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too-many-fandoms-tbh · 11 months ago

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JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY

BRUCE WAYNE (BATMAN) SMUT

(bruce wayne/batman x fem!reader)

can be read as any batman, but he is described to be a partying bachelor in this

warnings: rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex, jealous sex, semi-public (private bathroom) sex, established relationship, slight toxic undertones?? aftercare

she knew it was for her protection, but god did y/n hate pretending not to know bruce in public. they'd attend events together, and she just had to stand there and watch every time as he flirted with all of the girls who approached him. sure, guys flirted with her all the time, but she never talked to them for more than a minute, and she'd always make sure not to lead them on. bruce didn't care; he had to keep up his "partying bachelor" status. she brought it up to him once, and he of course reassured her she was all he wanted, but that didn't mean it still didn't hurt.

currently, she was stood against a wall, arms crossed over her stomach as she glared at the girls whom were flocked around her boyfriend. she was wearing a long, bright red dress that hugged her curves tightly and had a deep v-neck. there was a slit going up her thigh, which exposed her silver heels and caused her to constantly adjust her dress in fear of exposing herself. the dress was so tight that she couldn't wear her normal safety-shorts without there being lines, so she'd been stressed about that all night.

"hey there," a voice said out of nowhere. she snapped her gaze away from bruce and immediately replaced her scowl with a polite smile as she turned to greet the man. "you look like you could use a refill."

she paused, eyes looking at the empty glass, provided by the event's servers, on the table next to her. she'd never seen the man in front of her before, but he was definitely handsome, with blonde hair and brown eyes. his tan hands both held glasses of champagne, one of which was being held out towards her. in fear of being impolite, she took the drink with nimble hands. she was a little worried that he might've done something to the drink, but with the amount of security the crowded event held, she supposed she was safe.

"thank you.." she prompted, eyes raised.

"frank." he said quickly, an awkward laugh. "frank campbell. and you are?"

"y/n l/n." she responded, taking a sip of the drink. it tasted the same as the ones she'd had before, and she cherished the flavor.

"what're you doing all the way over here?" he asked. "i'm sure you'd be a hit out there."

she nearly laughed at his attempts of flirting. "i'm just observing." she shrugged.

he turned to follow her gaze and his eyes landed on bruce, whom was still surrounded by women. "looking at wayne, huh? he's got all of the ladies here wrapped around his finger. i'm surprised you're not over there too, unless you have a boyfriend, of course."

how ironic.

"you sound jealous." she swirled the drink in her cup, looking up at him through her eyelashes. holy shit, she was flirting back, wasn't she?

"so what if i am?" he said boldly. "i think every man in this room is."

"and why is that?" she continued, taking another sip of her drink. as she did so, her eyes trailed over to bruce. she knew he'd look over at them eventually, he was protective like that, but now he was straight up staring at her. he looked upset, and for some reason, she was almost pleased with that result. maybe, just maybe, this would show him what it was like to be in her shoes. she winked at him once before turning her attention back to frank.

she nodded along as frank spoke, but honestly, she had tuned out on a lot of it as she was looking at bruce. when he finished talking, she had a good enough idea of what he said to respond.

"so what," she summarized with a slight smirk. if only he knew who he was talking to. "you think you could show a girl a better time than he could?"

"oh, i know i could."

"ah, i see." she set her almost-empty glass down and reached for her handbag off of the table. the small, designer bag was cute, but she hated the fact that it didn't have a strap. she was digging around in it, searching for her small tin of breath mints, when suddenly she knocked the bag over. it toppled to the ground, the contents spilling everywhere. she gasped, carefully falling to her knees in order to collect her things. frank squatted down too, doing his best to help. she could see the way his eyes landed on her cleavage before trailing down to the her thigh, where she was maybe an inch away from exposing the space between her thighs.

"sorry," she laughed awkwardly, suddenly a little uncomfortable under his gaze. his eyes never left her body as he handed her the occasional lipstick or bobby-pin from the floor. she thought she wanted this attention, in fact she'd been craving it all night, but she suddenly felt guilty as she realized what she was doing. apparently, she'd done a better job flirting than she'd thought she did, and now this man was looking at her as if he expected her to come home with him tonight. all whilst her boyfriend was watching.

speaking of bruce, she glanced up to see him staring directly at her, eyes narrowed. to make matters even worse, she and frank both reached for her phone at the same time, their hands connecting for a split second. she pulled away quickly, but frank was already making eye-contact with her, a blush on his face.

"that's everything," he said, finally looking at her face. he stood up, offering her a hand as well. despite the fact that she wanted to get up on her own, she took his hand, standing up as slowly as possible in order to keep her dress intact. the second his hand dropped hers, she was adjusting her dress again, wishing she'd worn the black dress that alfred suggested.

"oh, here," he said. she had no clue what he was doing, but suddenly, his hand was on her face. he brushed something off of her cheek and she stood there frozen. her eyes looked for bruce, and he was dismissing himself from the girls around him. he pulled out his phone as he walked, but she lost him in the crowds before she could see where he was headed. "you had a hair."

"thanks," she forced a smile. her phone buzzed in her purse, and after saying a quick apology to frank, she pulled it out. bruce's contact filled her screen, and her knees went weak as she read his text.

"Meet me in employee bathroom, two minutes. Down the stairs to your left. Don't be late."

"oh my god," she attempted to feign a dramatic gasp, but honestly, she didn't have to try that hard to fake being shocked because she genuinely was. bruce was very rarely that demanding, and if he was, it was only after a hard night out as batman. "i am so sorry, frank, but i have to go. business emergency."

"oh, no," frank seemed a little appalled at her sudden exit. "don't apologize. i hope everything is alright."

"yeah, thanks," she reached over for her glass of champagne and finished it with a long swig, ignoring his confused gaze. "it was lovely meeting you, really. i'll see you around, yeah?"

he seemed a little shocked, but she patted his shoulder once before grabbing her clutch and walking away. she walked as fast as she could in a restricting dress and heels, which, honestly, was quite slow. no one seemed to notice her as she snuck through the unlabeled doors and down the concrete stairs. she really hoped these were the correct stairs, because it took her nearly a minute to get down them without ripping her dress. immediately, a door labeled "family bathroom" appeared to her left, and in smaller letters it read "staff only".

she prayed that it was the right room when she knocked. as quick as lightning, bruce opened the door and pulled her inside. she fell against the door as he locked it behind her.

"well hello to you too," she sassed, ignoring how turned on she already was. if this was something serious and not sexual, then she was about to feel real stupid. "what's up?"

"i could ask you the same question." he said, voice barely controlled. "what's up with campbell over there?"

"oh, so you know him?" she inquired boldly. she could feel the alcohol in her veins, not enough to make her tipsy, but enough to make her words bolder.

"yeah, i do," he grumbled. "nice guy."

she laughed lightly. "that's surprising. he hates you."

"oh, does he?" bruce didn't seem phased. "and why is that?"

she pushed herself off of the door, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. "oh nothing much," she smirked up at him. "just thought he could fuck me better than you."

this caught bruce's attention and his eyes hardened. his large hands found place on her waist, pulling her closer.

"and would you let him?" his voice was raspy. he knew she wouldn't, they'd had that conversation before when they were actually being sincere, but he had to see what she'd say now.

"depends," she ran her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. "would you fuck handsy-pansy? i'm sure she thinks she's better than me."

"handsy" pansy was some blonde woman whom seemed to show up at every event, and each time she saw bruce, she'd fawn over him the whole time, laughing at everything he said and always touching him.

bruce pretended to think, watching as she scrunched her face up at him. she knew he was just doing it to get a rise out of her, and she planned to return the favor.

"maybe i'll go and talk to frank after all," she pulled away, pretending to reach for the door. "i'm sure he'd love to have me in his bed after all of this is over."

the next thing she knew, bruce grabbed her hand. he pulled her back, spinning her enough so that their chests collided and he could slam his lips against hers. the kiss was rough and passionate, and she found herself wrapping her hands around his neck to stay stable. his larger hands gripped her waist, slowly moving down to her ass with a harsh squeeze. she moaned in his mouth, arching her back against him.

"fuck you better than me, huh?" he growled, pulling away. he pulled her by her waist, shoving her towards the sink. her hands latched onto the counter and she could see bruce standing behind her in the mirror. she bit her lip as he grabbed the long dress, bunching it up at her waist, where it surprisingly stayed. she watched his breath catch in his throat when he realized she only had lace on underneath. he didn't say anything, simply palming her smooth ass before reaching between her legs. his calloused fingers slid over her soaked folds and she threw her head back, a bright blush on her face.

"you're already so wet," he commented, pulling away. he met her eyes in the mirror. "was all of this for him?"

"no," she shook her head quickly, going against any of her usual bratty instincts. "it's all for you, bruce."

"all for me, huh?" he repeated. as he spoke, she arched her back against him, attempting to grind herself against his thigh. his hands found place on her hips, and her actions were halted abruptly. his grip was rough, but not quite enough to be painful.

"i don't know," he tsked, making eye contact with her through the mirror. "you seemed pretty pleased with yourself out with campbell, acting like a slut, all whilst wearing the brand new dress i bought you."

"god," she whined, biting her lip. the way he was staring her down through the mirror, thumbs caressing her hips, was driving her crazy. "please, bruce! i'm yours, all yours."

"now you're begging?" he asked slyly, fingers moving down her hips and to her thighs, where he then stroked her skin softly. "so eager to be fucked like the slut you are, huh?"

"so what if i am?" she challenged, trying to slyly rub her thighs together. her actions didn't go unnoticed, and bruce roughly separated her legs. she nearly fell, leaning forward onto the sink.

"you beg me to go out more," he murmured under his breath. through the mirror, she could see him unbuckling his belt. "and this is the treatment i get. you want me to fuck you? fine, i'll fuck you. i'll fuck you so good the whole party will hear you, and campbell will know you're mine. that's what you wanted, right? for me to show you i care?"

his words were almost sappy, but his tone was the complete opposite.

"i've cared the whole time," his gruff voice continued. she heard the clink of his pants falling to his ankles. "it drove me crazy watching guys look you up and down, talking about you like you're their next meal."

he didn't give her time to respond, because he suddenly slid inside of her. she let out an airy moan, manicured fingers gripping the counter as she adjusted to the quick intrusion. the momentary pain was quickly being masked with pleasure as he leaned forward, craning his neck to place a soft kiss on shoulder. though the moment was tender, his voice was still a husky whisper in her ear. "god, if only they could see you now, see how you're all mine."

the next thing she knew, he was pounding into her like there was no tomorrow, snapping his hips against her so much that she felt her entire body bounce with each movement. she tried to make eye contact through the mirror, but she couldn't bear to keep her head up. a constant string of airy moans were leaving her mouth, and had she not been about to collapse, she would've brought a hand up to silence them.

"fuck, bruce.." she managed to sputter out. his pace was relentless; it seemed his hours of being batman really contributed to his stamina.

"what?" he practically growled from behind her. "you can't take it?"

"i can!" she cried out, head thrown back as she struggled to speak. "i-" her next sentence got cut off by a startled moan as one of bruce's hands left her hips and snaked around to pressure her clit.

she moaned out his name as he continued his assault, his finger now rubbing slowly against the bundle of nerves.

"fuck," he panted from behind her. "you gonna cum for me, yeah?"

she nodded, her body shaking in his arms. she wasn't sure how much longer she could take it before she collapsed onto the floor, but god did she love it.

"i need words, sweetheart." he said, his halting the actions of his fingers. he was still pumping into her, likely because he too was close, but she immediately whined at the loss of contact against her sensitive clit.

"yes!" she choked out, only to then moan again when he twiddled her clit between the pads of his calloused fingers.

it didn't take long before she could feel herself nearing an orgasm. biting her lip to prevent herself from screaming, y/n came roughly, legs shaking so hard she was scared her knees were going to buckle out from under her. she expected bruce to slow down, maybe give her a moment to recuperate, but his pace only quickened to a near impossible state. he was back to holding her hips with both hands, using his virtually painful grip on her body in order to pound into her even harder. she was shaking like a limp ragdoll in his arms, incoherent moans leaving her open mouth. she was even more sensitive than before, and she was sure anyone walking by would be able to hear her.

right when she was sure she'd get whiplash from being jerked around so much, not that she was complaining, she felt bruce let go inside of her, his liquid coating her insides. once he was finished, he slowed to a stop and slipped softly out of her. she almost immediately fell to the floor, but his now gentle grip was quick to grab onto her.

he spun her around to face him, supporting her weight with ease. he gave her an amused smile, and she couldn't help but just stare at him, her face still stuck in a fucked-out haze. her makeup was smeared, and there were many loose, frizzy hairs stuck to her face. she managed to pull her dress back down to cover herself, but it was full of wrinkles, and there was now a wet patch on the crotch.

bruce pulled her into his chest and leaned down to press a lasting kiss onto her lips. she brought her weak arms up to wrap around his neck, and he continued to hold onto her, now moving his hands up to her waist rather than her sensitive hips. the kiss was slow and soft, a large contrast to his actions only moments ago.

"what'd ya say we ditch this joint, yeah?" he said once he'd pulled away.

"but bruce.." she began to murmur, obviously still dazed.

"the gala can wait," he reassured. "i'm not needed there anyways. what matters to me is getting you home."

she frowned up at him, but it really didn't take long for her to give in. she hated to admit it, but with how rough he had been, there was some much-needed aftercare in store for her. and knowing bruce, he was going to make it his life's mission to make sure she is as comfortable as possible.

"alright.." she said eventually. she went to step out of his grasp, only for her legs to buckle under her weight on the first step. stifling a laugh, bruce scooped her into his arms bridal-style before she could even process what had happened.

"you still think he could fuck you better than me?" he teased as he pushed open the door. all she could do was giggle in response, resting her head on his shoulder as he carried her down the corridor and into their waiting car. as she'd suspected, she was showered in warm baths, cozy cuddles, and her favorite snacks for the rest of the evening, and though she was definitely sore, there was not a single ounce of regret in her mind.

#smut #batman #batman smut #dcu #bruce wayne #bruce wayne smut #robert pattinson #battinson #battinson smut #christian bale

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 3 days ago

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I can totally see alucard needing to constantly scare off men and maybe even some women from trying to pursue the malena siren maiden.

It wouldn't surprise me if he wasn't the only person obsessed with her in village Belmont. How do you think he would sort of show everyone that she's off limits or already taken by him? (although I doubt that would stop the other obsessed pursuer)

and in another train of thought do you think that Trevor and sypha would believe that the siren has alucard under her thrall and that their relationship isn't real and it's just her using her siren power to use him and if so would they try to "save" him from her? That would certainly be a interesting way to introduce the characters to each other 🫣😬🤣

A/N: Oooh, two very good questions! (For all entries in this series, click here for the tag ‘yandere alucard siren reader’.)

‘The Landwalker’ has a natural hypnotic aura about her. She cannot help it, her species are designed to be alluring, whether she wishes to attract attention or not. Similarly, vampires (and dhampirs, like Alucard) are also profoundly captivating, so too to lure in their prey.

Thus, Alucard and The Landwalker are at a standstill/equals of sorts when it comes to hypnosis— neither one can supernaturally influence the other. However, just because they are immune to each other’s influence and entrancing natures, the humans of Village Belmont are not.

Even when The Landwalker has no intentions of charming the folks around her, many weak-willed men, and even some women, find themselves revering her. Even with the uncanny nature of her appearance and the clumsy pronunciation of her speech, The Landwalker finds herself surrounded by many admirers when she socializes amongst the people.

Such veneration suits her just fine. Personally, she sees nothing wrong with being waited on hand and foot. After all, she is a superior species to the lowly common human. What’s wrong with allowing a select few to do her bidding?

Alucard on the other hand, finds the concept quite maddening.

How dare she accept the attention and affection of these other men, these simple-minded human villagers when she has him, the superior, transcendental choice?!

Alucard puts a stop to it nearly right away.

He starts with her- taking away various privileges and luxuries she may have grown accustomed to dwelling within the walls of his castle. The third week in a row without a saltwater soak has her finally changing her tune.

The Landwalker does try, truly she does. But even without using her abilities of hypnosis, and constant shooing away of the men and women who leer, folks still find themselves vying/competing for her attention.

So The Alucard decides to switch targets, instead focusing his threatening gaze and suggestive words to the human men who can’t seem to stop trailing his beloved like pathetic lost puppies. He talks to them and tells them of her more nasty, inhuman habits. He speaks casually as if blood-drinking and scale-shedding are akin to making small talk about the weather. For those who are not frightened by such details, he decides a physical display of ownership would work best.

Alucard insists on having matching rings made for him and her. Hell, he goes even further and has a blacksmith make a special diamond encrusted choker-type necklace for his beloved. The silver metal compliments her palor complexion well, and the blood-red rubies within the elegant collar of hers are enough to give more zealous villagers pause.

Ironically, these possessive actions on Alucard’s part are the same things that give his friends Sypha and Trevor pause. Could it be that perhaps this siren has him under her spell? Despite knowing the dhampir for only a short time, neither Sypha nor Trevor ever imagined that marriage, and ostentatious displays of affection, would ever take place in Alucard’s future. He was much too quiet, too introverted, and withdrawn for that.

This leads to a particularly malicious confrontation between the siren and the dhampir’s friends. While decorating the nursery for Trevor’s and Sypha’s incoming child, Alucard cannot help but comment aloud how he looks forward to creating his progeny with the 'The Landwalker’ one day. Upon hearing his words, our siren friend ceases her movements and turns at him to bear her sharp teeth.

“No bahby,” She hisses out before releasing a throaty growl.

This spurns Sypha and Trevor to take action.

Sypha immediately lights her hands aflame, while Trevor reaches for his whip.

It takes their combined efforts, both Alucard and our Siren to convince his friends that neither one of them is under the other’s spell.

Trevor is the first to realize the actual dynamic at play here, when he hears Alucard’s explanation of their relationship.

“It’s mutually beneficial,” Alucard assures them. “Besides, it’s not like she has elsewhere to go. Why if either of you met her first on the road, I have no doubt you’d incinerate her before she could open her lips.”

Trevor may be a monster hunter of the supernatural variety, but his lot in life has also taught him to recognize an asshole when he sees one.

Trevor tells Sypha to stand down, signaling to her that they’ll discuss more later.

Surprisingly, this tense encounter only makes Trevor and Sypha closer friends of The Landwalker. Sypha appreciates having someone to discuss magic with, and Trevor appreciates her shared knowledge of monsters of the oceanic world.

More irksomely however, is where this new dynamic leaves Alucard, which is slightly more edged out compared to before. It only works to cement in his mind his need to continue to show ownership over the siren, lest she, or anyone else for that matter, start to get other ideas.

A/N 2.0: My apologies for the delays in posting recently. I’ve just been so exhausted from work/life/bs that I’ve had no energy to write, even on the days I’ve managed to find time. It’s been frustrating staying away from what makes me happy for so long. :/ Unfortunately, us adults gotta be adulting sometimes.

As always, if you enjoyed reading this work, please Like but more importantly, please REBLOG.

(For those of you who may have just joined us from TikTok, please note that this website functions on REBLOGS, not Likes. So those are always preferred as far as us content creators on here are concerned.)

Like my work? Wanna show your appreciation? Feel free to Buy Me A Coffee <3.

#yandere alucard x reader #alucard x reader #castlevania x reader #adrian tepes x reader #castlevania imagine #castlevania imagines #yandere alucard siren reader #tw: yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #castlevania #os

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hoe4hotchner · 3 months ago

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Chapter 7 - Breaking point

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 10.2k

Warnings: Blood, murder, ice pick stabbing, grief, trauma, and vulnerability. Disturbing imagery? (to some maybe), intense emotions, reader has feelings of guilt and fear. Heavy themes. Reader experiences shock and a sense of personal violation, I murder a minor in the ladder half of the chapter (maybe this is the last murder in the fic…. I don't know yet)……. Also maybeeeee there's an almost kiss 😈.

A/N: This took me way too long to edit…… like 4 days. And the only reason is that I'm a dumbass who constantly kept backtracking and adding more things and new scenes to the chapter….. I literally added 2.5k more words to this than it started out with.

Also I've had a busy week so that's that ;)

Masterlist

The sharp screech of tires behind you brought you back from the depths of your shock, but even as the sound echoed through the street, your mind struggled to process what lay in front of you fully. The grotesque sight of Branson’s lifeless body slumped against your front door, the dark pool of blood seeping from his chest, the ice pick still lodged in his heart — it all felt like a sick and twisted dream, something too horrific to be real — too close to home, literally.

The words smeared across your door, “You’re next,” burned into your mind, each letter etched in blood, like a threat — no, it was a threat, a threat you were far too stunned to recognize.

You felt frozen in place, paralyzed by the disbelief of the situation as well as the terror swirling around in your chest. You were unable to tear your gaze from the gruesome sight. Your breath came in shallow gasps — small clouds of condensation forming in the air — the reality of what you saw was slow to sink in. The wind whipped around you, carrying the soft rustling of leaves in the trees, but even that felt distant like it couldn’t quite reach your ears through the numbness creeping through your body.

The slam of the car door echoed sharply — the sound was violent compared to the gentle rustles of the night — a sound that should’ve jolted you, but you barely registered it. He moved with a quick, determined stride, his dark coat billowing slightly in the air as he cut across the street and through the shadows to reach you.

And then, through the thickening fog of your fear, he appeared in front of you. Solid, familiar — the cologne, you recognized it — He was undeniably real, not just something you'd imagined.

Hotch

His face, usually composed, now portrayed subtle cracks of concern as his gaze swept over the scene. Swiftly he swept it over Branson’s lifeless body, taking in the blood and the message scrawled on your door — it was not the first time he had seen a message like that, but the difference was that last time he knew that she could defend herself if necessary. You, not so much.

But then his eyes found you — you were still frozen in shock — they softened as he took in the state you were in, a mix of worry and concern spreading as he took you in. Without a word, he closed the distance between you — his presence felt grounding in the chaos — and pulled you into a firm, shielding embrace. He didn't know what had come over him — He rarely got this close with victims, no matter what they went through. But you were different.

His arms encircled you completely, holding you tightly, as though his strength alone could shield you from the horror just feet away. Although your eyes were blank — staring into the void — your arms instinctively wrapped around his back as you turned your head to let your cheek rest on his chest.

The warmth of his chest against yours, the steady rise and fall of his breathing — it all anchored you, pulling you from the haze that had swallowed your mind. For a brief moment, everything else faded: the blood, the message, the body against your door. All that existed was the safety of his hold, the quiet assurance of his touch. Him.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice rumbled in his chest making it slightly vibrate against your cheek. Hotch kept murmuring reassuring words to you, trying to reach through the panic that gripped you down to your core. But your breath was still shallow, your words tangled in the back of your throat. Your wide, glazed eyes couldn’t stop flicking back to the scene, the blood still fresh, the ice pick still gleaming in the faint light of the moon. Hotch’s arms tightened just a little as he quietly turned both your bodies around, making sure he was the one to face Branson's body, not you.

"I'm sorry... I—" you stammered, finally managing to speak, your voice broke under the weight of everything, everything you couldn't figure out how to express. The words felt hollow, lost in the moment once they'd been spoken. As the world spun around you, your knees threatened to give way, the ground beneath you felt unstable — yet the concrete was newly paid, leaving little room for uneven terrain. But before you could crumble, Hotch hooked one of his hands around your underarm and tightened his grip around you before pulling you closer, his presence was the only thing keeping you upright in that moment.

As he felt your breaths slowly getting calmer, he moved his other hand gently to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair with a softness that contrasted the harsh reality.

"Don’t apologize," he whispered, his voice was filled with reassurance. His breath ghosted over your temple as he spoke. "Just focus on me. I’m here."

Hotch managed to fish his phone from his coat pocket with the freest of his hands, keeping his arm wrapped securely around you to the best of his ability as he quickly dialed for backup. Even in this moment, his movements were fluid and purposeful, a testament to his training as an agent as well as his instincts as a human. As he spoke, his voice shifted back to its authoritative tone, the one you had heard several times before — sharp, commanding, and laced with urgency as he barked orders into the phone. "I need units at (Y/N)'s address immediately — I don't care, send them all — We've got a homicide, and she’s been threatened. Secure the perimeter, and get forensics down here. Now!"

His eyes were laser-focused, darting back and forth as he processed the situation, and tried to profile the crime scene to the best of his abilities, while still needing to make sure you were okay. The tension in his jaw was evident as he took in the horrific scene, the pieces of the puzzle finally snapping together. His gaze locked onto the message scrawled on your door, the horror of it deepening his frown. He had been too late the last time, but now was his chance to redeem his past actions. "And make it fast. No delays," he added, his voice brokering no argument.

You stood there, pressed against him as your body trembled uncontrollably. The raw reality of what had unfolded settled in your stomach like a heavy, sinking weight. Branson’s lifeless body — each horrifying detail — flashed over and over in your mind, etched too deeply to ignore. The nausea that had been simmering suddenly surged, more forceful than before, and for a moment, you thought you could hold it back. But the bile rose too fast, too fierce.

With a shaky gasp, you pulled away from Hotch as quickly as you could, stumbling a few steps toward the nearest bush. Your body betrayed you as you bent forward, retching, the nausea spilling out in waves. Your fingers dug into the rough bark of the tree beside you, gripping it as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. The sound of your own ragged breaths filled your ears, and all you could feel was the sickening churn in your gut.

Hotch was by your side in an instant, one hand resting gently on your back, while the other gently moved your hair back and into a makeshift ponytail as you emptied what little remained in your stomach. He didn’t say anything, just stayed close, offering silent comfort. When you finally straightened, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you looked pale, beads of sweat evident on your forehead.

"Come on," Hotch said gently, grabbing your hand as he once again wrapped his other arm around your shoulder. His voice was soft but steady. "Let’s get you somewhere safe." His hand remained firm around yours, guiding you with careful, deliberate, and slow steps toward his car. You could feel his thumb brushing gentle circles over your knuckles, each touch grounding you in a way words couldn't. It was like he knew that the smallest connection was just enough to stop you from collapsing completely.

When you reached the car, he opened the passenger door with ease, then gently helped you inside. You barely registered the seat beneath you, still numb from the shock of it all, but his hand lingered on your shoulder for a moment longer than necessary. It wasn’t just a gesture of comfort — it was something far deeper, a reminder that he wasn’t just some big-shot FBI unit chief tonight. He was someone who genuinely cared.

You leaned back against the seat, feeling the exhaustion hit you all at once, closing your eyes in an attempt to block everything out.

The distant wail of sirens cut through the night, growing louder with each passing second until it was no longer just a sound but a piercing force that seemed to disturb the air around you. In an instant, the street outside was flooded with a sea of flashing red and blue lights, illuminating the darkened neighborhood. Officers descended onto the scene with purpose, their movements quick and coordinated — they knew just what to do. Forensics teams began to set up their equipment, yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the breeze as it was stretched across the area by an officer, and the soft murmur of voices carried through the night. The once-quiet street had transformed into a chaotic hive of activity, the lights casting a surreal, almost otherworldly glow over everything.

Outside the car, the commotion grew as K9 units arrived on the scene, their dogs weaving through the taped-off perimeter. Their barks echoed in the night. The low hum of radios crackled to life as handlers gave commands, and the dogs sniffed along the ground, searching for any trace of the unsub’s path. Their noses skimmed over the blood-streaked pavement and dewy grass, while officers kept a close watch, ensuring nothing was overlooked.

Yet, inside Hotch’s car, the world felt muted — detached from the frenetic scene outside. The flashing lights, the movement of officers, the blaring sirens, the barking dogs — it was all muffled as if a thick layer of glass separated you from the outside world. The bubble of silence around you was eerie, you hated it, but couldn't shake muffled sounds that hit your ears. You sat there, still, eyes locked on the windshield, staring straight ahead but not really seeing anything. The night outside bled into a blur, the colors and shapes swirling together making the world around you distorted.

Your mind, however, was still anchored to a singular image — the last, awful sight of Branson. That scene played on a loop behind your eyes, each detail etched into your memory. Especially the ice pick — it swirled in your thoughts, refusing to let go, trapping you in a state of disbelief. It didn’t feel real. It couldn't be real.

Hotch crouched down in front of you, his tall frame folding with an effortless grace, bringing him just below your level in a way that felt intimate. He didn’t say anything — there were no words that could possibly ease the weight of what you’d witnessed — but his presence was enough. His hand found yours — it was warm compared to your icy one — fingers threading together as though silently promising you weren’t facing this alone.

His thumb traced soft, rhythmic circles over your skin, a small yet deeply intimate gesture, one he likely didn’t even realize he was doing. It was instinct. The weight of his gaze, soft yet concerned, held you, too. It was like he was trying to tell you, without saying a thing, that he was here, that he would shoulder the weight of this even if you couldn’t.

Time seemed to stretch, each minute dragging on as though the weight of what had happened too was too much for the clock to bear. Minutes felt like hours as you and Hotch remained there — silently waiting for your mind to catch up.

You could feel the rise and fall of your own breath as you began to regain consciousness, shaky and uneven, while Hotch remained still. You stole a glance at him, the soft glow of the lights catching the flicker of concern in his eyes, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else existed beyond this.

After what felt like an eternity, movement outside the car caught your attention. Through the distorted haze of flashing lights and shadows, you saw Morgan approaching, his stride was purposeful — obviously searching for Hotch — his face was etched with a seriousness that made your stomach tighten. His eyes flickered briefly between you and Hotch as he came to a stop just outside the passenger door.

“Hotch,” he said, trying not to alert you to any of the findings forensics had found.

Hotch hesitated for a moment, his hand tightening around yours before he finally let go. The warmth of his palm slipping from your grasp felt like a sudden, chilling loss, and you fought the instinct to reach out again. He stood, straightening his tall frame as he reluctantly stepped away, he shot you a glance, as if to silently reassure you that he wasn't far, that he’d still be there even from a few paces away.

Your gaze followed him as he joined Morgan a few steps from the car, his back now partially turned to you. Even with the distance between them, you could see the taut line of his shoulders, the way his body remained rigid with tension. The concern that had softened his face when he held you seemed to harden again as he listened to Morgan, his eyes darting back to the crime scene, then flicking briefly toward you, making sure you were still okay.

From where you sat, you couldn’t hear all the words they exchanged, but the tension of their conversation hung in the air, you could sense it even from afar. Hotch’s jaw clenched, his hands fisting at his sides as he absorbed whatever Morgan was telling him, his facade of leadership slipping back into place. But before he fully immersed himself in the chaos outside, he cast one last look over his shoulder, his eyes locking onto yours for just a second longer than necessary, as if to remind you — I haven’t forgotten about you.

Morgan was already in full investigation mode, his brow deeply furrowed as he stole another glance back at the crime scene, where the forensics team was still methodically combing through every inch of evidence under the harsh glare of floodlights. The flashing red and blue lights cast a glow over the area, their shifting colors reflecting off the glass of the SUV, throwing fleeting shadows across both men’s faces.

"Talk to me," Hotch’s voice was quiet, and controlled, trying to make sure you wouldn't hear any of their conversation. He crossed his arms, posture rigid, every ounce of his attention locked onto Morgan.

Morgan exhaled, his hand scraping over the back of his neck in a gesture that managed to reveal the gravity of the situation to you. "Forensics team’s been working the scene for the last fifteen minutes," he started. "The ice pick — it's clean. No prints, no identifiable traces — no nothing. Whoever did this, they knew what they were doing." He paused. "But Branson didn’t go down without a fight. He's got defensive wounds on his hands, a struggle for sure. This wasn’t quick."

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with the implication. "He fought back?" The question hung in the air.

“Yeah,” Morgan nodded. “It just wasn’t enough. By the time anyone got here…” His voice trailed off, his gaze shifting toward the door where Branson’s body had been — now on its way to the morgue. The area was marked off with police tape now. “He was already gone.”

Hotch shifted his weight slightly as he processed the information. “Anything else?” he asked.

Morgan’s eyes darkened further, his voice dropping to a low whisper as he shared the next piece of the puzzle. “There is one more thing. The coroner estimated the time of death based on the blood, the body temperature, and rigor mortis. Hotch…” He paused, taking a breath as if preparing himself for the words about to spill from his mouth. “Branson was alive an hour ago. An hour.”

Hotch'ss gaze flicked to you for a brief second, still sitting in the car. He felt the air grow thick with tension around him. An hour meant that the unsub was still nearby, potentially even watching them right now. He could almost feel the clock ticking, each second dragging as they raced against him.

“An hour,” Hotch repeated, his voice low, barely above a whisper but brimming with restrained anger — mostly anger on the situation that this would put you in.

“Yeah,” Morgan confirmed. “Whoever did this — it wasn’t some random break-in, man. They knew what they were doing. They were fast, precise, and they left that message on the door just for her.”

Hotch inhaled deeply, his mind already racing through potential scenarios and calculating their next steps. The meticulousness of the crime screamed intent, a calculated plan rather than a spur-of-the-moment attack — but he still couldn't shake the feeling that this was supposed to be you, not Branson. The thought sent a chill down his spine. He glanced at you again, sitting in the car with a dazed expression. You had just missed Branson’s killer, and the idea that he might still be nearby sent adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“We need to get her out of here, now,” Hotch said, his voice clipped, each word felt sharp as they rolled off his tongue. He could feel the urgency pulsing through him, a powerful instinct urging him to act before it was too late. “Have the team sweep the area, and I want surveillance from every corner of this block sent to Garcia.” He knew they couldn’t afford to underestimate the killer’s capabilities.

Morgan nodded as he absorbed Hotch’s command. “Already in motion. We’re pulling footage from all nearby cameras.” He turned, his mind already racing through the logistical challenges, mentally preparing for the immediate task of gathering intel.

Hotch’s eyes stayed locked on you, lost in your thoughts, oblivious to the full scope of how close the danger had been — how close it still was. “She’s not safe here,” he murmured, more to himself than to Morgan. “Not until we figure out who’s behind this.”

“I'll take her back to the BAU,” he decided, his voice steadier now. “We can keep her safe there while we investigate. I want someone with her at all times — she deserves protection until we can ensure she’s out of harm’s way — I'll take the first shift.”

Hotch gave a curt nod, his protective instincts in full gear, as his mind shifted back to you and what needed to be done next. You weren't going to like it though, he knew that much.

Hotch slid into the driver’s seat, the familiar contours of the car offering him a semblance of control in a world that had quickly spun wildly out of it. The engine rumbled to life as he turned the key, shattering the silence that had settled around you. As he pulled away from the chaotic scene, the flashing lights of police cruisers faded into the distance behind you, but the weight of everything still pressed heavily on your chest. The bright colors, usually a beacon of help, now felt more like a reminder of the nightmare you had just escaped.

You sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring out at the darkened streets, lost in your thoughts. The night felt surreal.

As the city blurred past, memories of Branson began to flood your mind — his expressions, the way he relentlessly pushed you to your limits, and those moments when his frustration spilled over into harsh words. You could almost hear him now, his voice echoing in your thoughts, the biting criticism ringing in your ears. “You call that a spin? You need to push harder, or you won’t make it to sectionals.” You knew he never meant it like that, only wanting to push you to perfection.

The sting of his words had cut deeper than you realized, a reminder of the high expectations he had set for you and the relentless pursuit of excellence he embodied. But now, in the wake of his tragic end, those very words morphed into haunting echoes of regret. Guilt washed over you like a cold wave, relentless and overwhelming. What had you missed? Were you the cause of this?

You replayed every interaction, every practice session, scrutinizing your memories for clues, for hints that could have warned you of the danger. Each laugh shared, every supportive word felt tainted now. The more you thought about it, the more the guilt clawed at you, a heavy weight settling in your stomach, twisting tighter with every breath.

Had you truly been so absorbed in your own aspirations that you failed to notice that someone had been creeping around in the shadows?

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, blurring your view of the city. You bit your lip, trying to suppress the swell of emotions threatening to break free. Branson deserved better, and you felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility as if you could have somehow altered the course of events if only you had been more aware, more present.

A sharp exhale from Hotch broke through your reverie, drawing you back to the present. “Are you okay?” he asked, glancing at you briefly before refocusing on the road ahead, his grip tightening on the steering wheel slightly.

“Yeah,” you whispered, the word feeling hollow as it left your lips. Even as you spoke, the image of Branson’s lifeless body remained etched in your mind.

“I just... I can’t believe he’s gone,” you murmured, your voice trembling with the rawness of your grief. “I don’t understand how this could happen. What did I miss? Who did this?” You wanted answers, a reason, something that could explain the senseless violence that had ripped your world apart.

Hotch’s brow furrowed with concern as he drove, his focus unwavering. “You couldn’t have known what was coming. This isn’t on you.” His voice was steady, almost like a lifeline amid the turmoil. But the reassurance felt distant as if it were meant for someone else, someone who wasn’t grappling with the painful reality of loss.

You turned your gaze out the window, watching the city lights flicker by. Deep down, you knew Hotch was right; you hadn’t seen the signs, but that didn’t erase the guilt gnawing at your insides.

“What if I could have helped him?” you asked softly, more to yourself than to him. “What if I could have changed something? What if I had been here just a moment earlier?” The ‘what ifs’ were suffocating, spiraling into a vortex of self-blame and sorrow.

Hotch’s hand shifted slightly on the wheel as he considered your words. “You’re not a mind reader,” he replied, his tone was firm but gentle — he was always gentle with you. “You were focused on your training, on your goals. There was no way you could have anticipated this.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “You have to remember that you did everything you could in your capacity. Sometimes, evil acts without warning, and it’s not something you can control — Besides if you'd been here earlier, I'm not sure we would be having this conversation right now.” Hotch hated to speak those words, but he needed you to know that there was nothing you could've done.

The weight of his words sank in, but the guilt still gnawed at you relentlessly. Had you failed him? You still couldn't shake the feeling that you should have done more, seen more.

“Branson’s death is on the person who took his life, not you,” Hotch said, “He was in a dangerous position, and whatever conflict he had, those were between him and whoever hurt him. You didn’t cause this.” Hotch didn't want to admit the real truth behind Branson's death, he couldn't, not when you were this distraught.

You nodded, but inside, the turmoil raged on. “It just feels so unfair,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “He was always so strong. I thought he could handle anything.”

“Right now, you need to focus on staying safe,” Hotch continued, “I'm taking you to the BAU for the night. You need to be out of the public eye until we figure out what’s going on. The last thing we want is for you to be targeted next.”

You felt a swell of gratitude toward Hotch for his unwavering commitment to your safety, but anxiety fluttered in your chest. “What if they find me? What if—”

“They won’t,” Hotch interjected, “I'll make sure of it. The team is already mobilizing to ensure your safety, and we have protocols in place for situations like this.” His confidence provided a flicker of hope.

His protective tone gave you a sense of comfort, but the lingering shadows of doubt remained. How close had you really come to danger? The realization that you had missed the killer — maybe only by mere seconds — sent shivers down your spine.

As Hotch turned down a quiet street, you caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. “Thank you for being here,” you said quietly, the gratitude spilling from your heart. You knew that the gravity of your situation wasn’t lost on him; he understood the stakes far too well.

He nodded, his focus unwavering as he navigated through the darkened roads, the steady rhythm of the engine creating a false sense of normalcy. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he replied, “We’ll figure this out together. One way or the other.” You leaned back in your seat, trying to absorb his words.

Hotch took a sharp corner, the familiar outline of the BAU building looming ahead like a fortress amidst the darkness of the night. A swell of unease twisted in your stomach.

“Hotch, I don’t think I need to go back there,” you protested, your voice wavering slightly, betraying the fear that lingered just beneath the surface. “I can stay at my apartment. I’ll be fine. I promise.” The thought of returning to the very place that had become a backdrop for the whole case sent chills through you, and you desperately clung to the hope of finding safety within your own four walls.

Hotch’s gaze flicked to you as if he had already anticipated your objections. “No, you’re not fine. Not after what happened tonight.” His voice was firm. “I need you to understand this isn’t just about you feeling safe; it’s about your safety. The unsub is targeting people close to you, and we can’t take any chances, not when you've outright been threatened on your own doorstep.”

“But I can handle this! I’m not a child,” you insisted, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. You hated the feeling of being trapped, like a bird caged against its will, desperately flapping its wings to escape. The independence you had always prided yourself on felt stripped away, replaced by a suffocating sense of helplessness.

“Believe me, I know you’re not a child,” Hotch replied, his tone suggested that he understood your frustration but wouldn’t back down. “But the facts are clear. Branson was murdered in your doorway. You need protection until we get a handle on this.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you said, your voice quieter now, revealing the vulnerability you were struggling to hide. “I can’t keep you away from your work.”

“You’re not a burden,” Hotch said. “You’re my priority. We can’t afford to let our guard down, especially when you’re in the crosshairs of someone who’s already proven they can kill — multiple times.”

You glanced out the window, the streetlights flickering slightly. As much as you wanted to argue, deep down, you knew he was right.

“Just for tonight,” you complied, the words tasting bittersweet as they left your lips. “But I don’t want to be locked up like some kind of prisoner.” The image of being confined within four walls, stripped of your freedom, sent a shiver down your spine.

Hotch’s lips twitched into a smile. “I understand,” he replied, his eyes were full of empathy as he looked at you. “This isn’t about taking your freedom away; it’s about ensuring your safety. You’ll have space, and we’ll keep things as normal as possible.” His promise resonated with you, yet the fear of losing control over your life lingered like a ghost in the back of your mind.

As he parked in the parking garage of the BAU, Hotch turned off the engine, and a heavy silence enveloped you both for a moment. He seemed to sense your apprehension, his eyes softening as they met yours again. “Let’s get you inside,” he said gently, reaching over to squeeze your hand in a gesture that was meant to comfort you.

Stepping out of the car, the chill basement wrapped around you. The cold seemed to seep into your bones. Hotch fell into step next to you as you made your way through the concrete confines of the parking garage, the low hum of distant machinery and flickering fluorescent lights overhead punctuating the silence.

When you finally reached his office, Hotch unlocked and opened the door and gestured for you to step inside. The warm light from the lamp in the corner illuminated the space, softening the sharp edges of his furniture and making it feel a little less foreboding. You walked in, your body feeling heavy with exhaustion as if each step required immense effort. Hotch closed the door behind you.

“Are you hungry or thirsty? I can grab you something,” Hotch offered, concern etched on his features, his brow slightly furrowed as he studied you. He didn't know what he was looking for.

You shook your head slowly, fatigue weighing heavily on your eyelids and limbs. “No, I’m okay. Just… tired.” The admission felt like a weight lifted, but it was also a reminder of how drained you truly were from the emotional turmoil of the night.

“Why don’t you lie down on the couch?” he suggested gently, glancing over at his couch. The soft fabric looked inviting you thought. “It’s been a long night.”

As he moved to grab a blanket from the lower drawer of his desk, you nodded, grateful for the opportunity to rest. The idea of sinking into the softness of the couch felt like a small oasis. At least it was better than nothing. You crawled onto the couch, the gentle fabric cradling you as you settled in, letting out a small sigh of relief.

Hotch returned with the blanket. He draped it over you with a care that spoke volumes. “Thank you,” you murmured, feeling the warmth envelop you like a protective cocoon, easing some of the tension that your body still held onto.

He paused for a moment, studying you. You could see the concern carved on his face. “You really should try to get some sleep,” he urged softly, his voice was soothing. “I’ll be just outside if you need anything.”

As he turned to grab some files from his desk, you felt a sudden rush of vulnerability wash over you. You stopped him, your voice barely above a whisper as you spoke. “You don’t have to go. I don’t mind if you work while I sleep.”

Hotch turned back to face you, a hint of surprise flickering in his eyes. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, and you noticed how the tension in his features began to ease as he processed your request. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to have you here,” you replied, settling deeper into the cushions.

“Okay,” he replied, his smile growing warmer and more genuine. He placed the files back down on his desk, the clatter of paper breaking the silence. Then, he took a seat in his chair, he felt close enough that you could still sense his presence without the pressure of conversation.

“Goodnight, Aaron,” you murmured, the words barely escaping your lips before sleep began to pull you under.

“Goodnight."

As you drifted off, Hotch couldn’t help but steal glances at you. He watched as your eyelids fluttered, surrendering to the exhaustion. Your breathing became slow and steady, and for a moment, you almost seemed peaceful despite everything.

His mind raced with thoughts of Branson, and the danger still lurking in the shadows, yet here, in this moment, all he could see was you. He found himself entranced by the way the blanket hugged your form, how your hair fell over your face in soft strands.

As he tried to focus on the paperwork in front of him, he realized he was completely forgetting the files he had intended to work on. Every time he glanced at you, the contents of the documents seemed to fade into the background. He leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips as he took in the serenity of the scene before him.

Hotch found solace in knowing you were safe, even if just for the night. He would do everything in his power to ensure that it stayed that way.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was how stiff your body felt, your muscles tight from hours spent curled up on the couch. What had started as a comfortable escape from the night’s events had become a reminder of how unforgiving furniture could be as a resting place. You stretched gingerly, feeling the pull of your sore limbs, each movement was stiff. Slowly, you opened your eyes, blinking as the soft, golden light of the rising sun filtered in through the large windows on the opposite end of the room.

The office was quiet. You blinked a few times, the world around you coming into focus. The blanket Hotch had given you was still wrapped snugly around your body, providing some form of comfort, if not against last night's event, then at least against the lingering chill in the air.

As you sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you glanced around the office. It felt strange to be here, so close to home yet so far. And somehow still feeling safe within the four walls of Hotch's office. The lamp on his desk was still on, casting a soft glow around it, and you realized he must have stayed nearby the whole night. The thought brought a small smile to your lips, knowing he hadn’t left you to face the fear alone.

Glancing around, you shifted your legs off the couch and stood, still cocooned in the blanket. The office was cold, making you wonder if they turned the AC off during the night, it made you shiver as you padded toward the door in just your socks, your shoes abandoned somewhere by the couch during the night. The quietness of the office felt almost surreal, especially when you were used to the constant sound of keys being tapped, papers being shuffled and phones being answered. You hesitated for a moment with your hand on the doorknob. Part of you wanted to stay hidden away in the relative safety of Hotch's office, but the pull of needing to know what was happening outside, to know if there was any news about your case pushed you forward.

With a deep breath, you opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The familiar scent of coffee and paper greeted you. The office was mostly still, not a lot of people had shown up for work yet you presumed. As you glanced toward the bridge that overlooked the bullpen, you spotted the lights on in the conference room, telling you the team had presumably already gathered, likely debriefing or strategizing about the night’s events — hopefully.

Your stomach tightened at the thought of joining them — you wanted to know what was going on, yet frightened by the idea that the killings were turning into a sick game on a far larger scale. You lingered for a moment outside of the door, wrapping the blanket tighter around your frame.

But there was a tug in your chest, a need to know. A need to understand what the next steps were. You had been too close to the danger, too close to losing everything, and now the questions that had plagued you all night demanded answers. You took a deep breath and walked toward the conference room.

Your steps were slow and quiet, the soft padding of your socks barely making a sound against the floor. You felt oddly detached from everything around you — groggy, bones achy, and still mentally processing everything.

Through the glass in the door, you caught sight of the team, their expressions grave as they pored over the case files. Papers were scattered in every direction, and from the tense looks on their faces, you could tell they were deep in conversation.

Hotch stood at the head of the table, and though his back was to you, the familiar sight of him, so composed and in control, offered a sense of reassurance. It was strange how someone you didn't really know could be a pillar of strength in a moment when everything around you felt like it was crumbling.

You paused just outside the door, unsure if you should intrude. They were clearly in the middle of something important, and the last thing you wanted was to be a distraction. Exhaustion still clung to you, making your body feel sluggish, your mind slow to fully wake from sleep.

You watched them silently, your mind racing through the events of the previous night. It left a sick feeling in your stomach, and you closed your eyes briefly, trying to shake the images away.

A part of you longed to join them in the room, to step into the conversation and hear for yourself what they’d discovered. But another part of you — the part that was bone-tired and emotionally drained — wanted nothing more than to retreat to Hotch’s office, crawl back onto the couch, and hide away from the word in your blanket.

Taking a deep breath, you glanced back at Hotch. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. You knew he was doing everything in his power to keep you safe. For now, that had to be enough — right?

Despite your hesitation, curiosity gnawed at you. You had to know.

With a deep breath, you gently pushed open the door open, hoping to slip inside unnoticed. The conversation sounded intense as you entered, and you instinctively tried to make yourself as invisible as possible, not wanting to disrupt their work. You hovered by the door, watching as they analyzed the spread of documents, their minds already far ahead, piecing together the puzzle of the case.

"The unsub never cared about Branson. He was always after Y/N," Hotch said, his words cutting through the room like a blade. The certainty in his tone made the atmosphere shift. "She was the target from the beginning."

Your body went stiff, a wave of terror washing over you as the meaning of his words hit you. Every muscle tensed, heart hammering in your chest. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the room seemed to close in around you.

"What?!" The word tumbled out of your mouth, laced with panic. It wasn’t just a question — it was a plea for this to somehow be untrue.

The world slowed for a beat, and as your voice echoed through the room, every head turned toward you. The expressions on their faces mirrored your shock and disbelief, but none of them said a word.

Hotch’s voice cut through the room, sharper and more commanding than you'd expected. “What are you doing up?”

“I just... I wanted to see if you’d figured anything out,” you said quietly, your voice sounding smaller than intended.

"Y/N," Hotch began, his tone much gentler now, "the evidence points to the unsub targeting you specifically. Branson’s murder, the message on your door — it was all meant to scare you, to make you vulnerable."

You blinked, trying to process what he was saying, but the words made your legs feel weak. The killer was after you, not Branson. Everything was about you. A chill ran down your spine as you remembered the blood-soaked message on your front door.

"Why?" you managed to choke out.

Hotch took a step toward you. "We’re still working on the motive, but this isn’t random. Whoever this is... they know you."

You felt like the floor had dropped from beneath you. Your mind raced with the implications — who could possibly be after you like this? Why?

Hotch's eyes never left yours as he carefully laid out the pieces of the profile. "At first, we thought Leah was the target," he explained, his words clear yet heavy. "But it became clear that she was never the unsub’s endgame. Leah was used as a pawn — to isolate you, to send a message, and ultimately to draw you in."

You blinked, struggling to absorb the gravity of his words. The cold, clinical breakdown of Leah's murder felt like a punch to the gut. Leah hadn't just been an innocent victim in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had been killed to get to you. The memory of finding her body at the rink flashed through your mind. It had all seemed so random, so senseless back then.

"Leah’s death was staged for you to find," Hotch continued. "The unsub knew it would devastate you, that it would leave you vulnerable. He needed you emotionally off-balance, unsure of who to trust, and it worked."

"Branson was the last obstacle," Hotch said, his brow furrowing as he pieced everything together. "The unsub knew how close you were to him, how much time you spent together at the pavilion. Branson wasn’t just your coach — he was a fixture in your life, a constant presence. The unsub needed to remove him, to sever any connection that could shield you, completely cut off anyone who might stand in the way between him and you."

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating. You felt every gaze in the room on you.

"The M.O. has been consistent," Hotch continued, pacing slightly as he spoke. "Each victim, from the very first to Branson, was carefully selected — not randomly, not by coincidence. They were all connected to you. The unsub wasn’t targeting them for who they were, but for what they meant. Branson was just the final step in isolating you."

Your throat tightened, a lump forming as the weight of what he was saying hit you. Every life lost, every crime scene you’d encountered, was part of a sick, calculated plan designed to strip away your safety net. Leah, Branson… they weren’t just victims. They were tools, pieces of a puzzle the unsub had been meticulously constructing around you.

"But why me?" you managed to ask, your voice on the verge of breaking. "Why go through all of this just to get to me?"

Hotch took a deep breath, his expression softening. "We’re still working on the why," he admitted, "but what we do know is that the unsub has a fixation on you. Whether it's personal or something more symbolic, you're the one he want. He's most likely been watching you, planning this for a long time."

Hotch turned back toward the board, the photos of the victims now arranged in a way that made their connection to you painfully obvious. Leah, Branson, and the others — each face staring back at you. "This unsub has one goal — to get to you."

You could feel your legs trembling beneath you. It wasn’t just about being in the wrong place at the wrong time anymore. It had always been about you.

It had always been about you.

When the meeting finally adjourned, you slipped out of the room without a word, unnoticed by the rest of the team. Your feet moved on autopilot, carrying you toward the nearest exit, seeking the open air before you even realized what you were doing. The moment you stepped outside, the cold wind hit you. It cut through the blanket, sending a shiver down your spine, but the chill was a welcome contrast to the suffocating weight pressing on your chest.

You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself as if the pressure might hold you together when everything inside felt like it was unraveling. You pressed your back against the nearest wall, seeking support as your legs threatened to give way beneath you.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke through the silence. You opened your eyes to see Hotch stepping toward you. He stopped a few feet away, keeping a respectful distance, his hands buried in his pockets. The quiet between you was heavy, almost tangible as if both of you were waiting for the other to speak first.

“Y/N,” he began softly, his voice cutting through the air. “You’ve been quiet today. I wanted to check in and make sure you’re okay. I know this is a lot to be thrown into, and I can tell that it’s weighing on you.”

“I just…” You hesitated, your voice trembling slightly as you fought to put the emotions into words. Admitting it out loud made it feel more real, and you weren’t sure you were ready to face that. “I can’t help but feel responsible, Hotch. If I had been more aware — if I had paid more attention to what was happening at the rink — maybe I could have prevented something.” Your voice cracked at the end.

“I don’t know how to process this,” you finally admitted, the confession slipping from your lips in a whisper, barely holding back the flood of emotions threatening to spill.

Without hesitation, Hotch stepped closer. “You can’t blame yourself for this, Y/N,” he said. “You had no way of knowing what was happening. Leah and Branson’s deaths aren’t on you.”

Despite Hotch’s reassurances, the guilt still clung to you. "But I trained with her, I was there, and I missed all the signs. If I had just noticed something — anything — I could’ve helped," you murmured. The image of Leah’s face, her laughter, how she would light up once stepping onto the ice. The more you thought about it, the more it felt like you had failed her.

Hotch’s expression didn’t waver, but his voice dropped, taking on a more personal tone. "We all miss things sometimes," he said. "Even when we’re right in the middle of it, even when we're trained to see it. Believe me, I know how hard it is not to carry that burden. But you’re here now, and you're helping us piece this together. That's what matters."

You looked away for a moment, tears stinging at the back of your eyes as you fought to hold them back. His words were kind, but the pain of losing Leah — and the fear of losing more people you cared about—was still raw.

"I just don’t want to let anyone else down," you whispered, your voice so quiet it barely rose above the wind.

You could feel the warmth of his presence beside you. "You won’t," he said softly. "We’re in this together, Y/N. You’re not alone in this fight."

“None of this is your fault,” Hotch continued. “You've done everything you could to help us, and you’re still here — That’s what matters.”

You nodded, your head moving almost on its own, but inside, the doubt still lingered. The truth of Hotch’s words felt distant, buried beneath the crushing weight of your thoughts. “It just feels like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff,” you murmured, trying to paint him the picture you were experiencing. The words spilled out before you could stop them. There was a tremor in your voice, although small it was undeniable. “And I can’t see what’s below. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

“I know what it feels like to be on that edge,” he said, the vulnerability in his voice catching you off guard. “To feel like the ground’s going to give way, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. But you’re not standing there alone.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak, but you managed a quiet, “How do you deal with it?”

“You focus on what you can control,” he said finally. “The people you can protect, the steps you can take. And you lean on the people who are there for you.” He paused, his eyes searching yours. “You’re not facing this alone, Y/N. We’re going to stop him. I promise you won’t lose anyone else.”

His words wrapped around you like a safety net. You hadn’t expected his sincerity to reach so deeply, and as it sank in, a strange warmth pulsed through your chest — a stirring that went beyond gratitude. His reassurance should have brought only comfort, but there was something more layered within it, a growing tension between you that you couldn’t ignore, something that had lingered in each shared glance, simmering just below the surface for weeks.

Every word he spoke felt like it drew you in, pulling you into his orbit. It was almost unnerving, the invisible connection weaving between you despite your circumstances. And yet, it also felt steady — something constant amid the whirlwind.

You looked at him, taking in the seriousness in his expression, his posture, the way he seemed so prepared to protect you from anything — and yet also so keenly aware of the risks. The thought made your heart ache.

In this moment, with the two of you standing just inches apart, it felt as though the case had created a connection that you could no longer deny. Every word, every glance between you held a gravity that went beyond the investigation. You saw it in his eyes.

You felt the urge to speak, to break the silence, but the words caught in your throat, held back, like you couldn’t quite articulate what you wanted to say. Instead, you let out a quiet breath, one that seemed to say everything you couldn’t.

Hotch’s hand twitched at his side as if he, too, was grappling with the pull between you, resisting the instinct to reach out. You could feel his restraint, the careful way he held himself, aware that even the smallest movement might tip you both over an invisible line. There was a sense of inevitability, of something that had been building for far too long, yet held back by professionalism.

You watched his breath escape into the cold, hanging between you. For just a heartbeat, his normally guarded expression softened, and in that fleeting vulnerability, you glimpsed something raw, something he’d worked so hard to keep hidden. There was a gentleness beneath the intensity of his gaze, a silent acknowledgment that you weren’t just another civilian to protect, not just a responsibility to bear.

His dark eyes held yours, searching, as though trying to communicate everything that words could never capture. Every second that passed felt like it brought you closer to some uncharted line.

The world beyond the two of you seemed to fade into a blur. It was just the two of you, bound in a space that felt like it could shatter with a breath, yet impossibly strong.

The distance between you shrank, each heartbeat a steady drumbeat against the air. Though the cold nipped at your skin, you could feel the warmth radiating from him, almost magnetic, pulling you closer. The faint scent of his cologne mingled with the crispness of the air.

“Hotch…” The word slipped from your lips, softer than you’d intended. His gaze held yours, and in it, you saw everything — the worry, the protectiveness, the tension — everything.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding, and almost without realizing it, you leaned just a fraction closer. The smallest movement, but it felt monumental. Hotch’s hand brushed the side of your arm, his touch controlled yet hesitant as if testing the waters. The warmth of his fingers against your skin sent a shiver through you.

In that brief, suspended moment, it felt like everything you’d been holding back — every unsaid word, every hidden glance, every moment of shared silence — they aligned.

And then — the sharp, intrusive ring of his phone shattered the quiet, piercing through the stillness like an alarm.

In an instant, the spell broke. The warmth between you dissipated, replaced by a jarring awareness of the space you now stood in — the same world you had briefly left behind. Hotch blinked, and you saw his expression shift, the softness in his eyes vanishing as his features hardened, slipping back into the familiar armor of his professionalism. He released your arm, his fingers trailing away, leaving only the faintest sensation of warmth that seemed to fade too quickly.

With practiced efficiency, he pulled the phone from his pocket, glancing down at the screen as his shoulders straightened and his jaw tightened. The moment — fragile and fleeting — was gone as if it had never been, as if the connection you’d felt just seconds before had been nothing more than a daydream.

You exhaled softly, feeling the chill settle over you once more. The air felt colder now, sharper, biting against your skin. You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly aware of the emptiness left behind, as Hotch lifted the phone to his ear, his voice low and commanding as he responded.

"Hotchner," He replied as he answered the phone.

Hotch's expression shifted in an instant. He didn’t need to say a word; the two of you moved in sync, instinctively heading toward his car.

“I’ll drive,” he said, his tone commanding but not unkind.

You hesitated for a split second, catching the hint of concern lingering beneath his steely resolve. “Hotch, you know I would have gone either way, right?”

He gave a slight nod. “I know. Which is exactly why you’re coming with me.” His jaw set as he started the engine, adding in a tone just above a murmur, “It’s safer this way.”

As you neared the rink, the darkness in the sky seemed to darken the closer you got, and Hotch’s hands tightened on the wheel. He cast you a sidelong glance, his eyes steady and serious. “Stay close to me. We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

You nodded. “Got it. Right beside you.”

He exhaled, his grip on the wheel loosening just a fraction. “Good.”

As you entered the rink, the scene that unfolded felt like stepping into a nightmare. The quiet space was transformed into a tense, chaotic tableau. Clusters of staff and coaches huddled together, their hushed voices forming a low hum that seemed to vibrate with barely restrained fear.

As you moved further in, weaving through the crowd, you could feel the anxiety that clung to the air. Some of the coaches stood with their arms crossed, brows furrowed, watching the crowd as if bracing for more bad news. Others paced nervously, their gazes darting around as though expecting something — or someone — to appear from the shadows any second now. It was as if the entire crowd had been frozen, caught in a collective breath of dread, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Hotch’s hand found the small of your back. He leaned in, his voice low. “Keep your eyes sharp. People are scared — they might not even realize what they’ve seen.” Hotch remained close by your side.

“What happened?” Hotch’s voice cut through the anxious murmur that blanketed the rink.

A staff member stepped forward, clearly shaken, his face pale and his hands trembling slightly. He swallowed, struggling to find his voice. “It’s… it’s one of the skaters. They found another body in the locker room. It’s bad… really bad.” Each word was heavy, laden with a gravity that turned the air even colder.

Your heart sank, a coil of dread tightening in your stomach as the realization hit — another life taken, another person lost. You turned to Hotch, locking eyes, the horror in his expression mirroring your own.

“Stay behind me,” Hotch instructed. “I don’t want you to see more than you have to.” His protective tone made it clear he understood the weight of what you were about to witness, even if he wished you didn’t have to. But you knew there was no turning back now; you needed to see this through.

The locker room greeted you with an oppressive silence, punctuated only by the faint hum rink cooling system in the back. The sight before you was haunting. There, sprawled on the cold, tiled floor, lay another skater. Recognition hit you instantly as you took in her familiar features. She was young, barely more than a child, perhaps no older than fifteen or sixteen — just a teenager.

Your breath hitched in your throat, the contrast of her bright skating gear against the dark, glistening pool was a sight too tragic to bear. The vivid hues of her outfit, now lay drowned in a sea of red, her innocence stolen. The room felt as if it were spinning. Every instinct screamed for you to look away, to spare yourself the trauma, yet you found yourself rooted to the spot, unable to turn from the horror that lay before you. This wasn’t supposed to happen — you barely even knew this girl — the unsub wasn't supposed to target people you didn't know — or people you knew for the matter.

Hotch’s gaze fell on you, noticing the tremor in your shoulders, the haunted look in your eyes. His concern deepened, and he quickly stepped closer, his hand resting on your arm. “Stay back,” he instructed, his voice firm but soft, gently encouraging you to distance yourself from the scene — he knew you weren't strong enough to continue seeing the horrors for much longer.

But you couldn’t move. It was as though every part of you was chained to the scene before you. You felt a chill creeping over you, a sense that you would never be able to feel safe in the pavilion again.

As the rest of the team arrived, your heart hammered in your chest. Each face that passed, each hurried glance, only served to remind you of the moment, amplifying the dread that had already taken root deep in your bones.

“Get her out of here!” Hotch commanded as the rest of the team entered the locker room, his voice cutting through the noise with an authority that brooked no argument. The tone of his command was a jolt to your system, pulling you back to reality as you struggled to comprehend the situation.

“Come on, honey, let’s go take a breath of air,” Emily’s voice was soft but firm, her hands wrapping around your shoulders as she gently steered you out of the locker room. You leaned into her touch, grateful for the solid, presence amid the storm swirling inside you. Each step she guided you felt like a small reprieve from the nightmare.

Emily gave your shoulders a reassuring squeeze, sensing the weight you carried. “Take your time,” she murmured, her tone was soothing. The ache in your chest pulsed with each heartbeat, and though you felt yourself moving farther from the scene, you knew that the memory of this moment— the sense of loss and helplessness you constantly felt — would stay with you, woven deep into your mind.

Emily led you to the bleachers, where the soft hum of the rink faded into the background. You sank onto a cold metal seat, your mind racing as you grappled with the surreal reality of it all. The icy breath of the arena brought a sharp clarity, but it also deepened the ache in your chest. You had always viewed skating as a sanctuary, a place of beauty and grace, but now it felt tainted, marred by the violence that had infiltrated your world. The camaraderie and support you once cherished seemed distant, replaced by an unsettling feeling of vulnerability.

She guided you to the bleachers. The muted hum of the rink felt like it receded as you sank down onto the cold metal seat — although it still rang in your ears. Emily didn’t speak, just offered a reassuring closeness, as if she understood the depths of your emotions. Deep down, a part of you feared that the pavilion — if not skating all together — wouldn't feel the same ever again.

Tag list: @love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon @sreidlvewrites @jazzimac1967 @gamingfeline @soyobi-wankenobi

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ms-snape · 4 months ago

Note

hey I noticed you haven’t done any Lucius Malfoy fics yet, and I’d like to request one if you’re open to it, the reader is a strong-willed witch who doesn’t fall for his usual charm? Lucius is used to getting whatever he wants, but the reader constantly challenges him, and it intrigues him in a way no one else has. Over time, Lucius starts to realize that he’s genuinely falling for her, and there’s a slow-burn romance as they go from tension-filled encounters to mutual respect, then love. Lots of witty banter, hidden vulnerability from Lucius, and a surprisingly soft, romantic confession at the end.

Title: Charm

Warning: None, lucius being lucius

Words Count: 2000+

Masterlist

---

The Ministry of Magic was a labyrinth of enchantment and bureaucracy, a place where power dynamics shifted like the tides. Y/n Y/l/n, a strong-willed witch and a respected potion master in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had learned to navigate its complexities with grace and determination. Her talent and hard work had earned her respect, but it was her unwavering spirit that truly set her apart.

As she walked through the bustling atrium, she could feel the gazes of her colleagues—some filled with admiration, others tinged with envy. Y/n had always found herself on the fringes, content to focus on her work rather than engage in the political machinations that often defined life at the Ministry. Yet, it was the whispers of a certain silver-blonde wizard that broke through her concentrated bubble.

“Good morning, Y/n,” Lucius Malfoy greeted her, his voice smooth and dripping with charm. He leaned casually against a pillar, the epitome of aristocratic elegance. “I must say, your dedication to your work is admirable. Most would have crumbled under the pressures of this place by now.”

Y/n glanced up, her brow slightly raised. “And yet here I am, standing tall,” she replied coolly, matching his tone. “Flattery won’t earn you any favors with me, Malfoy.”

“Flattery?” He chuckled softly, his icy blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “I merely speak the truth. Your determination is commendable.”

Her heart raced as she held his gaze, the playful banter igniting something within her that she hadn’t expected. She had long since learned to see through his polished facade, understanding that behind the charm lay a man accustomed to getting what he wanted. But Y/n had never been one to succumb easily.

“Save your compliments for someone who might appreciate them,” she said, her voice firm. “I’m not interested in becoming another feather in your cap, Lucius.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly masked by his usual composure. “Is that so? I find it refreshing, really. Most women seem eager to bask in my attention.”

“That says more about them than it does about you,” she shot back, walking past him with purpose. She felt the heat of his gaze on her back, and she couldn’t help but smile to herself.

Days turned into weeks, and their encounters became a familiar rhythm, a dance of words and glances laced with underlying tension. Y/n would catch herself thinking of Lucius more often than she cared to admit. He intrigued her with his intellect, challenged her with his wit, and made her question her own perceptions of power and vulnerability.

Lucius, on the other hand, found himself drawn to her in ways he had never anticipated. The thrill of their verbal sparring ignited a fire within him, and he began to look forward to their encounters. No one else had dared to challenge him so boldly, and he found her spirit intoxicating. It was a contrast to the women he had known, who had often been content to admire him from afar.

One particularly dreary afternoon, Y/n found herself in the Ministry’s expansive library, surrounded by stacks of books as she searched for an elusive potion recipe. The dim light cast a warm glow over the dusty volumes, creating an atmosphere of quiet reflection. She was so engrossed in her task that she barely noticed Lucius approaching until she felt his presence beside her.

“Lost in thought again?” he asked, his voice smooth and teasing.

Y/n glanced up, suppressing a smile. “Just doing some research. What brings you here, Malfoy? Surely you have more important matters to attend to.”

He leaned against the table, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on her. “I could say the same for you. Researching potions when you could be enjoying the finer things in life?” His smirk was infuriatingly charming.

“I enjoy what I do,” she replied defensively, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. “Not everyone needs the thrill of high society to find fulfillment.”

“Touché,” he said, amusement flickering in his eyes. “But wouldn’t it be better to have a little fun? Life is far too short to be buried in books, even if they are as fascinating as you make them seem.”

Y/n straightened, her eyes narrowing. “You mean the kind of fun that leads to empty flirtations and false promises? No, thank you. I prefer to keep my life meaningful.”

Lucius’s expression softened slightly, his facade slipping ever so slightly. “I admire your conviction, Y/n. It’s refreshing to see someone who knows what they want.”

Their eyes locked, the air between them thick with unspoken words. Y/n felt a flutter in her chest, a spark of something deeper than mere attraction. But she quickly quelled it, reminding herself of the walls she had built around her heart.

As weeks turned into months, their encounters grew more charged. Lucius began to seek her out more frequently, often finding reasons to linger near her office or cross paths in the halls. Each meeting was a mixture of tension and exhilaration, a game of verbal chess where neither was willing to yield.

One day, as they walked through the Ministry gardens during a rare moment of respite, the sun filtering through the leaves, Lucius turned to Y/n with a seriousness that caught her off guard. “You know, there’s more to me than what you see on the surface.”

She raised an eyebrow, curiosity piquing her interest. “Is that so?”

“Many view me as simply a wealthy, influential pureblood wizard,” he continued, his voice low. “But I’ve faced my share of struggles, Y/n. I’ve fought against expectations and the shadows of my past. It’s exhausting, and I wonder sometimes if anyone sees beyond the facade.”

Y/n felt a pang of empathy for him, understanding that beneath his charming exterior lay a man grappling with his identity. “I can relate to that,” she admitted softly. “I’ve often felt the weight of expectations myself. People assume they know me, but they rarely take the time to understand who I am.”

He paused, their eyes locking as a shared vulnerability lingered between them. “Perhaps that’s why I find you so compelling. You challenge me, push me to question who I am and what I truly want.”

“Is that what this is?” she asked, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “A challenge?”

“Perhaps,” Lucius replied, a smile tugging at his lips. “But it’s more than that. I’m beginning to realize that I want to know you—really know you.”

Y/n’s heart raced, and she felt the heat of his gaze. “Lucius, this isn’t—”

“It’s not just a game,” he interjected, stepping closer. “I’m not asking for a fling; I’m asking for something real. I want to explore this connection we have, to see where it leads.”

His sincerity struck a chord deep within her, and for the first time, she felt the walls she had built begin to crumble. But fear still lingered, casting a shadow over her heart. “What if we ruin what we have?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Then we will face the consequences together,” he assured her, a determined gleam in his eyes. “But I’d rather take that risk than live a life filled with regrets.”

Their eyes held for a moment longer, the world around them fading away. Lucius’s heart raced, anticipation mingling with hope. He had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed, but he knew he couldn’t walk away. Not now.

“Okay,” she said finally, her resolve wavering. “Let’s see where this takes us.”

With that, their relationship began a delicate transformation. They spent more time together, sharing moments both grand and intimate, navigating the complexities of their lives with newfound honesty. Y/n discovered layers to Lucius that no one else had seen—the thoughtful, introspective man hidden behind the mask of privilege and power.

In quiet moments, they would share laughter and stories, and Y/n found herself enjoying Lucius’s company more than she had ever imagined. He would often watch her with an intensity that made her heart race, as if he were trying to memorize every detail. In turn, Y/n began to see glimpses of vulnerability in Lucius, moments where he let his guard down and revealed the man he truly was beneath the polished surface.

But despite the growing bond between them, doubt occasionally crept in. Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that Lucius was still bound by the expectations of his past, the weight of his family legacy hovering over them. It was a nagging thought that made her question the foundation of their connection.

One evening, while attending a Ministry gala, Y/n stood by the window, gazing out at the stars. The ballroom buzzed with laughter and conversation, but she felt out of place amidst the opulence. Lucius approached her, his presence grounding her in a way that soothed her insecurities.

“Why so pensive?” he asked, his voice a low murmur as he joined her at the window.

“I don’t belong here,” she admitted, her gaze still fixed on the horizon. “These people… they don’t see me. They only see my title, my work.”

Lucius turned to face her, a seriousness etched on his features. “You belong here just as much as anyone else, Y/n. You’ve earned your place through hard work and talent.”

“Do you really think so?” she asked, turning to meet his gaze.

“Absolutely,” he replied, sincerity resonating in his voice. “You have a strength that commands respect. I admire that.”

She felt warmth bloom in her chest, a flutter of hope igniting. “Thank you, Lucius. That means more than you know.”

He studied her for a moment, the weight of his thoughts hanging in the air. “There’s something I need to confess.”

Y/n’s heart raced as she sensed the gravity of his words. “What is it?”

“I’m falling for you, Y/n,” he admitted, his voice steady yet vulnerable. “In a way that I never thought I could again. It terrifies me because I know my past is complicated, but you make me want to be better.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt her heart swell at his honesty. “Lucius…”

He took a step closer, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone—not even Narcissa. You challenge me in a way that makes me want to shed my past and become someone worthy of you.”

Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes as she fought against the emotions flooding her heart. “I didn’t expect to feel this way either. You’ve surprised me.”

“Then let’s surprise each other,” he said softly, reaching for her hand. “Let’s build something real together.”

In that moment, the world around them faded into oblivion, leaving only the two of them and the connection that had blossomed between them. Y/n felt a surge of warmth as Lucius intertwined their fingers, a gentle yet firm grip that spoke volumes of his intentions.

“Okay,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Let’s take this journey together.”

With their hearts laid bare, Y/n and Lucius stepped into a new chapter of their lives, one filled with uncertainty but also hope. They faced challenges head-on, navigating the complexities of their emotions and the scrutiny of those around them. Together, they forged a bond that transcended the expectations of their pasts, proving that love could flourish even in the most unexpected places.

As the seasons changed, so did their relationship. They shared stolen moments in quiet corners of the Ministry, laughter echoing in the hallways as they exchanged witty banter. Lucius began to show her the parts of himself he had long hidden, revealing his vulnerabilities and fears. Y/n, in turn, opened up about her aspirations and dreams, her passion for potions igniting new conversations between them.

One crisp autumn evening, as they walked through the vibrant foliage of the Ministry gardens, Lucius paused, his expression serious yet tender. “Y/n, I want to take this to the next level. You’re not just a challenge anymore; you’re the woman I want by my side.”

She stopped, her heart racing as she searched his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I want to be with you, truly,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m ready to leave the past behind and build a future together.”

Tears welled in Y/n’s eyes as his words washed over her, a wave of relief and joy flooding her heart. “Lucius, I… I want that too.”

In that moment, surrounded by the golden hues of autumn, they embraced their love fully, ready to face whatever challenges awaited them. Lucius brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his gaze softening as he leaned closer. “Then let’s make it official.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, confusion mingling with excitement.

Lucius smiled, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “I mean, I want you to be my partner in every sense. I want to show you off, to declare to the world that you’re mine.”

Her heart swelled with warmth, and she couldn’t help but laugh, a joyful sound that echoed through the garden. “I would like that very much.”

“Then it’s settled,” he declared, a triumphant smile gracing his lips. “Prepare yourself, Y/n Y/l/n, for a life filled with love, laughter, and perhaps a little mischief.”

And as they walked hand in hand, Lucius realized that he had finally found what he had been searching for—a love that was genuine, transformative, and utterly real. In Y/n, he saw the reflection of a future he had never dared to dream of, one where they could conquer the world together.

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upat4amwiththemoon · 2 years ago

Note

so i checked out your guidelines and you said that you like plot to be included too so i hope this isn't too much for you.

R is 11 here if that's okay with you.

can i ask you to write an avengers x teen!reader where tony adopts a kid from foster care and the team is trying to get her to open up but she locks herself in her room because she's used to moving from home to home or being abused in the system so she's scared to do anything normal like interact and stuff like that. when they showed her room on the first day she was hesitant to go in bc she's used to poor treatment. Wanda and Nat are the first ones to notice her behavior and they point it out to the rest of the team. they come up with a plan to help her but it only pushes her further away from them bc she isn't used to that much attention. they decide that when she's ready she'll come to them so one game night she tip toes downstairs and peaks in the living room to see them having a good time. wanda or vision senses her energy and she tries to silently sneak back but they invite her in and she reluctantly joins them. she isn't too familiar with the games they're playing so they teach her then afterwards they watch a bunch of movies and they're glad they can give her the family she never had.

Family

Summary: Sometimes it takes a while to find your true family.

Pairing: Avengers x teen!reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 1116

a/n: This is not too much at all! Thank you for the request :) (I’m sorry this is terrible)

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore

Walking into an entirely new surroundings is always anxiety inducing, but it’s especially scary when the people leading you to your so called new room are the world’s mightiest heroes.

There’s two men and two women in front of her, she knows who they are, of course, but she isn’t going to bring it up. Surely they have already sensed it.

One of the men, Iron Man, or Tony, as he told her to call him, is talking constantly. His hands are moving up and down, side to side as he gestures to different rooms and what’s in them. He is walking right in front of her, creating a sort of barrier between them. Wanda on the other hand, is walking next to her, occasionally glancing down at her.

Y/N keeps her eyes on Tony’s back. She doesn’t want to look anyone in the eyes or seem too fearful by mapping out the place.

“And this here,” Tony stops walking and opens a door, “is your room.” He turns to look at her with a big grin.

Not moving, Y/N stares inside the room. The four of them keep looking at her, waiting to see her reaction, but they get none.

Tony clears her throat. “You can go in, kid.” With small steps, she goes into the room. “We know it’s a bit empty, but you just tell me whatever you need and want, and I’ll buy it.”

She doesn’t need anything. It’s not like this room will be hers for long. It’s usual for her to stay in a home for a month at best. So, it’s better to not get attached to anything or anyone.

Wanda has a frown on her face as she watches Y/N set down her tiny bag. She’s worried of the girl, but puts those feelings on the side, this is a big change after all.

“Should we leave you to settle in?” Steve speaks up when the silence starts to drag on for a long time. “Someone could come get you when dinner is ready.”

With a nod from Y/N, the four of them close the door and leave her alone with her thoughts. With no one around, she lets out a deep breath and starts inspecting the room. It’s bigger than any other room she has had, and cleaner.

It’ll definitely be harder to leave this room behind when the time eventually comes.

After two very uneventful days, Natasha and Wanda have started talking with the other Avengers how Y/N doesn’t seem to get better, even though they’re giving her plenty of space. So, they decide to try another approach.

Wanda knocks on the door with a huge smile. Some of the other team members are behind her with boxes.

Opening the door only slightly, Y/N peeks through the gap. “Hi!” Wanda waves. “We got you something, if you could open the door a bit more?” Her voice is gentle and on the quieter side.

Y/N opens the door properly. Her eyes widen when she noticed the others and all the boxes waiting there. “We bought you some furniture and decorations.” Natasha brings one of the boxes in the room. “Obviously, we don’t know for sure what you like, but I think we got some good stuff.”

She stays frozen on her spot, out of the way, staring at the others walking in and out of the room. There are so many of them at the same time. Y/N doesn’t understand what they’re doing. Is this a test?

In fear of being punish for a wrong reaction, she decides to not react at all. Her hands are shaking behind her back, but she doesn’t let them see her fear. She just stares at them with a stoic expression.

“What do you think?” Wanda asks once the things are set. “You can obviously change things around if they aren’t to your liking, but this is a good start, yeah?” When Y/N just nods mutely, Wanda’s smile falls.

A silence falls over the room. Very uncomfortable and heavy silence. “Well,” Natasha clears her throat. “We’ll let you be.”

When the door closes, Wanda and Natasha glance at each other. “That didn’t work out the way I wanted.” Wanda mumbles. “I really thought that’d help her get out of her shell.”

“Maybe we just need to let her be.”

She huffs. “I know, it’s just so difficult when I can basically hear her worries.”

“It’ll happen, lets just do it on her terms.”

A week goes by where it almost seems like Y/N pulled into her shell even more. She wouldn’t speak to anyone, or even want to physically be in the same room as someone else. One of the team members always had to go knock on her door and leave a plate of food in front of it, so she would eat.

Most of the team got back into their regular routines, though their worry stayed the same, but they couldn’t stand outside her door forever. Wanda and Natasha would talk to her through the door at times, even if the conversation was fully one sided.

Today, the Avengers decided to spend the evening playing different board games. It’s not unusual for them, as they like to do bonding activities together.

Tony knocked on Y/N’s door to ask her to join them, but only got a small head shake as an answer. However, after an hour and a half, Y/N opens the door carefully.

She sneaks towards the living room, being cautious not to make any noise. Stopping right before the room, she peaks in. All the team members are laughing and shouting together.

Y/N takes deep breaths to calm herself down, these kind of situations still make her incredibly nervous. Suddenly, Wanda turns to look at her.

Her eyes turn wide and she is just about to turn away to go back to her room’s safety, but Wanda speaks up before she can. “Hey, sweetheart. Do you want to join us?” Now some of the others turn to look at her.

With hesitance, Y/N starts walking towards them. They’re surprised by this, but try their best not to show it. “We’re playing Monopoly. You ever played it?” Tony asks as Y/N sits between Wanda and Natasha.

“No.”

“That’s alright, we’ll teach you.” Wanda smiles, putting one more pawn to the board.

Y/N stays quiet for quite some time during the game night, but when the evening goes on, she starts initiating conversation more and even leans on Wanda’s side at times.

Maybe this family is different after all, it certainly isn’t ordinary.

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littlxpxtal · 11 months ago

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Little Dove | Chapter 1

You sat in the fitting room, picking at your fingers, legs bobbing up and down waiting for Tigris to bring out the dress she hand sewn for the ceremony.

“Ta-da!” she announced pleased with herself as she wheeled the gown out on a mannequin carved to your measurements.

You gasped in awe. It was a deep red with a provocative sweetheart neckline. The length was past the floor, sprawling out. A good excuse to use the new platform heels you bought a few weeks ago.

Immediately undressing, Tigris helped you step into the dress, fitting perfectly to your curves as always. The fabric was a soft crushed velvet, lined with a slippery satin that made it comfortable to move around in.

“You’ve outdone yourself this time, Tigris”

“It was nothing! All I could think about was you on that stage wearing it.”

You blushed and kissed her cheek.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you exclaimed. “Do you think he will like it?”

“He’s already seen it.” she winked. You stared at her quizzically.

“And?”

“He wanted me to raise the neckline. I told him I would but”

“But you didnt” you laughed

“He just doesn’t get it. He’ll forgive me someday”

You watched yourself in the mirror, heart starting to race at the thought of actually winning this award.

She showed you the different hairstyles and accessories she envisioned with her dress and you let her do her magic, saying yes to almost everything she proposed due to excitement and the inability to actually think straight from the nervousness.

You were against 3 other candidates, 2 from the gamemaker committee and one from the presidents cabinet. You constantly ridiculed your mind with doubts, these other people had far more important jobs and positions in Panem. Plus you were the only female nominee.

“Why are you so quiet all of a sudden?” She asked as she removed the last necklace option.

“Do you really think I can win?”

Her face immediately crossed at your silly inquiry.

“Are you joking? No women in Panem has had the balls to do what you’ve done. You’ve gone out of your way to get these billionaires to donate to your campaign. You went to the districts personally to see the televisions installed. You designed the campaign ads yourself and gave dozens of speeches infronts of hundreds of people to support your initiative. You did all of that ideating and creating by yourself and made it happen. None of those other losers came close to the amount of work you put in this year to make a name for yourself. If you lose this award to one of them I’ll make their wives lives hell.”

You looked down and smiled at her outburst, grabbing her hand over your shoulder and squeezing it.

“I couldn’t do this without you.”

There was a knock at the door

“Miss Y/L/N, your driver is here.” One of Tigris’s assistants announced through the door.

“That’s my cue” you said standing up preparing to have Tigris unzip the dress off of you.

“Tell Coriolanus I said hello.” she said flatly.

It was the day of the awards ceremony and you woke up to an empty bed. Coryo had mentioned he had some duties to attend before the ceremony, but you were not expecting to him to leave so early. You hadn’t been very vocal about your anxiety surrounding the event that night, in fact you rarely spoke about it with him.

It was only spoken about once during dinner with some of Coriolanus’s old peers that he would occasionally have over. Keeping them in good spirits in case he needed their support down the road.

“So did Y/N tell you about her nomination?” Clemensia asked across the table at Coriolanus, sitting at the head of the table.

His eyebrow quirked up.

“Nomination for what?”

“Innovator of the year!” She cheered, tipping her wine glass at you. You politely dabbed your mouth from the spoonful of soup you just swallowed. A blush creeping up your neck to your face you sat as still as possible, not moving your eyes away from Clemmie.

“I nominated her.” Festus chimed in. “The work shes done at the firm has been stupendous” He added.

You finally gained the courage to look over at your boyfriend and his jaw was clenched. The room was silent before he forced a smile.

“That’s lovely, congratulations Y/N” you smiled softly back at him and placed a hand over his. He didnt move, or acknowledge the touch, he kept his forced smile and used his other hand to raise his glass.

“To Y/N”

“TO Y/N” Everyone exclaimed.

It was previously planned before the dinner that you would be staying at Coryo’s that night, but after dinner you wished there had been a car waiting to take you home. The silence in the apartment after the guests left was suffocating. The clinks of glasses and dishes as you and Coryo cleaned up the table were the only sounds to be heard.

You were wiping the counter as he starting to losen his tie and uncuff his links.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this award?” He asked with no emotion.

Without turning to face him you sighed.

“It’s not really that big of a deal, it’s just a nomination. I doubt I’ll even get it.”

He huffed and walked over, standing inches infront of you.

“Tell me about it.” He looked hard at you, furrowing his brows, eyes piercing into yours.

“It’s one of the newer ones they’ve come up with for this years ceremony before the reapings begin. Its a way to celebrate everyone who’s played a part, they’re making them bigger and bigger every year.”

“Yes I know about this ceremony, we’re invited to it and I’ve gone every year since University. I’m asking you about your nomination and how you qualified.”

“I was nominated for Innovator of the year -” he interrupted “By Festus Creed” stating annoyed. He walked over to the fridge to get a glass of water.

“Well yes, I didn’t ask him to, if thats what your thinking.” He let out a dark laugh.

“No thats not what im thinking. Im thinking he did it to get under my skin. He’s always trying to find ways to undermine me, he probably knew I wasnt nominated for anything.” He sat the cup down forcefully.

That’s when you realized this anger was not from you not telling him, perhaps he even knew. He didn’t seem surprised when it was announced at dinner, he seemed annoyed if anything. The attention turning from him hosting his guests to them toasting to you. He was jealous.

“I was nominated for my implementation of the Hunger Games being televised in the homes of every district resident, and my hardwork at campaigning to get people to advertise and put money behind the games.” You simply stated. Turning to finish wiping off the counter and walking to the sink to rinse your hands.

“I don’t think I’m even going to win Coriolanus.” you sighed wiping your hands on a towel. “Im against 3 other strong candidates who have done much more important and serious jobs than this. Plus I’m a woman, there has never been a female winner in any of the categories since the beginning of the games and these ceremonies. In all honesty, I think it was Festus who was trying to get under my skin and humiliate me infront of all of Panem. For me to think I even have a chance to have my name on a screen among those who have a bigger legacy in the history of our country. I just made some flyers and put up some TVs in the districts.” Tears brimmed your eyes at the reality of it all. The shame you felt from getting your hopes up.

You heard his footsteps creep behind you, quickly wiping your tears before he could see how pathetically emotional you were getting over this. He touched the back of your arm and kissed the top of your head.

“You’re going to win.” He stated plainly, then left the room.

An Avox brought breakfast to your bedside as requested. Unable to get most of it down, you slowly sipped the tea as you flicked through the TV, finally settling on a kids cartoon just to have some background noise as you tried to calm your nerves before having to start tonights preparations.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I can’t believe you made me come here” Tigris whispered, annoyed.

“I’m sorry he wanted us to arrive together and I couldn’t convince him to get ready at my apartment.” you shrugged.

Tigris and her crew of makeup artists got to work, putting heat on your hair and moisturizing your face.

The sun was beginning to set, and you had about a full bottle of champagne down the hatch by the time they were done. Slipping on the gold strappy platform heels you’ve been daydreaming about, you walked over to the full body mirror Coryo had hanging in the guest bedroom.

“WOW” you exclaimed. “I can’t believe you made me this pretty”

Tigris shushed you with her hands and picked up the train of your dress to lay around you, as designed. She handed you the box of the final necklace that was decided upon before whisking her assistants and tools away.

“See you at the ceremony Y/N” she cheered before shutting the door.

Taking the next few minutes of silence to admire yourself in the mirror, you were so absorbed in your own beauty that you didn’t even hear the door open, or his footsteps walking toward you.

Only until you heard his voice did you notice his presence.

“Need some help with that?” He motioned towards the jewlery box set on the stand by the mirror.

You nodded your head excitedly and he opened it, smirking at the large piece of jewlery.

You eyed the exquisite gold necklace, lined with small diamonds around the base.

“Tigris has a taste for the extravagant doesn’t she” you laughed sheepishly, not remembering it being an option she provided during your last visit.

“I actually picked this one out.” he whispered in your ear. He motioned for you to lift your hair, and he placed it gently against your collarbones, fingers tracing lightly around your neck as he clasped it.

You turned to face him, your nerves easing looking into his familiar eyes. “Thank you, I love it.”

He placed a small kiss on your cheek, avoiding the lipgloss that was applied a few moments before the team left.

“The car is here” he said standing back up straight and eyeing himself in the mirror, making sure he was in check for the event. Sweeping a hand over the side of his hair to calm a strayaway that had popped out.

“Coryo I’m nervous” you squeaked out.

He didn’t react, still staring at himself in the mirror to make sure all was put together.

“Don’t be love, you’re going to win.”

His eyes flickered over to you for a second before placing a hand on your waist.

“C’mon now, don’t work yourself up over this. Let’s just have a good time.”

Coryo wasn’t always the best at comforting your ailments, but tonight he was being particularly insensitive. Now no longer nervous, but frustrated you huffed, grabbing your purse and pulling up the train of your own dress to the car. Fiddling with your idle hands again, since he wasnt holding them, burrowing into deep thought of the morbid embarrassment you feel if you didn’t win. How sad it would be for Coriolanus to be seen with someone who was a loser. Your throat tightened, letting out a sob you had been holding the whole car ride.

“Pull over.” he demanded to the driver.

“Dove, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I can do this, I can’t bare to humiliate you like this. Can we please go home and forget this. If anyone should be winning anything its you. Im so silly to think-”

“I need you to listen to me right now. You will not humiliate me, you should be proud of yourself for being nominated. Its an honor, one that you have rightfully been nominated for. You wouldn’t be here if there werent people behind those doors who didnt believe that. Please pull yourself together, for me?” He held your hand, fingers tracing the side of your face as you stared into his eyes, searching for more. You wanted him to be proud of you, to be more open. About anything.

“Okay.” you whispered. “I’m ready”

“Go on.” Coryo instructed the driver. He held onto your hand until the car came to a stop again infornt of the parade of photographers outside of the building. He released your hand to step out, waving the cameras away so he could come around to your side of the car. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and flashes blinding you slightly, making you forget where you were, what you were there for and what you were wearing. Immediately becoming self conscious, you gave a small smile to the cameras before grabbing Coryo’s hand to lift yourself from the car seat.

After regaining your composure, you put on the performance you usually gave to those outside of your close circle, a radiating confidence that had people swooning at the sight. You gave a smirk at the cameras before leaning over to give Coryo a kiss on the cheek. He rolled his eyes, only slight enough for you to see. The camera men cheered, begging for more.

This was what originally attracted Coriolanus to you. Your confidence and way with people. You couldn manipulate people with your smile, sarcasm and humour. People would fight for your attention in conversation, dying for you to hear what they have to say. You were such a people person it made him sick. You were also better at networking than him, which would make his blood boil if you took it too far.

Your flirtatious manners have gotten you into trouble a few times with him. Taking just a little too far for his liking, but he could never stay mad at you, since he knew it was all an act. All a performance. Behind closed doors your were doubtful, over thinking every interaction you had. An intense anxiety over every decision you made. On the outside you were so sure of yourself. But on the inside you were always second guessing and frightened.

That was the difference between you two.

As for Coriolanus, his confidence outside was just an expression of how he felt inside. He was more sure of himself than anyone you had ever met, which is what attracted you to him.

Together you were a force to be reckoned with.

He let you have your time with the cameras, letting them get shots of all angles of your dress and accessories.

“Who designed your outfit this evening Y/N”

“Tigris Snow of course, who else?” You smiled brightly, placing your hands on your hips and winking at the camera man the question had been asked from.

“But this necklace is from my lover, Coriolanus.” You gesture over to the man standing to the side. The cameras began to flash and point at him. They began shouting questions at him, except they weren’t the normal questions he’s usually asked at these events.

Like what new laws hes proposing, or when he will run for president.

No.

Tonight they were all questions about you.

You tried reading his face to see what he was thinking, but just like you, Coryo put on an act for the cameras.

“Do you think Y/N is going to win Innovator of the year?” One shouted.

Unable to read his expression as you guys strode up the stairs, him holding onto your train for you this time, he stops and turns to look over his shoulder

“Hell yes she is.”

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godduh · 3 months ago

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Dee Reynolds - Character Analysis of the Overburdened Self

Please read this disclaimer / introduction post first

Word Count: 1,398 Read Time: 6 minutes

Finally under the microscope comes Sweet Dee Reynolds, who we will be analysing through Kohut’s concept of the Overburdened Self. One of the key characteristics of the Overburdened Self is they suffer a trauma of “unshared emotionality”. For Dee, this manifests most prevalently in her relationship with her mother. From her birth until her final words in her will, Barbara treats Dee with disdain and apathy. In “The Gang Goes Jihad” (S02E02), we see Dee interact with her mother face-to-face for the first time; Dee hugs her mother and Barbara doesn’t hug back, she accuses Dee of ‘blaming’ Dennis for her misfortunes instead of taking responsibility, and criticises her appearance, all in the span of one minute. In this same episode Frank implies she was rarely home to take care of Dennis and Dee, and she was cheating on Frank with Bruce Mathis, who we know is Dennis and Dee’s real father due to the events of “Dennis and Dee Get a New Dad” (S02E10). In Dee’s final interaction with her mother in “Dennis and Dee’s Mom Is Dead” (S03E03), Barbara tells Dee she was a mistake through her will, and leaves her nothing to inherit.

Kohut goes on to describe Overburdened individuals as lacking the ability to self-soothe. We are given numerous examples of Dee using alcohol and drugs as a method of soothing herself as an Understimulated individual might, however we see her sober coping mechanisms for her inability to self-soothe often manifest in rage. The show & characters themselves make fun of Dee’s inability to self-soothe and tendency to become infuriated in “The Gang Goes to Hell” (S11E09), wherein Dennis instructs Dee not to fall to the sin of ‘wrath’ while they’re away on holiday. Dee, much like the rest of the gang, cannot resist her urges, and ends up assaulting a woman for stealing her seat at the pool and making fun of her during her magic act.

We are continually given numerous examples of Dee being unable to contain her rage, my personal favourite examples are in the episode “PTSDee” (S12E07) where throughout the episode we see Dee doing numerous kind acts for Mike the Stripper who described sex with her as his ‘rock bottom’, until the end of the episode where her actions culminate in Mike giving his own daughter a very intimate lap dance without his or his daughters informed consent, simply so that Dee can say that she was NOT his ‘rock bottom’. The other example comes from “The Gang Gets New Wheels” (S13E05) where Dee befriends two women over their Range Rovers, when one of the women simply remarks that Dee has never been married. For this, Dee decides to cuck her by sleeping with her husband, and accidentally sleeps with her underage son instead.

Finally, Kohut describes the Overburdened self as someone who sees the world as inherently dangerous and their environments hostile. I think it’s interesting to note that Dee is someone who surrounds herself with the gang, who are people who don’t value her and are constantly hostile towards her, which I believe she does subconsciously to validate this internal belief she has that the world is inherently hostile. When Dee is directly confronted with someone who has managed to navigate the “hostile” world and make a living for themselves, it has a profound effect on Dee and she becomes frazzled and unsure of herself as her idea that the world is dangerous is shaken, which often leads to her attempting to ruin their life in some way.

Kohut denotes that, much like the Fragmenting self, Overburdened individuals often feel attacked from the “hostile outside world” after a direct narcissistic injury. We see how Dee seems to spiral when she is confronted by the fact that she didn’t live up to everything she had planned for herself from a young age. In The Gang Gets a New Member (S06E08) we see how Dee is confronted with the fact that she did not fulfil her dreams of becoming an actress as she had previously thought 10 years earlier. We see how this deeply affects her, and she immediately begins trying to right this wrong that the world has forced upon her, which she fails at, only succeeding at injuring her teacher and embarrassing herself. We see this exact same behaviour in the episode Frank Reynolds' Little Beauties (S07E03) where she is reminded of her pageantry days, and the way her mother treated her and how at the time she was able to “prove her wrong”. This leads to her inserting herself into the competition and attaching herself to one of the younger competitors who she relates to due to her perceived position as the “underdog”. We watch as Dee relives her glory days in an attempt to reassure herself that she is not only still as beautiful as she was then, but that she is still better than how her mother made her feel, all whilst simultaneously dissing her mother and the mother of this random child. This, of course, leads to nothing, and she walks away in the wreckage of the show.

Aside from the gang, her parents, and the Waitress, Dee interacts with three notable people from her past throughout the course of the series: Matthew Mara (Rickety Cricket), Ingrid Nelson (Fatty Magoo) and Bill Ponderosa. When we first meet Cricket in “The Gang Exploits a Miracle” (S02E07), we see how Dee is indifferent towards Cricket’s success with his mobility after having leg braces in his youth, and with his new position as a priest, but when the gang starts to imply that she couldn’t manipulate him anymore because she’s getting “too old”, she quickly changes her path and convinces him to drop out of the priesthood to be with her, which marks the beginning of Cricket’s life perpetually spiralling downward. For the duration of the series, she refuses to acknowledge that she played a part in Cricket’s life falling apart, or that she might be the problem, not the dangerous, hostile world around them.

Next we meet Ingrid Nelson in “The Aluminum Monster vs. Fatty Magoo” (S03E05). Upon remeeting Ingrid, Dee realises she has lost weight and become incredibly successful in her field since leaving high school, which shakes Dee, prompting her to lie about her own life to seem successful in her eyes. We see her for the duration of the episode desperately attempt to design her own clothes and follow in Ingrid’s footsteps, but due to her lack of skills and knowledge she ends up failing and taking her frustration out directly on Ingrid by attempting to have her arrested for Mac and Frank’s sweatshop. When Dee is unable to navigate the “hostile” world to get what she wants, she instead tries to drag those who are successful down to her level in order to re-establish that world is hostile not only to her, but to everyone.

Lastly we meet Bill Ponderosa in “Mac Fights Gay Marriage” (S06E01). Before she sees him again she is incredibly nervous, but when she realises he has gotten fat and settled down with a family she visibly relaxes and decides she no longer needs him; the world was cruel to him too, and she can no longer use him to make herself feel better, and thus she leaves. Later, she realises she still stands to gain from sleeping with him, and brags about the relationship to the gang despite the fact that they’re against it, and we see Dee refuse to take responsibility for sleeping with Bill or for kidnapping his children when his wife confronts her at the end of “Dennis Gets Divorced” (S06E02). Much like Cricket, we then watch Bill’s life spiral out of control, and Dee continues to feel no remorse nor responsibility for her actions, blaming everyone and everything but herself for what happened; bad things only happen to her, caused by the hostile world that she was born into.

When Dee is confronted with people from her past that are successful in any way, she feels offended, and needs to tear them down to her level of disaster or loss, often tearing them far below her to a point beyond repair. She becomes the hostile world, but believes that the world is hostile to her rather than recognising that it is often her own behaviour that is holding her back, not the world.

Find the other character analyses below:

Charlie - The Understimulated Self Dennis - The Fragmenting Self Mac - The Overstimulated Self

#iasip #text post #character analysis #dee reynolds #it's always sunny in philadelphia #iasip character analysis #godduh speaks

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allthegoodusernamesaretakenagain · 2 years ago

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I’m re-reading TCM at the moment and UGH I just love quentin and his siblings!!! They’re such good OC’s I love them so much!

Can you like tell me more about them and their personalities without giving away any plot obvs! Silly little things like are they introverts or extroverts, what’s their favourite season ECT!!! I just NEED more TCM content!!

Hi Katie, thank you for providing a blessed distraction from my work right now. I will be happy to answer haha!

Quentin

We already know a lot about Quentin's personality due to the fact TCM is from his perspective. However I can provide you will small facts about him that wouldn't have any reason to come up in the fan fic. Quentin is both extroverted and introverted, a classic middle-ground man. While he can appreciate alone time, and sometimes need to reflect in solitude, he also adores being with other people. If Quentin was real, he would an academic studying biology, his room would be covered in flowers and cool plants and he would love cozy little video games and being outdoors. His favourite season is spring, Quentin exhibits the classic British People Syndrome: complaining about the weather no matter what. So spring is a good compromise. Quentin as a toddler would also constantly copy his siblings. Did Denzel just hit his head? Quentin's turn. Clorissa is crying? So is Quentin now. Ronan feels sick? So does Quentin. Daria is cutting her hair? Quentin wants a haircut. He prefers sunrises to sunsets, he likes clouds that look like something, and he hates the nickname 'Quinny' (unless used by his family, the only exception).

Clorissa

Clorissa is an extrovert, she loves to talk to people, play with her kids, and learn strangers' stories. Clorissa often reminds me of Meg from Little Women, very family oriented and driven, but no less determined and strong. She would have definitely had a room covered in posters of boybands and read fanfiction on Wattpad about Y/N when growing up if she was real. Clorissa would have such a big fangirl phase. She's a great cook, with a very motherly persona even before she became a mother. Summer is her favourite season, it reminds her of running the fields as a kid, plucking flowers from the grass and braiding them into her hair, and when the nights felt short and the days were long. She was a quiet kid, being the first Brinston sibling, and learned to observe from afar before casting her opinion on things. Often overlooked, but never forgotten. She loves water, shells, the sight of her children in the morning with crazy bed hair, her husband kissing her nose, and dipping her feet into the lake.

Ronan

An introvert, through and through. Ronan is brooding, especially to people he doesn't know. He can come across as abrasive, or irritated when in reality it's just how he interacts with people. Ronan is the king of Resting Bitch Face. But he loves with his whole heart, and he is very wise and good to comfort people despite appearances. He is very contemplative, and in real life, he is one of those mysterious people in the bookshop with a tote bag and grandad jumpers. Ronan is determined to feel useful. He is an Autumn fan. He likes the way things change, and it's not too cold for him to still watch a sunset. Ronan would 100% listen to Taylor Swifts All Too Well 10-minute version as he's being all broody. He is also prone to anxiety, like Quentin. As a child, he was inquisitive, constantly grabbing things he shouldn't, deciding anything and everything was food. He loves the rain, horses, the smell of stew, and running.

Daria

Daria hates people. An introvert to her core, she loves to be alone, and she loves to be dependent upon herself and not others. To be cared for by Daria is a big deal. She only shows her vulnerable side to those close to her, like her siblings. She would be such an emo in school, she would be mysterious and wearing all black, a loner by choice. Despite all this, she finds herself surrounded by people who care about her. Daria loves winter. It's cold, like her heart (she's actually very warm but if you told her this you'd be glared at), and there's more fun to her in the dark days than in summer. She likes to wear thick cloaks and big boots. A good fighter too, self-taught alongside her brother for most of her life. Her mother would describe her as destructive as a child, running before she could walk, breaking things all the time, ready to start fights with other chubby-faced toddlers. She loves swords, making snow angels, teasing her siblings, and dogs. She is a big dog person.

Denzel

Oh, he's an extrovert. Denzel cannot stand to be on his own. A silly, goofy, chaotic man. He enjoys bouncing off other people's energy, even if that energy is merely sitting in silence. Denzel can read people really well. He's that kid in school who does crazy shit, and when you hear the story the next day you're just like 'i'm sorry denzel did WHAT?' His room would be a complete and utter mess, but if someone tried to clean up his mess, he would feel like everything is disorganised. Denzel is also a summer fan, he enjoyed running around the fields as a kid, filled with so much energy, the freedom of it all. Growing up, people associated him and Quentin as chaotic twins. With Quentin being clumsy and accident-prone, and Denzel being excitable and hyperactive, they combine into chaos. Denzel would be recruiting little toddler Quentin into his crazy schemes as a kid, and it would almost always end in failure. He loves early mornings, climbing tree's, hot drinks, and protecting people he cares about.

#legend of zelda fanfiction #botw link #botw zelda

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madintersexmermaid · 3 months ago

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Demi Lovato and her entire life and career is a huge cautionary tale on not just the importance of having likeability--from a profressional public image standpoint and an every day life standpoint--but also the importance of having morals, self awareness, humility, integrity and willingness to take accountability for bad behavior and actively correct, atone for and make amends for said behavior, to surround yourself with good crowds of people that'll hold you accountable and challenge you to consistently abide by these values, to treat others with respect and kindness, to be respectful, thankful, loyal, grateful and appreciative of friends who were there for you at your lowest, to be thankful for fans that were supportive of you and just be a good decent individual.

Demi Lovato has none of these qualities and has done none of these things--Demi, in fact, has done the exact opposite of all these things.

Demi has no likeability and is in fact unlikeable. Demi has no morals, no integrity, no self awareness, no humility and no willingness to take any accountability for any of the disgusting and disrespectful things she's done and said over the years, and in fact either gets defensive and doubles down and/or blame shifts, deflects, makes excuses and plays victim when called out. Demi has not only ruined friendships publicly by egregiously backstabbing, betraying and disrespecting friends then even more egregiously smearing and attacking the character of said friends to play victim and save face like a coward even though Demi was in the wrong, but she also hides behind her yes fans who coddle and enable her and excuse, downplay, justify, rationalize and emulate her foul behavior. Demi constantly shows her hypocrisy by talking out of both sides of her mouth then doing the exact opposite i.e. Demi preaching about being pro feminist and anti bullying then turning around and bullying and being catty, passive aggressive, sexist and misogynistic towards other female artists (Taylor Swift and Selena Gomez especially); Demi preaching about natural beauty, body positivity and eating disorder awareness but then body shaming and body policing other women (i.e. Demi body shaming Taylor while showing no consideration that Taylor was suffering from an eating disorder at the time, Demi getting caught with having that secret traumaqueenforever Instagram finsta backburner dedicated to bullying and badmouthing Selena and even egregiously mocking and making fun of Selena's lupus and kidney issues then Demi pathetically deflecting, playing victim and gaslighting and manipulating the public into feeling sorry for her as a distraction), promoting diet teas, buccal fat removals and frequently getting work done to where her lips look like plastic; Demi constantly hiding behind her fans--many of whom who didn't mature past their Disney channel school days circa 2010 and still see her as the young actress they saw on Camp Rock, Sonny with a Chance, etc. and use that as an excuse to keep her frozen in an infantilized image of the perfect sweet misunderstood Disney angel that everybody hates on for no reason when objective reality says different--to cover up and excuse her behavior when it's convenient but then Demi also building up an infamous reputation for being nasty, rude, ungrateful and mean to fans online and in real life during meet and greets; Demi posting #BLM Instagram posts to present herself as an ally to the African American community but then having a history of unearthed and unedited photos of her wearing blackface along with Demi getting caught saying the N slur in that same traumaqueenforever finsta and Demi's previous history of cultural appropriation of African twists and hiding behind getting results of 1% African in a shoddy DNA test as a defensive excuse and subtly sneaky attempt to get a black card, and Demi not ever acknowledging or apologizing for any of these patterns of racist, anti black, derogatory and hypocritcal behavior and performative allyship;

I could go on and on and actually will continue to go on and on about it. And so what's seriously irritating, infuriating, irking and groan worthy about Demi once again attempting a comeback and redemption arc (for the millionth time!) shortly before her directorial debut film is that not only does it still feel like staged PR damage control campaign to get her movie and music released, Demi only talked about having remorse for her bad behavior in the context of when she was on Disney. Like ma'am that's only the surface and the half of it--what about the many, many, many, many, many, many, MANY times you acted ugly, foul, nasty, mean and hateful towards others even when you were long away from Disney?

What about the egregiously ugly and backstabbing way you treated Selena and Taylor when they were once your friends and were the first people to check on you when you first went to rehab, only for you to repay them with your ugly hateful cattiness, passive aggression and projection of your jealousy and insecurity, throwing shade at them, bullying them, trash talking them and siding with toxic problematic men like Justin Bieber and Scooter Braun that have abused and bullied them in some way or another?

What about the fact you and your ex fiance Max Ehrich teamed up together to make a secret finsta dedicated to bullying and trash talking Selena and even cruelly mocking and making fun of Selena's lupus and kidney problems but then not only cried tattoo tears baiting for sympathy when divine retribution came back and bit you in the butt via you and Max's engagement and relationship ending as well as Max's unearthed tweets expressing how even he thought of Selena as more attractive than you and wanted her more than he wanted you, but also went on Jamila Jameel's podcast show and deflected, played victim, downplayed and even outright refused to acknowledge your foul behavior when people called you out and instead went on an idiotic, pompous, egotistical, self righteous and pretentious cAnCeL cUlTuRe Da eViLs tangent basically lowkey telling on yourself for having that awful finsta yet also trying to guilt trip and emotionally blackmail and gaslight people into giving you the benefits of forgiveness but not wanting to do the work in apologizing directly to Selena privately and publicly and then apologizing to other chronically ill and disabled people who were most likely negatively affected by your ugly, hateful ableist words?

What about the many times you treated many of your fans like garbage, many of those fans of whom were ones who had enough common sense and critical thinking to call you out for your behavior and with whom you built a terrible reputation for treating like crap at your meet and greets?

What about your offensive antiblack racial microaggressions and cultural appropriation + unearthed and unedited photos of you wearing blackface that's directly offensive to black people?

What about your overall pattern of claiming to be pro feminist and anti bullying when it's convenient but then turning around and bullying + being extremely sexist, misogynistic, mean girlish, catty and bullyish towards other women?

What about you also claiming to care about body positivity and sensitivity to eating disorders but then either body policing or body shaming other female artists and public celebrities?

What about your disgusting arrogance in constantly weaponizing mental health and trauma as a deflection shield and tactic to deflect, blame shift, make excuses and play victim while also doing this to manipulate people into feeling sorry for you so you can distract them from calling you out on your behavior?

And Demi did all of this long after she left Disney and it was a repeated pattern of behavior, so Demi needs to cut the bullcrap cause she can't keep hiding behind that as a legitimate excuse anymore. (And even the clips and descriptions of the documentary that showed Demi reuniting with all of her Disney co stars such as Raven Symone, Alyson Stoner, etc., were disastrous as almost each and every co star said that Demi was the nastiest and most nightmarish to deal with, with Alyson even saying that she was terrified of Demi, and Demi's responses being nothing but the same tired script of excuses--"I was dissociated", "I was high", "I don't remember", etc. Like ma'am, just stop!)

The list goes on and it's been an issue for almost a decade. And Demi only seems to express half hearted remorse over her bad behavior only in the context of when she was a Disney star as what I think is a subtle way for Demi to still hide behind the excuse of "oh I was a young Disney star and overwhelmed" while not really addressing the full scope of or taking accountability for her vile behavior, and rings as Demi wanting to take a lazy shortcut in getting the benefits of a redemption arc but wants none of the accountability or work it takes to actually earn it. And overall it just comes off as very surface level, hollow, empty and disengenuous and a case of too little too late.

If Demi were to quit and retire it wouldn't be a sad day cause she's done more harm to people than good. In fact, it's safe to say that Demi singlehandedly invented the culture of narcissistic, egotistical, entitled and pretentious SJW bullies that leech off of real world social issues to bully others and put forth a façade of righteousness to hide that they're terrible people and then play victim when called out, and Demi also singlehandedly popularized that pattern of thinking and behaving in mainstream pop culture. And Demi doing this while propping herself up as some sort of posterface role model for folks that deal with mental health issues, trauma, eating disorders and addiction has really set a catastrophically horrible precedent as a result as it's not only negatively influenced her fans to behave just as badly and open a pandora's box of SJW bully trolls that we see on social media today, but also reinforce many of the worst and most harmful and icky stereotypes of mentally ill and neurodivergent folks with co occurring issues of addiction, eating disorders, trauma and trauma based behaviors which in turn only emboldens ableists to stereotype and dehumanize us and lump us into a monolith with the assumption that we all have a case of Demi Lovato syndrome when plenty of us don't behave that way and plenty of us don't weaponize our struggles as an excuse to be abusive hateful backstabbing douchebags.

And that makes Demi guilty of, at best, giving the mental health, trauma, eating disorder and addiction recovery community a bad look and a bad name, and at worst, grifting, exploiting and making a mockery out of us. The same goes for any public figure that willfully behaves badly and lives behind a defensive, pretentious victimhood mentality while claiming to represent us.

#anti-demi lovato #flop #anti mean girl #tw: ed mention #tw: sexism #tw: misogyny #pop culture #pop culture observations

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empirexsin · 2 years ago

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part of him feels an urge to flee when she speaks. conversation of returning home led to the reality of a prior discussion they had once had. a farm to manage between them. a home he would build with his own hands for the pair of them to reside in. this sense of domestication that now dawns on him. it would always be this way. for even when he had been fucking around with prostitutes in another tavern it was only to get away and free himself from the invisible chains that have been shackled to his wrists and ankles, keeping him bound to willow. he thinks of himself as a prisoner and yet it has always been him seeking her, mostly. from the moment they had first met and she had rejected him. it seemed it had been he who had infiltrated upon her life in some capacity. and perhaps he had done so with the mere intention of sleeping with her. so that he might rest himself between her thighs and hear her moans. potentially. but he could have easily sought another prostitute out. not been so fixated on her. the universe seems to know something he ignores about their relationship. how he would like to think it pure animal instinct.

but it's deeper than the carnal desires of the flesh. he's followed her up north to protect her. had been upset and disappointed, in his own way, when she had told him she were leaving the west. and he'd followed her in a way that perhaps would demonstrate that he'd follow her to the ends of the earth. and it's all very pathetic. the kind of behaviour he'd laugh at when witnessing in others. but maybe that's because he partially believes there is no bond like the one he has to the willow tree. and although his feet feel the urge to run someplace he won't be found. he doesn't. he just isn't used to this sense of stability - security. hadn't wanted to end up like his mother, head over heels in love with someone who would disappear and leave her crazed. and he hadn't wanted to end up like his father either. constantly running - nowhere to be found. probably dead. but somehow he has become both of them, in a way. and somehow he seems to trust willow more than he would like to. thinks it will come back and bite him. but if it happens, he thinks it'll be the same day he'll kill willow. so much blood would be shed that he thinks her death would not be satisfying but cathartic. thinks he'd scream into the wind, holding her corpse as if he'd found her, rather than killed her with his own hands.

" you still talk a fuckin' goddamn lot, don't you? ain't bein' up here taught you anythin' about women bein' silent? " and maybe his words are to cut her off. to announce the stupidity of the idea that she's speaking. a farm they'd both own. live on. but max can't deny a pull he feels towards her. as if he's anchored to loving her. although the words don't stumble from his lips. " we're goin' sleep together in our house, willow " he speaks with a firmness, as if he tries to stick to the facts. tries to not involve himself in the emotion that this discussion has. tries to focus on his surroundings still. the small sounds outside of her voice. tries to feel the way her fingers gently tug at the back of his hair when they're lingering against his neck. " we're goin' have the farm. 'n we're goin' live in the house i build. 'n sleep in the same bed. 'n that's how it's goin' fuckin' be. but you're to know i can leave when i want, if i want " speaks as if those words should be said. as if the possibility is there. or maybe he just wants her to think the possibility is there. wants to behave in part, as if such a relationship between them isn't as heavy as it is - perhaps because he too, is afraid of abandonment. would rather leave first. has witnessed the consequences of heartbreak - has seen his mother hang herself on his favorite tree he liked to play on as a boy.

" you know how i feel about you " his voice is quieter now, as if almost a whisper. they sway in motion as he leads their dance. speaking as if his feelings for her are obvious and unquestionable. " you think i wanted t'be a goddamn fuckin' sheriff or follow you here? i ain't want none of it but i did it 'cause you wanted it. 'n maybe it was for the best, 'cause you're safe 'n you've been smilin' a fuckin' lot that sometimes it makes me wanna sew your fuckin' lips together so you look less like one of those puffer fish "

" y'wanna dance with me?" @williopolis

" you mean do i wanna dance with t'devil? " they've been here for two months. and it had been his own fault, really. following her to the ends of the earth as it were in some attempt to protect her as she journeyed to collect her inheritance. but they've been in this place longer than he would like. willow, mingling with women and men who aren't of western ideologies or traditions. men in tall, fancy hats and suits. women who carry paper fans around with designs on them, fluttering them towards their face to keep the air cool. he'd told her that she'd find some fancy fella and wouldn't be returning to the town they met. she'd been adamant that this wouldn't be the case. but max can't help but think that she's becoming one of them in a sense. even if she hasn't met someone, she's seemingly enjoying this newfound wealth, perhaps. something max isn't acquainted with. feels out of place with. these people are more intimidated by max. even more so than those back home. they silence themselves when he enters a room - a building - and they watch him subtly, trying to keep their gaze down but also hyperaware his presence is near. not wanting to be oblivious to the fact he could pounce. almost like having a wild lion on the loose - trying to make a conscious effort to survive more than ever.

looks at willow from his position, sat at the table in the establishment they're in. eyes looking towards her - careful and intense as they always are. as if max can see into the very soul of those he looks at. sees people at their most vulnerable. takes advantage of their weaknesses that he uses as his strength. " i already seen you dancin' " he tells her. he'd been watching her dance with other men for the past two hours. men who try to dance elegantly with her as if they're trying to court her. as if they have intentions of marriage and it's all reflected in their rigid, uncomfortable dancing. how their legs are so stiff, as if they're trying to force themselves to behave in ways that aren't natural. thinks if they all let go of such inhibitions then maybe they'd all act violently - lunging at women who will scream as they bite into their breasts like cooked meat.

" you've been dancin' like a stick from a willow tree, swept in the wind, willow. rigid. like all the men you been dancin' with too. fuckin' concealin' their boners which make 'em even more fuckin' wooden " but max has put his glass down of wine on the table. he's already standing up from his seat, movement that is contradictory to his words that sound on the edge of a refusal. " one dance "

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sumeru-academy · 3 years ago

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Hi! I was the anon that asked about the apy x family thingy. So my request ( if you are up for it!) Is Lisa, Jean, Beidou, Ningguang, Yae Miko and Ayaka with their S/O and their child re-enacting the scene of SpyXFamily during the schools higher-ups interview where Anya cried. The genshin character can be based of Yor or Loid (showing protectiveness) but add your own twist if you want or whatever seems fit! I actually have seen clips of the series but i feel so bad for watching the anime so early since it has minimal episodes yet!! 🥲🥲

Will they pass or fail.

synopsis: (Y/N) is the most successful and renowned spy in the country. Tackling the most dangerous and unheard of missions any human would even hope to handle. As of now, she’d been tasked to get close to a certain head of the prestigious Academy of Teyvat. With the hope of the country lying on her shoulders, she takes a false wife under her wing along with an adopted child in hopes to bring her union peace.

character(s): yae, ningguang, lisa. (separate)

warning(s): spy x family au, talk of pregnancy, lowkey homophobia, sexism, a little violence.

note(s): female reader, i feel like this wasn’t a great intro via my writing cause it's a little out of my comfort zone ^^ however i’d never turn down the chance to experiment.

i lob yor

⎯⎯mod chewie 🪑

YAE MIKO

loves teenagers and tweens, and just endlessly ruins their pride.

she can handle herself around smaller children, but hates it when they cry, she finds it so annoying.

has a talent for cooking, but dislikes the necessity of it. finds pleasure in seeing you dash around the kitchen while she entertains Sayu.

she’s a little lost when helping with studies, always trying to do something else.

somehow always trying to start tussles with the locals in grocery stores, at one point she was blatantly insulted while shopping and she just started laughing.

the biggest casualty was marrying her due to her troublesome and unpredictable nature, she constantly tests you.

Sayu was nowhere near as troublesome as your wife. There was constant mischief surrounding her, you had begged her to stay quiet and allow you to take the lead for the school interview. You should’ve known better than to tell her what you wanted, she would do the opposite.

Not even a whole two minutes in and there was already discord in the secluded room.

“I’m just saying, it’s a little strange for a hybrid woman and a human woman to raise a child. The fact is one of you is a hybrid I can overlook, but two women?”

Swan squabbles as if he were some sort of cattle being taken to the slaughterhouse. Sayu remained airheaded, daydreaming about the rolling fields by her home which she was excited to roll in after the visit.

Yae held her index finger to her chin, “Pardon me, but didn’t you lose your wife and visitation rights? It feels inappropriate to comment on others’ living situation when you weren’t even able to keep your wife nor your daughter.”

“Why you–”

You held up your hands, the man with glasses next to Swan scolding Yae on her brash comment. You apologized under your breath, none of the men could hear you over Swan’s embarrassed squealing.

You spoke up, “My dearest apologies, she’s very defensive you see–”

“Dear (Y/N), don’t apologize on my behalf. This man has no obligation to ridicule others' lifestyles, no matter the situation! He’s a downbeat who gets off to the misery of others in an attempt to raise his ego. Please don’t sympathize with such impotence,” her attention was fully on you now, ignoring the argument bubbling within the men on the sofa.

“It isn’t about sympathy, it’s about Sayu getting into the academy!” your voice was hushed, a hand by your mouth.

Yae scoffed and mumbled something you couldn’t understand, “Let’s continue, I’ll remain quiet.”

Swan babbled, “Perhaps we’d ought to kick you out, it’s clear two women are only going to raise a brain dead child.”

Sayu’s soft voice mumbled to the Headmaster, he of which repeated her words, “The child states she enjoys her home life, I think that makes a good enough excuse to allow the wives to continue the interview.”

You tried not to shake when Yae smiled at you.

“What was your relationship like with Miss Yae before you got married, Miss (Y/N)?” Evance was scribbling gibberish down on a clipboard, his pencil strokes quiet.

“We met at a shrine, she was the head shrine maiden and I felt weak in the knees when I saw how gracefully she took care of me. She’s truly an enigma,” You sighed dreamily, “I became a regular and we had gotten engaged fairly quickly, when I saw her get along with my daughter it only made me swoon even further.”

He nodded, “I see, so you’re religious?”

“Not exactly, it’s more for pleasure than religion, I never grew up around the notion.”

“I see, Miss Yae, do you still attend the shrine you had met Miss (Y/N) in?”

She smiled more sweetly than before, “Yes, and each time she visits me I get to relive the moment of adoration when we had first encountered each other. A magical feeling.”

“Aren’t most religions against the idea of same-sex marriage? Wouldn’t you be betraying your God?” Swan spoke up again, visible rage upon his features. Her ear twitched, “God doesn’t pay me to do hard work or follow its rules. I disbelieve in the afterlife and karma.” Yae fiddled with her collar bashfully, “If I’m disobeying him, it was worth it, (Y/N) and Sayu’s company are much more rewarding than anything else.”

A foreign warmth bubbled in your stomach when she praised you, despite the fact the marriage was only for the title, you couldn’t help but be flustered.

“Tell me, Sayu, was it?” Evance started, “Do you enjoy your new mother?”

The small girl, though consumed by the softness of the cushions, perked up with bright eyes. Her brows furrowed in a troubled but determined expression where she forced a convincing smile.

“Yes! I want to be with them forever!”

The Headmaster grumbled praise, the anxiety in your core growing fainter with the flow of conversation. The moment was short lived.

“So, would you prefer your actual father then?”

You’ve only known Yae for a few months, been married to her for the majority of that time. Never once have you ever seen her genuinely enraged by anything. In the corner of your eye, you made out the fury of which dressed itself upon her features which held a smile for so long. The room was unmoving with thick tension, only becoming more infused with Yae’s unconditional rage once Sayu showed the slightest hint of discomfort.

“Oh my,” she started, “Looks like there’s a pig loose, please allow me to catch it.”

There wasn’t enough time to stop her. Her hand went snag to the remains of Swan’s hair and smashed it into the coffee table with a graphic crack. His nose was dug through the wood and on the wool rug beneath them, nose cracking under the pressure of her sheer strength. Once she lifted her hand from his cranium, her sharp nails dug into the skin of his scalp.

“Pardon me…” she stated again, you didn’t dare breathe, “He should stay quiet for now, please do your best to contain your pets.”

There was no possible way you were ever getting to the academy, or any academy at this rate.

NINGGUANG

isn’t fond of older children, she can get along with toddlers fine.

has a talent for cooking, and would rather cook for you then you cook for her.

married you for tax benefits, and agreed to help you with your endeavors with little Qiqi, she herself was also attached.

thinks money can solve everything, you forgot your keys to the apartment once and she tossed a variety of coins at you and continued to walk to the train station by herself.

hates leaving Qiqi home alone, she gave you one hell of a lecture when she found out she was left alone semi-regularly.

Your wife was responsible, and you pride yourself on picking such a lovely woman to marry you. She had her ups and downs, like most people, but overall she has to be the best fit for you.

The interview for the academy was as smooth as ever, you’d taken the lead. The youngest of the men being Swan had made multiple double sided comments which you brushed off with the utmost of respect. You couldn’t help but notice Ningguang’s side eye you while you submissively bowed to their will.

“Who cooks at home? Considering you’re both women,” Swan said, eyes bore into your own.

You pulled on a strained smile, “Ningguang does most of it, I work later nights than I’d like to admit so I’m rarely home in time to cook.”

“Did you cook for your late husband?” he continued.

“No, sir. I dislike cooking.”

He scoffed, as if he were absolutely disgusted with the fact you couldn’t cook, “What kind of woman is useless in the kitchen? Surely this is why you gave up on trying to marry men.”

Ningguang quickly interjected, “Excuse me, but why does that matter for school admission? I thought this school prided itself on the height of education, not petty gender roles.”

The Headmaster quickly stood up straighter, he nodded and instructed the interview to continue while Swan leaned back into the sofa cushion.

“So, what was the relationship between you two before you got married?” Evance, the much more understanding man, finally spoke.

You put a hand to your chin, “Well, we met at our workplace. We’d only been coworkers until I got up the courage to ask to become friends, it eventually blossomed into something more.”

Evance nodded, then asked Qiqi his own questions for her. The memory exercises seemed to have been useful, her monotone voice didn’t waver and her stuttering was to a minimum. You were beyond proud of her progress, especially since she had gotten so invested in the ongoing conversations between her and Evance.

It was all short lived.

“You’re the legitimate daughter of Miss (Y/N) and the man before Miss Ningguang, correct?” Evance asked, his eyes skimming over the bunch of printed text before him.

Qiqi tilted her head, “What is, lejitay… mate?”

The Headmaster spoke first, “Is she your real mommy?”

“Of course, she’s my true mommy. The best of the best.”

“Well spoken,” the Headmaster praised.

Swan opened his fat mouth once more, “Would you prefer your old daddy? Or two mommies?”

Everyone in the room seemed to stop breathing, and every bone in your body screamed with bloodied and boiling rage. You can’t remember the last time you had been so infuriated, you don’t even know if you had ever been that infuriated. The entire room froze with shock, the girl in the lone chair started shaking uncontrollably. “Swan! Please have some respect!” Evance scolded, the Headmaster harshly cussed at the said man.

Ningguang watched you carefully restrain yourself, she made her way towards Qiqi and lifted her in her arms.

“I am Ningguang, Tianquan of Liyue Qixing. I own the Jade chamber which had defied laws of physics not even recorded yet. You mock my daughter, you mock me, you mock my lover,” She started, face devoid of human emotion, “You may be the height of education, no matter how many titles this establishment carries, no matter how many titles the employees carry. I am ten times more than you or this establishment will ever be.”

The shaking Qiqi was secured in her arms as she sauntered out, calling out your name which you quickly followed behind.

When you got home it was quiet, the walk was silent except the tapping of Ningguangs heeled shoes. You didn’t dare speak, Qiqi couldn’t do much but sulk in her arms. As soon as you had reached the apartment, you didn’t even get the chance to take your shoes off until she was on the telephone dialing spontaneous numbers. Qiqi found solitude in her bedroom.

“Hello?” Ningguang spoke into the phone, you noticed her lipstick was smeared, “You’re aware of the ultimate Teyvat Academy? Correct? Good, well find the man who owns the estate and purchase the entire thing. I could care less for price tags or investments, do what you have to do and buy it.”

You stared at her with your mouth wide open, that’s one way to get into the academy…

LISA MINCI

Lisa actually really likes working with kids! Her favorite are probably toddlers.

she works with Klee really well, however when Klee gets stubborn about her studies things can get rocky.

Lisa has a tendency of over rewarding, not that it’s a bad thing!

not the best at cooking, very good with baking though.

Klee left you hopeless on so many occasions that you couldn’t remember. When you were first handed this mission you had no idea how to respond other than a curt nod and be on your way. The entire world depended on you. Depend on you, your wife, and your disaster of a child.

It was time. You and your family walked into the interview waiting room in absolute silence. The anxiety was potent enough that you started to bounce your leg up and down, Lisa put her hand on your knee. Now wasn’t a time for visible fear, put on a brave face and tread forward.

Fake it until you make it, you suppose.

The three older men in the room eyes widened once they saw Lisa follow in after you, they probably assumed the both of you were sisters. Although you had read the regulations very carefully, they never mentioned specifically that a man and a woman were the only ones that could pass the interview. It was the mass majority, but you had your worries. There was just no way you would conveniently marry a man under any context.

You sat down in the seat closest to Klee.

“Ah, welcome. Are you both sisters?” the man with thick glasses asked, he was in his early fifties with a kind tone.

Lisa and you both lifted your left hand revealing the matching wedding band.

“No sir, we are legally married,” you stated.

The chubbier man in the middle, Swan, snorted, “So the child does not belong to you biologically?”

You felt your jaw clench, “You see, I was married to a man previously. He passed away from illness, and Lisa swept me off my feet in my time of need. I indeed gave birth to Klee.”

‘Mama’s lying…’ Klee thought to herself, a nervous smile stretching her cheeks.

Swan went to say something, but was cut off by Evance, “So this is your second marriage?”

“Yes, sir.”

You could hear Klee’s fidgeting as she straightened her skirt with uneasy hands.

Evance looked through a clipboard with scattered papers, “What was your relationship like before you got married to Lisa? How did you meet?”

A dreamy sigh left your lips, “We met at a diner, as soon as our eyes met I felt my knees buckle and my chest heat up… I thought of my late husband who would’ve willed me to move on when he passed, we’d talked only for a brief while before engagement.”

Lisa used the tip on her fingers to hide a creeping smile with pink cheeks. She hummed in agreement.

“...And yourself?” Evance directed his attention to your wife.

She nodded, “Well, I’m not the best with straightforward words… But (Y/N) treated me more kindly than anybody I had ever been with previously. She’s impossibly patient, there’s nobody I’d rather spend my life with.”

Well spoken!

Swan spoke up again, “When did you realize you prefer women over men?”

His eyes bore into yours, as if he was mocking you entirely.

“I’ve never put a label on attraction, it’s been like this since I was little. I enjoy the company of both sexes.”

You were lying, Klee knew. She knew from the looks of frustration you would give informants when they would hand you certificates of bachelors, but she didn’t mind. She enjoyed having two mothers.

Swan turned his head towards the child, “Do you enjoy having two mommies? Don’t you think it would be better if you had a Daddy instead?”

There was something boiling inside your stomach, your cheeks felt hot with absolute anger. Your hands were bunched up with the fabric of your pants.

Calm down. It’s fine.

You looked at Klee, tears glistened in her eyes. Your heart raced when you saw Lisa stand up to go comfort her, you could feel your entire body twitch upon instinct when you heard her sobbing.

“So she prefers a father after all.”

That comment sent your nerves into a frenzy of rage. Lisa beat you two it, smashing the entire table in half with her foot. The three men jumped back in absolute terror, Swan letting out some sort of squeal. Lisa lifted up the tip of her heel, wood crumbling around it.

She mumbled, a terrifying smile upon her face as she looked down to Swan. His legs were shaking with his collar stuffed with fat and sweat, eye contact never breaking between the two. Lisa lifted her leg completely and took her purple heel off her foot, revealing the faint stain of a crushed bug upon the bottom.

Lisa giggled, “Please forgive me, but there was a mosquito upon the table and I just couldn’t help myself. Looks a bit like you, doesn’t it, Swan?”

You weren’t getting into this school. No matter how much you may pray to some sort of God.

644 notes · View notes