#finding clips was the WORST but i hope it was worth it in the end jfhfsj

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 20.

Summary: The evening of the Arts Collective dinner somehow gets even worse for you as Farleigh gives you some unfortunate news about Oliver and Venetia and their moonlight exploits. The worst part is having to figure out a way to break the news to Felix.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: angst, mentions of childhood/ongoing parental neglect.

A/N: 3729 words. I finally cracked it!! Figured out the ending!! Sorry for the delay I was busy writing 20k about Jacob Elordi being hot and mean which I will never publish (Euphoria, a show I STILL have not watched beyond like 20 minutes of clips on YouTube lol). Anyways I've missed you and these characters and hopefully 21 won't be too far away xx (also I started my new job so that's been exciting but also Ooft ouch my bones hurt)

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

For a day that was already pretty damn shit, Oliver's cruelty was like salt in the wound. Hand still on the doorknob after you close it, you listen to him retreating over the ringing in your ears. If you let go, you'll see your hands shake, so you're frozen, heart in your throat, the house growing quiet around you. It's familiar, but unwelcome in this moment.

Tears well in your eyes as you sit back at the desk, computer humming pleasantly, bathing you in a cool glow. Part of you was desperate to run after him, to oblige him, to reveal every inch of your past and soul to him, hoping he was true to his word. That he could actually care about you in a way that very few have ever bothered to. That he could love you the way Felix did.

I don't know you.

An even stronger part of you wanted to run right across the hall, to bury yourself beneath the covers of your bed, safe and waiting for Felix. Surely he'd be back soon, if Oliver's return indicated anything. You hadn't heard him return, but it wouldn't be long. But how were you meant to look at him, lie next to him, even touch him, after all of that. It had been easy to bite your tongue on your disappointment so far, knowing that like so many others, Oliver's love for you thus far had been merely as a proxy for Felix himself. You knew Felix was vaguely aware that that was how others sometimes viewed you, but you'd always been eager to assure him that as long as he genuinely cared about you, and the others were good to you, you'd be more than happy.

And that used to be true. But none of the others were Oliver. Felix knew you loved the boy just as genuinely as he was coming to, you could never tell him that your affections were not as genuinely returned.

Your pride held you hostage in this room on both accounts.

When you finally raise your head from your hands, scrubbing unspilled tears from your eyes, you try and focus yourself once more on rereading the email that had already put you in a foul mood before Oliver had made it worse. It had taken all afternoon to detach yourself from it's contents, especially knowing your mother was waltzing about the grounds, spoiling your sanctuary.

The details of an official nondisclosure agreement, sent from your parents' team of lawyers. The paperwork was to arrive in the next few days, but you were being warned ahead of time. Before Oliver had interrupted, you were finally getting to the point of finding it all funny, that they were that insistent on cutting social ties with you that they'd go to almost any lengths that remained discrete, and out of the general public's reach. Now it just... ached.

Felix's heavy footsteps echo through the long gallery outside your study door, but he heads straight into bed. You wonder if it's even worth it to head to bed that night, you can't see yourself getting much sleep.

Now mostly, tragically, sober after you'd spent the afternoon trying to get out of your mind to cope with the day, you wonder if a drink would help put you to sleep, put an end to this abysmal day you'd endured. Which is how Farleigh finds you in the Blue Room, frowning at the bottle of liquor you'd left in the broken piano.

"You're up late," you mused flatly, still trying to decide if it was worth it to drink until you pass out in your study, "how was the -"

"We need to talk," Farleigh's tone is even more irate than you'd expected. Neither he nor the Catton siblings were ever in a particularly bright mood after being forced into any kind of proximity with your mother, and you were always touched by their loyalty, but this was something else.

You lower the piano lid, leaving the liquor for the time being. Turning to look at Farleigh, it's almost shocking to see how dark the look in his eyes was.

"What... happened?" You asked slowly. Farleigh's gaze flicks to the door behind you, to the long gallery and to the entrance to both yours and Oliver's bedrooms. Prying eyes, listening ears, though you were almost certain you'd heard Oliver leave not too long ago. A muscle in Farleigh's jaw twitches, and you instead offer your study for some privacy.

"You're not going to like it," is the first thing Farleigh tells you once the study door is closed. He sounds furious. Turning off your computer monitor, you choose to sit yourself on the sofa by the window, looking at him expectantly.

"This day's been a fucking nightmare already, I'm sure I can handle it," you rolled your eyes. Farleigh, however, chooses to sit at your desk, sideways on the chair, rather than joining you.

"You told Oliver not to fuck around with Venetia, didn't you?" It's unsettling to see Farleigh so serious. Still, his words have something twisting in your gut, even as you tried to play it off.

"Of course I did."

"Then tell me why I saw them practically eating each other on the front fucking lawn."

It's like you can feel the moment your blood turns to ice in your veins.

"This isn't funny," your lip curls, but Farleigh's severity remains, "this is a sick fucking joke, Farleigh, and a shitty thing to try and pull today of all goddamn days," your voice is rising, but he lets your fury build, uninterrupted.

"It would be an awful joke," he agreed, "if I was joking." All of the hopelessness that had plagued you since Oliver had left began to crystalise, calcifying into rage as his words settled in, "I don't care about Oliver," Farleigh's gaze shifted for a moment, still tense and furious, but there was something very nearly apologetic in his next words, "but unfortunately for me and for you right now, I care about you and Felix."

"Felix." Oh God. This couldn't be happening again. You'd told Oliver; you'd warned him. The fucking nerve!

"Yeah," Farleigh mutters quietly, "and you're going to be the one to tell him." When you try and protest, you're met with a sharp glare, and a stern reminder of how this exact situation had been reversed only twelve months ago over Eddie, "I'm not doing that again," Farleigh warned, "you owe me."

"Fine," you spit, "fuck, I'll tell him," hands shaking, you light up a cigarette. Farleigh stands, but hovers by your desk for a moment.

"He really knows how to pick them," He muses flatly.

"Shocking taste in men," scowling our of the window, your agreement is nonetheless irate, "fucking unbelievable," you hissed under your breath, "and he thinks there's something wrong with me?"

"There is," Farleigh's words surprise you, stinging a little, all things considered, "you fell for that stupid, little boy too," he reminds with a particularly vicious look.

"So it's my fault I have to break Felix's heart?"

"I'm saying that you've given me a lot of attitude for not liking him, but Oliver wouldn't even be here without both of you."

"Get the fuck out of my study, Farleigh," you order, pointing at the door, cigarette in hand and fury in your eyes.

The anger bubbling in your gut is beginning to burn. A thousand things are racing through your mind; top of the list is wondering just how quickly you make sure he's never welcomed back at Oxford. All you'd need was your computer and an hour to ruin Oliver Quick's entire life; you'd done it before. But if you turned that monitor on, if you had to once again look at that fucking email from your family - not even your family, their lawyers! - you think you might throw up. Tomorrow, with a clear head, you'd make your move.

And you'd tell Felix. No need to wake him now, give him a few hours to still live in the fantasy where the boy he was falling in love with wasn't once again going after his sister. Fuck- Venetia.

The more you thought about it all the more frenzied your outrage became. She wasn't innocent in this either, she never was. Venetia Catton was more than adept at finding both yours and her brother's exact pressure points and pressing with vehemence. So desperate to be loved yet so unable to come across as anything but insatiable, she'd always taken what she could get. You were good, but clearly you weren't enough to distract her from new, shiny Oliver.

The taste of smoke sticks to your teeth, as does your sour contemplation on how little the people you tried to love respected you. Or Felix. Christ, how were you meant to tell Felix?

Except you can't even really begin to contemplate how you'll break the news when you hear footsteps across the gallery.

Felix doesn't even knock - not that he ever has - before he lets himself in. You thought you'd have more time; the anger still burns white-hot inside of you, but despair and guilt flickers at the edges. He looks about as rough as you feel, concern and ebbing irritation in his expression. Of course, he'd spent the evening in the presence of your mother; none of the others ever felt nearly as much ire in her presence as he did.

Without a word, he strides across the room, all but pouting, and throws himself onto the sofa beside you. Drawing his legs up onto the sofa, he makes himself as small as possible - quite a task considering his size compared to the small, squashy sofa - and leans against you, head on your shoulder.

"Hate that woman," he hisses under his breath. You know he means your mother, but your mind is on his deceitful sister. All you can think about is Venetia and Oliver, but you can't very well tell Felix now. You don't have the words to not make everything so much worse if you tried. Already you'd decided to tell him in the morning, but right now you had to keep him from figuring out what was bothering you. Or that you were bothered at all.

So you decide to take a leaf out of Felix's own book, keep him happy and distracted in the way you knew best.

"Bad night?" Your voice is low as you move your arm back, fingers carding through his hair. The way Felix hums is still dark, but he shifts closer to you. After another moment of quiet, he huffs an irate breath out through his nose and begins to pluck at the hem of your shorts.

"Can I maim your mum the next time I see her?"

"She's not worth going to jail over," you tell him, leg shifting into his touch. Felix's hand stops fussing with your shorts to grip your thigh.

"You are," he huffs resolutely, and even despite your own anger you smile.

"My knight in shining armour," you laugh softly, lips against his forehead, "but do you really want to be so far away?" Leaning back against him, your hand moves from his hair to graze your nails down his bare arm, hoping he takes the hint. Thankfully, he does. The warm grip on your thigh tightens, and when he turns to look at you, there's something hungry in his eyes, "she's not worth your time, Fi," it comes out almost as a snarl, a truth you believe even in the depths of your own, otherwise mostly unrelated anger, but you turn your tone teasing, smirking at him, "I just choose to think about how I was apparently on your mind all night."

"I'm always thinking about you," he almost sounds a little breathless as he says it, managing to sit up more properly without moving away. You let your gaze flick to his lips before going back to look him in the eyes. Tongue darting out to wet your lips, you tilt your head very slightly, beginning to smile.

"And what are you think about me now?"

You'd always quietly loved whenever Felix was feeling possessive, and now moreso than ever. It made distracting him easy and fun, and Felix himself, his hands as he pulled you over to straddle his lap, to hold you close, to cradle your face as he kissed you so furiously, it was almost enough to distract you too. In all honesty, it was the only good thing to have happened all day, though even this was coloured by guilt, knowing what you still had to tell him when you found the right words.

However suddenly, Felix pulls back wearing a frown. For a few moments you find yourself catching your breath, confused, arms still around his neck.

"Something's wrong," it's not a question.

"Nothing's wrong," you lie, and hope it's more convincing them his usually are, "nothing at all," you hum, and move back in to press kisses to his jaw, hoping it's enough of a distraction to trail those kisses down his neck.

"You're angry about something," damn it. Of course Felix knows you too well.

"Am I?" You want to keep the ruse up for as long as you can manage, "and what would that be?" You murmured before you're sucking a beautiful, bruising hickey against his neck.

"I don't -" but his breath catches, grip on you tightening. It almost works; he swears faintly under his breath, losing himself in the moment and leaning into you, but then he actually seems to shake himself out of it, "come off it," he sighs, and you sit up, trying your best to appear both confused, and still in the mood, "if I'm not allowed to do this, neither are you." He says pointedly. Even though you're fighting a losing battle, you still lean in, still try and distract him with your mouth on his.

"Do what?" You murmur, nose to nose as you peck him quickly, desperately trying to keep your tone light and teasing. But you can see it in his eyes before he even says it; he knows exactly what you're doing.

"Distracting me because you know how fucking hot I think you are."

"And if I was," you murmured, pressing yourself against him, "why would that be such a bad thing?"

"Because you're being evasive," Felix pushed you back, held you at arm's length as your expression began to drop, fury beginning to creep back in as you remembered what exactly it is you didn't want to tell him, "you're not evasive with me;" he insists, "everyone else, sure, but this - whatever this is - is.. it's- it feels weird. This isn't you!"

"What am I then, Felix?"

"Mine!" He answered far too quickly, frustration sling out of him, but appears to catch himself, correcting to, "my best mate, alright? You don't not tell me things."

"So if there is something I'm not telling you, can you not trust that I might have a reason?" Finally your anger bursts from you, furious in the evening light. Felix has gone quiet, shocked; it's been a long time since you'd yelled at him like this. He looks wounded, apologetic, something you're not used to. Climbing off of him, you stand, you have to give yourself some distance from him, "there's a lot I don't tell you, Fi," you sighed, expression pinching as you tried to force yourself to calm down.

"You can tell me anything," Felix's voice has softened, leaning forward on the sofa. It aches to look at him, to see him so beautiful and vulnerable in these moments, "you know that."

"I know," you agreed, "it's not that I can't tell you, it's that I don't want to," you pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes, groaning; you can't look him in the eyes, can't even look at him right now, "and I will, that's the thing; I'm going to tell you, you're right, I always do, I just -" in a moment of weakness, your voice comes out almost sounding pitiful, defeated and frustrated, "I thought I had more time."

"What's wrong?" Felix asks softly. When you laugh, there's no humour in it. The more the reality of your situation sinks in, the more the fight leaves you.

"It's going to make you angry, or upset, or probably both," you sound rather helpless when you say it, but it seems like you no longer have a choice in when you get to tell him.

"Is it your mum?"

"I wish it was my mum," you shook your head, finally moving your hands to shake them out as you stepped back, leaning back against your desk with defeat. With every moment that passes you can feel Felix's gaze upon you, burning into you. When you are upset, he will never relent until he finds the source; usually it would be a gift, make you feel wanted and special and like you actually mattered for once. But this knowledge feels like a curse.

"We could run away," it's a last resort, barely more than a mutter as you look at your hands.

"What?"

"Just us," you continue, fidgeting, unable to look at Felix and the concern you knew you'd see in his eyes, "I could get us a little apartment in some artsy, London suburb," it's not going to work, not going to distract him, to keep him from prying the information from you that you know will hurt him, but it's all you have left, "you know nan would help us out, she'd kill for me. We could do whatever we wanted, never have to work a day in our lives. We could be whoever we wanted, wouldn't have to live in a house where they'd rather we die of heat stroke than ruin the wood panelling with an air conditioner," all you can think about is how you fell for a boy who didn't love you the way you hoped he would, and turned out couldn't even really respect you, "never have to go back to Oxford."

"What happened?" Standing, Felix crosses the short distance to your desk. There's so much sweetness in his voice as he sits in the desk chair beside you, looking up at you with his damn perfect brown eyes.

"I can't let this happen again, Fi," you hadn't even realised you were close to tears until it becomes harder to speak, "I tried, I fucking tried, I told him -"

"Who?"

"Ollie," you sniffled, face growing hot as you couldn't stop your tears from beginning to fall, "I warned him not to go near Venetia- I just- I can't believe she'd do this again, that Ollie couldn't respect when I ask him this one thing -"

"Ollie and Venetia?" There's an unsettling, blank quality to Felix's voice. The look in his eyes is far away and ice cold.

"Apparently hooking up on the front lawn," you clarified, voice weak, trying to wipe the tears from your eyes, derision edging it's way back into your voice as some of the anger returns, "for God, and Farleigh to bare witness," you took in a deep, shaking breath, attempting to pull yourself together, "I tried, Fi -"

"Fucking unbelievable," Felix snarls furiously, getting to his feet, "both of them- fuck, was Farleigh sure? He wasn't making some sick joke?"

"Even Farleigh wouldn't fuck with us like that," you muttered darkly, before adding, quiet, sounding actually pained with frustration, "I've been nothing but good to them, Fi, I thought -"

"You are never touching my sister again," Felix cuts you off firmly, voice forcibly calm. Surprised both by his tone and his words, you look up; he's so much closer than you'd realised The look in your best friend's eyes almost overwhelms you; protective, possessive, "I'm not watching her treat you like that anymore," he braces himself against the desk either side of you, crowding you against it.

"Fi," your barely manage a whisper, heartbeat racing in your chest, "I..." for just a moment he looks almost pained, and he hangs his head, faint, humourless laugh escaping him.

"I have to watch you fuck around with people who would barely give you the time of day; you're so fucking good it kills me sometimes," he bites out; you can't tell him that you know they're just using you, that so many people simply entertain the idea of you as a way to stay in Felix's life. Even if he'd never admit it, Felix knows. There's very little in his life that he's ever felt the need to reflect on, and even less that he feels any particular guilt about. You used to think he was fine with this arrangement, that he knew you could find the fun in these one-sided dynamics, "they're fucking using you," he grits out, but you're surprised by the way his fury almost sounds like despair, "I watch them and they're fucking using you like you're not even a person, Y/N."

Felix looks up; the looks in his eyes is more serious than you think you've ever seen from him. Deliberately, firmly, he takes your face in his hands.

"You're not my shadow, you know that, right?"

For a very long moment, you think you feel your heartbeat stop in your chest. On the surface it's a completely ridiculous question, except...

Feeling your face grow hot, you know he can see you tearing up; Felix has always known you better than anyone, always known exactly what you seem to need to hear. Nodding weakly, caught, pinned by his intense gaze, his focus on you, your lip trembles. Already fraught with emotions from the day, and the evening that had just passed, you have no fucking idea what to say. Felix has never spoken this out loud, never let himself properly wrestle with the subtext that coloured so much of your dynamic; it flickers across his face, the surprise and guilt and realisation as it hits him what he'd just said.

You are so much more to him than anyone else will ever give you credit for.

You are not his shadow, but you are unequivocally his.

So you kiss him.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #felix catton smut #head heart hand fic #manic writer

[catboybiologist]

I maaaaay have spent most of my evening scrolling your dash. But, for my defense, you post good, Ma'am. Also I need someone to tell you your vocal tries are impressive. I tried to stay focused but your voice was so soft, that was lulling.

Anyway, uh, yeah. Question. I was here for a question.

I've just started my PhD, do you have any advice to handle the incoming workload and the pressure?

Aaaaww thank you <3 I might post more voice clips to practice in the future!

As for the question- a PhD experience is highly, highly variable. My advice is going to be strongly based on my own experiences, and my own program. It's probably more applicable if you're in a wet lab science, but still, take it with a grain of salt.

A big thing to realize about a PhD is that it isn't necessarily the sheer quantity of work you'll be doing, but how different the pace and the kind of work you do is from undergrad or a more typical job. Compared to undergrad, your classes will be far less important to nonexistent. Your time will mostly be split between research/thesis related projects, and teaching, depending on the teaching workload.

Your experiences with your research are going to vary a lot, but in general, your PI/research advisor basically determines everything. The #1, big, massive, blinking, do-not-avoid piece of advice I will give about grad school is: pick your research advisor carefully. Do NOT prioritize the exact, nitpicky subfield you want to work in. Your PhD doesn't determine the direction of the rest of your career. Instead, you HAVE to consider whether this is a person you can work for/with for the next 5-7 years. Do you want a more "hands on" person that will set short term goals, or someone that will leave you alone and just check in infrequently to help with long term goals? Do you communicate well with them? What's the word in the department about their mentorship style long term? Avoid people who take pride in trying to "challenge" you, invariably they're shitheads preying on people with more work ethic than self worth (may or may not be based on personal experience lol).

You might be past this point, depending on how your program works- for me, I had a year of rotations before settling in lab permanently. Unless you're a direct admit with an advisor you already know, I would basically consider this or a similar system to be a requirement of a program.

Beyond that, even if you end up in a more "hands on" environment, independence is key. Of course you should collaborate and ask people to help you, but in both a motivation and a practical sense, you should be able to work on your own and take initiative. You need to interpret your own findings and set your own direction for where they're going to go. You need to analyze whether that's in your capability and how you're going to get it done. My personal little advice is to always have at least one thing going on that you can do with zero to minimal input from anyone- for me, this takes the form of computational bioinformatics work that doesn't require any lab resources and most other people in my lab don't have the toolkit to do. Main projects or side projects like this allow you to get *something* done, even if you're stuck in a rut otherwise.

But then there's the flip side to that- you're almost always going to be your own worst critic. Pace yourself. You'll always feel like you're not getting enough done, and you'll fight that feeling constantly. Hell, writing this is like me telling on myself and leaving my own reminder for myself. Balance this with your ability to work independently. Be deliberate about your recreation time and keep yourself to it as well.

The PI selection is the only one that's like, a super strong piece of advice here. But I hope the rest was at least a bit useful!

[sohannabarberaesque]

Postcards from Snagglepuss (Minnesota State Fair edition)

So much for "practical" souvenirs

And they seem to be in abundance at many a Minnesota State Fair booth--especially when it's free. Bag clips, buttons, pens, pencils, styluses, refrigerator magnets, Post-It notepads, even more conventional notepads! And of the latter, there's easily the possibility of using the reverse side of each sheet for impromptu autograph sessions, aling with a souvenir pen in service to the appeasement of fans.

But on the other hand, over in Creative Activities, you can't help but find alongside the kitschy "miracle" gadgets supposedly aimed at making housework easier one stand selling that Norwegian potato flatbread known as lefse--of which I've purchased a few packets on occasion for simple lunches, and maybe for rollup sandwiches impromptu with deli luncheon meat, especially for the road ahead. (Still, though, someone mentioned to me that a few supermarkets in the Upper Midwest, especially where a Norwegian immigrant presence is obvious, sell lefse in the refrigerator case ... and perhaps the best brands they'd recommend are Norseland, which is made in Rushford, Minnesota, and Aunt Julia's. The worst, hands down, for some reason: Countryside, coming out of Blair, Wisconsin. And from what I hear, Norseland Lefse uses real potatoes, which explains their texture and taste.)

And another such selling soup mixes as are somehow Southern in concept--chicken tortilla, chicken and rice, plantation soup, that sort of schtick. Which might be worth bringing along on the trip outward, heading back to the Artificial Waters of Artificial Lake Delton whence Crazy Claws keeps his quarters, his retreat even, along its shores (and do spare us, even if it's coming across your mind right now, that faux-Indian-melody of "From the Land of Sky-Blue Waters," as in Hamm's Beer even! Over at the ur-diver's camp with the Three Wolves, it was mostly sun tea, bottled mineral water, soda and not much else, not even near beer, come to think of it....)

Oh, and let's not forget one stand selling campy Minnesota-themed souvenirs fond of selling Cream of Wild Rice Soup mix, as if that were a Minnesota necessity with some diced ham, turkey even, not to mention ciabatta rolls warmed over. Or maybe even that Indian flatbread known as naan ... brioche rolls, Hawai'ian sweet rolls even? Few packets of those wild rice soups there, which, like those other soup mixes just mentioned beforehand, could be worth sharing at Crazy Claws' retreat over the impending autumn.

I just hope Crazy Claws has a decent-sized soup kettle, maybe a slow cooker, for all that soup mix, especially on Sunday afternoons which could get rather brilliant and at once crisp weather-wise. Especially uppermost in my mind as I put them in my ur-camper, otherwise known as a Mini Cooper, ahead of departure once the fair ends.

But more about this in my usual Wednesday spiel.

*************

@warnerbrosentertainment @hanna-barbera-land @warnerbros-blog1 @nighttimehound @screamingtoosoftly @jellystone-enjoyer @thylordshipofbutts @hanna-barberians @wackology @restroom @stuffaboutminnesota @xdiver71 @straights-world @hanna-barbera-blog @cottoncandy-wannabe @thebigdingle @themineralyoucrave @theweekenddigest

#hanna barbera #fanfic #snagglepuss #on road trip #postcards from the road #minnesota state fair #fair shopping #fair souvenirs #autograph signing #note pad #pens #soup mix #lefse #preparing to leave #hannabarberaforever

[coralinehecc]

Corals Monthly Update #2

Hello!! I almost missed the date but funny December update! >:D Before I jump into December however, let me quickly talk about November and to also say I’ll probably move these to the end of the month like the 30th or 29th since having to dip back into the previous month can get annoying. The only thing about November really worth talking about was the Walten Files Trivia Charity Stream I was in. It was super fun! You can find some clips on Waltenews’ twitch channel but this out of context screenshot is my favourite lmao. Overall November was a solid 8/10! It had it’s moments but I mostly had a good time hanging out with friends and mutuals >:]

But anyhow, moving onto this month! December!  This month started off pretty strong, as I had my birthday on the 6th! I got a lot of art and goofy gifts from my friends and I love them all. I was off school a day before my actual birthday so myself and a few friends went out ice-skating and it was super fun!! I had so much fun I didn’t get many photos, though this one was really good hehehhe. I’ll scan it later down the line but here’s a photo of it for now.

My good luck thankfully transferred to my actual birthday the next day as most of my actual busy classes were either free or we didn’t do any work. However that luck ran out like literally the next day. I wanted another day off school like last year (a huge storm hit and we got 2 days off school) but I guess I got monkey pawed as I then fell sick for like a week. Wednesday was the worst of it but I slowly got better as that awful week went by. Thankfully I can say I’m at least 99% better! I just still have a lingering cough though. I also got terrible nose bleeds. I’d show a photo but it’s gross so I’ll spare you the visual info lmao! After I got better things went back to normal until this Monday, when my school had it’s yearly 6th year fast! TL;DR you don’t eat for 24 hours and sleep over in the school itself to raise money for charity by collecting money from sponsors aka the people you asked to donate. Sit back for this one, as it’s a long story! I’ll start off by saying while it wasn’t bad per say, it certainly wasn’t good either. We arrived at school as normal (minus the extra sleepover stuff we all packed and not being in uniform) and it was overall a normal school day. Then we were all gathered into the canteen area for a role call and told the basic structure of how the night was organized. Girls slept in one room and since there were more guys than girls, the boys were split up into 3 classrooms. All the messers and annoying cunts went into one room, my friends and I went into the library and the rest of the guys went into the 3rd room to play Mario Kart n stuff. One of my friends and I both brought our Quest 2′s and we played Pavlov Shack for like an hour. It was fun! We spent another hour basically trying to bypass the schools admin restrictions in order to get Beat Saber mods Side-Loaded onto my friends VR. It failed sadly, but still fun to try none the less.  Here’s some photos of our spot hehehe (I hope my friends don’t mind me posting these here)

After that is when the night begins to hit the fan as we’re all called back down to the canteen area and are forced to watch the TY (Transition Year for my non Irish followers) and let me say now that it bored me to tears. It’s got it all from the same basic Irish tunes you’ve heard since 3rd class to every single rehashed Christmas song. Mind you they were preformed really well but to be forced to sit there and listen to it for 3 HOURS is so mentally draining it’s not even funny. We arrived there at like 7pm and it ended at 9pm. Finally after like 2000 years somehow jammed into 3 hours went by we were finally allowed leave and head back upstairs. Only to be told we’d have a fucking mass session at like 10pm because catholic school. So me being mentally drained from the concert did the only logical option. Hid in the bathroom for the entire session with a friend. We were in the same stall for like half an hour and you know what? We weren’t caught! So finally we were allowed head back to our rooms.

All seemed decent for a bit after until the annoying fucks started going from having a rave in their room to outright anarchists in the span of like 20 minutes. At one point they burst into our room, turned the lights off and started throwing the tables around like they were Legos. After that they all ran out to the schools green house and tore that thing to shreds. I was able to get a glimpse at it coming home from town today and it looked like it was slashed with a knife with all the duck taped holes! Keep in mind, with two VR headsets, a couple of switches and someone's Xbox, there was probably over 1,500 euro in that room. So I’d say it would be reasonable that we all mutually agreed to go “DEFCON 3″. This basically consisted of barricading the door and basically black-listing people we didn’t trust. (The doors in our school don’t lock from the inside. This is in place because I’m pretty sure younger kids kept locking classrooms to stop teachers from coming in. So we had to settle for this.)

Eventually the dumb cunts were found, dragged back in and the teachers said they’d charge them for the damage they caused if no one owned up. So yea after that we were all worn out and got ready for bed. Eventually I fell asleep at around 2:30am? Would’ve been fine until all the annoying fucks once again burst into our room at 3:30am!! This time it was because they had trashed their room so badly that they were forced out by teachers. That meant they funnelled into our room, talking as loud as humanly possible all without any consideration for the fact literally everyone in that room was fast asleep. Two of my friends and I got so pissed we grabbed our sleeping bags and just left to sleep somewhere else. Two assholes fucking mocked us as we were leaving and it took so much restraint to stop myself from turning around and stomping on one if them I swear. In total we got like 3 hours of sleep that night as they began to call us to wake up at 7am. We luckily got an extra hour as the teachers who came in that morning mistook us for teachers who supervised us. Eventually we all slowly get up, pack our shit and at that point I was mentally flattened. I was so exhausted I was basically had a full body resting bitch face. Eventually like an hour later I called home, was picked up and went straight back to bed. Overall that whole experience was like a 4/10 on it’s own. It had it’s good moments but they were overshadowed by the shit we had to deal with. I won’t rate this month yet as I still have Christmas and Softy and Vi coming over so I’ll rate it next month! If you read this far, thank you so much for reading! And I hope you enjoyed my wacky antics! See you next month! 

[psychicbergara]

a bond that lasts forever - shane & ryan

((i finished the video in an unhealthily short amount of time lmao but i hope you all like it! wearing headphones is probably the best. please let me know what you think <3))

#ryan bergara #shane madej #watcher #buzzfeed unsolved #sophie edits #finding clips was the WORST but i hope it was worth it in the end jfhfsj

[words-writ-in-starlight]

day 4: "do you trust me?"

(part one)

There are logistics to consider, when it comes to publicly executing a wizard. It’s a show of assurance from the Dynasty, to have him killed under the eyes of all Rosohna, to prove their strength, but also a risk. It looks unprofessional for a captured traitor to make a last stand within feet of the axe, even if all he achieves is going out in a blaze of glory rather than a quick drop of steel.

Steps have been taken to avoid this eventuality. Essek’s hands are shackled behind his back, forced into gloves with steel wires running through the fingers and palms to prevent even the smallest gesture. Between the cloth between his teeth and the metal muzzle holding his jaw tightly closed, he’s no closer to speaking a spell than he is to walking on the sun. Every fiber of his plain prisoner’s shirt and pants has been searched, twice, to ensure that he has nothing on him that might conceivably be used for casting.

Essek has seen this before, although rarely. It was not a surprise, when the appointed day arrived and his guards brought the restraints. Yet it feels unreal, as everything since his trial has felt unreal. As everything since Jester’s message has felt unreal. A dream, unspooling before him, outside his control.

There is a kind of ease to it, that Essek has never experienced before. There is nothing left for him to do. He made his attempt to run, and he failed. He said his words of defense at his trial, and they were not enough. And now, they will use the same techniques that he helped to perfect to drag him to the block and kill him for his treason, his callous disregard for all the lives lost in the war. All neat and tidy, and all he has to do is let the current carry him forward to the inevitable end.

He tells himself, as the gloves are locked onto his hands, that this is one of the better possible outcomes, and he even believes it. His friends, his family—they are not here. Jester has done as she agreed, giving him time to resolve the situation, and hasn’t messaged him since his trial. The Nein are well outside the possible radius of destruction that Essek has caused, in his arrogance and carelessness. He knows his actions will reflect poorly on Den Thelyss, but he hopes that Verin might escape with a mere demotion, as unscathed as anyone could hope to be, protected by Essek’s full, willing confession.

It’s worth it, to pay for their lives with his own.

Essek believes this. He believes it with his whole heart.

The gloves keep his hands from shaking.

Two guards, a goliath with her arms tattooed so densely she looks scaled and a burly half-orc with skin nearly as grey as the stone walls, haul him to his feet in his cell and push him forward. They hold him up by main force when he stumbles and he would otherwise take a head-first fall into the stone. Nonetheless, his pride prickles and burns when the half-orc yanks him upright after his latest near-fall, grip hard on the collar of Essek’s shirt, and snorts a laugh.

“Can’t believe he’s the fucking traitor,” the half-orc says over Essek’s head, drawling the words in a tone full of vindictive amusement that Essek has become regrettably familiar with, lately. “Fucker can’t even walk in a straight line. Can you, Shadowhand?” He gives Essek a sharp cuff on the shoulder to punctuate the insult, and it’s only because Essek has a sense of how this goes by now that he manages to anticipate the blow and stay on his feet.

The goliath laughs, a rolling rumble of thunder as she checks Essek hard with her hip, sending Essek into the corner of the next corridor hard enough that he’d have a bruise, if he lived long enough for it to show up.

“You’re telling me,” the goliath says. “Goddamn, wizards are useless once you get ‘em quiet, huh? Up this way next, what is this, your first time down here?”

“You’ve got to do a pretty good job, but yeah, pretty much just decorative once you shut ‘em up.” The half-orc grabs the cuff holding Essek’s hands together and tugs to indicate the next corridor, ignoring the way it forces Essek up onto his toes against the pain in his shoulders. “I just got in from Jigow,” he continues, as if Essek isn’t even there. “Y’know how it is, they were looking to cover y’all’s staffing problems since this bastard’s confession did a real number on things. Anywhere good to get a drink around here?”

“Thought you looked new,” the goliath said. “You trying to get lucky, new guy?”

“Hey, miss every shot you don’t take,” the half-orc said, sly, angling a glance up at her. “How’s my progress?”

“Depends on how much you spend on those drinks. Hold him, I’ll get the gate.”

The half-orc’s hands close firmly around the tops of Essek’s arms, holding him in place as the goliath strides ahead. In front of her—in front of Essek—is the great gate to the courtyard, and beyond it he can hear the roar of a crowd, bloodthirsty and victorious.

He can picture it. He’s put people here himself, attended executions for treason. The flagstones, smooth and dark beneath the crowd of witnesses. The stone dias with the Bright Queen’s throne, the chairs beside her for close advisors and other nobility. His mother might have been there, if he hadn’t so recently destroyed the reputation of Den Thelyss. And at the center, where all could see, the stairs, and the platform, and the block, and the axe.

The goliath is at the door, and the lock clatters, metal-on-metal.

Under cover of the noise, the half-orc lowers his head and speaks into Essek’s ear, no longer the careless drawl, but quick, clipped words in a familiar accent.

“I don’t have time to explain,” the half-orc murmurs in Fjord’s voice, so quiet that Essek would think it was a hallucination if he couldn’t feel the air move against his skin. “We have a plan. Do you trust me?”

Essek’s first response isn’t relief. It’s not even shock. It is pure, undiluted, blazing rage, that, after all this, these fucking morons are here. It hits him so hard that his skin burns with it, his vision spotting black at the edges, lips twisting against his gag. All at once, for the first time in a week, Essek is awake, jarred back to the present by the fury pounding through his veins. He can feel the air rushing into his throat, the hammering of his heart against his ribs, every fiber of his coarse prisoner’s clothing and every imperfection of the stone under his bare feet.

Fortunately, Essek has been a traitor in the heart of the Dynasty for too long to let it slow him down, and he nods, once, minutely.

“Okay,” Fjord breathes. “She’s going to open that door. When I yell, make a run for it.”

Once upon a time, Essek would have spent valuable time thinking about how astronomically terrible that plan is, but prolonged exposure to the Mighty Nein teaches a person to accept the reality of a plan being terrible right away and move on to thinking about managing the terrible plan quickly. And—

Even if it was the worst conceivable plan, even if it was—well, make a run for it, when there’s a sword-wielding goliath between him and the outside, which is entirely populated by guards, magic users, and a crowd that wants him dead—even then, Essek can’t imagine turning down the offer. It’s not exactly a port in a storm, but it’s something.

Essek is twenty paces from his own death, and even if this plan just ends with him having a friend at his side while he dies, it’s already better than dying alone. He never claimed to have entirely cured himself of selfishness.

And besides, Essek reassures himself as the goliath shoulders open the door. If this gets Fjord killed too, Essek will just have to find a way to drag himself back from death and throttle the entire Nein on principle. Stranger things have happened.

The door creaks open, and Fjord’s hands loosen, just slightly, and Essek runs.

“Fucker!” Fjord roars behind him, sounding breathless—pained? It buys Essek a bare moment to close the distance to the gate, and then dart around the goliath’s side as she starts to turn. “He’s using magic! Stop him!”

The goliath snarls, and Essek puts on a reckless burst of speed. Her hand shoots out and grabs his shirt, but Essek is moving too quickly. The fabric cuts into him as it rips, and then he’s stumbling into the courtyard.

He doesn’t get any further. His luck doesn’t hold up to a second blow from the goliath, and she slams a fist into his chest so hard he hears ribs crack. He’s shoved backward, toward the door, with a helpless, strangled shout of pain that draws every eye.

He’s caught from behind, a fist in his tangled white hair, and he hears a whisper of “Trust me.”

And then Fjord’s hand, unremarkable guard’s sword in his grip, comes down, and cuts Essek’s throat.

#whumptober 2021 #no.4 #do you trust me? #critical role #mighty nein #fic #essek thelyss #major character death #SPEAKING OF WHICH #THERE'S A THIRD SECTION COMING UP #PLEASE DO NOT TAKE UP YOUR PITCHFORKS FOR AT LEAST A COUPLE MORE DAYS #THANK YOU FOR NOT MURDERING THIS HUMBLE AUTHOR #this takes place broadly post-canon but otherwise i have done exactly zero Thinking about it

[mianavs]

the mission

Falling in Stockholm part 3

a/n: more revelations of the past and the mission that started it all

tw: smut, dubcon, yandere, mind break, imprisonment

wc: 3k

Falling in Stockholm

The moment Dabi locked the door, your miserable wait began. Time was meaningless in your brightly lit cell with no clock, calendar, or window to reassure you that it existed. The pain from his attacks subsided into a dull ache that let you relax and doze off from exhaustion. You eventually stopped trying to activate your quirk. It hadn’t worked ever since he’d injected you with that serum and the possibility that he’d managed to render you quirk-less plagued your thoughts.

Sleep came and went for you during your wait. The pain from your binds would bring you back from your slumber. The continued friction from the rough rope wore down your raw skin until warm blood pushed through the surface and lightly coated your wrists; you wondered if Dabi would arrive before the wounds festered. The blisters on your forearms, though painful, hadn’t burst yet to your relief. In your immobile situation, treating your burns was impossible and the blisters provided protection from infections. You looked down at the burnt handprint on your suit which revealed red marred flesh that was beginning to swell painfully against your clothing.

When it wasn’t your cuts or burns that woke you, it was your gut-wrenching hunger which had gone beyond mild growling and was painfully contorting against itself seeking food it didn’t have. It was the intensity of your hunger that drove you to act on the unfeasible act of getting to the fridge.

Using your abdominal muscles, you swung your bound legs back and forth until you began shifting slightly from your original spot. You alternated shifting your weight between your legs and your upper arms until you began to make even more progress on route to the fridge on the other side of the room. Your wounds screamed in pain as you pathetically shuffled on the ground but your hunger took over all your senses and the only thing on your mind was the need to satisfy it.

By the time you reached the fridge, blood and sweat covered your aching body but the elation from reaching the fridge made it all worth it. You nudged your shaky bound hands between the door and the fridge and pulled with all the strength you could muster. Expecting the door to swing open and possibly hit your mid-section, you were dumbfounded when the door remained closed no matter how hard you pulled on it. You were confused until you glanced up and saw a metal hatch attached to the fridge that held the door in place.

You screamed until your voice gave out. Hot tears streamed down your face as you slammed your face against the door repeatedly until your vision went hazy and the pain from your bloodied nose overcame the frustration and anger you felt when you realized your efforts had been for naught. You wouldn’t get to eat unless he let you.

The longer you lay on the floor in agony, the easier it was to succumb to your dark memories. Your first ‘training’ session with the Mayor resurfaced. He had been so eager to test your quirk to it’s limits that he had paid no mind to your young age and inexperience and inflicted pain you’d never felt before. After hours of excruciating pain, he left you with broken bones and in a puddle of blood, sweat, and tears for an entire day.

The almost identical situation you were in sent you into hysterics once again. You were forced to come to terms with the fact that you hadn’t gotten stronger. Just like that eight-year-old girl, you were abducted easily and forced into another jail cell to be tortured by another captor. All of your training and education to strengthen your quirk and body meant nothing and you felt as helpless as you did the day your parents were murdered in front of you by the Mayor.

Plagued by the repressed memories of your time with the Mayor, you didn’t even react when Dabi eventually came through the door. Your hazy vision didn’t see the momentary surprise on his face before he set down the bags he’d been carrying and took you into his arms to examine the damage.

Your face was covered in dried blood that matched the stain on the door of the fridge. Your suit was further torn from shuffling across the concrete floor. The worst, however, had to be your wounds that had begun to fester.

You didn’t protest when he ripped off the rest of your suit and removed your soiled underwear until you were bare before him. With care you didn’t know Dabi possessed, he gently set you down in a tub of warm water. You couldn’t help the tears that escaped when the water soothed your sore muscles and kissed your wounds. Wanting nothing more than to close your eyes and sleep, you were brought to reality by the sloshing of water and Dabi’s rough hands lifting you up slightly then setting you back down between his legs.

Another person’s warmth was something you never craved as a result of your childhood and growing up an orphan. In your current state, however, even you fell victim to the base human need to find comfort in others during difficult situations. Sweet inviting heat radiated off of Dabi’s chest and you easily rested your body on his, letting your eyes close in the process. You were only mildly aware of your surroundings as you let yourself relax. You felt his hands lather soap all over your body but that was all you felt as sleep won over and you drifted off.

You woke up to the sting of ointment on your wounds. Sitting on Dabi’s lap wrapped in only a towel, you watched as he meticulously cleaned and wrapped your thigh and wrists. He then shifted and carefully lifted you up only to realize you were awake.

“Sit here while I wrap your ankles.” His touch was light and careful as he cleaned the red skin of your ankles and then wrapped each one in a white bandage that he fastened with a clip. You couldn’t help but watch him as he worked at a steady pace until he gently set down your foot. You thought of running away but the lock on the door prevented you from acting on your impulse.

Dabi left but quickly returned with a change of clothes that you recognized as yours and you lifted your head in confusion.

“I stopped by your flat,” he replied and when you didn’t move, he spoke again. “Do you need help?”

You shook your head and wondered if he would stay as you fished for your underwear only to see Dabi closing the door behind him. You put on the sweatpants and shirt Dabi gave you and opened the door to a familiar scent that made your mouth water. On the table was a spread of your favorite foods: okonomiyaki, tonkatsu, and dorayaki.

You approached the table cautiously but noticed the two sets of chopsticks and the nod Dabi gave you as he set two bottles of water by your plate. You sat down and swallowed the saliva that filled your mouth as Dabi filled your plate with the delicious-smelling food. After he served himself and sat down, you picked up your chopsticks with trembling hands and picked up a piece of the breaded pork.

One taste and you were scarfing down the food eager to satisfy your hunger only to be stopped by Dabi slamming his chopsticks down and glowering at you.

“Slow down or I’ll take it away.”

You finished your meal slowly which you realized would prevent you from throwing it all up after not eating for a long time. Wondering exactly how much time had passed, you addressed your captor for the first time since his return.

“How long have I been here?” Dabi regarded you for a moment before taking a swig of beer. “About five days…gonna be six tomorrow.”

“Where did you go?” You pushed your luck unsure if it would end badly for you.

“Work.” He went back to finishing his share of the dorayaki and you couldn’t help glancing at the exit.

Were there other people around or was the building isolated from everyone?

Even if you did get out what would be on the other side?

“It’s locked,” He interrupted your thoughts and you looked away knowing it was useless without the key.

“So drugs and human trafficking?” He sent a confused but agitated look your way and you continued. “Your work. That’s what your gang specializes in, right?”

Dabi mulled over your words until he broke into a smirk. “Oh, is that what they told you about those idiots? I thought they’d be more creative—”

“What are you talking about?” You got agitated quickly when people kept you in the dark about something and Dabi was obviously doing just that. “Whose they?”

“The Hero Public Safety Commission,” he replied nonchalantly. “Didn’t they tell you to gather evidence on a band of no-name villains?”

His use of the exact phrase Takeru had told you shook you to your core and your mind raced to conjure an explanation. “H-How do you know that?!”

“Do you still not get it?” He grinned taking in your rigid form. “They set you up. We came to a deal. I offered them intel on some villains in exchange for you.”

A choked sob erupted from your throat and you starred at Dabi in horror as his words registered in your mind. You had hoped the HPSC would eventually find your location and rescue you but Dabi’s revelation killed any hope of being saved. You stood up and Dabi mimicked you waiting for you to make your move and pounce on you like a predator.

“They were pretty eager to get rid of you. You were too much of a danger to them and the rest of hero society.”

Your head throbbed and a ringing noise assaulted your ears the more Dabi explained the mission to you. Air became scarce and you began hyperventilating. With your heart drumming against your chest and your vison blurring, you took a step but your legs gave out beneath you. On the ground, you drew your legs to your chest and grasped your head.

“W-WHY?!” Your whole world crumbled in that moment and you fell into the dark pits of despair.

Dabi came down next to you and took you into his arms. He pressed your head against his chest and rocked you back in forth letting you ride out your panic attack. You gripped his cotton shirt and soaked it with your angry tears repeating the question you’d asked.

“They didn’t want a hero raised by villains to rise the ranks and gain influence. They couldn’t let you ruin their twisted system of heroes.”

“B-but I’m not a v-villain! I just want to save people and live a decent life! Why can’t t-they see that?!”

Dabi lifted you up in his arms and took you to the bed. “They don’t deserve you, Y/N. They sabotaged your career but it’s okay now. You’re here with me where you belong.”

Before you could get away, Dabi had you pinned down on the bed careful not to press on your bandaged wrists. You struggled against him but his grip only tightened and memories of the last time you’d angered him reminded you off his quirk. He began to press open-mouthed kisses against your exposed neck eliciting a gasp from your lips.

“We’ll get them back for everything they did to you. We’ll destroy them the same way they destroyed you. I’d do that and so much more for you, Y/N.”

His words should have repulsed you. You should have pushed him off and told him you didn’t want anything he had to offer. You should have tried to run away even if it got you punished. You should have done anything except what you were doing—what you were letting him do—but Dabi’s revelation changed everything. You didn’t know where you belonged. Hero society didn’t want you so why were you so desperate to get back?

Dabi interrupted your musings by pressing his hard-on against your clothed sex and nipping the skin on your collarbone. You bit your lip to muffle your moans as he moved his mouth to your ear and licked the skin around it. You were a quaking mess when his mouth claimed yours. The cold hard metal on his face made you gasp and his tongue was inside in no time. Your weakened mental state worked against you and the pleasure from kisses and thrusts against your sex wore you down. You gripped his hair and wrapped your legs around his waist to bring him closer.

He broke away first, the string of saliva breaking and dribbling down your flushed face. His shit faced smirk almost made you regret your decision—until he took off your pants and underwear and buried himself between your legs. His warm tongue that alternated between lapping and sucking on your clit combined with the cool metal staples had you gripping the sheets as waves of pleasure coursed through your body and your moans and cries echoed off the walls.

After coming undone on his mouth for the third time, he raised his head and took off his shirt to reveal the pattern of scarred skin, staples, and pale skin that matched his face. Whether your reaction to his flesh angered him, his face showed no indication and he went back to taking off the rest of your clothes. Fully conscious as opposed to how you were hours ago in the bath, you flushed as he greedily took in your splayed naked form before settling in between your thighs and languidly running his tongue up until he reached your left breast and licked the already hardened nipple while he flicked and pinched the right one.

He alternated between the two making your mind go blank from the intense pleasure he was giving you. Your sex was gushing once again just from him playing with your chest and you tugged on his hair to get his attention.

“Please…I need—I need it.” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it and Dabi smirked knowingly.

“Say it and I’ll give it to you,” he replied before returning to your left nipple and biting down on it making you tear up in pain and pleasure.

“Fuck! Fuck me, please.”

He released your nipple with a pop and took his weight off you. You observed him as he unbuckled his jeans and took them off to reveal his tented boxers. He released his cock as he climbed back on the bed but your eyes remained on the pre that coated his head and dribbled down his shaft. As he settled between your legs and guided his cockhead towards your entrance, regret and apprehension dampened your desire.

“Wait, I don’t— HNNGH!”

Dabi sank in and bottomed out in one swift motion. His thick girth stretched you out painfully despite not being a virgin and you were sure you’d bleed. You tried shifting to get him off you but Dabi began mercilessly thrusting into your aching cunt despite your protests.

“Hurts—AH! It hurts!”

“Too hard—s’ too fast! Agh!”

“Shhh…I’ll make it feel good.” Dabi shifted slightly until he sat on the bed while gripping your hips and pulling you towards him. He then resumed thrusting at a much slower pace but his balls still slapped your skin and the head of his cock reached your cervix each time. The slapping noises of his skin on yours sounded wetter and you could feel the pleasure begin to bubble once again. His fingers suddenly began rubbing circles around your clit while the other traveled up and played with your nipples. With your pleasure at the brim, you lifted your hips to allow Dabi to hit that spot and you were soon rewarded with your release.

“Cum—I’m gonna cu—!” Your cum gushed out while you collapsed back on the bed, a spent and twitching mess.

Dabi wasted no time in letting you rest before he pulled you up on his lap and guided your hips with his hands. Placing wet kisses all over your neck and chest, he built up your pleasure once again until you were the one raising and slamming your hips down on his thick length.

“Fuck! Your cunt’s so good.” His warm breath tickled your neck before he bit down.

His praises made your cunt twitch even more and your hands traveled to his back where you scratched his back trying to hold on to your mind as the friction from your bodies and his deep thrusts fogged your senses until all you could feel was ecstasy as you bounced on his cock.

“Gonna cum! Argh—Milk my fucking cock! Take my cum—F-Fuck!”

Overstimulated, your walls convulsed around him and you soaked his lower stomach with your release. Seeing you squirt sent Dabi over the edge and his hot semen filled your cunt and dribbled out of you when he pulled out.

Panting and covered in sweat, you collapsed on his chest wanting nothing more than to sleep. Dabi held you in his arms until both your breathing evened out and heart rates returned to normal. He then lifted you up and carried you to the bathroom where he set you on the toilet seat and gently cleaned the cum and blood off your legs and sex. After cleaning himself off, he took you back to the bed, helped you dress, laid you down on the bed, and covered you with a warm blanket.

You could cry from how warm and soft the bed was compared to the cold hard floor you’d lain on over the past few days. In your exhausted state, the pain and suffering Dabi had put you through resurfaced and tears of frustration framed your eyes.

Dabi settled next to you, brought you to his chest, and wrapped his arms around you tightly. You hated yourself in that moment as you cried in your kidnapper’s chest while he rubbed comforting circles on your back. You shook and sobbed in anger but Dabi only hugged you closer and kissed the top of your head.

“I-I hate y-you! Y-you ruined m-my life!” You wailed but gripped his tear-soaked shirt. “What a-am I supposed t-to do now?!”

“Shhh…you’ll get used to this. Once you’re obedient we’ll be happy together, you’ll see.”

You weren’t used to sleeping next to someone else; having their warmth envelop your body and listening to the gentle beating of their heart. It was a foreign sensation but you quickly found out that sleeping in Dabi’s arms brought you more comfort than you’d felt in a long time. It reminded you of warm Sunday mornings and walking hand-in-hand with your parents to the park. That night you didn’t dream of pain and suffering with the Mayor or past missions the HPSC sent you on. You dreamt of your parents and how happy you’d been once upon a time.

#mha #bnha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #dabi #dabi x reader #dabi fanfic #mha fanfic #bnha fanfic #navs.mha #dabi smut #mha smut #bnha smut #dabi x y/n #dabi x female reader #yandere dabi #touya #touya todoroki #touya x reader #touya x you #dabi x you #yandere mha #yandere bnha #navs.fis

[writtenbyrain]

The Lucky One

Read it on AO3

Summary: What if Master Fu hadn't been the only reason Marinette was late to her first day of school? What if, when Ladybug told Chat Noir she was in love with someone else, it really was someone else? Really, it comes down to this: What if Marinette met Luka before Adrien?

Notes: This is written for @feminaexlux for the LBSC 2021 Valentine's Day Exchange! I'm your secret admirer, so happy Valentine's Day, beautiful — I hope you enjoy the fic! 💕 Also, thank you so much to the lovely @chrwrites for beta reading! Word Count: 2,873

Luka loved his little sister more than words could describe, which was precisely why he couldn’t let her leave for her first day of school without her lucky pink hair clip.

Sure, she never really wore it; in fact, she seemed far more comfortable allowing her purple bangs to obscure her features in an increasingly persistent effort to hide from scrutinizing eyes. But that didn’t stop her from bringing the clip with her every day, anyway, just in case she ever found the strength to let herself be seen.

And as Luka waited patiently for her to unearth that courage for herself, he did his best to support and encourage her in any way he could, which was precisely why he found himself racing toward Collège Françoise Dupont on the first morning of the school year.

“Sorry, excuse me,” he mumbled to no one in particular as he pedaled perilously close to cars and took street corners just a hair too sharp.

That morning, as he had been organizing his own school books and binders, he found the small hair clip sitting forlornly on the deck of the Liberty. It must have fallen out of Juleka’s backpack, he realized, considering the haste with which she had raced off to meet Rose.

Thus, he now found himself down the street from the school, approaching the corner where a charming bakery huddled adjacent to the campus.

Only, just as he reached the crosswalk, an old man with a cane hobbled out into the road, where—

“Whoah, watch out!”

Luka skidded to a stop, tearing off his helmet as he ran to grab the man’s left arm. At the same time, another girl in pigtails, one arm burdened with a pastry box, ran out into the oncoming traffic to grab onto the man’s right.

Narrowly missing the bumper of a passing car, Luka huffed in relief as all three of them staggered back onto the edge of the sidewalk — but not before the girl in pigtails tripped, landing heavily on her hands and knees.

The crosswalk flicked green, then, and pedestrians began to obliviously mill past.

“Are you okay?” Luka bent down to grab the girl by the elbow, just as a cane appeared in his peripheral vision. “Are you hurt?”

The old man they had rescued edged closer to clear his throat before the girl could respond.

“Thank you, both of you,” he said before eyeing the box the girl had dropped. Pistachio green macaron shells lay shattered along the cement. “Oh! What a disaster.”

“Don’t worry, I’m no stranger to disaster. Besides, there are still a few left,” the girl responded buoyantly as she sat up and recovered the surviving cookies. She turned to Luka. “Oh! And y-yes! I’m okay! I’m just such a clutz, thank you for helping me.”

Her cheeks were dusted with a subtle pink as she looked up at Luka, his hand still resting gingerly on her arm.

She’s cute, he thought to himself before glancing back toward the crosswalk. And kind. Maybe I should—

The school bell rang, then, and the girl whipped her head back around, her eyes wide.

“Oh no, I’m going to be late!” She stood and hurriedly shut the lid of the pastry box before angling back toward the road. “H-have a nice day!”

“Wait!” Luka grabbed the girl’s wrist before she could barrel across to the campus. “You go to Collège Françoise Dupont?”

“I-uh, yes?”

“You don’t happen to know Juleka Couffaine, do you?”

The girl straightened and turned fully back toward Luka, her eyes flicking to where his fingers curled around her wrist. Her blush reemerged, albeit more brightly this time.

“I do! W-we’re in the game sass together! Well, I-I mean the same class,” she clarified nervously. “We’ve b-been in the same class. Together. Maybe we’ll be in the same class together again, this year, I mean.”

Luka just chuckled and grabbed the clip from where he had stuffed it in his pocket on the way out.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Ma-ma-Marinette.”

“Well, ma-ma-Marinette, if you happen to see Juleka, can you please give this to her?” With one hand still on her upturned wrist, Luka pressed the clip into her palm. “You can tell her that her brother Luka dropped it off.”

________

If she thought about it hard enough, Marinette could imagine she still felt the pressure on her hand from where the boy — well, where Luka — had pressed Juleka’s hair clip into her palm, even though weeks had gone by.

Juleka was, in fact, in her class again, which seemed to work to Marinette’s advantage.

As time went on, Luka made increasingly regular appearances after school, primarily to pick up Juleka and walk her back to the Liberty at the end of the day.

And if Marinette made the conscious decision to linger around the front steps of the school under the guise of sketching or organizing her backpack, who needed to be the wiser? (Albeit Tikki did occasionally chide her for running even later than usual.)

But every day that Luka took the time to stop, say hello, and ask to see her sketches, she knew that the loss of time was worth it. “Hey, Marinette!”

Absolutely worth it.

________

Despite the fact that everything had turned out well in the end, Luka wasn’t sure that his righteous anger that morning had been worth it.

And as much as he refused to show it, he felt a twisting pit of shame and apprehension in his stomach.

Ladybug and Chat Noir had just released him from Hawkmoth’s akuma, and he was about to take center stage with the rest of Kitty Section for their well-earned television debut. While this moment should have been exhilarating — triumphant, even — all he could think about was what Marinette must think of him now.

Marinette, who always went out of her way to help those around her.

Marinette, who spent what precious little time she had making costumes for the band.

Marinette, who was kind and gentle, and had now seen him at his worst.

Who had now seen him as a villain… literally.

Luka took a steadying breath, one thumb skimming nervously over his Kitty Section mask as he prepared to step out in front of the cameras… until he felt warm fingers encircling his wrist.

He half-turned, the pit in his stomach sinking even further.

“Luka?” Marinette stood there before him, one hand bashfully coming up to her face. “Did you really mean those things you said when you were akumatized?”

Wait, was she… blushing? No, that couldn’t be.

Not after today.

“I'm sorry, Marinette, but I don't remember,” Luka said slowly as the pit twisted itself into butterflies. “What did I say?”

“Uh, oh, n-nothing,” Marinette stuttered. She looked down and rubbed nervously at the back of her neck. “It was nothing at all. You were possessed by Hawkmoth's akuma.”

“I don't know what I possibly could've said. I just hope it wasn't anything mean, because—”

He had to tell her how he felt. Now. Because if he didn’t, what else was she supposed to think? What if what he said while he was akumatized made her think that he didn’t—

“—You're the most extraordinary girl, Marinette.” He grabbed her shoulders earnestly. “As clear as a musical note and as sincere as a melody. You’re the music that’s been playing inside my head since the first day we met.”

The words sat right on his tongue, as well-rehearsed as his fingers on the frets of his guitar. He squeezed his hands once more on her shoulders before turning around to take the stage.

Though he had just recovered from being Silencer, he thought, perhaps he still had one thing left to silence: His doubts.

________

Ladybug had little doubt in her decision today, even if she found herself gritting her teeth and bearing with the stench of Paris’s sewers — again.

Really, she and Chat Noir had made somewhat of a habit of coming down into the watery maze beneath the city, and she was beginning to think that it was time to find an alternative place to run and hide.

As much as she cared for the silly kitty, sometimes the time they spent alone became a little overwhelming, what with his constant flirtation and declarations of love. And coming down to the sewers didn’t exactly make his attempts seem any more romantic.

… Wait, in that case, maybe being in the sewers wasn’t too bad of an idea.

In any case, she had tried time and again to tell Chat Noir that she was in love with someone else — someone with deft fingers, blue hair, and eyes that were bluer still — but the blonde still didn’t seem to be deterred.

Which was what gave Ladybug the idea to bestow a Miraculous upon Luka.

He was a natural match for combat after all, right?

Luka, who was so level-headed.

Luka, who always took the time to think before acting or speaking.

Luka, who genuinely put the needs of others before himself.

He had demonstrated as much on the day they met, after all. Who else would make themself late to school not only to help an old man out of the street, but to also make sure his little sister had her favorite hair clip on hand?

Luka was selfless, caring, observant, cute—

Yes, that settled it: Luka was the perfect candidate for a Miraculous.

Today, Chat Noir seemed to think they should give this particular one to Adrien Agreste, but Marinette wasn’t so sure. Would the celebrity model really be cut out for an akuma battle, let alone one that had brought them down into the sewers?

Probably not.

Closing her eyes and ignoring the acrid stench of garbage as she sucked in a determined breath, Ladybug called Luka out of the locker Chat Noir had left him in. Hesitantly, he approached the spot where Ladybug stood by a metal ladder that led to the surface.

“Luka Couffaine,” she began. Gently, she turned his hand over and pressed a box into his palm, much in the way he had pressed a clip into hers some months ago. “This is the Miraculous of the Snake, which grants the power of Second Chance. You will use it for the greater good. Once the job is done, you will return the Miraculous to me. Can I trust you?”

Of course, she knew the answer even before Luka smiled and nodded.

His hands tightened around hers knowingly.

________

Of course, knowing and understanding were two very different things.

After Miracle Queen had come and unnerved all of the Miraculous wielders by revealing their identities, Ladybug, in particular, had seemed uncharacteristically dispirited. Even Chat Noir seemed to hold himself at arm’s length from the heroine, albeit Luka didn’t understand why.

Nor did he understand why, over the past several weeks, she had appeared at his window in frequent blurs of red and black, offering him time with Sass under the condition that he come out to patrol in Chat Noir’s place.

Of all the previously-exposed Miraculous holders, he was the only one she had recalled to the field, even though it was never for the express purpose of an akuma battle.

Now, racing along Paris’s rooftops, Viperion did his best not to pry, though he couldn’t help but feel concerned at the discordant melody that was all but radiating off the girl. Weeks had passed, but something about Ladybug was still off-beat.

Patrol that night was almost over and it was only getting more and more difficult not to ask questions, especially considering she—

“We’re here.”

Ladybug landed gracefully on the final rooftop of the evening, her expression indifferent as she hooked her yo-yo around her hip and looked out at the distant wash of lights across Paris. She released a silent sigh through her nose, the rise and fall of her shoulders otherwise betraying her neutral demeanor.

Viperion landed beside her, consciously restraining himself from coaxing a sad melody out of his lyre and asking, “Do you feel kind of like this?”

“Why don’t we stop to catch our breath?” he asked instead. “Before we go our separate ways, I mean.”

Ladybug’s gaze flicked up to him in question before softening a fraction.

“Sure,” she murmured, her softly-emerging smile a small victory in Viperion’s heart. “I brought a snack, anyway. Just in case we got hungry.”

As Viperion lowered himself to sit on the ledge of the roof, Ladybug padded to the opposite side, bending down to grab a pastry box before returning and perching herself next to him. As she opened the lid, Viperion didn’t try to suppress his own smile.

Pistachio green macarons sat in a neat row within the box, their fragile shells still perfectly in-tact.

“These look delicious,” he said, gently removing one with his right thumb and forefinger. His left hand skimmed distractedly over the hidden pocket of his Miraculous suit.

The two sat that way for several minutes, the silence of the night punctuated only by the occasional passing car or giggling civilian. Ladybug and Viperion, meanwhile, relished in the quiet anonymity provided by both the height and the shadows of the building they sat atop.

Eventually, Ladybug sighed once more — this time more audibly — and leaned to rest her head against Viperion’s shoulder.

“You’re unbelievably brave, you know.”

“What?” Ladybug lifted her head to look at him through her falling bangs.

“I said you’re incredibly brave,” he repeated, his eyes fixed forward. “And I just want you to know you don’t have to shoulder all of the burden on your own.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Ladybug’s brows furrowed. “I mean, I asked you to come out and help patrol with me, didn’t I?”

Viperion just chuckled once more, as he often did while contemplating how best to string his words together like a discernible song of their own.

“Yes, and I’m grateful you did,” he conceded. “But you and I both know that’s not all. And maybe that’s why I don’t feel any doubt, anymore.”

“What … what did you doubt?”

Luka paused a moment, his hand once more pressing against his pocket. This time, he pulled the contents out and curled his fingers around it protectively.

“I guess… I doubted that you wanted me to be there for you,” he said. “But, lately, you’ve been leaning on me more, both in and out of the suit—”

Ladybug gasped.

“—And that makes me happy.”

Viperion turned, grabbing Ladybug’s wrist with a feather-light touch. Turning her palm up, he pressed a small clip into her hand before closing her fingers. Then he pulled her in for a reassuring hug, careful to hold her gently enough that she could pull away if she wanted to.

He heard her sniff before he felt her burrow into his neck. His skin was cooled by the unexpected dampness of her cheeks.

“Juleka gave me her lucky hair clip several weeks ago,” he explained. “She said she hoped it would help me to find the luck and courage I needed to tell the girl I love about my feelings, which… I guess I already did. So this time, I’ll just tell you that I know what you’re facing and, if you ever need someone to shoulder more of the burden for you, I’ll always be here. My life is already filled with music, but you add the sweetest harmony of all, Marinette.”

Ladybug hiccuped, wrapping her arms hastily around Viperion’s waist. One hand remained fisted around the clip while the other pressed between his shoulder blades, silently asking him to hold her tighter.

So he did.

Humming the heartsong he had written for Marinette weeks ago, Viperion pressed his cheek into her hair and rubbed circles into her back. His body shook slightly as the girl gasped and wept, but he didn’t dare let go. Not until she was ready.

Several minutes later, her body had finally relaxed into his, the sobs gone and her breath evening out. His humming trailed off as she slowly unwound her arms from around him.

“I’m sorry, Luka,” she whispered as she pulled back and wiped at her face. “It’s all just been so much.”

“I know. And I’ll be here for you every step of the way, in whatever way you’ll have me.”

Finally, the girl smiled — the first real, genuine smile he had seen from her in weeks.

Viperion’s heart soared with relief.

“You’re right you know,” she said, uncurling her fingers to once more reveal the clip. “You didn’t need this lucky clip to tell me how you feel. Though, to be honest, I feel like I’m the lucky one.”

Slowly setting the clip down beside them, Ladybug reached up, pressing one hand to Viperion’s cheek and the other to the back of his head.

His eyes fell closed as he bent his head low, his lips catching hers just as she pressed closer to meet him. This time, his hands floated to her waist, the moment weaving a delicate new melody around him.

Her lips were softer than he’d ever imagined... and tasted faintly of pistachios.

No, he thought distantly. I’m definitely the lucky one.

#endgame lukanette #endgame luka couffaine marinette dupain-cheng #lukanette #lbsc #lbscexchange #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #marinette dupain-cheng #viperbug #viperion #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #miraculous fanworks #ml fic #ml fanfic #fluff #mild hurt/comfort #my writing #rain writes #valentines day exchange fic

[allthingsjeresa]

So I don’t have AO3 account and apparently you have to get invited to have an account. Fun fact I didn’t know. I’m currently stuck in a week long queue but I wrote a Jeresa fic and wanted to post it somewhere so here goes nothing… this is a rewrite of the ending of 5x04. An additional scene if you will. The songs that got me through this chapter (majority of season 5 actually are Love The Lonely Out Of You by Brothers Osborne and Terrible Love By The National. I encourage you to take a listen- they are as heartbreaking as they sound!

When James made it back to the safe house that night, mission completed and his body count one soul heavier, there was a thick air of coldness as he reported to Teresa.

Cop killed. Check. Thumb print left on the ledger. Check. Feds made it to the scene first. Check.

He was nothing if not thorough at his job and they both knew he didn’t need to specify that any of these things had been handled. A simple “we’re good” would’ve sufficed. Yet there he was making a point to specify with Teresa, only because it felt like he’d been put into a time machine.

All of a sudden he was back in Dallas, climbing up the ranks and filling in precise updates to a certain jefa. One who donned red lipstick and killer heels instead of white clothes and curly hair. It was too close to home, what Teresa expected of him and the mission he had just worked. When he’d done important jobs in the past, Camila always wanted to know everything down to the last detail.

So there he stood across the room, delivering the news to his newest “jefa” like the compliant and meticulous cartel lieutenant he was. Because one thing about James- he learned from his mistakes. And when it came to Teresa, he had a bad habit of mistaking things for what they actually were. You could say his very wrong perception of their relationship was how he ended up in a small pantry for hours that night, clutching onto hope that she would shoot him a text and backtrack. She never did.

Well, his vision was clearer than ever now and he would not make the mistake of confusing anything again. The unfortunate truth is that for the majority of his adult life, James had been a lethal killing machine. He had never told anyone before, not even when he was newly enlisted, just how much it terrified him. It was one thing to be good at killing but what if that was your only purpose in life? That was what kept James up late at night. He never seemed to fit in anywhere unless it meant he had his finger on a trigger or a clip of rounds in his pocket. Wherever he went, it felt like that’s all anyone saw for some time- who he could kill for them. Eventually, it became his identity. It was more of a curse really. At one point, possibly right after working for Camila, James learned to accept this.

Then from out of no where, Teresa Mendoza was brought to the warehouse one sunny hot day in Dallas and the wiring of his brain slowly unraveled. It’s true what people say about your world getting flipped upside down when you least expect it. He never expected Teresa.

You’re a good person, James.

We can do things a different way.

You don’t have to hide from me.

We’re in this together.

Everyone deserves that.

For the first time in years he thought maybe… just maybe he could find a new purpose. One with Teresa. Back in Phoenix, when they defeated la comission together he finally felt like he belonged. For the first time in a long while, he fit in somewhere. And that’s how Teresa and her team became his people.

Then what happened right after in Bolivia… well, it happened. The outcome of it shattered him and he never really explained to her why. He didn’t belong again. She’d thought him capable of the unthinkable. He was only good for deceit and murder in her eyes. His self-worth was back to square one. It was hard for James to get over it but he did. He would’ve stayed by her side if not for Devon. That’s how malleable he was when it came to Teresa. Naturally the minute he was free from Devon, he high-tailed it to New Orleans. No matter what happened between them, he would protect Teresa like always. He thought he’d warn her of the impending danger and if things went well, then maybe they could have a clean slate. Work things out. Run the business the way they always wanted to. Purpose. That was how James ended up in Louisiana with a heart full of hope and bullet in his gut.

But what no one tells you about hope- it hurts as much as heartbreak once it’s gone. James would know.

He was simply a soldier, like always. A living weapon to further her reign and nothing more. Her comment about the CIA earlier that day had only cemented it. And boy, had it hurt. It hurt because he thought maybe, after everything he was worth more to her. Because she was Teresa Mendoza and she wasn’t like anyone he’d encountered before. She didn’t see people around her as tools or collateral damage that either served or threatened her power. She didn’t see James the way everyone else in his life had. Or so he thought. James was starting to find out that perhaps he knew nothing at all. He didn’t know much about what had happened between that time he was gone, and the only person he wanted to ask had just made it clear what he was good for.

Don’t question me. She didn’t have to say it but he heard it loud and clear. So with those boundaries reinforced, he made himself a promise to keep the hierarchy between him and Teresa strictly maintained. That meant no personal questions or conversations. He would only do as he was told. He would treat her as the superior she was.

Maybe it didn’t have to be an issue- what he meant to Teresa. Maybe he could try and compartmentalize things. After all, he’d been a weapon most of his life for people and organizations much lesser than her. The United States government, Camila… Devon. Granted the last was not by choice, but still. It was nothing new. He didn’t have to take it so personally. He could do it.

And he would. How could he not? This was Teresa after all. He’d assume his well accustomed position of diligent death-dealer while knowing that he might be worth nothing more than a loaded gun in her hand… knowing that he felt the way he did about her and that there wasn’t much he could do about it. He was bound to Teresa whether he liked it or not. One thing about James- he was good at eventually accepting things for what they were. With that rooted in his head, James didn’t dare look back as he made his way to his room, carrying the weight of the last year and now that day on his shoulders.

****

While James did his best to establish a new mindset, Teresa was struggling. He walked away from her and suddenly she was on the verge of tears. Again.

Wait.

She had wanted to cry out, beg him not to leave and try her best to explain. Instead she let him walk away because what she’d done was unjustifiable. It was a new low for her, reassuring him with promises of helping those boys after she’d ordered him to kill. Especially because it wasn’t true. Not really. She knew killing that cop wasn’t so much about helping anyone as much as it was about protecting her business. Maybe it was best they didn’t talk too much. All she ever did lately was lie to him after all. She lied about only wanting safety and legitimacy in New York. She lied about not having a choice with Marcel. She didn’t intend to, but it’s just what came out. Maybe it’s what she wanted to believe. Teresa wondered what that meant for her. Was she becoming that twisted, it already felt like second nature to tell people what she thought they needed to hear? She felt disgusting. She wanted to scream.

But nothing came out. That’s all she gave anyone lately.

Nothing.

Nothing but orders and vicious, petty blows.

Pressure was destroying Teresa. Pressure to keep the house of cards from falling down. While her business thrived, she crumbled. She was not only distraught but ashamed. Out of everyone she could choose to lash out on, she knew James didn’t deserve it. Not after everything in Phoenix. Not after a year of being a slave to Devon’s clutches and certainly not after getting shot and nearly bleeding to death just to make it to her in time.

While James tried to wash off his sins of the night in a shower across the house, Teresa silently cried again over a line in her closet. It was getting too repetitive, her little habit. It had started slowly. She had endless nightmares about cars exploding. Tony. Brenda. Birdie. Running for her life in Culiacan. Sometimes she was even back in that cage in Dallas. She wasn’t sleeping at all. That was how her relationship with cocaine began. A little bump here and there to get her through the day. It did what no amount of caffeine could ever. It gave her invincibility, strength and courage. When Teresa forgot just how capable she was, cocaine was there to remind her. When she had a tough night, and it felt like it was starting to become every night, it gave her the push she needed to go on. Right now she needed to remember why she was doing what she was. The coke made her more of everything. But perhaps she’d been wrong about that too. As she looked in the reflection in front of her, eyes puffy and bloodshot from her breakdown, she felt anything but strong. Maybe it was in her weakness she did what she did next. Or perhaps it was the coke ironically making her too confident, Teresa really couldn’t tell the difference anymore. But she cleaned herself up, removing any traces of tears and made her way to the other wing of the house.

When she knocked on his room door to no response she feared the worst. She gave it 30 seconds before she turned around to make it back to her wing when the door swiftly opened. Teresa’s eyes met James’ surprised face and she swallowed.

So much for cocaine-fueled bravery.

Hair slightly damp, clad in a muscle shirt and a cigarette perched between his lips, he’d guided her to the balcony attached to his bedroom.

For a good while neither of them said a word. He offered her a cigarette and she simply shook her head in refusal. In all honesty, she was scared her hands shook a bit too much to take it. It might’ve been seconds or minutes before anyone spoke. Teresa didn’t know. Then, finally James broke first.

“What is it Teresa?” His voice was scratchy and thick as if he hadn’t spoken in days. No beating around the bush or awkward tip-toeing. Just serious and straight to the point. She almost flinched.

Without looking at him, Teresa sniffed and gave her answer.

“I wanted to apologize. Earlier, what I said. I was out of line. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Her voice was soft as she pushed a curl back nervously.

They both knew exactly what she was referring to, so she was confused when James said nothing and instead nodded at her apology in acceptance. Or maybe hurt was the better term. Because while Teresa had come to appreciate his anger, even his disapproval most recently, she wasn’t prepared for his indifference. It was like a slap in the face. She wondered if maybe that’s what it was like being in her orbit lately.

Well… that’s that.

Shame flooded her once again and she fought to keep her composure, a wave of emotions threatening to hit like a monsoon. She rubbed her nose and sniffed again. Her voice was shaking when she meekly replied “I should go.”

Teresa barely made it a step before James spoke again.

“You know, at least make sure your nose is clean if you’re gonna give orders to end lives.”

This time it was James who didn’t look up. Instead he stared intensely out into the night, puffing out hits of nicotine. His face was an unreadable mask.

“What?” Teresa blinked. The air was suddenly chilly and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She thought she had an idea of how this conversation might go. This… this was not it.

James put out the cigarette and finally faced her. What he saw only confirmed his assumption. A deer stuck in the headlights.

“I pushed weight for six years in Dallas with Camila. I know coke drip, Teresa. I know it so well, I made a point not to associate with people who powdered their nose too often.”

He spat out the last words and it was only then Teresa realized her great failure of reading his temperament. It wasn’t indifference he’d been feeling, but rather pure anger. Rage disguised as calm silence. He knew. Of course he did. Probably from the moment he opened his door. If Teresa was a one way mirror he was the only one able to see the other side. Somehow she was able to compose herself enough to reply.

“It’s not what you think. It’s been a hard week, that’s all.” Teresa was feigning self-assurance. She had been on the run, encountered many terrifying people in her days and nearly died one too many times, but if there was a moment where she was struggling to look more confident than ever, it was right then. The sad truth is she only said that because she didn’t know what else to say. They both knew it was bullshit.

James sighed.

“Yeah, is that what you tell yourself? Listen, if you want to protect your business at all costs, I get that. And I’ll do whatever it is you need me to do. After today, you should already know that. But this… this is a hard limit, Teresa. One that will only end badly.” His words came out rough.

“Look, I have it under control.” Standing in front of him, pupils blown, feeling like a raw open nerve she wondered if he could sense just how much she was spiraling. James had killer instincts and with that came killer intuition.

Hard limit.

What did that even mean? If she didn’t get her nose clean he would leave? Oh no. She needed damage control. She couldn’t get hurt again like the last time.

“Besides,” Teresa didn’t know why she continued, “you don’t understand.” Maybe it was a cry for help.

There was emphasis behind her words and James was studying her closely now. His forehead slightly furrowed, eyes squinting as if in deep concentration. Then he laughed and Teresa’s stomach dropped even more.

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand?”James’ voice was a sardonic repetition of her own words laced in disbelief.

“You know that line might work with Pote, Kelly Anne or anyone else in this house but don’t pull that bullshit with me.” He pulled out another cigarette and lit it, while Teresa grabbed onto the balcony railing. She felt like she needed the support. This conversation felt too familiar. How many times had they stood on a balcony, angry and upset with the other, unloading and apologizing? James was losing count. His head spun.

“Teresa, we both know all I’ve done since I’ve stepped foot here is respect boundaries and follow your orders. That’s fine if it’s what you want, it really is. But you shut me out. You said you wouldn’t hide and yet here we are, and you have the audacity to throw in my face how I don’t understand? How could I possibly understand? You won’t give me the time of day if I’m not doing whatever it is you need from me. You haven’t even given me a chance.”

James was now the one doing his best to reign in his emotions. He had so carefully crafted a mask all day. Worked hard to lay out a gap of distance between them. And suddenly, here she was unstoppable. Trouble. Like a constant tornado in his life, from the moment she first appeared in that warehouse. Always showing up and tearing everything down. She was too good at it.

“You’re right. I haven’t been fair to you lately.” How do you show up to give one apology and end up with two? Teresa was in for it. With a deep breath she continued.

“Look, maybe it was a mistake, asking you to stay. If you want to leave after this, I’ll understand. And I promise I won’t hold it against you, James. You’ve done so much for me, for this business. But you deserve to be happy too.” Teresa said those words and her vision blurred. It was the most honest she’d been all night and she found herself letting him go again. He couldn’t be happy there, with her. Teresa wasn’t even happy herself. Declarations of “you deserve that” rung between them from that night in New York. The same night she let him back inside and shut him out all at once. “I know this hasn’t been what you expected when you decided to stay. For that, I’m sorry. I should’ve been honest with you, about things changing but I wasn’t. The fact is that it has to be different now. After the car…” Teresa choked up and stopped mid-sentence. “Look, the price to pay is too much. I can’t go back to who I was. And I can’t run this business any other way. Please understand.”

The underlying message behind that- she couldn’t be the person he wanted her to be as a cartel leader or as a lover. Her morals had to go down the drain and well, she wouldn’t be vulnerable with James because they could not have that kind of relationship. Not in this lifetime, as she had so sweetly put it.

There was definitely more to her latest revelation and he didn’t know the details behind it just yet. It didn’t matter. All he knew was that if she had been using for whatever reason, the last thing he would do was up and leave. No. He decided he would not be going anywhere, because as Pote had preached to him only a week ago, she might not want him to stay but she needed him. He just hadn’t realized how much at that moment or why. And James did not come this far, signing off a year of his life and fighting off death itself just to lose her to the very product she sold. As long as he remained flesh and bone, she would not destroy herself. He wouldn’t allow it. Not ever again. So he made sure to look her pointedly in the eyes when he sharply said “I’m staying, Teresa.”

And with that said, he walked off the balcony and into the bedroom dismissing her and any words of leaving.

#jeresa #queen of the south #james valdez #teresa mendoza #qots #qots spoilers #alice braga #peter gadiot #otp

[hardskz]

bow down.

pairing — bang chan x genderneutral! reader

genre — modern royalty au, drama-ish, smut; sexual tension-ish, hand kink, brat tamer! chan, degradation, leg humping, humiliation

synopsis — you have eyes. prince bang chan is a whole snack. but you also have too high of an ego and can’t seem to accept that prince chan isn’t full of himself unlike the other dozen members of any royal family you’ve met before. alternatively, this is the disney channel movie ‘princess protection program’ but make it porn only.

note — this fic with a wc of 7k+ does not include any spoilers to the movie and you don’t even have to know what the movie is about you’ll get the gist as you read. ngl half of this is from one of my drafts from like 3 years ago and i never continued it so here i am turning it into filth hahahah (and i needed a fresh idea for brat tamer chan and hence why i think the sfw part is better written than the nsfw lmao) rip also pls accept this as the follower milestone gift and 1 year anniversary special :’)

“I’m pretty sure I asked for a puppy for my birthday — which was three months ago may I add — not for a new roommate?”

You look back and forth between Youngjae and the stranger sitting on the couch who is staring back at you with a curious expression. He looks around your age and you admit, his face isn’t the kind of face that makes you thank your parents that genetics did a decent job on you. It’s quite the opposite, actually.

His face is the type of face that makes you ask your parents why genetics didn’t do a better job on yours. Okay, you haven’t reached that stage of visual inferiority yet but that’s mainly because he is dressed in clothes that were trendy in the 15th century or something. The garments clinging to his skin look like a bad fusion of a suit (which college student wears a suit in their free time?) and the ridiculous costume the marching band at your former high school had worn whenever a football game was up. And those weird golden pins clipped on the blazer makes it seem as if he used to be in the marines or comes from a royal bloodline or—

Oh. 

“Don’t mind my cousin, your Highness. (y/n)’s humor has always been questionable.”  Youngjae sends you a glare before he puts on his sweetest smile — you know, the act he puts on whenever he tries to negotiate a bonus with his boss or woo his date — and opts to ignore your presence. “Anyway, since we are dealing with a more serious issue at hand than originally expected, we need to give you a makeover to—“

Before he gets to finish his sentence, you violently tug him away from the prince and despite Youngjae thrashing around and complaining, you manage to send the guest a forced smile and leave his vision. The moment you let go of Youngjae in the neighboring room, he readjusts his collar. “What? Couldn’t you have waited once I was done? Also, was it necessary to crinkle my collar this much?” he hisses but you get straight to the point.

“What is he doing here?”

“Uh, sitting on the couch?”

“That’s not what I mean.” you grit your teeth and land a punch on his arm. “What is he doing here?”

Youngjae looks over your shoulder, making sure that what he’s about to say next is only heard by you. “Prince Chan is,” he hesitates, unsure how to approach his topic. You know it’s taking up his last nerves to conclude a logical explanation as the tip of his tongue pokes out of the corner of his lips; a habit he has adapted ever since he stopped chewing on his bottom lip. “The predicament he’s in is worse than we expected. Well, his dad is partially at fault because he forgot to tell us this not-so-small critical detail that—“

“Youngjae, you’re rambling.”

“The point is.” he sighs and gives you a distressed look as if he already knows you’re not going to like the information at all. “We can’t send him to the family in Goyang, the place he was originally going to stay in. He’s one of the more extreme cases and the Board agreed that he had to live with one of the active combatants to ensure his safety.”

Silence engulfs the kitchen and you know he’s waiting for you to count two and two together.

“He’s going to live here,” you deadpan eventually and Youngjae nods in confirmation.

“I know you’re not very happy—“

“Not very happy is underwhelming.” You earn a flick against your forehead and yelp in pain as you over the spot he just hit. “Ow! I was just stating the truth!”

“Will you stop interrupting me? Geez. Yes, I know that you’re not happy at all. I know that you’re not a huge fan of the majority of our family working in this business. But please do me this one favor or so help me God— try to be nice to him for the next year.”

“He’s staying for a year?” you shriek and in the blink of an eye, Youngjae clamps your mouth shut.

“Can you keep it down?!” he whisper-yells, then retreats his hand and reverts to a conversational tone with a frown. “It’s just a year, okay? Y’know, just... say hi to him whenever you see him. Act civilized.”

You grimace as he stresses his last words like you didn’t know what human decency was. The longer you keep the petrified expression on your face, the more it turns into a staring contest between the two of you. Just as if you were each other’s reflection, you mimic his actions and vice versa. When Youngjae squints, you squint. When you shoot him a glare, he returns it. It all boils down to the final blink that Youngjae feints and you’re the first to look away.

“Okay fine! I’ll try to behave,” you mumble in defeat.

A satisfied smile makes its way on Youngjae’s lips. “It’s always nice negotiating with you.”

Being born into a family where the majority works for the royalty protection program (short: RPP or as you like to stylize it: argh-pee-pee), also known as the secret service for people with crowns on their heads, comes with many perks. In your eyes, this privilege comes with many, many downsides that aren’t worth the advantages. Sure, there is the one or other occasion where you can waltz around in fancy evening attire and attend an actual ball, but overall, it’s a pain in the ass.

Even though it’s prohibited to openly declare that you work for the RPP, the news always finds its way out. Usually, it takes approximately a week for pretty much half of the neighborhood to find out. And it certainly isn’t nice hearing whispers about your dad being that guy working for the program whenever you step out of your house, which is ultimately why you moved in with your cousin Youngjae. (Housing in your small town wasn’t really affordable for a dirt poor college student after all!)

Youngjae has always been your favorite cousin out of the... whatever number of cousins you have. But here’s the thing. He also works for the RPP.

However, somehow he managed to — and up to this day it still remains a mystery to you how on earth he did that — keep his job a secret. Especially with his tendency to dish out the worst kinds of secrets when he’s slightly tipsy. Frankly, you once considered printing out the image of a trophy for that remarkable feat.

With your dad and cousin both active in that business (because organization sounds too shady), it’s not the first time you meet a prince, so you already know how the entire thing works. The concept is quite simple; they get sent to a household but before they settle in and take on a fake identity until their circumstances have improved, they undergo a makeover. Most of the time, it ends up in the glow up you secretly crave but in Prince Chan’s case, you suppose he can’t get any more attractive.

Oh boy. You’re in for a ride.

You’re busy slicing bell peppers for the meal you were cooking when both your cousin and the prince enter the kitchen and Youngjae explicitly demands you to pay them attention. You don’t react immediately, but the moment he threatens to swipe the knife away from you, you perk up and set your desire to prepare your fried rice aside.

“(y/n), uh, hi? I’m Bang Chan and I’ll be your new housemate for a year. I hope we can get along.” Chan recites his introduction without any mistakes and earns a way too brotherly pat on the back from Youngjae, considering that they just met this morning. It’s truly amazing how fast Youngjae can get people to warm up to him. 

Chan is stripped out of his weird clothes and instead, looks like he threw on the next best thing lying around in his room. Nonetheless, despite the seemingly little effort that was put into the outfit, it looks oddly good. The stylists didn’t seem to do much to his hair and just parted his bangs a little, so one could catch a slight glimpse of his forehead. It’s just a small detail, but you find yourself liking his current appearance much more appealing than before, though you’re pretty sure his clothes played a major part in your previous distaste. 

“Remember Jihyo?” Youngjae interrupts your train of thought. “She’s Chan’s relative. And because I’m the genuine friend who loves to help her out, I decided to agree to this after she went down on her knees and begged me to let Chan live with us for a while—“

“I’m not interested in your blown up, fictional background stories, thank you very much.” you backtrack. “Wait. Did you say Jihyo? Seriously? Jihyo is his alibi?” Of course, you remember Jihyo. It’s quite difficult to forget her when Youngjae used to swoon about her at every hour of the day, back when they were a thing. Besides, she still stops by every few months.

“C’mon, you have to admit there is a similar vibe between them!” 

You furrow your brows and inspect Chan a second time. Your gaze wanders back to Youngjae and then returns to Chan anew. It’s obvious that the latter is feeling as if he were up for auction and you can’t really blame him for feeling so uncomfortable. You’ve heard from a few friends that if looks could kill, you’d have the highest killing record. 

There’s no similar vibe in your view, but for the sake of entertaining Youngjae’s thoughts: “He does seem similar to Jihyo.”

“Told ya. But back to more important matters,” Youngjae coughs and wraps his arm around your shoulder to pull you closer, but it somehow seems as if he’s opting to strangle you. “My duties are calling, so I won’t be back until late. You look like you could need some help with cooking, by the way. I’m sure Chan right here is willing to help you!”

“I’m almost done though—“ you choke when he tightens his embrace. By now, his arm is no longer hugging your shoulder, but rather crushing your throat.

“You look like you could need some help,” he repeats, this time with added urgency. “It’d be a great opportunity for you to bond since you’ll also share pretty much all classes at uni. Did you know, he has the same major as you! Besides, it’d be a very useful life experience for him if he helped you with cooking.”

“Of course, how fun!” you hiss, voice going an octave higher from the lack of oxygen. “I already said that I’m painfully delighted about that, so you can let me go now, Youngjae!”

A sneer and a jab in his arm later, Youngjae finally takes his leave. That nasty liar, leaving an hour earlier than his schedule stated. You know that silently cursing at him isn’t going to make your problems dissolve because that’d be a dream come true.

“Listen, let me get things straight.” you sigh, picking up the knife to resume chopping your vegetables. Youngjae may have ordered you to act civilized, but having eye contact with Chan when you’ve been starving for the past hour isn’t your priority. Food doesn’t make itself. “I don’t have any intention of getting close to you and I expect the same from you. Don’t step a foot into my room, don’t talk to me unless absolutely necessary, and don’t think I’ll run around and do your chores or cook your meals like one of your little servants. Just because you’re a prince doesn’t mean you’ll be treated like one under this roof.”

“We live in the 21st century, not the renaissance. Your idea of royal families is very dated.” Chan chuckles dryly.

“Baron Yoon Jeonghan from the seven islands is a stuck-up prick and out of touch with the world. It took him several visits to the slums, multiple voluntary hours at the kindergarten, and stripping him off his bank card to make him see reason,” you deadpan. Fuck Baron Jeonghan. Just thinking about your first and last encounter with that entitled douchebag almost makes you slice your finger instead of the bell pepper. “Duchess Yoo Shiah threw a hissy fit when she found out her clothes weren’t dry cleaned and bought from Zara instead of fucking Dior. The one who takes the cake when it comes to privilege is Princess Kim Min—”

“Everyone knows they are problematic,” Chan interjects. True, he has a point. There’s nobody out there who doesn’t know about Baron Jeonghan or Duchess Shiah but he’s also missing the entire point.

“And guess who gets stuck under the care of the RPP?” you raise a brow at him. He blanches at the realization as if he got struck with lightning. Perhaps you should give him more credit because he seems to own more brain cells than Baron Jeonghan. “Exactly. Everyone problematic.” 

Chan’s jaw is clenched as he racks his brain to come up with a smart comeback. The sight of him stumbling on his words is nothing but pitiful, so you turn back to the cutting board and grab an onion to slice in half. “I’m not interested in your sob story, your Highness. I don’t care why you’re under the protection of the RPP. The only thing I care about is that you stay out of my business.”

“Chan is fine. No need for the title,” he sighs with a strain. “Perhaps I should’ve been more considerate with my first comment. Youngjae already told me about your… negative attitude towards the entire setup. It wasn’t my intention to anger you. Sorry.”

Well, that’s new. Out of the dozens of aristocrats you’ve met (and sadly also shared a house with back when you were 16 years old and still living with your dad), he’s the first to drop his title within five minutes for the sake of the disguise and apologize. 

“We live under the same roof so we should get along with each other. If there’s something you need help with, just ask me, (y/n).”

“Thanks for the offer,” you reply nonchalantly because act civilized unless you want to suffer from a late-night sneak attack from Youngjae if he finds out. “But no thanks. I don’t need your help.”

You find yourself in need of help a few weeks later, right before the dreaded exam season.

“No. Forget it, Bam. I’m not going out clubbing with you tonight. In fact, I won’t do that anytime soon.” you let out an exasperated sigh as you try to break down to your friend that you prioritize your grades over his need of getting wasted.

“C’mon!” he whines so loudly that you have to put your phone farther away from your ear. “You’re not in that much stress yet! You have to make the most out of it before you drown in your exams.”

“Things are different for engineering students like, uh, me for example!” you hiss. “I fell behind and need to catch up. Ask Yugyeom or Changbin.”

“First of all, Yugyeom is always at the bar doing his job. And Changbin never picks up his phone. There’s nobody who’d dance with me!”

“You abandoned me at the bar for some chick the last time,” you deadpan. “I’m very sure you’ll find someone.”

Bambam finally gets the gist and gives up. “Fine then. Your loss. Have fun dying in numbers and variables instead of living in the moment. You’re going to regret it—”

You end the call and set your phone on mute before throwing it on the bed. Sometimes you wonder whether you were on drugs when you decided to major in engineering. The longer you stare at the jumble of numbers and letters — some of them in Greek too — the more you think your brain cells are decaying.

That’s how you find yourself in the kitchen, complaining at Youngjae’s expense and telling him how much you’d rather drown in bleach than subjecting yourself to Algebra II. 

“You know there’s someone you can ask for help and he’s right here,” Youngjae drawls before chugging down the rest of his beer. If he’s going to be a victim to your temper tantrum about a major that you chose yourself, he might as well get a drink so he won’t go insane from your monologue about numbers and graphs and formulas he’s forgotten since he graduated from high school.

You gawk at him. “You? Are you hearing yourself? You almost failed maths. Twice!”

“Because I didn’t mean myself, dipshit,” he says blankly and his eyes flit over your shoulder, “Speaking of the devil. There comes the man of honor.”

You whip your head back to the door to see Chan enter confusedly. “Uh, did I interrupt something?”

“Yes.”

“No, we were just talking about you!”

You send Youngjae a death glare which he casually shrugs off. “(y/n) here is bitching about her Statistics I class and needs a tutor!”

“It’s actually Algebra II if you bothered to pay attention—”

“(y/n) needs a tutor!” Youngjae exclaims and nearly trips on his feet when he gets up from his chair. “Channie, I heard you’re good with numbers. Didn’t you get accepted into all Ivy Leagues in the States for all engineering programs?”

“You didn’t have to word it like that,” Chan laughs it off and nervously rubs the back of his head. He’s not denying it though.

“Obviously he would. He’s loaded and lives in a castle,” you mutter under your breath, but everyone catches it.

“Hey,” Youngjae warns. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“It’s alright,” Chan says casually. “I just wanted to get myself a snack. But if you have some questions, don’t hesitate to knock on my door. The offer still stands, y’know.” He digs through the cabinet until he finds two packs of the strawberry flavored Pocky knockoff that is 1) apparently his favorite thing to eat and 2) half the price of the Pocky version. He gives Youngjae a thumbs up before he returns to his room.

The moment Chan is out of sight, Youngjae whips his head to you, nostrils flaring. All that’s missing is steam coming out of his ears and his face running red and then he looks like the impetuous brother in every kids cartoon ever. “Really? He’s been staying with us for how long now? Four weeks? Five? Yet you’re still acting as if he murdered you in your dreams or something.”

“I don’t like him,” you state coldly. Youngjae looks like he’s about to rip his hair out.

“Look, I get that you don’t like me being active in this field of work, and I get that you have some hatred against the royal families. But you know you signed up for this when you decided to move in with me.” Youngjae pauses to get a breather and pop a new beer bottle open. “Besides, Chan isn’t like Baron Jeonghan or Duchess Shiah. I have eyes, (y/n), and I’ve seen you two avoiding each other as much as possible. And he doesn’t just laze around — he does the fucking chores and cooks dinner too! Chan is good, (y/n).”

The last words make you snap. “Good? Are you fucking serious? Because that’s why the press in his kingdom is depicting him as a tyrant who cares more about building his sick harem instead of helping the poor. And wasn’t he diagnosed for having anger management issues?!”

All the color leaves Youngjae’s face. This is obviously something you shouldn’t know. While he’s scrambling for words, you take the chance to add, “Dunno why you’re protecting him when he’s making headlines as a prince who can’t keep his dick in his pants.”

“Chan isn’t just a prince,” Youngjae says quietly. “He’s the crown prince.”

Your eyes widen at the confession. “What? Isn’t that even worse with that reputation he has?”

“It’s all propaganda,” he sighs and takes a swig, “The ministers are doing everything they can to finish him off. You see, Chan is the only child of the current king of the seven islands, and if he’s wiped out, it’ll be utter chaos. Chan’s smart and I admit, he used to have anger issues, but he’s worked on them. Though I guess he’s resorted to bottling up his feelings when push comes to pull. The point is, all the higher-ups don’t want him as their future king because they know that Chan is very much capable of pulling through with his own ideas and that doesn’t sit well with them. And a supposedly impulsive future king is the last thing anyone wants, hence why his people are eating up the news.”

“Oh.” you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. However, it’s not the first time you’ve heard such stories. 

“Yeah. Oh,” Youngjae mocks, “If that’s the main reason why you don’t want to talk to him, now you know better. He might have power, but he’s not a monster. And for the record, he got into all Ivy Leagues and elite schools all over the world through his intelligence, not his status.”

Although you can see it in his eyes that Youngjae is done with the heated discussion, he’s still waiting for you to say something. You frown. “So… you think he’s a good tutor?”

“He’s your only shot.” Youngjae says nonchalantly, then adds with a warning tone, “But remember: Act. Civilized. Oh, and don’t tell him I told you about his circumstances. It’s supposed to be confidential information.”

You roll your eyes. How the fuck hasn’t Youngjae been busted yet?

Nonetheless, you’re trudging to Chan’s door a few minutes later, your fat binder of incomprehensible math formulas and (Greek) letter heavy in your arm. Chan opens the door with surprise etched on his face after you knocked, but it settles to warmth when you begrudgingly ask him to help you understand Algebra II. 

“Sorry, it’s a little messy here,” he chuckles airily once he lets you in. It’s not messy per se, just a few clothes piled up in a corner of the room and some books and messily written notes lying on his bed. Still, it’s by far cleaner than the pig stall that is Youngjae’s room (and yours when you’re having a very bad day).

Chan clears his desk and drags his other chair to the table before plopping down on it. “So, what’s the problem?” Instead of answering, you just shove a sheet of paper up his face. “Y’know, you can talk to me. If this is about earlier, it’s really alright. I’m not mad or anything,” he says with the same friendly tone you’ve been hearing ever since he moved in, yet he still takes the sheet from you. You watch his brows scrunch together the more he reads on, and you can already see the question forming in his mind.

“(y/n), you do know this is the basis to understand—”

“I was absent when the professor covered it and everyone I asked couldn’t quite explain it to me,” you respond before he can finish speaking out his thoughts. “All my friends were like—” you gesture with your hands, “—you just do this and that and then hope your hunch is right. Before you say it, yes I know that I don’t get the material of one entire unit and the exam is two weeks away.”

“Then let’s not waste any time,” Chan says before grabbing his iPad. You stare at him blankly as he writes something on his tablet. The last thing you expected from him was to accept it and try to hammer as much of missing information as he can into your brain, but then again, you’ve never seen him backtrack whenever Youngjae asks him something. Speaking of Youngjae, perhaps he is right. Chan does seem to know what he’s talking about.

“You have to subtract X first, then replace it with Y,” he explains as he circles said letters in different colors. By now, you’ve leaned closer to him to get a better view on what he’s writing (his handwriting isn’t the worst you’ve ever had to decode; refer to Youngjae who you’ve internally awarded with the worst handwriting of the decade). 

Chan is exceptionally good at explaining. You feel like you’ve figured out a secret of the world that not even Pythagoras found out as you slowly understand what on Earth you are supposed to calculate with the formula. Chan is patient, always asking if you got it or if you needed another clarification, and takes the time to draw colorful graphs to visualize the jumble of numbers. His voice is pleasing to the ear too, soft and gentle to the point where you’ve blurred everything out except Chan. Chan’s voice. Chan’s hand.

You didn’t mean to stare, but with him always adding something new every five seconds as he goes on with his monologue, you can’t help but do so. His fingers aren’t long — that’ll always be courtesy of Hyunjin from Subway and yes, his very pretty hands might be the sole reason you only insist on going to that one specific Subway at the intersection next to KFC — but just one glance at Chan’s hand and you know that he’s strong. 

He’s barely applying pressure to the pen, but you can see the veins slightly protruding. Chan’s sleeves are pushed back and if you move your head a bit, you’re more than certain that veins are bulging out from his forearms too. However, you don’t muster up the courage to do that because Chan will definitely notice and the last thing you want on your platter is to tell him that you were too busy checking out his arms instead of listening to him talk about Algebra II.

Eventually, Chan sets the pen down to stretch his hand. He says something, but you don’t pick up what exactly. Not that it’d matter much anyway since you’re too busy admiring his hand—

“(y/n), you there? I called out your name several times but you didn’t react.” Chan’s breath hitches and surprise flashes in his eyes for a split second when his gaze meets yours. You don’t understand his hesitation, but then horror bubbles in you once you realize that his hand is firmly gripping your chin and keeping your head pointed at his direction. The very same hand you’ve been staring at for God knows how long. 

“I’m good. Just a little tired, but I’m good,” you stutter, though it comes out very breathlessly as if you just finished a marathon.

“Tired?” Chan echoes, concern settling into his features. “You should’ve said so, then I would’ve stopped talking. You need something?”

Now that you think about it, you’ve never got a close look at Chan. Sure, he’s handsome, the countless pictures of Google prove that he’s also too photogenic for his own good (goddamnit, why didn’t your parents make you just as photogenic?) but in person, he’s something else. His lips are plush and look very inviting to kiss, and the lower your eyes wander, the more you see a toned chest hidden underneath that damn shit that hugs him in all the right places.

Fine, his hands aren’t the only attractive thing about him. Then again, he’s a prince.

“I said I’m good.” you snap out of your thoughts and finally gather enough control over your nerves to tear his hand away. “And I caught everything you said.” Of course, you know that’s a blatant lie and he knows so too from the way he’s looking at you. That is until he quirks a brow.

“Okay, then what did I say before I called you?”

Your mouth feels dry. It’s almost as if he knew the reason for your distress. “I caught everything relevant to this,” you mutter, suddenly finding his curtains much more interesting. What an interesting design, maybe you should get yourself new curtains too—

“Then you wouldn’t mind solving these questions, right? Just so I can make sure that you got everything down.”

“Sure,” you reply because that’s the only thing you could say without hurting your ego and straining your vocal cords. Chan doesn’t comment any further and looks for some practice questions before sliding the iPad to you. Already the first question makes your head spin in disdain. Numbers? Variables? Never heard of them.

Chan is watching you like a hawk as you fiddle with the pen, unable to write down anything that makes remote sense. Feeling his eyes on you makes you feel helpless and you shift around in your seat. “What are you staring at?” you glare at him once you give up for good, and you just hope that your look is as intimidating as you pictured in your head.

“You’re definitely exhausted. You’re shaking,” Chan points out. Your eyes widen as you stare down and realize that your thighs are shaking, and it’s then and there when you realize that you’re feeling hot. Seems like Chan doesn’t realize that because the worry written on his face is genuine. “You say the exam’s in two weeks right? We can stop for today and work on this tomorrow. That is if you still want my help.”

You nod and add in a tiny voice, “Yes, please.”

You’re too busy ignoring the heat building between your thighs to notice the borderline feral sound that leaves Chan.

“And here I thought you had quality bonding time.” Youngjae gives a disappointed look. “You’re acting even colder towards him than before your exam meltdown. Your prick level can only stoop down so low.”

You ended up getting tutor lessons from Chan every day before the dreaded day of judgment: the exam in Algebra II. You spent more hours in his room than on your own if you were completely honest, and the results were fruitful. While you did manage to pass the exam with a fairly high score, the price you had to pay was hell.

It’s almost as if Chan caught up on your hand fixation. Sometimes he twirled the pen in his fingers, sometimes it was the simple bracelet dangling on his wrist. Just when you thought he had you figured out, he asks you if you’re alright, visibly oblivious to his effect on you. Such duality in a person should be illegal, you conclude. If you die from whiplash, you know who the perpetrator is.

“You were the one who pretty much pressured me into asking him for help,” you drawl.

“I had good intentions only! You can’t keep up the I-hate-royal-families-blah-blah mentality the entire time!” Youngjae wails before stuffing a handful of chips in his mouth.

“Watch me.” You internally cringe at the loud crunching sounds he’s making and add vigorously, “And stop chewing so loudly.”

“You’ll get around or so help me God—” he groans when his phone buzzes. He doesn’t spare a glance at the caller ID because there’s only one person who has set his ringtone to the baby shark song specifically for when he’s calling. “I gotta go, Jinyoung’s being a bitch again. Don’t murder somebody. Thanks.” You only watch him shuffle for his bag and grab a handful of chips before he’s out the door. Groaning, you clean up the mess he’s made on the table. 

Just as you’re done wiping the crumbs off the surface, Chan pads into the room. 

“Hey, can we talk?”

“I established right at the beginning that you should only talk to me when absolutely necessary.” you scowl, trying to walk past him.

“Well, this is important,” he urges and blocks the doorway, effectively stopping you from fleeing. “And I do deserve one conversation with you after I helped you out.”

“You offered on your own. That’s not the same as asking for a favor.” You successfully push your way past him, but in the next moment, he spins you around and pins you against the wall. 

“We’re going to talk, whether you like it or not.” The sudden coldness of his tone has shivers running down your spine. Chan holds your wrist in an iron grip and if he clutched on any tighter, you wouldn’t put it past him to break your bones. Out of options, you comply and give him a curt nod before he lets go and takes a step back. 

“I don’t understand you, (y/n). I genuinely thought you would put your prejudices aside but instead, all I get are mixed signals from you.”

It’s your turn to gawk. “Me? Mixed signals? What are you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about how you keep looking at me as if you want me to fuck your brains out.” If the color hasn’t drained from your face yet, it has now. Chan smiles wickedly at your horrified reaction but doesn’t stop there. “I’m talking about how you talk like you don’t want anything to do with me but act as if you’re begging for my attention.” He takes a step closer to you, and you wish you could morph with the wall. “I’m talking about how you keep staring at my hands and think I don’t notice it.” You wince when he rests his hands against the wall on each side of your face, leaning closer so that you can feel his breath on your lips. “So, you have a thing for my hands?” Bullseye.

“You’re so full of yourself. No wonder your ministers want to get rid of you,” you snap because you’d rather suffer from food poisoning than admitting that you want Chan’s fingers in you.

Something shifts within Chan. He gapes at you, clearly not expecting you to even know about the ministers. His demeanor darkens in a blink of an eye, and you feel like your legs are about to give up on you when you meet his eyes, black and feral.

“You’re playing with fire. Don’t anger me,” he warns, voice low and rough.

“So it’s true that you resorted to bottling up your feelings, your Highness?” you cock your head to the side. Chan clenches his jaw at the mention of his title, struggling to keep his anger in check. You laugh through your nose, then grab one of his hands and force it away from the wall. If he already knows that you’re thirsting after him, might as well go for it. “It’s funny how your ministers aren’t able to string you around like a puppet yet here you are, unable to do anything against a commoner. You know you have nice hands and you know my weakness and yet, you’re not using them on me.” He gulps when you fumble with his fingers. 

And then he understands.

“Unless I misread the situation,” he says darkly, though you distinguish the slight tremor his voice carries. “Do you really want this? I’m not going to go easy on you.” Chan is dead serious, judging by the way he’s looking at you expectantly. 

“The safe word is petunia.” You don’t take your eyes off him and add in a louder tone, “Now try me, do your worst.”

“You’re going to regret wanting me at my worst,” Chan growls and before you know it, he crashes his lips against yours. The kiss is anything but sweet, more of a clash of teeth and tongues and saliva dribbling down your chins, yet it leaves you boiling hot and wobbly on your feet. He presses you up against the wall and forces his leg between yours, the sudden contact making you hunch forward. You moan against his mouth when he tugs harshly on your hair, the sting making your nerves go haywire. In the meantime, your hands roam his upper body, blunt nails digging into his shoulders as you try to buck your hips against his leg. While he doesn’t budge, you manage to elicit a groan out of him.

When you pull away, you’re both gasping for air. Chan’s hair is disheveled from the way you’ve been pulling on them, lips pink and glossy. One look in his eyes is enough to make your heart stop beating. They’re dark and animalistic and set ablaze with unfiltered lust. You’re such in a daze from a simple kiss that you nearly stumble when Chan drags you to his room.

He manhandles you on his bed with ease before his lips latch on yours once more. You nearly sob when he rids you off your pants, putting pressure in all the right places to have you losing your mind. As you’re about to gain back some dominance in the kiss, he breaks it off. His fingers that were once ghosting over your underwear are now tracing patterns all over the material, making you spasm. “You’re such a brat, all bark but no bite. All it takes is one kiss and you’ve lost all your fight. Can you get any more pathetic?” he mocks as he focuses his fingertips directly on the wet patch of your underwear. Your eyes roll back as he rubs on the same spot, the broken moans leaving you eerily similar to cries. “Don’t tell me you’re about to come like this. How sensitive are you?”

“Am n-not—” you cut yourself off with a whimper when he lets the waistband snap against your skin.

“Yeah, you sure about that?” he grins and that’s when you break, feeling your high approaching at lightning speed. 

“Don’t wanna come like this—” 

“But I thought you’re not sensitive?” the satisfied grin just widens with every syllable that leaves his lips. “If you don’t want to come like this, all over your underwear, beg.” 

Chan applies even more force to your sensitive spots, and you struggle to have a clear thought. The smirk he delivers is lethal, and you couldn’t be any more convinced that he’s the devil’s incarnate.

“I’ll do anything, please. Don’t let me come like this, that’s all I’m a-aah-asking for,” you weep, your blood nearly boiling at its climax, “I’ll even take a punishment!”

“Say my name,” he orders, fingers still drawing circles.

“Your—”

“My name, not my title.”

Your breath hitches as you finally realize what he’s aiming for. He wants you to remember that it’s him who’s reducing you into this illiterate mess. Him, the one you’ve been despising since before you even met. If you still had any ounce of dignity left, you’d try to fix the power imbalance until you’re left with no choice but to obey, but now you’re so close and the last thing you want to do is come with your pants on.

“Please, Chan,” your voice breaks towards the end and in an instant, he pulls away. As you’re letting you’re basking in the break from his brutal tempo, not too affected by how your upcoming orgasm is fading away, Chan observes you.

And then out of nowhere, he flips you on your stomach and delivers a hard smack to your ass that has you screaming into the pillows.

“You said you’d take any punishment too, right?” You twitch as he rubs the small of your back. You can already imagine the handprints on your ass he continued to slap you with such force that has you moving up the bed. The pain that’s going to haunt you for days. Before you know it, you try to arch your back to lift your ass, but then the bed shifts. “But if you really think I’m going to spank you as a punishment, then you’re really fucking dumb. As if I’ll use my hands on you when we both know you love my hands.”

With that, he drops himself on his chair, spreading his legs that you can see the prominent tent forming in his pants. He orders you over with a flick of his finger, and just as you get up from the bed, a new wave of horror flushes over you.

“Crawl.”

The look you send him is priceless. There’s no fucking way you can do it. It’s just a few meters, nothing you can’t handle, but he’s there sitting on his Ikea swivel chair as if it’s his throne made of gold, watching your every movement like a predator. And then there’s you, only in a shirt and underwear, being forced to go on all fours as if you were his fucking dog—

The difference in power display couldn’t get any more visible. He really is the fucking worst.

“You’d really do anything, huh…” he muses as you drop on your hands and knees and crawl to him, never looking up. It’s only when he beckons you to stand up that you look at him with nothing but rage and shame in your eyes. Chan has always been slightly terrified with your death stare but right now, he can’t take it seriously and it shows. It shows in the way he smiles lopsidedly, in the way his brows quirk in amusement. “Now hump my leg.”

Humiliation runs through your body all over. Your fists are clenched as he waits for you to act, even pats his thigh in case you didn’t get the memo. But oh you do, and his thigh does look inviting.

“Hump my leg like the brainless bitch you are. If you want my hands or my cock, you earn it first. Especially since you treated me like shit ever since I moved in.” The last sentence burns you badly because he has a point. But then there’s the prospect of his hands and dick that’s bulging out of his pants. 

Pushing all thoughts away, you settle on his leg. Taking a moment to gather yourself, you tell yourself it’s all good and then you move. The first thrust knocks all air out of your lungs and you grab onto his shoulders for support. You didn’t even move that much, but Chan’s looking at you as if he’s about to fucking devour you and knowing that he is very much capable of moving you around, you’re starting to become overwhelmed.

Eventually, you lose yourself in the feeling of his rough jeans against your drenched underwear, humping on his thigh as your orgasm builds up. It’s silent, save for your pants, and the countless whimpers flying past your lips as your movements gradually become sloppier. You’re almost there and you know it. But so does Chan, and the moment he’s got it figured out, he lunges from your hips and forces you to pick up the pace. 

“Oh no, you’re going to come,” he growls, ignoring your pleas and sobs. Adrenaline courses in your blood and you know it isn’t long until you fall apart. You try to make him stop, even put your hands on his, but you don’t have the energy to actively push him away.

“Chan, please— I’m gonna—”

“You’re gonna come? Then fucking come on my thigh, (y/n),” he snaps, and then adds, “You hear that? You’re about to come from humping my thigh.”

Maybe it’s the realization that he’s right, maybe it’s the way he’s worded it. Either way, it’s the last straw to make you spasm as you come, soaking your underwear and even managing to make a mess out of his pants. Chan makes sure you ride through your orgasm, only stopping to move your hips once you’re all spent and resting your head on his shoulder. Your eyes are glassy, vision foggy, but the only thing you can envision clearly is Chan.

Chan jolts when your hand grazes over his bulge. You’re about to undo his pants, but he’s quick to stop you and restrict your hands behind your back.

“You think you deserve my cock? Dream on. As if I would fuck any commoner, especially those who don’t respect me,” he spits, and you flinch at his choice of words, clearly recalling that you used the exact same terms and he’s now using it against you. “You said you’d take any punishment. Well, guess what? This was just punishment number one.”

#yes the ending is rushed oops sue me #may consider part 2 so heads up #stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan smut #chan smut #smut.mine #dom!chan #sub!reader #crispy.txt

[superhero--imagines]

A/N: Happy Halloween kids! (Because I feel very old lol). So this imagine was requested by the lovely @atbucud​ who is probably the best beta reader/editor/fan/person I’ve ever known.

This imagine is going to be like the premise, and at the end you’ll have a {Love choice} and get to pick an ending. Endings will be linked and posted next week on Halloween! Hope you like it! Also let me know if this format is annoying/troublesome. I like to think it’s more interactive, but if most of y’all find it a hassle then it’s not worth it. 

Oh, and Damian Wayne is 18 in this. 

* First off, you’re rollin’ with some pretty rich kids, so you while it’s possible you go to some Jank Halloween party at someone’s house

* You’re probably going to a bougie charity gala that “the Wayne” foundation puts on every year

* “Let’s draw” Stephanie states triumphantly, placing a large glass bowl full of torn pieces of paper in the table in the middle of the living room at Wayne manor.

* Jason only raises an eyebrow, turning his attention back to his phone

* “Draw for what?” You ask, notching everyone’s disinterest

* “Costumes for the gala of course” Stephanie says it’s like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

* Damian sputters

* “Why would anyone do that?”

* “Because it would be funny” she grins, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes

* Tim flashes her a look

* “There’s no way any of us are going along with whatever crazy costumes you’ve put in there”

* Besides it’s already bad enough that they even have to go at all

* Jason would rather watch Dick clip his toenails

* Damian just wants to spend the night with Titus and watch movies with you

* Tim was hoping to go to his favorite local coffee shop’s Halloween party

* Dick would rather go to the block party his friend invited him to

* Cass just wants to stay home and pass out candy

* Barbara’s smart enough to be “out of town”

* And you’re just happy to be here tbh

* Stephanie’s not deterred by their lack of enthusiasm though, a mischievous smile curling onto her face.

* Her hand are suddenly resting on your shoulders, her face pressed against your hair

* “Aw, that’s too bad. I was really excited to see what costume our lovely (y/n) would pull out.”

* She’s feigning despair, but as soon as the words tumble out it’s like all five of their ears perk up.

* “Out of curiosity,” Tim starts, setting down his laptop. “What are some costumes in there?”

* You aren’t facing her but you can picture the mischievous glint in her eyes.

* She’s got them now.

* “Oh you know, the usual: Wonder Woman, cat woman, Zatanna’s costume-“

* You shrug, so far those seem pretty tame. The bat family seems to reflect your opinion, visibly deflating.

* Jason will be honest, you in a Wonder Woman costume does sound pretty sexy

* But it’s not exactly taboo, if he hung around you long enough he’d get to see you in it eventually.

* Dick and Cassie think you would look pretty cute in Zatanna’s costume, something about that magicians outfit hugging your form just seems right.

* But like Jason, they think they’ll see you in something similar eventually. No point in going along with Stephanie’s antics.

* Damian thinks it might be kind of nice if you were Wonder Woman, and he was Superman, that way you could both match

* But the chances of you both drawing those exact options are low. He would rather just take his chances and ask you if you would want to match.

* Tim’s bright red at the thought of you on a car woman outfit, the tight suit leaves little to the imagination

* But he’s oddly possessive and he doesn’t want anyone else to see you like that.

* So basically it looks like a bust so far

* “- and robin, nightwing, red hood, red robin, and batgirl of course.”

* All five of their heads pop back up, Stephanie grins

* Got ‘em

* The thought of you in their costume is bewitching

* “I mean it only makes sense, they’re the costumes we have in house after all”

* You know it makes sense, and it’s practical, but their collective gaze makes you blush and look away.

* But if you’re being honest there’s a certain someone you want to see in a certain costume too.

* “I guess it takes the pressure off of choosing” Jason grumbles

* “It might be funny.” Cass shrugs, but you catch the slight blush on her face

* So you all sit in a circle the bowl at the center.

* Alfred enters with a tray full of drinks and snacks, takes one look at the seven of you, and promptly walks back out.

* He’ll just..... come back later

* “Shortest stick draws last” Stephanie says.

* Which is coincidently you.

* Jason gets to go first

* “I got-Clark Kent?” He frowns, it’s not the worst, but he’s confused. Does this mean he’s supposed to be Superman?

* “Oh, I put that in for fun, easy costume, just need glasses and a white shirt”

* Jason sighs, well it could be worse

* “Batman in a recession?” Dicks eyebrows are threaded together

* Jason holds back a laugh, he could be Dick.

* “What the hell does that mean Steph?”

* Stephanie shrugs

* “Like you know, instead of a bat mobile you have a Prius, and instead of those bat-erangs you have like, knives idk get creative”

* Duck huffs, you better get robin after this

* “Raven” Cass says. Praying no one will notice that her piece of paper says “the penguin”

* To her relief everyone passes right over her, she crsuhes the slip of my paper in her hand, and breathes a sigh of relief

* Tim spends several minutes shuffling his hand around in the bowl

* “Tim just pick one!”

* “I’ll pick one when I’m damn ready, I’m not getting Wonder Woman dammit!”

* The moods pretty tense, so you say-

* “Idk I think you would make a cute Wonder Woman Tim!”

* Cue Tim.exe failing to work, his hand shooting out of the bowl

* “Catwoman, well, I guess cat boy in your case” Stephanie reads off the paper from his hand and Tim only blushes darker

* Damian’s hand shoot into the bowl, pulling out a scrap

* “A tennis player” he reads in a deadpan voice before scowling. “Brown that isn’t even a superhero”

* “You watch Serena Williams win another championship and then tell me what she does isn’t a superpower.”

* Stephanie’s hand dips into the bowl

* “Dolly Parton.” Stephanie shrugs, she pit it in because she thought it would be funny if one of the boys got it, but she actually pretty pleased

* Stephanie’s sure she can make a pretty hot Dolly Parton

* All at once their eyes turn to you.

* There’s still a handful of scraps in the bowl, but you feel a bit of pressure under their gazes.

* You look down at your hand.

* “A cheerleader for your favorite superhero?”

* Stephanie had put that one in as a joke too, imagining Damian with clip on ponytails and Pom poms.

* “Yeah, just like it sounds. You get to pick which superhero you’re rooting for” she grins, this should be pretty interesting

* “So who will you go as?”

* You gulp, to be honest there’s only one person you’re really rooting for

{Love Choice}

Who’s the number one hero in your heart?

Dick

Jason

Tim

Cassie

Damian

Surprise 1! 

Surprise 2! 

I like marvel better

A/N: on Halloween next week you’ll be able to pick which ending/character you want! I’ll add the links in to each choice for the imagine. This is not a voting situation. They’ll all be written (probably)

#batman imagine #batman comics #bat fam imagine #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fanfiction #Batman Headcanon #jason todd imagines #jason todd fanfiction #dick grayson headcanon #dick grayson fanfiction #damian wayne fanfiction #older!damian wayne #damian wayne headcanon #cassandra cain x reader #stephanie brown imagine #stephanie brown x reader #dc comics imagine #superhero--imagines #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #dc comics #batman imagines #red hood imagine #superhero imagines #dick grayson x reader #red hood x reader

[jcmorrigan]

Somehow, I can imagine Vinny, Al and Victor ""adopting"" Taylor so...👀

I’m just going to do this one off the top of my head and see what happens

-Taylor was accepted into RMU, but oh no! They don’t have enough money to cover the dorms. Their parents are just “It’s too bad you don’t have any friends in G4 to stay with″ and Taylor realizes...oh no...I have friends in G4.

-They didn’t want to admit how much they actually hoped Revenge House would accept them when they called. Taylor will tell anyone who asks that they called for the sole purpose of getting shot down and ruling this out.

-Vincent: “I see. Well - “ Albert: “YES” Victor: “I’ll fix up the guest bedroom” Vincent: “...I guess you’re staying with us then”

-There are a few house rules. Don’t go in the basement (there are cyborgs in there). Don’t roam the house after curfew (that’s when we let the cyborgs out). Don’t feed Winston (Taylor isn’t sure if this one is a joke or an actual warning).

-Otherwise they get a pretty nice bedroom, soft bed, quality blankets. Not soundproof and they can hear the screams and weird metallic noises from the rooms two floors down, but hey, they won’t complain.

-At first, the guys pretty much leave Taylor to their own devices. That’s the nice thing about them being a legal adult: they don’t actually have to be good or attentive parents

-Victor and Albert are the two who pay them the most attention. Victor actually carries on conversation like a normal person. Well, mostly. He still always kind of sounds like he’s gathering information to use for nefarious purposes, but Taylor’s used to that by now. Also being called “my dear Taylor” was offputting at first but now they see it’s a genuine term of affection.

-Albert is...an interesting guardian. He’s always approaching Taylor to talk about non sequiturs, usually morbid, and Taylor has gotten used to this and kind of enjoys it. “Speaking purely in hypotheticals, what do you think tastes better: the spleen or the lungs?” “Spleen. Why are you even asking me this? That one’s obvious.”

-But weirdly Albert is in exchange the one who actively cares the most for Taylor. He makes sure they’re stocked up on supplies, and by that I mean Taylor enters their designated bathroom to find no fewer than twenty toothbrushes, all different colors, bound with a ribbon and a note that says “Pick your favorite! ~AK”

-Also instead of taking them shopping for new college wardrobe, Taylor is awoken at 6 a.m. by a phone call from Albert. “I’m at Hot Topic and they have an assortment of androgynous leather accessories. What’s your size?”

-Vincent and Taylor don’t interact much, at first. But they develop a relationship based on their lack of relationship. They both enjoy the value of comfortable silence. They can be in the same room doing separate things and know they don’t have to bother with greeting one another outside of a quick nod or 0.2 seconds of eye contact.

-Right away, though, they all make it clear that Taylor gets free food. The trio does their usual routine of making extremely high-quality luxury food and just lets Taylor chill out doing nothing until the dinner bell rings. The catch is that some of these things, they weren’t sure were food before this, but hey, turns out they don’t hate sashimi.

-Classes start. Every day when Taylor gets home and brings their books and assignments of the day to the dining room to study, Albert and Victor flock around them. Albert: “How was school? Did you make any lasting memories? Do you have an ARCHNEMESIS yet?” Victor: “Does Professor Browne still have a stick up his ass, metaphorically speaking? Has anyone of your preferred gender asked you out yet?”

-Until dinner time, the dining room is Taylor’s study sanctuary.

-They know better than to bring friends home, however. Not a single college pal who’s entered Revenge House has left with at all a good feeling. Some of them have considered calling the cops because there’s no way these people aren’t going to murder Taylor in the dead of night (sillies...Taylor’s the one person they WON’T murder in the dead of night)

-And as for dates? Unfortunately, the few times Taylor has been asked out, they’ll keep it secret and arrange a meetup at a neutral location and show up at the restaurant only to, halfway through the date, realize that they can spot distinct flashes of pink, red, and black positioned around the restaurant like the Bermuda Triangle and greeeaaat, their guardians followed them to spy on the date.

-Which isn’t always bad because one time somebody actually tried to take advantage of Taylor in the alley out back of the restaurant and before any articles of clothing could be forcibly removed, the offender practically explodes from the impact of being shot by Victor, punched by Vincent, and stabbed by Albert at the same time (the bullet almost clipped Albert but it was worth it)

-Taylor’s never sure how to introduce these people. Parents? Guardians? Friends? Roommates? Usually, it ends up something like “This is my...this is...this is Vincent. He’s Vincent. That’s it.”

-They go out as a “family” unit sometimes, usually to dinner or something where they can all just have conversation. There’s usually going to be some rando who walks past the guys and goes “Your daughter is adorable!” and Albert pulls out a rather long and wicked knife while saying “Their preferred pronouns are they/them, and I HIGHLY suggest you respect that.” Victor and Vincent glare on in the background.

-Taylor is torn because they like having guardians who respect their gender identity but also some of these people are just making honest mistakes

-Victor: “I just want to warn you that when you engage with other college students, you may be pressured to try smoking, drinking, and other narcotics. In a strange environment, any of these may be laced with poison or spiked with different drugs. Here in Vincent’s mansion, our stashes are always pure, so if there’s anything you want, just ask us and we will get you a safe supply.” (Though “safe cigarettes” and “safe hard liquor” are oxymorons to a 19 y/o but Victor is trying. Taylor doesn’t even want any of those things)

-Sometimes, though........Taylor has to be the parent figure to these three

-They might end up trying to drink away their sorrows, falling asleep in a vomit-covered living room. Taylor will clean up any obvious mess and get them some pillows.

-Taylor: “So, did you ever want to...talk to me any more about the childhood stuff that was bothering you?” Albert: “...Yes”

-One night, though, they make a big breakthrough. They find evidence for the Myers revenge scheme and confront Vincent with it.

-Vincent tells them everything. Not without getting a little emotional.

-Taylor’s just like “Oh.”

-Somehow this turns into a hug.

-The guys FORBID Taylor from getting directly involved with Myers. That said...they do act a consultation role sometimes.

-Eventually they meet some of the basement cyborgs. Also they’ve gotten pretty friendly with the Dream Eaters. If all the guys are out of the house and Winston is doing his usual hermit thing, Taylor will be “babysat” by a group of awkward yet well-meaning monsters. (The Dream Eaters have been instructed to keep the cyborgs from eating Taylor, though, and they’ve had to actually step in several times. The Dream Eaters also like the taste of human flesh but Albert said this one is NOT FOOD so they respect that.)

-Those days when the guys come home dragging a corpse/an unconscious person, and Taylor catches them, and the guys stare at them like deer in headlights until they say “I never saw this. Carry on.”

-At some point, though, Taylor decides they want a little more, so they suggest “Do you guys wanna go to the mall and catch a movie?”

-Cue a mall trip that involves Vincent criticizing all the secondhand clothing, Victor flirting with the cashiers at every boutique, and nobody knows exactly what Albert is up to but there’s blood leaking from the dressing room so let’s not ask.

-They go to see a fall blockbuster that Taylor really enjoys and the three guys are having varying degrees of enjoyment toward. If it’s got deep themes, Vincent will be happy. If it’s got romance, Victor will be happy. If it’s horror, Albert will be happy. If it’s a superhero film, NOBODY BUT TAYLOR IS HAPPY (so they kind of like taking the guys to Marvel stuff to annoy them on purpose)

-They talk the guys into accompanying them on other Taylor-style adventures. Like bowling. Bowling was either the best or the worst idea they had, because it turned into a four-person DEATH MATCH. (Figuratively, this time. Maybe literally next time.)

-Vincent draws a HARD LINE IN THE SAND at pizza, though. He will not even look at a pizza, let alone eat one or enter a pizza establishment.

-After some months, Taylor and Vincent are conversing more, but it’s usually Taylor asking questions about how the legal system works because Vincent can explain it better than anyone else and in a way that doesn’t fly over Taylor’s head.

-Sometimes, though...Taylor gets sick. The first time, they didn’t actually expect any of the guys to do anything about it. But Vincent drops off hot meals without a word and leaves, and rude as he is, the food’s always DELICIOUS and particular faves of Taylor’s. Victor is the “Text me if you need anything, sweetie” guy who will drop everything if Taylor needs an ice pack or a barf bin. Albert will sit in the room at a safe distance to talk to Taylor about random things and make sure they don’t get lonely. Also, Taylor will have weirdly no nightmares whatsoever, and they know Albert has something to do with this.

-Sometimes...Taylor is sad. All three of the guys will sit around them, encouraging them to talk about everything that’s bothersome. Brief hugs will be exchanged (Victor’s are a bit too tight since, y’know, metal arms, but that’s fine by Taylor). And then if there was a particular entity that caused the sadness, well, that entity might end up dead in a pool of blood in a back alley later.

-There’s also a contract on the table stating that if Taylor is ever incarcerated, then Vincent, Victor, and Albert will break them out of jail at the earliest convenience. Taylor isn’t sure when this will ever have to be used but they’re glad it’s there.

-They make an even more amazing meal than usual for Taylor’s birthday and spend way, WAY too much on gifts. Some of which aren’t even things Taylor wanted (”It’s...a baseball bat with barbed wire around it. Uh...just what I always wanted? Thanks, Albert.”)

#vincent edgeworth #victor blake #albert krueger #taylor lee #blakeworther #ask to tag for content #somehow i REBLOGGED this instead of tagging it the first time #i blame tumblr

[imagineaworlds]

I Love You (Part Thirty-Two) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual​

Request: None.

Warnings: SMUT!! Cursing. Unprotected sex. Wrap it before you tap it, ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary sibs. Dom/sub relationship. Sir kink. Impregnation kink. Soft sex. Emotional sex. The reader does go by they/them pronouns, however, Hotch refers to them as female when saying “good girl”.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 12194

Timeline: A month after part thirty-one.

I sighed as I pushed all of Hotch’s work to the side just so that I could get to my desk in our office. Since getting out of the hospital about two weeks ago, Hotch had turned our home office into a conspiracy theory pit. He had so many pictures of Foyet, his victims, the crime scenes, the news clippings about The Reaper, and so on hung on the walls that I couldn’t even remember what color the walls were. About a week into this whole project of his was when he pulled out the red string. From there, our office became a maze. It was like I was goddamn Catherine Zeta Jones in Entrapment the way I was weaving through all of it.

But I couldn’t tell him to take it down. Hotch spent two weeks in the hospital, and then he had to spend another two weeks at home as he recovered from Foyet’s attack, underwent physical and psychological evaluations, and I practically made him go on bed rest the rest of the time. Because he wasn’t allowed to go back to work, he had to spend his time working on finding Foyet. I hated that I had to go to work every day without him because of that. I knew that this was eating at him, and I couldn’t stay around long enough to console him or talk him down. It was irritating both of us.

It had only been a month since we said goodbye to Haley and Jack, yet it felt like an eternity. My little man… Every day we were forced apart, I felt a piece of me die. Was that odd? Was it weird to miss someone else’s son like he was your own? Was it weird that I took Red, mine and Jack’s favorite dinosaur, with me everywhere? To the office, on cases, at home. Everywhere. It probably wasn’t as weird as when I would come home to find Hotch napping on Jack’s bed. That mattress was way too small for him. I mean, he would curl up on it as much as possible, and yet his feet would somehow still be hanging off the edge. But it was how he was coping. It was how we were both coping. And the worst part was, we were doing it separately.

In our line of work, Hotch and I had worked dozens of cases with parents that lost a child in a kidnapping or murder. The BAU didn’t just specialize in profiling the Unsubs and victimology—that was a large part of it, obviously, but there was an unspoken part of the job that always struck me during those kinds of cases. Parents mourning the loss of a child were profiled to inevitably always split up. Like the case we worked in Vegas just before Dallas, a son had been kidnapped while walking to a friend’s house, and the parents were slowly drifting apart. They blamed each other. They couldn’t bear to even look at each other. Getting them to cooperate with the investigation so that we could find their son was nearly impossible. Yet we weren’t shocked by that behavior, because that was how mourning couples were always profiled. I just never thought that it would happen to me and Hotch.

No one ever expects that they’re going to lose everything. No one anticipates having to say goodbye to their son. A month ago, we had to say goodbye to Jack, and we honestly weren’t sure if we were ever going to see him again. Foyet was playing the long game with us now. Who knew when he was going to turn up again with another clue so that we could find him? There was a chance that by the time we either caught up to him or he died, Jack wouldn’t know who we were, so there’d be no point in bringing him back. There was a chance that his life would be better off without us. And that was damn near impossible to admit.

However, I thought that Hotch and I were going to come to terms with all of this together. I thought that because we loved each other, and because we knew what the profiles said, that we would somehow work together to prove the profile wrong and work through this side by side. That was what I thought. I spent every day with him when he was in the hospital and I wasn’t on a case. Every single goddamn day. Yet, when he came home, he locked himself in his office, and he practically stopped looking at me altogether.

I would cry every night. I would get home from work, and there were times when I couldn’t even make it to the couch. I would just collapse right there in the entryway, and I wouldn’t get up until the sun started rising for another day. And Hotch never came to hold me. There were other times when I’d come home to hear him sobbing in the office, and I thought about going to console him, but he had locked the door. When I initially tried playing with the doorknob, Hotch immediately stopped crying. He sniffled then told me to go away. So, I stopped trying to go in after that. He stopped trying with me, so I inevitably stopped trying with him. One night, I even thought about moving out. I mean, we weren’t acting like a couple. We had proved the profile correct, and I knew that once that happened—statistically speaking—we were never going to get back together. But I still held on hope. I prayed that he would finally take a moment to realize that he could break down in front of me. I would be there to hold him when he needed it. Until then, there was nothing I could do.

The minute he was cleared to go back to work, Hotch took it. I didn’t think he would go back so soon. One, because of his injuries; two, because going back to work meant that he wouldn’t have all day, every day to pointlessly look for Foyet. He hadn’t found a single goddamn lead in a month, but he was still hacking at it. That was why I was shocked when he gave it up just to go back to the BAU. We even had an argument about it. The day he finally came out of the office to tell me he passed all of his exams, I cracked. I was so fucking pissed at him. He spent a month refusing to look at me, talk to me, sleep in the same bed as me, eat the fucking dining table with me—and then he had the fucking audacity to smile at me and say, “I’m going back to work tomorrow.”

I lost my shit. Truly. I looked back at him and said, “I don’t care what the Bureau says, I don’t want you going back yet. They’re not the ones who have to worry about you, Aaron!”

Hotch’s smile fell. “Drop it.”

I shook my head. “I know you lied during your psych evals. I know that you pushed yourself too hard during your physicals— I saw all the bloody gauze in the trash. So, don’t you dare fucking lie to me again like you did in Cincinnati, Aaron Hotchner—”

“I told you to fucking drop it!” he bellowed. I took a frightened step back. His face immediately softened. “Y/N— I’m sorry—”

“I’m going to Morgan’s house.” I looked at the floor. “I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

And that was how I ended up in the office upstairs, trying to get into my desk so that I could grab some old paperwork for reference on the case report I was currently working on. I was going to Morgan’s house, but that didn’t mean I was going to stop working. Once I had that stuff, I grabbed my spare go-bag from the closet, then made my way downstairs.

Hotch tried to step in my path at the bottom of the stairs, but I pushed past him. He was attempting to apologize profusely while following me around. I kept my head high and just moved to the front door as fast as I could. Since Foyet attacked him, Hotch had practically turned our house security system into something that rivaled the fucking security systems at the office. He had someone come in to put in a new alarm that was set at all times. If we weren’t home, all of the windows, doors, and motion sensors were set. If someone opened a door, broke a window, or moved within the house, about seven different alarms would start going off. When we were at home, only the doors and windows were set. But if we wanted to leave the house, we had to put a code into the alarm first; and when we were coming home, we had to put the code in as fast as possible before the alarms would be set off. So, while Hotch tried to make me stay, I reached around him to put my code in, then headed out.

“Y/N!” he shouted angrily at me again as he stormed into the yard. “Y/N, get back here!”

I flipped him off as I kept walking to my car. I wasn’t even going to take our car. We put my car, the one I had been using before I moved in with Hotch, in the garage sized shed at the back of the driveway, just against the fence to the backyard. It hadn’t been used in so long… I mean, if we needed to use separate cars, I’d dust mine off so that Hotch could have our car, but for the most part, we made it work with one car. This time, though, I was taking my car to make a point. He fucked up. This argument was bad, but it was more than that. This was the result of a month’s worth of fuck ups, and I was sick of it.

I didn’t want to leave him. I loved Hotch more than anything, and I was still convinced that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, even when things were bad like this. But I couldn’t stay. Not when I could see that he was ruining his own life for nothing. I told him in Cincinnati that I wouldn’t tolerate him fucking up his own health for selfish reasons. He promised me that he wouldn’t pull this shit again. And yet… There we were… He was fucking it all up again. And I just couldn’t take it. I couldn’t watch him slowly deteriorate. I loved him too much to do that to either of us.

“Y/N—” he banged on my window as I slowly backed out of the driveway. “I’m sorry, please. Baby… Come on… I’m sorry. Stop this. I get it— I shouldn’t have yelled— Baby— I’m sorry—” He had to stop hitting his palms against my windows as the car turned onto the road. He slammed his hands as hard as he could onto the hood of the car. “Goddammit, Y/N! Get out of the fucking car!” I stared him down because he wasn’t moving out of the way. “Stop this, baby,” he pleaded calmly. “Just come home.” I shook my head. He frowned again, his eyes glinting a slight dark red as anger overtook him again. “Get out of the car,” he demanded once more, making his way over to my car door to try and pry it open, even though it was locked. The second he wasn’t in front of the car, though, I laid my foot down on the gas and raced off.

When I got to Morgan’s house, I explained everything, and he set me up in his guest room. This wasn’t the first time I had sought asylum in his house. Since Hotch wasn’t there to comfort me, I had to turn to the only other person who could, and that was Morgan. Granted, this was the first time I was sleeping over. But still. There were plenty of afternoons when I’d detour to his house after work just to cry on his couch as he held me. If I would wake up in the middle of the night with a nightmare of finding Hotch dead on our living room floor, I’d drive over to Morgan’s house and cry on his couch until I could calm down. It was unfair to Morgan. I recognized that. He was his own man with his own life and problems, and there I was, always barging in unannounced to unload my problems. But where else was I going to go? There were times when I thought about how much I missed Elle, and I wanted her to be there for me in moments like this, but she was gone. She abandoned me… and… she wasn’t coming back, apparently. Morgan was all I had.

As it got late, and we both needed to rest, he offered to stay and sleep with me, but I told him I’d be fine. He reluctantly obeyed (not for the reason most people would assume). It was no secret that Derek Morgan was a “playa”, to put it in his terms. He liked getting into the pants of any and every girl that would give him consent, and he liked teasing Garcia in a… less than platonic way, and sometimes we would do that, too, but not really. That being said, Derek Morgan would never, ever take advantage of someone, especially when they were as vulnerable as I was that night. He only offered to sleep in the same bed as me because that was how close we were, and he was willing to comfort me if I needed it. But I knew that I needed some space and time to think, and he needed some sleep in order to be ready for work the next day. So, when I turned him down, he gave in. He kissed my temple, squeezed my shoulders in a tight side embrace, then left the room quietly, carefully closing it behind him.

When he was gone, I opened my go-bag to pull out my pajamas. Yet, when I saw what I had packed away in there, I froze. I had packed this so long ago. I grabbed the first bag I saw. I didn’t even think to check what was in it. I was so fucking stupid. Unfortunately, however, there was nothing I could do about it now. I just had to suck it up and wear them, because it was either wearing what I packed or wearing what I left the house in. Either way, I was not going back just to pick up a different pair of pajamas.

I sighed. Unenthusiastically, I stripped myself of my clothes, then changed into one of Hotch’s old college sweatshirts and a pair of his blue and gold flannel pajama pants to match. I was planning on getting him another pair for his birthday in the next few weeks because I stole his, and I felt bad because of that. Also, because I had originally stolen these and put them in my go-bag recently after the stabbing, figuring that I needed something of his with me on cases while I was gone and he was at home. I had Jack’s red dinosaur toy with me at all times, I just needed Hotch’s clothing with me, too, considering that was the extent of the attention I got from him. But now… Things were just too confusing. I was upset that I didn’t just pack my own goddamn clothes.

That being said, I still cuddled under the blankets, and I pulled the collar of the sweatshirt over my nose to keep me warm while also taking in his scent. Within the past year or so, Hotch had given up his familiar Aqua Velva scent in exchange for a cinnamon and pine. He had gone into his closet one day, pulled out all of my favorite items of his to steal, took them outside, then practically drenched them in the cologne once he knew I liked it. I didn’t know until I came home from dinner with Emily one night to find that the entire fucking house reeked of cinnamon and pine. It took a while for the neighborhood to air out, but once it did, I was left with Hotch’s scent attached to each article of clothing, and I loved it. That night, while lying in a strange bed without the love of my life beside me, I found that my only comfort was that scent. I hugged my torso and inhaled.

I knew that he was sorry. I knew that he didn’t mean for any of this to happen. And, honestly, I knew that neither of us meant for things to blow up the way they did. But now that they had, I wasn’t sure where to go from there, how to navigate all of this. We couldn’t go back to normal. Could we? I’d be the first to admit that he scared me earlier. I knew that he would never hurt me, but deep down, in the pit of my stomach, I was terrified of him. After not having his love for so long, his outburst… It took me aback. There was a moment there, when he shouted at me the first time, I saw a glimpse of that night in high school, and I heard him yelling at me for not cooperating. That was why I had to leave. It wasn’t Hotch’s fault. My mind was playing tricks on me, but I couldn’t let it ruin the one good thing I had in my life: Aaron Hotchner. I just needed some time and space.

Time. And. Space.

That was what I asked for when I arrived at Quantico the next day. Morgan and I drove in at the same time, then he met me at the elevator after we both went through security, and he asked me if I wanted back up (or a mediator) while talking to Hotch. As we stepped into the elevator, I denied his offer quietly. Upstairs, in the BAU, Reid and Emily were trying to show me pictures of Henry, JJ’s son. She had him shortly after Hotch was stabbed. And by shortly, I meant that we hadn’t even left the fucking hospital yet when she went into labor. But now she was itching to get back to work, and I was shocked. It had only been a few weeks. I thought that the human body literally couldn’t handle getting back to work that fast, but maybe she wasn’t looking to work in the field quite yet. I understood if she just wanted to sit in the office to do paperwork around Anderson or hang out in Garcia’s office for a bit. I could understand that. I just thought that she would want to spend more time with Will and Henry, but who was I to judge her? I promised I would never do that after she judged me—and, yes, it was so that I could prove that I was the better person, I wasn’t afraid to admit that.

I headed straight into Hotch’s office. I found that he was sitting on his couch, his head in his hands, an old picture of him, Jack, and Haley in his lap. As I snuck closer, I saw that he had printed a picture of me and him out, and he had it taped to the bottom corner of that picture frame. Our family. Our story. Our everything.

I cleared my throat to let him know that I was there. “Sorry, I’ll come back later.”

Hotch looked up from his hands. When he realized that I was really standing there in front of him, he threw the photos to the side and jumped to his feet. “No, wait—” He hurried over to me. “Please.”

I stopped. “Okay.”

“Baby, I am so sorry.” He wasn’t getting close enough to put a hand on me, which I silently appreciated. “I didn’t mean to yell or get worked up. I’ve just been so worried—”

“Aaron, I really didn’t come to make up.”

His posture changed to something more shy and confused. “What?”

“I’m sorry… But, I, uh… I’m just here as an employee right now.”

Hotch searched my eyes for a moment while he tried to understand what was happening. I wasn’t looking him in the eye, I wasn’t trying to impress him with anything, and I wasn’t even trying to give us privacy by closing the door. In fact, I didn’t want privacy. I didn’t want to give him a chance to try to hug or kiss me. With the blinds and door still open, he had to obey the rules we created for ourselves at work, and I could tell that it was killing him, but I was there for a specific reason, and it wasn’t because I was ready to hear his apology yet. He might have felt he was ready for it, but I wasn’t.

“Okay,” Hotch said while he nodded. He moved to take a seat at his desk. “Sit.” He gestured to the empty seats across from him. “What’s this about?”

“I’m requesting a few personal days off.”

“Why?”

“You’re not supposed to ask me that, Agent Hotchner.”

His eyes narrowed at me. “It’s my job, Agent Greenaway, to ensure that my team is okay both physically and mentally.”

“Well, I’m fine, Agent Hotchner, thank you for checking on me.”

“Stop this, Y/N. Please.”

“I can formally request this time off through Chief Strauss, if need be.”

He hesitated as his brown eyes added a red tint of anger. “That’ll not be necessary.”

“So, you’ll give it to me?”

“Only if you tell me why.”

“You know why.”

“Why?” he asked with a hiss. The tension was growing in the room.

“I just need to clear my head.”

“That’s not good enough!” he exclaimed angrily. I could see that he was holding himself back from hitting the table or swiping his papers off the desk. “What’s this really about? Is it really about our argument, Y/N? Can we please, for a minute, just stop dancing around the truth and say what we feel—”

My blood boiled over. “You’re not the only one who lost a son, Aaron!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. There was a moment where we stared at each other as we both realized what I had said. I was shaking so bad. A thought passed by me that maybe I should have stopped there, left it alone, gone home to take another breather. But I wasn’t wrong. Jack was my son, too. I lost him, too. I was hurting, too. And I needed Hotch there to hold me, but he wasn’t. So, I continued, “I was right there with you when we saw him for the last time. You aren’t the only one suffering here, Hotch. I wake up every day and I wish that I could turn the corner in our home and see him sitting at the table, eating Cheerios for breakfast. I wish that we could still take him to soccer every Saturday. And I fucking wish that I could keep spoiling him even though you tell me not to. I love your son like he’s my own, Aaron. I know he’s not mine, and I know that he never will be… but, damn it, I love you and I love him. And the fact that we’re both mourning over losing him to this asshole, and I’m trying to be there for you, but you keep pushing me away when I need you, too… That’s cruel. It’s unfair. I have never felt more alone than I have over the past month. You need to get your shit together, and I need some time to come to terms with the fact that I may never see Jack again. So, I’ll ask you again, may I please have some time off?”

He paused while staring at me. I could see a sparkle in his eyes that came from the tears welling, the apologetic and deeply sorry tears. It broke my heart to see him like that. It absolutely tore me in half to see him cry because of something I said… but what else was I supposed to do? He wanted me to tell him the truth, so I did. It hurt to do it, but it was necessary, and now that he knew just how horrible he had been, I could tell that he didn’t want to be angry anymore. Now that he understood, I realized that he just wanted to hold me and apologize until he couldn’t breathe. But I still needed time. As much as I would’ve loved to be in his arms, kissing him, telling him that I’d always love him… I needed time away to clear my head. I needed time away from him to come to terms with the loss we had.

“Where are you going to go?” he croaked.

I lied and said that I was going to stay at a hotel for a few days before returning to work; but we both clearly knew that I was staying with Morgan. I wanted to be with someone I trusted. I wanted to be with someone I loved. I didn’t want to be alone. Morgan’s house was a safe haven for me whenever I needed it, and I usually didn’t take him up on the offer, but now I was in desperate need of it.

“Okay,” Hotch gave in. “Take all the time you need. But… Y/N… I need you to know that you will always have a place here, and you will always have a place back at home with me.”

I stared at him for another second before pushing myself out of my seat. “I’ll see you in a few days, Agent Hotchner.”

After leaving Hotch’s office, I saw that the entire office was staring at me. Maybe I should’ve closed the door, in hindsight. Nothing to do about it now, though. They all heard every single word, and now they couldn’t look away from the train wreck that was Y/N Greenaway and Aaron Hotchner. I was sure that somewhere out there, wherever he was, Jason Gideon was laughing and saying: “I told you so.” No one else in the office seemed to be thinking that, especially after the screaming match I just had with our boss, but I knew that Gideon was chuckling somewhere in the world.

I started my walk of shame down the ramp. Even Rossi had come out of his office to lean against his doorframe while watching me, probably waiting for a perfect opportunity to sneak into Hotch’s office to comfort him— or maybe even talk some sense into him. I hoped that it was the latter.

A few days later, I heard the front door of Morgan’s place open up. I turned on the couch to see an exhausted Morgan throw his used go-bag onto the floor, then crash onto the empty couch space next to me. He sighed and rested his head on my lap. He had been away on a case since the day I left Hotch’s office after we argued. We had been texting since he left because he wanted to make sure I was alright and that I was taking care of Clooney, his German Shepard. I loved that dog. I thought he was adorable—and he was so well behaved. He rested at my feet on the bed every night to keep me company. It was nice to have company, even though Morgan was away and I wasn’t talking to Hotch.

“You know, I’ll leave and go to a hotel, if you want me to. I don’t mean to just… intrude on your life,” I said after giving him a moment to relax.

Morgan looked up at me upside down. “Never.” He smirked, “Unless you’re going to be living here any longer than a month, in which case, you need to start paying rent.”

I matched his smirk, “No. I just need a couple more days, I think. If that.”

He nodded understandingly. “You wanna order take out for dinner?”

“Sure.”

He did a sit up before standing on his feet and hurrying over to the house phone so that he could order dinner for us. I sighed and relaxed in Hotch’s sweatshirt. It was starting to smell less and less like him, which only made me more desperate to get home. But I liked the freedom I had been experiencing over the past few days. With the time I got to spend on my own in silence, I got to think about how much I missed my little man, while coming to terms with the fact that this was the best choice—the only choice we could make. Sending them away in order to protect them was the right thing to do. Jack was safe with Haley. They were safe under Sam’s protection. Coming to terms about that much was hard while I was around Hotch, who was only moping around all day. Now that some time had passed, I was a bit calmer about the situation, and I was just ready to get our family back. But I still needed another day or two, just for good measure. After that, I’d race to apologize profusely to Hotch, begging for him to take me back after running away like that. I felt like a bitch, okay. Maybe it was a bit overdramatic to run away, but at the time, I didn’t know what else to do. But now that the tension had sizzled out and I was clear headed about the situation, I realized how sorry I was for leaving in the first place.

When the food arrived, Morgan and I sat crisscross on the couch while facing each other and talking about whatever came to mind. At some point, casual talk turned to work talk. As it always did. I asked him to tell me about the case the team just got back from, and he told me that they had dealt with an Unsub who was drowning his victims in methanol in order to get rid of their stench. When I asked how it ended, he hesitated.

“Morgan?”

He gulped and told me that Hotch took off his vest, handed his gun to Rossi, then went inside to negotiate a peaceful surrender with the Unsub. My eyes shot wide. Why the fuck did Hotch do that? Why would he— I didn’t understand. How could he be so stupid? How could he risk his life like that? How could he risk leaving me and Jack behind? How was I supposed to live with the fact that we ended on bad terms if something were to have happened to him?

“What happened?” I asked, frightened.

Morgan pushed his food around in order to give himself a reason to not look at me. “The Unsub shot the girl, ran away, got in his cab, and we started chasing after him. Half of the city was looking for him, Y/N, yet, somehow, Hotch was the one who found him. The guy tried speeding off again to get away from Hotch, but when Hotch shot at him, he crashed into a truck, immediately killing him.”

“Is Hotch okay?” I leaned forward to express my eagerness for a positive answer. He hesitated again. “Derek Morgan, you tell me right now—”

“He’s okay, Y/N.”

I relaxed and let out a breath. “Good.”

“But…”

My eyes shot up at him. “But?”

“Strauss temporarily promoted me to Unit Chief.”

“What? Why?”

“Because Hotch isn’t fit to be in a position of power right now, sunshine. We both know that. He isn’t fit to lead a team right now.” He set his food on the table next to us. “Strauss and Rossi made the decision when we got off the plane.” He grabbed my hands. “It’s just until Hotch is back to being Hotch, honey bunches, I promise.”

I scoffed. “And how long do you think that’ll be?”

“I’m not sure. But I think that if you went back to work, it might help some.” His eyes pouted at me. “He has nothing to live for right now, Y/N. You left, Jack and Haley are gone, Foyet’s taunting him, and his ability to do this job is… being questioned. Having you around, as you are, it might remind him that he still has everything to live for.”

I understood that he couldn’t read my mind. I knew that he couldn’t’ve possibly known that I had already decided that I was going to go back to work soon, so it made sense that he felt he needed to tell me that Hotch’s best chance was going back. So, I gave in just for the sake of making Morgan feel like he did something.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed early,” I said quietly.

“What? No—Y/N, I didn’t mean to upset you or—”

“Morgan, it’s not your fault.” I set my food to the side. “I, um… Tomorrow… It’s just going to be a long day, so I should get some extra sleep.”

“Sugar, I really didn’t mean to—”

“Tomorrow is Jack’s birthday.”

He immediately fell silent, his shoulders giving out his posture when he realized he had pried too far. He apologized quietly. I opened my mouth to tell him that I didn’t care about his prying, but it got caught in my throat when a sob bubbled up a little too far. I excused myself before running to “my” room.

I crashed onto the bed. As I pulled the covers up over my body, hiding my head from the world, I grabbed my phone and opened the Photos app. The sob I was holding back finally crashed through me when I saw a picture of Hotch and Jack cuddling in the hammock in our backyard. Hotch had been laying out there after work, watching Jack play soccer. By the time dinner was ready, I went outside to collect them, only to find that Jack had given up on kicking the ball around so that he could lay on his dad’s chest. Hotch’s arms were wrapped around Jack’s entire body. They were dead asleep, probably had been for at least an hour. I couldn’t bother them when they were like that. So, I took a picture, then let them be. Finally, when it got too cold, they came inside, Jack still half asleep in his dad’s arms as he was carried upstairs to his room.

That was such a perfect night. We had dozens of nights like that, where the small, random things were taken for granted. Now that we didn’t have Jack, I wished I could go back in time. I wished that I would’ve just sat outside on the patio while drinking my wine, feeling the way my heart swelled as they snored together, the hammock rocking under them.

I reached over for Red, mine and Jack’s favorite toy, and I pulled it close to my chest. Tomorrow was going to be horrible to bear alone.

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of Morgan knocking on my door. I groaned and rolled over to check my phone for the time. That was when I realized that I hadn’t charged it all night. I went to bed around three, my eyelids too heavy from crying for so long. Since I hadn’t plugged my phone in, it was obviously dead. I groaned again. The door opened once Morgan heard me shuffling around on the bed. I hid my puffy face under the comforter while simultaneously trying to trick him into thinking that I was asleep. I felt like Jack. Jack… It was officially his birthday. I mean, I had been awake when the clock struck midnight, but this was different. The sun was out, the birds were chirping, and Morgan was telling me that he was leaving for work. It truly was Jack’s birthday now. There was no escaping it.

The mattress sank slightly as Morgan sat next to me. He put a hand on my shoulder, then leaned down to kiss the top of my head. “I’ll see you when I get home—if we’re not called away on a case.” He made a move to stand.

I grabbed his hand, revealing my red and swollen eyes. “Take it easy on Hotch today. Don’t let anyone give him a hard time. Please.”

“I’ll try.”

He kissed my forehead gently again, then silently stood and left the room, making sure to reclose the door behind him on his way out. I huffed and slumped back onto the pillows, feeling the way I sunk into the comfort of the blankets, the mattress, and the feather pillows. My relaxation didn’t last long, though, because the next thing I knew, the sound of scratching on the door disturbed me. I rolled out of bed and opened the door so that Clooney could run in. He jumped onto my bed and nuzzled his nose under the blankets. I smiled. At least I had someone to keep me busy during the day.

I was reminded of my dead phone on the bed when Clooney kicked it by accident. I plugged it in without hesitating another second. While I waited for it to charge, I played with Clooney’s long hair. He got riled up after a few seconds, deciding to playfully attempt to bite me while I waved my hand in his face. When I heard my phone chime, I booped his nose, then turned to pick it up.

Two missed calls.

I scrolled the rest of my notifications to realize that it was Emily and Anderson who had attempted to contact me. I didn’t want to hear from them, though. Anderson was probably calling on behalf of Hotch, meanwhile Emily was only going t o try to convince me to return to work sooner. I wished that I was a telepath so I could just tell everyone what I was thinking, that way they would leave me alone. I was planning on going back to work soon. I had been over it a hundred times in my head. But if people kept bothering me about it, I was just going to be more reluctant about it.

An hour later, my phone started buzzing again. I pet Clooney as he shuffled onto my lap. My phone just kept buzzing, however, as another call came through. I cursed under my breath, then stretched to pick it up, recognizing the photo and the name flashing on the screen almost immediately. I waited a second. Morgan must have talked to him. After seeing me glued to the bed, left to nothing but a puddle of tears, Morgan probably went straight to Hotch, told him that I was suffering today, and Hotch decided to finally call me after all this time.

I answered.

Silence echoed throughout my room as I waited for something to happen. Even Clooney stilled. It had been so long, I wasn’t sure who should speak first, or if I should even speak at all. I was terrified of saying the wrong thing. After how things ended between us the last time we saw each other, I knew that what I said was wrong. I didn’t want to make the same mistakes. I didn’t want to push him away further than he already was.

And then it happened.

“Hey,” I heard his voice for the first time in about a week.

I nearly melted. “Hey,” I whispered back.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded, though he couldn’t see me. “I’m fine. Are you?”

He hesitated before changing the subject. “I know that I’m not supposed to be calling—”

“It’s okay.”

Hotch hesitated another second. “It’s, um,” he cleared his throat, “it’s Jack’s birthday today.”

“I didn’t forget.”

Of course, I didn’t. How could I when our dinosaur had been sitting on my bed all day, staring at me, and I broke down every time I glanced at it. Jack had been so excited to spend his birthday with us. He was going to have a party at Chuck-E-Cheese with his friends, as disgusting as it was. We were going to get Spider-Man and Superman balloons, superhero themed paper plates, cups, and silverware. I was going to buy a set of Spider-Man walkie talkies for him and his dad to use, or maybe one of those Bat Signal toys so that he could flash it up at the sky whenever he was thinking of us when we were at work. I had all of these ideas to make that day special for him, but George Foyet took that all away. There were going to be no pictures of Jack blowing out his birthday candles, or opening his gifts, or hugging his dad after we wished him a happy birthday. There were going to be no memories of him running around Chuck-E-Cheese with his friends, bragging about how many tickets he got, and Hotch telling him that he was proud. There were going to be no conversations of me trying to convince him to get one prize or another. And there wasn’t going to be a single argument between me and Hotch about me spoiling Jack too damn much. That happiness left when Foyet practically stole him away from us.

“When are you coming home, Y/N? I know I shouldn’t ask, but…”

“I thought about coming home tomorrow, actually.”

“Can I see you before then?”

“Aaron, I…”

“Sam called to tell me that he had to move Haley and Jack again. Apparently, she’s been calling her dad and Jessica.”

I sighed and hid my face in my left palm. This day was already hard enough, but to just keep digging at the hole in my heart wasn’t helping. I thought that, of all people, Haley would do anything to protect Jack. George Foyet was a psychopath with a mission. Why would she risk Jack’s safety just to call her Roy and sister when Sam had told her a thousand times that she couldn’t be in contact with anyone until we found Foyet.

“Are they okay?” I asked.

“They're fine. Sam sent me a video of Jack playing on the swings this morning. He looks… happy.”

“He—” I hesitated to think about it. We hadn’t heard Jack’s voice in so long… We hadn’t seen his bright face in what felt like forever. We hadn’t gotten to hear his laugh since the day Foyet took him from us. A tear slid down my cheek as I considered it. “Could you hear him? See him?”

“Yeah,” Hotch said quietly. “It’s fuzzy, and it’s at a distance, but he says your name. He says he misses you.” Another tear escaped me. “I’d like to show it to you… You don’t have to stay long, just come into the office for a bit. I… I really just…” He cleared his throat again, trying to hold back an obvious sob building in his throat. “I need to hold you. Just for a bit today. I need it really bad, Y/N.”

A tear slid down my cheek. I needed him, too. No matter how mad I was with him, no matter how upset he made me after our blow up, there was only one thing that could make this day somewhat bearable. It was the same thing that Hotch needed. Being in his arms was the only thing that could ever really comfort me nowadays, and I thought earlier about how I needed him to hold me to make the day easier. I thought that he wouldn’t want to see me. After how things ended the last time we saw each other, I thought he would never want to see me again. I had said some pretty hurtful things. Though I meant them, it didn’t erase that they probably stung him to hear.

“I need you, too,” I whispered.

I heard him let out a quiet cry. “Come home to me, baby. Please.”

“I’m coming.” I stood from the bed and raced to grab my purse. “I’m coming, baby.”

His voice perked up, “I love you so much.”

I changed before driving to the office. I had been stuck in Hotch’s pajamas for days, which wasn’t exactly… attractive, and I definitely didn’t smell good. Maybe that was why Clooney was so fond of me. Changing was also important because I was heading to my place of work. I wasn’t going to be a visitor there. I couldn’t exactly show up in a sweatshirt and pajama pants. So, I used what I had in my go-bag to look work-ready, then I headed off to the office.

The parking lot security didn’t recognize my vehicle since I was arriving in my old one. The fact that they didn’t recognize it only prolonged my wait to see Hotch again. They had to check my credentials, then give me a new parking pass for the car—and the whole thing was just a fucking mess. But the second they let me past the barricade, I sped towards the closest parking spot I could find to the building, parked, then ran inside. Security welcomed me with smiles and innocent questions, just like they always did. They were an awesome group of people that were absolutely underappreciated by the agents in our building. There were times when they told me that Garcia and I were two of the only people who ever even acknowledged them, let alone took time out of our days to get to know them. As always, I told them that it was my pleasure, but the second the niceties were over, I ran to the elevator down the hall.

As the elevator opened to reveal the sixth floor, I squeezed through the doors. Garcia was walking out of the BAU, a fresh cup of coffee in her hand. She froze when she saw me, a smile lighting up her face, and I tried smiling back as much as I could even though all of my energy was focused on getting to Hotch. She must have realized what was going on because she held the glass door open for me. I thanked her as I snaked by.

Everyone in the bullpen stopped and turned when Reid spotted me first. I smiled and waved as I kept my head down and maintained my clear path up the ramp, leading towards Hotch’s office. Emily tried calling out my name, but Morgan hushed her and I kept moving. It was nothing against her, but I was there for a singular purpose: Aaron Hotchner.

“Hi,” I said, stumbling into his office. I was so out of breath from running there. I was panting behind my forced smile.

Hotch looked up from the files on his desk. “Hi.”

“I want to see him. I want to see my little man.” My eyes were already watering up, a desperate plea for Hotch’s help to ease my breaking heart. “Please.”

“Close the blinds and lock the door.”

I nodded and turned to do so. Because Hotch and I technically weren’t supposed to have any kind of contact with Haley and Jack, no one else could see the video we were sent. If WITSEC changed their appearance and someone saw, it could put them in danger. If there was anything revealing in that video about where they had been before they were moved because Haley had been in contact with her dad, then it could put them in danger. Hotch and I couldn’t take that risk.

When I was done, I sat down in one of the empty seats across from Hotch. He turned his computer so that it was facing down the width of the desk, giving Hotch and I equal opportunity to see the screen and the video that was queued up. Even while the video was paused, I could see Jack on the swings, his legs kicked out since he had just gotten enough momentum to move forwards, and he was about to go flying back. I grabbed Hotch’s hand from the spacebar, tangling my fingers with his. Both of our breaths hitched.

“Are you sure—”

I nodded. “Do it.”

Hotch pressed the spacebar, then flipped his hand over so that he could hold my hand better. The video began. Jack started swinging back, his legs tucked under the seat. He was laughing. He was laughing, and kicking, and he looked like he was having so much fun. Haley pushed him forward again. He giggled and gave a “whoo” as he flew through the air again.

“It’s time!” Sam called from behind the camera.

Haley looked over with worry since Jack couldn’t see her. He was still having the time of his life, despite the fact that Sam and Haley were both telling him that it was time to get off the swings so that they could leave. Jack dragged his sneakers on the dirt beneath him to slow his momentum. After a few light, useless swings, Jack came to a stop, so he could safely jump off. Haley took his hand. He smiled up at her before he started skipping alongside her on their way to meet Sam at the car in the parking lot.

“Can we see Dad and Y/N now?” Jack asked.

I let out a sob, my face falling carefully against the desk. Hotch reached out to pet my hair back comfortingly, helping me through each of the tears that slid down my cheeks and every single whine that left my throat.

“No, baby, we’re not going home yet,” Haley said.

“But I want to see Y/N!” he complained. “I miss them.”

I tilted my head so that my cheek was pressed against the cold wood of the desk, but also so that I could glue my gaze back to the screen.

“I know, Jack,” she said while picking him up. “But we have to go somewhere else for our trip. Aren’t you excited?”

“Where are we going?”

The was when the video cut out.

“No, wait—” I gasped, sitting up straight. “There has to be more. That can’t be it.”

“That’s all of it, baby,” Hotch said apologetically.

“Play it again.”

Hotch did so. The video started replaying, Jack’s laugh echoing throughout the room. And then it was over faster than it was the first time, somehow. I sighed and let my head fall against the desk again.

“Come on, baby, don’t do that,” Hotch begged.

“I’m so sorry, Aaron. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

“No. I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.”

“It’s not—”

“It all goes back to that night in the hotel, Y/N. If I would’ve just taken the deal, none of this would be happening to us.”

“Stop,” I insisted while sitting up and sniffling. “I don’t blame you.”

He handed me a tissue from the box next to his elbow. “I’m sorry for being an asshole. I was blinded by hatred for Foyet and the need for revenge that I didn’t see how much of a douchebag I was being while you were suffering, too. It was insensitive of me, baby, and I’m so sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

I dodged his apology after a moment of silence. “Are you okay?” I asked. “You know… with missing Jack’s birthday for the first time?”

Hotch had never missed mine, Jack, or Haley’s birthdays before. There were times when we had to miss other holidays, but never a birthday. Ever. That was a day special to that person, and Hotch always wanted to celebrate it with them. When it came to Jack, that urge was even stronger. Jack was apart of this world because of Hotch. He stayed by Haley’s side for hours as she endured labor, and from that pain, they gained a little sunshine, a little miracle of their own. He wouldn’t have missed Jack’s birthday for the world. It was a memory of the good times, and a reminder that Hotch had a reason to live. He had a son. He wanted to celebrate that day every single year. But this time… There was no one to celebrate with, and it was noticeable.

He shook his head. “No. But that’s why I called you. I had to see you again and make things right.” We both took a deep breath, clearing away our tears and our overwhelming emotions. Hotch stood from his seat and slowly walked around his desk, taking a knee beside my chair. “I am sorry, Y/N. I don’t think I’ll ever stop apologizing for what I did. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, and I shouldn’t have chased after you like that. I know I scared you, and I’m sorry. You know that I would never lay a hand on you, right?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life making this up to you, Y/N, I just know it.” He took my hand in his. “I could make excuses all day—like how I was just frustrated about how our family is falling apart, and I’m upset the Foyet took the time to specifically go through our house in order to search for the one thing he knew would hurt most to steal… the ring I was going to give you.”

When Hotch and I first met Foyet, we thought that he was just another victim of The Reaper—that he was one of the lucky ones that got away. We were convinced because he distracted us with the one thing that meant everything to us: love. He begged me to not let The Reaper put Amanda’s engagement ring on his next victim. He cried about how he didn’t want that good memory to be ruined by The Reaper. In the end, though, The Reaper put the ring on one of his next victims, and I felt horrible about having broken my promise to Foyet… Only to find out that it was all a lie. It was a facade in order to fuck with us. I didn’t appreciate it. None of us did. He made it personal, and we were all pissed. But what upset me the most was the fact that he knew that using the detail of the engagement ring against me and Hotch would work. That was also how and why he knew to go straight for ours the night he stabbed Hotch.

Now, all I could do was hope and pray that he wouldn’t get the chance to put that ring on anyone’s body. I wanted that ring to be mine. I wanted Hotch to be down on one knee, as he was just then while apologizing to me, and I wanted him to slide that ring onto my finger as I told him: “Yes, I’ll marry you, Aaron Hotchner!” It was my dream. I wanted to call Aaron Hotchner my husband. And I wanted it to be that very ring that he went out of his way to buy after I babied him all the way home from Cincinnati. I wanted to be his. It actually didn’t matter which ring I ended up wearing—or even if I would have one at all. I just wanted to be his, and only his. Getting the ring back was just an added bonus because it came with a free side of “Fuck you, George Foyet”, accompanied with a middle finger.

“I could make those excuses,” he continued, “and I want to… But I won’t. I take full responsibility for my actions. I recognize that what I did was wrong. I shouldn’t have shut you out. I shouldn’t have abandoned you. And I definitely shouldn’t have snapped at you when all you were doing was trying to help me and knock some sense into me.”

“I don’t want you to spend the rest of our lives apologizing, Aaron. I already forgive you. I just want you to spend every second of every day loving me unconditionally. Holding me like this…” I released his hands so that I could grab his face. He grabbed mine, too. “Kissing me like this…” I pressed my lips against his gingerly. “Telling me you love me…”

“I love you…” he whispered.

“It’s music to my ears,” I said, leaning my forehead against his.

Hotch hands snaked under my hips so that he could grab my ass, then lift me out of my seat. I flung my arms around his neck to make sure I wouldn’t fall out of his hold. When he had me out of my chair, I crossed my legs around his waist, feeling his erection pressing against me through both of our pants. We moaned simultaneously. Next thing I knew, to make sure he wouldn’t drop me, Hotch set me down on the edge of his desk.

“Are you—” he tried asking before I cut him off with another kiss. He pulled away. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“What about the rules?”

“Fuck the rules. Aaron, I need this,” I said desperately, rather than seductively.

Of course, I needed him, but I mainly needed the idea of fucking him—of finally sharing that connection with him again after so long of not being anywhere near him. I needed the physical reminder that we loved each other. I didn’t doubt our love or passion, but that didn’t erase the feeling I had growing in the pit of my stomach, and it certainly didn’t make me forget just how wet I was for him already.

“We don’t have to if you’re not ready yet, or if our emotions are too fried—”

“Are you not sure?”

He stared at me for a moment. “I’ve never been more sure in my life.”

I leaned up to kiss him again. “Then, fuck me, Sir.”

Hotch’s lips crashed passionately against mine, his tongue immediately sliding into my mouth, claiming the dominance I loved so much. I grinded my hips against his. He moaned in response, bucking his hips forward, too. My palms dragged down his neck, gliding over his purple button up dress shirt, making their way slowly down to his belt. As my fingers fiddled with the metal clasp, Hotch leaned against me so that he could clear the space on his desk behind me before pushing my back down. I got his buckle undone just in time. Hotch finished the rest of it. He eagerly unbuttoned his pants, then pushed down his zipper. As he stepped out of his pants, I fidgeted with the waistband of mine, waiting for the perfect opportunity to push them down to my ankles. Hotch caught the hint before I could get very far. He yanked my pants and panties down with one fowl swoop, leaving me completely exposed to him.

“Fuck—” I wiggled my hips around to gesture for more. Hotch ran his left pointer finger up my slit, starting at my dripping entrance, working his way up slowly to my throbbing clit. I jerked around when he circled it. “Sir…”

“I don’t want manners right now, Y/N. I just want you.” He cupped my cheeks with his palms so that he could hold me still before kissing me as roughly as he could. “You have to be quiet.”

“I know.”

He nodded. “Okay.” He reached between us in order to push his boxers down to his ankles. “Hold onto me. Please.”

I obeyed, bracing my hands on his shoulders. As he lined his tip up with my entrance, I bit my lip to bar myself from moaning his name as loud as I could. Instead, I opted to whimper, “I want you inside me—” I gasped and let my body fall limp against the desk as he pushed into me slowly. “Aaron…”

“You’re so tight, baby girl. Always so tight and wet for me.” He threw his head back while snapping his hips back, then forward as roughly as he had the strength for.

I saw his muscles tightened under his shirt, and that was when a thought struck me. “You have another shirt in your go-bag, right?”

Hotch thrusted into me again before he realized what it was that I had asked him. He paused. “Why?” I didn’t answer. “Yeah, I have another—” I grabbed onto the seam of buttons lining his chest, and then I yanked them apart. Hotch groaned, thrusting into me as I did so. I screwed my eyes shut and threw my head back in euphoria before I could even get a look at Hotch, like I wanted. “Fuck, baby girl…” He gripped my hips harder. I looked up at him with a smirk, excited to finally see him, but then I froze. Hotch noticed how my face well. “What is it?” he asked as he slowed then stopped.

“Aaron,” I hesitated, my fingers hovering only millimeters from his chest. He stopped to follow my gaze, quickly realizing that this was the first time that I was laying my eyes on his scars. Foyet did that to him… I wanted to cry. “I could have lost you…”

“Look at me,” he whispered as he grabbed my chin between his fingers. My eyes fluttered as I looked up at him through my lashes and foggy eyes. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Ever. I promise.”

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, feeling him move inside me as he leaned over me. For the first time, I finally felt my hands touch his scars, running over the bumps and cuts. The stitches had been gone for a while, but I could still feel the irritation. I never knew that it was this bad. How was I supposed to know when he had been working tirelessly towards making sure I never found out?

“I love you,” I croaked, letting him pull me in for a kiss.

He thrust his hips forward at a gentle, loving pace. “I love you, too.”

I grabbed onto his shoulders, my fingers digging into his back slightly. With that silent encouragement, Hotch’s hands took ahold of my hips and he started fucking me roughly. I moaned against his collarbone, my legs falling off of him so that he could increase his pace without being held back by me. I propped my feet on the edge of his desk, and my back fell against the wood entirely. Hotch’s hands moved upwards, stopping just on my breasts. He cupped, massaged, and squeezed them as he continued to fuck me as hard as he could. My hands fell from his shoulders, and I ran my fingers over his scars again. I used to be so obsessed with his chest and how he flexed when he’d fuck me like this, but now, I was so scared of looking or touching because I didn’t want to hurt him. I knew that he wasn’t fragile, especially with the strength of every pump he was giving me, but I was still hesitant. I felt like with one wrong move, he could fall apart, and maybe it would be all my fault.

“I can’t lose you,” I whispered, moving to press my palm against his face.

He leaned down and kissed me. I moaned into his mouth as he gave me another passionate thrust that said: “I’m here, my love, and I’m not going anywhere.” I scratched at his back. I couldn’t do anything but quietly moan and whimper. If we were any louder, the whole office would know, and we couldn’t have that. This first time since he was stabbed was imperative to calming our worries and helping us forget our pain… but the team didn’t need to know any of it. There would be another time soon when Hotch and I would be alone, and I’d finally get to moan his name as loud as I wanted while also gasping between saying “I love you” a thousand times. But this… This needed to be quiet. It was passionate, of course, but it had to be quiet, much to my despair.

“I’m close,” he warned. “I’m so fucking close.”

I pulled him towards me so that our chests were pressed together. He hid his face in the crook of my neck, finally letting out a muffled groan. His hips were doing all of the work now, so I started grinding up to help him. That only seemed to encourage his orgasm, because the next thing I knew, his hand snaked between our bodies so that he could press his thumb against my clit.

I hid my face in his shoulder so that my moan would be muffled, too. “Aaron…” I let out a shaky breath. “Aaron, please. Cum in me…” I needed him to fill me. I needed that instinctual reminder that I was his and he was mine. I needed a part of him to carry around for a bit to remember that he was alive and that he was there with me. “Fuck—” My body gave out. I was shaking and panting as my orgasm crashed through me like a wave. As my walls pulsed around him, Hotch groaned into my neck again. My tightness pushed him over the edge, milking out everything he had to offer me.

“Y/N…” he growled in my ear, thrusting into me once more with such a fierceness that I knew I was going to be sore in just a few minutes. “I love you.” I heard how the words got caught in his throat. I heard how he was holding something back. I knew what it sounded like when he was trying not to cry. So, I lifted his head off me. “I love you,” he repeated, moving to kiss me before I could register just how red his eyes were.

I melted into his kiss again, my body relaxing after my overwhelming climax. It was only when I felt one of his tears hit my cheek that I knew he wasn’t okay. I whimpered sadly. All I could do was hold him close, tangling my fingers through his hair, kissing his lips again and again, feeling him soften inside of me. It was like that time we drove back from Cincinnati, and we couldn’t do anything but be grateful for each other. I couldn’t bear to lose him. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could face seeing him like this. Broken, beaten, bruised, wincing in pain. If it happened again, I didn’t know how I was going to survive.

“Does it still hurt?” I asked, referencing his scars. Hotch groaned as he pulled out of me slowly. He reached into his go-bag under his desk, grabbing a dark blue towel to clean me up with. Silently, he wiped my thighs and everywhere between. “Aaron.” He didn’t look at me. My heart sank in my chest at the realization. “They still hurt, don’t they?” Silence still. “Answer me, baby.”

“I don’t…” He gulped back tears. “I don’t know what to say.”

I sat up on the desk to get a better look at him while he hid the towel away, then stood up straight in order to change shirts. I wanted to apologize for ripping the purple one open. But I found that I couldn’t move or speak. He was stretching to pull the sleeves off, wincing as he did so, then he grabbed the red shirt from his go-bag, and started to carefully put it on.

“Come here,” I said, beckoning him closer with one finger. He sighed and stepped towards me. I started buttoning his shirt up for him. “You should’ve told me sooner.”

“I know.”

“We promised to never lie to each other.”

“I know.”

“So, then, why?”

His lip quivered and his eyes reddened. “Because I didn’t want to lose you, too... Turns out closing myself off in order to protect you only ruined everything.”

I finished buttoning his shirt. “I thought you learned that lesson when you first asked me out.”

Back then, when I first joined the team, Hotch entirely ignored me in order to protect me from his feelings. He didn’t think it was appropriate to let me know that he was in love with me. He thought that pushing me away was the only way to save me from him. What he failed to realize was that his decisions only worried me. I became obsessed with his change in behavior. Finally, I broke after Elle’s hostage situation in Texas, so I confronted him. That evening, we admitted that we had feelings for each other, and he took me out to dinner. The rest was history. But that was exactly why we didn’t keep secrets from each other, and we didn’t push each other away. I needed him to comfort me ever since Foyet attacked me— Actually, I wanted to comfort him. Bur he never gave me the chance. He pushed me away again, and it tore me down to nothing.

“I told you I’m sorry.”

I got off the desk and collected my panties and pants at the same time he grabbed his boxers and pants. We finished getting dressed simultaneously. As I hopped and shimmied into my pants, I looked at Hotch. “Can we start over? Pretend like the past month never happened?”

“And do what?” he asked while fixing his tie.

“Be us.”

His gaze snapped to meet mine. “I’d love that.”

“You can’t hide up in your office all day, and you can’t shut me out… You can’t keep sleeping in Jack’s room… You have to talk to me.”

He shuffled on the balls of his feet.

“Fine, you don’t have to talk to me, but you have to start going to therapy again.”

“It’s a waste of time and money, Y/N.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“I’m not going to sit on a couch and tell some stranger that I miss my son so much I can’t breathe! I’m not going to tell them that I think about how I snapped at you and it almost makes me wish Foyet killed me—”

“Don’t fucking say that,” I hissed. “Ever.”

“You wanted me to talk to you, right? Well, that’s how I feel.”

I inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to diffuse the tension building in my chest and shoulders. We had just made up; I didn’t want to start arguing with him again. “Okay… Like I said, you don’t have to talk to me… But at least try one more session. You stopped going after we lost Jack and Haley, and I think that’s a big part of why things blew up the way they did. Just one. For me. If you don’t like it, then I won’t make you go again. I think you’ll find it’s helpful, though.”

Hotch sighed, too. “Just one.”

“Just one,” I agreed while nodding.

“Okay.”

I jumped onto my toes and kissed him. “I love you.”

Before he could say it back, there was a knock at the door. Hotch and I parted, fixing ourselves again as quickly as possible, and I returned to my seat at his desk while he went to go unlock the door. When I was settled, I gave Hotch a nod. It looked like nothing had happened between the two of us now, except for the fact that Hotch was wearing a different shirt, but hopefully no one would notice… right…

“Sorry to interrupt,” Rossi apologized from the other side of the door, “but we’ve got a new case.”

I stood from my seat and started walking towards the door to make my way to the boardroom. Hotch stopped me. He looked at Rossi, then asked if we could have another moment alone before closing the door on him. I rolled my eyes at Hotch.

“Don’t do that,” he begged, grabbing my hips in his hands. “Just sit out for one more case. That’s all. One more to collect your thoughts and get settled back in at the house.”

My hands slid around the back of his neck so that my fingers could pull at the ends of his hair gently. He moaned. I smiled and jumped up onto my toes so that I could kiss him. “I love you, Aaron Hotchner. I always have and I always will.”

He let out a breath, letting relief wash over him. “Say it again.”

“I love you. I love you so much. I’ll never stop loving you.”

He pulled me in for another desperate, passionate kiss that kept me pressed against him until I couldn’t breathe. When his lungs gave out, too, he parted from me. “I love you, too.” And then he raced off to be a superhero again.

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[immaturityofthomasastruc]

(Accidental 150 Follower Special) IOTA's Top 10 Worst Episodes of Miraculous Ladybug (Part 1)

If you saw one of my earlier posts, an anon asked what my favorite and least favorite episodes of Miraculous Ladybug were. So, I decided to make a little list explaining the best and worst this show has to offer.

A few quick ground rules here. I'm not going to list any episodes I had previously talked about in some of my other posts. This includes “Kung Food”, “Animaestro”, “Syren”, “Reflekdoll”, “Chameleon”, and most of the episodes relating to Chloe's “damnation arc” that Astruc planned since he first created the character (“Despair Bear”, “Queen Wasp”, “Malediktator” and “Battle of the Miraculous”). Also, I'm not counting the specials, mainly because aren't listed as episodes, and because I don't want to talk about them.

Other than that, anything goes, so let's get things started with the worst list.

These are the Top 10 Worst Episodes of Miraculous Ladybug (in my personal opinion because your opinion is also valid)

#10: Stormy Weather 2

“Stormy Weather” was the very first episode of the show, and it really made a good impression on new viewers. So naturally, when it was announced that Stormy Weather would return, fans were excited. Then when the episode aired, Hawkmoth gave her even more powers, including the power to create a volcano big enough to potentially knock the planet out of orbit when it erupts. So Ladybug and Cat Noir have no choice but to stop the villain once again.

What does this plot lead to?

Yep, this episode is nothing more than a clip show. I understand that clip shows and bottle episodes are a necessary evil, but why would you set up something this awesome with a fan-favorite Akuma like Stormy Weather, and then not even bother to show it?

This episode is yet another attempt at showing that the show totally has character development. The whole reason Aurore is Akumatized into Stormy Weather again is because Chloe says that people can't change because Astruc (who was one of the four people writing this episode) is determined to make you hate this teenage girl more than the main villain of the show.

So of course, everyone spends most of the episode talking about how much they've changed, which is represented through clips of past episodes that do a horrible job at actually conveying any development.

According to Marinette, Adrien has “become a friend she can talk to about anything, except when it comes to her feelings for him”. Ah yes, you can tell they're friends by the fact that they barely hang out together, much less share a conversation because the writers are going to drag out the whole “Marinette stammering in front of Adrien” until they get tired of it. So basically, never.

All Alya and Nino talk about is how Ladybug helped them become a couple, and become superheroes, even though neither of those are actually related to character development. Though that is a fitting metaphor for the way both of their personalities have basically devolved to “the couple”.

Chloe talks about how nicer she's gotten, while footage of her doing awful things is played. I wonder who wrote that part in...

Even Ladybug and Cat Noir talk about how much they've grown and how stronger they've gotten, as opposed to focusing on STOPPING ANOTHER ICE AGE FROM HAPPENING. How can Hawkmoth even think this will get him the Miraculous? Yeah, sure I guess he can get them from the frozen corpses of our heroes, but what then? He still doomed humanity, and I don't think he can reverse the damage like Ladybug.

Towards the end, the clip show becomes slightly interesting, as Adrien mentions an unsigned card he got for Valentine's Day in “Dark Cupid”, and how similar the handwriting looks to Marinette's.

Does this lead to Adrien figuring out Marinette has feelings for him? Is the sky bright red? Both of these questions have the same answer.

Yeah, out of nowhere, Adrien just mentions Luka, who wasn't mentioned at all in this episode, and immediately thinks Marinette is in love with him. And that's how the episode ends.

I put this at the bottom of the list because I don't think it's completely fair to judge clip shows, but even some clip shows at least try to put in some effort and justify the clips, like what The Legend of Korra and some seasons of Power Rangers did. And the fact that the whole point of the episode is a poor excuse to claim that there's character development in the show only makes it even more infuriating.

Oh my God, this is only Number 10...

#9: Oblivio

While I already talked about “Cat Blanc”, this episode shares a similar theme as that episode: Giving viewers what they've wanted for three seasons, Marinette and Adrien finally learning each other's identity and starting a romantic relationship... only for the reset button to be once again slammed, making the entire episode pointless.

The only difference is that unlike in “Cat Blanc”, where there was an actual love confession that made sense, here, Marinette and Adrien find out the other's identity when they get their memories wiped by the Akuma of the week, Oblivio.

From then on, it's just fanservice. Instead of actually developing the relationship between Marinette and Adrien, the writers just decide to cram an entire episode worth of Adrienette content into a single episode just to tide fans over. Marinette and Adrien seriously fall in love despite only knowing each other for like, an hour at most. And the fact that the writers undo all the romantic progress of the episode makes it come across as pointless.

But the ending is what really cements this episode's spot on the list. As soon as Oblivio is defeated, Alya takes a picture of Ladybug and Cat Noir kissing without their consent and then rubs it in Ladybug's face.

Even though Ladybug doesn't know the circumstances (she has no memory of the events of the episode), this was still an invasion of her privacy, and she looks horrified by the picture that Alya is obviously going to post on her blog.

And of course, Cat Noir is more than happy to see it, ignoring how Ladybug feels and claims that they'd make a great couple. Because everyone knows good couples are formed by someone gaslighting the other into going out with them.

But wait, it gets better! In the next scene, we learn that Alya and Nino were akumatized into Oblivio... because they were caught in an embarrassing situation by their peers.

Alya: Remember when we visited Montparnasse Tower? Well, we went and hid to play Super Penguino, but Ms. Bustier caught us, and...

Nino: And you guys made fun of us for playing that game, saying it wasn't our age and all.

Alya: We were totally embarrassed at getting caught.

This was my thought process when I first heard Alya and Nino's explanation.

How can Alya claim to take a compromising picture of Ladybug, ignore how she feels, and not realize the similarity from when she and Nino were akumatized? This is what completely killed Alya for me in canon. This was the point where I couldn't care less if Marinette was friends with her or not. Sure, there are still fanfics, but those actually portray her with some kind of conscious. So to summarize, Fanon Alya is awesome, but I hope Canon Alya's 4G plan runs out.

This episode is just forgettable, but the ending made things worse. Apart from, I guess the action scenes and some funny jokes, this episode has no redeeming qualities. Like, literally the best thing to come from this episode was @miraculouscontent​‘s LadyBugOut AU, as it actually addressed the hypocrisy of Alya's character, among other problematic aspects of the show.

#8: Oni-Chan

Just a heads up, most of the episodes on this list are from Season 3. Just want to give you an idea of what to expect.

This episode is about Lila tricking Adrien into helping with her homework, when she is only doing it to get closer to Adrien. Marinette tries to spy on the two and stop Lila from hurting Adrien... even though she knows Adrien is aware that Lila is a liar, and is visibly uncomfortable around her.

And because the episode spends so much time on Marinette following Adrien and Lila, the buildup to Kagami getting akumatized is incredibly rushed. Seriously, she gets a single line of dialogue before she gets akumatized, and the motive is ridiculous too. Lila sends a picture of her forcing a kiss on Adrien, and Kagami immediately bursts into tears at the sight of it.

But wait, it gets better! When Kagami is akumatized into Oni-Chan (the writers know that's a term used for males in Japan, right?), she turns into a psycho hellbent on killing Lila because “Adrien doesn't deserve her”. Most of her dialogue is her saying how much she loves Adrien, making her come across as, for lack of a better word, a yandere.

This episode just destroys Kagami's character, making her as unlikable as Katie Killjoy in the process. If it wasn't for “Ikari Gozen” actually treating her like a human being (obviously Astruc's planned character development from the beginning), I'd completely hate her.

It also shows how much of an evil genius Lila is, as she has the brilliant idea to convince Oni-Chan to kill the only person capable of saving her from the Akuma's wrath. And this somehow gives Hawkmoth the idea to forge an alliance with Lila. It's also another reason why I believe in Darwinism.

This episode is low on the list because it does have a few redeeming qualities, like Lila facing consequences for lying, however brief they may be, and it has a great character moment with Adrien realizing on his own how terrible Lila really is, a far cry from what he was like in “Chameleon”.

Other than that, it's pretty bad, and still deserves a spot on this list.

#7: Antibug

HA! I said MOST of the episodes involving Chloe's “Damnation Arc” wouldn't be on this list, but not ALL OF THEM, so this one counts! Take that, convoluted rules I made up for some reason!

What was I talking about again? Oh right, “Antibug”. Oh crap, “Antibug”...

This is one of of several episodes in Miraculous Ladybug that really should have been a two-parter. It tries to be daring and includes two Akumas in one episode, but both of them are poorly executed.

An invisibly entity starts harassing Chloe, so Ladybug and Cat Noir start an investigation. It turns out to be Chloe's lackey Sabrina, who was akumatized after a falling out between the two. Well, I say “falling out” lightly, because what actually happened was that Chloe and Sabrina were cosplaying as Ladybug and Cat Noir, Chloe pretended to be the real deal while crashing an interview with Jagged Stone before Sabrina accidentally blew her cover, causing Chloe to be humiliated on TV and end her “friendship” with Sabrina.

Ladybug learns this from Chloe's butler, while Chloe never mentions the incident. So when Ladybug and Cat Noir engage the Akuma, Ladybug ignores Chloe's advice on where the corrupted object, naturally not trusting her judgment. And this is portrayed as a bad thing.

This episode is the start of a long-running trend in Miraculous Ladybug: Marinette needing to learn a lesson, while Adrien/Cat Noir is the one to help teach that lesson.

Chloe did nothing to help, only made things worse, and lied about why Sabrina got akumatized. It's kind of obvious why Ladybug wouldn't trust her word. The whole point of The Boy Who Cried Wolf wasn't to trust the liar after all.

But if that was all the episode did, it wouldn't be on the list, because now, the narrative wants to make the audience feel bad for Chloe before she gets akumatized into Antibug... who is just a lazy palette swap because new character models are expensive.

This part of the episode isn't nearly as bad as the first half, but like “Oni-Chan”, Chloe's akumatization is incredibly rushed, and we don't really get a chance to sympathize with her before she goes full Antibug.

Even Antibug herself isn't that interesting of a villain. The whole idea of an evil doppelganger is that they're a perfect match for the hero, but we only see Ladybug and Antibug fight for a few seconds, while Cat Noir does most of the fighting with her while Marinette's Kwami recharges. I like that Ladybug and Cat Noir show their teamwork to defeat Antibug, but I feel it would have been more interesting to see Ladybug and Antibug duke it out before Cat Noir helps turn the tide.

Again, this episode really needed to be a two-parter to better expand on the story presented here, because it had a really interesting premise. I'd personally read the version of “Antibug” in @justanotherpersonsuniverse​‘s “The Adventures of Panthera Noire” (an AU fanfic where shy girl Juleka gets the Cat Miraculous instead of Adrien). Not only does it have two separate chapters for Vanisher and Antibug, it also does a good job of setting Chloe on an actual redemption arc, unlike Astruc's “damnation arc”.

#6: The Puppeteer 2

As much as I've ragged on Adrien/Cat Noir in some of my other posts (and will continue to do so in this list), that doesn't mean I think Marinette has problems too, and this episode is a prime example.

Marinette and Adrien go to a wax statue museum with their friends (and Manon), but because of a poor choice of words by Nino, Adrien thinks that Marinette hates him. So he does something that everyone loves, practical jokes.

Adrien seriously thinks that pranking Marinette will improve her opinion of him. Even the prank is ridiculous, pretending to be a wax statue to make her laugh. And it leads to... Oh God... This is easily the contender for one of the worst moments in the entire show. Marinette goes up to the statue and... gets close to it. Yes, we, the audience know that this isn't a statue, but putting that aside, just look at what Marinette does to the “statue” (AUTHOR’S NOTE: I made a gif from the episode, but it wouldn’t go through, so I recommend you check out the episode and watch the statue scene for yourself if you don’t value your sanity). Even Adrien, as dense as he can be, is a little unsettled by what Marinette does.

If the scene was about Marinette talking about her feelings for Adrien, I'd be more lenient on it, but this? This is just uncomfortable to watch.

Even the dialogue makes Marinette sound incredibly creepy.

Marinette: Wow... it looks so... real. The wax is nearly as hot as skin. It even smells exactly like him...! Oh, beautiful statue of Adrien, your wax is so soft! Your yak hair is silky. Your eyes are so green. Oh, shall I be a statue, too! Everything would be so much easier. Why haven't we been molded together in the plaster of destiny? Marble to marble, wax lips against wax lips, entwined for eternity...

I think Gilbert Gottfried said it best.

This scene alone put this episode on the list, and the Akuma doesn't make it better. I really liked “The Puppeteer”, and I thought her ability to control past Akuma victims was incredibly fun to watch. And when she returns to take control of the wax statues of past Akumas they... don't use their powers (with the exception), and serve as cannon fodder for Ladybug and Cat Noir to plow through, making the return of the villain very underwhelming.

Even the end where Adrien tells Marinette that he is in love with someone and only sees her as a friend. This should devastate Marinette, but in the next scene, thanks to some fortune cookie nonsense from Tikki, she's still unsure about her relationship with Adrien, and that's how the episode ends. Seriously. Because just need to keep the status quo consistent, right? It's not like Marinette doubting her crush on Adrien and worrying that she's just wasted her time would have been interesting to see, right? Play that happy ending theme already!

Of all the episodes on this list, this is the one I was dreading talking about the most because of some of the moments here. And yet, there are still episodes that are worse than this one...

Here’s Part 2

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