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#i know i have already done a similar one to this yesterday

talkativeweeb · 8 months

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usopp wouldn't mind being in love with a boy, if it didn't mean being in love with sanji. sanji wouldn't mind being in love with usopp, if it didn't mean being in love with a boy.

#i know i have already done a similar one to this yesterday #BUT #i was a fool #why am i forgetting THEEE ship that fits this quote the most #literal homophobic homotron 3000 and mr boys-and-girls-are-both-hot #sanuso #pocketful of weeb #chattering bird

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atlabeth · 1 month

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dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

summary: you and hotch both confront a lifetime of things left unsaid when a case forces your past into the light.

a/n: so i started this. two years ago. got 1k in and left it, came back now for some reason, wrote like a freak until it was done. lol. this is quite heavy and different than most things i usually write and it is SO much longer than expected but im very proud of it 🫶 i didn't really pay attention to the canon timeline so just know that reader and hotch were in their early and late 20s in law school (90s) and early and late 30s in present day (early 2000s). title from i lied by lord huron and allison ponthier

wc: 17.1k

warning(s): a lot of angst. typical bau case stuff, murder (familicide), implied/referenced past child abuse, reader and hotch go at it basically the whole time, character death, kidnapping, slight mention of drugging, injuries, mentions of blood. i wouldn’t say a happy ending but a hopeful one

Hotch can barely stay awake.

He got the call thirty minutes to 4 a.m, and if he hadn’t already been up, he would likely be in a much worse mood. He can only hope that the rest of the team has gotten used to rude awakenings at this point.

It’s poor planning on his part—he already got out late due to extra paperwork, and once he got home, he found himself staring at the wall, and then staring at the ceiling. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to sleep on the jet. If things go the way they usually do, he won’t be out until their first night in a hotel.

He started making calls to the team on his way to the office, but to no one’s surprise, he was the first one there. He had time to wash down a shitty office coffee and get started on a second one by the time everyone’s there.

Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ all have coffees—JJ comes prepared with her own thermos, but Morgan and Prentiss fall victim to the BAU’s supply—Reid is fighting back yawns as he tries to fix a hastily made tie, Garcia is slightly less energetic than normal as she passes out files, and somehow Rossi looks the same as always.

Hotch just hopes he’s put together enough to make the team feel better about being here at an ungodly hour.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” Garcia greets, setting down the last folder in front of Reid before taking her spot next to Hotch at the front. “As lovely as it is to see all of you this morning, I’m afraid that we’ve got a grisly one on our hands, hence the hour.”

“Great,” Prentiss mutters. “How bad is it?”

“Three married couples have been murdered in St. Louis, Missouri in the past two months, with the most recent one happening yesterday,” Hotch says, and Garcia grimaces as she clicks onto the pictures. “Mom and dad are killed, but the children are spared.”

“Awful lot of similarities between the parents,” Morgan says dryly as he flips through the folder. “Looks like our killer has some family issues.”

Reid nods. “The unsub likely stalks these families once they see the similarities. I’m guessing he was abused as a child, seeing as they kill the parents but keep the children alive.”

“Probably has a grudge against his father,” Prentiss remarks. “They make it out the worst every time.”

“There’s no method to the torture,” Morgan says. “It looks like he’s just trying to make it hurt as much as possible.”

“Our guy probably isn’t trained in anything, then,” Rossi says.

Reid flips to another page in the file. “Serial killers like to see their victims suffer. If he’s not torturing the mom physically, then he’s likely making her watch.”

“He doesn’t kill children, though,” JJ notes.

“Maybe he thinks he’s doing them a favor,” Reid says.

“The unsub sees himself in the kids?” Morgan suggests. “He’s doing what he didn’t get the chance to do.”

“Whatever it is, we have to keep a tight hold on this,” JJ says. “The press eats this stuff up, and the last thing we need is a terrified city making it harder to do our jobs.”

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs.

JJ sighs. “I’ll draft something on the jet and make some calls when we land.”

Hotch nods and he closes his file. “Wheels up in thirty. I hope you’re all ready for a long day.”

The jet is silent the entire way to Missouri, full of sleeping agents trying to delay the inevitable—save for JJ scribbling down notes on a legal pad for the first thirty minutes, but even she knocks out sooner rather than later. Thankfully, Hotch manages to fit an hour in himself, though it doesn’t do very much for him. He spends the rest of the time reading through the case file.

The team settles in quickly at the city’s precinct, and Hotch takes charge as usual. The uniforms are just as tired as they are, but he makes it work. Soon enough, JJ is off to work with the local liaison to craft a narrative, Reid has situated himself in an empty conference room to get to work analyzing maps with Garcia, and Hotch and the rest go to check out the crime scene.

It’s brutal—much too brutal for this early, but Hotch forces the emotions out of it and gets to work questioning the present officers. Morgan follows suit, with Prentiss and Rossi going to investigate the rest of the house.

They don’t learn much from the officers that they don’t already know. This is the most recent crime scene—George and Marsha Springfield, undeserving of such a grisly fate. Their two kids, 8 and 9, were off visiting their grandparents in Nebraska when it happened, and though they avoided the same fate, they’re going to deal with a lifetime of guilt.

It’s all Hotch can think about as he examines the first body. The six children left to deal with the carnage, about their past and future marred against their control.

All he can think about is Jack, and the dreary fate that awaits him if his father falls in the field.

Hotch swallows his doubt and his guilt all in one and forces every thought out of his mind. He has to be unshakable for the team, for what’s left of these families, for a city on the brink of hysterics.

They’ll find whoever did this. That’s what gets him through it.

They spent early morning at the crime scene, collecting evidence and gathering information from the officers and trying to make sense of the killer’s motive. Progress is slow, partially because of the hour, but they make enough that Hotch feels comfortable moving onto the next job.

Their four a.m. start time was too early to go knock on doors and get interviews, but now it’s a more normal 10 in the morning. After a quick stop back at the station to share information with Reid, Garcia, and JJ and down a few cups of coffee, they get right back on the road.

Hotch and Prentiss take one van and Morgan and Rossi take the other, splitting up to get what they can from interviews. It’s difficult working with kids, especially with such recent trauma, so they hold off on it for now, allowing the local uniforms that have been with them for a bit longer to set things up before the BAU tries anything.

First they go to a neighbor’s house, then an alleged eye witness. They don’t get much other than personality reads, but it at least gives them the beginnings of a profile. The third place they hit is their earliest idea of a suspect.

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss reads off the file one of the local officers had put together. “Thirty-nine, born and raised in St. Charles, Missouri. High school degree, but never got to college because he was in and out of jail.”

“What has he been charged for?”

“Booked a few times for public intoxication and convicted three times for assault. Once was for third-degree assault, Missouri’s version of aggravated assault,” she says. “He got out of jail last year, and it looks like he’s been living in St. Louis for some of that.”

“Assault and drinking is a far cry from serial killing, even aggravated,” Hotch says. “What makes him a suspect?”

“Both parents are dead,” she says. “And from the looks of it, it was not a happy home while they were around. He’s got a sister, so it fits the initial theory of trying to replicate his family.”

Hotch lets out a loose breath and nods. “We’ll start there. Try and get a story from this guy, build a profile, see if it matches the one Morgan and Rossi have made for their guy.”

“And hope we pin something down before more bodies show up,” Prentiss murmurs.

They’re at their destination soon enough, and Hotch parks in an open spot on the other side of the road. His eyes dart around as they walk up to the front door, filing things away in the back of his mind.

The house number and last name—1432, Hartford—on the mailbox plagued with rotting wood. What there is of a yard is poorly cut, and a small garden of wilted flowers has their own corner, victims of the winter weather. One car is parked slightly crooked in a small driveway—there’s no garage, so at least he’s probably home. Two potted plants sit on either side of the door, thankfully alive.

“Remember,” Prentiss says as they come to a stop together, “be nice.”

“I’m plenty nice,” he murmurs, and she huffs the slightest laugh.

Hotch knocks on the door as Prentiss fishes around for her ID, and thankfully, they don’t wait long. The door cracks open after a few seconds to reveal a woman—certainly not their unsub, but something a whole lot more surprising.

You.

Your brows furrow at the sight of him, and Hotch has to hold back his shock.

You don’t live in St. Louis. And your last name certainly isn’t Hartford.

“Aaron?” you ask in disbelief, and he doesn’t even have to look at Prentiss to know the questions he’s going to get later.

He says your name, able to control his surprise with only the slightest crease of his brows giving it away, then corrects himself just as quickly. “Miss Hartford. My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner, and this is SSA Emily Prentiss. We’re here with the FBI.”

Your frown deepens as they show their IDs, and you actually take it from Hotch, skeptical eyes scanning over it for much too long. You glance back at him as you hand it back over. “What is the FBI doing here?”

Emily clears her throat as she puts her credentials away. “We’re here investigating the latest murders in St. Louis. Can we come in?”

“The murders?” you ask with exasperation. “What— what murders? And what do I have to do with them?”

Aaron notices the way your grip tightens on the door just the slightest bit, and a shred of sympathy strikes him before he speaks up.

“We’ll be able to explain everything if you let us in,” he says.

You swallow thickly in your throat, your gaze darting back to Aaron before you finally nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?”

You move and Hotch and Prentiss walk inside, gesturing with a hand towards your living room as you shut and lock the door behind them. “Take a seat. Uh— do you guys need anything? Water, or coffee, or…”

You trail off, and Prentiss shakes her head. “Thank you, but that’s not needed.” She takes a seat on the sofa, but Hotch can’t stop himself from looking around the house.

It’s a small place, one story—likely rented, seeing how paintings sit on countertops and mantels rather than hanging on the wall. It has a certain charm to it, but something is off about it all.

Two styles clash—decorative pillows at odds with a filled and painted-over hole in the wall, an attempt at neutral tones ruined by dark articles of clothing scattered around, one person’s mess barely being held back by another’s cleaning efforts. You lived with someone else. Likely Lucas Hartford, possibly their unsub.

“Are you gonna sit down, Aaron?” you ask, snapping him out of his profiling haze. “Or do you want to look around some more?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, clearing his throat as he walks over and sits down in an open chair near Prentiss. “Just curious.”

“That makes two of us,” you say, and you cross your arms as you look at him. He notices that you don’t sit down yourself, and there’s still a coldness in your eyes. “You’re FBI now?”

He nods. “I had a change of heart.”

You huff a laugh. “Thought at least one of us would be a lawyer by now. I guess not.”

Hotch frowns, but Prentiss takes over before he can continue on that particular thread. “Miss Hartford—”

You interrupt by saying your first name, and it spurns something strange in his chest. It’s been over a decade since he’s heard your voice. “You can skip the formalities.”

Prentiss nods and repeats your name. “As you know, we’re investigating the murders that have been occuring in the St. Louis area.”

“And you think I have something to do with it?” you ask, the accusatory edge to your voice not lost on him.

“Not you,” Hotch says. “Do you know a Lucas Hartford?”

“He’s my brother,” you say, and your frown deepens. “You’re not saying—”

“No,” Prentiss interrupts, “we’re not saying anything. We’re just asking.”

And just like that, your entire stance, your visage, it all changes. Hotch can sense the walls slamming up around you, and he immediately realizes two things:

Getting information out of you is going to be much harder than planned, and you’re not anywhere near the same person you used to be.

Hotch doesn’t know what he expects, really. He graduated with the intent to prosecute for at least a decade—now, he’s with the BAU. It’s not fair to assume you’re that same girl he met in law school.

“My brother is not a murderer,” you state clearly.

“And we aren’t accusing him or you of anything—” she starts.

“Me?” you interrupt, and you let out a harsh laugh. “I’m a suspect too?”

“If you would allow Agent Prentiss to finish her sentences, you would be less upset,” Hotch says.

You glower at him, but you stay silent.

“We aren’t accusing either of you of anything,” Prentiss finishes. “We’re just trying to gather information with what little we know.”

“I know my rights,” you say, unflinching gaze still meeting Hotch’s. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Prentiss looks at him as well, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “That’s unfortunate to hear, Miss Hartford.”

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

He does, and the letters feel strange on his tongue after so long. “This is a serious matter. This isn’t an accusation—we’re in the early days of this case and we need all the information we can get.”

“Ask away,” you say. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss starts. “He’s your brother?”

You nod. “He lives with me.”

He lives with me, not we live together. Makes him think that you pay for the place, he came knocking, and you didn’t have the heart to turn him away.

“Why is that?” Hotch asks.

You look at him, those scrutinizing eyes attempting to peer into his soul the same way they did all those years ago. But Hotch has changed since law school, and he’s much better at guarding his emotions. It seems you are, too.

“He’s a student,” you finally say. “He goes to community college. I’m giving him a place to live while he gets his associate’s.”

“Community college and living with his younger sister at 39?” Prentiss is trying to get information out of you, even if it isn’t in the kindest way. Your jaw clenches, and he knows her words have some effect. You’ve probably heard it more than once, the way things are going.

“He’s getting his life back on track,” you say defensively. “I’m the only one left that can help him, so I am.”

“What about your parents?” she asks. “Surely they’re a better option than this.”

“Both dead,” you answer. “And no one else cares enough to help him. Are you here to do anything other than dig up my past?”

Hotch feels Prentiss’s eyes on him, likely because it’s a step in the right direction for a really shitty reason, but he can’t look away from you.

“Really?”

He knows your parents are dead—it was in your brother’s profile, and by extension it applies to you—but it still hits him.

He met your mother, had countless lunches and dinners with her. Helped her move out of her old house. Spent two Thanksgivings and a Christmas with her.

And he didn’t even know when she died.

You shrug and wrap your arms around yourself, and for the first time you look something other than defensive or standoffish. You look— well… sad.

“Mom went a few years after you graduated,” you say, looking at Hotch. “Dad went five years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Prentiss says.

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb.

“You never told me,” Hotch says with a slight frown.

“We haven’t talked in ten years,” you say. “Sorry that I didn’t know you still wanted updates.”

Hotch tries to think of something to say in response, but Prentiss starts getting a call and she stands up. “Excuse me.”

His jaw clenches for a moment as Prentiss ducks into a nearby bedroom, but he’s recovered by the time you look at him again. Your arms are crossed, but your expression is even.

“I take it this was as much of a surprise for you as it is for me.”

Hotch nods. “We came here looking for your brother.”

“Does your team know about our history?” you ask simply.

“No.”

“Do you want them to?”

“...No.”

You huff a laugh, your eyes narrowing a bit. “‘Course not. Probably counts as conflict of interest.”

You wait another beat, then ask another question. “How’s Haley?”

“Good, last I heard,” he says, and then he hesitates. “We’re… divorced.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

He nods. “This job isn’t easy for anyone.”

You look like you want to say more, but once again, Hotch is saved by Prentiss as she walks back in. Her phone is closed in her hand and she looks at him. “Morgan and Rossi have a lead. The chief wants everyone back at the precinct to go over everything we’ve found.”

Hotch nods again and stands up. Prentiss takes her card out of her pocket and holds it out to you.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Hartford. If you find out any information, or want to tell us anything else, please give me a call.”

“Pass that along to your brother, too,” Hotch says.

You reluctantly take the card, but you don’t look at it. “You can see yourselves out.”

Prentiss nods. “Thank you again. Have a good day, and stay safe.”

She leads the way, and Hotch follows after her. He fights the urge to look back before he shuts the door.

Prentiss looks at him as they walk back to the car, and he can only imagine what is going through her mind. But eventually she just shrugs and pulls out her phone again.

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up.

“You’ve reached the office of all that is holy.” Penelope’s voice comes out through the speaker, and Hotch can’t help the smallest twitch of his lips. “What’s up?”

“Dig up everything you can find on Lucas Hartford,” Emily says, and her glance at Hotch does not go unnoticed. “And throw in his sister, too. He’s one of our only suspects, and we need to know if she’s in on it.”

“On it,” Garcia says. “I’ll call you back when I’m done.”

“You’re the best,” she says, and then she hangs up. They get back to the car, and it only takes Prentiss all of five seconds after they get in for her to start drilling him.

“Alright,” she says, buckling her seatbelt with a click before she sets her attention on him. “What was that back there? You two know each other?”

Hotch busies himself with his own seatbelt and starting the car, answering as casually as possible as the engine revs to life. “We were friends in law school.”

“Sure,” Prentiss nods. “The way you were around her, that’s not just ‘law school friend’ stuff.”

Hotch is once again reminded of how, sometimes, it was a downfall to constantly be around profilers. It was nearly impossible to keep anything a secret.

“It’s nothing,” he says as he pulls back onto the road. “We knew each other, we fell apart, we’re here now.”

Emily hums. “Is it too far to ask if you were together?”

“Yes,” he says sternly, maybe a bit too hasty. “It is.”

“Fine,” she says breezily, and she looks out the window. “But that tension was thick.”

Hotch knows what she’s thinking. Hasn’t he been with Haley since high school, what kind of history did you and him have, were you together, would he be okay to work this case—

He doesn’t really want to answer any of them. You were a part of his past he hadn’t expected to resurface any time soon—if Hotch is being honest, he didn’t know if he would ever see you again once he graduated. Not after the way he broke things off.

You’ve changed a lot. So has he.

And now your brother is a murder suspect, and you could be covering up for him.

That’s the only thing that should be on his mind.

“For the last time,” you huff as you storm down the stairs, “I don’t want to deal with this.”

“Because you know that Mia is a lying bitch!” Cleo exclaims, following after you. “I’m sick of you stealing my clothes!”

“I’m not stealing your clothes,” Mia scoffs in your wake, just behind Cleo. “They’re too ugly for me to want anyways. I bet I wouldn’t even fit into them.”

“You are! And you’re stealing my fucking jewelry, too!” she yells. “All of my shit is going missing, and I know it’s not Little Miss Law School, so it’s got to be you!”

Mia draws out a mirthless laugh. “You are not accusing me of this.”

“I don’t have anyone else to accuse!” Cleo shouts.

They both look at you, and Mia says your name. “You have to settle this before I kill her.”

“Oh, I’ll kill you first!” she hisses. “At least I’ll get all my stuff back!”

You clench your jaw as your nails dig into your palms, and you’re about to bite back when the doorbell rings. You don’t even try to hide your sigh of relief.

“That’s Aaron,” you say as you grab your coat and your bag from the table. “I’m leaving. If you kill each other, don’t get blood on the furniture.”

You don’t give them a chance to say anything before you rush to the door, open it, and shut it behind you.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” you breathe.

“What’s going on in there?” Aaron asks, amused.

“My roommates are fighting again.” You roll your eyes. “It doesn’t matter. You’re much more interesting.”

“You know this is a study date,” he says wryly, and you cut him off with a kiss.

“Still a date,” you murmur against his lips. “And something seriously needed.”

Aaron chuckles as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side, and the two of you walk to his car. “You’ve gotta get out of this house, honey.”

“I know,” you grumble. “But I can’t afford a place on my own.”

“Doesn’t have to be on your own,” he says as he opens the door for you. “It just has to be away from the girls that are making you miserable.”

“The lease ends at the end of the semester,” you sigh. “Just have to make it until then.”

“You know,” Aaron boxes you in against the car when you lean against the side of it, smiling softly at you, “I do live alone.”

“Oh yeah?” You ruffle his hair with your fingers and grin. “What are you proposing?”

He shrugs, letting his hands linger on your waist. “Just that you hate your roommates, and you don’t hate me. You could spend your time somewhere else.”

“Careful,” you warn. “You keep saying things like that and we might not make it to the library.”

“You keep saying things like that, and I might not mind,” Aaron muses.

You grin as he leans in and kisses you again, once, twice, three times as your back hits the side of his car and you card your hands through his hair. Mia and Cleo are probably killing each other inside, but you don’t really care at this point. They’ve made your life hell for a semester and a half—they can bother each other for once.

“Aaron,” you whisper against his lips, and he gets one more in between words, “I’ve got a test on Tuesday.”

“And today’s Sunday.” He nips at your neck and you laugh, your eyes falling shut as you lean your head back. “You’ll be fine, honey.”

“You have one on Monday,” you remind him, and he sighs. You feel his hot breath against your neck.

“Ruining our fun in the name of schoolwork,” he says. “No wonder all your professors love you.”

“Everyone loves me,” you correct. “Including you.”

You steal one more kiss before you open your door yourself and get in, and Aaron lets out a breathy laugh.

“You’ve got that right.”

He closes your door then gets in the other side, and you’re already rifling through the glove box full of cassettes. You pull out the mixtape you made for him for your six month anniversary and pop it into the player, and Aaron smiles as the first few notes of Stairway to Heaven come on.

“You’re a threat to my grades, y’know.”

“Maybe it’s all part of my plan,” you say. “Distract you with kisses to make sure I’m a shoe-in for this fellowship.”

“A dastardly plan,” he says with mock austerity.

“I’ve been told I have to be more of a shark,” you muse. “Consider this me taking down my competition.”

Aaron laughs, and you find yourself smiling just at the sound of it. You love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, how they soften just so, how he acts like himself around you, and not some perfected or stoic image that he thinks he needs.

Falling in love with Aaron Hotchner has been the easiest thing in the world.

“Don’t let anyone know,” he says, and he reaches over to intertwine your fingers together. “But I’ll happily fall to you every time.”

“As long as you don’t tell everyone how whipped I am for you,” you tease.

“Looks like we’ve both got reputations to keep up.”

“Looks like it.”

You share a smile, yours just on the edge of a grin as you try to bite it back. You hold hands the rest of the way, just soaking in each other’s presence with songs from bands you introduced to each other floating through the air.

(It is a goddamn struggle to get any work done at the library with that face across from you the whole time.)

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger.

Ones that would make your teachers offer a smile and tell you to shoot a little lower, that would make your friends’ eyes widen, that your father would scoff at and your mother would humor you on just to get you to move past it.

You didn’t listen. You’ve wanted to be a lawyer since you went on a class field trip to a courthouse in elementary school and saw all the attorneys hustling about, dressed to the nines, making last-minute deals outside the courtroom.

They were just… so confident. So smart, so stoic, always knowing the answer to everything. The good ones had money, sure, but more importantly they had the power to change lives for the better. And as a kid that had to cover up bruises before the school day, nothing sounded more appealing.

All you’ve ever wanted to do is help people.

And as you sit in a cold, empty interrogation room, you can’t help but wonder where the hell you went wrong.

You don’t want to be here, obviously. But you know the FBI won’t stop bugging you until you give them answers—you know Aaron Hotchner won’t stop bugging you.

Because god— what are the odds?

What are the fucking odds of your ex-boyfriend from a decade ago showing up at your door with a badge and an attempted case against your brother?

It’s ridiculous, and it’s such bad luck that you think it could only happen to you. You’ve thought about Aaron Hotchner more than you’d like to admit over the years, especially when you found your old GW crewnecks, and the box of school supplies you used for a decade, and those photo albums from what should’ve been your golden years.

It’s not like any of it matters, though. You only agreed to come in and talk because you want them off your back and you don’t want them poking around your house. You saw it in Aaron’s eyes—he was profiling you and your place the entire time.

If the cops want to invade your privacy even further, they can get a goddamn warrant.

Your thoughts are interrupted when the door opens, and you hold back a mirthless laugh, because of course it’s Aaron. He greets you with your name, and he has a file in his hands. You wonder if it’s on you or your brother. “Thank you for taking the time out of your day to come in and talk with us.”

“Well, you seem to think my brother is a murderer.” You cross your arms as you sit back. “I’m not really gonna let that stand.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked for a lawyer,” he says as he sits down across from you.

“I don’t plan to be here for very long,” you respond tartly. “But don’t worry—that can always change. I know my rights.”

“I’m the last person you need to tell that to.” Hotch sets the file down and looks right at you. Though he’s obviously older—more grizzled, more hardened; harsher, sharper lines that define his face; lips set in a taut, unflinching line—you still see that young man from law school. The passion, the care he puts into everything, the penchant for striped ties.

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you.

“Your last name wasn’t Hartford when I met you,” he says. “Why is it now?”

“Not one for small talk,” you remark.

“I never have been.”

“I remember.” You hold his gaze. “It’s my mom’s maiden name. I changed it to put some distance between me and everything else.”

You can practically see the gears of his brain working, neural pathways branching off with every word you say to make sense of it and reason a thousand different meanings from it. Aaron’s always been like that, but it’s tenfold now.

You suppose one has to be like that, to try and get anywhere with the types of criminals they face.

“How long have you been living in St. Louis?”

“Seven years. I’ve had that house for three.”

“Rent or own?”

“Rent,” you scoff. “I don’t make enough for a down payment, and I don’t want a place tying me down.”

“What inspired the move?”

“Close enough to home to be familiar, far enough to not be.”

“And home is?”

“St. Charles,” you say, and you purse your lips. “Shouldn’t you already know all this?” You nod at the file in front of him. “It’s either on me or my brother, and we share a lot of the same info.”

“We prefer to get our information from the source,” he says.

“Sources can lie.”

Aaron doesn’t waver. “And we can charge you with obstruction if it harms our investigation.”

Your lips twitch for a moment, not entirely without heart. “Ask your questions, Aaron.”

He opens the folder and slides the first picture over to you—your brother’s first mugshot, taken when he was only twenty-one. You still remember riding your bike to the station in the sweltering August heat to drop off his bail and pick him up.

You had to catch the bus home together, you had to pay his fare, and his bail drained everything you’d been saving from your waitress job. But your dad refused to pay it, and you refused to be alone in that house any longer than you already had.

You swallow the memory. It still tastes as sour as the day it happened.

“Lucas Hartford is our main suspect,” he says. “He matches our initial profile—in and out of jail since his twenties, his parents are dead and he has an unstable home life, and he’s got a sister.”

“None of those sound like questions,” you say.

“Where is your brother?” he asks firmly. He’s given you a bit of leniency, but you can tell he’s getting tired of you. Some things never change, you think to yourself bitterly.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“You don’t know,” he repeats.

“I let him stay with me, and my only requirement is that he goes to his community college classes and stays out of jail,” you say. “He’s done both, so I don’t ask questions.”

“And you’re telling me you haven’t questioned it.”

“I called him the other day after you left,” you say. “He didn’t pick up, and I didn’t get a call back until the next night.”

Aaron’s eyes sharpen. “What did you say to him?”

“I called to see where he was,” you say evenly. “I think you all are wrong, but I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“You didn’t tell him—”

“No,” you interrupt, “I didn’t tell him about your investigation. If I think you’re wrong, why would I need to let him know?”

He still has that look in his eyes, and you know you’re getting on his nerves with the constant interrupting, the constant backtalk. But he probably deals with much, much worse.

“Good,” he nods. “You could be putting lives in danger if you do—including yours.”

“Please,” you scoff. “He won’t hurt me. He never has.”

“Why do you let him stay with you?” Aaron asks. “You’re straight-edge, he’s a borderline alcoholic that��s been in and out of jail for years. You’ve got a law degree, he never made it past high school. You’ve got your life together, his is falling apart.”

“That’s why I do it,” you say. “Our parents are dead. I’m all he has left, and he’s all I have left. I want him to get better, so I’m trying my best to help him get there. How can Luke put his life back together if he’s got no support?”

“That’s an awful lot of faith to put in someone who hasn’t earned it.”

“I’ve gotten good at that over the years,” you reply.

Aaron stares at you, and you stare back. You let the moment linger. You hope it stings, even fleetingly.

“And you’re wrong, by the way.”

“About what?” he asks. Again, unshaken.

“I don’t have a law degree,” you say. “I dropped out.”

And for some reason, that is what gets him. He frowns, and you wonder what it means that this is the most unexpected thing he’s gotten out of you.

“Why? You were only a year out. You had stellar grades.”

“My mom got cancer,” you say. “Luke was serving his second stint, Dad fucked off to some corner of the country to drink himself to death a couple months before. I was the only one left to take care of her, and I couldn’t do that from DC.”

“I had no idea.” This is the first time he looks taken aback since you’ve met him again. “And she’s—”

“Dead,” you supply without waiting for an answer. “Went a couple months after I was meant to graduate.”

“...I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. He’s just repeating what his agent said at your house, but it feels genuine, at least.

“It’s been a decade,” you say. “I’m just sorry it was her instead of my dad.”

Aaron’s brows knit together again, and less work goes into covering it up this time. “You seem to have something against your father.”

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.”

“Child abuse is common for serial killers,” Aaron says. “We find it’s typically the root of their problems later in life, or plays a part in their MO.”

You stare at him again. This isn’t just an interrogation with Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner—it’s revealing parts of your past that you never told your ex-boyfriend Aaron.

“Yeah,” you finally say. “Our dad beat us. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“You know th—”

Aaron cuts himself off before he can finish whatever he wants to say, and he lets out a short sigh with a nod. “It’s valuable information for the profile.”

The room feels a lot colder all of a sudden. “Sure.”

He still looks like he wants to say more, but he bites his tongue as he takes the picture back and closes the file.

“I’ll be back,” he says. “Would you like anything? Water?”

You shake your head and remain silent. He takes the folder and stands up, and you watch him the entire way to the door. Just before he can open it, you find words escaping without you thinking.

“Look, Aaron,” you blurt out. He pauses, and he turns to look at you. “I know this is your thing, and this is your investigation, but I’m telling you—my brother and I don’t play any part in it.”

“The profile—”

“I don’t care what your profile says,” you interrupt. “He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have done it.”

“He’s rough around the edges, I know. In and out of jail isn’t good for anyone.” You hold onto the edge of the table as you continue rambling, needing something to do with your hands. “But he’s working to get better, and he is not the kind of person to do something like this. If you believe anything I say, believe that.”

“I suppose we’ll find out,” he says evenly.

He leaves the room, and your hands fall into your lap as your nails dig into your palms. You don’t mean to be desperate, but you feel it. You’ve been defending Lucas at every chance, but you’re terrified of being wrong. You’re terrified that Aaron might be right—that he might be behind all of this.

For his sake—and your sake, honestly, because you think you deserve to be selfish when he’s all you have left—you hope you’re right.

You have to be right.

The room feels even colder.

Your stare drifts to the one-way mirror, where you know his team is watching. You saw the way Agent Prentiss watched Aaron when they came to your house—he said he doesn’t want them to know, but you think they already do.

You wonder the kind of things they’ve come up with about you and him.

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room.

“She does not like you.”

“Did you gather anything else?” he asks placidly. He sets your brother’s file down so he can fix his tie.

“Abusive dad, dead parents, criminal background,” he says. “Lucas is looking like a stronger suspect. Oh— and she really doesn’t like you.”

“If you don’t want to go back to building a file on your suspect, move on,” Hotch demands.

Morgan shrugs, clearly unfazed, but he keeps his mouth shut. Reid, meanwhile, is still staring through the glass at you. You haven’t exactly relaxed, but you’re not as tense as you were while talking to Hotch. You pick at a loose strand of thread on your sweater, and when you pull it out, you let it fall to the floor.

“Her brother feels like a prime suspect,” Reid murmurs. “I feel like I could just figure it all out if I could talk to him.”

“I told Penelope to keep an eye on him,” Prentiss contributes. “She’s tracking his cards, the car registered in his name, even called the person in charge of the AA meetings he goes to to keep an eye out—everything. We’ll know if she gets anything.”

“Serial killers want to see the damage they’ve done,” Reid says. “Things are falling apart here—the whole city is terrified. He’s gotta be in St. Louis still.”

“You’re sure that he’s still in the running.” Hotch glances back at you, and he knows he has to at least ask, for your sake. He doesn’t want to put you through anything more than he has to—not after what you’ve told him.

And Hotch knows your past is your business—he just can’t believe you never told him.

He’s turned over your relationship in his head just as many times in these past few days as he did the months after he ended things.

“I’m sure, sir,” Reid says. “I’ve read over both their files, and Lucas matches with our preliminary profile. His stressor could have been his father dying.”

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

“Family annihilators typically go after their own family for a myriad of reasons,” he says. “Paranoia, to cover up their lies, to free themselves from what they see as oppression, sometimes just pure jealousy.”

“He’s killing the parents but leaving the children alive,” Hotch says. “Sounds like a liberator to me.”

“That’s what I think,” Reid nods. “If Lucas has been banking on killing his father for that attempt at freedom, and then lost the chance?” He shrugs. “That could be why he started going for other families.”

“Other fathers to take his place,” Morgan realizes, and he nods again.

“You should talk to her, Spence,” Prentiss says. “You’ve got a handle on the profile, and you’re pretty good at conveying info. She seems like a reasonable person—just can’t accept her brother doing something like this.”

“It’s typical for someone to deny their family member’s involvement,” Reid says. “No one wants to think their sibling is a murderer.”

“If you lay it all out for her like that, with facts and the profile, I think she’ll listen.” Prentiss looks at Hotch. “She’s too closed off with you.”

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, “but it’s much easier to hate you than it is to hate Reid.”

Hotch glares at her, and Reid clears his throat to insert himself back into the conversation.

“I’d be happy to talk to her,” he says. “I know what it’s like to be in this kind of position—I can put her at ease, sympathize with her.”

They all look at Hotch, and he wants to say no. He wants to be the one to get this out of you—some part of him wants as much time with you as possible. But he decides to swallow his ego.

“Fine.” He nods, and he hands the folder to Reid. “I trust you to handle it.”

Reid nods too, far too many times, and he takes the file. “Thank you. Uh— sir. I appreciate your trust.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but it has no bite to it, and Reid walks inside.

He says your name and sits down across from you. “I’m Spencer Reid. I know we’ve already said it, but thank you for talking to us. It may not seem like it, but it goes a long way towards figuring out this case.”

You nod. You already seem more at ease than you were with him, and it makes Hotch…

Not jealous, because that would be insane. But it makes him upset that he doesn’t understand you the way he used to—that he doesn’t hold that key to you anymore. God, it feels like he doesn’t know you anymore.

Hotch doesn’t get why a side of his brain still thinks this way about you.

“They sent a new one in,” you say.

“You looked like you needed a break from Hotch,” Reid says. “Don’t worry. We all do sometimes.”

You huff a slight laugh and your posture eases, your expression softens just so. Reid was right, as usual.

“I can imagine.”

He starts talking to you about the case, laying out all the facts, and though you don’t look happy, you don’t cut him off like you cut Hotch off.

“She’s pretty,” Morgan offers, glancing at Hotch. “And stubborn. I see why you like her.”

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

He chuckles and holds his hands up, and focuses back on the interrogation.

The rest of it passes in silence, save for the occasional input from Prentiss or Morgan to elaborate on a point. You talk much more with Reid than you did with Hotch, and you don’t stare daggers at him the entire time.

Time doesn’t always heal all wounds, he thinks.

When Reid is finishing up inside with you, Morgan glances back at Hotch. “You think she’s part of this?”

He shakes his head. “No. She has no reason to kill, nothing to gain. She talks about her past too plainly—it hurt her, obviously, but it hasn’t taken over her life.”

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks.

“The more we learn, the more I suspect him,” Morgan says.

She nods in agreement. “We just have to find him.”

Hotch isn’t sure yet.

But for your sake, he hopes his gut feeling is wrong.

Spring has finally sprung in DC, and you couldn’t be happier.

It’s hard to feel down on your walks to class when the birds are singing and the sun is beaming down on you, when you see students sitting on blankets reading and talking and actually enjoying life for once.

You’re two years into law school, and it feels like you’ve spent 90% of your time studying in either the library or your room. A bit of a sad existence, but it’s made better with Aaron.

You’re laying down on a blanket—one you crocheted yourself in undergrad—resting your head on Aaron’s chest as he reads a book, the spring sun shining down on you. It feels like the first moment of relaxation either of you have had since classes started, and you chose to spend it together in the University Yard.

You should probably be studying or doing some kind of homework, but you don’t care. It has been too damn long since you’ve gotten to just sit around and exist with Aaron, and you’ve got at least a couple days until your next quiz. That’s far enough away for you.

It’s been a rough semester for both of you, between classes and endless homework, between your internship and your endless family issues—Luke is two years in, and his parole was denied, and your dad still insists on being the reason you stay on campus year-round.

You don’t think you’re pushing it when you say Aaron’s support has been the only reason you’ve gotten through it, your grades—and your mental state—relatively unscathed.

Aaron says your name, and you hum.

“Are you listening?” he asks.

“Of course,” you say.

“Your eyes are closed.”

“I don’t need my eyes to listen,” you say wryly. “What’s up?”

You feel him tense for a moment, feel him adjust his position slightly.

“I got a call from Haley,” he says carefully.

Your eyes open and you frown.

You know the name, but only in the way that you talked a bit about your past relationships while you were still getting to know each other. She was his high school girlfriend, and it was a big deal then, but they broke up before college because they both wanted different things.

It shouldn’t be a big deal now. But he’s treating it like one, and that makes you hesitate.

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

“…She’s in DC for the weekend,” he says. “Some conference for school. She asked if we could grab a coffee or something and catch up.”

You finally sit up, his hands falling from where he’d been playing with your hair, and you look at him.

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

“An old friend wants to catch up,” he corrects. “I haven’t really talked to her since we graduated high school.”

“...Okay,” you say slowly. “Do you want to see her?”

He shrugs. “I thought it would be nice.”

“Do you think she thinks it’ll be more than nice?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t even know how she got my landline. I think my mom might have given it to her.”

Your eyebrows rise. “Your mom gave your ex-girlfriend your number?”

“It’s the only way I can think of her getting it,” Aaron shrugs. “Like I said, I haven’t talked to her since graduation.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to think as you look at Aaron.

You’ve met his mom a dozen times. You’re insistent that she doesn’t like you, despite Aaron’s assertions towards the opposite—it wouldn’t surprise you if she gave this girl his new number in an effort to push him in a new direction.

But that train of thought feels a little crazy. You’re confident in your relationship with Aaron—you love him, and he loves you. God, he made an off-handed comment about marriage the other day. You’re not threatened by a girl from his past wanting to catch up.

“Go for it,” you finally say.

He frowns, like he was expecting the worst. “Really?”

“I trust you, Aaron,” you say. “You say she’s just a friend, I believe it.”

You lean forward to kiss him, your eyes fluttering shut, and it lasts much longer than it should. When you pull away, Aaron’s smiling softly at you.

“Thank you,” he says.

“‘Course,” you say, tipping a shoulder. “I’m known to be rational from time to time.”

He chuckles, and you smile as you lay back down on his chest. Soon after, you feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder.

“I love you,” he says. It feels more like a reminder than anything.

You entangle your fingers together and press a kiss to the back of his hand.

Sometimes you need reminders.

“I love you too.”

“Four more bodies,” Prentiss mutters. “God.”

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs.

Hotch is silent as he examines the father’s body. They’ve been so busy the past few days trying to nail down the profile, both on their unsub and geographically, that this happening again hadn’t been at the top of their list. There was a month between the first two, and two weeks between the second and third.

No one expected this to happen so soon.

The entire family was killed this time, and once again, the parents look similar to the other victims. It’s the work of their unsub, no doubt.

Hotch and the team had already been at the precinct for an hour going over all the information they’d found when they got the call at 8 in the morning, the bodies discovered by the family’s maid when she arrived for work.

An entire family, parents and children, senselessly slaughtered for one man’s deranged quest for liberation.

Hotch has been in this business for a long time, seen things that most people only imagine in nightmares, and he still has to take a step back when children are involved.

He sees Jack in every single one. He can’t help it.

Hotch took Prentiss and Morgan with him to the crime scene—JJ has a kid, Rossi had a kid, and he just didn’t want Reid to see it. They’ll all be more valuable working together back there anyways, and it’s imperative that JJ controls the narrative before this can break to the press.

Again, Prentiss talks to the officers at the scene and Morgan helps him examine the bodies. After all, there are double the amount.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Morgan says as he stands back up. “Our guy is killing surrogate parents to get back at his own, fine. Dad was tortured again, mom was killed with a bullet. But bringing the kids into it isn’t his thing.”

He uses a gloved hand to gingerly lift the father’s arm away from his body so he can examine the underarm. “Look at this. He’s been stabbed at least ten times, and his arm’s nearly severed from his body.”

“And his neck,” Morgan mutters. “He’s half decapitated.”

Hotch sets the arm back down. “The unsub always wants the father to suffer, but this is a new level.” He looks up at Morgan. “I don’t think he has a reason for killing the children. I think he’s getting sloppy—he’s getting overwhelmed by his anger.”

“You think he’s devolving,” he says, catching on.

“Something tells me we’re coming to the end of the line,” Hotch says. “Whatever he does next, he’s going out with a bang.”

The mood in the precinct has fallen dramatically since the last hit. The uniforms aren’t happy that they’re working around the clock, the chief isn’t happy that the BAU hasn’t figured everything out yet, and the city isn’t happy that ten murders have been committed with what they think is no end in sight.

JJ and Rossi have gone out to bring in the suspect that he and Morgan found together for the sake of covering their bases—they still haven’t been able to find Lucas, despite Reid calling you every day to check in and upping police presence around the city.

The rest of the team sits around a conference table, over a dozen coffees between them, going over everything and racking their brains for information.

“This just isn’t matching up,” Reid complains. “Lucas has just been at home for the first two, but for the third and the fourth he’s got alibis.”

“What are they?” Hotch asks.

“He was on the road all night when the third happened,” Reid says.

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks.

“Garcia picked up his debit card being used a couple times from Des Moines back to St. Louis when the third set of murders happened,” Morgan contributes. “Must’ve been a road trip, because there are stops at a gas station, a restaurant, and a rest stop.”

“The last one happened during an AA meeting he was supposed to attend,” Prentiss says. “I called the leader and she said he was there.”

“Do we have footage from any of those places?” Hotch asks. “We need to make sure.”

Reid nods. “I asked her to check it all this morning, including the AA meeting. She must still be going through it—I can’t imagine it’s easy to get all that access.”

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests.

Hotch shakes his head. “These are all meant to be personal for liberation—catharsis. Involving someone else would take away from the feeling.”

“What about your suspect?” Prentiss asks, looking at Morgan. “Could he be the unsub?”

“Patrick Fenton,” Morgan says, and he shrugs. “He fits it—dead parents, jail time, child of abuse. But he’s got two sisters, and his parents died when he was in his twenties from a car accident. I don’t see why he would start killing almost twenty years later.”

“Maybe we’ll figure something out in questioning,” Reid says hopefully.

Morgan’s phone suddenly goes off, and he hits the button to answer. “You’re on speaker, babygirl.”

“I found the security footage from those three places, the ones that Lucas was at on his supposed road trip when the third family was hit,” Garcia says, voice slightly tinny through the phone.

“And?” Hotch asks.

“I was getting there,” she says. “Lucas wasn’t there. He wasn’t on any of the footage—his sister was.”

Hotch frowns. You?

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“I’m always sure,” Garcia responds. “And I don’t know if Spencer is there, but he also wasn’t there at the AA meeting—I combed through the whole meeting, and he didn’t show up at any point. Just another guy that looked like him.”

“And you’re sure about that, too?” Hotch asks again.

“What is with this questioning of my abilities?” she asks, offended. “Yes. I’ve stared at so many pictures of Lucas Hartford over these past few days that I’ve got him burned into my brain.”

“Thanks, babygirl,” Morgan says. “We’ll call back if we need anything.”

“And you’re always welcome in this house of miracles,” she muses. Morgan chuckles before he hangs up.

“Lucas gave her his card,” Reid realizes. “It’s an easy alibi, but it falls apart when you look into it even a little bit.”

“Probably seemed solid to him at the time,” Morgan says. “He doesn’t seem like a detail oriented guy.”

Prentiss frowns. “That means he’s back on the chopping block. We can put him at the scene of every murder.”

Hotch leans over the table and grabs Lucas’s file, and he pulls out the page compiling his family. “His father died five years ago from liver failure. Hartford got out of jail last year.”

“If he’s been plotting some elaborate murder of his father for years, just to get out of jail and find out he drank himself to death?” Morgan shakes his head. “He’d snap. It doesn’t feel like justice.”

“He thinks he’s saving the kids of these parents that he kills,” Reid says. “He sees himself in them—he can’t look past his own childhood, and he assumes those kids must want their parents dead too.”

“He’s trying to get back at his dad,” Prentiss says. “We know that.”

“But that’s not his main goal,” Reid insists. “If his dad died when he was a kid, the abuse would have stopped. His mom wouldn’t be the battered wife anymore, and he wouldn’t be the battered kid.”

“His goal has always been protection,” Hotch realizes. “Yes, he’s getting his revenge by killing his father over and over, but ultimately, he’s trying to save himself.”

“But he didn’t anticipate the kids being home this time,” Prentiss says. “He had to kill them too.”

“If he‘s seeing himself in these children, recreating what he never got to do, then that means that he effectively died in this scenario,” Reid says.

“He didn’t get what he wanted,” Morgan says. “That’s gonna take a toll on him.”

“He’s coming to the end of the line,” Prentiss nods.

Hotch’s brain is working overtime as they work information off of each other. They’re so damn close—they just need the last piece of the puzzle. If they find Lucas’s next victim, they find him.

“His next crime will probably be his last before he goes out himself,” Reid says.

“You think it’ll be a murder-suicide?” Morgan asks.

“It’s common with family annihilators,” Reid says. “Hell, it’s common with anyone who sees no future beyond their murders. It’s their way out.”

And then the answer hits Hotch like a ton of bricks. Reid is still rambling next to him.

“If his dad was still alive, I’d say he would be the target. But the only one left—”

“—is his sister,” Hotch grits out, and he’s dashing out of the conference room before anyone can stop him.

“Hotch!” Morgan yells, and he turns to Prentiss with wild eyes. “Where the hell is he going?”

“The last victim,” she says as she starts following him. “The one person he never managed to save.”

“Goddammit,” Morgan curses, and he grabs his phone from the table, dialing Garcia as fast as she can while he runs. Reid is close behind him.

“What’s up, sugar?” she asks. “Got anymore leads?”

He laughs dryly. “We’ve got a big one, babygirl. Lucas has finally reached the end of the road — he’s going for his sister. I need you to call JJ and Rossi and—”

“Send them the Hartford address and fill them in on everything?” she interrupted, and he could hear her fingers flying across the keyboard. “Already on it.”

“What would I do without you?” he asks.

“Be half the man and twice as sad,” she says. “I’ve got to call JJ. Be safe, my love.”

“Always,” he responds, and he hangs up.

Hotch distantly registers Prentiss stopping by the chief to alert him of what’s going on, because he’s in the fog of a rampage. He’s in the driver’s seat before he knows it, starting the car, and he sees Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid running out after him.

Prentiss takes shotgun and Morgan and Reid file into the back, and they’ve all got Kevlar vests in their hands. He didn’t really think of that through his haze.

“We’ve got an extra one for you,” Reid says, reading his mind.

“Thank you. I— I know what you’re all thinking—” Hotch starts, but Prentiss shakes her head.

“Just drive.” Her lips set themselves in a taut line. “We’ve got a murder to stop.”

And he does.

You sit on the curb, surrounded on either side by a box of your things. Packing up everything made you realize how little you had at his place. You thought you’d integrated yourself into his life fully, but it really just took an afternoon while he was in a lecture to disappear.

Summer has fully turned to winter, and you’re as morose as the weather. This side of town looks so depressing without the warmer months to pick it up—the sidewalks are lined with dead trees, the grass is shriveled up and yellowing, and you feel like you’re living in grayscale.

A shiver runs through you, the weather only partly to blame.

Amy is supposed to pick you up, but as usual, she’s running late. You don’t know if it’s a personal issue or DC traffic has just struck again, but it doesn’t really matter. Either way, you’re stuck here, and your bad luck seems intent on making it worse, because you watch a familiar car pull around the corner.

It parks a distance away—there’s no space in front of the complex, and he always complained that they didn’t do assigned spots—and you have to hold back a scornful scoff.

Of course you have to deal with this now.

Aaron picks up his pace when he gets out of the car, surprise—and what you think is shame—painted on his face. He says your name when he slows down.

“You’re already packed.”

You shrug. “I’m nothing if not efficient.”

“I could’ve helped you with all this,” Aaron says, frowning.

“Why do you think it’s done already?” you ask.

His throat bobs and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Let me save you the pain of chivalry,” you say. “I’ve got a friend coming to pick me up. I’ve already found a place. I called your property manager the other day and argued my way out of the lease, but I still paid my next month. You’re welcome.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says.

“You know what they say about a clean break,” you intone.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron tries again. To his credit, he looks like he means it. Against his credit, it’s about the fiftieth time you’ve heard it from him in the past two weeks.

“I shouldn’t have let you get that coffee,” you say with a grim smile, “should I?”

His lips pull into a taut line. “I didn’t cheat on you.”

“I know,” you say. It’s the one thing you do believe. “I just don’t think you ever fell out of love with her.”

Mercifully, you see Amy’s car pulling up in the distance. She’s your only friend with an SUV, so at least your boxes will fit.

“My ride’s here,” you say as you stand up, and you pick up one of your boxes. Amy throws on her hazards and she gets out to open her trunk.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she breathes. “Traffic was awful, and Jake has been so annoying—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say with a slight smile as you put your box in the back. “You’re already doing me a huge favor.”

“I want us to still be friends,” Aaron calls. When you turn back, he has your other box in his hands, his expression shamelessly desperate. Amy glares daggers at him.

“Why?” you ask innocently. “So I can go without talking to you for ten years, ask you for a coffee when I’m in town, and then get you to leave Haley?”

“That’s not what happened,” he says, but you’re already shaking your head.

You take the box from him and smile thinly.

“Have a good rest of your life, Aaron. I hope it doesn’t involve me ever again.”

You let out a noise of frustration as you struggle to get the key into the lock, gritting your teeth as you try to fit it in. It’s always been finicky, but you just don’t have the energy to deal with this tonight. Thankfully, just when you start getting annoyed, you get it open.

You get a few steps in before your eyebrows rise, the sight of your brother at the kitchen table a surprise. He’s got his head in his hands, and your surprise turns to concern.

“Lucas,” you say with a slight smile, shutting the door behind you, “I didn’t know you were gonna be home tonight.”

His attention shoots to you immediately as he says your name, and he looks slightly out of it. “I was wondering when you were gonna get back.”

“Stole the words right out of my mouth,” you say wryly, and you ruffle his hair with your free hand as you walk past him. He swats your hand away in brotherly protest, and you snort. “This place has been quiet without you. Well— except for the cops. They were pretty loud.”

“They haven’t been back, have they?”

You look back at him and notice his leg is bobbing up and down insanely fast, and he keeps scratching at the soft wood of your table with his nail.

Your smile fades. “Don’t tell me you’ve been drinking.”

“Of course I haven’t,” he insists, but you turn on the kitchen light, then move closer to peer into his eyes against his protests.

“At least you’re not high,” you murmur, taking one last look before you pull away. “And stop ruining the table. I need it to last for the next ten years.”

He huffs, and you can practically hear him roll his eyes, but he stops.

“Did you go to class today?”

“You don’t have to act like Mom,” Lucas says, crossing his arms again with another huff.

“And you don’t have to act like a child.” You roll your eyes as you set your tote bag on the countertop and begin unpacking the groceries you bought. “I’m asking you about your day—that’s definitely not acting like Mom.”

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

“Good.” You glance back at him. “I’m proud of you, Luke. You’ve been making progress.”

His smile is a bit thin, but he nods. “Thanks. How was work?”

You scoff and shake your head as you put a couple things in the pantry. “Don’t even get me started. I swear, Marie’s going to get me fired someday if she keeps her bullshit up.”

“She’s still on it?” Luke asks, and you can’t help but smile a bit.

“Don’t act like you know what I’m talking about,” you say. “Just agree with me.”

“I agree with you,” he says.

“That’s it,” you muse.

Your eyes fall back on your bag, and you’re reminded of what you meant to do next time your brother showed up.

“Oh—” You go back over to the kitchen table for your bag and pull out your wallet. You slide a debit card out and hold it out to your brother. “Thanks for letting me use it while I was up in Des Moines. I finally got my bank to get rid of the freeze on my card.”

“...Of course,” he says, and he takes it back. “Glad I could help.”

“I’ll pay you back, obviously,” you say as you get back to your groceries. “I just have to wait to get paid again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “And uh— you never answered me. Did the cops come by again?”

You huff a mirthless laugh and shake your head. “You have nothing to worry about, Luke. I think they finally realized they were barking up the wrong tree.”

“…Good,” he says. “I can tell they’ve stressing you out.”

“Like that looks any different than my normal state,” you say wryly. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad.”

You recall the shock you felt when you opened the door to Aaron, and how nervous you were on the drive to the precinct. It’s almost been a decade, and yet he still has an effect on you that he has no right to.

“You remember that guy I dated when I was still in law school? Aaron Hotchner?”

“I think? I was in jail, so.”

You roll your eyes. “I know I told you about him when I visited you while we were together.”

“I remember you telling me how he broke your heart,” Luke says.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That he’s with the FBI now. The BAU,” you enunciate, and you huff. “He’s one of the guys on this case, coincidence that it is. They came here—they even brought me in for an interview.”

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

“The truth.” You pull your cutting board and a knife out of a drawer and get to work washing your vegetables. “That I didn’t know anything, and neither of us are involved in either way.” You shake your head with a sigh. “They must believe it, because they haven’t come back.”

“What have they said about me?” he asks.

“I’m not supposed to say.” You roll your eyes. “I think you’re innocent, but I could get charged with obstruction, and I really don’t feel like dealing with that…”

You trail off into a sigh as you finish washing the peppers and set them on a towel. “I hope they find whoever’s doing it, though. It is freaking me out that there’s a murderer out there.”

You pick up your knife and start cutting them up—they’re not the freshest, but it’s all Kroger had after work—and you glance back at Luke. “You really shouldn’t be going out so often with this going on, y’know. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m careful.”

“I doubt that,” you say wryly. “Still, though. I worry about you.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” he asks. “I’m your older brother.”

“I worry about everything,” you say. “It’s my thing.”

You hear him huff a laugh and you smile a bit to yourself. You get through your first pepper before you remember what’s been nagging at you your whole ride home.

“Oh— can you get the TV?” you ask. “Channel 8, I think. Marcy is getting interviewed for something with her nonprofit, and I told her I’d record it for her.”

Lucas doesn’t respond, though you hear the scrape of the chair as he gets up.

“Thank you,” you say. “I think they have a fundraiser coming up or something…” you trail off and shake your head as you scrape the cut peppers onto a plate. “God. I need to start paying attention in the break room.”

Another few seconds pass, and you don’t hear the television switch on. You huff and turn your head slightly. “Luke, I’m making dinner tonight. This is the least you could do.”

“I’m sorry.”

The words come out as a murmur, but you can tell he’s much closer than he was before.

You don’t even get the chance to turn around before something crashes against your head and your vision goes dark. You feel yourself fall to the ground, and your head hits the floor hard.

Then, there’s nothing.

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is.

The station isn’t too far from your house, but it’s still too far. All he can see is your body, crippled and lifeless just like every other victim they’ve had to look at.

It should never have gotten to this point. Lucas has been a suspect for the first day, but they looked to other suspects, got caught up in statements from neighbors and the kids of the victims.

If Hotch just found him and booked him on the first day, this wouldn’t be happening. Your life wouldn’t be in danger.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“I seriously think we’re looking at a murder-suicide if this gets to play out,” Reid speaks up from the backseat. “This is his way of ending this for both of them—the ultimate protection of his sister.”

“No one can hurt her if she’s dead,” Morgan mutters.

“Hotch,” Prentiss starts, treading carefully, “are you sure you’re okay to lead this?”

“Yes,” he says, though he wants to say what kind of question is that?

You were together a lifetime ago in law school, yes, and he might still have feelings for you that he didn’t even realize were there, yes—but he’s an agent and a professional before all of that.

It doesn’t matter that you have history. It doesn’t matter that you likely hate him.

It doesn’t matter that he thought he was going to marry you one day, and then was watching you drive out of his life after he got back with his high school girlfriend another day.

Aaron Hotchner is not going to let you die. It’s as simple as that.

Hotch’s phone rings and he picks it up and flips it open immediately. “Talk to me, Garcia.”

“JJ and Rossi are on their way,” she says. “Are you headed to their place?”

“Yes,” he says, and he puts it on speaker. “I’ve got Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid with me still.”

“Do you think there’s anywhere else he could be?” Morgan asks. “If he’s going to kill her, he might not want to do it in this house.”

“Already a step ahead of you, my love,” she says, and he can hear mouse clicks through the phone. “They grew up in a house in St. Charles—it’s abandoned, from the looks of it, some place on the outskirts. Never got another buyer after the past owners moved out. I’m sending the address to Emily right now.”

Prentiss gets a buzz on her phone and she nods in confirmation after flipping it open. Hotch immediately switches lanes and makes a U-turn, his jaw clenching.

“Tell me how to get there, Prentiss,” he says. “He’s there.”

“You need to get on I-70,” she says, and then her brow furrows. “How do you know?”

“He’s killed everyone else in their homes because he sees it as the source of it all. His sister’s rented place isn’t personal enough.” Hotch shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t he want to go back to theirs to end it all?”

“Hotch.” Penelope’s voice rings out in the car, and he doesn’t even realize he forgot to hang up.

“What?”

“Be careful,” she says, and he rushes to turn it off speaker and press it to his ear. “I… I know how important this is to you.”

Hotch’s throat bobs and his eyes burn with the beginnings of tears. He blinks them away—he can’t be weak now. He can’t let his team see him be weak now. “Dare I ask how?”

“I found an article about GW’s mock trial team,” she says. “Kind of went down a rabbit hole from there.”

Somehow, he huffs the slightest laugh. It feels like a lifetime ago—it honestly is, at this point. Before he saw carnage and gore on a daily basis and tried to solve it, when he thought the DA’s office was the endpoint, when he came home to your smiling face every night.

And now…

Hotch’s spine somehow stiffens, and he knows the other three in the car are watching him. He can’t decide whether he cares or not.

“Thank you, Garcia.”

“No problem,” she says, and he can almost hear her blink in the pause. “Uh— for what, exactly?”

For the memory, he wants to say. But he doesn’t. He can’t, not right now, so he tries his best to snap out of it.

“Keep a watch on the patrol cars,” he says instead. “Update JJ and Rossi on our plan, but tell them to stay on their path. I’m sure I’m right, but we need to cover our bases.”

“Of course, sir.” He hears her fingers flying across the keys. “I’ve got yours and the squad cars’ locations up—I’ll call them now.”

“Thank you,” he says.

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly.

Hotch hangs up before he gets too emotional. Penelope has a way of bringing that side out of him.

“We’ll get him,” Prentiss assures. She’s been watching him this whole time, he can feel it—she’s been attuned far too keenly on this entire part of the case involving you and him. “And we’ll save her.”

His knuckles go white around the steering wheel, and for once, Hotch can’t find the words.

It feels like your head is slowly being cranked in a vice when you eventually wake up, a dull but insistent pain. Your arm stings too, but you don’t know why.

You blink a few times as you try to figure out where you are, a low groan slipping out as you fully come back into consciousness, and you move to rub the grogginess out of your eyes.

Your arms don’t move. You try again, panic spiking your heart for a moment, and that’s when you realize you’re in a chair—tied to a chair, your wrists bound together behind you and your ankles bound to the chair legs.

Now the panic fully sets in. There’s a murderer in St. Louis, but you don’t fit the victimology from what you’ve seen, but does any of that fucking matter when you’re stuck in something out of a horror movie?

Lucas was the only one there with you. So either he’s in the same situation, or he—

“You’re finally awake,” a voice murmurs. When he comes into view and sits down across from you, your heart stops.

For a moment, all you can do is stare at your brother with wide eyes. You see the gun in his hand through your peripherals, but you don’t look away from his gaze.

“I was worried I was too rough,” he says softly. “But you’ve always been resilient.”

“Lucas,” you breathe. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s finally going to be over,” he says, ignoring your panic. “We’ve been hurting our whole lives because of that bastard of a father, and I can finally make it all stop.”

Your brother is fucking crazy. He’s fucking crazy, and he’s going to kill you.

You’ve spent two weeks telling Aaron he was crazy and your brother was innocent, and now he’s going to be proven right when he finds your dead body.

You try to tamp down on your panic. You don’t have a law degree, sure, and you never officially practiced, but you’ve been a good speaker, a persuasive one, all your life.

And if there’s ever been a fucking time to be persuasive, it’s now.

“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper. “We— we can talk if you want to talk.” You tug at your ankle restraints. “This is unnecessary.”

He shakes his head. “I know you. You’d run.”

“Come on.” You manage as much of a smile as you can. “I’ve always been there for you, Luke. Why would this be any different?”

“...You’ve always been too nice,” he says, and he sets the gun down on his leg. At least he doesn’t have his finger on the trigger. “Anyone rational would’ve kicked me to the curb when I asked you for help.”

“You’re my brother,” you whisper. “I— I love you, Lucas. I’d never do that to you.”

“Family’s supposed to be everything, right?” He shakes his head. “You were the only one of us that understood that. You were there to pick me up every time my sentence was up.”

“I’ve always believed in you,” you say.

He huffs a monotone laugh as he stares at the ground. “You’re definitely the only one.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true.”

“Mom didn’t care enough to stop anything,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “And Dad wished I was dead every goddamn day. He didn’t have the guts to do it himself, but he definitely tried.”

You can’t defend your parents. Your dad’s a piece of shit, and your mom didn’t stop anything he did—but you could never find it in yourself to fully hate her because he hurt her too, with more than just bruises.

“I’ve dreamt of killing our dad every day for twenty years,” Lucas says. “And that old bastard had to fuck me over one last time and die while I was in jail.”

You remember when you got the news. You were next of kin—your mother had divorced him by then, and your brother was incarcerated—so you got the call from the hospital. You deliberated for hours before you bought a plane ticket to Montana—apparently that was where he fucked off to drink himself to death—and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt more numb than when you were sitting in some lawyer’s office, listening to him drone on about his will and how his estate would be divided.

“So you killed all of those people?” you asked. “Because you didn’t get to kill our dad first?”

“I was saving those kids!” Luke yells, and you shrink in on yourself. “Saving them before their parents could fuck them up like ours did to us!”

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeat. “You’re just letting Dad win. Proving every shitty thing he said about you.”

“And that’s the zinger, isn’t it? Luke laughs and shakes his head. “He was right. We’re a whole family of fuck-ups. An alcoholic abuser, a battered wife, a nonstop jailbird, and you…” He shakes his head with a sigh. “You should be out there prosecuting people like me.”

“He ruined us,” Luke murmurs. “And I’m finally going to fix it.”

All you can do is stare at your brother, wide and teary eyed. You can’t find the words, but you don’t have to.

Police sirens begin to filter through the air as they get closer, and Luke huffs. “Of course.” He eyes you. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly.

When he leaves to peer out the front door, you take a second to look at your surroundings. It takes a second because they’re so decrepit, but you could never forget.

Luke brought you back to your childhood home—the place in St. Charles, rotten down to its bones. It’s abandoned by now, but the atmosphere is nothing less than oppressive. There’s a reason you graduated high school a year early, why you never came back once you got to college—except with Aaron, to help your mom move her things out.

You refuse to die here. Even if you have to claw back through the gates of Hell inch by inch—you will not die here.

You hear footsteps, and when Lucas comes back in, he has a crazed glint in his eye. He shakes his head as his finger returns back to the trigger, and you can’t help but flinch. He won’t. Not now.

“Looks like your friends the FBI are here,” he drawls. “You said you didn’t tell them anything.”

“I didn’t,” you insist. “They’re profilers—they figure things out.”

He shakes his head. “They don’t realize that I have to do this.” Luke kneels down in front of you and takes your chin in an iron grip. “This is the only way to end our pain.”

He lets go of you then stands up, moving behind you—you want to protest, but you don’t get the chance. He presses his gun to your temple and then the door is broken down. Four agents rush in, guns at the ready. Aaron leads them, and he’s got fire blazing in his eyes.

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

Lucas doesn’t seem fazed, his breathing staying the same. You stare right at Aaron, unfiltered fear in your eyes, and you feel torn bare. He’s going to watch your brother put a bullet in your head.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he says smoothly. “This is a family matter.”

“Put the gun down, Lucas,” Aaron says.

“You know my name,” he says. “I know yours too, Aaron Hotchner. My sister told me you were with the feds. She also told me you broke her heart.”

“Put the gun down,” he repeats.

“I don’t think I will,” Luke says. “You see, I don’t go around just kidnapping people for fun. I have a purpose here.” He tilts his head to the side. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re all profilers.”

“You’ve been targeting families that look like your own,” he says. “You think that killing them will end the pain inside you, and protect those kids in a way that you never got.”

“I don’t think it,” he bites, “I know it. If my dad had been shot thirty years ago, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“This isn’t going to bring you peace,” Aaron says. “Your sister has been the only person to stay by your side through every part of your life. Do you really want to lose that?”

“Trust me,” Luke says. “I’m not losing her.”

He flicks the safety off and you flinch. He’s going to kill you.

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns.

“If you all don’t leave right now, I’ll shoot her.” Your whole body stiffens as he presses the gun harder into the side of your head, your breathing going off kilter. “Except you, Aaron Hotchner. You can stay.”

“We’re not doing that,” the woman says. Agent Prentiss, you think.

“Really?” Luke chuckles. “You think you hold the cards here?”

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.”

Agent Prentiss frowns, and the other two men look different levels of puzzled. They obviously doubt the decision, but they don’t doubt Aaron, because one by one, they leave.

“Wow,” Luke muses. “They really trust you.”

“Because I know you don’t want to hurt her,” Aaron says. “Deep down, you know you’re not protecting her. Not by hurting her.”

“I’m not hurting her,” he says. “She’s always been the one to keep me safe over the years—I’m finally paying the favor back. I’m finally taking her pain away.”

“You were abused as children. Both of you.” Aaron looks at your brother. “Your sister always tried to protect you, but it never worked. It just made it worse for her, and it made you feel worthless. You’re her older brother. You’re the one that was supposed to protect her.”

“My sister said you’re profilers,” he says, and though his tone is lazy, you know your brother. You can tell it’s starting to get to him. “Is that what you’re doing right now? Profiling me?”

“You would never be good enough for your father, and your mother would never do anything to stop it,” Aaron continues. “All you had was your sister, and even that wasn’t good enough—you hurt her just as much as your dad did. At least your dad didn’t think he was a good person.”

Luke growls, and he puts a hand on your shoulder to pull you closer to him. “Shut up.”

“Your sister has told me you can be more than this,” he says. “And I think she’s right. You’re better than this—better than living between the margins and jail.”

“I’ve had a hole in my chest since I was born,” Luke mutters. “And I’ve tried to stop it, but it’s just grown and grown and grown. This— this aching pit of pain, and he caused it. You’ve got it too— I know it.”

“I— I do,” you say. And you’re not lying. You’ve had a pit of despair in you for as long as you can remember. The only difference is that you’ve fought every goddamn day of your life to keep it from consuming you. “And it hurts, Luke. Trust me, I know. It took me so long to even be able to deal with it, but I know how to. I can help you—we can both walk out of here.”

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” you plead. “I love you, Luke. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life helping you if that’s what it takes to get rid of that hole.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. For a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him. Aaron never takes his eyes away from you.

“I’ve never been able to protect her,” Luke murmurs. “Not from our dad, not from the world, not even from you, Aaron Hotchner.” He presses the gun harder than ever into your head, like he wants to bury the metal in your skull along with the bullet. “But that all ends now.”

You screw your eyes shut. You don’t want to see Aaron’s face when your brother kills you.

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it.

There’s two gunshots, almost at the same time. You scream, first because of the gunshots, then because of the sudden roaring pain in your side. There’s a thud next to you, your eyes shoot open, and you see your brother’s lifeless body fall to the ground.

You scream again—you can’t even control it, it just rips out of you at the sight of the hole in his head and the blood pooling beneath it—and Aaron drops his gun to rush forward. The rest of his team thunders in after him, all in guns and bulletproof vests, and they’re talking, but you can’t focus on a single goddamn thing because your brother’s dead body is right next to you.

Aaron pulls out a pocket knife and begins to cut through your restraints, and the instant he finishes you collapse. He catches you without a second thought, and you immediately wrap your arms around him.

Torrential sobs wrack your entire body as you bury your face in the crook of his shoulder, every part of you shaking as the reality of it all hits with full force.

Your brother is a serial killer. He killed ten people, he tried to kill you. And now he’s dead.

The only part you had left of your family—gone, just like that, with four other families ruined in his wake.

Aaron’s soft voice in your ear is the only thing bringing you back from the edge of hyperventilation, his own hold on you the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs and he shrugs off his windbreaker to wrap it around your arms. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

“He’s gone,” you choke out, voice muffled as you speak into his chest. “He’s gone, and he tried to—”

A fresh round of emotions hit you, unable to get the words out, and you fully break down in Aaron’s arms.

“I know.”

Aaron’s fingers linger on your side and you feel some dull pain, but you feel his breath still for a moment.

“You were shot,” he says with your name. “We have to get you to a hospital.”

You don’t even feel it. God, you don’t feel anything. There’s a distant ringing in your ears, an insistent pain in your skull, and you finally realize Aaron is right when you pull away and see the blood on his fingers.

But black spots start to fill your vision. You may not feel it, but your body holds the score. The pain intensifies in your side as your adrenaline starts to slow down, and you collapse against Aaron.

“Get an EMT in here!” he yells, keeping an arm wrapped around you. “We’ve got a GSW— she’s losing blood fast!”

You can feel Aaron’s rapid heartbeat, can feel his steady arms as he keeps you propped up. You feel the warmth of his body, feel the warmth draining out of yours.

“Aaron,” you whisper, your strength fading. You don’t think he hears you.

He helps you up and you’re suddenly hoisted onto a stretcher, and he’s beside you as the EMTs run you out of your childhood home. The night is a blurry canvas of red and blue lights, and your eyelids feel like they’re made of concrete.

“Aaron,” you try again, and you have enough left in you to grasp his cheek. “Thank you.”

And as the world goes black around you for the second time, you see his lips form your name.

It’s not a bad thing, you think before darkness overtakes you, for Aaron Hotchner to be the last thing you see before you die.

You wake up in the hospital alone.

You don’t know what you expect. You have few acquaintances, fewer friends, and the last part of your family is dead after he tried to kill you.

The real surprise is that you wake up at all.

Lucas is dead.

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded.

You let out a slow, even breath, accompanied only by the sounds of beeping machines. It still doesn’t exactly feel real.

You’ve spent the last two weeks defending your brother against every accusation, and you ended it in the hospital—well and truly alone for the first time in your life.

You look at the television. Some muted soccer game is playing, and you’re thankful. You were worried that you and your brother would be the topic of the day.

Who are you kidding? You’re going to be the topic of the year. He killed ten people. He tried to kill you, and you think he nearly did. He shot you, after all.

You let your head fall back against the pillow. All of your limbs feel insurmountably heavy, your side aches like hell, and you’ve got the worst headache of your life.

And you can’t stop playing it all over in your mind.

He was going to kill you.

Your own brother, your flesh and blood, the only person you had left, tried to kill you and would have killed you had it not been for the BAU.

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner.

The door opens and someone walks through, your eyes following the movement, and when he sees it, he pauses. And so do you—apparently the devil appears even when you think of him.

“You’re awake,” Aaron says after a moment. It’s the third time he’s sounded surprised since you’ve met him again. Seeing you, finding out your mom is dead, seeing you.

But there’s relief there, too.

He has a coffee in his hand and his tie is undone, the sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up to his forearms. It makes you realize his suit jacket has been slung over the back of the chair near your bedside.

“How long have you been here?” you ask, your brows furrowing ever so slightly.

Aaron closes the door and sets his coffee on the table before he answers you. “Three days.”

“And how long have I been here?”

“Three days,” he says. “You suffered head trauma, they discovered drugs in your system, and… you were shot. You had to go into emergency surgery.”

You frown, and he answers before you can ask any of them. “…Your brother. After he knocked you out, he used something to… keep you out. And after I shot him, he still got one off—thankfully, as he was falling. The bullet hit you in the side instead of the head.”

“How bad was it?” you ask.

Aaron glances away. “You died on the table. They managed to bring you back, but…”

“I guess Luke did succeed,” you say absentmindedly. Aaron doesn’t laugh, and you glance away too. “Sorry. Bad time for jokes.”

He shakes his head. “If anyone’s allowed to joke about this, it’s you.”

Your lips twitch for a moment, but then you look back at him as he takes a seat at your bedside again. He looks— god, he just looks tired. Tired and ragged and downtrod, and you can’t imagine you look much better.

“You were out for two days after,” he explains. “This is the first time you’ve woken up.”

“Why are you here, Aaron?” you ask quietly. “Why have you been here?”

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up, and you feel the telltale pinpricks of tears. You blink them away before they can start.

“My brother was a serial killer, Aaron.” Your hands clench into fists as you stare at the wall. “He killed ten people while he was living with me and I— and I didn’t even fucking notice.” Your gaze moves back to him. “I went against all of you because I thought I knew him, and look where it got me.”

“It’s not a crime to want to see the best in people,” he says. “Especially your family.”

“It’s a crime to fucking murder people,” you huff, and it’s only slightly unhinged. “I— I thought I knew him, and I didn’t. And if I did, maybe none of these people would’ve had to die.”

“Don’t blame this on yourself,” Aaron demands. “Lucas was lost. Mentally ill. He was on a path for revenge, for his deranged idea of protection—nothing you could have said or done would have stopped him.”

You shake your head. “It might be easy for you to say that, Aaron, but I— I can’t. He’s my brother. I gave him a place to live, I gave him easy access to families— god, I fought with you all for two weeks about his innocence, all while he was planning his next fucking murder!”

“It is not your fault,” he repeats, slower and enunciating the words. “He was the only member left of your family, and you loved him. You were just stubborn, and that’s nothing new.”

“I just don’t know what to do.” You’ve had these walls up for so long, especially this past week, and now that everything’s come to a head and you’re in the hospital and your fucking brother is dead, the floodgates have opened. “I have to plan a funeral because I’m the only one left to plan one, but— but does he even deserve one? He’s a serial killer, and he tried to kill me for god’s sake, but he’s my brother and even though he’s gone he’s still all I have left and—”

You break off as you suck in a huge breath of air, the notion shaky as you clench your hands into fists to keep the rest of your body from doing the same.

“And I just don’t know what to do,” you repeat, barely a whisper.

You meet Aaron’s eyes, almost desperately. You feel like you’ll shatter into a million different pieces if you even breathe wrong and he might be the only solid thing in your life.

“Whatever you do,” he says, “you don’t have to do it alone. Not if you don’t want to.”

“Aaron,” you start shakily, but he continues.

“I know what you think, and that’s not what I’m suggesting.” Aaron pauses for a moment, and it’s obvious how carefully he’s crafting his words. “I’ve… always regretted how we left things. And I regret losing touch with you. This isn’t the way I would’ve liked to meet you again. But I’m thankful I have.”

He pulls a card out of his shirt pocket and holds it out to you. You realize it’s his business card, and it’s got his number.

“I’m sorry for the formality,” he says dryly, “but I don’t exactly go around prepared to give out my number for purposes other than work.”

You take it without giving yourself the chance to think about it. You run your finger around the sharp edge of the cardstock, pressing the pad of your thumb against the corner.

“Years ago, you wished me a good life, and that you didn’t want to be involved in it,” he says, still treading carefully. You can’t believe he remembers the last thing you said to him. “But— but a lot has changed since then, and I hope that has as well.”

“I’d like you to be a part of my life again,” Aaron finally says, “if you want to be a part of mine.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Two and a half years of law school flash behind your eyes—coffee shop dates and endless hours spent studying at the library. Movie nights cuddled on his couch, hauling boxes out of your house at an ungodly hour to get away from your roommates. An unhealthy amount of all-nighters immediately followed by going out to celebrate a miracle of an A on an exam. Getting through every soul-sucking part of earning a J.D. together, falling apart before either of you could make it to the other side, and somehow…

Somehow, you’ve ended up on a completely different side together.

“My life isn’t going to be easy,” you say faintly. “Especially… moving through this.”

“My life isn’t easy either,” he says. “I’m divorced with a kid and I try to solve murders every day.”

“It’s not a contest.” An attempt at a joke, but it falls flat for you. Aaron’s lips still quirk at the edges the slightest bit.

“Getting through this certainly won’t be easy,” he agrees. “But I have more experience than most in these sorts of things. So if you ever need anything, call. Please.”

“I imagine you’re pretty busy,” you murmur. “Unit chief and all.”

Aaron shrugs. “I make time for the things I care about.”

Thankfully, you don’t have to figure out how to respond to that, because there’s a knock on the door, and a nurse walks in after you call a come in.

“It’s good to finally see you awake, sweetheart,” the nurse says with a smile. It warms you from the inside out.

“It’s nice to be awake,” you say. Her smile widens and she moves over to the computer in the side of the room—to add some things before she makes her checkup, you assume.

“I’ll give you some time alone,” Aaron says.

Before he can stand up, you grab his hand. It’s fully on instinct, and he looks just as surprised as you feel.

“Don’t go,” you plead, and it’s almost a whisper. “I— just— please.”

Aaron stares at you for a moment, that shock glinting in his eyes before it transforms into something a lot warmer. He nods and sits down.

“Okay.”

And he stays.

This time, he stays.

#i was truly possessed while writing this i can't understand it #i wrote 15k words in 5 days #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner imagine #sadie writes

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chococoveredsmores · 1 year

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miguel as pseudo big brother to a reader kinda similar to miles? i was thinking abt that one scene in the first movie when sp//dr broke down and noir carried peni n started feening for platonic miguel 🥹🥹

MIGUEL O'HARA as a big brother figure

yes sorry kinda evil gif choice. anyway listen it is literally my second day on the job so i'm so sorry if miguel is ooc in Any way

despite being such a stoic on the outside, miguel would lowkey have a soft spot for you. he is a big man with a big wall but damn are you so good at climbing over that damn wall

think those tiktoks of how miguel would have a soft spot for mayday and like burst into tears at her sight but he hides it for you bcus he needs to act Cool™ around the team.

he wouldn't outwardly show affection through physical touch or anything, but the GESTURES !! OH THE GESTURES !!

his love languages are definitely gift giving and acts of service!!

also he struggles in communicating his appreciation for you directly but you can definitely see it through the small acts he does for you everyday, like taking the time to check on your mental state every other day (he's trying his best okay).

if he's passing by the cafeteria to get an empanada or something as a snack, he's also buying a whole meal for you whether you like it or not. if you already had lunch he does Not care and you will take it.

he definitely does push you harder, but only because he knows you're capable of so much.

As you run your errands in spider-society, somehow balancing your bio homework that was due the next hour along with the numerous tasks assigned against the multiversal anomalies popping up everywhere. Overwhelmed was an understatement for how you were feeling—that's when a notif popped up on your watch, summoning you to Miguel's spidercave (whatever they call it). "What is it this time?" You say begrudgingly, a little pissed off that your own damn boss summoned you while you were so busy. "Have you forgotten about your own task report? The one issued around a week ago?" Miguel doesn't even face you properly, face obstructed by his countless computer screens. Well, looks like this isn't even worth his damn time.

Sighing, you shuffle through your backpack, past the textbooks and random pens and trinkets before finding a crumpled sheet of paper that you pass to him. "...And can you tell me exactly what this means?" Miguel attempts to smoothen out the report to not much avail, and your unintelligible writing is... something for sure. "Well, so ya see—" What would've been your explanation was cut off by a loud rumble, originating from your stomach. GLRLGLRGLRLGLRGLRLGLR. "..."

"......."

After what could've been the most awkward silence in your life, Miguel finally breaks the ice with a question you didn't really have an answer to.

"When was the last time you've eaten?" "Um..." —Your stomach threatened to roar again— "Like, yesterday night..." "And do you know what time it is?" "....4 in the afternoon? "Ay, coño..." Miguel mutters to himself, as he presses two fingers to his forehead in disappointment.

"No, listen, it's just that I couldn't really eat because I had this biology thing that I had to finish today and I'm not really done with it yet and I hate bio and our teacher sucks and the anomalies too and—" "Okay, okay! I get it!" Your frantic attempts to defend yourself are then abruptly interrupted by the toss of a still-warm empanada container, along with a bottle of water stuck to it via spiderweb. Your eyes immediately brighten up at the sight of food, and your muscles tug into a smile at the man you were so fiercely defending yourself against two seconds ago. "Thank you, thank you!" When the hell did he get that and why save it for me? "Yeah, yeah. Just leave." Miguel spat out, a twinge of embarrassment showing through his features. As you waltz out the room, merienda* in hand, he watches you, not noticing the slight smile forming in his lips.

*merienda is like a snack you eat midway through the afternoon! since its 4pm i thought that was much more fitting than like dinner or something

shoutout to vyn (@prinzevyn) for the help w miguel's character!! unfortunately not awake to beta read aaaAaahhh......

#sorry anon if this isnt what u were expecting #reader is so much of a bratty teenager here because the sibling dynamics i know the most are that of bantering #across the spiderverse #atsv #atsv x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miles morales x reader #miguel o'hara #platonic reader #platonic love #platonic miguel o'hara #spiderverse

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fuumiku · 2 months

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Chilcille huh... ngl I was a little suspicious. like why would you do that, huh... hope youre not mischaracterizing anyone in your weird and wacky ship. a little weird. but then you said they both had flat asses and you know what? I salute you and your perfect characterization

The fact you seem to think you managed to not make this ask insulting is baffling. What the hell. Fuck off.

If you actually care to be open minded about the ship, I talk about marchil on my sideblog 24/7. Funnily enough I’m currently 4k words deep into an analysis of their character arc together in canon, but that’ll take some more days to get done. Some notable posts:

Of course without counting the analyses of Chilchuck on his own I’ve made, like my masterpost on his family situation. Or better yet you could also read my fics for them, see how weird and wacky they are here.

Wanna talk about mischaracterisation? They’re literally a comedic duo who interacts 24/7. Marchil is crazy bc ppl are like "did those shipper read with their eyes CLOSED?? They have no chemistry!" Meanwhile canon is like: "She’s obsessed with knowing everything she can about him and she reads him like a book." In her eyes he’s like that extra rare and hard and shiny unlockable dating sim character, that brooding mysterious character trope that’s thrilling to crack open and typically is at the center of the plot. The wife roleplay???? "Hey, did you know his type is blondes. Hey did you know he likes his women pretty and blonde. Hey did you know he likes her hair. Hey did you know that he teases her 24/7 and it’s one of the few things that consistently gets him grinning because he finds her reactions cute." Like a schoolyard bully pulling on the pigtails of the girl he likes.

It’s not like they have any thematic narratives or relevance. It’s not like she’ll live to 1000 and has existential dread about it while he’s logically gonna be her next friend to die at 50 and wether it’s romantic or platonic it’ll terrify her to lose him. It’s not like it’s fear of death x fear of rejection so they’re both obsessed with the thought of loss looming, past and ongoing. It’s not like it’s half-elf x half-foot and there’s an inherent journey that was and still is to dispel prejudices and truly come to see each other. It’s not like he’s painfully real and raw and flawed but still a good man, that he’s not the figure of prince charming that she’s always dreamed of while still being virtuous and worth fighting for. Or you know, her hair being golden and it being the epitome of beauty to him, and his hair turning silver and it being Marcille’s worst nightmare.

Just a weird wacky ship who means nothing but shallow things to people who have weirdo reasons for liking it. Like can you not. If you’re not imaginative enough to think of reasons why this ship may have an appealing dynamic that’s not my issue. But yes, yes, they’re both flat asses to me, thanks.

#Dungeon meshi #Ask #Spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #Marcille donato #chilchuck tims #Marchil #You me the parking lot after i finish and post my arc analysis #Sobbing……… we’re 20 over here in the rarepair pit come on. Like do u not see how obsessed i am. Do u think they like. Mean nothing to me #Do u think it’s all incidental and i slipped and the 10 thousands of words I write for them had no thought or feelings behind them or #Their arc is so beautifuuuuul they come to see each other and her standards become more real while he allows hope and openness #Into his heart again 😭😭 not the way two of their scenes lowkey read as a proposal…#Anyways I hope this makes it clear I’ll fight to my dying breath for them.#I don’t want trouble and i imagine you don’t either so just don’t come shitting on my doorstep #In positive news my fic Grind Me Down Sweetly recently reached 100 likes and 1k hits <3 it can also be read as just platonic so if you like #Them as a duo even as friends give it a shot #Every time I see someone shitting on marchil I start making marchil content faster btw #Not art

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miguelhugger2099 · 5 months

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That Day

Summary: Where you're living your lovely life as the wife of Miguel's variant and Spiderverse Miguel doesn't bother yall C: This was originally two separate stories but I decided to combine it and it took a lot of work. It's a little long too so please take the time to sit down and enjoy it! :) Miguel x Fem!Reader, Fluff, Reader does speak/understand Spanish (Translation at the end), Proofread a little bit, Angst, Word Count: 3,146

“Up you go. C’mon, muñequita. Levántate.” Miguel nudged Gabriella awake. She groaned and tugged her blanket closer to her body, turning away from Miguel into a little burrito.

“No,” she whined. “Just five more minutes, papí.” Miguel leaned down and grabbed her little burrito body to make her sit up. Her hair was a mess, small strands of wavy hair poked out of place, her eyes were still shut and eyebrows furrowed.

“But it’s time for school, mija. You know this. Apúrate. Mamí made breakfast.” Miguel patted her back while Gabriella stretched, moaning as she did so. She slouched and rubbed her eyes, half-awake and half-listening. Gabriella nodded, mumbling some nonsense that Miguel took as acceptance, ruffling her already wild hair and left her room with the door open.

He made his way down the steps and towards the kitchen where you were making breakfast. The smell of food waved in the air and through the house while you had your hair pulled back. The sizzling of eggs disguised Miguel's footsteps towards you. He slipped his arms around your waist and pulled you back against him to meet his hips. He nuzzled into your shoulder, pressing soft kisses on your skin and trailing his lips up your neck. “Good morning, hermosa.” He mumbled against you.

You smiled as you continued to cook, your eyes never leaving the pan. “Good morning, again.” Miguel’s lips became ticklish and you tried moving away from him but his arms only held you tighter to keep you close to him. You felt his lips curl into a grin as you chastised him. The two of you had already said your good mornings to each other earlier where you had woken him up and he retaliated by peppering kisses along your face. His hands could barely be kept off your body while he felt every dip and curve you had to offer and he relished in your sleepy giggles while the sun came up; a little moment paradise before waking your beautiful little girl for school.

Miguel’s fingers gently played with the hem of your shirt, slipping underneath to feel and caress your stomach. “Can I help you with anything?” He murmured. His hands left your shirt, placing them on your hips as he stood straight again.

You shook your head. “Just about done anyway. Gabi woke up?” You asked. Miguel nodded, mindlessly trailing his hands up and down your body and pressing another kiss on the back of your head. Just then Gabriella descended the stairs, her long hair still unbrushed. She still held a frown on her face that looked eerily similar to Miguel’s. Gabriella never really liked to wake up early anyway. She wore her baby blue soccer uniform as her eyes grazed over the kitchen, looking for something.

“Have you seen my cleats, mamí?” Gabriella asked. Miguel pulled away from you but one hand was still stuck to your hip. You pointed to the front door with your lips.

“Over there but eat first and put on your shoes last. Papí will do your hair.” You turned off the stove and reached for the plates in the cupboard. Miguel furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at Gabriella.

“Where’s your school uniform?” He asked, pointing to her soccer jersey. Gabriella patted her hair back away from her face as you set her plate down on the table. She ate a mouthful of her eggs, picking up a piece of bacon in her other hand.

“Today we have early morning practice. I told you yesterday, papí.” She shrugged and swung her legs under the table. Miguel rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

“Did you?” He chuckled nervously, looking at you giving him a look before he cleared his throat. “You have your brush?” Gabriella shook her head, stuffing another mouthful of food before jumping off the chair to scurry upstairs. Miguel turned to you while you were drying your hands with a towel. You sat at the small table with Miguel following and sitting beside you.

“I knew you’d forget.” You said smugly, taking a sip of juice.

“Oh, so you just decided to leave me in the dark then?” Miguel said with mock offense, a smile on his face. “Lucky that we woke up earlier. Imagine if she was late. It’d be my fault, huh?”

You simply smile back and eat your breakfast peacefully. “It would be your fault. I have to clock in early at work and you’re off today.”

Miguel coughed, clearing his throat from the coffee that went down the wrong pipe. “Shit, right. I’m taking Gabi to school. Thought we both had the day off for a second.” He groaned, scratching the back of his head. Gabriella stomped down the stairs again with her purple brush in her hand. She places it next to Miguel's plate and sits back down, her seat next to his. Miguel sighs and begins his role to brush his daughter’s hair with a gentle smile towards his little girl.

Carefully, he brushes from the ends and makes his way up, gently untying out the knots from the night before. He made sure to make it as painless as possible, wincing and apologizing whenever Gabriella whined in discomfort. You had quickly finished your breakfast in the middle of their bonding time and headed for a quick shower. By the time you had gotten out, Miguel and Gabriella had finished their own breakfasts and he was helping her finish a bit of her homework at the table.

You hastily put on your shoes and a coat by the door. Miguel heard you shuffling and turned his head at you. His face brightened up at you, his eyes with a familiar loving gleam in them. He got up from the table and walked up to you, his hand instinctively reaching for your hip and pulling you close. “Ya te vas?” He asked, kissing your temple.

“Si, si, ya me voy,” You responded back, leaning up and cupping his cheek to pull him down for a quick kiss. “By the way, I need you to bring in groceries for tonight when I get back.” You pulled away to grab your keys. Miguel only smirked and grabbed your hand again, twirling you back in his arms. You let out a small sound of surprise, your hands clutching his shoulders to keep yourself steady. His arm looped around your waist and pressed you flush against him, his other hand cupping your cheek.

“One more.” He pleaded softly with the same smirk he knew brought you weak in the knees. That same toothy grin where his canine poked out. Miguel saw the softness in your face and took it as a chance to bend down for another kiss, this time lasting longer than your small peck.

You felt your heart leap in your chest as you kissed him back. You felt his thumb caress your cheek, going over your cheekbone before falling slowly down to your neck. You pulled away softly, Miguel chasing after your lips again and only managing to brush against them. He settled for a small kiss to the corner of your mouth and looked into your eyes. You could tell with the way his eyes were slightly glazed over and darting across your face that he was absolutely smitten with you. You raised your eyebrows knowing he was about to say something.

“So beautiful,” He murmured. You smiled and laughed, Miguel following suit with his own soft smile, but he was mostly just admiring you. He brought his hand back up to hold your chin, his thumb gently touching your bottom lip. “One more?” He asked. You snorted and pushed him away as much as you could while he caged you in his arms.

“I’ll be late!” You giggled. Miguel was having none of it, leaning down to kiss along your neck.

“Just a few more, hermosa. You just look so good.” He murmured against your neck.

A small voice coughed loudly behind you two, both your heads turning to see tiny Gabriella with her backpack on and her arms crossed with a playful frown on her face. “I’m gonna be late!” She laughed. “You guys can eat each other's faces later!” Then she scurried off out the door, grabbing the keys to Miguel's car to hide away from both of you.

You covered your mouth to hide your smile as you looked out the door to see her jump in the backseat. Miguel laughed and held you close regardless. You turned to him with a grin. “Your fault by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah. It was worth it in my opinion.” He grinned back at you. You rolled your eyes playfully and finally slipped yourself away from him. You nabbed your keys from the holder and gave another quick look to Miguel.

“Bye, I love you.” You smiled at him. Miguel quickly grabbed your hand in his, squeezing it gently.

“I love you more, mi corazón,” Your heart melted and you very softly squeezed his hand back. Miguel laughed and tugged your arm. “Oh, c'mon. I could barely feel that.” You giggled along with him and playfully squeezed back harder this time. When he was satisfied, he kissed your hand and led you out so you could head to work and he could take Gabriella to school.

When you got home and took off your shoes at the door, sliding your feet in your slippers and placing your bag down at the table. You announced your arrival to the house and immediately heard Gabriella’s footsteps come down the stairs. She greeted you with a smile. “Hi, mamí!” You smiled and picked her up with a small grunt. She was getting big! You placed her on your hip with the help of her hands around your neck.

“Hi, baby! Where’s papí?” You asked her. Gabriella shrugged.

“Said he was gonna go to get groceries.” You raised your eyebrows and smirked at Gabriella.

“Forgot?” Gabriella giggled and nodded which made you giggle along with her. You set her down and ushered her back upstairs while you headed to change into more comfortable clothes. After that you sat in the living room, flipping through channels and scrolling through your phone while you waited for Miguel to come home.

It had been quite a while since then, the sun had set and your phone and TV rendered you bored out of your mind. You got up from the couch and headed to Gabriella’s room to knock on her door before walking in. “Hey, mamí. Did papí tell you if he was gonna do something else while he was out or…?” You asked her from her bedroom door. She shook her head, never looking away from the smaller TV in her room.

“Just to get food for us.” She replied simply. You nodded, an uneasy feeling brewing in your gut.

“Okay, well. I’m gonna be out for a bit too. I won’t be long, okay?” Gabriella nodded. “And don’t open the door for anybody, entiendes?” You say firmly. Gabriella nodded again, pouting.

“Okay, okay, mamí.” She pulled one of her plushies to her chest. You sighed and left her room, quickly putting on some sneakers and grabbing your keys. Making sure you locked the front door, you unlocked your car and started the engine. You gripped the steering wheel and sighed heavily, feeling the rumble of the car go through your chest along with the uncomfortable turmoil you felt. You calmed yourself down. Thinking the worst wasn’t the best option here since it wouldn’t do you any good. So, you swallowed that anxiety and drove to the bodega where you and Miguel sometimes went to buy smaller amounts of groceries from.

You had parked a few blocks down from the actual bodega, the parking in the smaller city was always crowded and rarely had good parking places. Still, it felt more crowded than usual. You rubbed your arms up and down comfortingly as you made your way to the direction of the convenience store. Upon your arrival, you noticed a crowd and a police car with its lights on. Your eyebrows scrunched up in confusion and worry. You tried looking around, trying to find out what had happened, then searched for Miguel. You prayed and hoped he was okay in the midst of this mini chaos.

While looking around and unable to even enter the store anymore, the owner you and Miguel were friends with, had found you and walked up to you. He called your name softly, sadness etched in his face. A woman next to him was in shambles, her tears dribbling down her cheeks while she babbled things you couldn’t understand. You grew worried. “What happened?” You asked him.

“There was a robbery and…” He felt his throat go dry, looking down. Anywhere but your face. He couldn’t bear looking at you, not like this. “Miguel…” Your blood ran cold.

“Miguel? Miguel what? Where is he?” You asked, growing increasingly fearful at the answer you might get in the next few seconds. This is all happening too fast. “Where is he?” You demanded again.

The owner had apologized. “I’m sorry…” The woman beside him, sobbed louder. She wailed about how sorry she was, how she never expected this to happen.

For a moment, you couldn’t move. Sorry? Sorry for what? Where is Miguel? He had been here right? So, why isn’t he in the crowd? You needed to find him. Maybe scream at him for making you worry so damn much enough to give you a heart attack. Then you’d go home and kiss him for how glad you are that he’s okay.

Your feet shuffled closer to the front of the crowd, squeezing your way in between people while your mind clouded with a million thoughts. You barely blinked, your eyes unfocused on your feet up until you made it to the front, a stripe of yellow caution tape stopping you from walking any further. Your eyes finally glanced up at the scene in front of you and your breath hitched. Your heart had dropped to your stomach and your lungs had all the wind knocked out of it.

There was your husband, lying on the cold concrete ground. A puddle of crimson leaked under his body. Your eyes scanned him wildly, darting between the gaping hole in his chest and the pink handbag lying beside him that matched the sobbing woman’s outfit from earlier. You connected the dots easily. “I have to…” You trailed off softly, walking forward despite the tape in your way. A policeman had seen you try to enter the crime scene and he stopped you with his arm. He warned you to not get close.

“No, you don’t understand. I need to see him. I need to go to him. He’s by himself, please…” You mumbled, your eyes never leaving Miguel's still body. You began to struggle in the arms of the policeman, pushing his hands off you. Each attempt to detain you was met with resistance so another officer had come to help to stop you from interfering. Your heart began racing the more you were apart from Miguel. “I’m his wife–He’s my husband. Let me go!” You screamed.

With the strength as large as the grief in your body, you pushed through the policemen and under the caution tape to rush towards your husband. Your heart pounded in your chest as you ran towards Miguel’s limp body on the floor, passing the bag of groceries that Miguel was supposed to bring home. Your mind raced with every single possibility besides the truth in front of you. They tried to stop you, but one policeman stopped them instead, realizing who you were to the man on the ground.

Your knees slammed into the ground next to Miguel’s body, drenching your knees with the pool of his blood on the floor. The tears that welled up in your eyes flooded down your cheeks in heavy blobs, clouding your vision. You let them fall as you shakily brought up your hands by his face. You saw how Miguel’s usual white and clean shirt was stained with a ugly and murky brown-red color.

“Miguel…” You choked out with an equally shaky breath. You hesitantly touched his face and flinched when you felt how cold he had become. “No, I saw you today–This morning–we-we woke up together–How did–” You began hyperventilating, choking out sobs while you carefully brought his upper body close to you. You held his head carefully in your arms, whimpering and cupping his cheek to wipe off the blood smeared on his bottom lip.

You cradled his head to your chest, burying yourself in his hair that still smelled like him and his familiar scent along with the stench of his blood that burned your nose. You sobbed feeling the weight of reality set in slowly. Looking down, you gently reached over to grab his hand in yours. It was just as cold, if not freezing, in your warmer hand. You slipped your fingers through his seamlessly like you did before time and time again. You squeezed it softly, expecting Miguel to squeeze back. You squeezed harder in case he didn’t feel it the first time. No response.

You break into another sob, curling yourself around him while you weeped to yourself. The commotion of the crowd fell deaf on your ears, only struggling and desperately hoping to hear a soft puff of breathing from Miguels mouth. Bringing his hand up to your lips, you kissed the palm on his hand and pressed it against your cheek. You held it up and nuzzled against it while you wailed, your other arm bringing his head closer so you could lean your forehead against his. You pleaded to the skies that this had to be some cruel joke, or at least some hope that Miguel would wake up and kiss you again. Oh, how you ached for at least one last kiss. You deserved that much.

Wrapping your arms around him, your hands desperately clutched at his body, grabbing a fistful of his shirt in your hands. Despite his cold body, you held onto him, passing whatever warmth you could give him. You clung to him since you were too afraid of the fact that the second you’d let go, he’d be taken from you. “Miggy, don’t do this–please– not to me,” You pleaded softly to him, sniffling and soaking his hair in your tears. “We still have so much to do.”

You continued to whisper gently to him, making promises that couldn’t be kept, and leaving kisses that’d never be reciprocated. You combed your fingers through his hair the way you know he liked it and ignored the stomps of the paramedics making their way to separate you from him.

Translations:

muñequita- little doll/a term of endearment

levántate- get up

mija- combination of 'my daughter"

hermosa- beautiful (feminine)

mamí- mom/term of endearment

papí- dad/term of endearment

apúrate- hurry up

ya te vás?- are you going now?

sí, sí, ya me voy- yeah, yeah, i'm going now.

entiendes?- understand?

mi corazón- my heart

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099

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itsgodepi · 8 months

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If I lose my mind | Ch. 5

Series summary: When life has given you more than enough lemons and you cannot figure out how to make a lemonade, the only way to make it work is to get rid of the whole basket. But was it neccesary to send you to a whole different dimension for that? A juicer would have done the job, really. Or, one day you go to sleep as a normal person and the next you wake up as a Formula One driver. You've never been a fan but isn't it like, one of the most exclusive sports? Pairing: CL16, LH44, CS55, DR3 x fem!reader Chapter: Previous | Next Word Count: 3k Also on AO3

Reading your own Wikipedia page is quite a strange experience. Paragraph after paragraph of your life written on the internet for everybody to see, from the day you were born all the way to this very moment.

You do not know if the fact that none of it is true is for better or worse.

Some parts are accurate, information about your hometown, date of birth, relatives' names and... that’s about it really. According to this biography, not only have you been the runner-up for a Formula 3 championship, but you are also a Formula 2 champion, which is good you guess, for someone that did not even know those kinds of competitions existed. As of two hours ago, Formula One was the only championship with those kinds of cars you had ever heard about, but there are so many. Too many actually. In a section of your page named ‘junior racing career’ —which is in itself a crazy sentence to read—, it even says something about karting’s championships and an academy thing, concepts you are not sure if you want to understand.

Oh, and the most important part, you are a Formula 1 driver, a statement endlessly repeated throughout the text. They even claim this to be your second year on the motorsport, ‘not a rookie anymore’ they say, as if yesterday’s race was not the first one you have ever watched from start to finish.

Still, if being pushed into a Formula One car and a whole Wikipedia page was not enough of a confirmation, you can find a million articles online that certify your participation in the sport. Webs filled with photos of you with the cars, dressed in full gear and with that stupid blue helmet, the situation getting worse and worse with every tap of your finger.

How is any of this possible?

The rabbit hole that seems to be your ‘life’ keeps you awake night after night, new information slapping you in the face every two minutes while you try to navigate what appears to be a Formula One driver’s normal schedule. Nick makes sure of that last part at least.

The first step on that agenda had been to fly out of Austria, a place you cannot comprehend how you had arrived to when you were in Spain just yesterday. It is not like you were having the best time of your life there, finishing the third month of your external internship in a city you thought was already too far away from home, but this change looks a bit excessive. The possibility of being in a completely different country had seemed so absurd at first, when a list called Austrian GP came up as one of the top results in your research, and yet with a simple look to the navigation app, your worst nightmare had been confirmed. From your trip to the airport, to the arrival to another country, France, and to a new hotel, Nick walking you through every step of the process and only leaving you alone once you are back in the hotel room.

The next few days follow a similar dynamic, mornings spent trailing behind Nick without a clue of what happens around you and long nights glued to the phone, the date for the next GP —or whatever they call it— getting closer and closer.

You are not ready to repeat last Sunday’s events, an engine failure had saved you from the inevitable end, but you might not be so lucky next time. There is no way you are stepping into that car again, that is for sure, and even less so when you have not figured out what brought you here in the first place.

Although you had drowned yourself in information about your supposed life the first nights in France, the need to discover what was happening to you had quickly managed to overpower that curiosity. From the moment Nick knocks on your door early on the morning to the hours you lay awake on bed looking for anything that could explain this madness, you spend every second of the day looking for an explanation.

A kidnapping had been the most credible theory from day one, the way you had woken up to all those screams and the men surrounding you, how Nick had come into your hotel room that morning and pushed you to drive with no regard for your safety. It made sense. However, the articles posted all over the internet told a very different story. There is too much information about you, some posts even dating back to when you were a child, photos and videos that cannot be simply edited and uploaded to make you believe you have gone crazy. You have driven a Formula One car on an official race, for crying out loud, that is not something anybody can orchestrate.

To be honest, the whole Formula One thing had knocked down quite a few of your guesses. What could someone gain from making you, a nobody, believe they are a motorsport driver?

In fact, the only theory that could easily explain everything that had happened to you in the past few days is that: none of this is real. A dream. You can vividly remember dozing off on your bed, that sensation of falling down and then suddenly waking up in that unfamiliar place. It could be the reason why you had blacked out when the car exited the garage, why everyone knew you, and could also explain the existence of all those false stories on the internet.

You had made all of this up.

That had indeed been one of your first assumptions, or at least had been an easy way for your mind to let go of all the worries in such an unnerving situation. If this was not real, there was nothing to stress about, no danger in sight. Your alarm will go off any moment now and you will be one day closer to ending this internship and going back home. Tomorrow will be a new day.

Despite this, as time goes by, it becomes harder and harder to hold onto this happy thought.

Stepping foot into the new track is a breaking point. It is Friday, five days have gone by and nothing has changed, the countdown to the next race weighting down on your mind as you walk through what Nick had called the paddock. It is that strange street again, the one lined by those colorful buildings but in a completely different country —another clue that this was indeed not real, you were clearly lacking imagination to be recycling sceneries like this.

They had brough you here yesterday as well, for a tour around the track that had set your nerves alight. Thankfully, you had done nothing but wander around the circuit for a while, be surrounded by a couple cameras, have a meeting with the engineers and go back to the hotel for another sleepless night.

Maybe you should sleep more —which sounds quite contradictory when you are supposedly already dreaming— because, when the events of last Sunday start repeating themselves, you do not even have the strength to push back. Nick manages once again to lure you into the white building and prepare you for what he calls practice, but the reality is that just the sight of that Formula One car on the garage makes you heart drop to the pit of your stomach.

“Don’t worry about times,” a man who has been following you all day says “Let’s see if everything feels good first and we’ll talk things over for FP2”.

A lot of changes had been made to the car since Austria, that is what all the meetings had been about. You had silently sat down through all of them, nodding along to the engineers’ words as if you understood any of it.

Now that you are seated in the car, blue helmet and jumpsuit on, you can only wish that whatever broke the car in Austria has not been fixed. That the engine won’t even start, and you will have to retire again. It is hard enough to listen to the rest of the cars exiting their own garages, their engines revving like they might explode.

How they have managed to put you on the spot yet again, that you do not understand. And it is not only a one-time thing, but they easily make you jump in the car later the day for a second practice.

When you are finally helped out of the car the second time, body uncontrollably trembling and a static sound filling your ears, you feel an unusual sense of calmness. The whole ride had felt like such a clear sign that none of this is real, it can’t be. Both practices had gone by in the blink of an eye, just like it had happened in Austria, a fade to black and you are back where you started. You do not even remember seeing other cars on the road or how you got back to the garage. Nothing. The only proof that you had driven around for hours being the fatigue consuming your body, something that backs the dreaming theory up so perfectly.

They say you have done great though, so that is something.

Nevertheless, it feels nice to be back on normal clothes, like there is less of a target on your back for the cameras and other strangers, but it is still difficult to keep a low profile when you are walking through the paddock with the team’s merchandising. Nick is guiding you out to the last meeting of the day, after you have fulfilled all the media duties and team reunions that have kept you on the track since your arrival this morning. He says this driver’s briefing thing should not last long, that it is quite late already, and they are probably thinking more about going back home than anything.

The meeting is on another building, one you had not even noticed in your two days here, Nick leading you inside and up some stairs until you find the meeting room. When he opens the door, you realize there is already people seated inside, the sound of their mixed talks now filling the long corridor. You recognize some of them, not from the team meetings but from Austria, other drivers.

The room is furnished as a classroom, a projector on the right wall and the rest of the space filled with rows of chairs. There are not many people in it yet, Nick had said it would be better to get there early before people start crowding the entrance and now you understood why. Your gaze instantly zeroes in on Lewis, a tiny smile pulling at your lips while Nick guides you to some seats, deciding to leave your things with him and go say hello. You have not seen him since Austria, after you had spent the entire pre-race ceremony talking to him,��and now that you have kind of ruled out the possibility that he is a kidnapper, you have realized that maybe he was just being nice.

Yet, before you can take more than two steps away from Nick, you feel someone pulling at your hand. You come to a sudden stop, looking back to see a man seated in the row in front of you and Nick’s seat regarding you with a huge grin on his lips. He has dark hair and big brown eyes that seem to be staring into your soul.

“Oh c’mon, you’re not even going to say hello because I didn’t get you cookies last week?” the man chuckles, tilting his head as he looks up at you like he cannot believe what you were about to do “Isn’t that too much?”

Even though his tone is light and jokey, you cannot help but frown at him. Why would you greet him when you don’t know him in the first place? And why is he holding your hand?

Instead of letting go when you stand there in silence, too stunned to react to his words, he decides to pull you down into the seat next to his “Didn’t Charles get you some? You are being greedy at this point” he jokes once you are seated, not a word leaving your lips.

Oh, Charles, you remember him from Austria as well. Actually, he was wearing the same exact red shirt as this man, a detail that the abrupt start of the conversation had left you blind to. The Ferrari logo in both his chest and cap are even more of a telltale of who he must be. Charles’ teammate.

“They were nice...” you respond, crossing your legs and relaxing back on the chair now that you have gathered your bearings. It is true, you had been munching on those cookies throughout the race after your disqualification, Nick bringing them over to you as a treat to distract you.

The man shakes his head in disbelief, smile widening as he assures you “I'll get you a full basket next time, don’t worry”

The promise genuinely makes you smile, he seems nice.

“How’s the car doing?” the man queries, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks around

You can almost feel the media training kicking in, pre-made phrases hanging off the tip of your tongue, they have been putting a microphone in your face and asking you about it all morning. Nonetheless, you manage to push it all down, it finally feels like you are having a normal conversation after this stressful week, you are not about to parrot the engineers' words for the millionth time “Well, it hasn’t caught fire yet...”

The man seems to like that answer, letting out a giggle and a “That’s an improvement” while he nods in understanding. There is a moment of silence that follows, his eyes set on your face as if he was waiting for something that does not come. Is he expecting a more in-depth response or something? Yet, before you can decide on what to do, he finally wills himself to say what he has been thinking ever since you entered the room “So... are you feeling better?”

The question catches you off guard at first, the conversation taking a more serious turn than you had expected —or wanted. Should you say you are great, just to shut down the topic entirely? The room is filling up with people by the second and it is not like you are about to open your heart to a total stranger. Or are you supposed to give the same response Nick had made you repeat over and over again in front of the journalists? ‘I’m perfectly fine now, it was pure exhaustion’.

“I’m-” you start saying, mind not really having decided on what lie to tell, when someone pats your head.

You rise your head to look behind you, both to see who it is and to get away from their touch —what is with this people taking such liberties?—, the man by your side doing the same. Standing tall behind your row of chairs is none other than the man you have spent day and nights thinking about: Daniel.

“Ready for the two hours briefing?” he sighs with a raised eyebrow, his hand traveling down to your shoulder when you turn your body around to talk to him. This is the first time you have seen the man out of that bright orange jumpsuit, now sporting a shirt of the same color instead, logos drawn all over it. He is still wearing that matching cap though.

“So dramatic...” the man seated by your side snickers, the previous chat seemingly forgotten “We should do a twenty-four-hour briefing just for you”

“Mate,” Daniel says with a half-smile, pointing at you with a tilt of his head “she wasn’t here last year”

That must mean something you do not understand because it is all the man in red needs to groan out loud, his face falling in defeat at the prospect of having to sit through such a long meeting. On the other hand, you can only sit there with your eyebrows furrowed, Nick had assured you would be out of here in no time. And of course you were not here last year, or ever, you have not- but your inner monologue gets suddenly interrupted by the one phrase you have been telling yourself all day: none of this is real, you’re dreaming.

“What? No, she was driving here last year” another voice joins the conversation, his statement sharp and direct. You lean your body forward to see who it is, he has taken a seat on the other side of the man in red and his body is blocking the stranger’s face, eyes widening when you recognize him. Charles.

“It was still Mazepin in France, he almost crashed into Kimi remember?” Daniel corrects him with a side grin “She started after the break in... was it Silverstone?”

Daniel looks at you for confirmation on this one, the other two men also lowering their gaze to yours, waiting. You are so overwhelmed though, it feels so strange, the fact that they are talking so categorically about things that have not ever happened. What is Mazepin? Kimi? And Silverstone? What break? The pressure of the situation getting to you in the worst possible moment.

So you end up doing what you do best, nod along to whatever the other person says even though you do not understand anything. That is what you have done to the engineers, to the media, to Nick and now to these three men before the start of a briefing that you won’t understand a word of either.

Afterall, none of this matter, this is only a dream, right?

Next Chapter

___

Author's note: Thanks a lot for all the hearts, comments and everything! I'm so happy you're liking the fic

Taglist: @purplephantomwolf @raye2000 @yuiiimd @drezzerk33 @leclercdream @homie0sapien @minkyungseokie @carlossainzwho @rewmuslupin

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fic #lewis hamilton x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #f1 x you #formula one x you #carlos sainz x you #charles leclerc x you #lewis hamilton x you #daniel ricciardo x you

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

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I'm begging on my knees, V seeing his Darling wearing the cat ear hoodie he bought them, and the horny/possessive/unhinged thoughts that ensue

Pretty please? I've missed this pervy lil gremlin

[Mdni, suggestive]

Laundry day. Why did it have to be laundry day.

Trapped in one of V's affection binges, you hadn't the opportunity to do laundry in a hot minute. You had thoroughly depleted your stock of clean clothes by the time you managed to squeeze out of his grasp and do a load while he was still sleeping. You decided to kill two birds with one stone and take a shower without him as well. It would mean he wouldn't be taking one that morning, but you'd like to actually shower first for once.

The problem came when you had to grab your change of clothes. All you had left was a pair of shorts, underwear, and that damn hoodie. According to a receipt you stumbled across, it's been in his closet following the day you met and he's tried to get it on you since. With no other options, it would seen that day has finally come and you have no choice but to roll with whatever comes with it.

Hopping out of the shower and putting your clothes on, you pull the hoodie down as far as it would go as you leave the bathroom. It stops just above your knees, riding back to mid thigh as you walk. After putting the first load in the dryer you head to the room for the second, entering to find an awake V waiting on the bed. Not saying a word, he gets up and lifts your hoodie to your stomach - clicking his tongue in annoyance.

"Damn it- Do you really need these?" V hooks a finger on the band of your shorts, the elastic of your underwear snapping against your skin.

"Yes, and also I need to do another load so if you'll excuse me." You kneel and pick up a shirt on the floor-

"Bend over."

"What."

"You heard me. Stand back up, and bend over while you pick them up. Come on, I put the lock back on the bathroom door yesterday. I'm pitching half a tent already, just help me out this one time. Did you think you could grab this without me knowing?"

"Alright fine." You stand back up.

"Hood up too."

You throw the hoodie over your head, cat ears sprouting over your skull. V sits in his chair as you reach forward to pick up the clothes, wheeling up behind you. He pulls the back of your hoodie up, drool foaming the corner of his lips at the way your shorts shape your ass. His breath bleeds through the fabric as he tongues your sex through it.

"You really can't wait till I'm done?"

"You know the answer." Holding your waist, V grounds you to his lap - spreading your legs with his knee. His dick is out and between your thighs before he lets you close them again, hands running up your bare torso from beneath the hoodie. His thin fingers crawl to your throat, tracing the outline of a collar in your skin.

"I had a dream very similar to this last night. There was just something here, that's definitely missing. We'll get that fixed later, but right now all I need is for you to be good for me. You're so cute I just have to have you, and preferably without the back talk. It'd really suck if I had to punish you instead. "

#V my oc #Iooll #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere smut #yandere drabble #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 2 months

Text

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 15

I can't believe we're at 15 already :O

MASTAPOST

Danny looked at Damian. Damian looked at Danny. They looked at the smoldering remains of the Atlantean barracks, the scores of soldiers whose feet were frozen to the floor or to each other, bearing incredibly precise scorch marks from the wrist ray (maybe he should take confiscate that soon). They looked at the retreating soldiers, some of whom were openly sobbing. Danny looked at the helmet Damian acquired from their poor Atlantean victims, and the bow and arrow strapped over his chest. He looked at the overflowing satchels full of plant-based food they had plundered from the town. The unluckiest of them sported Damian-shaped bite marks on their exposed skin, a very painful reminder to not enter the kid’s personal space.

“You said we were just gonna get a map.”

Damian crossed his arms and honest-to-god pouted. Or scowled. It was a scowly pout. “It was not my fault you lost control over your powers.”

Danny’s face went blank. “Who was the one who demanded to see the seahorses and stick around even after we got what we needed?”

And you know what? Danny could honestly admit the seahorses were pretty cute. Was it worth risking their lives? Probably not, even if with Danny’s powers, there wasn’t much risk to them at all. It was the principle of the thing.

Damian at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed. “Is it truly my fault if I wish to admire our planet’s marine biodiversity up close?”

“Yes, Damian. Absolutely.”

“It matters not. Besides, the Atlanteans deserve what happened to them.”

Now that excuse wiped the deadpan off Danny’s face, leaving him in open-mouthed disbelief.

Damian continued. “We have done nothing to them, and yet they regard our mere presence with fear, and take up arms despite there being no hostility from us.”

Danny looked back to smoldering ruins. Granted, it was just a barracks and a few watchtowers, but still. The Atlanteans fear of them was starting to feel a little justified. Did the first settlement Damian raided yesterday suffer a similar fate?

He ran his hands down his face. Scratch the bloodthirsty theory. He was beginning to think Damian intentionally got them caught to have an excuse to wreck the Atlanteans. Then there were the weapons. One look at Damian’s satisfied face as he looked over the destruction practically confirmed it.

Man, kids really were menaces, weren’t they? Maybe he should’ve thought more carefully before agreeing to travel thousands of miles alone with this chaos kid. Was it the siren instincts? Youngblood was similarly unhinged. Maybe it just released his inhibitions.

His distress must have been visible, because Damian tutted once his silence went on too long. “I was being merciful to them. With my skills, I could have easily gut them like the fish I very reluctantly eat, but no longer have to thanks to having plundered their food stores.”

“You know what? I’m not gonna even try to unpack all of that. That’s a job for my sister.” The elder siren patted his shoulders. “Get on, we’ve got places to go.”

Damian beamed as he swam around Danny and latched on, head held high. And honestly? Danny would be an absolute hypocrite if he said he didn’t absolutely enjoy whooping the high and mighty bigots a new one.

“Hey B.”

Bruce could hear the strain on Tim’s voice. Even now, the boy was clacking away at the Batcomputer. He probably hadn’t taken more than a five-minute break.

“Tim.” Bruce said. He considered his next words. He was never one for talking much. It had become difficult to emote strongly after that night in Crime Alley.

“Still hacking into the GiW, and going over missing person cases. Haven’t found anything. I’ll post you when I do.” Tim said, all in work mode. Bruce sighed.

“Thank you, Tim, but I know it’s getting late at home. When was your last break?”

Tim didn’t say anything, but Bruce could practically hear the pout.

“I know you’re worried. I am too, but the Batcave will still be there in the morning.”

Tim hummed, still defiant to the last. “We’re losing valuable time. I can handle it. I handled Damian’s… everything. This is nothing. I’ve only been awake for sixteen hours.”

And wasn’t that half the issue.

Bruce took a deep breath. Countless hours of miming with Alfred, and talking to cardboard cutouts of his children.

“I’ve been worrying, Tim.” Just calmly. Just ease into the words. Don’t freak Tim out or scare him away.

“All you ever do is worry, and now it’s Damian so you’re worried even more.”

“I’m…” The lump in his throat grew. It felt like breaking glass to push through. “I’m worried about you.”

Silence on the line.

Bruce continued, stumbling into dark. “H-How are you feeling right now?”

A chair scraped on the other end., followed by retreating footsteps. “Nope. Nope. Not doing this.”

Bruce’s stress hiked. “Wait, Tim!”

The footsteps stopped, although Tim remained silent. Words, words, words, words. What did his manual say about this kind of situation?

“Thank you. I know you and Damian haven’t been on the best terms. But it… It’s…”

Bruce rapidly flipped through his manual, before deciding on the right word, before Tim could get away. “It’s… I’m proud of you. I always have been. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

The footsteps resumed, twice as fast as before. Bruce could barely make out muttering about coffee hallucinations. That was good, was it? Bruce looked over his checklist over and over again. Surely he hadn’t missed something?

Maybe he needed to review his notes before talking to Dick…

Arthur Curry, better known to the world as Aquaman, regarded the messaged sent to the palace from the Pacific frontier. The kingdom had benefitted immensely once the zeta system and advancements in instant communication allowed for him to easily communicate with every corner of the country in seconds.

The contents were worrying. Very worrying, in fact. He would almost have dismissed it as impossible, if he weren’t keenly aware of how much damage a clever enough child could do. Memories of the various Robins’ exploits around the Watchtower flashed through his mind, giving him goosebumps.

Never again.

It was a luxury which appeared unable to be afforded to him, as an attendant entered the room and handed him a second message, bound in twine and seaweed. Arthur thanked her, and opened the letter.

Another raid by the same child, this time accompanied by a young teenager. A young teenage siren. The local barracks destroyed, several watchtowers toppled, and food stores plundered. The two sirens fled soon after. About thirty injured personnel, but no casualties, and no civilian injuries either, thank goodness.

It was one of the strangest raids parties he’d ever seen. Usually siren pods descended on vulnerable border towns like a landslide, bringing dozens or hundreds of warriors charging through the countryside, pillaging farmland and razing whole buildings to the seafloor. Arthur transitioned to the archives to continue his research, pulling thousand-year-old records from their carefully preserved cases. His earliest predecessors had seen countless deaths to these war parties, before the Atlantean military was formalised and modernised.

The raids also occasionally took hostages. Sometimes adults or the elderly. Usually children. Arthur’s heart ached at his most vulnerable subjects being stripped away from their families. Those hostages taken were often never seen again, even as Atlantean forces made repeated incursions into siren territory to search for them. They would always be repelled back before finding any.

But one pattern was always clear with the raiders. Although those barbarians took Atlantean children for whatever sick purposes, they never brought their own children to fight. Some of his people believed they didn’t even have children, that they spawned spontaneously as fully formed spirits of destruction and rage.

It looked like those theories were untrue. But what circumstances could produce such a strange result? The first report only described a single siren child, who looked to be about five years old or so by Atlantean standards. The second report confirmed the reappearance of that child, now in tandem with a teenager who still appeared very young. Were they brothers? The reports stated the older one had translucent white and black skin, almost like glass, to the point where even his internal organs were faintly transparent. The younger siren sported a dark green coat, and golden fins and highlights. Neither before or after they struck did the soldiers ever catch a glimpse of an adult.

Could they be orphans? Arthur’s heart panged. Even if they were technically his enemies, he hated the fact that children were the victims of this continued conflict. Despite attempts to work out a peace treaty between his kingdom and the sirens, it could never work out. Atlantis was one kingdom with one king, but the siren pods spent as much time squabbling between themselves as with Atlantis.

Outside of their age and lack of supervision, the children also sported another deviation: Their choice in weaponry. While the capital invested in preferred to traditional weapons, favoring especially polearms like the spear, trident and javelin. Siren war bands in the past favored the bow and arrow, using their superior speed to outmanoeuvre and outrange Atlantean soldiers. Many men and women were lost to their feigned retreat tactics, to the point where every new recruit had to be drilled again and again to never pursue ‘retreating’ sirens.

The elder of the two raiders fought with only his magic, firing icy beams and throwing spears of ice. This was where the duo was most similar to typical siren warriors, contrasting against the disciplined and measured sorcery taught to Aqualad and others his age.

What was alarming was how the younger boy fought. He slashed at one poor soldier who got too close with a sword in his first attack. Mauled six others with his teeth in the second. At ranged he wielded a strange contraption on his wrist, capable of rapidly firing concussive energy beams that let him suppress and disrupt soldiers triple his size.

The sirens were never interested in technological development in the same way as the Atlanteans did, and never had they possessed a weapon even close to as advanced as the one sported by the tiny child.

Arthur’s eyes furrowed. Could it be that some third party was supplying Atlantis’ enemies? How long before another army gathered, before the kingdom faced another existential threat like Pariah Dark had once posed?

Arthur’s Justice League communicator vibrated. The king of Atlantis picked up the call.

“Arthur.” It was Bruce. “This is urgent.”

“What do you need?”

“What information has your kingdom got on sirens?”

“What a coincidence, because I’ve just received two new reports from the Pacific frontier…”

“… As for this Phantom character, the culprit of the attack seems to match your description perfectly.”

Bruce furrowed his eyes. He marked the location where Phantom had last struck. The boy was heading south, along the California Current. For what reason? Was he migrating according to his needs as a species, or was he searching for another haunt? Was he going further south or would he turn west once he neared the equator and follow the current there?

Six months of stalking a human town, fighting off other sirens, only to abandon it once the GiW came out in force, and then start marauding Atlantean settlements out of nowhere? Something extraordinary had to have happened. According to Arthur, Phantom had never been seen by his soldiers before. Perhaps Phantom had completed whatever goals he had in Amity, and was transitioning to his next move on Atlantis.

Phantom was young, or at least appeared young. Likely no older than fifteen. The fact that no records show any similar pattern of behaviour ruled out the possibility of it being some kind of coming-of-age ceremony. It seemed Phantom was an outlier among his species.

If sirens travelled in pods, then where was Phantom’s?

“It’s funny you mention that, since he wasn’t alone. There was a tiny child with him. I think he was about five years old or so. The boy carried weapons like a warrior, and blasted my soldiers with energy beams from a futuristic wrist gun. I’ll sent you the sketch the commander sent me.”

Bruce confirmed his receipt of the sketch. His eyes widened.

Emblazed on the gun’s side was a very familiar logo, a flaming blue F for Fenton.

The conversation ended soon after, with Arthur promising to forward him translated copies of the reports.

Bruce clasped his hands, holding them tight as he pondered (not brooded, despite what Dick insisted).

It seemed Phantom’s lack of morality couldn’t sink further. He had manipulated Amity Island teenagers into assisting him, and now he was leading what was basically a toddler half of Damian’s age into dangerous battles against trained soldiers.

Bruce’s will hardened with righteous anger. This Phantom was barely fresh off his last crime before preying on another child. He had to be stopped.

Suddenly he had three children to save now.

Please be ok, Damian…

#dpxdc #danny fenton #merman #damian wayne #dcxdp #merboy #angst #mermaid au #atlantis #atlanteans #good parent bruce wayne #arthur curry #bruce wayne is bad at feelings

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hobiebrownismygod · 6 months

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VENOM - Part 3

Venom!Hobie x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Having a symbiote is a canon event, so Hobie brown must've had one of his own, right?

~1.6k words

TW: Blood, Cursing, Angst

Taglist: @therealloopylupin2099 @spiderrinn @l0starl @daydreaming-en-pointe @itsparis-07 @vileviale @puff-hugs @s6onder @@d0ubl-tr0ubl3 @lauryn2558 @choccymilkdrinker @fiepige (concept credits!!)

Concept art by @levionok!!

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Where the fuck is he?

You'd been calling Hobie nonstop, the contents of the video file flashing through your mind as you searched for him. You drove around the city on your bike as quickly as you could, eyes scanning the roads and alleyways for any sign of your best friend.

After you'd kicked him out yesterday, you hadn't heard a single word from him. He hadn't picked up any of your calls, and you hadn't found him anywhere. Usually you'd at least see him swinging around the city, doing his thing as Spider-man. But you hadn't.

Not a single glimpse.

So where could he be?

"Excuse me, miss, this is gonna sound really weird but...have you seen Spider-man anywhere lately?"

"Spider-man? No..I actually haven't."

"Alright, thank you. Sorry for the bother." you nodded at the woman before zooming back onto the street, joining the traffic as your head began to hurt with worry.

Nobody else had seen him either.

You didn't know what to do. How were you supposed to find a man that obviously didn't want to be found? Or what if...what if something had happened to him? What if that symbiote had done the same thing to him that it'd done to all the other 'volunteers'?

You sped up, panic settling in the depths of your stomach. You felt like you were going to be sick. The thought of Hobie...losing himself to that thing...no, no, he was too strong for that. He wouldn't.

Right?

Suddenly, you slammed on the brakes, the bike coming to a halt as a flash of black flew right in front of you, too fast for you to make out what it was. You squinted as it moved farther into the distance.

Could it be?

"Hobie?" You whispered to yourself, eyes wide with fear. The flash had been a figure, a human figure, pitch black with snow white eyes, mixing into the rest of its body like running mascara. Without a second thought, you kickstarted the bike, following the figure as it swung through the city, in a pattern eerily similar to the movements you'd seen Hobie practice so many times as Spider-man.

It was him...but it wasn't him.

You were struggling to keep up with the figure, already accelerating past the speed limits and having to swerve between lanes and other vehicles. But you couldn't lose him...if you did, you might never find him again.

The figure swung onto a tall building, hitting it with a powerful crash, causing some rubble to fall down to the pavement below, eliciting yells from those situated under it. You took your eyes off the figure for a moment to get out of the way of the debris, but when you looked back up, the figure had disappeared.

"No, no, no!" You exclaimed, stopping in your tracks, looking around furiously as you scanned the sky for any sign of him. "Fuck!"

Taking your helmet off, you threw it onto the ground in frustration, breathing heavily as you tried to calm yourself down. You couldn't make a scene. Taking a deep breath, you looked back up at where the figure had made contact with the building. Claw marks.

That's a start.

You got off the bike and began to walk down the street, looking up at the other buildings. "Come on...there has to be more" you muttered under your breath, turning around in the middle of the street. Your gaze landed on a building, maybe a 100 feet in front of you, with the same large gashes on the side.

You approached the building, and then you saw more, these ones on the edge of the roof of an apartment. A girl was standing outside on its balcony, looking utterly confused. You gave her a nervous smile before you continued to search.

You found yourself following a trail of, not only claw marks, but holes that looked like they were made by spikes, and faint footprints...but could you really call them footprints? They didn't look like footprints. More like giant dents in the pavement, always coming in groups of four, two in the front and two in the back.

As the scratches and dents increased, you realized you were approaching an alleyway, a skinny, dark one, with a few larger garbage bins blocking the entrance. You were about to continue your search down the street, but then you noticed the scrapes on the concrete below the containers.

He was here. He had to be.

Using all your strength, you pushed the bin to the side with a grunt, making space for yourself to squeeze through.

At the end of the alleyway was that figure, huddled up and facing a corner. You watched in horror as the darkness covering the figure disappeared, as if it was just melting away. Underneath it...was Hobie.

You were about to call out his name when you heard something. Sniffling.

"Please, please stop doing this" he whimpered out.

You walked a little closer, staying as silent as humanly possible. He hadn't seen you yet. As you approached him, you noticed he was talking to something. A...head. But it wasn't a human head, no, it was the head of the figure you'd seen jumping through the city, with its giant white eyes and midnight black skin, except this time you could also make out a mouth full of sharp white teeth, pointed like those of a dragon.

"Get out of my head-"

"We're not in your head...we're real."

You froze. What was that voice? It was like a hiss, the kind of voice a snake would have if animals could speak. The kind of voice you'd hear in your nightmares. And it looked like a nightmare, smiling up at Hobie, trying to convince him of...whatever it was trying to do.

"We're hungry..." it hissed. "We should eat another"

Another?

"No" Hobie sobbed, falling to his knees. You'd never seen him look so defenseless before. Whatever this thing was, it was hurting him. Badly. "Just get out, GET OUT!" He yelled out, grabbing at the thing. The head, you realized, was connected to Hobie's chest by a long, pitch black neck, for lack of a better word. It dodged out of his grasp and elongated, wrapping around him tightly.

Hobie struggled, and you watched in horror as the face held him up, squeezing him so hard he looked like he'd break. "We can't get out now...we are one." The face opened its mouth, revealing a long, disgusting tongue, licking at Hobie's face as he sobbed. "One."

It hissed before closing its mouth, knocking its head against Hobie's and throwing him back. The head slithered back towards him, sinking into his chest and disappearing, leaving Hobie shaking. He curled up against the wall, hands over his head.

You decided this was your chance to approach him. You slowly walked towards him, staying slightly crouched. You could hear him crying softly, face hidden behind his arms.

"Hobie?" you whispered out.

He looked up and you jumped. He looked horrible. His face was stained with blood, lips cracked and bleeding, dark circles under his eyes and oh god...his eyes...they looked so big and watery and miserable that you just wanted to hold him and tell him it was all going to be okay.

But you couldn't promise that.

"No...no y'can't be here" he whispered, backing up as you approached him, eyes darting to the side as if he was looking for some sort of escape. "hey, hey its gonna be okay" you replied softly, kneeling down in front of him.

"What happened to you?" You asked softly, reaching your hand out towards his face. He leaned in to your touch, hot tears beginning to form again. Suddenly he jerked back. "You have to go." He said nervously, pushing you away as he struggled to stand up, shaking. "You have to go!"

"What?" you stood up with him, putting your hands on his arms and looking up at him concernedly. "Hobie, I know what's going on, I know what that thing's doing to you-"

"Its gonna hurt you" he sobbed, falling back against the wall for support. "Please, it's gonna hurt you, you need t'get out of here, please" he cried.

"Hobie, I know what it is, I know what it's doing to you-"

"I-I can take care of m'self, you need to go-" suddenly, he clutched at his head, letting out a yell. You backed up out of fear as he convulsed, clawing at his hair. "Hobie!" You grabbed his hands to stop him from tearing his own skin, "-There's nothing there, there's nothing!" You told him, trying to hold him down.

"NO-NO-" He yelled out, punching and clawing.

Suddenly, he stopped. He fell silent, eyes closed.

Then he crumpled to the floor.

"Hobie!" You fell to your knees next to him, turning him over and trying to shake him awake. Tears were beginning to form in your own eyes as you begged him to get up. "Please, wake up, Hobes please" you whispered, cupping his face in your hands and shaking him.

Then you heard a quiet hiss. Strands of black began to cover him like vines, wrapping around his arms, legs and chest. You tried to rip them off, but you couldn't stop them. Stumbling back you watched as the darkness covered him completely, morphing him back into that same figure you'd seen before.

Except this time...there was more.

The black skin erupted in spikes, covering his shoulders, spine and hands, sharp as crystals. His eyes opened slightly and he looked over at you, a tired look on his face. "Y/N..." he croaked out, lifting his arm to reach out towards you.

The black crawled up his neck, vines enveloping his mouth and face until it was like he was wearing a mask, not a single inch of skin visible.

"Hobie..." you whispered, shaking your head as you pushed yourself back.

"Y/N..." he repeated, eyes closing.

Suddenly, they swung open, the whites of the mask having covered them completely.

"Run."

A/N: Lol cliffhanger. Next part will probably be the last one. Hope y'all enjoyed this <3 Also it's taking me a lot longer to get posts out cuz midterms are kicking my ass so sorry for the delay :(

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willalove75 · 9 months

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The Estate | Lady Dimitrescu x Fem!oc

WHAT DAY IS IT?! IT'S MY BIRTHDAY?! WOOHOO!!! I hope you all join me as I enter the final year of my 20s! And since one of my love languages is gift-giving, I am giving you all a present today! I debated on releasing this earlier this summer but I wanted to get a few chapters done before I did - and get a little further into Alcina's New Maid before I started putting out chapters. But ANM will still be updated weekly! Fear not! (And I know chapter 16 is late, I didn't get to finish it yesterday so I will finish it either today or tomorrow I promise!) Ideally, I would love to update this fic weekly as well but I just don't know if that is realistic so I am aiming for a bi-weekly or monthly update for this. Might be a little more frequently, might not. So I apologize in advance for irregular updates for this until I can get myself on a reasonable writing schedule! I do have a couple of chapters done already but I want to try and have a few chapters lined up as they're released. Unlike ANM where I literally brain-dump each chapter each week (usually done in a single day) and post it after I read it over a couple of times. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this fic since it's been rotting my brain for MONTHS and I literally have not been able to stop thinking about it and coming up with ideas/expanding on my ideas literally every fucking day for the last like, 4 months? LOL

Summary: It's been a tough few years for you. After a tragedy that left you to raise your three year old, Emma, as a single parent, you're finally starting to get back on your feet. Recently hired as a marketing & social media strategist for Dimitrescu Estate, a new chapter of your life is just beginning.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI

Tags: Slow burn, fluff, angst, smut, flirty

I'll add more tags as needed!

Notes: I know I have so many other requests I should be doing but once again my mind has been plagued by this story I came up with and I need to get it out of my headddd.

Also, this is a blended oc/reader fic. Using "you" has become so engrained into my writing it's almost impossible to not add it (as opposed to writing she/her), but I will be giving the oc a name and describing her! Ik that's not everyone's cup of tea so I apologize in advance but I hope you enjoy it regardless! It'll be written in a similar fashion as Safety and Dimitrescu Books for those of you who are wondering what that will be like and/or read those (fucking amazing and wonderful) fics!

You take in the beautiful field around you, the crystal blue sky, the tall grass blowing in the breeze. Even though you have no idea where you are, it's warm and you have a fullness in your heart you haven't felt in a long time. In the distance you spot a familiar figure.

"It can't be-" you begin to say.

The figure continues to walk in your direction, but doesn't seem to get any closer. You begin to take a few steps forward, your legs feel like lead, slowing your movements. You try to run but you can't - desperate to get closer to the figure. You try and cry out to them but there's no sound when you scream. Using all of your power to move forward, each step becomes more difficult than the last. The figure walking towards you stops and stands still. With tears in your eyes you try and cry out again, and just like last time, there's no sound. The figure begins to move forward again. This time it finally seems like it's coming closer. Their face covered by shadow. You take step after step, using all of your strength to make your way to the figure. You're almost close enough to make out their face as tears stain your cheeks.

You're jolted awake by your alarm clock. Groaning, you reach over to the nightstand to shut it off. Looking down at your pillow you see teardrops scattered across it. Wiping your eyes you realize you were crying in your sleep again. You look up at the clock. 6am. You put your head back down and turn to the other side, reaching your arm across the empty side of the bed. Gently grabbing the pillow next to you, you take a deep, grounding breath and finally get up.

You exit your room and quietly open the other bedroom door. Inside is your three year old daughter, Emma, fast asleep in her toddler bed. Closing the door you make your way into the bathroom and turn the shower on. Pulling your hair out of it's messy ponytail you begin to undresses. Catching a glance of yourself in the mirror, the darkness hides most of what you see. Unless Emma is with you, every shower you've taken for the last two years has been in the dark. You had grown tired of looking into the mirror and seeing the dark circles under your eyes, noticing that you had lost weight - just looking at yourself in the mirror and seeing a shell of your former self. Even though you feel like you've been able to reclaim a lot of yourself in the last year, you always have a feeling of emptiness looming in your chest.

After showering you check the baby monitor, noticing Emma is beginning to stir, you quickly get dressed and walk into the bedroom. You make you way over to the toddler bed and sit on the edge, running your fingers through the little girls wild curls.

"Good morning my love." You quietly say.

The little girl turns her head and looks up at you, a sleepy smile crosses her face.

"Good morning mommy." She says with a yawn.

"Come on baby, lets get you up." You say, reaching down to pick up the girl, who sits up and reaches for you.

Lifting Emma out of the bed, she cuddles into your neck. You hold the back of her head and take a deep breath in, the empty ache in your chest eases some. After entering the kitchen you put the girl in her booster seat at the table and begin making breakfast for the both of you.

After breakfast you clean up the kitchen and get Emma dressed and put her in the playpen in the living room with her toys while you finish getting yourself ready.

You finish packing up the diaper bag and throwing a few of Emma's toys into another bag. After grabbing the rest of your own things you take Emma out of the playpen and head downstairs.

"Good morning Margie." You say.

"Oh Katie! Good morning!"

A small, elderly woman gets up from the kitchen table and walks up to the two of you.

"Good morning Margie!" Emma says.

"And good morning to you too princess." She says, squeezing the baby's chubby cheeks. "You want coffee hon?"

"No thanks, I'll grab something on my way, I don't want to be late."

"Oh right! Today's the first day of that new job, how are you feeling?"

"I'm excited, I'm looking forward to working in my field again."

"That's great but you know that's not what I meant." She says flatly. "How are you feeling?"

Knowing what she means you look down for a moment and then back up at Margie.

"I'm okay, I'm hanging in there." Margie gives you a look. "I mean, barely, but I'm hanging in there. I'm terrified to leave her." You say looking at Emma as your eyes begin to gloss over. "But I know it's what I have to do, and I really do miss working, I need some sort of normalcy back in my life."

Margie brings her hand to your face and wipes away the stray tear that fell.

"You're gonna do great kid. Knock 'em dead." She says with a smile and pats Katie's cheek.

"Thanks Marge."

With Emma and your things in tow you head to the car, putting Emma in her car seat and dropping your bags in the front passenger seat. When you pull out of the driveway you beep and wave at Marge who's waving from the front door and head off.

"Mommy! Mommy!" Emma says.

"Yes baby, what is it?"

"I want Baby Shark!"

You groan a little, it's just barely 8am and you haven't had coffee, Baby Shark may actually make you snap right now.

"Mommy pleaseeeee!" Emma whines.

"Okay fine."

Her whining is so much worse than Baby Shark, so you oblige. The music starts and Emma starts laughing and clapping her hands and sings along. You do your best to drown it out with your thoughts.

"Mommy! Sing Mommy shark!"

Looking at the girl through the rearview mirror you smile.

"Okay, okay." You say. "Mommy shark do do do do do do, Mommy shark do do do do do do Mommy shark!"

Emma squeals with happiness, you can listen to her laugh all day. It's one of the few things that's been able to get you through the last couple of years.

Pulling up to your in-laws house, you grab the diaper bag, Emma's toys and Emma and head to the front door.

"Nana!!!" Emma squeals when your mother-in-law opens the door.

"Good morning my baby!" She says as she picks Emma up and squeezes her. "Good morning Katie." She hugs you and kisses you on the cheek.

"Morning mom." You say and hug her back. "Thank you so much for watching her, really."

"Of course, I'd do anything for my grandbaby!" She says putting Emma down so she can go play. "Come in, sit."

"I can only stay for a minute, I gotta grab coffee on my way."

"Oh nonsense, I'll make you some and send you with one of our travel mugs, don't waste your money."

Her kindness makes you smile. Not only does your mother-in-law make the best coffee you've ever had, her warmth is always something that's comforted you. After you take a seat at the kitchen table you hear footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Who's in my house?!" You hear a voice playfully yell.

Emma's squealing laugh rings through the house as you hear footsteps walk towards the direction she ran off in. Your mother-in-law puts a cup of coffee down in front of you and the smell is to die for.

"Thanks mom." You say with a smile.

"Good morning sunshine!" Looking over you see your father-in-law with Emma in his arms.

"Morning dad." You say as he kisses you on the cheek.

"Oh coffee? Michelle can you make me a cup?" He asks, looking over at his wife.

"Of course."

"So Katie, you excited for your first day at the new job?" He asks.

"I am, a little nervous, but I'm excited to start working again."

"Yeah it's about time." He says playfully.

"Richard." Michelle hisses as she puts his coffee down in front of him.

"I'm only joking!"

Michelle rolls her eyes at him and sits down at the table. "So which vineyard are you working at again?"

"Dimitrescu Estate."

"Oh right, I've been there a few times, it's a nice place. Very pretty, and they have great wine." She says.

"What are you doing there?" Richard asks.

"Marketing and social media, pretty much the same thing I did at the last place."

"That's right."

Looking down at your watch you realize the time.

"Crap I have to go or I'm gonna be late." You say, getting up.

Michelle gets up, grabs your coffee cup and pours it into a travel mug, pops the top onto it and hands it to you.

"There you go sweetheart."

"Thanks mom." You say, hugging her.

"Okay love, mommy has to go, have fun with Nana and Pop!" You place a kiss on Emma's head and the baby's face scrunches, signaling she's about to wail.

"Hey Emma? Wanna go to the park with me?" Richard asks.

Her face lights up at the word "park", meltdown averted.

"YES!" She screams.

"Thank you." You whisper to Richard and kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you so much for looking after her." You say as you head towards the door.

"We'll take her any day of the week!" Richard says.

"Love you honey." Michelle says.

"Love you guys too!"

"Good luck!" Richard calls out after her.

Once you're out the door Michelle swats Richard with a dishtowel.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"'About time?' Really Richard?" She scolds him.

"What? I was kidding, she knows I was!"

Michelle rolls her eyes at him and leaves the kitchen.

You jump into your car and plug in the address of the vineyard. You had been there a few years ago when you went to the wineries with your friends; hopping to and from the various establishments in the area, but that was it. Your first interview was over the phone, the second one, a Zoom interview, you couldn't even see your new boss' face because her webcam was broken. All you were able to hear was the woman's voice. It had a silky tone - sultry, even - if you were being honest. Aside from that, you knew nothing about her, you really weren't even sure if the woman you spoke with was the owner or just an employee.

Pulling up to the vineyard you put your car in park. You pull your necklace out of your shirt and hold onto it, your fingers tracing the outline of the heart shape. After taking a deep breath and exhaling, you drop the necklace back down under your shirt. You grab your bags and head inside.

The memories of the time you and your friends were here come flooding back as you walk in. You admire the ornate style of the room - it's just as pretty as it was when you were here last. As you look around you spot a beautiful grand piano tucked away in the corner and you take note of the jazz music softly playing over the speakers.

"Sorry, we don't open until 11." A slightly aggravated voice says.

You look over and see a young girl cleaning the bar, looking at you, visibly annoyed. She can't be older than 20, dark brown, almost black hair. She's wearing a tight black t-shirt with various silver necklaces dangling from her neck.

"Oh, I'm Katie, the new marketing and social media strategist."

The girls demeanor softens, but not much.

"MOM!!" She yells towards the back. "MOM!!!"

A blond girl runs out from the kitchen area.

"Cassandra shut it, mom's on the phone!"

The dark haired girl, Cassandra, rolls her eyes.

"Can you take her to go see mom?" She asks the blond, nodding towards you.

"Nope, sorry, I have to go, I have class in a little bit."

"Bela pleaseeeee." Cassandra whines.

"No Cass, I'm leaving, bye!" The blond disappears into the kitchen again and Cassandra rolls her eyes.

"Follow me."

She leads you to the back of the winery where the offices are. There aren't many offices, but in each one there's someone diligently working.

Cassandra stops at the door furthest away and throws it open.

"Mom!"

The woman behind the desk snaps her attention up to her daughter with intensity in her eyes. Her phone pressed against her ear. She holds a finger up to Cassandra signaling for her to wait, but never breaks eye contact with her.

The woman is beautiful. Jet black hair with near perfect curls that fall just under her jawline. Gorgeous grey-blue eyes, full lips painted with the perfect shade of crimson red. She's wearing a white button down, the first few buttons undone - just enough to show off her large chest but covered up enough to still be professional. The sleeves are neatly rolled to her elbows, you also take note of her perfectly manicured nails, painted black. She's wearing layered, elegant gold necklaces that accentuate her neckline. She has a few rings and a matching bracelet on to pull the look together.

"Am nevoie de transport până săptămâna viitoare. . . Nu, abia așteaptă. . . Trebuie să plec. . . La revedere."

(I need the shipment by next week. . . No, it can't wait. . . I have to go. . . Goodbye.)

She places the phone into its cradle and her eyes snap back to Cassandra.

"What have I told you about yelling across the building?" Her voice is stern, matching the intensity in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I-"

"Were you dying?"

"What?"

Her question surprised and confused you too.

"Were you dying?"

"No?"

"Was one of your sisters dying or gravely injured?"

"No."

"Was there any emergency whatsoever?"

Cassandra sighs. "No."

"Then there is no reason for you to be screaming across my tasting room. Understood?"

"Yes mom." She says, hanging her head.

"Now what is it that you needed?" The woman's tone softens.

"The new girl is here. The social media whatever?"

The woman groans, putting her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

"Cassandra. You act like that in front of our new employee?" She grumbles. "Go, finish your morning tasks." She says, waving the girl off.

Cassandra lets out an exaggerated "UGH" accompanied by a dramatic eye roll and begins to walk away.

"Și dacă nu remediați această atitudine, vă voi trimite înapoi în România." She calls after her.

(And if you don't fix that attitude I will ship you back to Romania.)

"Sorry mom." Cassandra looks at her mom who raised eyebrow at her.

The woman nods her away.

"I apologize for that, she can be quite difficult sometimes." She says as her eyes follow her daughter while she walks away. When Cassandra is out of view her eyes snap to you.

"Oh, it's no worry at all." You say with a soft smile.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Please, take a seat." She gestures to the chair in front of her desk.

The woman reaches her hand out across her desk as you sit.

"Alcina Dimitrescu, owner and operator of Dimitrescu Estate."

Your hand meets hers for a firm handshake. "Katie Moore, it's great to finally meet you as well."

"Is Katie short for anything?" She asks.

"Uh, yeah, Kathleen." You say.

"Kathleen, what a beautiful name. Do you prefer Katie over Kathleen?"

"Oh it doesn't really matter to me. I'll respond to both."

"Wonderful. Well then Kathleen, welcome. We'll go over the job responsibilities. I'll have you fill out some paperwork and then I'll show you around the facility."

"Sounds good."

Alcina goes over what the job requirements are, what she expects of you, where the person who was in your position had left off, the usual.

"And you will get a company laptop, you can leave it here, take it home, doesn't matter much to me. As long as it's well taken care of." She picks up the phone and presses a few numbers on t he keypad and you hear the intercom go off.

"Cassandra, my office please." She hangs the phone up and looks back at you. "Cassandra has set up your laptop, if there's anything else you need, any programs you use that aren't installed, she can take care of that for you."

Cassandra walks into the office, seemingly in a better mood than earlier.

"What's up mom?"

"Can you please bring me Kathleen's laptop."

"On it." She says and walks away.

"Now for the paperwork. I'll have you fill out these and then I'll take down some of your information." She says as she hands you a W2 and some other new employee paperwork.

She hands you a pen and you begin to fill out the paperwork on her desk as she turns her attention back to her computer.

"Here you go mom." Cassandra says, handing her mom a laptop box.

"Thank you draga. Almost done with your morning tasks?"

"Yup, just gotta put out the spill trays and then I'm done."

"Excellent, thank you draga mea."

Cassandra leaves as you finish filling out the paperwork. You trade her the paperwork for the laptop box and place it on the chair next to you.

"Okay, now I just need some of your information."

She takes down your address, phone number, birthdate, etc.

"And who is your emergency contact? God forbid something were to happen."

"Uh, Jake-" You stop yourself, shaking your head as you feel your heart sink. "Sorry, uh," Alcina looks at you over her reading glasses. "It'll be my mom, I guess, Deborah Wilson."

Alcina takes down your moms information and places her glasses on her desk.

"Excellent, now that that's out of the way, I will show you the facility. You can leave your things here."

Alcina pushes her chair away from her desk and stands up, you're taken back at how tall she is. She's damn near 7 feet tall. Alcina is easily a foot taller than you. With your work heels you're 5'4" on a good day. In her heels, Alcina is easily 6'5"-6'6".

You take notice of Alcina's full outfit - and her body. Her black stilettos, high waisted, wide legged dress pants accentuate her long legs. A thick belt with a black belt buckle that frames her waist, showing off her round hips. Her ensemble is reminiscent of the 1940s-1950s, but with a modern twist. It's obvious she has a great sense of style.

Alcina walks effortlessly through the halls in her stilettos as she shows you around the facility. She tells you what each room is, what its purpose is for and tells you a little bit of history of the place. She explains that there are a few other buildings on the property where the grapes are sent to and where the wine is made and bottled, but that this is the main building. Alcina takes you through the kitchen and into the vineyard a bit to show the different grapes that are put into making the wine.

Next on the tour, she brings you down into the wine cellar. You were expecting a dreary basement, but you're surprised when you see a beautiful wine cellar. It looks like something out of a movie.

Wine racks line the walls from floor to ceiling, housing hundreds - maybe even a thousand - bottles of wine. The stone archway along with the wooden accents and shelves give the room a rustic yet elegant feel. There's a gorgeous wooden table in the center with four chairs. The set looks like it's custom made.

As you look around the room you see Alcina walk over to one of the racks. She moves a wine barrel to the side like it weighed nothing.

"Even if that thing is empty, it still has to weigh a ton." You think to yourself.

Alcina examines the rack and carefully pulls a bottle off of it.

"And this, this is what started it all." She says, handing you the bottle.

As you examine the bottle you note the beautiful gold and red details around it. It looks expensive. The label on the front reads:

"Sanguis Virginis."

"Precisely, Romanian for Maiden's Blood." Alcina says with a smile as she takes the bottle and returns it to its place.

You don't even realize the confused expression on your face until you hear Alcina chuckle at it.

"Obviously, not made with real blood. My ancestors originate from Romania, my great-grandfather it was I believe who first began making Sanguis Virginis, well over a hundred years ago at his vineyard in Romania. Eventually the business was passed down to me, however I decided to take it in a bit of a different direction. Since I was already established here in the US when I acquired the business, I purchased this property and turned it into what it is today. We've expanded our collection and now we make over 25 different wine. And I import other things such as ciders and beers from both Romania and local breweries for our customers to enjoy. No longer do we just make and sell the wine to distributers."

Alcina looks around the wine cellar with pride, you can see the passion for her family's business in her eyes.

"Any questions?"

"No, I think you covered everything. It's beautiful down here."

"Why thank you. The cellar is my personal favorite room on the entire property."

"I can see why, it's stunning."

You take in the rest of your surroundings. The warm wood absorbs the lighting, giving the room a soft yet bright glow. It's a large cellar but somehow it still feels cozy.

"Alright, lets head back upstairs, shall we? We should be opening in a few minutes and I like to do a once-over to make sure everything is in place." Alcina says.

"Sounds good."

Alcina leads you out of the wine cellar and back up to the tasting room. Cassandra and another bartender are behind the bar, drying glasses and putting them away. Alcina swipes her finger across the piano, inspects it, and nods in approval. You notice her glace at the piano again, looking at it with adoration.

"Do you play?" You ask.

"Lifetimes ago." She says with a smile. "But I wasn't very good."

"Mom what are you talking about?" Cassandra says from the bar. "You're one of the best piano players I've ever heard."

"Thank you draga." She says, smiling at her daughter.

After her inspection is complete she walks to the front doors and opens them, pulling the doorstop down with the bottom of her heel. She flips the "closed" sign over to "open" and makes her way to the massive floor to ceiling windows that line the wall across from the bar. She unlocks each window and pushes on the side of the frame to open them, making sure each window is open at the same angle.

"She's so anal retentive when she opens." Cassandra says, half complaining and half just saying it out loud.

"I can hear you." Alcina says from across the room.

Cassandra rolls her eyes and continues to put the glasses away.

Making her way over the the double glass doors leading to the outside patio, Alcina props them open allowing a cool summer breeze through the tasting room.

She gives the room another once-over. When she's satisfied she nods to herself again and looks at Cassandra.

"Everything looks wonderful. If you need me, you know where to find me. Kathleen," She says, turning to you. "lets finish getting you set up."

Alcina leads you back to her office. You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, and a sudden chill runs up your spine. Quickly taking it out, you see a text from Michelle. Your heart begins to race as you open the message. A sigh of relief is released when you realize it's just some photos of Emma, covered in flour, helping Michelle make cookies.

"Everything alright?" Alcina says.

Focused on opening the text message, you didn't even realize that you stopped following Alcina.

"Oh, yes, sorry." You say as you catch up with her. "Just my mother-in-law, she's watching my daughter today and was giving me an update."

"You have a daughter?" Alcina asks, a little surprised as they walk into her office.

"Yeah, Emma, she's about 3 and a half." You say, sitting back down.

Alcina glances down at your hands, taking notice of an absent wedding ring on your left ring finger. She also notices a ring that looks like it could be a wedding band on your right ring finger.

"How sweet. It's a fun age. Although from my experience with the girls, it's the terrible three's that are the hardest. Two was an easy age."

"I wholeheartedly agree with that. She's wonderful but likes to get herself into all kinds of things. Luckily, besides her insatiable curiosity for things that can hurt her, she's a really good kid."

Alcina laughs, pulling a smile across your face.

"Children are wonderful, until they become teenagers that is. That's when the real fun begins." She says sarcastically.

"Oh, I could only imagine. It makes me cringe as a parent now when I think of all of the things I said and did when I was a teenager."

"Oh, so you were a bad kid?" She asks with a raised eyebrow.

A light blush creeps across your cheeks. "I wouldn't say I was a bad kid. At least I wasn't worse than your average teenager."

Alcina gives you a smirk, the corner of her lip curled into a half smile.

"Is she flirting with me?" The thought flashes across your mind but you quickly dismiss it. This is your new boss, Alcina's just being nice, it's your first day here. There's no way she's flirting with you right now.

"So, I will show you to your office and let you get yourself settled." Alcina says.

Grabbing your bag and the laptop box, Alcina leads you to the room closest to her office and flicks the lights on.

It's a modest little office, on the left you see an L shaped desk in the corner against the glass window facing the hallway. On top sits two monitors, a desk chair and a small desk lamp. To the right is a small empty bookshelf. The office isn't anything fancy, but it's yours, and you're surprisingly excited about it.

"Please feel free to decorate it how you see fit." Alcina says, checking her watch. "I have a meeting in a few minutes, but I'll stop by again this afternoon to check and see how things are going. Cassandra should have left you a list of our social media logins." She says, walking over to the desk and picking up a sheet of paper. "Here it is. Take a look at them and when I get back I'd love to hear your thoughts on how you think they're doing and of course, what could be improved." She says, handing you the paper. "You did mention on your resume photography skills, yes?"

"Yes, and some videography and video editing skills as well."

"Excellent. The channels were being run by my eldest, Bela. But since she's has an internship beginning soon she no longer has the time. And since our last marketing director left, things have been in a bit of a disarray. Hopefully it won't be too overwhelming." She says, trying to gauge your reaction.

"I'm always up for a good challenge." You say with a smile.

Alcina gives a nod of approval and spins around on her heel to leave.

"I must be off. I'll be back in a little while to check in, if there's anything you need please seek out Cassandra. If she's doing what she's supposed to, you'll find her behind the bar in the tasting room."

"Sounds good, thank you."

"And Kathleen," Alcina says, turning back towards you. "Welcome to Dimitrescu Estate."

#willalove75 #resident evil alcina #alcina x female reader #re8 alcina #alcina x reader #alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x oc #alcina dimitrescu x original character #lady dimitrescuxreader #lady dimitrescu fanfic #re8 lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady alcina #lady dimitrescu x oc #lady dimitrescu x original character #re8 fanfiction #re8 #re8 village

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mellowsadistic · 2 months

Text

Couples Therapy - Part 3

When Angela arrived at the therapist’s office, she waved happily at the receptionist.

“You look, like, totally pwetty today!” said the bimbo.

“You look pwetty too!” said Angela. And she meant it. The receptionist’s pigtails were so cute! For a moment Angela wished her own hair was in pigtails, but then she remembered that was only really meant for little girls, even if they did look really good on the woman in front of her. Her own hair was in a ponytail today, tied back with a large pink scrunchie. That was much more respectable and grown-up. She wasn’t a ditzy receptionist after all.

Eric led her by the hand into the office itself, where the therapist was waiting with the tablet in his hands.

Angela squealed excitedly when she saw it, and the two men laughed.

“Here you go, sweetie,” the therapist said, handing her the screen once she’d settled down on the sofa next to Eric. Her husband had his arm around her waist, holding her body close to him.

“Is it safe if I see the screen?” he asked the therapist.

“It’s fine. The program only affects girls like little Angela here.”

Angela didn’t understand what they were talking about, but she didn’t care. The tablet had come to life, and she was engrossed in the wonderful, beautiful sparkling spirals once again.

“You like your pretty lights, don’t you Angela?” the therapist asked her.

She nodded. They were so pretty.

“Good girl. We’re going to have another talk, sweetie, just like we did yesterday. You wet the bed last night, didn’t you Angela?”

Angela turned red, but nodded again. It was so embarrassing to talk about, even though she knew the therapist was a professional. It was much easier to let herself be drawn in by the bright colours.

“That’s right. You woke up in a yucky wet diaper. You’re such a stupid baby, aren’t you Angela?”

Angela blushed even more brightly. Stupid? She wasn’t stupid, was she? She wasn’t a stupid baby. She shook her head, frowning.

“Look at the lights, little one. A clever, grown-up woman wouldn’t have wet the bed. She wouldn’t have soaked her night-time nappy like a silly little two-year-old, Angela. Only a baby would do something like that. A stupid, overgrown baby like you. We already agreed that you’re a dumb bitch, remember? Well, being a stupid baby too isn’t much different, is it?”

Angela shook her head again, but she couldn’t tell whether she was agreeing with him or not. Maybe she was stupid. A stupid baby.

“That’s right, it’s very similar. You’re just a stupid baby. A stupid baby who wets the bed. But it’s not so bad being a baby. You get to be taken care of all the time, and you like being taken care of, don’t you Angela? Like a princess?”

Angela nodded, still staring at the swirling lights. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To be treated like a princess? That’s why she’d married Eric in the first place, she remembered. So he’d look after her. So she could live like a princess.

“Yes, you’re a stupid baby who needs someone to take care of her. You need someone to look after you because you’re a dirty girl, aren’t you Angela?”

Angela focused, trying to clear her mind of the fuzziness. Something about this didn’t feel right. Was she a dirty girl? She wasn’t sure. It sounded familiar. In fact, she’s sure she’s thought of herself as a dirty girl before. A bit dirty. A bit naughty. She’d done some dirty things hadn’t she? She’d done some dirty things with men who weren’t her husband. But the therapist didn’t know about that, did he?

“You’re a dirty girl, Angela. A messy girl. A messy girl who needs someone to take care of her and clean her up.”

Angela frowned. Messy? No… she was dirty. Not messy. But weren’t they the same thing? Her head felt like it was full of cotton candy. She was probably confused. She could be so stupid sometimes. She was a stupid baby.

“You make all kinds of messes, sweetie. You make messes in your diapers, and not just at night…”

The therapist kept talking, but Angela lost herself in the colours on the screen. She was such a silly, messy girl. She needed her Daddy. She needed her Dada.

She became vaguely aware that someone was taking off her clothes. Was it Eric? Were they going to fuck? Even though she was a stupid baby, she was also a dumb bitch. And dumb bitches got fucked whenever a man wanted to fuck them. But no, she wasn’t getting fucked. Someone was changing her into her nappy. Was it bedtime? No, it didn’t matter that it was bedtime. Stupid babies needed to wear their nappies all the time.

“…but when you’re at home, there won’t be any need for other clothes,” the therapist was saying. “You like it when Daddy looks at your naked body. You’re a dirty girl. It’s silly to have your boobies out all the time, and you love being silly. And your Daddy needs to be able to see if you need your diaper changed too, because you’re such a stupid baby that you won’t even tell him if you’re wet or messy. You’ll wait to be checked like a silly little girl.”

Angela nodded. She was so silly. So stupid.

“…and if Daddy’s going to be taking care of you, it’s only fair that you treat him with respect, wouldn’t you agree? You need to look up to your husband more, Angela, and I know the perfect way to do that. All you have to do is…”

The therapist’s words echoed in the back of her mind, settling there. She felt dumb. She felt ditzy. Ditzy like the receptionist. Was Angela like her? She frowned. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be like her. Hadn’t Angela hated her at the beginning? Hadn’t she thought the receptionist was a bimbo? A vapid, overgrown six-year-old?

She realised she was still staring at the swirling patterns on the tablet with her mouth open, a line of drool hanging from her lips. “Something’s wrong…” she mumbled, interrupting the therapist. “I’ve been acting wike… like a child. You’ve been doing something to me… Eric’s been…”

She had to look away from the lights. She had to stop this. Otherwise she was going to end up like that moron on reception, some sick little fetish fantasy for her husband. Worse. She’d be lucky to end up as mature as that brainless bimbo. Daddy… Eric had something else in mind for her. Bedwetting. Nappies. He wanted to take away her adulthood. He wanted to punish her for cheating on him! That’s what all this was about!

“Not to worry,” said the receptionist, chuckling. “This always happens around this point. The suggestions get a bit much for the poor little girls. They still have their dignity, somewhere deep down. But it’s no use.”

Before Angela could do anything, the lights on the tablet became even brighter, brilliantly bright. They swirled faster on the screen, and Angela felt herself slipping back into them. No… She had to stop looking. She didn’t want to be turned into a big baby! She didn’t deserve this… She deserved… She deserved to be looked after. Yes. She deserved to be treated like a princess. A little princess… A sweet, innocent little princess who never says no to Daddy.

Angela blinked, and the session was over. The pretty lights had gone! She pouted and looked up at the two men. Eric was on his feet and the therapist was talking to him, saying some grown-up stuff she didn’t understand. Something about a woman’s rightful place, whatever that was.

Angela got up too, her diaper crinkling loudly under her frock and squishing between her legs. She must have peed in it at some point, but she didn’t remember when. Little girls like her couldn’t tell when they went potty in their pants. The soggy thing peaked out below the hem of her dress by at least two inches. Angela blushed. It was embarrassing, but she knew it didn’t matter if people saw her wet nappy. She was just a stupid baby.

“And she won’t need any more sessions?” Daddy asked the therapist.

“No. The conditioning takes a little time to fully sink it, but she’ll be all done by tonight.”

The two men shook hands.

“Ready to go home, baby girl?” Daddy cooed, turning to look at her.

Angela replied with a big smile, and held out her hand for Daddy to hold.

“Good girl,” he said, and her princess parts tingled delightfully.

They walked home together just like they had yesterday. He walked smoothly while she toddled along beside him, her diaper pushing her thighs apart like the big dumb baby she was, and she didn’t let go of his hand once until they were all the way home.

#mellowsadistic

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mangofanarts · 3 months

Text

So I wanted to talk about some of my thoughts on some of the signs Tallulah gave to Pomme as advice/comfort her about the bad situation. For context, in yesterday's stream, Pomme informs Tallulah about the last time she saw her dad, he was "so sick, the worst he has ever been." That he wrote some letters, bought her a plushie and told her to sleep, that she needed to remind him to tell her something for tomorrow. Even mentioning that she's "still waiting to see him."

Pomme even regrets listening to Bad because now she says "At what cost? Because now, we have no idea where he is. We thought of the worse....I have no idea what happened."

Pomme even mentions what she and Dapper did to try to get clues for Bad's disappearance. However, their attempts haven't worked and they haven't gotten information. Leading Pomme saying that the situation is "just confusing, and... I don't know what to do"

After listening to Pomme explain the situation she's in about Bad, the first thing Tallulah says is, "Not lose hope."

Those choice of words are both interesting and sad to me. Pomme has been trying to not lose hope, she's been so desperately trying is the thing. Her own dad (Bad) has told her to not lose hope before on situations. So, Pomme tries her best in not losing it. But, during the moment she realized that Bad's sickness to death was inevitable when he spoke to her and Tallulah that one night, of course, she was going to lose hope. Of course, when he's gone "missing", she's gonna wonder whether or not her efforts ever really worked in helping him or if he was just lying to her to make her feel better. "I tried to help in any way, I used to prepare medicine for him, health potions, in hopes it could help, he told me it did.... did it really..."

She made a whole backpack for him, in case it did help him. She used to hope it did. She's done a ritual with Dapper in hopes to try to bring Bad back or some kind of clue to where he is and it didn't work. She has tried so bad to have hope.

Tallulah telling Pomme to have hope just reminds me of the times that Bad would tell Tallulah to have hope about her papi. Have hope that he's going to come back one day, that it's going to be "soon." "Soon" is a word that Tallulah despises because it's something she's constantly been told and Tallulah has tried to have hope before for her papi. While their situations are so very different, since her papi hasn't come back for months and Bad's been dead for like around seven days. The situations are also similar too in that these are kids that are wanting their parents. These are kids that are still waiting for their parents. How a kid feels about time can feel so different to how has time actually been in reality. (Btw, this is under my assumption that time works realistically in this minecraft game. Rather then it being like cartoon logic in that "Oh, Bad's been death for a month because Bad said it was" when in reality, it's been around 7 days). For example, a kid waiting for school to end can feel like forever, when in reality it's only two minutes left in class. A kid that's lost in a store can feel like forever when it's only been like thirty seconds before they're found by their parent. Richarlyson yesterday, has even commented, "KKKKKKK get back here already tio, it's been already too long."

Bad being gone around 7 days and it feels long to Richarlyson. If it feels long to him, then you can only wonder how Pomme and Dapper feel when they constantly try to look for him. How it must feel even longer for Dapper considering that he's almost always has had his dad with him. I'm getting side-tracked because my point is about Tallulah's signs to Pomme.

Tallulah also mentions to Pomme, "You can wait thousand years for the right person, as long as you keep them in your memory and your heart that way, you can feel them close to you."

Now this, I feel like comes from a place of heart from Tallulah considering her situation with her papi. But, I also felt like that advice reminded me of something. (you read these signs to right to left btw)

So, I decided to go and look back into Bad's vod, "QSMP - The Eggs Might Die, Create is a Nightmare." Bad: "That's the thing Tallulah, unlike photos, you get to keep your memories forever. So you don't have to worry, you carry those with you ever and ever." (8:24:19 is the start - 8:24:32 is the end of it) He said that to Tallulah after Tallulah was upset she lost the photos she had with her papi before. She was jumping up and down happily in response. Her signs feel like she listened to her Tio's words about keeping her memories with her papi forever and carrying them around. In that same vod, Tallulah says "I don't want to lose another person close to me." So keep in mind that she still considers Bad to be close to her, so the idea of her listening to his advice does not feel far-fetched to me.

She has also listened his advice before in the past when he took care of her. She's even mentioned once during a Tallulah time that he "siempre tiene los mejores consejo." (always has the best advice)

You can argue that she said that about him months ago so she might not feel that way anymore. However, I still think she does feel this way about him. A month before, in January, during a Tallulah time, she said she was feeling depressed, maybe she can talk to her Tio Bad about it.

In a more recent vod, "QSMP - The Eggs Might Die, Create is a Nightmare." She talks to Bad about how she hasn't seen her papi in months, how she is upset she no longer has his letters or his pictures. She feels safe enough to talk to him about her issues and still trusts him for his comfort/advice to her. But, I didn't only want to bring up Bad's advice to Tallulah and Tallulah listening to it. I also just wanted to mention it was a bit ironic that she said that advice regarding memories to Pomme. An egg that has suffered memory issues before because of a brick hitting her head from the ending of purgatory. While Pomme isn't suffering memory issues anymore since she had regained them, I just thought it was a bit ironic. Second thing I wanted to mention is that while she says that to Pomme about Bad, we don't know if that's going to be the same case with Bad to Pomme. Or Bad to Dapper either. We don't know if Bad is going to come back from the dead with his memories in tact about his kids. If he'll have his memories of them while Pomme keeps him in her memories as she waits for him. And then, these are Tallulah's other signs to Pomme, "I don't think he would leave you two alone on purpose, it does not sound like him at all. I'm pretty sure he will come back :)" (The signs are meant to be read from right to left btw)

While Tallulah's right in that it doesn't sound in character for Bad to abandon his kids. Bad used to be Tallulah's main babysitter in the past. He used to take care of her and he would listen to her issues. Which again, also includes her feelings about her papi and how much she misses him. Tallulah has faith in her Tio Bad from him knowing how she has felt when her papi was gone. That he will not cause those same feelings she felt about her papi onto his kids, Pomme and Dapper. That her Tio Bad will know better then to do that. (To be clear, while Tallulah was not abandoned by her papi - he left her in Philza's care while he was gone. She's mentioned before about how she feels like that. It does not mean that it's true nor does it mean that her papi loves her any less.)

I would apologize for comparing Tallulah's situation to Pomme's situation but Tallulah has also compared it herself in this sign from her own experience. "I know what waiting looks like after all". She understands the pain that Pomme is going through. I hope this post makes sense💀

#qsmp #qsmp tallulah #qsmp pomme #badboyhalo

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reminiscingtonight · 1 year

Text

Good Girls Gone Bad

Leah Williamson x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: I usually don’t post back-to-back, but I was inspired by *that* clip

[WOSO Masterlist]

“Okay, which one of you did it?”

For 8am on a Monday morning, Katie McCabe can be loud. Even slightly hungover after a late night out partying, the girl can still break eardrums.

Usually you’d be hyping her up, causing a ruckus with your platonic soulmate and making the locker room slightly more chaotic, but as mentioned before, you too are suffering the consequences of a late night out at the club with your best friend. You’re huddled by Lia, hoping the calm Swiss would dissuade Katie from impeding upon your self-imposed exile from the crazier and louder side of the locker room. Your hopes are dashed when Katie’s shoes come into the edge of your vision.

“Unless your next words are going to be apologizing for dragging me out last night with you and then making me do shots when we had practice at the butt crack of dawn the next day, I don’t want to hear it,” you grumble, not lifting your head from where it’s resting on Lia’s shoulder.

The Swiss rubs a soothing hand up and down your back, though not without exchanging an amused look with your girlfriend who’s sitting on your other side.

“Don’t act so innocent. We both know what you did.”

“And what exactly did I do?”

It’s only then, when you finally look Katie in the face, that you know exactly why she’s so mad. Biting your lip, you try hard not to laugh.

Some time between stumbling out of your shared uber last night and then showing up to today’s practice (late of course), Katie’s hair has turned from its rich brown roots into a bright red mane.

“Wow. I think you’ve got the Ronnie McD look down pat. You auditioning to be his successor or something?”

The snorts of laughter in the room are worth the murderous expression that crosses Katie’s face at your tease.

“I was taking a shower this morning and the next thing I know, my hair’s red! I know you had something to do with it!”

Out of all the girls on the team, Katie’s usually the one pulling the pranks. You’re probably second after her, oftentimes tag teaming to get a wider range of teammates. So it’s not like Katie’s argument is fully without merit. Though this time around she’s missing a key detail.

“And at what time would I have had the opportunity to do so?”

You’ve all been out on international duty for a little under two weeks. Yesterday was the first day you’ve seen Katie since leaving for camp, and you don’t even remember the last time you stepped foot into her place.

Honestly you wish you could take credit for such a prank. Only very few people have ever successfully pranked Katie. So whoever swapped her shampoo out with a dye filled bottle deserved all the praises in the world.

“Who else would’ve done something like this? Leah?” Katie throws the blonde’s name out with a roll of her eyes.

It’s well known how responsible your girlfriend is. To have Leah taking such a big mick out of Katie would basically be the same as if Kim were to suddenly become tech savvy --- virtually unfathomable.

Leah simply hums. “Who me? No, no way, not me. I’m a good girl.”

Though her words are innocent, Leah follows them up with a cheeky grin and a wink sent your way.

Your mouth drops open. Leah did not just say that. Not in front of all of your friends. Not when she has a tendency to say similar things as that in the privacy of your shared bedroom.

You’re half blushing, wondering what has gotten into your girlfriend, and half appalled all the same as you turn, wanting to see Katie’s reaction to Leah’s words. You’re already bracing yourself for the inevitable teasing or for the brunette to read into Leah’s body language, only to find the Irish woman not even paying Leah any attention. Instead, she’s back to glaring at you.

“Mark your days, (Y/L/N),” Katie huffs. “I’ll get you back for this. Just you see.”

Turning on her heels, Katie stomps to her locker, glaring at anyone who dares to stop and stare.

Rolling your eyes, you turn back to your girlfriend. There’s still this indecipherable gleam in her eyes that’s making you quite suspicious.

Finally ungluing yourself from Lia’s side, you all but throw yourself back into the blonde’s arms.

Chuckling, Leah presses a kiss against your cheek.

“Can you believe Katie? Like when do I have the time to take a piss on her? I barely crawled out of bed this morning, let alone drove to her place and replaced her shampoo with red dye.”

“I told you going out last night was a bad idea.”

Yes, you distinctly remember Leah trying to convince you to spend the night with her, but you hadn’t seen Katie in what felt like ages. You kissed your pouting girlfriend goodbye, promising to be back quick.

“If you hadn’t blown me off to go clubbing with Katie last night, we could’ve been doing so many things instead of you leaving me to stew all by my lonesome. You know you can never trust me to behave when left to my own devices.”

“Oh my god.” Now Leah’s weird behavior all day makes sense. Despite your hungover clinginess, your girlfriend’s been strangely despondent this morning. She hasn’t been actively cold or ignoring you by any means, she’s just been less like her normal touchy self since you’ve both woken up for the day. Her strange behavior was one of the reasons you sought solitude with Lia instead of throwing yourself into your girlfriend’s arms this morning.

“It was you!” you whisper-shout, eyes wide with a mix of shock and impressivity.

“What ever could you be accusing me of doing, babe?”

You should’ve known something was up when Leah didn’t try as hard as she usually does to keep you from going out last night. And you should’ve known she would have gotten up to no good in your absence. Your girlfriend rarely gets into mayhem-causing moods, but when she is in one, there’s no telling who’s safe. The last time she was in one, not even Keira, the one who helped set up half of Leah’s pranks with her, was safe.

Since you denied Leah sex last night, it seems as if you, and by proxy Katie, are on top of her shit-list this time around.

She gives you a pat on the leg before shooting to her feet.

“All this because I didn’t have sex with you last night?” you whine, quick to scramble after to her. You were already kicking yourself for missing out on getting naked with Leah last night. But now she’s actively torturing you for doing so as well. “Katie’s literally going to be on my ass about this for at least the next week.”

“First off, that’s my ass. Tell her to back off. And second, a girl has needs. It’s not my fault you blew me off to go party last night. I’m just finding creative outlets to let off some steam.”

There’s a slight sparkle in her eyes that tells you Leah’s not actually mad. Though the mischief hasn’t left either, so you’re not sure if you’re quite so safe yet. Knowing your girlfriend, you still had a lot of things coming your way.

“I swear, Leah,” you huff, an embarrassed blush already rising to you cheeks.

“What are you going to do, punish me?”

Your mouth drops open.

Leah’s skipping away with a devilish look and joyous giggle as you try your best to pick your jaw off the floor.

Your girlfriend is going to kill you before the end of the day. You just know it.

Your thoughts are followed by you quickly ducking, barely avoiding the football aimed at your head. On second thought, maybe Leah’s not going to be the death of you. Katie might get there first.

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #engwnt x reader #engwnt imagine #Ace writes

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octuscle · 3 months

Note

I've done a few himbo transformations with the Chronivac, but I'm getting tired of being dumb. I want to be smarter without risking some crazy permanent change. Can you make it so I steal 1 IQ point from everyone who's in the same room as me? They can have it back when they leave.

You are a super Himbo. Always in good shape, always horny. And admittedly also a real feast for the eyes. I like your idea. It's a little bit experimental. But let's give it a try.

You're always the first one at the gym in the morning. You love to start your day pumped up. And it's wonderfully empty at this time of day. No smart alecks to make fun of you. You have the body, you have the face. An IQ of 89 is more than enough for an alpha guy like you! Normally you're done with your program by 07:30. That's when the gym usually fills up. Today it's surprisingly full. There's a congress in town, so lots of external guys always come to work out. By around 07:00 there are already a good 30, maybe 35 people training. One of the guys is really cute. You approach him. You talk about all sorts of things and train the next sets together. It's rare to find someone who has a similar political opinion and is interested in both Italian opera and astronomy at the same time. And who looks so awesome at the same time. You'll get a boner. He notices. You say that unfortunately you have to go now and you're going to take a shower. He says that he hopes you'll see each other again sometime. You see each other in the shower four minutes later. Not a soul around. And you fuck the guy like only a man with a bird's brain can.

You like your work as a motorcycle mechanic. Your machines are just as simple as your brain. You understand them. And you're really good at making them look hot and getting the most out of them. And you like to work alone. It's difficult in a team. Some know-it-all is always making fun of you. Pure envy, you think, and flex your muscles. But it does annoy you a little. That's why you prefer to do things in the evening that don't involve talking. Dancing. Fucking. Or go to the movies. Like tonight. "The Beekeeper". It's supposed to be good.

Shit, your head is starting to pound. The movie theater is maybe half full. You do a quick count. Yes, exactly 378 people. 78 percent male. That was to be expected. According to a rough estimate, they all spent a total of 3,117 dollars on Coke and popcorn. One guy went to the loo for the third time. You've noticed 67 things in the movie so far that are illogical. Bored, you take out a cell phone. You surf to the MIT website. A very interesting article from the mathematics department about the Riemann conjecture. By the end of the movie, you've finished the proof.

Fortunately, your favorite pub, where you're having a nightcap, is almost empty. Your buddy at the bar, a handful of the usual regulars. Your cell phone vibrates incessantly. Lots of calls from unknown callers. From cities you've never heard of. Boston, San Francisco, Cambridge in Massachusetts, Cambridge in England. Göttingen. Isn't that in Poland? What do they all want from you? You turn off your cell phone.

The next morning you have 189 missed calls. You check a few messages. But you can't understand a single word they're saying. Something about genius. And a brain that only exists once. Hehehe, you've heard that a lot about your cock. You're going back to the gym. You're late today. Your crush from yesterday is already here. And so are 40, 50 other people. CNN is on the screens. The headlines are about the proof of Riemann's hypothesis. Your crush asks you if you know what it is. You explain it to him and outline your solution. As best you can reproduce it. It's really complicated. Your crush stares at you open-mouthed. "You've proved Riemann's conjecture?“ You grin a little sheepishly.

Shit, this guy has a hot ass and a talented tongue. But why can't he keep his tongue in check? After a few minutes, the first reporter is in your workshop and asks you about this Riemann shit. Tell him to go to hell. A second, a third reporter arrives. They're on the floor laughing as you answer their questions. The weaklings are about to get the shit kicked out of them. In the afternoon, a courier arrives from this Cambridge, which is not in England. With a letter. An invitation to a ceremony. Whatever that is. And then there's a check inside. A check for a million dollars.

You like airports. A place where you can do sociological studies. You also really enjoyed the flight. The documents that the mathematical institute in Cambridge sent you are very interesting. But you see a few inconsistencies that you would like to discuss. A driver is waiting for you at the airport. You take a deep breath when you are finally out in the fresh air. It's funny, there's a guy holding a board with a name just like yours on it. You walk up to him. "Mr. Wood?" he asks a little incredulously. "Hehehe, someone must have given us that name one early morning. Do you understand, dude? And by the way, my name is Al." Curt is a cool dude. You get to sit up front and talk about football and stuff. Curt lifts iron too. He recommends a good gym near the hotel and campus. Then he tells you stuff like you can freshen up if you want. Then the dean would like to meet you for a private lunch in private. And then the prize will be officially presented in the setting. Then there is also time for your speech. You say that you smell like a real man and don't need to freshen up. And you ask what a dean does and what the hell the speech is all about. Curt grins.

The dean wipes the sweat from his brow. The food tastes quite good, but you would have preferred an honest burger. You don't understand a word of the stuff the old geezer is talking about. He keeps mumbling something about a catastrophe. You ask yourself why you're wearing that stuffy shirt. It would actually be cool right now to just wear a tank top with all the nerds and show off your muscles. Dinner is finally over. The dean, or whatever his name is, stands up and asks you to follow him. You walk towards a really cool looking building, which is called Kresge Auditorium. Funny name. You enter the hall, which is packed with dozens of people, all of whom are beaming with joy at you. The dean waves you off, pulling you along behind him. You are standing in a huge lecture hall where hundreds of people are already waiting. More and more people stream in behind you. The dean asks you to keep your mouth shut for God's sake. Then he gives his opening speech. He gives a somewhat twisted rendition of the essence of Riemann's conjecture. But as far as you know, he's not a mathematician either… The dean ends with the words "…. And yet this man has obviously proved one of the biggest problems in mathematics. Mr. Wood, would you like to say something?“ You interpret his gestures as him asking you to just shut up. But you're here to chat about math. You stand at the lectern. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is a great honor for me to speak to you today in this magnificent building. I assume that you are familiar with my remarks on the Riemann conjecture. I don't want to bore you with that either. Let's talk about another interesting topic instead, the P-NP problem." The dean faints.

Shit, the day was really exhausting. You're so happy when Curt finally drives you to the hotel. It's already late, but you still want to make your muscles burn. So you make your way to the gym. There's hardly anyone here at this time of night. One guy looks nice and really hot. You chat a bit. You train together. You both end up in your hotel room and fuck the rest of your brains out. Ian says that you absolutely have to come to Springbreak.

Fuck, Ian was so right. Spring break is awesome! The weather is incredible. Eating, drinking, working out, fucking, partying, all outdoors. You're one of the stars here. Because of your body and your cock. Certainly not because of your head. Hehehe, the 200,000 dollars that you've already spent here from your prize money has certainly contributed to your reputation. The party is in full swing. Suddenly the sky darkens and a thunderstorm with hail breaks out. The party people stream into the hotel lobby. And you flow with them. One of about 400 wet, muscular bodies. You take a quick look around. 423, to be precise.

#male tf #muscle tf #inked man #himbo tf #ai image

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