#bug blanche

[donut-doodles-doodles]

Bit of a crappy doodle but I think it gets the vibe I want for bug blanche

[wolflover2426]

This is so cool! I would love to see more of Bug-Blanc (or should it be Bug Blanche?) and just imagine how terrifying this akuma can be. I could literally see her bending reality to her whims with the combined power of creation and destruction plus powered up by the butterfly.

Plus, I could easily see her rewriting reality over and over again if she pleases or someone managed to figure her out to try and ruin the perfect reality she crafted.

Someone probably already drew this... I just wanted to draw Bug-Blanc.

[overly-distressed-mouse]

Dare I say Blanche DuBois is actually an incredibly complex character and not just some annoying, ditzy, codependent pedophile?

Dare I say that although it doesn't excuse the pedophillia, it does make sense why she went for the paperboy given that she spent the majority of her youth being told how attractive she was and most likely having her value as a person determined only by her looks and youth?

Dare I say that she probably, at least on a subconscious level, believed that if she could pull someone younger and also attractive, that it would prove that she's still young enough and pretty enough to have some kind of inherent worth as a person, especially now that she's lost any worth she might've had financially?

Perchance.

[nemaliwrites]

okay remember when i said i was trying a new style of drafting? yeah well it sucks and i hate it, so here's a lil snippet before i revert to my old self :P

But this world... isn't it still his? Isn't this the same Paris he fights so hard every day to protect? 

He thinks so -- or he would, if everything he sees didn't provide an argument for the alternative. Mister Bug looks up into the bleached grey sky; the moon, visible, has cracked in two. There is no day or night, not anymore. Not here. No color. No anything.

This, he thinks, is destruction.

A sign of life, then, from a nearby rooftop. Indistinguishable from the world around it except for the slightest movement. Yoyo at the ready, Mister Bug swings closer. Who, he wonders, could possibly survive in a place like this? Sitting on the edge of a roof, swinging their legs as though they don't have a care in the world?

The answer comes to him in pieces that his mind refuses to put together: a girl, who turns to look at him. Eyes so blue, so impossibly blue - the only color in this world of white and grey. Her braid, tossed carelessly over her shoulder. It's tangled, tied into elaborate knots. No one to undo it for her.

Feet rooted to the ground, yoyo hanging uselessly at his side, all Mister Bug can do is stare.

"L...Lady Noire?" he hears himself whisper. "Is that... you?"

"Adrien," she says, not surprised in the slightest to see him. The way she says his name, the way it falls from her lips -- it's as though she's said it a thousand times before. As though it's the easiest thing in the world for her to see Mister Bug and know he's Adrien. As though him being there is something to be expected.

As though she knew he would come for her.

His feet, finally able to move, step back. Once, twice, and again. "What? That's not... I'm not..."

She rises with a strange kind of grace he's never seen from his own partner. Arched, catlike in an unfamiliar way.

He never thought any part of Lady Noire would ever be unfamiliar to him.

[kronehaze]

it is no longer my birthday but I still implore you to go take a look at the @leblanczine so heres a small preview of my piece

[bloodfreak-boyking]

when sam tells matt he only has two more years to wait until he can go to college and leave his family and dean just-

yep. completely well adjusted. definitely wouldn't chain sam to a radiator if he ever tried going back to stanford at this point

[miracutrashcan]

Just some Akumatized Miraculous Holders I've drew the last couple of days thanks to the Miraculous Fanworks Fanart Wars prompt! Lady Blanche is probably my favorite one out of the trio.

Akumatized Mister Bug currently doesn't have a name, but his color scheme was inspired by the Asian Lady Beetle.

[darkmoonravewolf]

As mentioned in my kwamii swap idea, Lady Noire gets akumatized into Calico. An extremely lucky version of Lady Noire with even more destructive power.

My Lady Noire is based a bit off of bigger cats (her being able to bite through metals is a semi based off of Jaguars who easily bite through skulls) so while as Calico, her hair gets longer and wilder like a lion's mane.

Everything that will go right for her will and while she doesn't have the destructive power of chat blanc, she's still a powerhouse that's even more obsessed with Adrien than Chat blanc was obsessed with Marinette. She's also a bit more crazed, not having that much regret over destroying the moon and earth, after all, its thier fault that they ended up like this. It had nothing to do with thier love.

Calico's fight is about tricking her into thinking that what's bad for mister bug is actually good for her when actually it's the opposite.

[drowning-rabbit]

marked up: spencer reid x artist!reader (spencer and the team)

part two of a drawn-out lullaby, based on my artist headcanons here. but each can be read separately! requested by @bookishnerd1132

word count: 1k

summary: spencer arrives late to work on the return from the holidays, leading to an interesting conversation with the BAU. fluff, suggestive

the first thing the team had noticed was the energy shift when spencer walked into the bullpen two minutes late. this was an odd occurrence for the man who stuck to his routine conscientiously. he hated being late, and it had only happened once so far in his career with the BAU. derek morgan had worsened the blow that day by slapping spencer’s back and making a joke about a late night. spencer, of course, choked and flushed bright red. then, he shut down immediately and remained closed off from embarrassment for most of the day. his explanation of why he came in late would never suffice to derek, who was convinced his favorite pretty boy had found a late night escapade. by the end of the day, even penelope was asking if he had found a special friend. so after the first time, spencer set his alarm half an hour earlier to guarantee it would never happen again. and it hadn’t, until today.

the second thing they had noticed was that he did not seem bothered by his untimely arrival. the first time he was late, he glanced nervously at gideon’s office as if he was waiting for a scolding about a few measly minutes. they remembered words spilling from his lips as soon as he rushed through the door, apologies and explanations tangling together in a flurry as he flung his messenger back onto the back of his chair.

this morning, three days after the holiday, spencer strolled in late like it was his daily routine. he looked well-rested, unusually so. he was not plagued by the usual nervous energy that surrounded him. instead, he almost seemed giddy.

when he made it to his chair and set down a light yellow travel mug on his desk, derek morgan immediately invaded his area of the office.

“reid.” he said shortly, eyeing the other man with calculated suspicion.

“morgan?” spencer questioned, and derek was already profiling. clearly flushed cheeks, a slight glow to the skin. he was also sporting slightly unkempt hair - and peeking out behind the collar of his shirt was some kind of black ink.

“what’s going on with your neck?” he pointed to the back of spencer’s plaid button-up.

“my neck?” spencer instinctively brought his hand up to the back of his head, feeling around for a bug or a stray hair. there was nothing. when he realized what derek was talking about, he blanched completely.

spencer had woken up completely rested, although late, this morning after another night of your doodles on his back. the marker had indeed done its job in lulling him to sleep. in his rush to make it to the bullpen on time, he had forgotten to wash it off of his skin.

“what about my neck?” he squeaked out in a half attempt at feigning disinterest.

“you look like you’ve seen a ghost, pretty boy. you must know what i’m talking about.” derek teased relentlessly. spencer decided to stall.

“actually, the lack of blood flow to the skin is a nervous system response called pallor and it can result from many things like anemia, poor nutrition, frostbite-“ derek placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, making him pause.

“the ink, genius. you got a back tattoo over the holiday?”

“no! i - well, yes. um… sure?” spencer choked out. he hadn't told the team about you yet. not that he didn't want to, it just never came up.

“oh, penelope, baby girl you have got to see this!” derek headed towards penelope’s office, practically skipping. it would have been hilarious if it wasn’t at his own expense. at the commotion, jj and elle headed over to his desk to participate.

"a back tattoo? i never would have thought you would go for that, reid," elle commented, leaning towards him slightly. he rolled his chair back, standing up suddenly.

"its not! tattoos are extremely painful and require extensive research and my skin is sensitive. its- my partner, okay? they’re.. an artist. its - i, this is highly unprofessional! i'm making coffee," spencer sputtered, turning on his heel.

"partner? you?" derek froze in place. him and penelope had arrived at the perfect time to see spencer raise his arms to comb through his hair in exasperation. as he did, his shirt rose slightly. at the bottom of his back lay an expanse of red marks, accompanied by a small cursive word.

penelope squealed loudly, causing spencer to drop his arms and scurry off to the break room.

she was practically bouncing on her heels. "his back said mine, derek!"

"is anyone going to mention he already has coffee?" jj added.

"and that is not his mug."

[stevie-petey]

hi hi i was just wondering you could maybee do a blurb between s3-4 of bug, robin, and steve having a sleepover or smth?? i just miss this trio and their dynamic so bad and i love how u write all of them as best friends.. platonic soulmates stobin is so serious to me and having bug be a part of that is so special

anon i giggled reading this request because its just so cutie <333

enjoy !

"can you pass me the popcorn?"

you hand the bowl over to robin, eyes never leaving the tv screen before you. grease is playing and you take sandy very seriously. "here you go."

"thanks, pretty girl."

you hum at robins praise, resting your head on her shoulder, warm and content. steves dad always insists on having the house run warm and the thick heat always drapes over you softly during especially late nights.

"why do you always call y/n 'pretty girl'?"

robin nearly chokes on her popcorn with how fast you turn to look at steve. "excuse me?"

"i-"

"oh, harrington." robin cackles. "need a shovel to finish burying that dead body of yours?"

"i-i mean youre gorgeous, y/n." he sits up on the couch, eyes wide and panicked. "like, the most beautiful woman ive ever seen and-"

"and yet robin calling me a pretty girl is bizarre enough to warrant questioning?" you cross your arms, movie long forgotten.

steve blanches. "no! thats-thats not how i meant it-"

"i call you pretty girl because you are a pretty girl, y/n." robin twirls your hair with her fingers, leaning in so close to you that her breath fans your skin. she kisses your cheek, loud and dramatic, and you giggle. "see? such a pretty girl, despite what steve may say."

"youre in my house, buckley."

"and yet im also in y/n's heart."

you squish your face against robins, pulling her into your side and reveling in her soft curves and lemon-y scent. "you live in my heart, robin."

steve lunges towards the two of you, a scowl on his face. "alright, break it up."

robin puckers her lips and blows air at him in retaliation and you weakly try to bat him off of you, though really your body molds to his hands and youre water underneath his touch. steve easily throws you over his shoulder and stands, causing you to screech in terror, as he laughs at you.

"any more snippy remarks?" he runs around the room, your head knocking against his hips as your feet kick at his head.

you pound at his skin, desperate to wring yourself out of his grasp yet cautious of the hardwood floor beneath you. "put me down!"

"not until your heart lets me in!"

"that doesnt even make any sense!"

"too bad!"

robin gets up from the couch and wraps a blanket around her shoulders. she ties the ends across her neck, draping the rest behind her in a pathetic attempt to create a cape. she holds her hands up at steve, puffing her chest out. "drop the girl!"

you shriek in terror. "do not drop me, harrington, or so help me god-"

"relax maam. im a hero. ive got this." robin swishes her cape and blocks steves path. he stares at her, bored, but even he cant hide his laughter at her awful costume.

"you know that i can carry you both, right?"

"what-"

and suddenly robins body gets thrown over his shoulder just as easily as yours had been, and the two of you scream and kick and laugh until your lungs ache.

steves laughter joins yours.

grease will have to be finished in the morning.

-

﹂blurb masterlist

﹂if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

[donut-doodles-doodles]

More bug blanche stuff

[theemporium]

yes lando comfort fic where maybe you weren’t at qatar but after yesterday took the first flight there. and it’s just full of hugs, kisses, massages, praise, pep talks. He’s got his head on your chest or in your lap :(

my heart actually breaks for the boy :(

.

The second you saw the qualifying results, you knew you had to fly out. 

You hadn’t originally planned to. You were swamped with classes and lectures and work, and after taking time off to travel to Singapore and Japan with him, you couldn’t exactly afford to take more time off for Qatar as well. 

And Lando had been understanding. To be honest, he was just happy you had taken time out to join him on two race weekends that turned out pretty damn well in respect to the start of the season. And he knew no matter what he said about compensating for your time off work, you wanted to go back before you eventually flew out to join him in the last stint of races. 

But that was before the shit-show of the Qatar Grand Prix weekend started. 

You hadn’t been able to talk to him earlier that day, too late running for work that a simple reply to his good morning message was the only thing you could send. Nor did you have the chance to keep up with the practice session. However, when you opened your phone after walking out of work to see the qualifying results, you didn’t even hesitate. 

You had played it all out perfectly, getting onto the next plane out to Qatar whilst messaging your boss that you had a stomach bug and couldn’t come in until you stopped vomiting. You had shared a few messages here and there with Lando, but he didn’t seem all too eager to talk to you, let alone anyone after the messy qualifying session. 

You didn’t arrive at the paddock until the sprint had already started, and it only went downhill from there. You thought the McLaren front row lock out would have brought up morale, but you were wrong. 

It was shit. You knew the second he crossed the line in P3 that he wasn’t going to be happy with himself. You knew it, and yet, the second his radio came through confirming as such, your heart only broke more. 

You knew your boy. You knew he would be keeping it all in. But you knew no matter what, he wouldn’t break in front of everyone else. He would pat Oscar on the back and he would play the good teammate and happy chap as best he could to the media. He would play his part. 

Until he said five words that truly shattered your heart.

“Just a lack of talent.”

The second he was done with interviews, he just wanted to be left alone. He didn’t want to listen to whatever his team were saying, he didn’t want to deal with the debrief and strategy planning for tomorrow’s race. He just wanted to be fucking alone so he could stop pretending. 

He was almost annoyed when he saw his driver room door was open, ready to snap at whoever it was lingering inside his room. But then he was standing at the doorway and he saw you in the room, a sad smile on your face as you waited for him, and every resolve within him crumbled in seconds. 

The door was slammed shut and he was barrelling towards you before you could even open your mouth. His arms locked around your waist, his face was nuzzled into the crook of your neck and he sunk into your embrace, almost like it was a sigh of relief. 

“I’m so proud of you,” you whispered to him, clinging onto him tightly.

And then, he just sobbed.

You didn’t say anything as he cried in your arms, simply holding him and hugging him and doing your best to sway back and forth as his body wracked with sobs. And when he couldn’t keep himself standing anymore, you sat down on the couch with his head buried in your lap as you slowly wiped away the tears streaming down his face, hot and flushed and embarrassed but he didn’t care about his mask when he was with you.

“I’m not good enough,” he whispered, his voice raspy from all the crying.

You blanched. “Lando—”

“Five fucking seasons,” he murmured, his glossy eyes looking anywhere but you, because he knew he would start crying again if he looked at you and he was far too tired for that. “I have been doing this for five seasons and everyone keeps fucking expecting that I get a win and it’s not happened—”

“Lando,” you tried again, but he continued.

“He’s a fucking rookie,” Lando whispered in disbelief. “I just….this is just what they need. This is what they need to say that I’m done, that I’m fucking useless, that I don’t deserve my seat and I’m just some waste of fucking space that can’t even win a fucking race and—”

“Hey,” you snapped enough to finally gain his attention. “Look at me.”

He shook his head.

“Lando,” you said in a softer voice as your palm cupped his cheek, gently turning his head until he was looking up at you. “Look at me.” 

“I’m not good enough to be here,” he whispered in a broken voice. “I’m not as good as they say I am. As they expected me to be.”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it,” you whispered back, shaking your head as you took in his glossy eyes and pink cheeks.

Lando started shaking his head again, but you continued. 

“Lando Norris, you are one of the most talented and skilled drivers in this sport,” you said to him. “One weekend does not define you, nor does it take away from all your achievements.”

“I made stupid mistakes—” He started again.

“And everyone does,” you countered. “Everyone makes mistakes, Lando. That’s what makes us human, but that does not make us not good enough or untaleneted.”

He didn’t say anything. 

“Your day will come,” you said as your thumb gently stroked the apple of his cheek. “And it will be fucking amazing. And I can’t wait to be standing there, watching you on that top step as you hit that stupid champagne bottle and try not to break your trophy. And it will be the first of many.”

He let out a small huff of amusement. 

“You are more than enough, Lando, and I’m so proud of you,” you whispered to him, your eyes finding his so he could see the sincerity in your voice and words. “And you’re enough whether you have a million race wins or none. You are enough just the way you are.”

Lando sniffled, giving you a wet smile—and it wasn’t much, but it was a step forward. 

“I love you,” you whispered with a soft smile. “And I’ll love you no matter what.”

“I love you too,” he whispered back as he nuzzled himself further into your lap. “Thank you for coming.”

“Always, baby,” you grinned. “I’m always gonna be here for you.”

“Promise?” 

Your heart almost broke with how vulnerable he sounded. 

“Promise.” 

.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stolen Goods 4

Warnings: noncon and other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

Ft. Lloyd Hansen, petite!pregnant reader

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

Lloyd drags you up the stairs. You can do nothing but pad after him, too confused and terrified to resist this madman. If he’s the type to go shopping and come home with a whole person, you’re not sure you want to find out what else he’s capable off. That holster on his belt keeps your thoughts from straying too. 

His hold on your wrist makes you itch, a heat creeping up from his touch, encasing you in the rising panic that comes with the drop in adrenaline. This is really real. This is horrifying! It’s deranged. This strange man took you and now you’re in this strange place. You’re pregnant and scared and dizzy. 

“Oof,” you stumble forward and nearly hit the wall before Lloyd diverts you and pulls you against him.  

As you collide, he brings his hand to the small of your back and urges you close, “where are you off to, sugar mama?” 

“No... no... where,” you flutter your lashes at him, “I’m...” you gulp and your stomach lets out a loud growl. You look down and back up at him, embarrassed. “I’m dizzy.” 

He considers you, his stache slanting with his lips as he sucks his teeth, “mm, yes, I remember. You’re supposed to feed your pets.” He chuckles as he drags his hand up your side and over your arm. He boops your nose and turns back to his course, “don’t worry, sunshine, I’ma get you all snug as a bug and you can eat cake off my abs.” 

“Huh?” You babble as you wobble after him mindlessly. 

“Kidding, unless you wanna...” he looks over his shoulder and winks. 

“N-nooo,” you stammer. 

He laughs again. You don’t see how he can be so unbothered by all of this. It’s like Jake when he zones out halfway through a conversation about something important. The thought of fiance sets a grimmer cast over the whole twisted situation. 

“You can’t... you can’t do this,” you wisp, “how can you... I’m a person. I... I’m pregnant.” 

“Oh yes, you are,” he purrs as he stops at a door, pushing down the handle and swinging it open, “nice and luscious.” 

“Ew.” 

“Ripe,” he remarks. 

Another swell of disgust rises and you frown. He moves you ahead of him and lets you go as he nudges you into the room. It smells like the cologne roiling off of him. You look around at the large bed draped in silk and tiger print, a theme consistent across the decor and furniture that fills the space. 

“No,” you turn and he catches you around the hips. 

“No? Honey cakes, you’re in it now. The only words I wanna hear are yes, more, or harder.” 

“Stop,” you slap his torso, just below his chest as he pens you in, “stop! You can’t--” you whine desperately. 

“I’m doing it. Look, do you know how many people have told me I can’t? And you know what happened? I did. And most of those fuckers had guns so...” 

“Guns?” You blanch and shake your head, “I don’t...” your eyes fall to his belt and he puts his hand on the pistol and tuts.  

“Don’t even try it,” he warns, “don’t you wanna be a good mama? That means you need to protect your baby,” he trails his hand over to your stomach and spreads his fingers wide, “so behave, sweetheart, or my tone’s gonna change real fast.” 

You shudder and look up at him with round eyes, a gleam of tears along the brim. You bring your hand over his instinctively and wince. You sniffle and try to shove his touch away. 

“Please, my baby--” you begin. 

“Don’t, with the eyes, and the lip,” he huffs. 

“I’m... I’m not doing anything.” 

“Stop,” he brings his hand up to tap your lower lip, “it’s just making me harder.” 

“Why are you doing this?” You beg as you back away from him. 

“I don’t know, I’m bored,” he shrugs, “I like the way your belly felt when I was up on you. Like to get a handful once I got you bent over--” 

“Ugh, why are you so gross?” 

He flinches and arches a brow, “gross? Excuse me?” 

“Yes, why are you being so nasty. I’m pregnant. Don’t you have any respect?” 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “we both know how you got that way so don’t be such a fucking prude.” He steps closer, bearing down on you as you back up, “you’re only salty ‘cause his dick was too short, huh?” 

“You don’t know him. Or me.” 

“I know those tits are driving me crazy and that you didn’t make a peep in that fucking store. You just stood there and let me slide right in, didn’t you? Maybe you wanna act all prim and proper, sweet pea, but we were both there. We both know you wanted it,” he snorts, “otherwise you would’ve... done absolutely anything. You didn’t. You just stood there.” 

You take another step back and put your hands over your chest. His eyes follows the movement and he licks his lips. 

“Hey, let’s be honest with each other. We gonna have to get to know each other, right, so I’m going to be straight with you,” he shows his palms and grins, “I fucking loved it too. I’m sure you could feel it like a lightning rod just zimmmmm, struck by the moment.” 

“Oh god,” you hiss. 

“Sex god, sure, but that’s just a little sample of the kielbasa--” 

You cover your face and tune him out as your embarrassment turns white hot above the flame of your guilt. He’s right. You didn’t stop him and you felt that tingle. You didn’t hate it. Scared, yes, but you were wet. Ugh, what’s wrong with you? Can you really blame the hormones? 

“Sweetie, where--” 

You walk to the bed and turn, plopping down on your bum, and cradle your head. The tears spill out and you sob. He’s quiet as you devolve into your emotions. 

“Hey, woah, woah, woah, don’t cry,” he steps forward with a tenuous lean, “hey, baby, tell me what you want and I’ll make it better? Want me to lick it?” 

“No!” You sneer between your fingers, “I want to go home.” 

“We just talked about this. Anything else?” 

Your lashes are webbed with tears and your eyes raw. You wiggle your nose and wipe it as you uncover your face. Your stomach gurgles painfully. 

“Cheesecake,” you murmur, “triple fudge with an oreo crust--” 

“Triple-- oreo--” he chokes out and taps his toe, hands framing his hips, “right. That actually sounds delicious. Good idea, tootsie roll.” 

[nemaliwrites]

Chapters: 1/6 Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug Characters: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug Additional Tags: Kwami Swap (Miraculous Ladybug), Misternoire | Adrien Agreste as Mister Bug/Marinette Dupain-Cheng as Lady Noire, Adrien Agreste as Mister Bug, Marinette Dupain-Cheng as Lady Noire, Reverse Crush (Miraculous Ladybug), Alternate Timelines, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Esteem Issues, Akumatized Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug Summary:

"Adrien," she says, not surprised in the slightest to see him. The way she says his name, the way it falls from her lips — it's as though she's said it a thousand times before. As though it's the easiest thing in the world for her to see Mister Bug and know he's Adrien. As though his being here is something to be expected.

As though she knew he would come for her.

--

Five times Adrien does not save Lady Blanche, and one time he does.

all my love to @rosekasa for betaing! <3 i have also recently discovered how fun it is to ramble, so some Thoughts about my writing/process under the cut:

i think the reason i had some trouble with this chapter is because it's always hard for me to write something that's technically a rehash of canon. it's a balancing act - you gotta gloss over the stuff that's explained thoroughly in canon while spending time unpacking the stuff that isn't. and there's always the fear that you aren't really....saying anything? you aren't adding anything to the discussion. there's nothing more your fic is doing that canon didn't.

anyway, you guys have seen some of my thoughts about kwami swap, but i'm going to say it again. i know a lot of kwami swaps also come with personality swaps, but i don't think that's entirely fair - is it really a personality swap, or is it just a focus on different aspects of adrien's and marinette's personalities?

i think letting myself come to terms with that was one of the hardest things about this chapter - getting over the feeling that i was writing them ooc or something when it's really just a matter of perspective. it helps too i think that canon has also done a reverse of the love square, so it kind of shows that it isn't so unreasonable a scenario.

i like leaning into mister bug's feelings of insecurity regarding his hero role, because i think that's something i've focused on a lot for maribug before - the constant feeling like you aren't doing enough, like you aren't enough. and i think adrichat has that in canon regarding his feelings for maribug, but i think it's interesting to push that further into his role as a hero as well. because now he's the one purifying the akumas, now he's the one who the rest of paris looks up to. now he's the one with the most responsibility on his shoulders.

lady noire helps him, of course, but i think it's undeniable that there's such a big power/responsibility divide between the ladybug and the black cat, regardless of the fact that they're always portrayed as equals.

it's also interesting to lean into those feelings in their civilian lives i think. the whole 'adrien thinks marinette hates him because of the gum thing'. it really leaves him in that kind of 'pining but unable to do anything about it' state - which i think i put adrien in a lot LOL

but yeah the whole 'adrien leaves the gift in marinette's room' scene....i think it really didn't add anything, but it's necessary for the whole chat blanc/lady blanche destroying the world thing. it's funny, too, because the episode 'chat blanc' shows us what happens in both worlds - with ladybug going to save chat blanc and the adrien and marinette of that world dating and stuff. but with only showing one world at a time, we don't get any of that back story in this fic. which...i don't actually think is super necessary? because whatever, you guys already know what happened lol

adrien and tikki is a combo that i really don't write very often, but i think this fic will be a good chance to practice? i have written marinette and plagg, most notably in A Body Without Spirit and In Pursuit of the Uneatable...i'm sorry for neglecting you adrien and tikki it won't happen again :') they ARE interesting, though, i think! adrien having someone in his life who so openly supports him [plagg does too of course, but i think it's different without his snark lol], i wonder how that would affect him differently.

it was a lil bit of a stylistic choice to not have adrien think of marinette's name until he finally lets himself do so in her room. something about him trying to repress his feelings for her and failing? idk lol you get it.

and yeah if you guys haven't seen my thoughts on the whole 'max being the rabbit holder' thing, it's mostly because i think adrien would choose different people to hold each miraculous than marinette did. not necessary that different, but i think the miraculouses would get a lil swapped around. i touched on it a lil in this post if you're curious. the name Coney is an older term for an adult rabbit used until the 18th century - derived ultimately from the Latin cuniculus, which Wikipedia was kind enough to show me.

lady blanche....her characterization was actually a lot of fun to think about. in a way, chat blanc has a lot of hope, i think. he's really feral and stuff ofc, but he still genuinely believes that getting ladybug's earrings will let him set everything right. i wanted to take a bit of a different direction with lady blanche - i think, in a way, she shows a different side of destruction than chat blanc does. she's not as feral, she's not as angry. instead, she's empty. she's hopeless. the earrings are her last chance, but i don't know if she genuinely believes it'll work. and if she does make the wish, won't she still be living with the knowledge of what she once did? what she's capable of? every time she looks at her adrien, will she see fear on his face? will she wonder if he remembers?

and the thing with him untying her braid...that mainly came about because i wanted an equivalent to chat blanc singing the same song that adrien does, but marinette doesn't really strike me as the singing type LOL. you get it. it's symbolism or whatever.

and lady blanche wondering if the ladybug miraculous was always meant to be hers.....hehe i love lil nods to other worlds. and like...after literally killing everyone and destroying the world, i don't think it's unreasonable to think her relationship to destruction and to her miraculous changes a LOT.

i was rewatching parts of 'chat blanc' and...god i'm so obsessed with the fact that everyone else is turned away from him in fear - even his own FATHER - but ladybug is the only one reaching out to him. calling out to him. in this fic, obviously hawk moth turning away doesn't have as much impact considering lady blanche isn't his daughter, but i think it was still necessary to include, if only to reinforce how angry at hawk moth adrien is.

this fic, too, i think really leans into a certain aspect of adrien's personality. he wants to save everyone, he wants things to be the way they always were - but is he really making a difference? or is he just putting a band aid over the situation and hoping that everything is fine? because like....obviously lady blanche didn't find peace. no offense adrien but you were kind of an idiot for that. she's not akumatized anymore, sure, but...she's literally alone in her world. knowing that she killed everyone. and she doesn't even have the cover of akumatization to hide behind, not anymore.

but it's okay, we know he'll actually save her eventually! might just take some time.....for both him and me. this was supposed to be a short lil fic that i could knock out in like a week. why is the first chapter almost 8k words. i have no idea.

[knitmeatardis]

Making Up for Lost Time

I can't believe I am actually posting this, but you all have given me such lovely Hotch x reader fics, I felt the need to add my own contribution. I do not usually write this kind of thing, usually slash all the way, but here we are. For my favorite Hotch smut dealer @aureatelys

Words: ~6.9K; Rating: 18+; Aaron Hotchner x fem bau!librarian!reader

Warnings: safe p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), canon typical violence, reader is being stalked and threatened, smut, no use of y/n

There’s a certain anonymity involved in being the research librarian for the BAU. No one really takes notice of you, and you assume no one even knows your name, while you get to watch and observe everyone and get to know them from afar. Spencer and Derek, messing with each other like brothers. Emily, so assured and beautiful, confident in everything she does, especially the way she moves. JJ, open and warm despite the daily horrors she deals with. Rossi, the pater familia of the whole crew. Garcia is the only one you have any real rapport with, but she spends so much time in her cave that you rarely see her.

The only one you can’t get a read on is Hotch. In fact, you only know he goes by Hotch because that’s how you hear the rest of the team refer to him. You know he has a son and his ex-wife was killed. You know he’s often the first one here and the last one to leave. But his stern expression never really seems to change. He’s always polite to you, nodding his thanks when you bring the files he needs, but rarely speaks. 

So it is all a bit of a shock when JJ stops me in the hallway. “Hey,” she greets you, but her face is pinched, worried. “We need you in the conference room.”

“Me?” you blanch, frozen to the spot.

“Yes. You. Right now,” JJ says, taking files out of your arms and walking quickly toward the conference room. 

You follow in her wake, feeling like a bug under a microscope when you enter behind JJ and everyone’s eyes turn to look at you. It may be the first time most of them have ever really seen you. 

Hotch stands behind a chair and looks at you. He pats it. “Sit, please.” 

His voice is gentle, soft, almost apologetic. He offers his hand to you to guide me into a chair. His touch makes a strange flutter go through your body but with the way everyone is acting, it’s too hard to focus on it. 

“What’s going on?” 

“I’m sorry, but I need you to confirm,” Hotch says, looking at the screen and pressing a button, “that these pictures are of you.” 

The screen fills with pictures of you outside your apartment, outside the grocery store, on the Metro on the way to work, and most alarmingly, through the curtains into your bedroom while you were undressing. Your blood runs cold. You clear your throat. “Yes. Those – those are all of me. What’s – I’ve never seen anyone…”

“These photos were sent to the bureau,” Hotch explains. “To me, specifically. It’s obviously a threat of some kind, but it isn’t clear exactly what’s going on.”

“Who else knows you work here?” Rossi asks. 

“I mean, lots of people know I work for the FBI. It’s on all of my forms and employment records. Friends and family. But only my immediate family knows I work with the BAU. I don’t discuss it with anyone. Not anyone.”  You can feel your heart racing and your stomach churns. “I think I’m going to be sick.” 

You can feel Emily following you as you run for the ladies��� room. She’s waiting near the sink with a wet paper towel as you finish vomiting. You’re shaking violently and it feels like your legs are going to go out from under you.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to you,” she reassures you, pressing the towel to your forehead. “Do you think you can come back to the conference room and listen to the plan?” 

You nod and follow Emily back to the conference room. Everyone else has cleared out, leaving just Hotch and you and the pictures up on the screen. You can’t help the way your eyes are drawn to them. Emily puts her hand on your shoulder for a moment and then leaves us alone. Hotch reaches over and turns off the television. 

“I know this is distressing –” 

“Why you?” you ask suddenly. “We’re not close. I’m not a regular member of the team. You’re only nominally my boss. I mean, technically I report to you but I spend more of my time reporting to the other librarians. We barely speak.”

Hotch’s brow draws together as he looks at you. “That’s a good question. We think that whoever this is has cast me in the role of protector and he has chosen you as the object of his delusion. He wants to draw me out for a confrontation.”

“So, what’s the plan?” 

“We’re going to give him what he wants,” Hotch says, putting his hand over yours.

….

The next several hours are a blur. The team stash you in Garcia’s lair, deep inside the bureau and away from any windows. Garcia arms you with several of her comfort tokens to keep you safe. As soon as the team is ready, you’re shuffled down to the garage and into the back of an SUV. Hotch sits next to you while Morgan drives, Prentiss next to him.

“Once we get surveillance on your apartment set up,” Hotch says to you, “I’ll take the first watch. He’s going to want to see me protecting you.”

“I understand.” Of course he’s watching you. That’s what the photographs were all about. Making sure you knew that he could see you but you couldn’t see him. “And if there’s anything I need, I should call you.” 

“Right,” Hotch says. He’s gone over all of the protocols with you several times, but he seems to understand that you repeating them is your way of dealing with your anxiety. “Agent Morgan will be walking the perimeter as well.” 

You nod, looking out the window at the scenery without really seeing it. When you get to your apartment, Hotch keeps his arm tight around you as Morgan and Prentiss lead and take up the rear, respectively. Despite the circumstances, something about the way he’s holding you makes a little thrill go down your spine. 

The three of them are efficient, almost brutally so. You want to laugh and cry at how comfortable they are with setting up this kind of surveillance. They barely even have to talk while they’re doing it. Still, it’s getting dark by the time they’re done. 

“I can only imagine how invasive this feels,” Hotch says, his voice gentle as he sits next to you on the sofa. “As much as possible tonight, go about your normal routine. In the morning, one of us will pick you up for work.” 

“Normal routine,” you huff. “At the moment, I can barely think of what that is.” 

“Well. I know when I get home, I like to take off my tie, maybe fix myself a drink.” Hotch gives you a small smile. “Just close your eyes a second. Think about what you’d be doing if none of us were here.” 

Obediently, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. “The first thing I do is change into my pajamas and fix myself something for dinner, I guess. I’m pretty domesticated and boring.” 

“There’s nothing boring about having a normal life,” Hotch says. “We’ll leave you to it. And I’ll be just outside.”

“Thank you, Agent Hotchner.”

“C’mon,” he says, tilting his head and giving you a smirk. “It’s Hotch.” 

“Hotch,” you say with a small smile. 

….

You try not to think about the microphones and cameras around the apartment as you go through the motions of eating something and watching television. You work on some craft projects, not really paying attention to any of it. You keep listening for someone outside or trying to come into the apartment. Finally you give up and get into bed, but all you can do is toss and turn. 

You contemplate picking up the phone and talking to Hotch, but you don’t want to distract him. On the other hand, he did say to reach out if you needed anything. And all you really want to do is sleep. You cave in, too exhausted to care about seeming weak or needy. You pick up the phone and call him.

“Hey. You alright?” Hotch answers immediately.

“I’m fine.” You huff. “I just can’t sleep. I keep listening for someone to come in.” 

“That’s not going to happen. I’m here,” he says, his voice calm and certain. It feels warm. “Would it help if we talked?” 

“Agent Morgan can’t hear us, can he?” 

“No, he can’t hear us. Tell me what’s going on.”

You laugh humorlessly. “Oh, you know. I’m just staring up at my ceiling thinking about some random guy out there who wants to maybe kill me or kill you or both, so not much really. What’s going on with you?” 

Hotch chuckles. “Fair enough,” he says. “I’m just sitting outside a nice woman’s apartment trying to make sure that no one hurts her. So not a lot going on here, either.” 

That startles a real laugh out of you. “So yeah, boring.” 

“All totally normal.” Hotch smiles to himself. “Tell me something about you,” he says. “How long have you been at the FBI?” 

“You already know the answer to that,” you say. “You hired me.” 

“So? Tell me again.” 

“I’ve been a librarian at the Bureau for about five years,” you say. “After I got my masters in library science from Georgetown. I never thought that a librarian would be needed for something like the BAU, but once I started working with the unit, I loved it.” 

Hotch leans back in his seat, looking at my apartment, imagining you laying in bed on the phone. “That’s not something I hear very often.”

“I imagine there’s a lot of burnout,” you say. “And if I was an agent, I’m not sure I could hack it. But when you all come home and you’ve saved someone or brought someone to justice, I get to feel like a little tiny part of that. It’s not a bad feeling.” 

“I probably don’t say it enough, but we value your help. We couldn’t research everything we need to on our own.”

“Of course not. You need to get your boots on the ground. I know that,” you say. You pause, worrying at your lower lip. “Before today, though, I couldn’t be sure any of you even knew my name.” 

There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone. “I know your name. I’ve always known it.” He clears his throat. “We’ve always known it.” 

“Thanks, Hotch,” you say softly. 

“You’re welcome,” he says, just as soft. “How are you feeling now? A little less anxious?”

“A little, yes. Thank you, Hotch.” You smile into the darkness. “Your voice is very soothing. And, forget I said that because that’s just embarrassing.” 

“No, it’s fine.” Hotch isn’t able to keep the smile out of his voice. “I’m glad I can help. Do you think you can sleep now?” 

“I think I’m ready to try again,” you say to him. “Seriously, thank you. For everything.”

He clears his throat again. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow might be a long day.” 

….

You’re groggy and grumpy and still in your pajamas when Hotch calls you from outside your front door. You check the peephole like he instructed and then let him in. 

“Good morning,” he says softly, holding out a cup of coffee to stall any protests. 

All you can do is grunt and accept the cup, taking a long sip. It’s perfect. Exactly the way you take it. You look at Hotch, lifting an eyebrow but saying nothing. “Give me five minutes to fix my hair and put clothes on,” you say to him, turning away back toward your bedroom.

“You have at least ten,” he says, looking around your front room. You try to imagine what he’s seeing and the conclusions he’s drawing as he looks over your family photos, nerdy collectibles, books, and stuffed animals. You brush your hair and throw on some lipstick, thanking your past self for having your closet organized in such a way that makes it easy to pick something out and put it on. 

You emerge from the bedroom, put together and ready to go. “Told you I only needed five,” you say, pushing your hair off my face. 

There’s a moment when he looks at you that something surprised and interested crosses his face, but he quickly masks it with his patented professional stoicism. “Let’s go, then,” he says, holding an arm out to usher you ahead of him as he opens the door. Hotch escorts you down to street level. There’s an agent you don’t know driving as Hotch helps you into the backseat.

“I’m going to start expecting this kind of treatment all the time now,” you say lightly to him as he joins you. 

Hotch smirks at you, lifting an eyebrow. He doesn’t say anything, just settles into the seat next to you. This drive is less anxious than the one the previous day, even though you’re still mostly looking out the window. Hotch is a solid, calming presence next to you. 

“You’re so gentle,” you say out of nowhere, immediately blushing. “Sorry. I was just – I’ve seen you during briefings and with the team and you’re direct. Concise. I wasn’t expecting you to be so warm with me. Encouraging and solicitous.” You shake your head. 

Hotch nods in acknowledgement. “Not everyone gets to see that side of me. It’s usually when bad things happen.” He glances at you. “I’m working on it.” 

“Well, just know that I appreciate it,” you tell him, putting your hand lightly on top of his. There’s a small tinge of red across his cheeks, but he slips his hand out from under yours quickly enough that you think you might have imagined it. The rest of the ride passes in comfortable silence. 

When you get to Quantico and up to the 6th floor, Hotch walks you to your office. “While you’re in the building, you can move around freely. But if you have to go outside for anything, get one of us and we’ll walk you.” 

You take a steadying breath and nod. “I will. Thank you.”

He puts a soft hand on your elbow. “This isn’t going to be forever. We’ll find him. I promise.” 

“I believe you,” you say, offering him whatever kind of smile you can manage. He nods at you and drops his hand, heading away as you go into my office. Without his hand on your arm, you feel suddenly cold, but you try to shake it off and concentrate on your work. You can already see that the messages light on your phone is blinking. 

Trying to recapture some sense of normalcy, you sit at your desk and check your email, looking to see if there’s anything urgent that needs attending to. Then you start with your voicemail. The first ten messages are normal, mundane, then there’s the last one. All it contains is a long exhale and then a low laugh before he says, “I see you have your knight in shining armor giving you rides, walking you into the building. That’s good. It’ll be all the easier to kill you both.”

Your blood runs cold, but you manage to hit save on the voicemail system. Your fingers are numb when you pick up the phone and call Hotch’s extension. It feels like seconds between when you hang up and when he’s there in your office. Penelope has already pulled the voicemail off the servers and saved it to her own system, but he wants to hear it for himself. It’s somehow more disturbing the second time through. When you look up at Hotch, his lips are pressed into a hard, thin line. 

“Does he sound familiar to you?” he asks you. 

“No. But I talk to a lot of people when I’m processing requests. Everyone starts to sound the same after a bit.” 

“He sounds familiar to me.” He frowns and crosses his arms. “As soon as I find out more, I’ll tell you,” Hotch promises, looking you in the eyes before he leaves. 

You feel like you’re at loose ends, not at all sure what to do with yourself. You start to work on requests and email, but your attention keeps drifting away. Every time your phone rings you think it’s going to be him again, taunting you. Eventually you turn off the ringer and turn to stare into space, until Hotch returns.

“Anything?” you ask, looking up at him. 

He shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry. Penelope is working on it.” Hotch takes a deep breath. “Are you okay back here? I could find a desk for you in the bullpen.”

“I’m fine. I can’t really concentrate, so not much is getting done. But I’m alright.” You try to give him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I’ll make sure someone picks up the slack for you,” he says. 

“Hotch, isn’t it safer if I stay at home?” You look at him with wide eyes. “I was hoping that work would be a distraction, but that doesn’t seem to be working out so much.”

“Now that we have confirmation that the threat is to both of us, it’s better to keep you close.” He twitches an eyebrow. “I’ll get Garcia to set you up with some games on your computer.”

You chuckle and duck your head. “Thank you. I’m going to owe you so hard after all of this.”

“You don’t owe me anything. This is what we do for our own.” Hotch lingers in the doorway for a moment and then leaves. 

….

Nothing happens the rest of the day except that you have a new obsession with video games thanks to Penelope. Hotch again rides with you to your apartment, promising to take the first watch again. 

“Hotch, you should go home. I know you have a son. You don’t have to spend another night watching over me when you can go be with him.”

“Jack is on a trip with his aunt and cousins,” he says, ducking his head. “Which is good because since this unsub wants to kill me, too, I’d have to stay away from him anyway.” Hotch looks back at you. “I’d rather stay where I can get to you if I have to.” 

There’s something in his voice, something beyond his professional concern, but it’s too quick to identify. “Okay. Good night, then. If I can’t sleep…”

“Just call me.” He smiles softly. “I’ll be here.” 

Once again you try to go about my evening routine and after you try to go to sleep. When once again you can’t, you talk to Hotch. This time you’re on the phone for almost half an hour before you start yawning and he tells me to go to bed. 

The morning is a repeat of the previous day except there’s no creepy voicemail today. Feeling a little more like you’re on solid ground, you start working. The requests have piled up, despite the help you’re getting from other librarians, so you dig in. Once you generate a list of materials to pull, you head to the archives. 

The stacks are comforting and quiet as they surround you. The smell of paper files is familiar and strangely soothing. You start working through your list, putting files in carts and organizing them per request. You don’t even hear the footsteps as someone comes up behind you. 

“Good morning.”

You jump and whirl, barely biting back a scream. “Jesus! Sean! You scared the shit out of me.” You laugh a little, pushing your hair off your face. “Sorry. Just a little on edge today.” 

Sean looks you over. “That’s what happens when your white knight leaves you alone to fend for yourself.”

That’s when you see the gun. Your eyes go wide, but before you can ask any questions, he pulls you to him, your back pressing against him, the barrel of the gun pressed into your side. 

“Shh, shh, your part in this little drama is almost over. Don’t worry. I’ll kill you quickly. Come on. We have to go see your knight.” 

Sean walks you through the hallways, managing to keep the gun concealed. No one really looks at you, too absorbed in their own tasks to notice. When he pushes you into the bullpen, no one even looks up. 

“They don’t even see you. They don’t care,” he murmurs in your ear. “And it’s a tragedy. So I am going to make sure that they never, ever forget you. Go on. Get their attention.” 

“A-Agent Hotchner!” you call out. Everyone’s heads turn and in an instant he appears at the top of the stairs outside his office. Before you can even take the next breath, the guns of all the agents in the room are pointed in your direction, including Hotch’s.

“Oh, well done,” Sean says to you. He keeps you in front of him, using you as a shield and making sure no one can get behind him. “What are you going to do now, Agent Hotshot!” he says, looking at Hotch. “Huh? You, always in the spotlight, always getting attention! Think you can get me from there, Hotshot? The sniper expert.” Sean sneers at him.

Hotch stares at him for a long moment. “Lower your weapons,” he says, not raising his voice but adding a hard steel. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the rest of the team slowly lower their weapons. His gun doesn’t even waver. “Yes, I can kill you from here.”

You can’t take your eyes off of Hotch, the relaxed but poised stance, his sharp eyes focused on you and the tip of his weapon steady, trained on you.

“Can you do it before I put a bullet in her?” Sean says, ramming the barrel into your ribs and making you whimper. 

“Before, no. Within a heartbeat after, absolutely. But it’s not really what you want. You want to be recognized, you want me to see you,” he says. “Well, Sean. I see you. Now what?” 

“So you know my name. Am I supposed to be impressed? You walk around here like you’re the king of the castle and we’re just peasants under your feet. You have her, right here in front of you every day and you never see her worth,” Sean says, looking at you. 

His arm is so tight around you that you can barely breathe and you’re suddenly afraid that you’ll pass out. “What are you talking about?” you manage.

“You. You’re amazing and they don’t even consider you part of the team. You do everything for them, and they never see you. Not the way that I do. Not the way you should be loved and adored every minute of every day.” Sean’s eyes are adoring for a moment but then they turn hard again. “So I’m going to take you away from them. I’m going to take you away forever, so they will know what it means to live without you like I do. And then I’m going to kill him for every slight you had to take because of him, every late night and exhausting pace and overloaded work. I’m going to punish him for all of it.” 

“Sean, Sean,” you plead, tears streaming down your cheeks. “You don’t need to do that. Agent Hotchner, he’s been amazing. He’s taken such good care of me, and he always has. He’s never treated me badly or ever raised his voice. When I’m working late, he’s right here, working, too.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Sean yells. “He doesn’t see you when it matters! He doesn’t stand up for you! He doesn’t care! And I’m going to prove it.” 

Sean’s grip loosens and he pushes you so that you’re facing him, his gun raised. You scream as strong hands tug you down and away and a shot rings out. You hit the floor hard and you’re immediately covered by the body of whoever pulled you down, protecting you. There’s a terrible silence for a long moment, the sound of your breathing loud in your own ears. Slowly, the body over you – Derek, you realize – starts to move. 

“Hey, sweet heart,” he says, looking down at you as he gets up and then offers a hand down. “How you doing? Are you hurt?” 

“No, I’m alright,” you say, breathless. You keep your eyes on Derek. “Is – is he…?”

“Yeah, yeah he is. I’m sorry,” Derek says, voice gentle. He turns you away and puts his arm around you. 

You hear Hotch’s feet on the stairs as he comes down to the bullpen.

“Put her in my office, Morgan,” he says, still strong but quieter now. “Please.” 

You feel more than see Derek nod and then your feet are moving. He leads you the long way around, through the round table room and along the catwalk around to Hotch’s office, all the while shielding you from the scene below. He closes the door and helps you over to the couch, quickly closing the blinds. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he says, crouching down in front of you.

You haven’t stopped crying, your eyes sting, your ribs and chest hurt from the way Sean had grabbed you and squeezed. You sniffle and wipe at your eyes, letting out a wry, slightly hysterical laugh. “I could use a shot of tequila,” you say, sniffling again. 

“How about some water instead?” Derek says, putting a hand on your knee. 

“Water. Yeah. Water is good.” 

“Good. You just sit here and breathe and I’ll be right back,” he says, standing. You can hear activity outside when he opens the door, but when he closes it again, it is perfectly quiet. You sit on Hotch’s couch, wondering how long it will take your hands to stop shaking.

….

When you wake up, still on Hotch’s couch, you realize that someone has come and put a blanket on you. You’re not sure when you fell asleep, but it was sometime after Derek brought you water. You glance out of the window and realize it must be mid to late afternoon now. You sit up, groggy and confused after the adrenaline crash. You’re only sitting up for a few minutes before Hotch comes in. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, turning one of his chairs around to face you on the couch. 

“Exhausted.” You rub your face. “I can’t believe Sean did all this.”

Hotch takes a deep breath. “We found more photos of you on his computer. It seems he’s been obsessing over you for some time.”

“I had no idea. He rarely speaks – spoke – to me. I’d smile at him in the stacks or if I saw him in the hallway, but not much else. Why did he fixate on you? And what was all of that about you not considering me part of the team?” 

He opens the file folder he’d brought in with him and hands you some folded paper. You recognize it immediately as the internal FBI newsletter. Inside there’s a profile about Hotch after he broke the record for Quantico’s long-distance sniper accuracy. The article has a picture of the BAU team, naming everyone. The photo was taken in the bullpen, and in the background, there is a blurry picture of you pushing your cart and delivering files to the desks. “He had this pinned up in his office,” Hotch says. “We think this is where it all started.”

You start to laugh and it sounds hysterical to your own ears. “How do you deal with this kind of thing every day? The bizarre thinking and the leaps… that something as small as this could precipitate everything we just went through for the last 48 hours.” You shake your head. “I want to go home.” 

Hotch nods. “I’ll drive you.” 

“No, come on. You’ve done enough,” you say softly, reaching out and touching his knee. “I can make it home on my own.”

“I should take all the surveillance down. And you’re exhausted. This is going to hit you. Hard. You shouldn’t be alone.” 

“Arguing isn’t going to get me anywhere is it?” you ask, smirking. 

“No, it isn’t.” 

You nod and stand. Your legs are still shaky though and you stumble a little. Hotch’s hands are right there to steady you, his breath ghosting over your skin as he holds you. “You’re alright,” he murmurs. 

“Thank you,” you reply, matching his tone. 

He walks you to your office so I can gather your things and then down to the garage. Instead of an FBI SUV, you get into his personal vehicle, you sitting up front with him while he drives. The ride is quiet still, but not the scared, tense silence from the other drives. When you get to your apartment, he escorts you inside, his hand on the small of you back instead of the protective circle from earlier. His body is firm and warm next to yours, and even though the danger is over, you still feel safer with him there.

He goes about collecting the cameras and microphones and putting them in cases as you toe off your shoes and head into your kitchen to look for something to eat. You are still staring into the fridge when Hotch pokes his head in. “I got everything, so…”

“Are you hungry?” you ask, looking up at him. “I’m starving and my fridge is in pathetic shape. I could order something.” 

“That’s not –”

“Just – it’s the least I can do, Hotch. And you said I shouldn’t be alone,” you say, cocking your hip.

Hotch smirks and crosses his arms. “Arguing isn’t going to get me anywhere, right?” 

“Exactly. So. You like thai?” 

Laughing softly, Hotch takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over a chair in your small dining room. “I do. Very much.”

“Good,” you say, pulling your phone out of your pocket and starting a delivery order. You hand it to him when you’re done. “Get whatever you want. I’m going to change.”

When you come out of the bedroom in your pajamas, a tank top and knee-length short pants, Hotch is in your kitchen opening a bottle of wine. He turns his head when he hears me approach. You notice that his tie is off, too, and his sleeves are rolled up to show his forearms. Your mouth waters for a moment. 

“I hope you don’t mind. I thought some wine might be helpful.”

“You know your way around a kitchen,” you say, approving. “Thank you.” You accept the glass from him after he pours and go sit on your couch. You drink in comfortable silence for a couple of moments, just sitting there examining his profile. “I meant what I said, by the way,” you say into the quiet. “About you taking great care of me. I appreciate everything you’ve done.” 

“Like I said, we look out for our own,” he says, turning his head and looking at you. His face is soft and affectionate before he lowers his gaze back to his hands. “He was wrong, you know, about me not seeing you, not knowing your worth. When I saw him there with you, that gun pressed into your side…” He shakes his head. “The idea of living without you in my life really scared me.” He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, looking suddenly shy.

“Hotch… what are you saying?” Your hands tighten around your glass. It’s no secret that Hotch is attractive, and the way you’ve gotten to know him over the last couple of days has been alluring. 

“I’m saying that I have been trying to maintain my professionalism,” he says, “around you. For some time now.” He licks his lips. “I know a lot about you. How you take your coffee. That you like the burritos from the place 10 blocks away even though there’s a place just around the corner. I know you have a sweet tooth. You get stressed out when there’s a chance of snow in the forecast.”

You laugh at that one. “You have been watching closely.” 

“It is sort of my job.” He gives you a small smile. Then he puts his hand palm up on the couch between you, offering it to you to take. “But I’ll admit that I had additional motivation where you were concerned.”

“Hotch…”

“Aaron. We’re off the clock. You should call me Aaron.” 

You slip you hand into his. “Aaron. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I’m your boss. And I didn’t want the risk of something going bad between us and losing you. You are part of the team. We need you.” 

“Still, I wish you’d said something. We could have been doing this the whole time,” you say, leaning in and pressing your lips to his. The kiss is soft, almost chaste, but his free hand comes up to caress your jaw.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, thumb tracing your jaw line. 

“No,” you say looking him in the eyes. “I’m worried about transference and hero worship and all those kinds of things, but at the moment all I know is that your hand is warm and I want you to touch me.” 

Aaron takes the glass out of your hand and puts it on the coffee table before tugging you closer and over into his lap. He cups your jaw in both hands and pulls you into another kiss. This one is hotter, wetter, his tongue sliding between your lips and exploring your mouth. 

You moan softly, pressing against him as he moves his mouth to your jaw and the side of your neck. You tilt your head back, encouraging him as his hands grip your waist hard. You can feel him as he starts to harden in his dress pants, and you can’t help rubbing your hips into him. “Fuck, Aaron,” you murmur, running your hands all over his chest. His hands slip under your shirt, caressing the small of your back. “Bedroom. Please, Aaron. I need to feel you.” 

“What about dinner?” 

“It can wait,” you murmur, running your fingers into his hair and claiming his lips again.

Aaron helps you onto your feet, then stands and scoops you into his arms. He carries you into your bedroom and lays you across the mattress, covering you with his body. He kisses you over and over, his hands slipping under your shirt and caressing your breast over your sports bra. You hook your leg over his hip, arching up into him.

“Aaron…” you moan. “God, you feel so good.” 

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his already deep voice dropping into something even darker. “So stupid… wasted time. When I could have been –”

“Hey,” you say, putting your hand on his cheek. Then a wicked smile curls your lips. “You’ll find a way to make it up to me,” you tease.

Aaron actually laughs, his whole face relaxing. “Challenge accepted,” he says, licking his lips. His hands are deft and efficient as he removes your pajamas, and together you work on his dress shirt and the belt of his dress pants. You can’t help giggling as you get tangled up in a flurry of limbs and discarded clothing, but finally you’re able to press skin to skin, his mouth fastened on your neck and collarbone.

“God, Aaron…” you arch against him, your breasts dragging through his chest hair. “I need you.”

Pulling back, Aaron smirks at you but also tenderly pushes hair off your face. “I’m right here,” he murmurs. He shifts his kisses to the base of your throat and then over the curve of one breast, sucking your nipple between his teeth and making you gasp. His mouth travels down your body, his tongue seeking out any place that seems enticing to him. When he reaches my ribs, he runs his thumb over the skin and you wince, realizing that you must already be bruised badly. Aaron presses a soft kiss to the spot before he moves on. 

Gently, he pushes your thighs open, and you groan as the cool air hits your hot skin. You arch as his tongue dips inside your folds, grazing your clit. He wraps his arms around your thighs, your knees bent over his shoulders as he licks and sucks on you. His chin and the stubble across his jaw rubs at the sensitive skin. His tongue teases at your entrance and then up to your clit. You reach back and wrap your fingers into the pillow as pleasure races along your spine. You’re breathless and panting, waves and waves of intense need and want running through you. 

“Oh, god… god, Aaron. I’m – I’m gonna…”

Aaron sucks hard on your clit in response, slipping two fingers deep inside you. You arch and cry out as my orgasm swamps you. He licks and caresses you through it, helping you come down. Your heart is racing and you’re blinking fast to try to get your vision back online as he crawls back over you, licking his fingers and wiping his mouth. You grab his face in both hands and draw him to you for a kiss. Your tastes are mixed in his mouth and all you can do is moan. You can feel how hard he is, his tip teasing at your skin. 

“I need you to fuck me,” you murmur, still holding his face and looking into his eyes. 

“Do you –”

“In the nightstand,” you say, gesturing at the drawer. 

Aaron lifts his eyebrow and smirks but says nothing as he shifts to reach over to the nightstand. He locates the condoms easily, and kneels up to show you as he rips the packet open. You can hear him sliding it on, his mouth dropping open as he wraps his hand around himself. “Fuck, what you’ve done to me,” he groans as he drags you closer and pushes inside you. 

You gasp as he fills me up, the tip of his cock rubbing in exactly the right places. One hand is braced on your headboard while the other tenderly caresses your skin as he starts to move. Ecstasy settles across his stern features and you pant and moan together. He makes the most delightful soft sounds as he works inside you, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure. Your pleasure is spiralling up again, the coil tightening in your spine, but you push it down. You want to come with him, you want to crash through the barrier at the same time. 

“Close… fuck, I’m so close,” he groans.

You run your fingers into his hair, tugging gently. “Yes. Yes, god. Aaron. Let me feel you.” 

Aaron’s hips fall out of rhythm as he chases his pleasure. He groans, low and long, as he shudders through his orgasm. The feel of him twitching inside you sends you over the edge. You grind your hips against him as you come, your head thrown back in pleasure. 

“Fuck… are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Aaron asks, braced above you. He pushes hair off your face, his eyes laced with concern. 

“Right now, I am feeling zero pain,” you say, giggling as you look up at him. “I am riding the high of two spectacular orgasms. Jesus.” You caress his face and lean up so you can kiss him again. 

Aaron drags his fingers along your jaw as you kiss. He slips out of you and rolls onto his back before efficiently removing and disposing of the condom. When he returns to the bed, he gathers you into his arms, caressing the curve of your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“You’re so incredible,” you murmur, your hand caressing his pecs and abs. “You make me feel so amazing.” 

“You’re amazing,” Aaron counters. He runs his fingers through your hair and caresses the nape of your neck with his thumb. “I didn’t think sexy librarian was one of my types but then I met you.” 

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Isn’t sexy librarian everyone’s type?” you ask, teasing. You tilt your face up and grin when you get another kiss. “So. Does this make us officially a thing?” 

When you look up, Aaron is blushing delightfully as he smiles. “I wouldn’t begin to presume…”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “If you think I’m letting you go easily after all of this, you have another thing coming,” you say. “We’ll figure it all out. But I’m not giving up the chance to maybe have something great.”

Aaron nods, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Neither am I.” 

Your breathing settles and evens out and you can feel yourself starting to drift when both of your stomachs rumble loudly. You giggle. “Our food is probably downstairs in the lobby,” you say. 

“I’ll get it,” he says, sliding out from under you. “We’ll need the fuel for later.” 

“Later?” you ask, lifting your eyebrows and biting your lip. 

“I’m not nearly done making up for lost time with you, yet,” he says, grinning. 

[badsongpetey]

Lance talks Hunk into going with him to find a secret waterfall deep in the forest, rumored for it’s pure, clear water. As they walk thru the dense foliage, Hunk stammers, “They say it’s… haunted.” Lance scoffs, “That only means we’ll have the place to ourselves!”

After hours of hiking, just when they're about to give up and admit the waterfall was some kind of wilderness myth, the trees part and before them is something out of a movie.A gentle waterfall splashes down a mossy, flower-covered cliff side into a pool of water so clear and pure, that if it weren't for the sunlight sparkling off the surface, it wouldn't even be visible.

Lance crows, triumphant, and tossing off his shirt and shoes wastes no time cannon balling into the center of the pool.

"Lance!!" Hunk shouts when Lance resurfaces, "We need to test it first!"

Lance huffs and throws his arms in the air, splashing Hunk. "Dude! My MAN! Look at this, it's pristine! And fucking WARM! Must be some hot spring. GET IN HERE!"

"NOT until I test it. YOU might not mind spending the night barfing up a lung from some weird secret waterfall bug, but I do." Hunk sighs and removes his pack, crouching down to rifle through it to find his test kit.

Lance huffs again, but resigns himself to letting Hunk be Hunk, and tips to float on his back in the buoyant water. Closing his eyes he thinks this is the perfect reward for all that hiking, it's possibly the most relaxed he's ever been in his life.

That is until, "LANCE!!" Hunk whisper-shouts at him.

Lance cracks open one eye to look over at his friend. "Don't need to shout, right here."

"Lance, who's that??" Hunk visibly blanches as he points to something behind Lance.

"Har har, very funny, stop stalling..." Lance mutters as he spins to find himself nose to nose with... something...