn’t ever want to do it again. If she wanted to keep the bond they had carefully crafted through days and months and weeks of being each other’s solace, then he wouldn’t fight it. Because he didn’t want to ruin it either. 

He just nudged her gently with his shoulder as they meandered up the stairs to the round table room, looking at her with the puppy dog eyes that usually followed her around when she was in one of her silent moods. 

“You okay?” He asked carefully, noting the way she tugged her files to her chest, smiling up at him nevertheless. Because she could never be mad at him, it was Spencer. 

“You don’t have to do that, you know?” She said, lowering her voice as Morgan trailed behind the two of them his own mug of fresh brewed coffee sloshing in his hand, “Pretend like you don’t forgive her for my sake. I want you to be friends again if that’s what you want,”

She’d noticed his sheepish glances when he met Emily’s gaze, unmoving from her side like he wanted to make it clear he was there for her above everything else. But she saw how he would smile and joke with her sister when he thought she was in the bathroom, or when they would return from a crime scene, working together again like a well oiled machine. 

They were still friends, even if she felt sick every time she saw her sister’s noir black bangs flick her way, even if her heart was aching and her chest heavier than she would have ever let on. 

“But you’re upset with her?” Spencer muttered back, with a frown on his face, “I’m upset you got so hurt by the whole thing. I’m essentially hurt by proxy,” 

She snickered, leaning into his side for a moment, pulling away when they reached Rossi’s office and began walking past the long window she saw everyone settling down behind, “I appreciate that, Spence, I do. But you were her friend first, and she’s my sister. It’s different for you guys. And it’s not like we’re dating, because then I’d be allowed to be upset if you were still friends with her,” She explained lightly, though she felt her chest pick up at the very fact she had let that silly little dating word slip past her lips. 

She had no idea where they were. He was the only thing keeping her together some days, the only one who understood her for all her silly, complex feelings and didn’t make her feel dumb or crazy for feeling the world so deeply. He was special to her in a way no guy had ever even come close. 

She just wished she hadn’t made such an idiot of herself that night with Morgan; wished she remembered anything of what was said or done, because things had felt electrified since then and she had no idea why. All she knew was she was falling harder for him every time he stood so close, or offered her his drink, or every time they had a movie night at his and fell asleep on his couch pressed together like they were meant to be that way forever. 

He sighed, still stuck on the situation, and shot her a frown, “I’ll never understand the rules,” Though he hoped she didn’t see how his cheeks tinged pink at the fact she’d brought up whatever it was between them too. 

Because he wasn’t entirely talking about her and Emily. Sometimes, he really didn’t understand the rules of telling your best friend you were in love with her. 

-

The press was calling him “The Circle of Eight killer,” no matter how much media liaison JJ had tried to do to stop them from giving him notoriety and possibly boosting an already inflated ego. But the team had already managed to profile that the killings were some sort of ritual the UnSub was using to turn his luck on a gambling addiction, or whatever suspicion he had mentally linked from the victims needing to die and being dealt a royal flush. 

“Eighty eight dollars, the UnSub’s getting generous,” She said grimly, her gloved fingers counting the wad of cash tossed over the victim’s body. Where they had usually found eight, single dollar bills and an eight card of any suit, his signature seemed to have changed on the most recent body and he had dumped a much larger sum of money, “There’s more remorse with this kill too; shot from behind so he didn’t have to see the victim when he did it,”

Bugsy slipped the cash into a clear baggie to send to forensics to see if they could pull prints, but then again bills usually gave a million possible UnSubs with how many people touched them. “There’s less rage here, an undoing,” Emily chimed in, her own gloved fingers checking the victim’s pockets for anything off. 

When they were in the field, Bug could hold her eye rolls and sharp tongue and resting bitch face for the sake of helping the victim’s families find closure. Because, despite how much she seethed in private about how Hotch, JJ and her own sister had conspired without her, she knew she could choke it down if it meant she could help someone, if it meant no one else had to grieve as deeply and gut wrenching as she had when Emily ‘died’. 

“There’s no sign of robbery either, wallet is still intact except his ID,” Spencer added, standing back from the body while Bugsy handed the evidence off to CSI and the chief on the case headed their way. 

“Is it even the same guy?” Agent Goslin asked, looking between Hotch and Emily for an explanation, Hotch shaking his head with a stoney look on his already tired face. 

“The ritual’s too similar to discount,” He said, Bugsy frowning and tugging her lip between her teeth in thought. 

“The change in MO makes sense if the UnSub is still refining his system, maybe killing the cashier at the gas station didn’t work so he’s back to the drawing board.” Emily speculated, her little sister nodding along with her in the first sign of agreement she’d seen all day. 

“Two eights instead of one could also be significant; I know in China the number eight symbolises prosperity, the more eights the better. As a matter of fact, in Chengdu, a telephone number consisting of all eights recently sold for over a quarter of a million dollars,” Spencer said, and Bugsy flashed a look up at him, her eyes thoughtful. 

“In ancient Egypt, the number seven represented completion in this life while the number eight represented success through ambition and determination in your reincarnated life,” She replied, peeling the gloves down her hands as they clung to her skin with tight clamminess, “And the eight pointed star is associated with the Babylonian goddess, Ishtar, or the light bringer,”

He nodded with her and he hated to admit that he loved that she managed to fill in the gaps in his own knowledge, like they were two puzzle pieces finding a way to fit together; like they were two halves cleaved from the same brain that hadn’t stopped growing in the entirety of her twenty seven years. 

That, and he’d always found her brain one of the most attractive things about her. One of the long list he could think of. 

“Why would he be doubling up on his luck out here, away from all the casinos?” Emily asked, because she was trying not to stand in awe of her sister’s fat brain that rivalled even their pretty boy. 

“There’s been another killing,” Agent Goslin stated, hanging up the phone with a tense frown on her face, “A guest in his room at the Sapphire Lady,” 

“Same ritual?” Hotch asked without a pause, because they were on body number five now and they were barely closer to understanding him than they were a few hours ago.

“No. His neck was broken. And he was robbed of $50,000.” Goslin replied, shaking her head, “Strange thing is? The killer left another $20,000 behind with the body,” 

“Money isn’t his motive here,” Bugsy input, crossing her arms while Hotch got on the phone to Garcia, “Atleast, not that guy’s money,”

“Garcia, is there a casino in the neighbourhood of Penrose and Morningside Avenue?” He asked, clicking the perky woman onto speakerphone. 

They heard a quick clatter of typing, “Uhhh, No casinos per se, but there’s a private gambling establishment right around the corner.” She replied helpfully, with another bout of her long, delicately painted nails against her keyboard. 

“Is it legal?”

“Yeah, but it’s ultra exclusive. They have a monthly high-stakes poker tournament,” She paused for a second, “Today being the day for the month, coincidentally enough,”

“Or no coincidence at all,” Emily said, as they began putting together exactly where this chain of events had come from.

“What’s the buy in?” Bugsy asked, though she already guessed the answer. 

“Yikies, $50,000,” And with that Bug and Reid exchanged a knowing look, her suspicion confirmed, “But, it’s a million dollar guarantee if you win,”

“What time does it start?” Hotch asked, Bugsy already rubbing the bridge of her nose with her fingertip, willing herself not to be right about what they were going to do. 

“Later this evening,” Pen replied and Hotch thanked her, hanging up the phone. A second of silence spread around the crime scene. 

“So, if anyone’s got fifty k lying around, now would be a great time to share with the group,” Busgy humoured herself with a straight face, realising the paperwork that would almost definitely be declined if Strauss had anything to say about it the would enable them to borrow fifty thousand from the government. 

Because if they missed their chance tonight, she had no clue when they would get another. 

–

“Any luck?” JJ asked, Emily sat to her right, Rossi across from her. Spencer and Bugsy sat on the end of the table, the girl breaking a KitKat in half to share with him, which he accepted happily. 

“No, they don’t want to allocate emergency funds for the buy-in, I’m still working on it,” Hotch said shortly, his phone blowing up with messages, no doubt needing a lot more details if they were really going to get the money they needed. 

“Well, I can’t imagine why not, we’re only asking for fifty thousand bucks of taxpayer money, so that FBI agents can play Texas Hold ‘em,” Rossi drawled, shaking his head with a cynical humour that was all they had to hold onto while they waited in limbo. 

“Hey, what about you?” Emily asked, something mischievous in her eyes as she watched David freeze in his seat, so like the old Emily that Bugsy felt her stomach turn.

“What about me what?” David said with a frown, pausing in his writing for a moment. 

“You could stake us the buy-in,” She suggested, and the other three members of the team turned their attention back to Rossi’s palling face. 

“You’re a best selling author,” Spencer chimed in, devouring the last of the chocolatey biscuit snack as she pulled another out of her bag. 

“No,” Rossi replied, slightly wide eyed at the suggestion of it, to which Emily jumped in. 

“Why not?” 

“One, it’s against regulations and I’d like to hold onto this job for a little while longer.” David said, his arms out in a defensive stance towards the four people who suddenly felt like his kids asking for the newest IPhone on the market for Christmas. 

“It’s a minor administrative violation,” Bugsy pointed out between bites, offering the second half again to her best friend who took it without delay. 

She could have given the whole thing to him to start with, and had the first one for herself, it would have ended the same, but she liked sharing with him. She liked being the one to split things with him when he cringed in horror at other people touching his food.

“And, two, I prefer to spend my money on actual things, like single malt scotch, a fine cigar, beautiful artwork,”

“Poker chips are things!” Emily tried to reason, but it only ended with David scoffing in her cheeky, hopeful face. 

“Maybe just think of it as a new experience, I mean at your age how often does that happen?” Spencer said innocently, licking the chocolate from the tips of his fingers, noticing how Bugsy tensed up and Rossi slowly turned in his seat to face the BAU’s youngest members. 

“At my what?” He asked in an aghast tone, Bug grabbing onto Spencer’s forearm with a gentle squeeze. 

“Reel it in, reel it in,” She whispered, and he looked at her with a lost expression, willing her to explain to him where he had gone wrong, because he knew she would, “What he meant to say was this may be our only chance to get this guy,”

David chewed his words for a second, as if he was trying not to bite at the kids who looked between one another hopefully, and he wondered if this was what being a father felt like; handing his credit card over to two twenty something year olds and watching his bank deposit plummet in seconds. 

“All right. Fine.” He sighed heavily like he’d seen the fifty thousand burned there and then, “I’m a decent poker player, but I can’t promise that I can stay in the game long enough to…”

“You know what? I bet you’re a great poker player,” Emily started kindly, her gaze drifting over to the hazel hues that watched between them curiously, “But what if we sent in Reid?”

“I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin and Pahrump because of my card counting ability,” Spencer said, and Bugsy rolled her eyes. 

“They can’t ban you for maths, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” She said, nudging his side with her shoulder, “They hate to see an underdog win, it’s Rocky all over again,” 

“Tell me about it,” He murmured back, even though he had never watched any of the Rocky movies, he just liked humouring her. 

“Look I know I’m not a genius like the boy wonder here, but poker is not black jack. It’s about bluffing; reading human nature, head games.” Rossi pointed at Reid, who badgered over Bugsy’s shoulder for the cookies she had packed in her rucksack, “The kid does not have a poker face.”

“Which is why we’re going to send him with someone who does,” JJ chimed in, and it was then that the youngest members of the team looked up from where they had cracked open the packet of chocolate chip delights, near identical looks of innocence painted on their faces, like they really were kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. 

Bugsy looked between JJ and Rossi, who had equal parts hopeful and worried looks on their faces, before she glanced over to Spencer to see if he had any explanation. He looked as lost as she did. 

“Huh?” She asked cluelessly, as Rossi buried his head in his hands. 

At this rate was going to have to remortgage his house for wedding number four, he thought sourly. 

–

“I swear to god if this dress rides up anymore, it will be me who’s charging fifty thousand per head,” Bugsy growled, her hands frantically tugging the dress down her legs more. She couldn’t deny it was a beautiful dress, bunched around certain areas that made the most of her body, but goodness was it shorter than she would have ever picked out for herself. She was the last person to be a prude when it came to showing off just how alluring she could look when she made an effort, but this was something else. 

It was a striking red, meant to match the ruby of her lipstick and the vermillion of the diamonds and hearts on the cards spread around the tables in the room, flushed in between little plastic chips worth thousands of dollars, handfuls of dice being tossed over the green velvet surfaces, deciding whether the players lost their cars or paid off their kids college fund. 

They queued up to be patted down, as if they were heading through airport security or into a packed nightclub. A handful of bouncers waved metal detectors over patron’s clothing, dipping hands into coat pockets, trousers, even some shoes were ordered off in the name of a fair game. She swore she had never seen so many sets of weighted dice confiscated off one man who swore blind as he was kicked out. 

“Only fifty? You could rinse them for a hundred at least,” Spencer replied, his arm entwined behind her back, if not to hold her up in the clunky heels one of the women on Goslin’s task force had loaned her along with the dress. She smirked at him, pressing herself closer to him when they both saw a dozen eyes shoot towards her as they entered the building, and he tightened his grip just the slightest with a calculating coolness. 

He wished his cheeks didn’t feel so hot feeling her body so close to his, wished she hadn’t made such an effort to look the part of the expensive call girl they knew the UnSub had a history with, not because he didn’t like it, but because she made everything a little more difficult when she looked like that. 

He was having a hard time trying to calm the way his manhood brushed against his pants whenever she showed some of that saccharine affection, even though he knew it wasn’t real. Or atleast, was an extreme version of the love she usually showed him. 

The bouncers called them up next, and he let her go first, because getting her through would be easy. He was the one with the panic alarm disguised as a shot of Halitosis in his pocket. 

Spencer would never admit that his eyes fell straight down to the curves of her butt that seemed to be spotlighted by that damn dress. 

Why did she have to look so irresistible? He supposed that was the point; he was the mysterious young gambler that was going to keep them in the game long enough to spot the UnSub, she was the attractive, woman of the night brought only to boost his ego and as his good luck charm. She certainly wasn’t the only one, she’d already seen a handful of other women, tall as models and so toned it looked as though they hit the gym every morning and didn’t leave until sundown, primped and primed for their player’s delight. 

They were ten times better looking than she was, but to Spencer, she was the only woman in the room who he was envisioning ripping that dress right off. 

She was making it very hard, no pun intended, for him to accept the idea of them as just friends. 

The bouncer patted her down, Bugsy flashing him a cheeky smile just a little too forced for it to be one of her real ones, when the woman patted around her waist and hips for any hidden pockets or stashed bills. 

“You wish this was you, huh, baby?” She teased him with a wicked look in her eyes, and he could only smirk back, hoping his blush didn’t give him away as quick as he reckoned it did. 

He felt his knees weaken, worrying he might just fall to the ground there and then and be forced to crawl towards her if he had any hope of getting into the casino alive, but even that sent a new wave of lewd thoughts through his head, and he was grateful when the other bouncer called him forward to inspection. 

The muscled guy waved a metal detector over his torso, moving down to his trouser legs where he wondered with cynical humour if the rod he now sported in his pants painfully would set off the alarm. It didn’t, and he begged his crotch to let up even the slightest if he had any hope of keeping his head on his shoulders during this game, but the detector sprung to life the minute it waved over the alarm in his pocket. 

He produced the medical looking device, one they’d already planned and checked for faults, showing the fake prescription clearly to the guard, “Halitosis,” 

The guy seemed to frown, took another look over the gangly guy who was with a woman way, way out of his league. A woman who waited for him after her own inspection, a very real diamond necklace that had been a sixteenth birthday present from Steph around her neck, courtesy of her dad’s bank account and ten years worth of emotional distance. Whether he took pity on Spencer because Bugsy looked like the kind of girl who could chew up a guy like him and spit him right back out, or he really didn’t care about his medical condition, he didn’t know, but he waved him through without another thought, and they both took a sigh of relief. 

“You want a drink?” He asked nonchalantly as possible, wrapping his arm around her waist again, and he tried to not let his flustered demeanour show when he found slits cut into the side of the fabric, and he felt the softness of her hips under his fingertips. 

“My treat, to get you started,” Bugsy replied, something unreadable in the teasing of her eyes, and she leaned up to his jaw to steal a quick kiss there like any other girl wanting to be paid the full sum of her night would have done. 

At least that’s what she told herself, pretending as if her brazen action hadn’t caused her heart rate to spike. 

She got him an iced tea, because she knew he wouldn’t want alcohol, and got herself a half shot Moscow Mule, sipping the lime rim appreciatively. 

“See anything yet?” She asked under her breath, one hand trailing over the back of his neck, playing with the curls that sat there with vixen sly eyes that scanned the room. 

He forced himself not to moan at the sensation, and he worried it was too obvious to the other patrons in the gambling room just how easily he melted beneath her fingertips. He felt like a dog drooling after a bone, like she was shaking a lead in his face and asking for walkies, and he was panting beneath her, tail wagging and dopey eyed. 

Not the look of suave, mysterious stranger they were initially going for when they were coming up with identities for their covers. But at least it sold the part of a man desperate to win the jackpot if it meant he could spend the night with the siren woman that clung to him with a giggly sip of her pink straw. 

“No one looking particularly suspicious,” He noted; everyone was almost too good at a poker face, though he supposed that it made sense seeing the value of the prize pool, “You are getting a lot of attention however,” 

And she was. In fact, he was quick to take her hand in his own free one when he saw a group of men dressed to the nines, solid gold rings along their knuckles, diamond encrusted Rolexs staring back at him from their wrists, their faces dead yet starved when they drank in every inch of her skin, their eyes falling to where her dress rode up high, as she had whined about the entire way there. 

She chuckled, and something about it sounded like her own, not the woman she’d had to become for the evening, and she kissed where his jaw clenched in annoyance, “Not from anyone that matters, boy wonder,” 

And he felt his heart rest for a moment, because as long as she was with him he knew he could shift that big brain of his into gear. He loved nothing more than the click he felt when he was with her, like their brains and bodies just seemed to bluetooth to one another and they weren’t Spencer and Bugsy they were just them. A since cell amoeba. 

He smiled at her, and she preened under his attention, so genuinely her that he felt the vignette that had clouded his vision shift into focus, and he knew he could find their UnSub if she was there with him. 

He sat at the nearest table to them that was about to deal in, and within twenty minutes he was racking up a nice, fat pile of poker chips next to his iced tea.

Bugsy knew he was a smart man, knew he was good at magic tricks, but if he had turned to her then and there and pulled a rabbit out her ear hole she wouldn’t have questioned him otherwise. Watching him play was something else. 

It was entirely sordid, the whole hour of his first game was spent trying to keep her focus on any patrons sat at their table and the rest that seemed to be twitching, whilst also trying not to look awed at just how amazing his brain was when he won damn near every time. 

But she did manage to rip her eyes off him when she could, not enough to seem suspicious, just enough to scan the area for someone who could be their UnSub, her eyes quickly jumping to the guy on the table across from them with a large magic 8-ball tattoo across his bicep, unsurprisingly already looking her head to toe as he waited for his hand to be dealt out. He winked at her, a smarmy, cocky grin on his face, almost too confident in his ability to be someone to turn to suspicions and rituals in order to win. 

A serious contender, but nothing that screamed their UnSub. 

She looked around a little more, ignoring the handful of men who tried to grab her attention, who thought they were somewhat validated or interesting for having her look at them for a split second. They were just part of the wallpaper compared to Spencer anyway. 

It wasn’t until she spotted a guy in a baseball cap a few paces away from them fiddling with yet another magic 8-ball, though this time a key chain, giving it a gentle touch every time he picked up his hand as if it really had the power to change the values once they’d been dealt. 

From the quick glance she got of his face, he seemed to be running on an hour’s sleep tops. His eyes were rimmed redder than her lipstick, and his hair was damp with sweat and grease against his temple. 

Unstable if there ever was a man for the word.

She quickly looked back to Spencer’s cards, her hands weaving over his shoulders to rub his muscles gently, the signal that she’d seen something important masked as an affectionate gesture. 

The House called the end of the round, Spencer being awarded a heaped pile of tens, hundreds even a small few thousands thrown in there, to which he collected onto his tray they had handed him at the door. 

Bugsy leaned down with a girlish squeal, giving him another big, cherry lipped kiss to his cheek, to which he felt himself blush under immediately. Quickly dodging to whisper into his ear, it looked to the other patrons as if she was simply promising him an even bigger reward later for his winnings in exchange, “Nine O’Clock at table two, guy in the green jacket has an eight ball keyring he ritually plays with before drawing,” 

Spencer nodded, standing from the table with his winnings, using Bugsy’s as an excuse to angle himself to where she was talking about. He pulled her to him effortlessly, his long arms wrapping over her bare back, his neck craning over her shoulder to serveill the table she had indicated, and she quickly hugged him back with that fake giggle of hers, her body pressing to his desperately like the other ladies of the night he had seen with men three times their age. 

He clocked who she was talking about almost immediately, running a hand down her spine and squeezing her waist gently to let her know he’d seen him. 

They moved in tandem, just like they always had. 

A hostess came over to them, all big smiles and a tight fitted black dress, a log book in her arms of where everyone was sitting in the next round to keep a fair game. Bugsy took a look at him, wiping away the smudged lipstick on his cheek with a loving swipe of her thumb, nodding at him for a small bout of reassurance. 

“I’m going to go get another drink, honey,” She said loud enough for the hostess to hear, as she flashed him a flirty smile, “Don’t forget to wait for your lucky charm,” 

He bristled, a smile twitching at his lips at that, “I wouldn’t dare,” 

Because her message was clear. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m updating the team. 

She swanned through the crowd as if she owned the place, but then again a packed scene had never been an issue for her. She felt through her concealed inseam of the tiny cardigan she draped over her shoulders, until she felt the long bullet shaped object stuffed into a tampon wrapper that Penelope had geniously planted there to look like a feminine product. 

Her own alarm, the one meant to let the team know they had sights on the guy and to be ready. It was Spencer’s that would give them the signal to enter. 

She was fiddling with the damn thing when she felt it, a sharp crack across her ass as she was walking towards the bar, heard the laughter in the second she froze up. 

Turning on her heel with a tight expression, the anger burnt hot in her eyes when she saw the guy with the tattoo who had been trying to get her attention not even a half hour ago, watched him sidling up to her with a conceited smile. 

“So, has that twiglet over there paid for you in advance or are you going home with the highest bidder?” He said, his head flicking to Spencer who now sat at table two, counting his chips out onto the table and paying himself in. 

She smiled at the assailant widely, and it would have been pretty had it not been for the crazy look in her eye that twitched when he made a move to step towards her more. 

“I’m spoken for in advance,” She said lightly, eyes trailing down his outfit like she was trying to commit it to memory, over his defining markers like the slit in his brow and his tattoos that looped over his hands, “But I’m sure I’ll be seeing you real soon, sweetheart,” 

And she flashed him a toothy smile again, yet something was wolfish about it this time, like she was ready to lunge for him there and then. 

The guy wasn’t their UnSub but he had made it to the very top of her hit list in a split second decision. 

She waltzed away, securing herself another Moscow Mule she had no intention of drinking, and headed back to where Spencer was being allotted his hand of cards.  Their round started, Bugsy keeping a close eye on the UnSub who sat directly to Spencer’s right, and she found a little solace in the fact he couldn't have brought in any weapons since they had all been patted down at the door. 

It didn’t shake the feeling of edge the guy with the tattoo had put her into when she watched their guy flick a look over Spencer’s shoulder to look her head to toe, glancing back at Spence who was already glaring at him. 

“Is she part of the winnings?” The other guy to his right chimed in, sliding a stack of hundred dollar chips into the centre, two of the players already bust as they watched the others play on for the house. 

She saw her partner tense in his spine when he heard the man’s drawling voice, and she knew he was struggling to keep a lid on the facade they were putting on for the evening. 

Snickering, she ran a gentle hand through his hair, down the nape of his neck with a sickeningly sweet simper, “Sorry, boys. Only person who’s taking me home tonight is the pretty boy,”

One of the guys who had already busted out scoffed, grumbling under his breath, “Lucky fucker,”

And Spencer knew it too. He felt almost rejuvenated just feeling her near, a damn near cocky smile on his face when he pushed his chips into the centre of the table, barely flicking a glance at his hand when he realised he had almost certainly secured a winning run. 

Maybe she was his lucky charm, he thought cynically. Maybe he couldn’t blame the guy to his right for carrying a silly little trinket around with him in the name of luck if he was no better. 

“I’m calling,” The guy on the far right declared, shuffling two piles of his chips into the middle with the total pooling. 

“I’ll raise,” The UnSub cut in, grabbing some of his black thousand dollar tokens and clinking them one by one next to his opponents, “Eight thousand,”

What a surprise, eight thousand, Bug mused, squeezing onto Spencer’s shoulder again as he was quick to match the bidding and then some with his own checks. 

“$8,000, that’s fifty six months’ wage for the average person in Bangladesh,” Spencer said, doubling the bet with a flick of those long fingers of his. It was heinous how much his brain managed to warm her insides, Bugsy thought, hoping she kept her poker face intact, “Kind of makes you think, doesn’t it?”

The two remaining players, UnSub included, looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and Bugsy fought off the urge to laugh in their face, because for a minute he was so Spencer like all she wanted to do was quip something back equally as smart. 

“Look, it’s eight thou’ to you, are you in or are you out?” The first man snapped, perhaps seethin with jealousy that the pretty woman wanted nothing to do with him or perhaps just pissed that the fresh faced teenager of a man was serving their asses up cold. 

“I am in,” He moved some more chips towards them, his eyes falling back to the guy they suspected was their UnSub with a challenge in his eyes, “And I raise,”

“Three raise,” The dealer declared, and the first guy huffed in defeat. 

“That’s too rich for my blood,” He growled, crossing his arms and flipping his dead cards over. 

“Sir, are you in?” The dealer asked the UnSub, and for a minute his eyes snapped to Bugsy’s where she was keeping a calm look on her face despite the fact her insides were stumbling with nerves. But she never doubted Spencer’s maths, she would stake her life on it in fact. 

“I’ll call,” The UnSub replied, flicking his cards over with another small token of a hundred, an okay run of cards but not an entire failure. 

Spencer met it with a couple hundreds of his own, revealing his four and his eight that met the five, six, and seven he already put down. A winning flush. “Straight.” 

Her smile was genuine, dazzling, when the pile of chips were pushed over to him, and she would have laughed with glee had the UnSub’s face not dropped into something devastated, borderline demented, when he saw his ritual had meant nothing. That he had lost despite killing his own friend and four more people as a sacrifice. 

He was unravelling fast, and it was then Bugsy knew they had only moments to confirm he was their guy obsessed with his suspicions and that damn lucky number eight. 

“I guess you won’t be needing this anymore, will you honey?” Bugsy reached over for the charm with a cheeky grin as the other patrons grumbled at their losses, only for the guy’s hand to come slamming down on top of hers with a brutal grip, hard enough she knew it was going to bruise by morning. 

“Don’t,” He hissed at her, and it seemed to click with confirmation in Spencer and Bugsy’s mind there was no doubt this was their guy.

Spencer stood up to defend the woman, only for both of them to be grabbed by security second’s later. 

“You’re going to let a man put his hands on a woman like that- would you relax I can walk,” Spencer snapped, watching the other security guard manhandle Bugsy just as roughly, pinning her arms behind her back, though she complied with a victorious grin, “Real tough there pal, grabbing on a woman half your size,” 

“Relax honey, I got a taser in my pocket if they really want to behave like bad boys,” The bouncers looked at her in alarm, and it was the distraction Spencer needed to reach into his jacket and trigger the signal. She gave the three of them a shit eating grin, and Spencer thought he might just love her even more, “Don’t shit your pants, I’m kidding. I charge extra for the rough stuff,”

Spencer was still laughing when Hotch and Emily barged past them after the UnSub, who was by now leaving out the back door. 

–

“Spencer, really, we can go back to the hotel and forget about it,” After revealing their cover with the bouncers, courtesy of one David Rossi and his famous face clearing their names, and the UnSub caught and well on the way to the nearest jail cell for questioning, Bugsy was more than tired and ready to strip out of the impossibly tight dress. 

“I want to see this guy brought to justice, think of him as another UnSub,” Spencer said, his arms crossed over his chest as they sat on the bonnet of a squad car out the front of the building, the tournament slowly trickling to an end with its patrons leaving for the night. 

She rolled her eyes, his jacket over her arms the only thing keeping her warm against the evening air. It would have been so much easier if they had been allowed back in, but FBI agents or not, the guards had clear rules against breaching the peace in such a high stakes game. A bad rep for having the feds show up on their busiest day of the year was not welcomed, just as much as they weren’t. 

“Except he’s not murdered anyone,” She replied, eyes darting between the guests leaving with their earnings spilling out of their pockets, “He’s just some dumb asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself and- it’s him,”

The guy with the tattoos, Mike Folio as would later be printed on the police report, had barely a second to grieve his losses of the night before Spencer had him cuffed against the squad car, yelling and spitting about his rights as an American citizen. 

It wasn’t until he saw the gorgeous woman donned in the candy red dress looking down at him with amusement that he felt the colour drain from his face. 

“Hi sweetheart,” She smiled viciously, “I told you I’d see you again. Spence, read him the Mirandas,” 

3. The one with the bank explosion

The tweed trousers irritated her thighs, the head band fluffed her hair away from her face in a way she kept trying to fix, and the brown pumps squeaked every time she walked, but her smile was dazzling nevertheless. 

“Okay, the TV movie is at Hall H at nine, can we go to that?” Penelope asked, reading from the pamphlet as Bugsy and Spencer all but ran to keep up with her. 

“Absolutely!” Spencer chimed in, “Do you think we can make it to the Captains of Enterprise at eleven?”

“Obvs,” Penny replied, fixing the bow tie necklace her and Bugsy had made not even the week before. She looked over at the younger woman, who had a matching K-9 pendant, because apparently FBI salaries did not take into account life sized robot dogs, “Thanks for coming with me,” 

“Ofcourse, I’ve been knitting this scarf for weeks,” Spencer replied, his eyes falling down to where Bugsy donned a Sarah Jane Smith cosplay. 

“Who are you going as?” She’d asked, the minute he’d asked her to go, because there were few things he did these days without her. 

“The Fourth Doctor,” Spencer replied, because he had explained in length to her about the concept of regenerating and had even flicked on some of the newer series for her to watch with him, “Tom Baker’s Doctor, he’s a fan favourite,” 

He showed her a picture of the time lord stood outside the TARDIS, a younger girl stood opposite him in a pink suit, large white peter pan collar hanging wide over her chest. 

“Who’s that?” She asked, pointing the girl with the cute bangs and pleated skirts. 

“That’s Sarah-Jane, or Sarah-Jane Smith. She’s one of the longest starring companions since she was the Third Doctor’s companion first and also was in the spin off show for her dog, K-9,” He explained, warming inside when Bugsy listened with raptured interest. 

“So like, is she his girlfriend or-”

“No, no! The Doctor is often speculated to be asexual when it comes to relations with humans. Sarah Jane was one of his closest friends however, and in the Tenth Doctor’s third season he even comes back to rescue her from a wedding set up by one of his enemies,” He said, and her smile pulled out widely when an idea popped into her head. 

“Well, can I be her? For your convention?” She asked, somewhat shyly, still a little unsure how the show worked in the fine details, “You know, since you saved me from my wedding?” 

He paused, because she’d never really spoken about that day she’d jumped into his arms in the elevator, holding him to her like he was the only thing that made sense. Bugsy was like that alot; giving him everything he ever dreamed in the moment and then acting like it was never a big deal the next. 

“S-sure! Yeah, that would be really nice.” He said, and she immediately started searching up what she should wear for it, “I didn’t really save you though, you know, you saved yourself,”

She snickered, nudging him with her shoulder, “You all saved me, I don’t know what I would have done if Em-” She stopped herself, swallowing thickly, and he saw the glow leave her eyes. 

If Emily hadn’t been there. 

Things were still awkward between them. There were no more catfights, thank goodness, though there also wasn’t any doting between the sisters anymore. It was like a clean break had slit between them. Emily had given up trying to warm to her, given up trying to get her to come around, and had instead taken the high road of waiting for Bugsy to make the first move. 

But Bugsy was nothing if not stubborn. So Emily would be waiting a while longer. 

“Hey, listen, next time I promise I’ll be the first one to object and then you can say I saved you,” Spencer joked, because he knew the subject of Emily stung her, because he knew she needed to stop thinking about it or she’d unravel into self hatred. 

She chuckled aghast, “Next time? I was kind of hoping to keep the next one, Spence, whoever the unlucky guy is,”

He shook his head, a fake look of disapprovement, “Sorry, rules are rules. You wanted to be Sarah-Jane, I have to crash your wedding with the TARDIS I’m afraid,” 

She laughed, resting her head on his shoulder as they flicked through the TV some more together. 

“Well, I mean if those are the rules,” She simpered, snuggling under his chin, “Does this mean I get a sick robo-dog too?”

She looked every bit the part he would have ever expected her to look. Down to the maroon tie, and the white dress shirt, and the matching tweed blazer and pants that made her look embarrassingly hot. 

He was about to tell her just how great she looked because she still seemed unsure, being a casual fan of the show not nearly as religious as some of the surrounding guests were, when Penelope cut them off in a near gutted voice. 

“Oh my god,”

“Penelope?” 

Bugsy and Spencer looked up to see Penelope’s ex beau, Kevin, dressed in a nearly identical outfit to her (though in Bug’s opinion he didn’t have the same pzazz as she did with the glitter and the sparkliness,) a red headed woman beside him donned in a police woman uniform. 

“Kevin, hi, you came,” The blonde woman replied, her face mortified as she took in just how pretty the other woman was, “And you brought a friend, CSU technician Sharp, how are you?”

Hannah Sharp, from two floors below them in the BAU, grinned tightly, as if she could sense just how disastrous the situation had suddenly become, “I’m fine, uh, you?”

Bugsy gripped onto Spence’s arm tightly, hating the turn this was taking, every second of it. 

“I am also fine,” Pen replied, though she looked as though she was ready to float outside of her body any minute now. “Okay, well, see ya,”

“You’re not gonna go in?” Kevin asked, his eyes crestfallen when he saw Penelope also grab onto the boy genius’ arm, and he cursed Spencer Reid for getting so many attractive women. 

“Actually, we just went in and it’s super lame,” Bugsy interrupted, flashing a disjointed smile at the two of them, turning to usher her best friend away before he could call her out in her lie. “So we’re leaving,”

“Oh, okay,” Kevin replied, his date all but forgotten as the three of them made a sharp exit, a wince on the youngest Prentiss’ face when they got far enough that the girl could cringe in peace, “Well, great costumes,” 

“Yeah, you too,” Penelope called back, her heels practically leaving tire marks with how fast she had sped away from her ex that was opening fresh wounds as they spoke. At work they were separated by a whole floor, so it wasn’t quite so scathing to see each other around or even hear of one another, but to be brought out in front of what she could only assume was his new woman was horrifying.

Bugsy was at her side immediately, grabbing onto her hand with a squeezing grip. 

“Well, that was awkward,” Spencer noted aloud, and Bugsy lightly slapped his arm for him to shut up, her eyes wide with worry. 

He looked at her in alarm, but her face told him everything he needed to know. Girl rules. 

He hated girl rules. He never understood them. 

“Oh my god, we used to come every year, I can’t believe he brought someone else,” Penelope sighed to the younger girl, who watched her with furrowed brows. 

“Well you brought someone else,” Spencer pointed out, only to have his arm whipped at again in a chiding motion, and he watched Bugsy stroke Pen’s back with a bite in her tone. 

“Girl rules, Spencer, girl rules,” He tutted at her, rolling her eyes as if they were a married couple and she was nagging him to wash the dishes. 

Sometimes it felt easy like that with them. Like she really was just his best friend and not the only girl who held any sort of romantic connection to his heart. 

“Yeah, someone I couldn’t possibly be attracted to,” Penelope stated, “Besides, he always thought the two of you were a thing anyway, oh god what if he thinks I’m your guys third-”

“Woah, woah, what?” Bugsy asked with wide eyes, “He thought me and Spencer were, like, dating?” 

Penelope nodded, and Bugsy couldn’t even look at him without stumbling over her words. 

“Well he knows we’re- like I mean we’re not even each other’s seconds so how could you be our third you know?” She said with a forced laugh, because she could feel her face going hot. 

Spencer watched her tongue tie herself into oblivion, thinking of any and every excuse as to why she didn’t want dating associated to the two of them. Because how could she ever feel the same way? He was just him and she was, well, her. So incredibly, beautifully her. 

It wasn’t until she bumped into an older gentleman waiting for his valet she even shut herself up. 

“And I mean Kevin shouldn’t have just assumed- oh sorry,” She whirled around to apologise the man she presumed was a fan of the early seasons of the show, perhaps even around when they first aired, though the thought died in her throat when he turned around, “Oh, Rossi?” 

David Rossi looked suave as ever in his age, a blazer thrown casually over his shoulder, a neat shirt and dress pants ensemble at his hips as he looked between the three of them, their costumes staring back at him entirely too colourful for a Saturday morning. 

He sighed, hard. 

“Why doesn’t this surprise me?” He asked with a tired voice, as Bugsy bounced back over to Spencer’s side with an incredulous look on her face. 

“Are you here for the convention?” Spencer asked, excitement bubbling in his tone as Bug grabbed his forearm gently, already sensing Rossi hadn’t had nearly enough coffee to put up with them today. 

“Who schedules a cigar aficionado event back to back with this?” Rossi asked, his eyes clamping on the pendant around her neck, “What is that, a robot dog?” 

“K-9,” The three of them replied, and it was as if it tipped him over the edge, his hair growing whiter by the second. 

“Kevin brought another woman, I’m plotting revenge. Do you want to help?” Penelope asked, her face still warm from running into the guy who was almost her fiance. 

“Know where we can get any horse heads?” Bugsy asked, her expression lost in though as Penelope gasped, “What? I’m thinking go big or go home. Also, horse head in the bed means they can't have sex-”

“I’m taking that as my cue to leave,” Rossi cut in, just as his valet arrived, “Now you know I love all three of you, but this is Saturday, and it is my day off, so I’m going to love you from afar,”

He ruffled Bugsy’s hair fondly as he took his leave, throwing his blazer over the passenger seat and bidding them a wave goodbye. 

They watched him go, wondering where it left them for a moment before Bugsy spoke up again, “So are we saying a definitive no to the horse head idea, because I’m sure I know a guy in college-”

“No, Bugsy,” Penelope hissed, her face scrunched in disgust, and Spencer swore she turned green, “Definitive no,” 

–

They had been half way through breakfast when Spencer got an emergency call from Hotch for a team of serial killers robbing a bank downtown, hostages and guns on scene. 

She had barely had time to whip the tweed blazer off her shoulders, keeping the shirt and pants on as Derek threw her a kevlar vest. 

“It’s definitely them,” Will said in his soft Southern drawl, JJ embracing him tightly to her with a worried expression. It had been him and his partner first on the scene, though unfortunately things had not ended well for her when they had ran into the three UnSubs slipping out the back of the bank and had engaged in a shoot out; Will’s partner getting a bullet to the head almost immediately, and Will narrowly escaping unscathed, but not before he managed to gun down one of the UnSubs in the stomach. 

So there they were, the UnSubs back inside the bank for safety since they were now surrounded by the city police, the FBI, the SWAT team and a handful of ambulances and medics on standby. 

“I only saw the King and the Jack but I figured the Queen’s inside too,” He added, JJ peeling herself from his side as they headed towards the building. 

“The media's calling them the face cards,” Hotch informed his team, all eight of them decked in their thickest vests and weapons loaded in full, “Seven bank robberies in seven months. They’ve killed one person at each robbery,” 

“MO?” Rossi asked, now dressed out of his smart, Saturday wear and something more akin to his usual business attire.

“Single gun shot wound, each of the victims has bled out,” Hotch replied, and it wasn’t until they turned the corner towards the bank did Bugsy realise just how packed the street was with law enforcement. 

Three or four choppers circled overhead with snipers and back up SWAT teams at the ready. 

“Serial killers with a thirty day cooling off period, and we’re only just hearing about this now?” Emily asked in an incredulous tone, her voice raised to accommodate the shouting between other chiefs and their units. 

“Headquarters characterised them as robbers first, killers second,” Hotch said, his hands on his hips as they all assessed the situation from afar. Naturally a few new anchors had pulled up to the scene as well and were setting up their equipment despite the officers trying to corral them away. 

“Oh yeah? How did that turn out for them?” Bugsy grumbled behind her thick, dark sunglasses, biting her lip from saying worse. 

“I disagreed with the original assessment, I was overruled,” Her chief shot back, because things had been just as cold between them since that day as they had with Emily. 

JJ was slowly reaching out the olive branch in her direction, and if it wasn’t for Henry being so darn cute every time he begged ‘Buggy’ to come play with him, she reckoned JJ would have taken even longer to forgive as well. 

“Why are we here now?” Rossi chimed in, eyes locked on Aaron’s frown, that seemed to harden every step they took closer to the bank.

“Because crisis negotiation is overseas.”

“What do we know about them?” JJ jumped in straight away with the problem solving, because even if they were out in the field and not in their pretty little round table room anymore, the UnSubs were still just pictures on a white board needing that red string to connect them all together. 

“They’re organised, they're efficient,” Hotch fired off, mentally running through whether he had loaded the pistol he kept around his calf for emergencies, “Each strike lasts about two minutes,”

Derek’s face scrunched in confusion, “They gotta be scouting out the banks in advance, why haven’t we been able to ID them off of surveillance footage?” 

“They hacked the security feed and turn off the cameras both during the initial canvas and during the robbery, until the masks come back on and then were allowed to watch” Hotch replied, and the eight of them slipped into the base of operation for the day; a wide trailer converted to house the high tech computers Penelope needed to keep an eye on the cameras with those magic skills of hers. 

Bugsy’s eyes landed on the black and white feed of inside the bank, her heart lurching in her throat when she saw well over forty men, women and children lined on their knees execution style, facing the doors to the bank to act as a shield if the snipers did happen to get a shot through the windows. 

The woman took the lead, a mask over her face with a doll-like expression on it, the other men soaked in blood as one fought to hold the injured one up for dear life. 

“Why haven’t they cut the feed now that they’ve been cornered,” Derek said with a shake of his head, his lips pulled into a grimace, “Letting us see inside gives us a tactical advantage, they have to know that,”

“Unless they want the audience,” Bugsy suggested, watching the jack slowly growing weaker and weaker as they discussed tactics, “Although the only one who really strikes me as the attention seeker is her, he seems more prioritised with the other male,”

“The masks add to their narcissism,” Spencer input with a nod, “Their personas are the royalty of poker,”

“JJ, you, Bugsy, Reid and Prentiss, look at past robberies, that’s going to be our victimology,” Hotch ordered, and they did as ordered with little delay, heading to the office they had set up in the opposite trailer. 

This was going to be a long day. 

–

“I can help,” Bugsy offered herself before the team even had a chance to protest. 

It hadn’t even been an hour into them pulling research from InterPol as to who their UnSubs were before they had made their next dramatic move; they had shot a hostage. 

Which meant they needed medics in there fast, fast enough to save the hostage and the jack if it kept the king from unravelling into a massacre. 

“What do you mean you can help?” Emily said with a scathing tone, “Bug, you can’t just throw yourself in harm’s way if you have no clue what you’re-”

“I did three years of a medicine degree alongside my biochemistry before I got bored of doing both and gave up on it,” Bugsy snapped at her sister, brows contorting into a harsher frown than she’d had in months. She preferred it when they weren’t speaking at all. 

“Because you were bored?” Derek asked, his face incredulous at the gall of the twenty year old they’d plucked from college and sent into the midst of the Russian Mob five years ago, “Did you not have anything better to do like partying or making out with guys- a whole medical degree on the side is your idea of downtime?” 

She shrugged, looking back at Emily with a glare who seemed to bristle at the information. 

“Can I speak to you outside please?” Emily said in the coolest tone she could muster, though even that sounded like a bite. 

Something shifted in the air of the tiny, makeshift office and the other inhabitants tensed up at the sight of the Prentiss women gritting their teeth almost identically, staring daggers at one another for a moment before they stood from their seats and waltzed out of the side of the trailer to where there wasn’t the bustle of squad cars or media to be seen. 

JJ looked to Morgan, who looked to Spencer, who seemed to have paled for a moment, and the three of them were out of their own seats to linger at the doorway in case things really did get ugly between the sisters.  

“Do you honestly think that throwing yourself into the line of danger today is a good idea or are you trying to hurt me to get back at me?” Emily seethed the minute they had stepped foot on the ground, and the scoff that left her little sister’s throat was something nasty. 

“Oh, please, don’t make yourself sound so important.” Bugsy snapped, whirling around on her heel to glare at her sister, “I’m not doing any of this to get back at you, I’m trying to save those hostages in there-” 

“So I just happened to have never heard about this medical side quest you set yourself on until now because, what, it just never came up?” Emily laughed, laughed, in her sister’s face, and Bugsy saw red even more, “I thought you were a better liar than that,”

“Maybe if you’d bothered to even speak to me before you needed something from me that day with the Russians then you would have known anything about me that wasn’t being your dumb little sister you can just walk all over like you’re my mom or something,” Bugsy’s voice was getting louder, and Emily’s smirk wiped right off at the sound of that, because she knew she could have been ten times a better sister had she not wanted to get as far away from her mother as fast as possible. “Same with Hotch, he never wanted much to do with me until his wife died and then who did he come to needing help grieving, none a single one of you, and who gets bitten in the ass and punished when I find out I spent seven months grieving like some idiot to that uptight prick who lied to me-”

“Do not speak about him like that,” Emily was shouting now too because Bugsy was truly holding nothing back on her. 

“Why? Are you going to pick him over me, Em?” The younger woman snarked, her eyes hateful and narrowed, “Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest given your track record-”

Emily shoved her, like, truly shoved her back and it robbed the words out of the girl’s throat. Yet it made JJ gasp where they were watching from the crack in the doorway, wanting to break them apart but knowing they needed to fix it for themselves. 

The three of them hissed when Bugsy’s hand swiped against Emily’s cheek in a territory neither of them had ever wandered into. Emily was always too old to argue with her sister, too big to fight the way most siblings did with slaps and hair pulls and scratches, but Bugsy was a grown woman now; they both were. 

Emily swatted the same back to her own cheekbone, after a second of shock washing over her face, and it was like they were two cats fighting in a back alleyway over a scrap of chicken. 

Bugsy shoved at her around the tits, because she knew it would ache, Emily pulled at her braid with a yank that made Bugsy’s eyes water, the two of them banging against the wall of the trailer, their heads clunking together. 

“Fucking punishing me after months like some insolent child-”

“I would never have left you thinking you were to blame for my death- I would never fucking do this to you-”

This was childish, entirely childish, playground offences and girlish curses in between. The worst part was they knew they could do much worse, they knew they could truly hurt one another if they wanted to. They were both trained to kill, and yet Emily had Bugsy grabbed in a headlock like they were two infants fighting over a sandpit. 

Because they didn’t want to properly hurt one another in any way that would last. Never. 

“Get the fuck off me or I’m punching you in the crotch,” Bugsy barked, trying to wriggle her way out of her sister’s freakishly strong arms with a frown, “EMILY- I SAID-”

“I was trying to protect you- just get your head out of your ass for two seconds and listen to me- I was trying to protect all of you-” But by the time Emily had somewhat gotten her to stop squirming, the girl had grabbed her by the calf where she had been forced to bend at a forty five degree angle, holding her one leg up off the floor while she sweeped at the second one to knock her off balance. 

She had been known to shoot an assailant in the foot from twenty feet away to stop them from getting away, and yet she was resorting to simply pushing her sister over as a way to get one up on her. 

She felt like she was ready to finger paint and take a nap time next; like they were about to be sat in the headmaster’s office and have their wrists slapped with a ruler for not keeping their hands to themselves. 

But it worked, and in seconds the Prentiss girls were on the floor, puffing out of breath, Bugsy’s lip bleeding where Emily’s ring had caught it on the corner, Emily’s cheek red and raised from where her sister had a surprisingly strong right hook. They took a minute to breath, Bugsy glaring at the awfully clear blue sky, much too happy and cheery for the travesty that had been her entire day. And it was only then did she hear the other three members of their team exit the trailer, JJ going to help Emily up while Morgan's face appeared in the middle of the powdered clouds, something sad and sympathetic in his eyes and it was then that he held out his hand to get her up. 

She didn’t want to, had every intention of laying there and staring at the broad daylight until she managed to float far away from there and from where her chest hurt with betrayal and her lip bled with lies. 

He yanked her off the floor, offered her a cold can of coke for where she felt her lip swelling already, and she resigned to sit on the stairs to the trailer with her head in her hands until her temple stopped pounding or at least until she felt herself calm down in the slightest. 

Emily shuffled to sit down next to her, her breathing still uneven but she could tell because she felt a tentative hand on her thigh rubbing gently, in the motherly way Emily had always watched her.

Because Bugsy had always been her baby, whether she wanted to admit it or not. 

“Bugsy?” The younger woman huffed in indignance, pouting as she stared at her lap, because she felt the tears welling up already, “I’m so sorry I left you, you know I never, ever wanted to, you know that right?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice cracked as she finally looked over at her sister’s solemn face, “You told JJ and Hotch but you couldn’t even tell me? Did you just not want to come back for me?”

Emily’s brows pulled up into a sorrowful frown, and she felt her eyes start to burn too. 

“No, that was never a part of it, I swear, there wasn’t a day when I didn’t want to come home to you,” She replied, taking a deep breath in through her nose as not to start bawling her eyes out there and then, “I had to tell Hotch and JJ as a matter of precaution, not because I wanted to tell them and not you. Bug, I missed you every day, I missed Niko and Sergio and those dumb documentaries you made us watch,”  

Bugsy smiled despite herself, wiping a finger under her nose to stop the tears that had already started rolling there, “Well, I don’t know about Niko but Sergio missed you a whole lot,” She sniffled, rolling the Coke over to a cooler side to sooth her lip some more, “But I think he feels like you kind of abandoned him, and like you maybe don’t love him as much because he can be kind of annoying and, like, he’s real torn up about me telling him you died only to find your you’re not, like you can’t just do that to Sergio, Em, he doesn’t deserve that,” 

Bugsy’s lip was quivering by the time she’d finished, but Emily chuckled wetly, wrapping an arm over her shoulder and pressing their pounding heads together. 

“Are we maybe not talking about Sergio anymore, Bug? Are we talking about you-”

“No, we’re definitely talking about Sergio,” She cut in, wiping under her eyes with her sleeve, looking back up where Emily’s face was glistening with tears though it seemed like she had somewhat calmed under her sister’s gaze that wasn’t so full of vitriol hatred anymore. 

Emily nodded, a humoured smile on her lips, “Right, okay, my bad. Definitely Sergio,” She held up her hand, stroking down Bug’s cheek for her where her tears had started pooling, “Well, I want Sergio to know that even if he is annoying sometimes, that there’s nothing that could ever take me away from him again, cause even though I’m not his mom, he’s still always going to be my kid, you know?” 

Bugsy’s face crumpled in pain for a minute, sniffling and meeting Emily’s eyes, dark brown hues watching her sadly, imploring her to know how much her heart called out for her. 

“Really? You promise?” Bugsy whined, and Emily nodded with a sad smile, stroking the back of her braid that looked a little ratted and wispy from where it had been yanked at. She took a shaky breath, looking down to her shoes where they scraped against the steps, “Well, I’m sure he’ll love to hear that, I’ll tell him when we’re home-”

Emily laughed, kissing her sister’s forehead, and pulling her into a side hug. 

“Alright, tough guys. Let’s get back to working on the profile, Sergio can wait for a minute,” Morgan said, though his face fought off the smile that crept on his lips seeing two of his favourite girls finally at peace with one another. 

Bugsy looked five years younger within seconds, and they clicked back into place, hopping up off the steps to get right to work, cursing herself for wasting so much time on silly things like hating her sister, because forgiving her felt cathartic in a way she didn’t understand she needed.

Maybe they had a chance after all.

–

Bugsy swore she would never have an optimistic thought a day in her life again. 

Because just as they had thought perhaps things could look up; just as they had sent in a different agent medically trained enough to save the jack, their UnSub, that they’d identified as Oliver, had bled out before he could have done anything to save him. Without a second thought, the king, Chris, had shot the agent, and demanded he wanted Will next as retribution for his brother’s death. 

They had of course turned down the offer in a heartbeat but the moment everyone turned their backs, Will, ten times the cop Bugsy could ever hope to be, had walked into the bank with his arms raised in surrender despite JJ screaming for him to stop from where Morgan and Hotch held her back from following him in.

Bugsy and Penelope watched from the CCTV in blood curdling horror when Chris put two bullets in him before he could even declare he was unarmed. 

“Did you see where he was shot?” JJ asked, her tone empty, her eyes bloodshot where she had broken down into a fit of wails as soon as the gunshots had sounded through the street. 

Bugsy opened her mouth to speak, losing all hope as soon as the bluebell gaze fell to her for an explanation. 

“Is he alive or dead, Bug?” JJ snipped, but she knew she didn’t mean it, knew she was just worried out her mind and grasping at straws. 

“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Bugsy replied, Emily’s hand at the small of her back in a comforting gesture because she sounded scared. She wished Spencer was with her, he always knew how to make people feel better, but he and Kevin had gone back to their office uptown to use Penelope’s personal lair for better coverage on the BAU’s resources. 

“He was wearing a vest,” Emily jumped in, because Bug was tense and upset enough as it was, “He might be okay,”

“Might be?” JJ said humourlessly, her face hollow with sadness, “Alright we need to get inside,”

“JJ, it’s too risky,” Morgan tried as the woman stood up, a new found determination, because she refused to accept her partner, the father of her child, was dead until she saw him in a body bag for herself, “We don’t have eyes in there anymore,”

Jennifer’s eyes welled up again, and she turned to their unit chief; he was the only one who could understand just how desperate she felt right now if there was even the smallest chance he could still be alive. “Aaron.” 

Hotch took a breath, nodding to her with complete empathy, “Let’s go in,”

Bugsy leapt for the medical kit they’d kept in the cupboard, because if she could stop the bleeding as soon as possible he might have a chance. She was taken back to when she had gotten to Emily that night with Doyle, when she had nothing but the clothes on her back and a loaded gun to treat her sister with, when she had felt completely helpless. 

She refused to feel like that again, not now she’d been lucky enough to get Emily back. She refused to let JJ and tiny Henry go through what she did. 

Will wouldn’t die if she had anything to do with it. 

-

“Seeing what’s going on outside doesn’t help us inside,” Spencer said, standing behind where Kevin sat in Pen’s office, his hazel eyes falling to the surveillance footage of the bank live streaming from one of the choppers, where the familiar woman he worried for more than he could ever tell her moved behind a SWAT unit towards the front doors, a large med kit strapped to her back, a pistol at her side. 

He looked down at the blueprints of the bank because if he watched her get even ten feet away the bank he thought he might just throw up, even if there were four armed men shielding her.

“Kevin, can you possibly pull up each of the surveillance feeds prior to Will being shot?” He asked, quickly diverting his attention away from where they were at an impasse waiting for something to happen, Emily’s SWAT team moving slowly towards hers. 

“Sure, what are we looking for?” The other man asked, his fingers sprawling over Penelope’s keyboard as he did as requested, playing the older footage on the opposite screen, though even he was getting cold feet watching their team getting ready to breach the perimeter. 

“The female UnSub disappeared once before, if she wasn’t looking for an escape, what was she doing?” 

Spencer paused, because he couldn’t help when his eyes flicked back to the footage of Bugsy shuffling closer to the entrance behind one SWAT agent, and the doors burst open, the entire street pausing for a second to see what the movement was. 

The hostages. The civillians caught in the crossfire at the bank slowly trickled out of the doorway, their arms raised in peace, some crying in relief though there was no sign of Will anywhere. 

This was bad. Though he felt utmost care that the hostages had been released safely, he knew that the UnSubs keeping Will meant one of two things. One, that Will was already dead and useless to them, or two, keeping him bleeding out as a bargaining chip was their final play. Meaning they had no intention of releasing him, otherwise they would be left with nothing. 

If he wasn’t already dead, he would be any minute now. 

Spencer’s chest crashed in devastation for his friend and his godson, though it soon took a turn of terror when it seemed the same thought ran through Bugsy’s mind and she began stepping forward towards where the hostages were shuffling out in floods of tears. 

He saw Morgan and Emily yelling at her to stop, two of the SWAT team trying to follow her because they had no idea what had come over the twenty something year old rookie with a death wish. Spencer tried to ignore the way his chest clawed in horror, his eyes snapping back onto the surveillance of the female UnSub disappearing into the back rooms of the bank, completely ignoring the vault and the very clearly marked exit, meaning she had no intention of using either.

So what was she doing?” 

Spencer felt his head rattling with a horrid thought, hoping his intuition was wrong when he held the blueprints up to the screen, his skin turning to gooseflesh when he realised just exactly where she had been dipping out to with that backpack of hers. 

“Gas mains,” His voice was numb with fear, his body diving for their comm link to Garcia, where she sat in the trailer with Strauss and Rossi, watching the surveillance just as he was, “Garcia, get them out of there now,”

But no sooner had he said anything, Bugsy’s figure disappeared into the building, the SWAT team confirming that the entrance was clear, JJ and Morgan moving after her with their own agents protecting them. 

But she was already inside, his head screamed at him. Even when he heard David’s frantic voice through the radio they had linked to their kevlars, “ABORT, ABORT!” 

Even when he heard Hotch swear hastily, calling to his team to hold back, trying to yell loud enough JJ and her team could hear his orders to take cover. 

Spencer couldn’t truly take any of it in as he watched the large glass windows wobble for a second, a shock wave of what he knew was about to come.

The lines went dead, and he thought for a second his heart stopped. Because he hadn’t figured it out fast enough, hadn’t warned them before she had chance to throw herself head first into danger the way he should have known she would. 

Because Spencer watched the footage with a terror he had never known, not even in his eight years on the team, not even in his own situations as a hostage, not even when he was at his lowest and he thought the dilaudid was going to finish him off, alone and high in his apartment’s little bathroom, a burnt out drug addict who had so much going for him. 

Spencer had never felt the sheer, spine-chilling dread that he did when he watched, useless and heart broken, as the bank went up in a colossal explosion, a plume of flames bursting out of every window, shattering glass and cracking the brickwork, hard enough he watched part of the building start to crumble inwards. 

And Bugsy went down with it. 

Taglist:

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#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew grey gubler x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #Emily Prentiss x Sister!reader

[heartlyrins]

Hi! This is my first time requesting so forgive me if I did something wrong 😿

I've read your Aventurine x slave!reader and I was wondering how about reader who WANTS to be his sex slave? The first time reader met Aventurine, she's been gushing over him. Reader tries to hide it but the word "simp" literally written on her face. Every night reader dreams of riding, sucking Aventurine's cock, wanting his head between her legs, rocking her inside every night. Every time reader nears/sees Aventurine, her face got red and her legs slightly parting although she insists it's just her habit. It didn't took Aventurine long to know what reader has been dreaming of and he's gladly fulfill reader's small dream.

Bonus: reader has a degradation kink and in her mind she'll do anything Aventurine told/request her like a good pet

Once again sorry if this is somehow against your rule 😭 If you're not feeling comfortable with it you can delete my message

MR HOTSTUFF, PLEASE NOTICE ME !

˚₊‧desc— Aventurine noticed that one of his subordinates just can't seem to keep their eyes off him!

˚₊‧tw— smut, degradation kink, dacryphilia, blowjob, slight pet play, adult toys, buttplug, public sex?, dubcon photo taking, choking, masochistic!reader, sadistic!Aventurine, kinda yandere!reader

˚₊‧a/n— I've been having writer's block but I desperately want to write for my husband. This is the most tame fic I've written so far I think, this is soo horrible cuz I wrote this while my head hurts.

He hated dealing with new recruits in the IPC, as the senior member of the strategic investment department—it wasn't really his job to do so.

They're incompetent, slow-working assholes who can't understand a single thing he says. But still—he does need to pick a partner.

He doesn't understand why he needs to, since he's fully capable of himself but it is a requirement for every Ten-Stonehearts members. Said it was something about a program training the recruits..

He goes to round the recruits and asking them questions to find which is the most suitable one for him.

Honestly, all of these recruits are dumber than Topaz's pet. The talent motivation department did a horrible job with finding these recruits.

Each one of them can't answer a simple question, when he asks them if they're willing to risk their life for a gamble, all of them just suddenly go dumb-witted as if they lost all braincells.

He doesn't mean to sound like a fellow acquaintance who nags everytime he sees an idiot, but for the love of Qlipoth are they a dumbass with a stick shoved up their ass.

He rejected all of them and was even beginning to think that he wasn't gonna pick one that's good enough, well that was until he was met with the sight of a cute girl—undoubtedly nervous.

How could he miss such a gem in these crowds? He observes you for a moment and when you glance at him—your eyes shine with admiration.

He likes it, you're cute, can keep up with his commands although you do that little thing that makes you space-out sometimes.

He's not extremely bias towards women, but aren't you just so adorable—a diamond in the rough, he thinks.

And when he asks you a question, you'd respond in a fast tone. And when he finally asks you the question that the other recruits dreaded, you'd answer in a cheery tone.

"Y-yes, I'd like to sacrifice my life for you, Aventurine! You're amazing and I'd really like it if I was your assistant even if that means I have to die just to worship the ground you walk on—" you stop when he just stares in your eyes without a response.

Bingo.

"How is your recruit fairing, Aventurine? I heard that you liked her very much." Topaz asks while petting Numby that's placed on her lap.

"Mmn, she's alright." he says as if he wasn't hiding you beneath his desk, sucking his cock as he has a conversation with Topaz. He hums as he strokes your hair, Topaz still so blissfully unaware of what a happening under the table.

"How about your recruit?" he asks and pushes you down deeper by your head, you gagged but it was silenced by Topaz's talking, thankfully.

"I don't like him, it seems like I chose the wrong one. I'm even considering to drop the program off—it's not even worth it since we should be busy with other things." she sighs before crossing her arms and Numby squeals when she does that.

"Sounds like he's a handful." he almost moans but he managed to keep it in, his face is probably flushed at the moment.

"You have no idea of how much of a—Hey, you okay? You look pretty red." she mentions and almost stands up to check on him.

"Yeah—gh. I'm fine, I'm just not up for conversations right now." you bat your eyelashes at him, tears threatening to fall down whilst you take him deeper in your mouth.

Topaz nods—placing the space trotter down as the chair scrapes against the floor, Numby starts to stare at him as if aware of what was happening.

"Hey Topaz," Aventurine called out as she was leaving the room, "Lock the door before you leave, please." He accidentally let out a moan which was silenced quickly while hoping that she doesn't notice.

She doesn't question the slight moan and leaves the room with her pet following, Numby looks at him suspiciously before being called by Topaz and Numby hurriedly follows behind.

Aventurine finally breathes heavily, not realizing that he was holding his breath all these time. The fact that you're gazing up at him with those eyes of yours make his cock twitch in your mouth.

"Y-you.. Fuck.. What a good recruit I have hm? You're so—fuck.. Come here, bend over the desk." you abide, bending over the table and lifting your skirt to proudly show him the buttplug you wore that resembles a cat's tail.

"So cute.." he coos and flicks the tail, he had gifted you that just the day before you so willingly confessed your obsession over him.

"M-master—cock.." he slaps your butt once, reminding you of your place and how you're not supposed to make any demands.

"Nuh-uh, remember how I taught you? Manners, baby." you whimper at his words before fumbling over your words again which just makes you get another spank on the butt.

"No cock until you learn to ask properly." whining at his words—you try to speak properly, you do want his cock after all.

"Cock—please, Master..? I'll be good.." you manage to let out despite the embarrassment, but you're so used to being shameless around him.

He praises you for a moment and grants your wishes—the wish that you desperately wants his dick in your cunt.

The hands that were holding your hips were now on your neck, gripping your throat tightly and cutting off your airway.

But you like it—it's feels so good to be choked— especially by him! You want to die by his hands.. By his graceful hands.

"M-more.. More.." the word leaves you like a river flowing out, you drool once he pushes himself inside you and grunts.

The rhythm starts off slow and gentle before it proceeds to get rougher and deeper, you moan out and looks at him with a blurry vision.

Just before you could pass out—he took his hands off you just so you could breath in and you physically whine.

Just by that whine—he gradually speeds up faster, hitting the spots within you that you could never reach with a custom-made dildo of him.

Tears start slipping down your cheeks which he smiles at. He loves your tears, he loves it when you break down because of him.

More and more, you start to get crazier day by day—mad over a woman getting too close to him and oh he just loves that.

He kisses your tears away and grins at your dumbstruck face—he cums at the sight of it, pushing his seed deep inside your womb.

You're already gone the first round, he wants to do much much more with you. But first, he pulls out a gift for you.

A collar for you, he clips the collar on your neck. Now he can fuck you easily—and also show that you're his and his subordinate alone.

#aventurine smut #aventurine x reader #aventurine x y/n #aventurine x you #yandere aventurine #star rail aventurine #hsr aventurine #hsr smut #yandere hsr

[dudeitiskarev]

Your voice | Aaron Hotchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn reader

Summary: Aaron doubts himself as a father and husband.

Tags/warnings: girl dad Hotch <3; lots of self doubt; reassuring reader; hurt/comfort

Word count: 2.6k

Author's note: another repost! this was a request I got back in the day, and it was very challenging because I have an unpopular opinion about dad Hotch. But I managed to put those feelings aside and wrote this! And honestly, I love it, so I hope you love it too.

MASTERLIST

One of Aaron’s favorite things about you has always been the way you interacted with a toddler; how happy you would get, gently squeezing his arm with excitement before walking up to the kid. How your eyes would shine so bright and how even the joy radiated through your voice.

        “I want one of these,” You’d said one day in a silly tone, more to yourself — and to the baby you were holding — than to anyone else who was around you. 

        That brief and adorable moment stuck with Aaron, replaying your words in his mind the entire day, and he couldn’t help but ask you about it later that same night. 

        You were watching some random movie you’d picked to fall asleep to, resting your head against his chest and his warm fingers tracing random lines on your arm when he said, “Do you really want babies?” 

        His raspy voice came out almost in a whisper.

        “Some day.” You smiled and pulled yourself closer to him.

        Since the moment Aaron came into your life, having a little human who resembled you both running around your home has always been part of your life plan. And though you hadn’t had that serious talk yet, that’s what Aaron wanted someday too. Raise a kid and give them everything he ever lacked and show them all the love he had to offer. He was sure that love would only be multiplied by a million with you by his side, so it didn’t take him much time to realize you were the one and ask you to marry him.

        You were the last couple of your friend group to walk down the aisle. That also meant being the last ones standing without babies; at every friends’ reunion there was a new baby — or at least a pregnant friend. 

        “I want more,” you’d said to him at one of your very pregnant friend’s baby shower. 

        “More… cupcakes?” Aaron turned his head to you, giving you a dimpled smile. 

        “More of us.”

        He scanned your face up and down with a smirk. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed your baby fever, it could almost come out of your pores. 

        Profiler or husband, he understood right away what you meant with more of us.

        “We can talk about it when we get home.”

        As soon as you settled on your couch that night you had the baby talk, and agreed over a shared glass of wine that it was a good time in your marriage to start trying. You both had stable jobs and you finally admitted to him how lonely you felt the few times he wasn’t home. 

        “We could get a puppy first, though. To practice,” you smiled at him unsure. 

        “No puppy, but we’ll practice,” he teased in your ear. “A lot.”  

        You did, starting that same night. And during the course of six months, you two kept practicing and practicing in every room of your home between endless I love you’s and kisses. 

        There were a few occasions in which your body felt strange as if your hormones had started charging already, but the test would come out negative every time. That short and painful silence after you both read ‘not pregnant’ was quickly filled with Aaron’s comforting “we’ll keep trying” . 

        To you it really wasn’t a shocking surprise when three tests finally came out positive, but to him it was. 

        Aaron wasn’t prepared and got too overwhelmed the moment you gifted him a tiny box with even tinier baby clothes in it. It took him a few seconds to open his mouth and yet all he was able to say was “ wow” while he hugged you tightly, swallowing the lump that was forming on his throat and blinking too many times to scare the joyful tears away.  

        It was happening. You two had made someone with so much love from scratch and soon it wasn’t going to be just you and him anymore. 

        The first few months were hell. To you, because your pregnancy symptoms were unbearable at times, and to Aaron who was desperate to help you feel better, googling every day different ways to get rid of morning sickness. But no vitamin or sour candy helped more than his magic hands – as you called them – massaging your temples with a little bit of peppermint lotion. It worked like a charm so whenever you two ended up being a hundred miles apart because of a case, blame built in his stomach, almost getting morning sickness too. You insisted that a phone call was good, but it was never enough for him. 

        Through your entire pregnancy Aaron tried his best to be there, and even when you’d had the conversation about his time-consuming job long before deciding to make your family grow, he still felt bad every time you went to a doctor’s appointments on your own. The pictures you sent him of your ultrasounds only made that feeling worse, but he never mentioned it to you. 

        Many weird food cravings, baby kicks and bump massages went by until the scheduled due date came. Hearing that first baby cry swelled Aaron’s chest with a kind of happiness he’d never experienced before, and the moment he held his newborn baby for the first time, her crying stopped. He knew that’s what he was meant to be, then as he kissed his daughter’s forehead, he promised himself to always be there. For you, for your baby, and that you’ll always have it all. 

        Time has always been the hardest thing to give. Something you learned to cherish with him the most since you started dating, so you were used to it. 

        Aaron… not so much. 

        If it were possible he would split himself into two, to be there for his family as much as being there for a victim. Most of the time, he chose the victim knowing well he’d find you at home safe and sound, and that was his best reward. And yet sometimes that guilt remained there, heavy on his chest and would try his best not to bring it home. 

        His sanctuary. 

        Ever since your daughter came to your life, Aaron felt safer at home for some reason. He’d get submerged in that comforting and faint baby perfume the instant he stepped one foot inside your place.

        And tonight, as he tossed his briefcase on the couch and his keys on the small table by the entrance, that perfume was stronger, meaning you’d probably finished getting her ready for bed not long ago.

        It was late and there was a chance you were awake, but he still stealthily walked through the house searching for you. 

        Each quiet room belonged to your daughter. She was everywhere, from the baby toys scattered in the bathtub, to the small pile of clean laundry on your bed, half folded. 

        When he found you on the warm lighted nursery, asleep on the rocking chair with your baby sleeping in your arms, he leaned against the door frame and stared at you for who knows how long, cherishing the view with a smile. You always seemed so peaceful, yet he could tell by the slight frown across your face that you were exhausted. 

        Then again, that guilt appeared — that ticking clock on the back of his head that haunted him, telling him to love you good and fast. 

        You were in fact asleep, but he needed to hear your voice. He walked up to you and leaned to give you a kiss on the top of your head.

        You groaned as a sign you were waking up and with squinted eyes you smiled at him. “Hey.” Aaron crouched next to you, kissing your baby’s head too.  “What time is it?”

        “Almost midnight.”

        “You okay?” You asked without a particular reason.

        He simply nodded as he kissed your lips, as a way of greeting, as goodnight, as an ‘ I love you’ , as an ‘I’m sorry’.. .

        It didn’t matter. The feeling of longing when his lips touched yours was always there.

        You nodded back and carefully rose from the chair, tucking your baby on her crib. Aaron was right behind you and wrapped one arm around your waist, kissing your cheek. 

        “I expected you tomorrow,” you murmured, turning your head to him.  

        “We finished sooner and I– I couldn’t wait until morning.”

        “You took a commercial flight again ?” 

        Aaron raised his brows as he nodded. 

        He’d done that many times before when a case was in a nearby state (but the pilot wasn’t available until early the next morning). You’d told him he shouldn’t spend money on a flight if he could wait a few more hours, but he was impatient most of the time. The next morning was always too late for him and he never really looked at flight prices if it meant he’d see his family soon. 

        “Hey,” you noticed an odd look on his face, “what’s wrong?” 

        At that moment —besides his loud mind — absolutely nothing. 

        Aaron kissed your cheek once again and merely said, “I just missed you.”

        While you two stayed quiet admiring how your daughter slept, Aaron’s only thought was how you were almost raising your kid on your own, how all he ever got to see was how good of a parent you were becoming and how stuck and new to it he still was.

        “You can talk to me.” You snapped him out of his anguished thoughts and brought the hand on your hip to your lips, kissing his palm.

        “I know,” he smiled but you gave him your classic not-so-convinced eyebrow-raise. 

        Sharing your life with a profiler has developed your own kind of profiling method. It was different from his, but you could read every raise of a brow, every lick of his lips and every slow blink. You also knew when those dimples you adored so much weren’t as genuine, that he was hiding his feelings as he used to do in the beginning of your relationship. 

        Aaron remained staring at you while you kept trying to read him. 

        “What?” He asked in a teasing tone when he caught a glimpse of a smile on your eyes. 

        “Did you know,” you started, clearing your throat, “that she never finishes her milk?” You gestured at your baby with your brows. “But whenever you give her her dinner, there isn’t one single drop left on her bottle?”

        Aaron smiled, “You’ve never told me that?”

        You turned your whole body to him, clutching his waist and in return he cupped your face, brushing your cheeks with his thumbs.

        “You always brag about how she sleeps all night, too,” you laughed a little, ”because whenever you’re home she never wakes up, but that’s because it’s you who always puts her to bed.”

        “So she’s not really a good sleeper?” He asked.

        “The nights you’re not here are coincidentally her bad nights.”

        “Sorry.”

        You shook your head and smiled at him for a moment, then said, “You’re a great dad, Aaron. Our little girl knows that, I know that.” He cut you off by giving you a soft quick peck on your lips before letting you continue, “and you are the best  – and sexiest – husband in the world.” 

        Aaron chuckled. He may never get used to hearing you call him sexy . 

        You two held an intimate stare for a few seconds. Those stares in which you say I love you in every language with one single shared glimmer of eyes. 

        You sighed deeply and kept going, “I know you only focus on the times you’re away, and I’m gonna be honest, I do wish you were home more often with a regular schedule but honey, that would kill you.” He sucked in a breath in clear struggle trying to say something too but nothing came out. “I met you loving your job, and I know you love us more than anything. You’re passionate about the things you love and...we’re still figuring it out. This whole parenting thing.”

        As always, you’d hit the nail. 

        “It’s not a competition between work and your family,” you added, “and if you feel that way, like you have to choose every time your phone rings in the middle of a cheesy family moment… we need to work on that,” you teased, raising your brows at him the way he always did. 

        “I feel like I’m missing so much,” he said, glancing at your baby for a second. “I look back and wish I’d been there every day through your pregnancy. And now I’m doing the exact same thing. She’s gonna turn one soon and every time I get home she seems bigger.”

        “That’s because she’s gonna be as tall as you,” you tried to lighten it up a bit, but it hurt knowing he was struggling with things you could easily get through just by talking about them. “We’re learning here, you and me, we’re a team and we can always get better if we work together. Don’t beat yourself up.”

        “What can I do?” A sigh escaped past his mouth. “To be better for you?”

        To avoid coming home one day and not find you.

        “Aaron,” you stroked his cheek with the back of your curled fingers. “I love you. So much. I’m not gonna tell you what to do, mainly because there’s no need, you’re already perfect–”

        No matter how many times you said that, that was the only thing he couldn’t believe.

        “I’m so scared to lose you,” he whispered.

        “You’re so crazy,” you chuckled; he didn’t. You tried to find his eyes but they were shut with a pained frown and stayed like that while you said, “Every time you kiss me, every time you hold our baby and I see how amazing you’re with her… I fall in love with you all over again.”

        You closed your eyes too and licked your lips in deep thought. You hated the fact that he’d never capture himself the way you did – how truly perfect he was. 

        “I don’t see that ever happening, leaving you. I would be stupid crazy,” you assured him, giving him one quick kiss. “Unless you cheat on me,” you teased again. 

        “I would never,” he said in a very serious tone staring right back at you.  

        “We’ll be right here, then.” You circled his nose with yours. “I’m here for you, honey. Always, and if you need me to reassure you everyday of our life, I will. Just… talk to me, okay? You know I love listening to you.”

        He nodded, returning the kiss before pulling you into a strong hug and stayed there, breathing each other in for a moment while hearing your daughter’s calm breathing.

        “And she does too,” you half-broke the hug keeping your arms around his waist. “I tried telling her one of your stories tonight but... it didn’t work.”

        “How did you get her to sleep, then?”

        You snickered at him reaching for your phone, and after a few taps on the screen, Aaron’s voice telling your daughter’s favourite bedtime story began to sound out of the speakers.

        “Is that me?” He tilted his brow with a slight smirk. 

        “I may have voice recorded you once or twice telling her a story?” You bit your lip and let the sound play as you continued, “I knew it’d come in handy. I’m not a good storyteller like you.”

        “God,” he sighed deep. “I love you so much.”

        And as he held your face and gave you one more loving kiss on your lips, the ticking clock froze and each time he doubted himself vanished, letting himself breathe at peace for the first time in a while. 

        “I love you,” You murmured against his lips, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “And your voice helps me fall asleep too.”

#aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner imagine

[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 11 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8 / chapter 9 / chapter 10

Making the scrapbook was cathartic. Remembering the good times, the innocence of your childhood, was as much of a joy as it was painful. The pictures were all quite good quality since Abuela had had a film camera. Some photos had been taken with a digital camera, which had probably originally belonged to the Georges and ended up in your possession somewhere along the way.

Regina and yourself playing in the Georges' backyard and swimming in their pool, beaming smiles directed at the camera. You could almost hear the laughter. I miss when we used to be able to just have fun together like this. I guess it's a part of growing up.

Regina in a white frilly dress, carrying a small basket of flower petals, donning a crown of roses on her head. She was pouting, clearly unimpressed by the whole thing. You hadn't been at the wedding since it was a George event, but Regina's mom had been so elated her daughter had gotten to be the flower girl. I remember I was so jealous you got to go to a wedding and I couldn't. You hated it, though, which was funny. You used to leave the room whenever your mom insisted we watch the tape. I wonder if she still has it.

You sitting with Regina, hip to hip, on plastic chairs while a newlyborn Kylie slept in your laps. Regina, eyes stuck on her baby sister and a thoughtful look on her face, while you looked at the camera with a smile. She's growing up so fast. Don't think I don't know you care about her. There's gonna be a time you'll regret not spending time with her. I already feel it.

Mrs George, Abuela, Regina, Kylie in her mom's arms, and you grouped together at a parking lot. You and Regina had on little graduation gowns and had scrolls in your hands. Elementary school graduation. The summer before middle school. End of an era. I love your mom's clothes, they're so nineties. Does she still have those jeans? You should get ahold of them before somebody else does...

Remember when I sliced my hand open when we were peeling apples? That was a time for sure. I still have the scar!

You taped pictures onto the pages, wrote little things here and there, hoping the labour of your love wouldn't end up in the garbage. Or if it did, Regina would read skim through it first.

I think this album was the first time we agreed on music. Britney Spears really brought us together, huh? We even learned the choreography of Baby One More Time. Mrs George loved it. I bet there's a video of that somewhere.

Mostly the scrapbook was filled with anecdotes about your childhoods together. You did write a letter of sorts on the first page, regarding your intentions with the whole thing.

I made this for you to commemorate the good times we had. You know me regrettably well, so I think you know how I tend to hold onto things. I still have that gaudy pink Build-A-Bear you made me for Valentine's Day that one time. It's one of my most important possessions, only second to the memories we have together. You'll always be a friend to me, Reggie. If not forever, or from now on, then back then. I love you. Yours, Jorts.

You'd pretty much finished the whole thing by the end of the weekend. You spent Monday and Tuesday decorating the front cover, mostly because you purposefully put it off. You cut out letters from magazines and glued them there, painstakingly forming the words Reggie & Jorts. You'd tried to come up with something clever, but making a pun or a dumb joke felt like cheapening the whole album. A simple name made up for with fabulous decorations!

You weren't much of a painter, but you figured it'd be fitting if the album reflected its contents. It was fine if the roses you painted looked like a five-year-old did them. A good majority of the pictures featured you and Regina huddled around a crafts table, similar projects scattered all around you, young with clumsy hands but filled with artistic passion.

The album in itself was an earthy green colour, something Regina undoubtedly found ugly. The flowers brightened it up somewhat, but there was only so much ages-old acrylic paints could do. You outlined some with Sharpies. If you didn't know better, one could assume it looked like that on purpose.

You took it with you to school on Wednesday. You had it weighing your backpack down the whole day. You sweated under all your layers, and by the end of it, you were sure you were sporting some epic pit stains. Gross, but you were so nervous. You hadn't broken into anyone's locker in so long. And it was Regina George's locker.

You loitered around the hallways as they emptied out steadily, people heading home or off to extracurriculars. As you approached Regina's locker, you swallowed down your nervousness and got to work.

It wasn't hard. The combination locks were all old and weak, more of a formality than an actual barrier between one's stuff and a burglar. The lock clicked open easily and you wasted no time in stuffing your album inside.

"Hey!" Just as the resounding click of the lock going back into place came, a voice called out to you. "What are you doing with Regina's locker?"

"Uhh..." Gretchen Wieners stood at the intersection of hallways, hands on her hips and accusatory eyes burning holes in you. You made the swift decision that you did not have time for this. You booked it.

"Hey! Get back here!" Gretchen, surprisingly considering her heels, started after you. "What did you put in it? You cannot prank Regina, or- or, oh, was it a bomb?"

"It's not a bomb!" You shouted over your shoulder, sprinting towards the exit. The aggressive clacking of Gretchen's heels on the floors as she ran after you would surely haunt your nightmares. How could she even keep up with you?

"If it's not a bomb then what!" How was she closing in on you? It seemed like she was not even fazed by your little race, meanwhile, you were already winded. The exit was not that far away, but it felt like miles.

"It's Regina's business now! Ask her tomorrow at school or something!" The doors to freedom approached. "Stop chasing me!"

"Stop running!"

"No!"

You burst out and quickly hopped down the stairs, two at a time. Gretchen was still on your tail, but once she got to the top of the stairs shouted: "Karen! Tackle her!"

You hadn't even noticed Karen fucking Shetty. There was no not noticing her when the girl sprinted at you with perfect athletic form and squashed you to the pavement like a linebacker.

You collided and flew onto the grass. Better than concrete but it still hurt like a bitch.

"Get off of me!" You tried to get out from under her, but Karen was surprisingly dense. She was small but it was as if there were stones in her body instead of organs. "Fuck!"

"Keep her there, Karen, very good."

"Thanks!" Karen beamed, which was a much more common expression on her than the bloodlust she'd shown earlier.

"This has nothing to do with you." You snarled, still wriggling. "This is between Regina and me."

"Whatever's between Regina is between us," Gretchen said, all hoity-toity. "Now, tell me exactly what you put in her locker."

"A fucking photo album." You hissed, closing your eyes and clenching your jaw. What lie could you come up with? "Our families used to know each other. It's mostly pictures of her, so I just thought to... Return it."

"Oh, that's so nice!" Karen's hold loosened and you went to escape.

"Nuh-uh, not good enough." Just like that, Karen's weight slammed back down onto you. Your breath wooshed out of your lungs.

"What more do you want?" You wheezed out, getting sick and tired of this.

"Why was it in your possession?"

"I don't fucking know! It just was!"

"Hmm. And why couldn't you just give it to her?"

"You think that would've gone well, Gretchen? Seriously?" You turned your head with great effort, staring up at the girl. "Please, just let me go."

"I don't think I believe you." Gretchen squatted next to your head. "We're going back and checking it's what you say it is. And then you might be free to go."

"Fuck you." You hissed but made no move to book it when Karen hauled you up.

"That's not very nice." Karen pointed out.

"I don't want to be nice to Gretchen right now." You had no real issue with Karen, even if she had just tackled you.

"Oh, okay." You couldn't see her when she was holding your wrists behind your back, but you could imagine she was bobbing her head up and down like she was known to do.

You were walked back into the building, going mostly without a fight. Gretchen strutted along proudly as if capturing you was some great victory. Regina had trained her well. You weren't sure if that was impressive or just sad.

"Open it." Gretchen gestured once you were back at Regina's locker.

"I need my hands to do that." You helped out, smiling at Gretchen like she was stupid. Sputtering and offended, she instructed Karen to let go.

Instead of running like you should've, taking the chance you could get out if Karen didn't get a one-up on you, you obediently cracked the code again. Was it selfish that you kind of wanted others to know about you and Regina? Was it totally horrible of you to want to know it was real and have proof of that? Well, if it was, there was no helping it.

Gretchen snatched the album from the locker before you could even think to touch it. Karen sidled up to her, peering over her shoulder as she opened it.

You stood by, waiting for their judgement and looking at the ceiling. There'd been a water leak right there, based on the discolouration. Gross.

"You... You're J. J is for Jorts." Gretchen said. She sounded weird, like hollow or something. "J is for Jorts." She said again, breathy and disbelieving.

"What?" What the fuck was going on?

Karen spoke then. "She talks about J a lot. Like, a lot a lot. A whole lot." You nodded slowly as Karen went on. "J's like, her true love. It's so cute."

"J is not her true love, Karen! They are both girls." Gretchen pointed out. You had to agree. "Are they?" She looked you up and down judgementally.

"Yes. I am a girl." You said. It was true, you were female and around the age that it was acceptable to be referred to as a girl. Even so, it made you distinctly uncomfortable.

"Hmm." Gretchen didn't seem to believe you. Karen was busy cooing at the pictures of small Regina. It was sheer luck they hadn't bothered to read your writings.

"Look, can I go now? I know I'm busted, you're probably gonna confiscate the album, and Regina will never see it. Happy?"

"No. Karen, please put it back in the locker." Gretchen said, not taking her eyes off of you. Karen did as asked with a pout. "What is your relationship with Regina?" The album was back in the locker, but it hadn't been locked again.

"Nothing." And that was true. There was nothing there anymore.

"That's a lie and you know it. If you're J, then you've known each other at least since middle school. Based on the pictures, even longer."

"Who is J?" You asked in exasperation.

"Somebody who she has protected for years now. Somebody who is always better than we could ever be." Gretchen pointed between herself and Karen. "J is important to her."

"Okay, well, good for J, I guess."

"You're so infuriating." Gretchen sighed, pinching the skin between her eyes.

"You aren't the first to tell me that."

"Of course, because Regina has said that to you. Because you've known each other forever. Because you're J."

"Listen, I may look a bit butch, but I have a perfectly ordinary girl name."

"That is not the point!" She spoke fast and high-pitched. "You. It's you. You've been under our noses this entire time! Do you realize how much easier things could've been if you were around?"

"Excuse me?" Now, you were really lost.

"You're excused," Karen said cheerfully. You nodded to her in thanks.

"We could never be as good as you. It was like we were placeholders for the ultimate pretty girl she'd somehow let slip. And it's you. In a flannel and hoodie, ratty jeans, dirty shoes, no fashion sense to speak of. It's you." She said that last part with contempt.

You were reeling. Regina had talked about you to these two. Had compared them to you, cited that you were better. For years she'd done that. She'd never forgotten about you.

"Look, Gretchen, I'm sorry Regina's treated you badly." You'd lost the need to defend her, even still. Then again, even if you hadn't, there was little you could argue about with the two she'd tormented the most. "You can probably tell this is something Regina doesn't want coming out."

"What does that matter?" Gretchen asked, eyes far away and legs beginning to pace. "We could- could finally bring her down. Yes. We have J, we have everything she wants. She'll come grovelling."

You took a deep breath. You didn't feel angry, you were too tired to get angry at mean girls at this point. Besides, nobody could rile you up like Regina.

"You're wrong." You put it plainly. "What Regina's been doing to these people, to everyone around her, is wrong. But what I find despicable is how everybody is the same. I know her reasons, I can sympathise with her, but I can't say the same for you. So tell me." You paused to take a deep breath. "Why?"

"I'm not good at riddles, I'm sorry." Karen said, looking genuinely apologetic.

"It's okay, Karen, Gretchen can answer for you both."

"She deserves it." Gretchen said, steel in her tone.

"You sound just like Cady Heron and Janis 'Imi'ike. She hurt them too. What do you think ruining her life will achieve?"

"I'll be the new Regina George."

"Do you hear yourself? You still idolize her. If you're gonna be the new Regina George, it's always going to be a Regina George world. Don't you want to be Gretchen Wieners?"

"No!" She screeched. "Gretchen Wieners is lame, boring, too eager, a slut, desperate-" She took a deep breath.

"Okay." You said. "Why? Because Regina said so? Why would you believe her? She's just the same as you. Look," You pulled the album back out.

"Here we're in the Georges' pool. She would not go to the deep end. Y'know, she refused to even go in without those arm floaties for the longest time. Eventually, some boy made fun of her for them and that was the last time.

"And in this one we're driving back from summer camp. Regina was already tall enough to go without a booster seat, but I wasn't. She'd just thrown the biggest tantrum 'cause Mrs George didn't allow her to take off her seatbelt to sleep. She went out like a light, anyway.

"We're in Six Flags there. We'd just gotten those ice creams and you can see that Regina's isn't sticking to the cone all that well. Right after the shot, it just slid off. Regina was inconsolable. I offered her mine so we could share, and that seemed to be good enough for her but her dad was not having it. He threatened to take us home if she didn't stop crying right then, that it'd be all her fault that their whole family wasted money and time on this stupid trip. Eventually she calmed down and Mr George didn't have to drive us back."

You sighed. "I already tried this with Janis, in a way. I don't think Regina would appreciate me airing out her personal life like this, but... I don't know..." You closed your eyes for a moment. "I just want people to stop making things worse for her. She's been so wrong for so long, and I know I can't keep defending her, but I just don't think revenge will make her regret anything that she's done."

Karen hummed. "My auntie's been teaching me about karma. So, like, if she feels what she's made others feel, then won't that like... Fix her?"

"I don't want to hurt her." You said, resolute. "Maybe, it could be the most effective way to make her see her shortcomings. But I don't want to. I do not want to hurt her." You looked between the two. "And that's where we differ, I guess."

Gretchen didn't say anything, eyes glued to a picture from the Six Flags trip. Regina had mustard and ketchup smeared all over her face while she was holding a napkin to your lips, in the process of wiping your face.

With that, you snatched the album from her hands, deposited it back into the locker and slammed it shut. The lock clicked. Without a word, you began to talk towards the exit. Neither of them followed you or said anything to you.

You couldn't stop people from taking their revenge. You had done your best to be diplomatic. Evoking sympathy in hormonal teenagers wasn't something easily done, or maybe you were just shitty at it, but there was little else you could do. If you went ahead and retaliated, hurt them for hurting someone you cared about, the lines blurred.

You'd just be another mean girl.

Notes: Sorry for the delay! The next chapter will be the last one, unless I start rambling or something. After that, I'll do a less structured series of epilogues. Loosely related oneshots, that kinda vibe.

Also, my writing assistant stopped working in the middle of this, so if there's stupid typos I'll come fix them later.

I swear to fucking god if the taglist doesn't work I'll start breaking bones.

Taglist: @autorasexy, @wedfan2, @unadulterated-moron, @modernsapphicism , @9unknown0 , @sage-rose2000 , @massive-honkas , @nattys-swiftie , @likefirenrain , @luz-enjoyer , @dandelions4us , @natashamaximoff-69 , @alexkolax , @jareaul0ver , @here4theqts , @charleeeesworld , @natsbiggestfan1 , @brocoliisscared , @yellowwallflowers , @scarlettbitchx , @ayoungexwife , @cyberbonesworld , @syddie-reads , @screechcat , @theenglishswiftie , @gabby-duhh , @sweetmissnothing , @masterofpuppets-10 , @l1lass , @starved-mortal , @nothanksbye07 , @nenas19 , @jvuyii , @starry-night17 , @reneeswife24 , @glorioushamsterqueen , @krononan , @slug-on-bike , @rayisaknight , @chaseatlanticlover91 , @reginassweetheart , @mirage018

(this actually makes me angry. why. why doesnt it work. i type in the @ and then i type in the name and then it shows up in the lil' box and i click it but then it don't show up ;-;)

(this is cyber bullying. the cybers are bullying me.)

(anyway, if you want to be added to the taglist there is no gurantee if it'll work, but i'll add you if you want! just comment on this post :) if anybody has any ideas why it's like this, lmk!)

#mean girls #mean girls 2004 #mean girls 2024 #regina george #regina george x reader #regina george x you #regina george x oc #regina george x ofc #mean girls x reader #lesbian regina george #wlw #fic: yard work

[wineauntie]

evie and mom surprising Quinn with adoption papers🥺🥺

OH I LOVE THIS! (This is one longggg blurb, basically a fic without all the formalities)

Also I wrote this in under 25 mins and it’s severely unedited due to it being 2am

universe masterlist

Evie was seven when she asked if Quinn was her real dad. Your smart girl knew she looked nothing like Quinn and that Quinn was her ‘Winnie’ up until she’d started calling him dad when she was four.

You’d never actively hidden the fact Quinn wasn’t her dad, but Evie had never been fully interested in the fact or conversation at all.

She’d popped the question in the car on the way to school and despite your preparation for the day you knew would eventually come, you found yourself hurriedly taking Evie to a small diner nearby instead of school that day.

The two of you had sat down with hot chocolate and pancakes as you explained that Quinn wasnt her dad by blood, but he was her dad by heart, and that’s all that really mattered.

Evie was curious, she asked about her ‘blood dad’ and why she had never seen him. You treaded carefully around the subject, cautious so as not to hurt Evie in any shape or form.

Evie’s biological father was a horrible man whom once told that you were pregnant, had broken up with you, told you he was sleeping with your best friend, and then demanded you got rid of Evie, or ‘it’ as he’d called her.

You avoided saying any of this to Evie, simply saying that “he wasn’t ready to be a dad and then he had to go away.”

Evie looked a bit confused and as you expected a wave of questions from her, she shrugged saying “Dad was ready to be a dad.” And then proceeded to ask for more pancakes, knowing you’d give into her every whim at that moment.

After another plate of pancakes later, and the two of you cuddled side by side in a booth Evie had yawned, and curled into you, her voice small and tired as she whispered “I wish dad was my actual dad.”

Your heart cracked at her defeated voice, but a niggling thought arose in your head. A thought that pestered you to the point of restlessness, to the point where the world ceased to exist outside of your little family.

You’d told Quinn what had happened that day and he supported you whole heartedly, even going as far as having a one-on-one conversation with Evie about it. You allowed the both of them to talk in private only hearing snippets like “you’re my kid, bug, no blood will change that.”

And

“I love you too, now why don’t you go grab a movie and you, me and mom can go watch it?”

You spent days upon days mulling over the thought that lingered and grew exponentially by the hour and before you knew it, it was two weeks later and once again, you were driving Evie to school.

“Hey, Evie?” You asked tentatively. Your sweet little girl’s head bobbed up and down with a small hum as you pulled over the car to face her. “You know our talk we had about dad not being your blood dad?”

“And that dad is my heart dad!” Evie excitedly added, her teddy bear, Ted, held in one hand as her eyes twinkled. No matter how old she got, the teddy gifted to her by Quinn’s brothers, always accompanied her in the car on the way to school and remained there until she was collected afterwards.

“Exactly,” You smiled softly, your face completely losing any tension at your girl’s words. “Well, how would you like it if Dad became your real dad…your legal dad?”

The thought had been floating around for the past two weeks and it hadn’t been the first you’d thought of it. What you had with Quinn was undeniable– the two of you had been together for five and a half years, almost six years and he had become so ingrained in every aspect of your life and being.

He loved you to the moon and back, his care and love shining through with everything he did. He’d even gifted you a promise ring a year ago, an act of complete and pure commitment to you and Evie. Your daughter had gotten a small, dainty necklace, that mimicked the design of your ring.

Quinn was in it for the long run.

He knew it, and so did you.

“My legal dad?” Evie questioned, sounding out the sentence like an intricate problem.

“It means that he’ll sign an adoption paper, saying that the world recognises him to be your actual dad, and not just your heart dad. He’ll adopt you.”

“Mom?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Is that like what people do with dogs?”

You tilted her head at her question with a light laugh. “I suppose it is,” you shrugged.

“I like dogs…I want Dad to adopt me.”

And that was how you arrived at this very moment. It was the beginning of playoff season with the Canucks dominating their first game and Quinn playing incredibly.

The three of you had decided to have a nice family night with a dinner consisting of food you’d ordered in and a movie night, where the three of you would watch whatever Evie desired.

Evie was like a spring, bouncing up and down in her seat in excitement, glancing towards you every now and again. Your girl was smart, when you told her that you guys should surprise Quinn with adoption papers, she was all for it.

Quinn was chatting away to Evie and you all dinner, explaining the playoffs to Evie and catching up on the day with you.

Things were running smoothly under Evie eventually cried out and whipped her head towards you, unable to contain her excitement.

“Mom, can we do it now?!” She pleaded, her wanting eyes shattering any resolve you possessed.

“Do what?” Quinn paused his chewing and placed down his utensils, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Evie beamed at him as you handed a large envelope to your daughter. “What’s that, Bug?”

Evie, now holding the envelope, felt a sudden wash of doubt cross over her, her eyes flitting towards you in worry.

“It’s okay, my brave girl,” you murmured, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “Take your time.”

Quinn, unsettled by the sudden drop in Evie’s excitement looked ready to pounce into protective mode, with Evie wrapped safely in his arms. He remained quiet as you shot him a reassuring look, his gaze following Evie as she tread close to him.

“Dad?” Evie mumbled, her eyes pointed at her feet. Quinn felt his lips twitch up at the name. The name itself never failed to elicit the most glee-filled feeling he’d ever felt, and hearing it from Evie, his daughter, warmed his heart and soul.

“Yes, Bug?” He answered, his fingers lifting her chin carefully so that the two were looking at one another. His hand cupped her worried face, as he tried to rub soothing circles on her cheek. “Is everything okay?” He watched as Evie took a deep breath in before holding out the envelope.

“This is for you,” she explained meekly, glancing at you for support before focusing back on her feet.

“Me?” Quinn mused, cautiously taking the it from her. His fingers flipped open the unsealed envelope, pulling out a set of papers, neatly paper clipped together. His eyes scanned the first few words, which were big and bold across the top.

APPLICATION FOR ADOPTION ORDER

Quinn’s jaw went slack, his eyes immediately jumping to you, as you bit your lip nervously, urging him to react.

“You…me…you want me to adopt you?” Quinn’s raspy voice cracked as he refocused his attention on Evie.

“Not like a dog, but like my actual dad,” Evie supplied as if she was teaching him to understand it. She turned to you as you graced her with a smile for remembering what the two of you had talked about.

You didn’t often see Quinn cry. He wasn’t much of a crier you see. When he got upset, he got tired or quiet, so when tears tumbled down his cheeks you and Evie were lost in what to do.

“Oh no, we made dad upset,” Evie whimpered, looking at you in panic and devastation.

“No…no! I’m not upset,” Quinn choked out, his hands dropping the papers as he moved to fully face the small girl. “I’m just…I’m really grateful, Bug…this is, it’s just…thank you.”

Quinn captured Evie in a tight hug, her head burying itself into the crook of his neck as it once had whenever she was younger. Her own little arms had thrown themselves around his neck, clutching onto him as if he’d disappear if she didn’t.

You watched, with your own hot tears spilling over onto the cushion of your cheeks as your daughter hugged her dad. Watching the two together seemed to mend whatever your ex/Evie’s dad had broken inside of you.

“Mom, come join,” Evie’s muffled voice called out from its position. That was all it took for you to rush towards your family, enveloping they both in a tight hug. You watched as Quinn lifted his face, his reddened eyes, filled with love and happiness meeting your encouraging ones.

“You’re sure about this?” Quinn whispered to you and only you. He loved the two of you more than words could ever deny, there was no buts about it. He just wanted to be sure that you were one hundred percent certain on it.

You pressed your lips to his, feeling the saltiness of his tears against his plump lips before slowly drawing away to lean your forehead against his.

“I have never been more sure of anything.”

#wineauntie #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fluff #nhl x reader #quinn hughes angst #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fanfic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x y/n #family is family universe #quinn hughes x single mom!reader #vancouver canucks

[haoboutyou]

Hi! (^3^)/ I really liked the way you wrote "Mornings With You" and I wanted to request if you can make a version with Seungcheol if you want to. Thankies in advance (●•^-^•●) 💜💜💜

fren u r in luck :D

lucky in love | choi seungcheol

fluff | 730 words | no warnings

an: tbh that wonu fic was actually a cheol fic but then i realised… i have way too many… (i need help)

Choi Seungcheol knows that he’s loved. He’s loved by his fans, who greet him with resounding cheers every time he comes on stage. He’s loved by his members, whom he has gone through multiple trials and tribulations by each others’ sides. He’s loved by his family, who have given and will continue to give their unwavering support for everything he wishes to pursue. Most of all, he knows that he’s loved by you.

It’s evident in the way you know his coffee order by heart. In the way your pinkies stay connected even while you’re talking to someone else. He sees it when you unknowingly lean into him in crowded spaces. How you nag at him to take better care of himself and eat his meals on time. How your eyes seem to sparkle a billion times more when you see him walking into the room.

He knows just how much he’s loved by you when he arrives home and spots you knocked out on the living room couch. Seungcheol smiles quietly to himself, removing his shoes aside before carefully walking up to you. The television in front of you is still running, but you’re cross-legged with Kkuma snoozing away in your lap. No doubt you were doing some work before Kkuma deemed herself more important – your laptop is tossed to the other side of the couch, screen dark.

He sinks into the couch next to you, hand outstretched as he leans over to tuck a stray hair behind your ear when Kkuma stirs awake in your lap. The little white dog yaps when she realises her father has returned, bounding over to him instead. He giggles as she attempts to lick his face all over. The sudden noise and movement wake you, sleepily turning over only to be greeted by the sight of your lover doused in dog saliva.

“Hey,” a sleepy smile graces your features, greeted by Seungcheol trying to calm the excited puppy down. He turns to you, a fond smile and an eyebrow raised. Understanding his silent question, you stretch your arms up, leaning into his shoulder as you scrunch your nose. “I wanted to wait for you to come home,” a cheeky grin appears. “Welcome home!”

Oh, he feels his heartstrings being pulled, and suddenly he’s overcome with a wave of love and adoration so strong that his eyes start to water. Kkuma jumps off, her little paws padding off elsewhere as Seungcheol pulls you into his arms.

“I’m home,” he murmurs into your hair. His hand engulfs your own, grip tightening with the sudden proclamation. His brows furrow deeper as he inhales deeply, taking in your familiar comforting scent. “Practice was so hard today – missed you a bit more than usual.”

“Aww, my big baby…” You can’t help but coo. Using your free hand, you smooth the wrinkles between his brows with your thumb. “You did well today, do you wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head, choosing instead to bury his slumping figure in the crook of your neck.

“Have you eaten?” He nods, fluffy hair tickling you. “Do you want to take a shower first then? I’ll make some chamomile tea for you.”

You gently guide Seungcheol into the bathroom, leaving him to clean himself up while you prepare his promised tea.

Fresh out of the shower and nighttime routine completed, Seungcheol finds you already tucked into bed and follows suit. He wraps himself around you, arms and legs tangling under the sheets. Seungcheol can feel his entire body relax under your soothing touch as you card gentle fingers through his hair.

He’s fighting sleep, especially with you patting his head like a child, when he remembers something he’d been meaning to say.

“I don’t have to go to the company tomorrow.”

“Hmm?” You squint through the darkness, barely making out the twinkle hidden behind his tired eyes.

He smiles, pressing soft kisses by your collarbone. “I’m all yours tomorrow, do you want to do anything?”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

You ponder a little bit more before resting your head back down on his chest. “Eh, it’s tomorrow’s problem. ‘m sleepy now.”

Seungcheol lets out a light chuckle. He pulls the covers higher over your bodies, pressing you impossibly closer to him. He knows he’ll spoil you senseless tomorrow anyway.

“Sounds good. Good night, baby.”

“Good night, Cheollie.”

He hopes you know how much he loves you too.

#scoups fluff #seventeen fluff #seungcheol fluff #svt fluff #scoups #seungcheol #choi seungcheol #seventeen #svt #seventeen scenarios #˙✧˖° aiyu writes ༘ ⋆｡˚ #✩₊˚. mailbox! ⋆☾⋆⁺

[ilwonuu]

video games

ִ ࣪𖤐 han jisung

༝༚༝༚ pairing- best friends with benefits, nonidol!han x fem!reader, meanishdom!han x sub!reader

༝༚༝༚ synopsis- your fuck buddy best friend knows the perfect way to cheer you up when you have a bad day;)

༝༚༝༚ warnings- pure fiction!!, reader has a bad day, PURE smut lol, filming sex, unprotected sex(I KNOW,,,), creampie(yum) lots of kissing, lots of dirty talk (jisung is guilty), kinda mean han but he’s overall a sweetheart (i love him bye), they’re lowkey in love but,,,multiple positions, fingering(f receiving), oral(f receiving), big dick hannie<3, MDNI, lmk what else!!

༝༚༝༚ a/n- why do i never proof read idk but literally the title has nothing to do with the fic lmfao??? this was all over the place what??? also i kinda wrote this for my own horny thoughts,,,anyways please send any your hard thoughts im in need of them!!!!

work was awful. you were beyond glad to be away from that hell of an place. you wanted to just curl into a ball. you had a better idea though, why not invite over your best friend? well what would you call this relationship? he’s your best friend,,,he has been for a decade. you guys do fuck sometimes but hey! what are best friends for? as soon as you shower and change into comfy clothes you immediately look for your phone.

once you find it you see you already have a text from him. reading “miss you. u didn’t text me after work:(“ you laugh as you can see the pout from the text. you smile and click on his contact calling him. he takes less than two seconds to pick up. “finally! where have you been? i miss you.” you smile mindlessly.

“i had a bad day- but here you are cheering me up.” you laugh a little as you lay back more. “what happened? talk to me, you know you can.” his tone more serious as you hear shifting through the phone. “no-no it’s nothing. people are just assholes to workers. but enough about that please! i really need you to come over now.” he chuckles deeply. “why would i need to come over baby?” he knows exactly why you’re asking him to come over he just wants to hear you say it.

“hannie- i need you to fuck all the anger and sadness out of me. is that what you wanted?” you can sense his smirk through the phone. “okay baby- i’m leaving now.” he hangs up the phone quickly. you sigh in relief as you throw your phone somewhere on your bed. you suddenly get butterflies thinking of the boy being so close to you again. this little- situation you had has been going on for a few months now. you two agreed at first to not get feelings involved but how could you not?

he’s your best friend, you know every little thing about him. and now he’s fucking you,,,so what did you think would happen. a bad idea to begin with. you are definitely in love with him. you have come to terms with it. you are fine with that and a little part of you thinks he feels the same.

he’s been acting different towards you. he’s been more touchy and just more needy in general. you are more than loving it. you are taken out of your thoughts when you hear a knock on your front door. you almost run to the door opening it. “hi.” you say with a smile. he smiles back pulling you into a hug.

“i want to make sure you’re actually okay before we just do this. i want you to talk to me if you need to.” he rests his head against yours as he rocks you in his arms. “i love you jisung.” you sigh into his arms.

“i love you more.” you pull away from the hug and smirk at him playfully. “okay now fuck me.” you smile at him innocently. he shakes his head at you laughing. “you’re so needy baby.” you lead him into your bedroom. “i’m not as needy as you.” you give him a playfully glare as you lay on the bed. “i know we’ve been having sweet sex- but i want mean hannie back-“ you pull him down to kiss your lips. he his already dominating your kiss with a hungry pace. his hand that isn’t holding himself over you is roaming your body. not leaving a single part of your beautiful body untouched. he pulls awhile after a deep kiss.

“fuck what are you doing to me.” he grunts out after taking a look at you. you don’t know what he means behind his words but you moan anyways. “hannie- why are you so-slow!” he flips your body so you’re laying on your stomach, careful not to hurt you. he looks at you again and realizes you’re wearing his hoodie. “keep the hoodie on.” he smacks your ass without warning causing you to moan.

“shit you like that baby?” you nod back at him. he leans down to kiss your neck in response. “take these off for me.” he tugs at your panties as he works at his own pants. you pull your panties down your legs throwing them across the room. you turn back to see your best friend in his shirt only. “baby lay back.” he smiles as he leans in between your legs. his grip is tight against your thighs as he spreads your legs wider. he looks up at you through his eyelashes. “do not move. got it baby?” his expression in innocent but his act is sinful. he licks a stripe from the side of one of your thighs to your clit. you shudder under the sensation. he looks up at you. his gaze is threatening as he pulls from you.

“you moved baby- i didn’t even fucking start and you already can’t take what i’m giving you.” he looks at you with a mocking expression as he starts eating you out roughly. you try not to move as he devours you. he watches you the entire time his mouth is against your cunt. “oh- fuck hannie-“ you throw your head back in pleasure as he spreads your legs as far as they can go.

he watches you try to close your legs but his grip just gets tighter. he pulls away from your cunt with a smile. his lips and chin is covered in your arousal. “get back on your stomach.” he smacks your thigh signaling you to turn over. you turn back onto your stomach pulling the hoodie up more so he can see more of you. “look at my beautiful girl. can’t wait to ruin you baby.” he rubs your ass gently, leaving soft kisses against your neck. you moan at his words. he called you his. you are going to die right on this bed. you’re brought out of your soft thoughts and right back to your hard thoughts as han rubs the head of his dick against your folds.

“you’re so fucking wet.” he chuckles in disbelief as he rubs your pussy with two fingers. he pushes them inside fucking you with them. “hannie- p-please.” you cry as you relax into his touch. “please what?” he speeds up his fingers earning a loud whine from you. “y-you know what- j-just fuck me.” he shakes his head.

“all this whining for what? just for dick. tell me you want it.” you shake your head as you feel defeated. “come on say it. i want to hear your pretty mouth say it.” you turn your head to look at him fully. he leans down to capture your lips in another kiss. “just say how much of slut you are for my dick and i’ll fuck you like one.” you clench around his fingers as he pulls them out of you. “say it and i’ll give you a little reward. hm? how does that sound?” he smirks at you as you lay your head back against the mattress.

“i want your cock soo- bad hannie. want you to fuck me dumb pretty please?” you wiggle your ass a little to entice him and he pulls your body closer to him against the bed. “wait hannie- can i film this?” you say in almost a whisper feeling nervous for his reaction. he smiles at you grabbing your phone from your bed. “fuck- yes. of course you can.” he watches you prop up the phone at the perfect angle to show where he’s lining up with you. you relax after setting up the phone feeling another wave of excitement jolt through you as he lines up with you.

“you ready baby?” he looks down at you, pushing in when he receives a yes from you. “fuck- me. you’re so deep-“ he laughs at you as he rubs your sides softly. “i haven’t even pushed in all the way baby.” you roll your eyes at him even though he can’t see your face fully. “what an asshole, i love him.” you thought as you feel him bottom out. you feel him start to fuck hard as he grips your hips. “ah- such a good girl. look at this fucking pussy.” he grabs a handful of you hair making you to arch your back. “hannie- so g-good.” you let a tear escapes your eye.

“yea? fuck take it- just like that.” his grip on your hair tightens when he watches your ass bounce with his thrusts. the camera is getting the perfect side angle. jisung’s moans are the loudest thing in the room. his breathy groans and moans making your high come quicker. he stops suddenly holding your hips. “fuck i’m sorry i need to see you when you come.” he helps you turn back on your back. he doesn’t waste anytime to push into you again. he starts fucking you at a quicker pace. “f-fuck.” you are crying as you start to feel dumb under him.

“you said you could take it. what now? feels too good?” he teases you leaning down to kiss you. he makes out with you as he fucks you into oblivion. he pulls away from the kiss after a couple minutes(ya man can last long), his hips stuttering.

“i’m gonna fucking cum. want it? tell me where you want it slut.” he grabs your face making you look him directly in the eyes. “i-inside hannie- please- w-want it so bad.” more tears fall from your eyes as you clench around him. “such a good girl.” his smirk is mocking you as he kisses your head. you see stars as you cum on his dick. “s-shit- why are you so fucking perfect? can’t get enough of you.” he gives you a few more thrusts until he’s filling you up. he lets out a breathy moan slowly pulling out of you. “made a mess baby.” he leans down to kiss you before cleaning the two of you. he pulls you fully on top of him.

“do you feel better?” he plays with your hair and leaves soft touches against your back. his touch is relaxing you just as you needed. “so much better hannie.” you look up at him and he’s already looking down at you. “i love you jisung.” you sit up a little as your words leave your mouth. “i-i love you more than you know.” he smiles as you lay back against his chest. he shuffles a little bit grabbing an object from under him. he grabs your phone to see it still recording.

“we we’re still recording-“ he stops recording putting your phone next to you. he laughs with you as you joke about having to edit out the aftercare. you shift in his arms getting more comfortable. he helps you fall asleep with more back rubs. you can always count on him to make you forget about what you were even upset about. oh and you can NOT wait to watch that video when u wake up hehe,,,

#Spotify #skz han jisung #skz han #han jisung smut #stray kids han #han smut #han jisung #skz smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz fanfic #stray kids fic #stray kids smut #stray kids jisung #stray kids #skz jisung #jisung x you #jisung x reader #jisung imagines #jisung smut

[keepingsecretstokeepyoutk]

This is going to be very long and sound a little crazy at first, and maybe a little mean but please hear me out…

I’m convinced that Taylor sometimes purposefully includes one line or multiple lines of poorly written or clunky lyrics in specific songs to make a point.

We all have seen some version of this with bearding songs like London Boy, a simple bop whose lyrics were immediately detected as sounding disingenuous, even with the general population (the locations she was signing about were the most touristy and too far away from each other to visit on the same day, etc, basically implying that she doesn’t actually have a long term local bf there that she spends a bunch of time with exploring the city with, etc).

But just like everything else on the album, I think she’s doing maybe a more in your face version of that. No holds barred.

So High School is an obvious example of this, with all of the early 2000’s hs imagery, she seems pretty blatantly to be mocking the idea the public has of her “living out every American girl’s high school fantasy” of dating the tall popular football player. With lyrics like “touch me while your friends play grand theft auto” (barf), etc, shes being clear enough that this is not a serious song.

This is the possibly controversial part, but I’m so curious to see what others think about this - I think another iteration of this on this album is the title track, The Tortured Poets Department. Hear me out.

(First, I want to reassure you that there are lines in this song that I really like and think are well written, like: “you’re in self-sabotage mode/throwing spikes down on the road” and “but you awaken with dread/pounding nails in your head/but I’ve read this one/where you come undone/I chose this cyclone with you”. And I fully agree with the idea that these sentiments are from Karlie’s perspective. Basically, when you take out the chunks I’m about to talk about this song makes way more sense and has a beautiful sentiment of undying love behind it - which makes the following parts stick out that much more!)

The first time I listened through the album, and this was the second song, I got terrified because I didn’t understand its place in the whole narrative and when I heard the first clunky line “scratch your head like a tattooed golden retriever” I got the ick. Then the bridge with no structure and no wit and no clever turns of phrase, no metaphor, just “you put my ring on the finger people put wedding rings on” and “that was the closest I’ve ever been to my heart exploding”. So over simplified and cheesy, and doesn’t sound anything like her writing, especially the caliber of her recent lyrics

I know art is largely subjective, but I insist there is no way that the same person who wrote Cowboy Like Me wrote these lines into her title track if she didn’t have a reason and a point to make. To make it clear that this isn’t a matter of genre personal taste, because I know CLM is a very specific sound and a style that music snobs often take more seriously - I love SO many of her candy pop bangers, they are infinitely more clever, articulate, and overall works of art by a true wordsmith than this. Karma, The Very First Night, etc are all a master classes in clever words and tight writing being tucked into an “unserious” pop song.

The lyrics I cited above to me sound like what haters believe her writing sounds like, even fans who make little jokey TikTok’s about her and make up a spoofy something to sing while in character - that’s what these lyrics sound like.

Im worried im being too harsh, but please stay with me because the more I think about the more genius I think it actually is.

In the context of the themes of rest of the album, (her being trapped, miserable, manipulated, ready to burn it all down, screaming to be seen) this theory became clear to me. I think she’s leaning into her public persona (in more ways than one, we’ve already seen it with the stunting), in a way setting a “trap” for her fans and the public, that will essentially call them all out on how they ignored the real her in favor of her pr narrative, making the album about paternity tests, etc, all of which I’m guessing will become very clear in retrospect, possibly after she comes out? (Of course it’s already clear to us now, which is another purpose of the beard songs including clunky writing - to signal to us that these are not serious and that she knows that we know that she knows (like Phoebe on friends lol))

Ultimately, this is (along with So Highschool) a classic beard song. When she writes in this voice, she embodies the most extreme versions of her public persona, not just the one she has cultivated on purpose, but also the one that people have of her that don’t know her (as she did in Blank Space), including those that don’t take her seriously - because her identity as a boy crazy psycho ex girlfriend is directly tied to people dismissing her art as vapid because, they’ve only ever heard her singles, they don’t know the full her.

That voice is the straightest, the most boy crazy, the most one note, and sometimes the most unsophisticated writer version of her that people have in their minds, including her fans - the fans that refuse to see her as a whole person, the real, that believe she is head over heals for big football boy, that believe “he knows how to ball, I know Aristotle” is a romantic line about how opposites attract, the fans that say they don’t “get” some of her most beautiful and well-written songs, the fans that don’t see her and haven’t been seeing her.

They didn’t see giant Taylor on the eras tour, they refuse to see all of her queer signaling, etc, and I think she’s making the bearding songs obvious to underscore the difference between her Taylor(TM) and Taylor(person) personas.

She knows that despite the fact that the lyrics don’t even come close to measuring up to the rest of the album, the public, and many of her fans, will make this song one of the most listened to simply because they are looking for evidence of her relationships from the past year. We’ve all commented on how insane it is that this layered, complex, devastating album is being reduced to the usual paternity tests. This is currently one of the top songs precisely because it is “about Matty”. And of course, So High School is one of the tops songs along with it because it’s “about Travis”.

The juxtaposition of the bearding songs alongside her beautifully written poetry of Prophecy, Peter, Whose Afraid of Little Old Me, Cassandra, How did it end, The Albatross, etc mirrors the juxtaposition of her two selves during the Midnights era.

She has proven the point that if they think she wrote every line of this song completely in earnest, then they see her largely no differently than her haters do, as a subpar writer who writes absurdly cheesy love songs praising trashy to mediocre, problematic men. By eating it up they tell her that’s what she’s good for, for being the subject of tabloids and warring fans who make this entire album about two (purposefully) mediocre songs and the men who “inspired” them.

She has proven her point - that a subset of her fans will be distracted by a lesser song simply because they think it’s about one of the greasy men that’s she been seen holding hands with. That they will ignore once again all of her pleas to be seen, that she’s in pain and caged, and has been driven insane by their willful ignorance. That they don’t appreciate her full potential and talent, that they don’t even see it, and just want to be confirmed in their ideation of her.

This song is essentially the “forget him(her)” pill at the beginning of the fortnight mv, but it’s a sedative for the fans, who are addicted to her straight narrative. Similar to Willow’s 13 chants of “that’s my man” that started off evermore, casting a spell of heteronormativity over everyone who wanted it, so that they could choose to just completely ignore the following 14 gayest songs ever written. Don’t pay no mind to her singing directly about women with zero male perspective - she said “that’s my man!” We’re good! She’s still straight!

Taylor in the fortnight mv had to a take a sedative to be able to go into the next room and write her bearding songs - ie she self medicates to deal with keeping up the straight persona and to get through having to release dumbed down songs to feed the masses. (I also see the pill as something forced on her, I think it represents both layers)

From the first time I watched the music video I thought the writing Taylor looked so miserable and the bearding songs are why.

In this room she’s trapped, churning out the songs that her fans expect of her, the songs that make her team money, the songs that make her money, but that she has to compromise her truth to create.

But when she frees herself she’ll burn the stories that weren’t true, the filler that doesn’t represent her.

I’m curious to hear other’s thoughts on this - have you ever felt like Taylor purposefully inserts off-sounding lyrics that are written in a different voice to make a point?

I want to reiterate that it’s not the entirety of either song that I think is terrible, I genuinely love bopping along to both So High School and TTPD (track). Like I said above, when you remove the clunky lines from ttpd (track), the song has another layer and likely gives voice to some Karlie insight that is beautiful and tragically profound. It’s the red herrings, the pieces specifically meant to tie this song to a bearding narrative, that I’m dissing, and the only reason they are suspicious in the first place is because I know how gifted Taylor is with the written word.

Taylor is such a skilled writer that she can embody the voice of the bad writer that dismissive ignorant idiots believe her to be, just to make a point!

I even wonder if maybe there is a second version of this song locked away in one of those drawers in the fortnight writing room that leaves out the red herrings and is a thousand times better than the bearding version we got.

I hope one day we get to hear it.

#gaylor #kaylor #bearding #closeting #ttpd #so high school

[widowmaxff]

In overwhelmed, it mentions that Y/N used to be in a dark hole and how Wanda is afraid she’d go back to it. Can you write about it? Like what happened?

hope ur ok

pairings: mom!wanda × daughter!reader (platonic)

warnings: depressed reader, cryingg, bad thoughts, and sad sad things

a/n: okay how did you pay so much attention to what i wrote in overwhelmed bc i didnt even remember writing that 😭 BUT THANK YOU for the request i literally just ramble what was in my head but hope you like it love!

HOW YOU CAN HELP PALESTINE!

You don't know when it started, much less why it started. Maybe a few days ago, a month ago, maybe a year ago the signs that something was wrong started to appear. It was almost as if these feelings were always there, just hidden by a layer that was slowly removed and made everything more difficult. It seemed like there were days when you could easily deal with it, maybe ignoring it or just hiding it very well, you didn't know. But there were days that were more difficult. It was more difficult to get out of bed, your appetite was barely there, you didn't want to leave your room, just stay in darkness and total silence. Even though this silence made your head spin, it was better than anyone talking and making you even more depressed.

If someone asked the people closest to you if you were sensitive, you were sure that more than half of them would say no. They would talk about how you had a frozen heart, that you didn't cry when you watched a sad movie, that you didn't fall in love with the character when watching or reading a novel, that you didn't care when someone was fighting with you. But deep down, you knew it was a lie. You felt hard feelings most of the time, including when watching sad films. Maybe you just don't like showing the sadness and emptiness you feel. It makes you feel weak, worthless, and selfish, especially selfish. You shouldn't feel this way, not when you had the perfect life: a loving mother, food on the table, new clothes, and expensive sneakers. Then why?

You didn't really care that you felt depressed, you knew that eventually it would pass, just like every other time - even if that feeling came back some time later, even worse. It wasn't like anyone noticed and said anything to you, even though you were sure most of the adults around you blamed it on teenage hormones when they saw you sulking or just isolating yourself in your room all day. Maybe a few questions like 'are you okay?', even though they knew you would respond with something positive even if everything was falling apart. But there was always someone. Someone who knew that it wasn't just teenage hormones but something that was slowly consuming you. Wanda, your mother, was that someone, and she certainly didn't let those details slip.

The first time you actually showed that you were in a depressing state was on a random Thursday at six-thirty in the morning. Wanda didn't mind much in the first moments when you refused to get out of bed, it was normal for any teenager to not be able to stand school. But when you finally decided to show up for the morning in the Compound's kitchen, she was surprised. You had big black bags under your eyes that were tired and red, looking like you hadn't slept well that night and maybe you had been crying most of it. Wanda didn't take long to ask if something had happened and if you were okay, only receiving a murmur of something like ‘'m fine' before turning back to look at the emptiness of space. Tony who was nearby joked “Maybe the red eyes are because of something she used. Don't tell me you snuck out to a party, Mini Maximoff?”, you'd laugh on any other day, even replying something like 'Yes, I did some hard drugs at a party. How do you know?', but that wasn't the case. Stark laughed to himself after saying that sentence but soon the sound of his voice disappeared when he realized that you hadn't heard him and, apparently, nothing around you.

The second time was right after a mission Wanda had done. It was only three days away from you and everything seemed different when she came back. The first thing she noticed was that you didn't run into her arms when she stepped inside the Compound, much less respond to the messages she sent you a few hours earlier. Obviously like a worried mother she went after you, not taking long to find you in your room with all the lights off, two blankets around your body and how it looked like the things in your room had been in the same place since your mother left for the mission. She turned on the light in your room, hearing a soft growl leave your lips. You were awake and conscious, so it didn't make sense for you to want to be lying down and almost sinking into your mattress at four o'clock in the afternoon. She remembered when you were little and couldn't sleep if at least one light wasn't on, now it was ironic to think that you just lived in the darkness and emptiness of your room without fear that some monster would catch you, because no monster could hurt you like depression was.

Wanda couldn't count how many more episodes like those happened and lasted for several days. She was worried, very worried. She was afraid that you would end up doing something that would hurt you, end everything. It was obvious that your mother tried to ask you what was wrong, how she could help you, but you always said that you just woke up on the wrong foot that morning and that everything was fine. Of course, how were you going to tell her what was happening if you didn't even know. There was no reason for you to feel down like that and not even the absurd desire to just want to close your eyes and not open them again. And every day that passed, this dark hole you were in would get deeper and deeper. You knew you needed to ask for help before it was too late. 

It was no longer strange when once again that week you had no will to live. You look at the clock next to your bed and realize that your mother would be coming to your room to call you for another day in two minutes and a few seconds. Just the thought of 'one more day' made you want to throw up the food you didn't even eat the day before, as that empty feeling made your hunger go away. But as much as vomiting, you wanted to cry, cry until you couldn't take it anymore. And it was no surprise when the tears started to fall and you couldn't stop. Even though you are not a loud person, trying to keep yourself in your own bubble, the sobs wanted to get out of your throat anyway.

“Darling?” Wanda didn't mind knocking on your bedroom door in the morning, since you would be sleeping, well, not at that moment. When she heard the choking sounds you were making to keep from crying, she didn't take long to run towards your body on the bed and get under your covers, pressing you against her chest giving the perfect comfort to let you know that you weren't alone. “Oh, my love.” Wanda has seen you cry, many, many times, but it was so different to see you cry as if you were drowning in a sea and needed help from someone, anyone. “It's okay, Mama is here.” With each passing minute it seemed like the tears were getting even bigger than before, but you tried to focus on Wanda's heartbeat as you placed your hand on her chest, making you feel calmer despite all the panic. 

The lullaby that starts to leave her lips and go straight to your ear makes you start paying attention to the soft melody and not your terrible thoughts. The language Wanda sang in, Sokovian, was not understood by you, but you still remembered when she sang you to sleep on the days you had nightmares. It was as if Wanda was using her magic to calm you down, even though you knew she would never use her powers on you without your permission, but her voice was so sweet that it was more powerful than any of her red magic. Your breathing becomes soft and your movements slow, as if you were choosing the right words to get rid of that moment, but with your mother there it was almost impossible to lie.

“I wanna get help,” You murmur for just her to hear, despite there being no one else in the room with you two. “b-but I don’t even know why I’m like this.” Your crying had stopped, but you still choked to say a few words. Admitting those words out loud seemed like a challenge for you, and when you said them, a weight seemed to lift off your back despite not having yet deciphered all your feelings. And Wanda knew that. She knew how hard you were to avoid looking like a weak person even if you weren't, even if asking for help wasn't a sign of weakness but rather of improvement.

Your mother kisses your head, taking a few seconds before cupping your face and looking at it. “I'm so proud of you, my angel.” You didn't see pity or lies in the expression on her face. You didn't see disappointment and much less as if you were a problem for her. “I'm glad you want to ask for help, and I'm here for it, yeah?” You felt a little guilty when you saw a tear come out of your mother's eyes, but she was still smiling. The same smile you saw when you woke up, or when you told her some good news, or even when you told her a joke. Wanda never wanted you to feel anything negative about her. She never took out any frustration on you, never made you feel bad when you got a bad grade at school, or when you accidentally knocked a glass on the floor. “I will help you with whatever you need, my love. It will be slow, but I promise that the tightness in your chest will pass, okay?”

“I trust you.” She nods before pulling you into a hug that she knew you needed more than anything at that moment. The process would take a long time until you felt well again, you both knew that, but it was never too late. It's never too late to ask for help, because it's normal to need someone to pull you out of the dark hole sometimes, it's normal to not feel good all the time. Having feelings is normal, even if sometimes they are too deep, or too shallow. You just needed to realize that you were never alone, that people around care about you and will always want the best for you. 

“I love you so much. Always remember that.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

#avengers imagine #marvel cinematic universe #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x daughter!reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff fic #wanda fanfic #wanda x y/n #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen imagine #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x female reader #elizabeth olsen x y/n #marvel #wanda maximoff marvel #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff oneshot #wanda maximoff comfort #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff au

[saeyoungchoismaid]

hi it's not seb Saturday yet but I just wanted to throw this idea down. Sebastian chilling outside in the rain in his usual spot before seeing the farmer trudge out from the mines all bloodied and bruised ("I'm alright, really—") and it's like an immediate panic switch is flipped for sebastian because yoba above they look like a vampire's wet dream out here. They either patch farmer up at their house or at Sebastian's room lol (could be funny if the farmer ends up crashing on his bed/couch for the night, then leaves quite early but not without leaving seb a gift they got from the mines.... : ,) anyway that's it)

Awe my first Sebastian Saturday ask yay! Bro this request is so juicy HEHE. (Side note: sorry if this isn't that good or feels rushed. I haven't wrote anything in months but I'm honestly proud of myself for cranking 2k words out)

gif originally uploaded by @starwberrymark

Sebastian listens to the rock music that’s softly coming from the garage as he works. He lets out another low curse when more oil leaks out of his motorcycle and gets on him. He should be used to it. His clothes are covered in it anyway. He sighs and sets down his wrench, taking a seat on the ground by the front tire as he snatches up his rag and wipes his hands clean. Well, as best as he could. He then takes a swig from his water bottle, eyeing the clouds forming above him. Looks like a storm is blowing in. 

He keeps working for maybe another thirty minutes or so before he starts to feel the skies open up. The rain starts gentle, a few droplets starting to fall around him and onto his bike. “Welp…” he grumbles, grabbing his bike and starting to roll it back into the garage. Once secured, he shuts the radio off and closes the garage. 

He places his hands onto his hips, surveying the rain. A ghost of a smile starts to appear on his face as the rain starts to fall harder. He steps back out into it and begins to head towards the lake. He takes his pack of cigs out and smacks them against his hand, inhaling deeply. He’s always loved the smell of rain. 

Once at his usual spot, he takes a cigarette out and holds it up to his lips. He then slips his lighter out of his pocket and protects the end from the wind and rain to light it. Once the flame has caught the end of his cig, he inhales deeply, causing an orange hue to glow from the stick. 

He stands there for a while, just admiring how the water falls onto the lake or how the forest begins to smell when it’s wet. His eyes move towards the entrance of the mines when he thinks he sees movement. Through the rain, that’s starting to come down harder, he can’t really see much. He squints his eyes and moves his head around, trying to get a better look at what was going on. 

His eyes go wide when he sees you hobbling down the path. “(Y/n)!” he shouts in surprise, dropping his cig into a puddle and dashing over to you. Upon getting closer to you, he sees the bruises blooming on your skin and the cuts oozing blood. “Oh my god…” he mumbles, his heart breaking the longer he looks at you. 

“Hey, Sebastian,” you greet him as cheerily as you can muster, trying to slap a smile on your face. The pain makes it a little hard to do though. “Don’t worry about all this. I’m fine, really. Just got a bit scraped up in the mines. Those monsters are-”

“You’re not fine! You’re bleeding!” he shouts, gesturing to you. Before you can respond, he’s wrapping one of your arms around his shoulders for you to lean against him. “C’mon, I’ll help you to my house.” 

“Your house? But-”

“No but’s! You’re seriously hurt and Harvey’s clinic is already closed. You don’t seem too badly injured where we need to bother him, but I’m definitely not letting you go home without patching you up first,” Sebastian argues. You let out a sigh, realizing how serious he is about all of this. 

“Okay…fine…” you grunt out, not having the energy to fight him on it anymore. 

When you get to his place, no one seems to be home. At least, no one is in the front of the house. Sebastian leads you down the stairs and opens the door to his room. You’ve only been in his room a few times and never for long. Normally just when you have stuff for his commissions that he posts outside of Pierre’s store. He’s always very grateful, but he’s not much of a talker, so you just never end up staying around for too long. Besides, you have way too much shit going on in your day anyway. 

He sets you down onto the black couch that’s right by his door and you’re happy to be off of your feet. “I’ll go grab the first aid kit,” he says right before dashing up the stairs to go do that. You grunt and lean back against the couch, the cool air of the house making you shiver in your wet clothes. 

When he returns, he sees you shivering and bites his lip. “Here,” he says, setting down the first aid kit and going over to his dresser at the far end of the room. “Change into these,” he says, offering you a pair of pajamas. You shakily reach your hands out and take them, nodding your head as you stand up. 

You two stare at each other for a moment, unmoving. Sebastian’s eyes go wide as he realizes what you’re waiting for. “Oh! Sorry! Um, I’ll just, uh-” he stutters out as he turns around, completely red in the face. With his back to you, you slowly start stripping out of your clothes, a shy smile on your face. You do your best to avoid getting any blood or dirt on his clothes. Thankfully, the shirt and pants he gave you are both black. Maybe that’s why he gave you that specific pair. 

“Done,” you mumble before crashing back onto the dark cushions. He hesitates for a second before slowly turning around. 

He’s then back in front of you in a second, kneeling on the floor and moving your limbs around to survey your wounds. Once getting an eyeful of them all, he grabs the first aid kit and starts patching you up. You remain silent as he works, even when it hurts, you keep your lips sealed. 

After a while, a thought comes to you. “How are you so good at this?” you ask curiously. His eyes flicker up to yours before going back to your arm where he is currently rubbing in a cream on one of your darker bruises. 

“Let’s just say I…wasn’t exactly always the best-behaving kid,” he replies with a shrug, a smirk starting to form on his lips. 

“Oh?” you ask, looking down at him with your own smirk. Seeing your smirk, he huffs a laugh through his nose. 

“Nothing interesting, I assure you. I just…I’m not the biggest people person…” he says softly, moving onto a cut that he’s cleaned up to bandage it. 

“That’s okay,” you reassure, unsure of what else you could say in this moment. 

“Yeah, I guess. I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, but I had Sammy, and later on Abigail. They introduced me to some more people, so I have more than enough friends to last me a lifetime now,” he replies with a light chuckle. You can’t help but smile at that. You’re happy to see that he’s, well, happy. 

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” you ask after a few moments of silence, hesitating in asking. After doing a few commissions for him and hanging out with him and the others at festivals, you two slowly started getting closer. You typically end up hanging out after a long day at work and you head over to Gus’ only to find that Sebastian and the others are playing pool. At first, you’d only watch, but after warming up to them, you started playing. 

The last time you played together, you two ended up staying until Gus closed the place down. You two were one of the few people left there, Sam and Abigail being long gone. Y’all ended up walking to the beach and sitting on the pier, sharing jokes and swapping stories. It was one of the best nights of your life. It’s definitely your favorite memory you’ve made since moving to Pelican Town. 

“Yeah…of course we are…” he replies softly, almost sounding hesitant and not looking into your eyes. 

“Good. I’m glad,” you say softly, giving him a sweet smile. He finally looks up at you and gives you a small smile in return. 

He’s then clearing his throat and standing up. “Well, I’m all done,” he says, wiping his hands onto his damp jeans. He glances at his clock and grunts. “It’s pretty late and sounds like it’s still raining. So, if you want to stay…you can…” He starts off confidently but ends on a quiet, unsure note. 

Heat rises to your face at that. “Oh, um, sure. Thank you…” you whisper, looking down at your hands. 

“Don’t mention it. You can, uh, take the bed, if you want. I’ll take the couch,” he offers. He then walks over to his closet and opens it up, revealing extra pillows and blankets at the top of the closet. 

“What? No, no! That’s okay! I’ll take the couch. I don’t want to inco-”

“I won’t take no for an answer,” he interrupts, pulling some blankets free from their tangled mess in his closet. You sigh and nod your head even though he’s not looking at you. 

“Alright, fine,” you say as you stand up, limping over to the bed. You sit there and watch him make the couch comfy for himself. 

As he moves around his room and goes to the bathroom to get ready for bed, you end up lying down at some point. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you do vaguely remember feeling something brush against your forehead and what sounded like someone wishing you a good night. 

When you wake up, you feel well-rested and ready to take on the day. You sit up and rub the leftover sleep from your eyes and then stretch. You wince when the bruises on your ribs ache, reminding you of what happened yesterday. You turn towards the time and find it’s six in the morning. Ah, guess old habits die hard. 

Hearing rustling and a deep sigh, you turn your attention now to the couch. Sebastian is still out cold, and probably will be for another four hours, at least. You smile and slip out of the bed, walking over to him. You smile at how peaceful he looks, his usual RBF nowhere to be seen. 

Not wanting to disturb him, you leave him be as you gather up your still-wet clothes. You’ll return his pjs to him later, after you’ve cleaned them and made sure they’re free of blood. Feeling something hard in your pocket, you slip your hand inside and remember what you found yesterday. Glancing at Sebastian, you gently set it down onto the table beside his couch that’s missing his radio. You then hobble over to his desk and search for paper and something to write with. Upon finding what you’re looking for, you scribble down a little note and leave it there next to your gift. You give him one last look before starting to limp up the stairs. Because it’s so early, no one else is up yet, so you slip out unnoticed thankfully. You’re not sure how you’d explain yourself to Robin. 

When Sebastian wakes up, the first thing he does is look over at his bed. He frowns when he finds you not there and he feels his heart sink a little. He sits up and runs his hands through his hair before scrubbing at his face. Upon dropping his hands, he notices two items resting before him. He practically has stars in his eyes as he picks the Obsidian up. He can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

Noticing the paper next to it, he picks that up next. As he reads your note, he starts to smile harder and harder. 

Dear Sebastian, 

Thank you for patching me up. Don’t think I ever actually properly thanked you last night. It means a lot to me that you’d go through all the trouble. I want you to have this. A little birdy once told me that you’ve always wanted to see Obsidian. I hope you can mark this off your bucket list now. If there’s anything else you want to see, I’m sure I can make it happen ;) Text me :) xxx-xxx-xxxx

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

MASTERLISTS

More with Sebastian

Join my discord server: https://discord.gg/qnDxJ6rr67 

Tag List: @katelynwithpaint, @babykirbysstuff ✦ if you would like to be added or removed, comment or send an ask. Also, remember to tell me if you ever change your username so I can continue to tag you :)

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

#sdv sebastian x reader #sdv x reader #stardew sebastian #sdv sebastian #stardew valley #sebastian xreader #sebastian #stardew #stardew x reader #stardew valley fluff #sdv fluff #fluff #cw mention of blood #cw mention of injury #sebastian saturday #anon asks #asks #requests #sebastian requests #sdv requests #sdv drabble

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 8

Hey, guys! The plot is plotting and coming along. I've just had a rough week last week and really didn't get too far on any of my works but the omegaverse sequel. So I'm chomping through my backlog (which is a good thing, I promise, that's what it's for).

In this Steve has to deal with the not fun side of the music business, but Eddie is there to soothe the way.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7

****

Steve chewed on his nail as he looked over the contract for the tour they were going to be headlining for Corroded Coffin. It came with their usual anonymity clause.

The part Steve wasn’t sure about was the part where the guys and his roles on the tour to hide that they were part of the band.

Spence being a medic made sense. He was medically trained as an EMT and kept up on his certification even after they made it big.

Simon’s made sense too. Eddie had seen him as a roadie that night, so him continuing that was fine.

It was Shane and Steve’s that concerned him. He didn’t want to PA for The Fallen because then Dustin and his friends would want things like backstage passes and VIP tickets.

Things Steve didn’t want to do because that would get them too close to the action and he worried they would notice that they wouldn’t see Abbadon and him in the same place and put two and two together.

Shane’s role was that of an advance person. Someone that rode into town first to make sure everything was as it supposed to be according to their rider.

Steve loved Shane with all his heart, but he couldn’t think of a worse “job” for him.

Plus it wouldn’t make sense because he wouldn’t be on the same bus as the rest of the band.

He called up Robin.

“Hello!” she chirped her greeting. “What’s up?”

“I’m looking over the contract and they want me to PA and Shane to advance.”

There was silence on the line for a moment or two before Robin said, “I’m on it. I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks, Celeste,” Steve teased.

He was not surprised when she just hung up on him. He chuckled.

His best friend was working on getting Shane and him in the right roles. On their last tour, Shane and Simon had been roadies and Steve had been an assistant like Robin.

Steve looked back at the contract with a sigh. He set it aside and pulled out his notebook. He couldn’t write lyrics or music, but he could write down his thoughts and feelings.

He wrote about the fear of being discovered, of showing his true self. What people would think of him and his friends. Everyone said that metal fans were among the most welcoming in the industry.

Unless you looked like someone they didn’t approve of. Steve couldn’t remember which 1980s rocker it was, but the dude was papped outside a store waiting for his wife in cargo shorts and Birkenstocks and the internet had a fucking field day.

Like how dare he go to the store not dressed all in black and leather and chains everywhere.

It was no doubt the biggest reason no one had cottoned on to him and his friends being The Fallen. Because why would four preppy guys be the members of the hottest rising metal band right now?

He flipped to a different page and began writing about finding love where you left it. Eddie had always had Steve’s heart, ever since they were thrown together when a freak earthquake that was caused by nearby fracking destroyed almost half the town they grew up in.

Eddie ran the local DND club which Dustin and his friends had been a part of.

Steve had managed to keep all of them safe and Eddie, who had been unsure of the former jock had warmed up to him by the time they had come through at the end of the week long ordeal.

Steve had fallen in love with Eddie’s sense of humor, his dimpled smile, and doe brown eyes.

So he wrote about that too.

By the time Robin had called back he had written so much his hand was cramping.

“Hello, hello!” he greeted warmly.

“Hey,” Robin said. “So I talked it over with their lawyers and ours and I think we’ve go the solution.”

“Hit me with it,” Steve said.

“Right so we have Shane assisting with me,” she said. “He doesn’t have anyone really close to him who would ask for favors and shit, or at least not ones he wouldn’t gleefully tell to fuck off.”

Steve sighed in relief. “That’s good.”

“You were a little trickier,” Robin admitted. “But then I remembered you picked up a couple of CPR certifications in the past and got them to make you medic too. You just have to take the refresher courses while we’re in the studio.”

Steve chewed on his thumb. He had wanted to be an EMT before he met Spence and saw how much it took out of him.

“Wouldn’t it look bad if two medics suddenly vanished for two hours every night?”

Robin chuckled. “You’re assigned especially to the band. So you can’t be called during a performance. I do think of these things you know.”

Steve sighed with relief. “I know you do, I just worry.”

“Worry wart,” she teased. “It’ll be fine. You just have to keep it in your pants while on tour because an EMT dating a rockstar is going to be suspicious as hell.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You mean like every other tour we’ve been on?”

“Only this time,” she said, voice dangerously low, “you’ve got temptation in the form of one Eddie Munson, the man you’ve been pining over for literal years.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve groused. “Am I at least allowed to be seen with Eddie you know, considering we are friends?”

Robin sighed dramatically. “I guess. Just try to keep the PDA to a minimum please.”

“I promise.”

This was going to a very long three month tour.

****

Jim Hopper was a former Marine and he looked it. He was built like a tank with a grizzled appearance and cigar tucked between his teeth. Simon thought that he thought Hopper scared the enemy off just glaring at them and Steve privately agreed.

He was there for two reasons. To deprogram their stage persona and to brush Steve up on his emergency medical training.

Actually they all were learning because it was it interesting. Simon and Shane didn’t need to pay attention for certification, but they did anyway.

“How long do you guys plan to be in the studio this week?” Hopper asked. “I need to know if I need to have someone else pick up my daughter from the airport.”

“They want us to have at least eight hours in the studio a day,” Shane explained. “They want us to get as much done as we can before Corroded Coffin goes on tour so they can at least release a single or two.”

Hopper nodded. “Then I should be fine. She’s a fashion designer in New York and the fashion house she works at is sending her out here to intern at their LA branch.”

“That’s awesome!” Shane said. “Maybe while she’s here we can fan her design our costumes for the new tour.”

Hopper shook his head. “As long as it paid. This internship sure ain’t.”

Robin threw her arms in the air. “Fine! I’ll see what the budget is for that and get back to you.”

Hopper chuckled.

“They have you wrapped around their fingers, girly.”

Robin smirked. “Don’t I know it.”

****

That night Steve called Eddie up.

“Hey, baby,” he cooed.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie greeted back. “How did today go? It was first day with the deprogramer, right?”

Steve curled up on the sofa and tucked his feet under him. “It was okay. He’s a bit scary, but apparently he has a daughter Dustin’s age.”

“The butthead will be pissed he missed that,” Eddie chuckled.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed warmly. “She’s really pretty, too.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Suzie’s a great girl. But we all know here parents aren’t going to let her marry someone ‘outside the faith’ as it were.”

Steve chewed on his thumbnail. “Yeah. I was hoping with them both going home for the whole summer would break them up.”

Eddie scoffed. “It’s good thing talk and text is included in mobile plans these days unlike in early days of yore when mobile plans made you pay for every text message and long distance calling, otherwise their cell phone bills would be through the fucking roof.”

“Tell me about,” Steve huffed. “And he’s going to spending the last week of vacation in Utah with her.”

“Eeee,” Eddie said with a grimace, “is it bad of me that I hope her parents scare him off?”

“Maybe a little,” Steve admitted. “But I just want him to be happy, you know?”

Eddie let out a long drawn out sigh. “Yeah. So you guys got the contract all figured out?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Steve muttered. “It’s going to be hard being in the studio and taking EMT course to pretend to be medical personnel. Well not really pretending. Both me and one of the other band members have training. Me with being a lifeguard for awhile there and them with being an EMT. But it feels wrong somehow.”

“Is there something else, some other role you can fill?” Eddie asked after a moment or two of silence.

“Not according to Robin,” Steve groused. “She says it’ll be fine and no one will figure it out. And I trust her. Her plans have gotten us through two tours already, one even being overseas...”

“But you’re still worried because I’ll be on the road with you?” Eddie asked gently.

Steve threw his head back and groaned. “God that sounds so horrible of me.”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie admonished. “It’s not. It’s an extra variable you didn’t have to factor in before. But we will make it work.”

“I think the biggest part is that Eddie and Steve have to remain friends until after the tour so everyone doesn’t connect Steve with Abbadon,” he said. “God that sounded pretentious. Talking in third person like some Chad.”

Eddie giggled. “Maybe a little, but I got what you mean.”

“Don’t laugh!” Steve whined. “My dick is going to fall off from the sheer amount of blue balling that’s going to be happening on this fucking tour. Well not fucking actually. I’m going to be in hell!”

“And people tell me I’m dramatic,” Eddie said laughing out loud. “What do you normally do on tour?”

Steve sat up and stretched his feet out in front of him on the sofa. “It’s complicated.”

Eddie snorted. “I don’t doubt that, sweetheart. Are we talking NDAs or fucking with the masks on?”

Steve laughed. “It’s more like no phones, dark room, no staying the night. That sort of thing.”

“I’m betting there aren’t many that agree to that.”

“More than you’d think,” Steve snorted. “Groupies gotta fuck.”

“We’ll figure something out. I won’t let those pretty balls go blue,” Eddie said with a snicker.

“Help me, Eddie-wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope!” Steve cried in a sharp falsetto.

Eddie laughed. “You’re a menace, Steve Harrington.”

“And you love it.”

Warmth just flooded Eddie’s tone when he replied, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Eds.”

****

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie

@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @danili666 @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach

@val-from-lawrence @goodolefashionedloverboi @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

@justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @yikes-a-bee @bookbinderbitch

@bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian

@thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners

@thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95 @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade

@cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rockstar steve harrington #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar au

[justarandombrit]

Okay, so in case anyone couldn't make it to the livestream (and just because I wanted to), I wrote down some notes while watching it, so if anyone wants to read them, they're below the cut. (Also sorry ANI fans, my dad came in to borrow a pencil while the ANI segment was happening, so I missed a lot of it)

. There was a 4 minute long intro voice over before AVPM

. James watched AVPM

. 600,000 and Lauren plays the green screen piano

. 700,000 and Lauren does an architectural digest on the green screen house

. Jon really loves Ready To Go

. Darren keeps letting Joey know he sounds like shit on old recordings

. Pinball Pete’s burnt down 🙏🙏

. MAMD was the first student produced album to make the charts

. A Very Potter Sequel’s name came before A Very Potter Musical

. They accidentally wrote Harry Potter and the Cursed Child

. James gave Julia Albain leg splints

. During Starship the entire cast was breathing fibreglass

. Starship was called “knowingly amateurish”

. Darren was supposed to write 15 songs for Starship, but he got cast on GLEE

. Darren flew in to join a rehearsal as a surprise, ran in singing Beauty and everyone was so pissed

. Everyone still loves Kick It Up A Notch

. Nick: “Which was Holy Musical B@man-

Lauren: “Fuck yeah”

. They made up Sweet Tooth, and then found out he was an actual Batman villain

. Matt came up with “Calendar Man, your days are numbered” in his dream, and it was so good it forced him awake to instantly call Nick

. Everyone thought the flying machine joke was the best AVPM joke

. Goin' Back To Hogwarts Reprise made everyone cry

. AVPSY was five hours long

. Curt saw AVPSY

. Darren arrived 2 hours before the show and didn't get a chance to read through a lot of the script

. Darren came up with “I hope you find that swimming pool”

. Joey ate one banana on the day of AVPSY and during Sidekick went “I'm losing my vision”

. They had to pay the hotel union $11,000 to use THEIR OWN microphones, and Darren's STILL BROKE

. Jeff accidentally washed out his Aladdin hair dye

. A.J. Holmes had the same agent as Jafar's original VA, and they got him to do the intro and say “pee” and “poop” in Jafar's voice

. ANI was, as we know, expected to be a hit, and, as we know, it was not

. TTO was, as we know, expected to fail, and, as we know, did not

. TTO had a batshit cast party

. Pierce used to ask Matt insanely complicated questions before bed, e.g, “How did WWII happen?”

. Firebringer was a really old concept

. Literally no one questioned why the “I don't really wanna do the work today” clip had loads of people dressed as cavewomen + cavemen

. Firebringer was the first show Jon saw live

. They made up all the Hatchetfield shows at the same time

. Nick kept making sure Paul was having fun

. The song from the Pirate Show, “Born To Be Wretched goes so fucking hard. Like if a sea shanty was a musical theatre song essentially

. Mariah: “Rich gays, please give”

. Lauren choreographed Show Stoppin' Number

. People actually gave Lauren their phones when she asked in Inevitable, and they would take them backstage and take selfies before giving them back. One time it was locked and she shouted “WHAT'S THE PASSCODE?!?!?”

. Joey: “I'm in the middle of Wiggle”

. Everyone was ill during Black Friday

. Bryce saw Black Friday

. BRYCE GOT THE APPLE

. Nick told her “Interesting things happen here” when showing her to the seat

. Ahhh when Jeff played Tom…

. Angela was in Jaime’s improv class

. Angela is no longer on vocal rest

. Angela had to kill Sherman with a finger gun one night

. Will was 100% ready for NPMD

. Will was at a party they went to during A Very Starkid Reunion

. HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR STARKID

. Rip Kim

. The Docks of Troutspear is sung by Matt’s favourite character (it also slaps)

. The Pit Stop in Hatchetfield livestream is going to be a tag team deathmatch

. I love Starkid so much

#starkid #team starkid #cinderella's castle #cinderellas castle #starkid productions

[mclennonlgbt]

Paris in John and Paul’s life

30th September 1961:

“John and I went on a trip for his twenty-first birthday. John was from a very middle-class family, which really impressed me because everyone else was from working-class families. To us John was upper class. His relatives were teachers, dentists, even someone up in Edinburgh in the BBC. It’s ironic, he was always very ‘fuck you!’ and he wrote the song ‘Working Class Hero’ – in fact, he wasn’t at all working class. Anyway, one of John’s relatives gave him £100 for his birthday. A hundred smackers in your hand! That was a real windfall. None of us could believe it. To this day if you gave me £100 I would be impressed. And I was his mate, enough said? ‘Let’s go on holiday.’ – ‘You mean me too? With the hundred quid? Great! I’m part of this windfall.’” - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“We planned to hitchhike to Spain. I had done a spot of hitchhiking with George and we knew you had to have a gimmick; we had been turned down so often and we’d seen that guys that had a gimmick (like a Union Jack round them) had always got the lifts. So I said to John, ‘Let’s get a couple of bowler hats.’ It was showbiz creeping in. We still had our leather jackets and drainpipes – we were too proud of them not to wear them, in case we met a girl; and if we did meet a girl, off would come the bowlers. But for lifts we would put the bowlers on. Two guys in bowler hats – a lorry would stop! Sense of Humour. This, and the train, is how we got to Paris. - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“And Paul and I also did the same thing, once. We just cancelled. We’d made it, in Liverpool. We were making good money, for those days. I can’t remember what it was – maybe a couple of hundred dollars a week – but enough that you’d have a little extra. You’d have it in your back pocket. And Paul and I just— A relative of mine gave me a hundred pounds, for my birthday, which I’d never seen that much money in me life. Paul and I just canceled all the engagements, and left for Paris… And George was furious, because he needed the money – to work, you know. But that was another time when the group was in debate as whether it would exist or not.”  - John Lennon, 1976, an interview with Elliot Mintz

“Last night I heard that John and Paul have gone to Paris to play together – in other words, the band has broken up! It sounds mad to me, I don’t believe it…” - Stuart Sutcliffe, Anthology

“We’d never been there before. We were a bit tired so we checked into a little hotel for the night, intending to go off hitchhiking the next morning. Of course, it was too nice a bed after having hitched so we said, ‘We’ll stay a little longer,’ then we thought, ‘God, Spain is a long way, and we’d have to work to get down there.’ We ended up staying the week in Paris – John was funding it all with his hundred quid.

We would walk miles from our hotel; you do in Paris. We’d go to a place near the Avenue des Anglais and we’d sit in the bars, looking good. I still have some classic photos from there. Linda loves one where I am sitting in a gendarme’s mac as a cape and John has got his glasses on askew and his trousers down revealing a bit of Y-front. The photographs are so beautiful, we’re really hamming it up. We’re looking at the camera like, ‘Hey, we are artsy guys, in a café: this is us in Paris,’ and we felt like that.

We went up to Montmartre because of all the artists, and the Folies Bergères, and we saw guys walking around in short leather jackets and very wide pantaloons. Talk about fashion! This was going to kill them when we got back. This was totally happening. They were tight to the knee and then they flared out; they must have been about fifty inches around the bottom and our drainpipe trousers were something like fifteen or sixteen inches. We saw these trousers and said, ‘Excusez-moi, Monsieur, où did you get them?’ It was a cheap little rack down the street so we bought a pair each, went back to the hotel, put them on, went out on the street – and we couldn’t handle it: ‘Do your feet feel like they are flapping? Feel more comfortable in me drainies, don’t you?’ So it was back to the hotel at a run, needle and cotton out and we took them in to a nice sixteen with which we were quite happy. And then we met Jürgen Vollmer on the street. He was still taking pictures." - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“Jürgen had a flattened-down hairstyle with a fringe in the front, which we rather took to. We went over to his place and there and then he cut – hacked would be a better word – our hair into the same style.” - John Lennon, 1963

Interviewer: I heard you took a trip to Spain before once, didn’t you? On Holiday? Paul: I didn’t go to Spain, no. I tried once to make Spain but… and John and I were gonna hitchhike. We hitchhiked down from Liverpool… We didn’t hitchhike. No, we got the train down from Liverpool ‘cause we thought we won’t hitchhike down the first bit. And we got the boat over to Paris. Then we got the train into Paris ‘cause we thought: “Well, it’ll be too hard to get a hitch here”. And we just stayed in Paris all week. And eventually… I mean, all the time trying to get out of Paris and make Spain! We never made it, we just flew home at the end. What a lazy hitchhiking Holiday!

“The thing was all the kissing and holding that was going on in Paris. And it was so romantic just to be there and see them even though I was 21 and sort of not romantic. But I really loved it, the way the people would just stand under a tree kissing. And they weren’t not mauling at each other, they were just kissing.” - John Lennon

As was written in this post: That last picture is one Paul took of John sleeping in Paris. From what I remember of a performance he did of ‘Here Today’, and earlier comments, this picture hangs framed on a wall in Paul’s house.

Unconfirmed quote (may or may not be true): 

"He must have been fond of me to spend that money. He let me have all the banana milkshakes I wanted.”  - Paul McCartney

In January 1964, only a few scant weeks before the Beatles took America by storm, the band mates settled in for an extended stay in Paris. For the group, the Parisian visit proved to be a magical experience, with the Beatles playing 18 shows at the Olympia Theatre between Jan. 16 and Feb. 4 (source).

The photo Paul took of John (in the "Eyes Of The Storm" book):

1969:

Hoping to get married in France, John Lennon and Yoko Ono flew to Paris on this day [16th March].

The couple had decided to marry on 14 March 1969, two days after the wedding of Paul McCartney to Linda Eastman; whether it was in response to this event on some level is open to conjecture.

On McCartney’s wedding day Lennon and Ono were travelling to Poole in Dorset, where he introduced her to his Aunt Mimi. During the journey he asked his chauffeur Les Anthony to go to Southampton to enquire about the possibility of the wedding being held at sea, on the cross-channel ferry to France.

(source)

“On March 12, Paul married Linda Eastman at Marylebone Register Office in London, amid scenes of hysterical grief from his female fans. None of the other Beatles was present. The news reached John as he and Yoko were driving down to visit Aunt Mimi in Poole. Yoko’s divorce decree had become final a few weeks earlier, and, in a resurgence of Beatle copycat, John told her they, too, must get married as soon as possible” - Philip Norman, John Lennon: The Life (2008)

"We chose Gibraltar because it is quiet, British and friendly. We tried everywhere else first. I set out to get married on the car ferry and we would have arrived in France married, but they wouldn’t do it. We were no more successful with cruise ships. We tried embassies, but three weeks’ residence in Germany or two weeks’ in France were required." - John Lennon

1974:

“After a late lunch, Linda launched into a long paean to the joys of living in England. When she was finished, she turned to John and said, “Don’t you miss England?”

“Frankly,” John replied, “I miss Paris.””

— May Pang, Loving John (1983)

1978:

Wings album "London Town" is released. It includes the song "Cafe on the Left Bank", the lyrics of which clearly refer to John and Paul's trip to Paris.

Late 1970s: John is singing to Paul about Paris in a home recording.

1994 - Paul inducting John to Rock and Roll Hall of Fame:

“And then on your 21st birthday you got £100 off one of your rich relatives up in Edinburgh, so we decided we’d go to Spain. So we hitch-hiked out of Liverpool. And we got as far as Paris, and decided to stop there for a week. And eventually got our haircut, by a fellow named Jürgen, and that ended up being the ‘Beatle haircut’.”

I also remember watching an interview with Paul about his album "Memory Almost Full" (2007). Interviewer: There is a very beautiful song called "The End Of The End", the way you talk about your whole ending, and the lyric goes: "It's a start of a journey to a much better place." You mean, better than England? Paul: It's basically a start of a journey to France. Or Spain through France. Yeah, that's what it is. It's a much better place, Paris. (unfortunately, I don't have a link)

Also worth mentoning:

"All You Need Is Love" begins with La Marseillaise.

"Picasso's Last Words (Drink To Me)" contains French-language speech by BBC broadcaster Pierre Le Sève.

#mclennon #mclennon is real #mclennon anthology #paris #frankly i miss paris #may pang #yoko ono #linda eastman #the beatles #gay #bisexual #france #insane #compilation #master post

[seiya-starsniper]

Also, "you know I love you, right" with dreamling from the gentle prompts

Hi anon I am SO SORRY this is like almost six months late, but I finally wrote something for this prompt!!! 😁💖

AO3 Link Here or read the whole fic below!

----------------------------------

Dream is nervous.

He knows, logically, that he should not be. That he is, as always, catastrophizing things in his mind, thinking of the worst possible scenario for how things will go. But he also knows that what he plans to ask Hob tonight over dinner is not an insignificant question. And he has to get everything just right.

Dream has gotten things wrong so many times in his relationships. With his parents, with his siblings, his friends, his past lovers. He has asked for too much too soon, and given too little until it was too late to fix what had been wronged.

Dream wants to do things right with Hob.

Hob, who has been so patient with Dream as he picked himself up after his divorce from Calliope. Hob, who had only been a casual acquaintance at first, a friend of a friend of a friend. Hob, who had somehow, miraculously, fallen just as deeply in love with Dream over the last two years as Dream had done so with him.

And now, Dream wants them to take the next step in their relationship. 

He sets the stage perfectly; buying a bottle of wine from the vineyard where they had their first date to pair with the dinner Hob is preparing in Dream’s kitchen. Candles on the table for ambiance. Dream is also wearing a sleek satin button down that he knows that Hob likes on him.

“Is it my birthday?” Hob asks, waggling his eyebrows when Dream lets him into his flat. When Dream closes the door behind him, he finds himself pulled into the passionate kiss. Hob presses him against the closed door and licks eagerly into Dream’s mouth, drawing a guttural groan from deep inside him.

“You’re tempting enough for me to want dessert first,” Hob teases, nipping at Dream’s bottom lip before pulling away slightly to appreciate Dream’s outfit more. Dream laughs, and pulls Hob back to himself in a tight hug.

“Perhaps I just wanted to look nice tonight,” Dream whispers against his lover’s ear. “But good things come to those who wait.” Hob huffs, then kisses him again, gentler this time, and Dream melts into it.

They eventually make their way into Dream’s kitchen, and Hob notices the bottle of wine and candles on the table immediately. 

“Please tell me I haven’t forgotten a special occasion,” he says, his tone teasing, but Dream can tell he’s nervous. Dream shakes his head and nudges Hob towards the stove and countertops, kissing him again and squeezing his arm. 

“No special occasion forgotten, I promise,” Dream reassures Hob. “I am only doing this just because. To be romantic.” 

“If you say so,” Hob replies, still uncertain. He lets the matter drop, and goes on to prepare dinner while Dream opens the wine and finishes preparing the table. His hands are shaking with every movement, but thankfully Hob is too preoccupied with cooking to really notice. They trae stories about their days, Hob on the latest drama in the faculty department of his university, and Dream complaining about the minutiae of having to plan his gallery opening next month.Dinner itself flies by and before Dream knows it, they’ve opened the bottle of wine and moved to the living room to cuddle.

Hob tries to suggest putting on a movie, but Dream shakes his head, taking a deep breath and putting his wine down on the coffee table.

“You know I love you, right?” Dream asks, wringing his hands together despite himself. Hob hums, and then takes Dream’s hands gently in his. He brings one of Dream’s hands to his lips and kisses it, slow and tender. Dream melts like butter into his touch. 

“I do, and I love you too,” Hob answers, his smile warm and inviting. “What’s this all really about, love?”

Dream stares into Hob’s dark brown eyes, and swallows thickly. Now or never he supposes. At least now he’ll know whether they really were of the same mind about the future. 

“I—Iwantustomoveintogether,” Dream blurts out all in a single breath. There. Now it was all out in the open. 

Hob furrows his brow in confusion at first, seeming to not have understood what Dream had just said. But then his eyes widen in shock, and Dream feels his stomach swoop. He can’t tell whether Hob looks happy, or upset, and it absolutely terrifies Dream.

But then Hob’s eyes soften, and Dream feels hope burn bright like a star within his chest. 

“You mean it?” Hob asks, his voice sounding just as fragile as Dream feels. “You—you want—”

“Yes,” Dream exhales, before Hob practically knocks him into the other side of the couch with how forcefully he kisses him. Dream wraps his entire body around Hob’s, unwilling to let go of him for even just a moment. Hob technically hadn’t answered the question just yet, but Dream can infer by the way the other man is kissing him that the answer is a very resolute yes.

“You know, you didn’t need to get all dressed up just to ask me that,” Hob tells him when they break apart to breathe. “I would’ve said yes even if you’d asked me in the middle of Tesco.”

Dream barks out a laugh and then pulls Hob into another kiss. 

“I would hope by now, you know that anything else less than the most romantic gesture is unacceptable by my standards,” he replies with mock indignation. Hob doesn’t reply, only kisses him again, and everything is perfect.

They soon fall into excited discussions about the future, talking late into the night about whether they will stay in one flat or the other, the best time to move, how much in monthly payments they can afford between the two of them. Dream is not particularly married to his flat, and he knows that the location is not the most convenient to Hob’s university. Hob’s flat is small, however, and Dream knows he needs a larger space in order to be able to paint. They eventually decide on vacating their separate flats and looking for a place together.

Dream’s stomach is in knots, the good kind though, when they go to bed. He’s never gotten to truly choose his own living space with another person. When he and Calliope had been married, they’d moved into her childhood home, and it had never quite felt like home, even after Orpheus had been born. Even his current flat, the style, the decor, all of it is handpicked by his mother, Nyx.

But this new flat? This hypothetical for now space? This will be just for him and Hob. It will be just theirs.

Six months later, Hob carries Dream over the threshold of their new townhome like they’ve just gotten married, and Dream laughs in delight. He cannot remember the last time he’d been so happy. 

When Hob lets him down in their new, still empty living room, Dream takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, letting the emotional weight of what they’ve done wash over him.

This home is theirs. Both their names are on the mortgage, a contract that binds them closer than marriage does, at least in Hob’s opinion. This home hadn’t been in their initial plan, they had only seen it in passing while looking at another flat in the same neighborhood, but it had been love at first sight for both of them. 

It had also, admittedly, been a little bit outside of their budget. But Hob was expecting a promotion, and Dream’s gallery opening had plenty of buzz surrounding it. Things would work themselves out. He knew they would.

They’re arguing again, and Dream doesn’t even remember what started it. They were fighting more and more lately; about chores, about things that needed to be fixed, about the ever growing pile of bills between them.

Hob had gotten the promotion he’d wanted, but it came with more work and time away than either of them expected. Dream’s gallery opening was well attended, but only a few of his paintings had been purchased outright. The gallery assured him this was normal, and he knew it to be true, as a debut artist he needed to build a reputation. But the disappointment stung nonetheless.

The house too, had been more work and more expense than they had expected. It seemed like something was always breaking, or needed to be replaced, and they could never agree on a chore schedule that did not make the other feel like they were doing more of the work.

Now they were arguing over what to have for dinner, a simple meal, an activity they used to both consider sacred between them. But Hob doesn’t want to cook, and Dream is tired of eating takeaway. Hob tells him Dream needs to learn to cook. Dream tells him that Hob is too picky to cook for. 

“You know what? Forget it,” Hob says, throwing up his arms in surrender and turning away from him. “This isn’t worth it.”

Dream’s heart shatters when he hears those words. 

Not worth it, not worth it, not worth it. Dream has heard those words a million times in a million different contexts, but it always, always, means the same thing. 

Dream wasn’t worth it. Wasn’t worth the effort it took to put up with him, to be patient with him, to love him. Calliope had said he wasn’t worth all the fights and arguments. Cory had said their relationship wasn’t worth staying in London for when his dream job was in the US. Nada had said having to deal with his family wasn’t worth it. And now Hob had decided Dream wasn’t worth his time or his love either. 

Before he knows it, Dream is running out of the room, out of their home, and into the pouring rain. He can’t hear anything over the pounding of his heart in his ears. 

Not worth it. Not. Worth. It

He’s worthless, worthless, worthless. 

Dream hadn’t even bothered putting on shoes, so it doesn’t surprise him when he slips on the wet cobblestones of the street and he falls. 

What does surprise him is that he doesn’t hit the ground.

Because Hob is there. Holding him back, and gripping him like he’s afraid Dream will disappear if he doesn’t.

Hob had come after him. Had run after Dream in the pouring rain just to catch him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hob is crying into his shoulder as he pulls Dream to his chest. “I forgot that’s what you hate hearing the most, I didn’t mean it. Not like that. Never like that.”

Dream chokes out a sob of his own, then wriggles himself out of Hob’s grip so he can turn around and hug his lover back. 

“I’m sorry too,” he says, pulling Hob into a desperate kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too. I swear it Dream, I’ll never leave you alone,” Hob promises. “You’re absolutely worth fighting for, always.”

Dream doesn’t know what the future holds for them. But he knows, now, in this moment, soaked to his skin and freezing cold, that he and Hob can get through anything. Because they love each other. Because Hob will fight for Dream as much as Dream will fight for Hob. Because they’re not perfect people, but they are perfect for each other. And that is worth everything. 

#dreamling #dream x hob #hob x morpheus #the sandman fanfic #seiya writes #seiya writes dreamling