#if i had to guess.. maybe im just not eating enough? but i eat once every day most days so u'd think i would be

[grimescum-2]

got a doctors appointment scheduled!! dont know when though

i genuinely don't know what's going on if anything even is ngl... like what if im making it all up and i dont even know /hj

[markiemelon]

hiii, can you do something with jaemin? like a college friends to lovers?

breakfast

genre. fluff, crack 🍞

pairings. jaemin x gn!reader

falling asleep at your friend!jaemin’s place wasn’t your intention.. yet, there you were, knocked out on the couch. you eventually woke up, disoriented and sore, while the smell of burnt toast polluted the air. on the other side of the open room, jaemin stood behind the kitchen counter, preoccupied with scraping char off the bread slices. he perked his head up once he heard you rustling around. “oh. you’re up.”

“what time is it?” you yawned, reaching for your phone, only to find it cold and dead.

“it’s like 10 or something—” his tone was casual, and it threw you off.

“jaemin!” you jumped to your feet. “i had a class at 9!” you continued, “i told you to wake me up if i ever fell asleep here again!” you ran to the bathroom, looking for the toothbrush jaemin got you last time.

his expression became one of shame, like a child being scolded by his mother. “i know, but you just looked so peaceful…”

this isn’t the first time this has happened. more often than not, jaemin invites you to hang out after class.. so you usually find yourself leaving with him to walk to his apartment… you just can’t get enough of him.

once you get there, you hope for a productive afternoon, maybe crank out some assignments. but instead, you end up talking to him all night. you’ll eventually glance at the ungodly hour on the clock, and think, "just 5 more minutes. i'll get going in 5 minutes." 5 minutes turns into 5 hours... and next thing you know, the sun is up, you've slept through all your alarms, and you're grabbing your things to rush out.

“i need to go home-” you pat your hands around the couch, looking for your purse, tossing around the blankets and pillows jaemin put on you while you were asleep.

“wait.” he interjected. “when’s your next class?”

“at 1… but i still have to go home and get dressed...” you sighed, slumping onto the stool at the kitchen island.

“you still have plenty of time to eat breakfast...” jaemin said, nudging over a plate of toast that was grilled passed the point of no return.

“jaemin…” you laughed. “im not eating that.” you eyed the dish, and a chill went down your spine. “i’ll just have some cereal.” you helped yourself to his cabinets in a search for a more edible alternative.

sitting across from jaemin at the table, you crunched on your cereal while he picked at his burnt toast… his pride wouldn’t let him throw it out. “so do you wanna come over again later?” he waited for you to chew your food before you replied.

“jaemin, be for real.” you set down your spoon. “i can’t keep coming over on weekdays. i lose track of time and fall asleep.. i can’t keep doing that.”

“why not?” he said, mouth full. “why can’t you fall asleep here?”

“i don’t have my stuff here! no skincare, no clothes…” you counted a finger for each point you listed. “and by the time i wake up, im late, and i still have to go home and get ready...”

“well then.. why not just bring stuff to stay the night.” he cleared his throat. “pack your clothes and skincare and whatever… plus, you already have a toothbrush here.”

“do you want me to stay or something?” you took a sip of juice, eyes peeking over the cup.

“i just like having you around...” he picked at the toast some more, but had yet to actually taste it.

you thought for a moment. “yeah sure.” you shrugged, ignoring the way he just made your heart flutter.

“wait really?” he looked up from his plate.

“i mean… i guess it’s not a problem as long as i bring stuff to stay.” you said, getting up from your seat to go wash your bowl in the sink. jaemin followed right behind you and draped his arms over your shoulders, pulling your back into his chest. “then can you bring stuff to stay longer than 1 night?”

jaemin has always been a pretty affectionate friend, so you didn’t think much of the hug… “maybe i could stay until the weekend..”

“just until the weekend?” he squeezed you a little tighter.

but was he always this clingy?

“na jaemin, when did you get so clingy?”

“well these days, i…” he stopped himself.

“these days, you...?” you hummed, tugging on his arms that were still embracing you, urging for him to finish his sentence. you began swaying side to side ever so slightly. “let’s just stay like this for a minute.” he cooed, catching on to your rhythm, rocking in the silence. he really gave the best hugs. after a moment, he disrupted the stillness of the room. “move in with me.”

hearing him say that so bluntly made your heart drop. flustered, you turned around to face him, his arms now resting on your back. “all of a sudden?” you laughed.

“mm.” he nodded his head to agree, looking at you so endearingly. he gradually inched his face closer to yours, and you didn’t mind.

“jaemin.”

“yeah?” he answered, just inches away.

“are you trying to kiss me right now?” you teased, as your gaze wandered from his eyes to his lips.

“are you gonna let me?” he teased back. you couldn’t hold back your smile, and he basically took that as confirmation.

he didn’t have to lean in much further before his lips were touching yours. your eyes fluttered as his hands gently met your cheeks, even tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“what are we doing?” you whispered in between breaths.

“just enjoy it.” he reassured you.

and for some reason, his words really put you at ease. in that moment, you couldn’t help but enjoy it. you reconnected your lips, and let yourself fall more in love with your best friend than you already were.

his smile forced him out of the kiss. “so does this mean we can have breakfast together every morning?”

you scoffed at his remark. “maybe if you learn how to cook first…”

@lovesuhng thanks so much for the request!!!! such a cute idea. hope you like it!!! (reqs always open)

[atlabeth]

dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

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

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

wc: 17.2k

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

Hotch can barely stay awake. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs. 

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What has he been charged for?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “I had a change of heart.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glower at him, but you stay silent. 

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

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

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

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

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

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

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

You nod. “He lives with me.” 

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

“Why is that?” Hotch asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” 

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

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

And he didn’t even know when she died. 

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

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

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

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

“Do you want them to?” 

“…No.” 

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

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

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

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve changed a lot. So has he. 

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve got that right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Looks like it.”

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

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

- 

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because god— what are the odds? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. 

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

“Not one for small talk,” you remark. 

“I never have been.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Rent or own?”

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

“What inspired the move?”

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

“And home is?” 

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

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

“Sources can lie.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know,” you admit. 

“You don’t know,” he repeats. 

“I let him stay with me, and my only requirement is that he goes to his community college classes and stays out of jail,” you say. “He’s done both, so I stay out of his business.”

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t tell him—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you’re wrong, by the way.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dead,” you supply without waiting for an answer. You know he already knows it, but it still seems to have some effect on him. “Went a couple months after I was meant to graduate.” 

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

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

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

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.” 

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

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

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

“You know th—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The profile—” 

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

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

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

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

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

You have to be right. 

The room feels even colder. 

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

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

-

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room. 

“She does not like you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They sent a new one in,” you say. 

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

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

“I can imagine.”

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

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

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks. 

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

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

Hotch isn’t sure yet. 

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron says your name, and you hum. 

“Are you listening?” he asks. 

“Of course,” you say. 

“Your eyes are closed.” 

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

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

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

Your eyes open and you frown. 

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

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

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

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

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

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go for it,” you finally say. 

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says. 

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

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

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

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

Sometimes you need reminders. 

“I love you too.” 

-

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

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs. 

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

No one expected this to happen so soon. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

“What are they?” Hotch asks. 

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

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks. 

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

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

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

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

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?” Hotch asks. 

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

Hotch frowns. You? 

“You’re sure?” he asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hotch leans over the table and grabs Lucas’s file, and he pulls out the page compiling his family. “His father died a year ago from liver failure. Hartford got out of jail nine months ago after a six year stint.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does. 

-

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

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

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

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

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

Of course you have to deal with this now. 

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

“You’re already packed.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take the box from him and smile thinly. 

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

“They haven’t been back, have they?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you go to class today?”

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

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

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I agree with you,” he says. 

“That’s it,” you muse. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think? I was in jail, so.” 

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

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

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“Then what are you saying?” 

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

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

Then, there’s nothing. 

-

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is. 

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

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

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

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

And now… 

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

“Thank you, Garcia.”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says. 

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly. 

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

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

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

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

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

“Put the gun down,” he repeats. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns. 

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”  

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

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

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

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

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

You wake up in the hospital alone.  

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

The real surprise is that you wake up at all. 

Lucas is dead. 

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was going to kill you. 

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

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner. 

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

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

But there’s relief there, too.

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

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

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

“And how long have I been here?” 

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

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

“How bad was it?” you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.” 

And he stays. 

This time, he stays.

[soxcietyy]

Army Boy

Lieutenant yuta x reader

while working in one of the most military base you come across Yuta. A lieutenant that was a soon to be captain. Somehow he flirts his way into your panties.

˚₊‧꒰𓆩 ♱ 𓆪꒱ ‧₊˚ Really hot steamy sex.

You sat in a rolling chair as you spun around in it bored out of your mind. Every week you came to japans military base located in Okinawa because of your father. He was a military commander and he had called you in to organize his paper work yet again . You sigh loudly as you look at the clock, it was barely about to be 3pm. Growing up with a dad as a commander meant that he would drag you along everywhere with him. He wanted you to experience a bit of the army life without being in it.

When he looks at you he sees a small innocent girl who could never joining something so ruthless like this. Did you feel offended? Kind of but it didn’t matter as long as he didn’t force you to join.

Turning around in your chair once again you hear a loud nock. You quickly sit up and push your skirt neatly down before the person entered. When you see a face peek around the door you notice it was Yuta. He was the lieutenant in the base and was really close with your father.

"How may I help you Lieutenant Okkotsu?" You ask him.

He looks around the room before shuffling inside quietly. You could tell he just came back from working out since he was sweating. It was one of his favorite hobbies since supervising his subordinates wasnt enough.

"Is your dad here?" He asks as he places his hands behind himself. You shake your head as you look at him confused. You watched as his eyes averted from your face to your skirt.

"Going on a date?" He asks you.

"No, I was on my way to go out and eat with my friends but my dad called me so I had to show up like this." You roll your eyes .

"Well as someone who’s been here for a few years I can tell you it’s not safe here. Not with you wearing something as scandalous as that." He said walking towards you. He then grabs the corner of your skirt feeling how thin and flimsy the fabric was. "You know how long its been since some of these men seen a female look this revealing? They would jump at you in seconds." He continued.

Maybe wearing a laced shirt with a skirt and heels wasn’t the fit for today.

"Doesn’t that also apply to you Lieutenant?" You raise a brow as he towers over you. You and Yuta were always close. He always messed with you but made sure to keep a distance. After all you were the daughter of his commander. Your father wouldn’t be too fond knowing you got with one of these rough men. Now looking at his eyes they went from his playful ones to ones full of lust.

"I guess it does l/n," He smiles at you. "But you know if you want to get some respect around here and make sure these men are afraid to even look at you, you have to wifed up by someone in the high rankings. Ill have you know im on my way to being a captain" He says.

"What an honor to have a future captain flirting with me." You push his shoulder playfully.

He quickly swoops you up from the chair and spins you around twice before sitting down with you on his lap.

"Father won’t be so fond of you sitting in his chair, I believe I’m the only one allowed to do that." You look down at him. Wrapping your arms around his neck. Slowly leaning in you plant a kiss on his lip. The kiss somehow turns into something deeper. You feel as his hands run up to your skirt. Playing with the string of your panties. You gasp at the sudden touch of his cold calloused hand. His thumb playing aggressively with your bud. You moan into his mouth as you felt the heat pool underneath you. His hard member pressing against your heat.

Letting go from his lips you lean back and began unbuckling his belt. Pulling out his member that was so edger to be released. When you let go you watch how it hits his stomach. He lets out a quiet chuckle as he pulls you in. Lifting your skirt up and pulling your panties to the side. You felt as he slid inside of your already soaked lips.

The way he filled you up made you crazy. It was something that you’ve never felt until now. He grabbed you by the hips, lifting you up and slamming you back down. You let out a cry from the sudden pleasure. He did this a few more times until your legs were shaking and you wear completely soaked.

"Such a good girl, tell me who has the best cock." He said as he put you on the ground. He turned you around so you were facing the door and holding the desk.

"You do" you say as he spread your legs and aligned himself with your hole.

"I want to hear my name." He said slamming into you.

You feel your body jolt making you stutter out his name.

"I want to hear the name they call me here sweetheart." He said grabbing your chin and lifting it all the way up so you can see him.

"Lieutenant Okkotsu has the best cock." You proceeded to gasp as he began ramming into you. Your legs bagan to give out making him grab you by the hips to lift you up. You could barely touch the floor with the tips of your toes as he continued going in you. Using you like a pathetic flesh light. You probably looked so small compared to him right now. Being lifted so easily for his pleasure. If the military base found out by this you knew for sure they would be giving Yuta small little grins. Your body went up and down his member as he continued moving you. You didn’t know whether to be embarrassed on how you were being used or to find it hot.

Your fingers clawed at the desk as he went on with no break. He was fucking you like there was no tomorrow. That was until his radio began speaking.

"Lieutenant Okkotsu." You hear a deep voice say.

You can hear as the boy inside of you sighs. He reaches for his Walkie talkie.

"Yes general?" He says as he watched you slowly slump on the ground. For some odd reason seeing you on the ground hugging his leg for support turned him on more. He once again lifts you up like you weight nothing and sits you on his lap. Spreading your legs wide, hooking your thighs on his arms. His hand proceeding to play with your cat. Spanking it and fingering it.

"We’re going to have a meeting soon about missing supplies. Please come to the office in building 5 to start this meeting." The deep voice spoke.

His fingers began rubbing you fast making you a moaning mess. Your legs twitching and shaking from the sensation. You wanted to shut your legs closed but he had a strong hold of them keeping them in place. You grab his hand to make him slow down but there was no use. Quickly he covered your mouth his his hand somehow and picked up his device.

"Copy that general."

The second he threw the device to the side he let go of your mouth and kept rubbing you. You were now a total mess begging him to stop. Letting out one final cry before you came all over his hand.

"Let’s finish this later alright? I haven’t yet to come." He said lifting you up and setting you down to rest on the chair.

"Duties call," he said before kissing your forehead and placing his handkerchief in your hand.

[cindyss]

• - PHYSICAL TOUCH - •

PAIRING(S): theodore nott x fem. reader !!

WARNING(S): use of y/n? swearing, fighting, kissing, drinking, fingering.

SUMMARY: at a party, theodore gets into a fight with a guy dancing with y/n, and she somehow ends up in his bed later that night.

A/N: this is my first time ever writing something like this so lmk if i can do anything to improve this !!

——————————————————

After winning the quidditch match against Hufflepuffs, the Slytherins decided to throw a party, all houses invited, to celebrate their win.

You and your homegirls all got dressed up and ready for the party, and as you entered the room, attention was grasped from all 4 houses.

Your short black dress fit your curves perfectly which made everyone’s heads turn toward you, boys and girls, Ravenclaws and Slytherins, anyone and everyone.

You grab a few drinks and talk to a handful of people as the alcohol hadn’t kicked in yet and you weren’t in the mood to dance. On your way to grab another drink, a tall figure pushes you hard and you fall down.

You hear a “shit” from someone underneath you. Fuck. You had landed on someone’s lap, you turn your head and to your surprise, its theodore.

Now, you didnt exactly like the boy, he would always find ways to talk about your actions or make rude and mean comments about anything he could.

You apologized as you felt him tense under you and as you tried to get up, he pulled you back in to his lap, “maybe i like where you are sweetheart”.

“You stupid drunk fuck,” you laughed “i could punch you right now”

“I do love physical touch darling” he replies

You then giggle as you jump up from his lap. One of your friends then pulls you into the dancing circle. The alcohol had started to kick in and in a few minutes you were dancing your heart out.

Suddenly, you feel someone’s hand on your waist, the Hufflepuffs’ quidditch captain. He was tall, and attractive so you decided to go with flow and danced with him. Suddenly you feel his hand rip off from your waist and he’s on the floor in no longer than 3 seconds.

Theodore nott came storming and punched him hard, which caused the poor boy to come crashing down on the floor. “oh my god!” You gasp, loud.

The brunette then grabs your hand and leads you out the crowd that had formed around the scene. Once you were outside, he gave you no time before leading you back to his dorm.

When you get there his anger has disappeared, it has been replaced with a feeling you can’t quite catch. You immediately start speaking, “what the actual fuck nott! Why would you do that? You hurt the boy really bad!”

“Holy fuck you are beautiful, you are actually breathtaking woah” he says.

“You are so drunk oh my lord.”

“I didn’t drink y/n”

“Wh-“ and before you could finish, he pushed you to the wall and started kissing you hungrily.

Fucking hell.

Theodore then placed his hand on your thigh and gave it a little squeeze earning a little gasp from you and a chance to slip his tongue in which you welcomed it.

The Slytherin boy then helped you get rid of your dress leaving just your panties on before laying you on the bed. He kept kissing you then moved to your neck and started leaving kisses everywhere including you breasts and stomach.

“You are so beautiful oh my dear god.” to that, you giggled.

“I guess you do like physical touch then nott,” you tease.

Theodore then took his time removing your panties to reveal your already wet pussy. “So wet already, baby you’re so perfect holy fucking fuck.”

He then spread your legs further and started teasing you “listen to me nott, if you don’t do something right now, i will.” That made the boy go crazy which made him start eating you out like a starved man.

Your breath was heavy, it was the only sound heard in the room, you also tugged at his hair which made him go faster and harder.

You’ve never felt this before, he was so desperate, like he’s never done this before, like he can’t get enough.

“Theo, im gonna.. Theodore im about to” and just like that, he pulls out. “Not that easy beautiful, im not done just yet.”

“Oh you fucking tease” you say.

He smiles and then suddenly in a quick movement, two of his fingers are inside you, you slap your hands on your mouth to cover the sounds that might leave it.

Theo then removes you hand “scream all you want darling, i wanna hear it, i wanna hear you say my name”

“Theooo” you coo.

His movements start getting faster and he adds a third finger, “theooo god dammit”

“y/n, you need to learn to never touch a man thats not me ever again or else i will fucking rip his eyes out, i will break both of his arms off, say that youre mine”

“mhmm” you mumble as waves of pleasure took over you body.

“Use your words baby” he says as he speeds his movement.

“Im all yours theo, all yours, no one else, just you.”

“Good girl, now do it, cum on me” he replies.

“FUCKKK, GODDD.. THEOOO” you scream as you release onto his fingers.

He then carefully removes his fingers from inside of you before licking your cum off his fingers. “Fuck you taste amazing” he says before jumping up and turning the shower on to clean you up.

later..

After getting all cleaned up, theo pulls you on top of him and covers you both with the blanket, “i think i do like physical touch, just from you y/n”.

You kissed his chin in response giggling before slowing falling asleep embraced in his arms.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Can you please do a hero x villain spice where hero punishes villain for something 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 and make it VERY spicy im begging

When the villain woke up, they were delirious and sweating. At first, they squeezed their eyelids together, for the stinging light seemed to burn their retinas.

They gulped for air and let their head fall back, taking in a few breaths before they could register that they were bound to a chair.

“What the…”

Although they needed a few seconds to get used to the brightness, they were fully aware that they weren’t alone.

“Oh, hello,” the hero purred once the villain spotted them leaning against the wall in the corner. From what the villain could see, they looked smug, very satisfied too and the villain wasn’t sure if the burning desire under their skin was normal or from the sedative.

They seemed to be in an interrogation room but thankfully there were no cameras. The villain always said dumb shit when they were alone with the hero.

“What did you…”

“Shhhh.” The hero sat down on their lap, hips against hips with their arms on the villain’s shoulders and —fuck— that woke up the villain. “God, your eyes are really pretty.”

The villain felt heat conjure in their cheeks and they wanted to look at the floor. However, there was only the hero they could look at and, admittedly, it was a good view.

“All those muscles, too. You’re really stiff, though.” The hero grabbed their shoulder and squeezed lovingly as their nails dug into the villain.

“I…Christ—” The villain couldn’t help but moan. They’d been sore for days, ever since they’d helped some other villains during a heated hostage conflict.

“Listen,” the hero said. They grabbed the villain’s jaw gently. “You’re clever, I know that. We all know that. But taking people hostage? Not your style and not smart.”

“I…” The villain’s laboured breath became more controlled but still lacked any calmness. “I’m sorry.”

It had been…a complicated situation. Hostage situations were incredibly difficult to pull off and obviously illegal as well as dangerous. When the villain had agreed to it, they had had their reasons.

“You’re ruining your chances at redemption. I thought that’s what you wanted? I thought you wanted to be better.” The hero pressed their hips deeper into the villain’s which made the latter close their eyes, reaching for the self-control they needed so bad. The hero was so close and still out of reach.

Yes, the villain wanted to be better. They knew their methods were wrong and making them a criminal but there was also strategy involved in this.

“This is important to me.” The hero brushed the villain’s throat with their lips. “You’re not a bad person.”

“You kidnapped me,” the villain whispered as a little tingle of excitement formed in their stomach. They loved it when the hero wasn’t sticking to their moral code. It was like they were rubbing off on each other.

“The police were after you, so I caught you first. I saved you,” the hero replied.

“I love how you’re trying to tell yourself that this is heroic,” they said, grinning tiredly.

“What is this then?” The hero repositioned themselves on the villain’s lap, resulting in more friction against the villain’s crotch. God, this was some other type of torture.

“Mean.”

“Mean?” the hero asked. “Oh, dear, I eat villains like you for breakfast. I can be so much meaner.”

They tugged on the villain’s hair hard enough to be pleasurably painful. The villain knew they were too desperate.

“You’re seeing other villains?” they asked. Unexpectedly, the hero gave the villain’s neck a wet kiss and the villain swore it activated their whole nervous system.

“Of course not. I’m just teasing,” the hero murmured.

“Mm, good, good.” Their eyes found each other and for a second, the villain could only stare at their enemy. Sometimes, they regretted what kind of life they had chosen. If they had chosen another path, become a hero, maybe they would already have the hero to themselves with no second-guessing and no jealousy knocking on their door regularly.

“May I?” the hero whispered and at first, the villain wasn’t quite sure what they meant. Until they got closer. Until their hand was on the villain’s thigh.

“Do whatever you want.” The hero kissed them quite possessively. They were eager and skilled when it came to intimacy. Although the villain didn’t want to call themselves lonely, they knew that the hero was driven by the same feeling. To want someone is easy but to deserve affection?

There were times when the villain had doubted that they deserved to be loved. And yet, the hero was there. They were present. With their tongue in the villain’s mouth and their hand in the villain’s pants.

It felt indescribably good.

“The hostages,” the hero began when they had to gasp for air.

“Come on, not now…” The hero kissed them again but they continued to whisper against the villain’s skin.

“You can’t just do that. You can’t take people hostage.”

“I…” The hero’s hand was exactly where the villain wanted it but the hero’s movement was less than little. “It was in exchange for a favour.”

“I think you have to speak up a little.” The hero tilted their head, genuinely curious, and slowly began to move their hand more.

“…I wanted to protect you, I — fuck — I worked on the job and in exchange the others leave you alone,” the villain said. Their brain was fried. And their heart was beating happily until their head was red. However, their answer surprised the hero.

“Wait, really?” They stopped and the villain cursed quietly, suffering from the dying ecstasy. The hero looked…happy? God, the villain couldn’t really tell, they were too deep in their personal pleasure limbo.

“Yes,” they admitted. “Protection for you.”

That made the hero smirk.

“We won’t need protection today, my love,” they joked.

“I fucking hate you,” the villain answered, despite mirroring the hero’s grin.

What they weren’t aware of was that the hero’s disapproval regarding the hostage situation was serious. They didn’t let the villain finish even once and that was pure horror. Otherwise, they were quite sweet today.

[berriweb]

╰┈➤ ❝ wrong place, wrong time ❞

: ̗̀➛ ft. miles morales x reader

: ̗̀➛ warnings. brief description of reader’s injuries

: ̗̀➛ part two / part four

: ̗̀➛ a/n. y’all are way more into this than i expected LMAOAOAO and I totally didn’t pick tostones bc that’s what i was eating while i wrote this (im lying) also here’s a daily reminder that I don’t proof read bc im lazy

Blood. Cologne, air freshener, and the familiar scene of a laundry detergent you could never guess from a specific brand you never remember.

As your brain filled with thoughts and you became more aware of your surroundings, you took note of the first smells you picked up as you awakened. Unlike what was expected, you weren’t lying on another cold, hard and rough surface. You were in a bed, a comfy one at that, sinking into the mattress and covered with a blanket so soft you were tempted to act like you hadn’t regained consciousness and fall right back asleep in it’s warmth, snuggling further into the sheets and willing yourself to forget you ever woke up. But you knew better.

Memories of what had recently occurred flashed through your head without warning and you lost all desire to go back to sleep. Maybe you were right, maybe it was just an incredibly outrageous nightmare?

You shot up without thinking and your head almost immediately missed the comfort of the pillow, pain shooting through your temple so sudden that for a moment you feared you’d pass out again. Gritting your teeth, your hands hurriedly reached to rub your forehead in an attempt to dull the headache brought upon you while ignoring the aching in your side. Once it was tolerable again, you opened your eyes and almost felt a sense of relief wash over you.

You were in Miles’ bed, hence the familiar scent you’d initially smelled. His bed was made, surprising considering how messy he normally was. It was a struggle to ever find your way out of his messy sheets, a neat bed was unlike him.

…a neat bed was unlike him. This isn’t Miles’ room.

The art on the walls was unfamiliar, the posters were in different places and some of the clothes scattered around were different colors than you remembered. Not only that, there weren’t any of the pictures you two had taken together pinned to the walls like before. In it’s place were print outs of news articles and pictures of you that you’d never seen before. You’d never posed like that, you’d never been to that restaurant, you’d never worn those clothes.

That wasn’t you and this wasn’t Miles’ room, but if it wasn’t his then who was that sitting in the corner?

You eyed the desk and the dark figure sitting hunched over in the chair beside it, seemingly asleep by the way his head rested on his crossed arms and his back seconds at a time with every inhale. Carefully, both for the sake of being sneaky and not hurting yourself, you removed the blanket and pushed yourself out of bed, being careful as you stood and took another quick look around the room. You made your way to the door, being used to knowing which spots to avoid in order to keep quick, but the loud creaking sound of wood when you stepped on a certain spot of the floor made you freeze.

You looked back, and thankfully the figure went back to sleep after a moment stirring, but you found yourself still stuck in place when you took a closer look at the person.

It was Miles, or at least looked exactly like your boyfriend. From his nose to his jaw and the arch in his eyebrows, the boy was practically identical in every way, but you knew it couldn’t have been him, he wasn’t yours. You guessed that he must’ve been tired, there were eye bags big enough to carry groceries even with his eyes closed, and contrary to how peaceful you always admired Miles’ appearance when he slept, this one had his brows furrowed and a slight frown on his face. Not to mention the obvious inconsistent hairstyle, though you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the look of the braids on him. Maybe if you ever got back home you’d ask him to try it out.

Home.

You left the room without a second thought, the bathroom thankfully still being where you remembered. Rushing in without a second though, you pushed the door behind you and your hand searched for the light, flipping the switch and slowly turning on the faucet to splash water on your face in a weak attempt to gain some awareness. When you looked up into the mirror you could better understand the constant headaches. Two layers of bandages were wrapped around your head with a small hint of red being seen underneath. You’d likely hit your head when you first hit the ground and hadn’t noticed.

Lifting your shirt up, there were matching bandages wrapped around most of your abdomen, understandable considering the trouble it’d given you earlier. It was more bearable, but you’d probably be uncomfortable for a long while.

You missed Miles.

You hated to admit it, you really did, especially knowing how you left things off the last time you saw him, but you really did. He wasn’t always the best problem solver, but he was damn good at taking your mind off things and you’d always appreciated him for it. You missed his nerdy speeches about comic stories he read, you missed his corny jokes and his goofy expressions, you even missed the hour long rants he’d go on, rambling to you about how much he needed to go to his dream college and study what he loved, and how of course you’d be there with him.

You let your mind wander as your fingers absentmindedly ran over fabric of the bandages, only for your hand to fall still as your train of thought came to a sudden halt. What was it Miles said he always wanted to study?

If there was a visual description of your thought process you were sure you would’ve seen the gears turned and the wires connecting in your head to light the bulb you were ashamed to admit had been unlit for an embarrassingly long time.

“I’m in another dimension!” You declared, admittedly louder than you’d planned for, the nasty ache in your head returning to cause you more distress. Your hands held your head until the throbbing eased up and you could lift your head with more relief. That would certainly make all of the inconsistencies explainable in your mind, as well as the portal. It wasn’t answering all of your questions, but you’d take what you could get for now. Was this really possible? If so, how did you end up here?

“Are the bandages too tight?”

Saying you jumped out of your skin would be an understatement. Your heart skipped a beat as you turned around, bringing a hand up to rest on your chest above where your heart rate spiked, back flush against the counter. Your gaze met a familiar pair of gorgeously brown eyes, the same tired ones you noticed earlier, and your assumption seemed to be right. It didn’t seem that late into the night from the window you’d passed when leaving the room, late afternoon at best, making you wonder what could’ve left him looking so exhausted. The differences were more noticeable with him awake, he didn’t carry the same energetic stance your boyfriend always seemed to have when he was around you. His posture was stiff, even with him leaning lazily against the doorframe, arms crossed and an unreadable expression. He wasn’t exactly a mess, in fact he seemed far more put together than yours based off of his energy alone, but something was missing.

“Did I scare you?” What do you think? “Sorry, you left the door open so I kinda thought…sorry.”

Another difference. Miles had an accent you almost immediately caught onto. It took you slightly by surprise, but you would’ve been lying if you said you didn’t like it.

You let yourself relax as your heart returned to a normal pace, but kept your distance out of nothing but caution. “I- no, it’s fine, I should’ve closed the door. And they aren’t too tight.”

The room fell into an awkward silence and you found yourself shifting from foot to foot, unsure of what to say. It was a bit hard to not be uncomfortable when Miles’ eyes were practically staring holes into you. It wasn’t exactly in a creepy way, more or less as if he were studying you and your every movement, waiting for you to say or do something wrong, like he knew you didn’t belong here. How were you supposed to react? Casually tell him you were from another universe and expect him not to think you were crazy?

“…are you hungry?” Miles broke the silence with a question so casual it made you rethink whether or not the tension had just been there. He pushed himself off of the doorframe and turned around, gesturing for you to follow him without giving you a chance to answer your question. You weren’t going to fight it, considering your stomach was actually begging you for something to eat, so you obliged and followed him.

It was almost as if there were an unspoken rule forbidding you from speaking or asking questions, something in your gut just told you to play along and ask questions later. He pulled up a chair for you at the table and you quietly thanked him for it as he returned from the kitchen with two plates and a comment about how his mom had leftover tostones. “I remember they used to be your favorites.”

Well that sentence wasn’t very assuring. Especially with the narrowed look he gave you when you sheepishly agreed.

The silence that you fell into gave you a moment to yet again try to process everything going on, but on top of wrapping the idea of suddenly ending up in a completely universe (which was only the case if your theory was true, and you had no way of finding out whether or not that was true), you couldn’t bring yourself to not focus on how unsettling the way he acted was.

You could compare the feeling to spending weeks learning a school subject only for the test to cover absolutely nothing that you learned. Being able to read Miles was like second nature to you know, you two went hand in hand. Years of experience practically made you a connoisseur at knowing how your boyfriend was feeling or what he was thinking without you having to say it, and vice versa, but this wasn’t the same. It was as if someone had taken your Miles and replaced his mannerisms with a complete strangers, it might as well have been a cardboard cut out.

He kept his eyes trained on you the entire time without so much as a word, the same uneasiness in his gaze that made you lose most of your appetite and leave you nibbling at your food. You wanted to believe he was content, but his face was twisted in a way that made you think he had something against you. You couldn’t help but still admire his features, it was still your boyfriends face after all, but this wasn’t your boyfriend. The lack of conversation was agonizing but you couldn’t figure out how to start a conversation while in the house of a stranger you’d never met. You blamed him for making the aura so strained.

Clearing your throat, a stupid attempt to get his attention considering it never left, you guilty pushed away the rest of your mostly full plate to signal that you were finished and trying to break the silence, but he beat you to it. “…so-”

“Why are you acting like this?”

You weren’t certain that it was intentional, the malice in his tone, but the manner in which he hissed out his words was enough to momentarily shut you up, leaving you sitting there with a stunned expression to counter the frustration he’d let show itself on his face.

“Acting like…what?”

Suddenly your previous thoughts were proven wrong. This Miles may not have had the same actions you knew as well as with yours, but you’d be a fool not to see the irritation—and that was an understatement—on his face. His jaw was clenched, the hands that’d previously been picking away at cracks in the table now hidden under the table, but you were willing to bet that they were balled up into fists. Without warning you’d been put under a beaming spotlight and unexpectedly became the victim of his interrogation, feeling somewhat guilty for something you weren’t even sure you did towards a person you did not know.

“Are you for real?” Part of you wanted to talk back with the same condescending tone, arguing that he had some nerve getting on your case when you had no part in whatever beef or grudge he held against what you assumed to be your counterpart. “You disappear for over a year, no notice or anything!” The context made you want to believe he was angry at you, but the strain in his voice told you otherwise. Had you hurt him?

“I thought you were dead!” His brows knitted together tight enough to highlight the vein in his forehead, teeth clenched together with such tense posture as he half pushed himself out of his seat to lean forward on the table that you wondered whether or not he was giving himself a headache from the stress. “Do you know how long I searched for you? And then you had the fucking nerve to show up at my house like nothing in your state? What’s your deal?”

It was like you were a child getting scolded for coming home last curfew, but listening to him go on and on with zero context to the situation was irking you. You could at least try to make sense of it, and snapping back might not have been the best way to go about it, as tempting as it was.

“I don’t know.”

He paused, and for a split second you couldn’t tell if he was going to curse you out for playing dumb or keep ranting about your supposed insensitivity, but after a moment of silence he let himself fall back into his seat, hands retreating to his sides as his face fell, thankfully into a more neutral expression. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“What, you need me to spell it out for you in another language? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hissed, admittedly more harsh than you’d intended. Miles didn’t seem offended by it, in fact the revelation seemed to do the opposite as you could’ve sworn a defeated look crossed his face. The knot in your stomach was unnerving, you weren’t used to seeing him like this. Whether it was your Miles or not, it was off putting. “You…don’t remember?”

You shook your head yes, which seemed to be the answer he wasn’t hoping for. Miles clicked his tongue and pressed his lips together, and his slumped shoulders were more than enough of an indicator that whatever he was going on about was more serious than you expected.

“You still came back, you knew where to find me, didn’t you? Uncle Aaron told me so himself, he knew you were following him. What do you remember?”

There was disappointment in his tone, and suddenly regardless of your own situation, you felt pity for him. The looming reminder that this wasn’t your boyfriend kept you from wanting to express that pity as you normally would’ve, but even then you couldn’t help but feel bad for doing so. You had no clue what his situation or intentions was, but his story clearly had it’s fair share of negatives and even if you wanted to believe you didn’t really know him, he was starting to remind you of your boyfriend. You were feeling more guilty for unconsciously convince yourself that he wasn’t Miles than anything else, who were you to decide that?

Now it felt like you were stuck between a rock and a hard place. No matter how guilty you felt, you had no idea about what he was going on about. Would going along with it make you a bad person? Should you just admit you weren’t even who he thought you were and pray he doesn’t immediately turn hostile? Who’s to say that’s how he’d even react? You weren’t heartless, just up and leaving felt criminal. No matter the previous harshness, he clearly still had some level of empathy if he was willing to take you home and care for your wounds, not to mention feeding you too.

“I remember you.”

Maybe playing along for a while wouldn’t hurt, at least to figure out what was going on. Can’t hurt to mention the basics. “And…I remember your friends! And your Uncle, obviously.” You glanced around the room for a moment, taking note of a lot of the family pictures on the walls with Miles and his mother. “And your mom, I love her, she’s- was, always so nice to me, her food is to die for. And your dad-”

“My dad is dead.”

The attempt you made to ease the tension and slightly lighten the mode was abruptly cut short with that sentence. You temporarily lost your voice and your chest tightened, eyes going wide. Miles’ eyes bored into your own, voice heavy as he dropped the fact with an unreadable expression, as if he’d done so to see if he could catch you off guard with that fact, and it worked. “I…” Saying that would explain a lot seemed like an insult in and of itself, yet it’s what came to mind, surprising at it was. You didn’t think the differences in this world could be so major, but you clearly didn’t know to what extent another universe could go to. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t remember that either, did you?” Miles chuckled dryly, but you didn’t see any humor in what he said. He took your silence as an answer and you took note of his now avoidance in meeting your eyes, instead turning away to look at one of the hung photos on the way.

“What about that day? Do you remember that the last time I saw you was the day he died?”

His voice was low and monotoned, and you hated how you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You could guess, you could assume how he felt and try to predict what he’d say next, but there was no way of knowing for sure. The unpredictability of his actions was maddening. As you watched him you couldn’t help but constantly compare.

A scowl doesn’t look good on him. Smiles always suited him better. You hated to be the reason he wasn’t showing it off.

“Do you remember that you were the reason he died?”

You hated it more than you thought.

╰┈➤ ❝ tag-list ❞

— @brokeb1mbo, @ravieaesthetic , @sp1derm4nluver, @isa-444, @wassuppartypeople, @namtaeh, @whoisgami, @ponyboys-sunsets, @go-to-sleep-salem, @hana-1235, @j-natsuka, @lavzxx, @itzmeme, @iimng, @nycweb-slinger, @empress-pug-pug, @planetliaa, @mividaasi, @dolliied, @ukranianacearo, @solecitoszn, @izukusnovia, @abbyrxx12-blog, @conventionally-unconventional, @mileslovelygf, @ditto737, @iinlovewithfictionalppl, @superiorbyfar, @bingewatcheraf, @the-smut-plug, @whotfismirah, @gyuville, @blackspideysstuff, @1uv4jiya

[obsessedwithpedritoofc]

Oᴜʀ Wɪɴᴅᴏᴡ (Jᴏᴇʟ Mɪʟʟᴇʀ)

ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Joel Miller × Male Reader.

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 4,3 k.

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣��: After saving Ellie, Joel and her went back to Jackson. They established themselves pretty quickly —actually from the very first day after they arrived, Joel was already going on patrol. You were one of the many friends they made, or at least you were friends until the day Joel invited you to have a drink at his place.

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: 10ish age gap (i guess?), awkward flirting, teeth rotting fluff, mentions of alcohol, smut, fighting for dominance, masturbation, blowjob, riding, rough sexy joel, no physical descriptions of reader (just slight allusion to him being shorter than joel), no use of Y/N. (lmk if i missed any).

𝔸/ℕ: im so bad at writing smut pls dont hold that against me :( and well happy bday to me. enjoy <3

𝕡𝕥 𝕚: 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕨

𝕡𝕥 𝕚𝕚: 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕨

𝕡𝕥 𝕚𝕚𝕚: 𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕨

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

"I'll go see you when Ellie and I are back".

"Right. See ya tomorrow".

"See ya".

You replayed the conversation you'd had with Joel the previous night once more, his voice sweet as honey resounding in your head as you searched down a house you and Ellie had found on your patrol. She could tell you weren't paying attention to anything, too absentminded to even care about patrolling. She had already told you to get your shit together and search things down properly.

"Yeah, sorry", had been your answer. But you were too busy thinking about Joel and what awaited you that night. So Ellie was constantly behind you, calling your attention when you missed something and picking it up herself when she got bored of that.

They had been living in Jackson for more than half a year, and Joel and Ellie had already made a name of themselves. Especially Ellie was very liked in between the people of town, while Joel just did his job and tried to keep her safe —though she was doing pretty much everything on her own— without attracting much attention, which made many people in town talk about him and his low profile. Maybe that was something you ended up liking of him as well: his only purpose was to protect his daughter. It was actually one of the things that made you like him back before breakout, and the fact that he was still just as a caring father as before, despite having grown cold and a little depressed, touched your heart in a deep, beautiful way.

The first days you talked with him when he got back to Jackson had been a little uncomfortable, since you were just starting to know each other. He tried to be funny, and he was, but when you tried to be funny you seemed to touch something inside him that he didn't like too much. That was until he told you about Sarah. You already knew some things of her from what Tommy had told you, and Joel told you how her loss brought him to a point of wanting to end his life... And then he told you that he didn't tell anyone about that part of him, that he trusted you enough as to keep it between you two and never use it against him.

He trusted you with his life.

Looking back to all that, you thought there was no way you didn't know he liked you. You were the only one —aside from Ellie and Tommy— who he talked, really talked with. Seriously, how could you have been so blind?

From that day on, he started taking your jokes a little less seriously and laughing with you. He also told you a lot of things about how Sarah was and how they had their life back in Austin.

Shit, is this kid really dead?, you used to think. You could see how Joel talked about her so happily, and you would've liked to meet her. In times like this you regretted the most not introducing yourself to them the day you moved to the neighborhood.

You also went on patrols together —from the very second day he and his kid came back, actually. You usually spent your patrol time immersed in a comfortable silence. Many times you even sat to eat and drink something together as you admired the landscape. Especially this time of year it was all more beautiful, covered in snow. It was one of the reasons why you loved winter. And getting to enjoy it all with him gave you the most satisfaction you had ever felt. If only you could get what you wanted most and feel his heat in the midst of all the cold—

"Hey", Ellie called you again. "Ammo", she tossed a box of rifle bullets in your direction. You almost didn't catch it.

"Shit, thanks".

I'll leave those thoughts for tonight, you said to yourself.

After that, you were finally able to put an ounce of actual concentration into patrolling and started searching the house thoroughly. Ellie looked proud, as if she had done all the job by herself, and as if getting you to finally focus had been her doing. In part it was, but you wouldn't let her get away with it and tell Joel that the mission had been a success thanks to her because you had been all the time thinking about him. Maybe, just maybe, you would affirm it if things got further that night.

"It's getting late", Ellie said when you exited the house after a while, looking at the sky getting darker. "Maybe we should go back".

"Yeah, you're right", you looked at the sky as well. "Wanna take the reins this time?", you smiled at the girl.

"Fuck yeah!".

She ran to the horse and saddled him immediately after you said that. She patted his neck a couple times to make sure he was ready to trot back to Jackson. Then you mounted and held onto the girl's arms for some support. She was able to take you both back to town, riding the horse like you had taught her earlier that day. Man, you had never felt so proud of something.

It was almost completely night dark when you finally got back to Jackson. You accompanied Ellie to let the horse back into the stables and made sure she got home safe, then you went straight to Joel's.

You had to knock on the door a couple times before he opened. His hair was even messier than usual and he could barely open his eyes.

"Gosh", you blurted out almost automatically at the surprise. "Mornin', princess", you laughed. So did Joel.

"Sorry", he tried to fix his hair as better as he could and rub the tiredness off his eyes. "Couldn't sleep tonight, was doin' it now".

"Too excited to try out that wine, huh?", you mocked at him.

"Sure, yeah", he chuckled again, leaning on the doorframe. "How was patrol? Did Ellie behave herself?".

"Y'could say that", now you chuckled. "She tells ya anythin' 'bout me bein' off, 's not true", you gave him a sly smile.

"I'll give ya the benefit of the doubt", he smiled back. "Wanna come in? Y'look like you're freezin' ".

"Nah, 's good. Gonna go take a shower n' then we can go grab dinner. Sound good?".

"Yeah. Can ya get home on your own?".

"I think I'll manage", you said with a mocking tone. "Though it'd be nice havin' ya make sure I make it to the canteen later", you crossed your arms.

"Gotcha", he smiled at you.

You found yourselves again immersed in a comfortable silence. None of you said nothing for a while, as you were both staring into the other's eyes and scanning your features. When your eyes met again you realized this had happened before, but it was no longer uncomfortable, so you smiled at each other once more.

"I'll see ya later", Joel was the first to speak.

"Yeah", you stepped away from the door. "See ya later", you smiled at him one last time before walking away.

The first thing you did when you got to your house was taking off your clothes and stepping into the shower. The hot water burned your freezing body for a moment before feeling nicely warm. You let out a heavy sigh, your hands and legs shaking in anticipation. You were so happy that things with Joel had gotten better, and you only hoped they wouldn't get worse that night.

You put on the most decent clothes you could find —which weren't too hot, but it was the best you had. Deep inside you, you were hoping Joel's clothes wouldn't be much better than yours, though you knew he'd look good anyway.

A knock on your door made you jump for a moment. You finished putting on your pants and immediately went to open it for Joel. 

Man, did he look better than you expected.

He was wearing the same green plaid shirt he had on when he first came to Jackson a year or so ago. He had fixed his hair a little, not losing its usual subtle dishevelment. He had put on the pair of boots you had given him a couple days before and some jeans that made him look even better.

"Wow", the word escaped your lips involuntarily. You immediately realized and cleared your throat. "Wanna come in? Gotta put on my boots n' I'm ready to go".

Joel seemed too busy inside his own world —in which he was scanning you and thinking of taking all those nice clothes off of you— to answer when you first asked.

"Joel?", you called him again. This time he looked int your eyes and cleared his own throat before coming inside.

"Sure, sorry".

You sat on the couch and started putting your boots on.

"Didn't think you'll take that wear somethin' nice shit so seriously", you chuckled nervously. You tried to hide the way your hands were shaking at the fact that Joel was in your house, and you were later going to be in his.

"You're not bad yaself", he leaned back on the wall and crossed his arms.

"Fuck, I feel like a teenager", you whispered to yourself. "Doesn't that happen to ya?".

"Yeah, been feelin' like that all day", he chuckled. 

"Ain't that a bit stupid?", you looked up at him.

"I dunno. I mean, we're just havin' a drink, but... If we're both feelin' the same, then it can't be that stupid, right?", his logic made you laugh.

"Alright", you checked your boots before getting up from the bed and looking up at him. "Then I won't feel stupid", you walked towards the door. "D'we go?".

"Sure", Joel nodded. Hell, he liked you even more than he thought.

This time, you spent the whole time —walking to the canteen and eating dinner— talking with each other. In fact, Ellie had to come to you two to say goodnight even before you were halfway through your food. Neither of you gave it much importance and just kept doing your thing.

After dinner you went straight to Joel's, like he had said the night before. You took a seat beside him on the couch as he opened the first bottle of wine. You clinked your glasses and took the first sip together. You both had the same reaction: your noses crinkled and you pursed your lips before swallowing. Then you looked at each other as if saying "It's not that bad". Joel took it as a sign to pour one more glass for you both, and you gulped it down again.

"I prefer Tommy's whiskey, but this ain't half bad", he said.

"Shit, Tommy", you covered your face with both of your hands. "Forgot to talk to him today", you grunted.

"What happened with Tommy?", he looked at you with frowned brow.

"Uh... 'S a long story, jus'...", you stopped talking. "Can I ask ya somethin'?".

Joel nodded.

"What made ya wanna ask me to come have a drink at your place?", you leaned back on the couch.

"Um...", a light was turned on inside his head. "Tommy talked to me", he chuckled in disbelief. "I see where this's goin' ".

"That fucker...", you laughed and crossed your arms. "Well, long story short, I gave him shit for tellin' ya...", you stopped again and cleared your throat. 

Joel didn't say anything, once again. You both knew what you were doing there, but didn't say a word to not make things uncomfortable.

But that is why you were there. To push things further, as uncomfortable as they could be.

You left your glass on the coffee table in front of you and turned to Joel. He looked scared for a moment, but then looked back into your eyes, leaving his glass on the coffee table, too.

"Can we stop bein' awkward n' talk 'bout what we're both thinkin'?", you said with all the seriousness you could pull out. "D'you like me, Joel?", you tried to say it slowly to not give him a stroke. Joel thought for a moment.

"S' it weird if I do?", he held back a smile. You chuckled.

"Well, 's it weird that I like ya?".

"A lil' weird, yeah", he chuckled as well.

"Then yeah, 's a lil' weird that ya like me", you laughed together. "Luckily for you, I like weird", you smiled at him.

"Luckily?", he chuckled and sat closer to you. "You're the lucky one for havin' me to protect your back".

"Y'mean the way ya did back at the village a couple days ago, when you almost got bitten at that cabin? Or before that, when I had to warn ya 'bout infected up ahead 'cause you're too deaf to hear?", you also sat closer to him.

"Ya ain't lettin' go o' that, are ya?".

"Well, you almost got yaself killed that day, so—".

He stamped his lips on yours to keep you from talking any more, his hands moving up your arms to reach your face. You grabbed his shoulders in an attempt to steady yourself and stop shaking, fighting against the rough beating of your heart. But it all went down when his tongue inside your mouth made you melt even more, and you couldn't help but to moan at the feeling. You hadn't kissed anyone in so long, it felt... good. Soothing. Warm...

"Shit, I didn't mean to get ya goin' like that", Joel's voice brought you back to reality. It took you a moment to process what he had said, then you realized your pants were starting to get a little too tight.

"Fuck!", you whispered. You also realized you were sitting on his lap. You tried to move away. "Goddammit, I'm sorry, didn't mean t—".

"Hey, 's okay", he grabbed your hips to pull you back onto his lap. "I'm the same".

You gulped. Your hand moved on its own until reaching his pants. You touched his groin in curiosity, then you felt it.

He was hard. And he was hard because of you.

"God...", he threw his head back. "Don't ya think we gotta do somethin' 'bout it?", he stared into your eyes. You couldn't hold back a smirk.

"How long's it been for ya?", you started undoing his jeans.

"Hey now", he grabbed your hands before you could go any further. "This couch is so hard, we should go somewhere more comfortable", he smirked, too.

"I like how ya think", you got off his lap. "Lead the way".

You didn't expect him to grab your hand to lead you to his bedroom, your heart jumping at his touch. Still, you returned it with no hesitation.

As soon as you entered the room, he grabbed you by the jaw and kissed you roughly, his tongue attacking your mouth and tearing another moan off your throat. He groaned as well and threw you onto the bed somewhat softly.

"Ya make such sweet sounds...", he grunted before kissing you again. You grabbed his arms and rolled on top of him.

"I thought ya said somethin' 'bout solvin' your problem".

"I said—", he rolled back on top of you. "We should do somethin' 'bout it", he started undoing your pants. "Been all night wantin' to take these damn things off o' ya".

"Damn, your old man libido's gotta be hella high if you're—".

Joel's hand inside your underwear made you gasp loudly, half in surprise and half in pleasure. He smirked, taking that as a sign to keep going. He slide your pants and underwear down your legs and tossed them somewhere on the bedroom's floor. His fingers wrapped around your hard dick, making you gasp again. That gasp turned into moans as soon as he started moving his hand in slow movements. You found yourself clinging to his arms with nails and all as your hips bucked into his touch, seeking more of it.

"How long's it been for ya?", he repeated your question from before.

"Too... Too long", you managed to say between moans. Joel chuckled.

"Good thing's not gonna be too long anymore", he leaned down to whisper in your ear. "Told ya you're lucky to have me, didn't I?", he quickened the pace of his movement.

"Joel...", you thrusted you hips farther into his hand, your head thrown back in pleasure.

"Don't get too ahead of yaself".

He moved his hands away to give way to his mouth. His lips wrapped around your dick and his tongue swirling over the tip gave you goosebumps. Your fingers tangled in his hair and pressed him lower onto your member with a loud moan. You shut your eyes closed when your head was again thrown back at the sudden pleasure. Joel stopped his ministrations and grabbed your jaw to put your head back down.

"Eyes on me", he ordered. You didn't dare to disobey him, his voice —though sweet as honey, like it always was— being too intimidating and demanding for you to even think about it.

It didn't take long until you were begging him for release. His darkened eyes never left yours as he kept bobbing his head and swiping his tongue around your dick. You tried to take control of the situation, take his head and thrust into his mouth, but he didn't let you. Instead, he grabbed your hips to keep you still and moved his head even faster. He only had to groan once to send vibrations up your body and make you cum as hard as you never had.

That was the best blowjob someone had ever given you.

You stayed laying on the bed, trying to get some air back into your lungs. Joel, in the meantime, laid next to you and started leaving small kisses all over your face. If there was something you never ever expected in you entire life was Joel being such a cute lover. Damn, he'd been giving you the best fucking head of your life a minute ago, even giving you orders! How come he could turn into such a sweet thing in such a short time?

"You okay?", he asked. You nodded, still half dizzy.

"Yeah, 'm good", you looked at him. "You're a fuckin' beast".

Joel chuckled.

"Thought I'd be way more tired", he wrapped his arms around you and kept giving you little kisses. "Been a couple years since I did anythin' like this".

"First time with a man?".

"First time with a man".

You grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it, looking intently into his eyes.

"It wasn't half bad", you smiled at him. "That was the hardest I've ever come in my life".

"Fuck, really?", he laughed in disbelief. "Can't fuckin' believe it...".

"Maybe I should return the favor", you positioned yourself on top of him, your dick getting hard again.

"Hell, man. Can't take a break for a couple minutes?".

You palmed his groin with firm grip and lowered yourself until your mouth was leveled with his ear.

"I wanna have you inside me", you whispered. Your words immediately vibrated through his body and straight to his own dick. If he was already rock hard, now he was sure he was going to explode at any moment.

"Fuck", he groaned. He put himself up and started taking of his shirt. "You better get ready 'cause—".

"Stay down", you pushed his chest down onto the mattress. "You've just put me under ya. I think it's only fair if I do the same", you continued what he was doing and took his shirt off. He looked up at you with eyes full of enthrallment.

"Alright ", he managed to say, even though he was already too lost inside his thoughts —which consisted on you riding him down to town as well as you rode your horse. You smiled at that.

"Good boy", you whispered involuntarily.

You undid the rest of your clothes, discarding them to the floor, and got ready for the action. You made sure you two were fine and clean before you actually started. You gave Joel the beginning of a blowjob to make sure he would slip inside you with no problem, and since there was no lube nearby that was the best you had.

You positioned yourself over his dick. Looking into each other's eyes, you both nodded to give green light to the other before you slid down on him, his member entering your hole in one smooth thrust. A moan escaped from your mouths at the same time. Joel's eyes rolled back into his skull as he felt your tight, warm walls enveloping his manhood. You gripped the sheets tightly between your fingers to hold back the need of destroying yourself with him, trying to fight the incredible sensation of pleasure mixed with delicious pain. He looked up at you to make sure you were fine. You just nodded.

After a short while of getting used to having his length inside you, you started moving slowly. It didn't last much, your desire too much to bear for you to keep going so little quickly. So you started riding him, really riding him. Your walls clamped down onto his member, as if trying to milk him dry. His tip hit your prostate constantly, each time deeper and giving you more pleasure. He tried to reach out and grab your own dick, but you grabbed both of his hands and didn't let him move.

"S... Stay down", you repeated, this time between moans and heavy breaths.

Now desperation was killing him. Being inside you felt too good. He was going to come at any moment if you kept it up. But still you were going way softer than what he wanted. And you wouldn't let him move... That was fucking hell for him.

In an attempt to calm his desperate need, he started thrusting up into you, meeting your movements halfway. You liked that way too much for someone that was trying to establish some sort of dominance over Joel, but you didn't complain either. You just kept going at it, doing your thing as he did his. Though, as a response for what he was doing, you contracted your hole, your walls clenching down on his dick even tighter. He let out a loud moan at that.

"Fuckin' hell", he chuckled between more groans. "G'nna kill me if ya... Holy shit...".

"Inside... Do it inside...".

Your words sent him over the edge. He thrusted up even harder, chasing his release with wild desire. His dick kept hitting your insides in just the right spot and didn't leave you time to breathe before pleasure took over you. 

Joel was the first to come, and you kept riding him until you spilled your cum all over his stomach. He chuckled at the warm feeling, almost tickling him.

"Shit", you breathed out, laying beside him. "Y'all grandpas are somethin' else", you looked down at his cum dripping down your thighs. "Got a towel or somethin'?".

"Bathroom", he pointed to a room on his right, inside the bedroom. You got up and walked to it as well as your shaking legs allowed you to. You grabbed the only towel you saw and wiped Joel's cum off your thighs, then went back into the bedroom to wipe yours off his stomach. He smiled at you. "Thanks".

You tossed the towel to the floor with the rest of your clothes, then laid back next to him. He immediately wrapped his arms around you once again and kissed your forehead.

"I'll get it washed for ya tomorrow", you kissed him back.

"What, the towel? No need, I'll do it".

"Shut the fuck up, I'm takin' it to my place tomorrow. I'll let you borrow one o' mine until I have yours cleaned".

Joel chuckled.

"Fine, dad", he mocked at you.

"Who ya callin' dad? You're the one with kids here, grandpa", you turned around to look at him. You saw something that caught your attention on the wall behind him.

"Grandpa my ass", he laughed. He saw you lost on your thoughts and looking behind him. He turned around to see what you were checking. It was a handmade calendar.

"Ya count the days?", your eyes fell on the only day that wasn't marked with an x —December thirtieth.

"Uh, Ellie does. Then she made me do it, too —did that thing for me. She said countin' days is fun and that I should keep track of how time goes by, also to know how much of a grandpa I am", he laughed. "Why?".

A smile appeared on your lips and you looked at him again.

"It's my birthday", you giggled in excitement. Joel turned to look at you, then back at the calendar, then back at you.

"Shit", he frowned. "Didn't get ya anythin' ".

"Ya kiddin'?", you looked at him in disbelief, your smile still plastered on your face. "Ya got me some alcohol, fuckin' confessed to me n' gave me the best fuck of my life", you stopped to breathe. "If that's not one hell of a birthday gift, I don't know what to get ya for yours".

He laughed and hugged you once more, giving you a sweet, slow kiss. You grabbed his shoulders, wrapped your legs around him and pulled him closer to you.

"Happy birthday", he whispered. You chuckled.

"Thanks, Joel", you whispered back.

You stayed in each other's arms until you two drifted off to sleep. After many sleepless nights for the both of you, that one night you could finally sleep soundly. For once, Joel had no nightmares and he didn't wake up once. As for you, you couldn't think of somewhere better to be.

That had been the best fucking birthday you'd had in more than twenty years.

[theriverpointace]

i have this h2g2 headcanon that i'm really rather fond of. im gonna talk about it.

okay so first of all, ford has to be able to speak english. which means that he learned how to speak english. and no, i refuse to believe that betelgeusian Just So Happens to work exactly like english, wow what a weird and useful coincidence! because (a) that's just lazy worldbuilding, and (b) we have at least one word in betelgeusian that translates into english: ford's name, ix. "ix" isn't a given name, it's a betelgeusian word given to ford as a nickname because he couldn't say his own name—and, presumably, neither could anybody around him.

i say that ford has to be able to speak english because he lived for fifteen years on a planet full of people without babel fish in their ears. if he came down and started babbling in betegeusian, he would have had a very different experience here. so he either learned english before hitching a ride to earth (highly unlikely, imo, considering how little a role earth plays in the galaxy—i doubt any earth language is too well-known in the wider galaxy), or he had to learn english when he first arrived. this latter is also backed up, to me, by the fact that ford was a bit careless in his original research. i just feel like he would have done the same thing as when he chose a name: get it almost right, but just a little bit off.

i do think ford picks up languages really quickly. in most parts of the galaxy, it doesn't matter if he can speak a language or not, since babel fish are pretty readily available, and everybody has one. however, because babel fish are so readily available, there's no need for a universal language that everybody speaks. the babel fish only work for your ears, not your eyes, so somebody as well-traveled as ford would, by necessity, pick up some basics in a lot of different languages. these basics probably include primarily what you'll find on menus and in travel ports, if i had to guess. (maybe there's some kind of companion to the guide, a hitchhiker's dictionary. maybe that's part of the guide? idk.)

but aside from the necessity of being able to read at least bits and pieces of many languages when one hitchhikes, i think ford does it to make up for not knowing his dad's praxibetel. so what, he never learned the dialect his father loved. so what, he couldn't ever learn to say his own name. so what, he killed his own father/uncle by doing so. so what?? he's gonna learn every other language in the galaxy, just to prove that he can. he's running around the galaxy, convinced that if he can write an article about a planet and know its dialects well enough to read and write them, then what happened to him won't ever happen to anybody else.

and that leads me to my next conclusion: that ford speaks accented english. obviously, everybody does, but i rather like the idea that the way he talks on earth—and possibly, everywhere else—always strikes everybody around him as different. everything else about him does—why shouldn't his voice? so yeah my ford doesn't have a british accent.

but of course, once they're off earth, up in space, once arthur has a babel fish, there's no need for ford to speak english anymore, so he returns to his native betelgeusian ... which leads to a rather surprised arthur going, "ford, what the hell happened to your accent?!"

because since ford isn't speaking a language arthur already knows, the babel fish has to translate his speech now! and i suppose i don't think the babel fish translates accents. like, i guess i don't totally understand how the babel fish works (am i meant to?) but ... i don't know. i think the fish eats up sound waves and what it excretes is something the user can understand based on what's already in their mind. that is to say, arthur, who grew up british and with british accents, hears anything the babel fish as to translate in a british accent. so when ford stops speaking accented but understandable english, and starts speaking a language arthur doesn't know, the babel fish translates with a british accent because that's just what's in arthur's mind.

tl;dr ford picks up languages really easily because he's got something to prove to his dead dad, he speaks english, and it confuses the hell out of arthur when he stops speaking english because the babel fish doesn't translate accents. this is one of my favorite headcanons about ford.

[the-s1lly-corner]

A Rock (Hoodie x Reader) (Ending 6)

It took a few extra days but it's done! Sorry if this is a little off, Ive been in a bit of a funk lately and im only just getting back into writing fics so this may be iffy grrr as usual, there will be a poll at the bottom to determine the next ending hooray notes: reader is gn, nonverbal hoodie, he uses sign language, you are learning sign but arent very good yet, asl is used here cws: none word count: 2.1k

You reach your hand into the hat and pull out…

A rock. The kind you can find just anywhere, it was nothing special. If anything it was heavy in your hand as you curled your fingers around it and displayed it to everyone in the room. You glanced at Jeff for an answer, and even he seemed to be at a loss for who put it in. At least, that was until a tall figure stepped closer and stood over his shoulder.

Hoodie.

Jeff didn’t even notice him until the taller man pointed at you- or perhaps the rock- from over Jeff’s shoulder. “Christ-” Jeff barked as he spun around and glared up to the proxy. Hoodie gave no response, his gaze seemingly fixed right onto you. His mask made him impossible to read, but you couldn’t help but fight the need to squirm under his eyes. You slowly rise to your feet and circle around the couch. By the time you joined the pair Jeff had calmed himself enough to attempt to drag you down the hall to the closet you’d spend the next seven minutes in. 

“Seven minutes,” Jeff huffed, still clearly miffed from being startled. 

You give him one last glance as you back up into the closet, your back making contact with the wall of flesh behind you right as the door closes. You jolt, and spin around to face the proxy in front of you. He was so much taller than Masky or Toby, and he nearly took up all of the free space in the closet. You push yourself against the door and cane your neck awkwardly to him as he tried to hunch himself to fit under the shelf above his head… the sight slightly undoing some of the nerves eating away at you. 

“I guess the closet is too small, huh?” You ask in an attempt to break the silence. The words felt stupid as they left your mouth, but you couldn’t take them back now. Hoodie paused in his struggle, and stared at you. The red frowny face on his mask was nearly impossible to see in the dark… you weren’t sure if he looked more intimidating with or without it. 

He didn’t say anything, and for a moment you thought he hadn’t heard you- until he raised his hand and made a motion. Multiple motions with both hands, actually. 

He was signing. 

How could you forget? You’ve seen him signing to some of the others before. 

Yet that didn’t aid you in trying to decipher what he was saying, the limited studying of sign language only barely aiding you. 

“Wait-” Your eyes darted from his hands to his face. “I’m not… the best at sign,” 

Hoodie’s hands pause in mid air for a few seconds, before signing once more.

This batch of signs you could understand.

He was tall, and the closet was small. You being here did nothing to help- though with the way he conveyed his body language he didn’t sound accusatory. At least, you think so.

You clasp your hands together and look away once he finishes. You scrape your brain in order to find something to say, anything to start a conversation. You weren’t sure if you could handle seven minutes in absolutely silence- with nothing being said or signed.

“You know, maybe when we’re out of here you can give me some pointers on how I’m doing- I mean, with the signing. I’ve been trying to figure it out so you have someone else to talk to asides Masky, and uh… Toby… and I guess Slenderman…” You mutter, trailing off as Hoodie lightly waved his hand to get your attention.

“You were learning for me?” Was what you picked up, you hoped you were correct. 

You nod and swallow the uncomfortable lump in your throat. “Yeah, I mean… I’m not very good at it but I know how to finger spell and I know some of the bare basic signs, still trying to figure out full sentences and… stuff…” You offer a shrug. 

He grows still for a long moment. 

A very long moment. 

You drum your fingers along the back of the door. “Do… you want to switch spots? Being scrunched up like that can’t be comfortable,” 

That seems to bring him back, and he nods. He’s the first to start moving first, shuffling against the wall in order to not squish you while also not tripping on anything unseen on the floor. You’d think that they’d sweep through the closet before using it for a game played in the dark, however that… did not seem to be the case as Hoodie’s feet gets caught on something on the floor- a spare jacket or something of the like. The sudden shift sends him falling forward, and if he hadn’t slammed his hands on either side of you he would have crushed you against the door with his entire weight. His face came to a stop next to yours, you couldn’t feel his breath on you but you could most certainly hear it as he tried to regain him composure. This was quite possibly the most noise you’ve heard from him from the entire time you’ve known him. 

You hear footsteps outside before they pause. Then;

“You alright-t?” 

It was Toby. 

You try to steady your breath, which only proved to be near impossible as Hoodie kept you trapped between him and the door. “We’re..” You start, only now aware that the fall and scramble had slightly pushed Hoodie’s mask up to reveal his lower jaw.

You never took him for one to have some facial hair…

“We’re fine, Hoodie just slipped on something,” You finally draw out. You bring your hands to the man’s wrists and try to help him up. He continues to slip on whatever has been left on the floor. 

Toby only gives a soft okay, before walking away after a moment of lingering. 

He finally manages to get to his feet- not only that but he quickly switches positions in an instant before he has the chance to slip once more. It happens so fast that you hardly have time to register it before the force of movement has you tugged right against his chest. It’s a few seconds later that he releases your wrists. 

And of course, he slammed loud into the door for a second time… what were the others thinking was happening? You didn’t want to think about it. 

You could feel his heart beating in his chest as you shifted your face around to look up at him. Despite being released, you remained in the pose you landed in against him… you finally let your hands fall to a rest at your sides. 

With a mask covered face, it made it easy for you to stare at him for a little longer than you would like to admit. No visible eyes made you feel too comfortable remaining pressed deep against him. Though, he didn’t make any attempt to remove you from him. In fact, he remained entirely still under you. 

When he did budge, it was to raise his hands to the edges of his mask and pull it back down to cover the parts that were exposed to you. You… weren’t sure what came over you, but your hands found themselves back around his wrists- holding them in place as his fingers hooked on his mask.

“Wait…” You say, half muffled as you shift your mouth away from the fabric of his jacket. “Can…” 

His hands twitched in your grasp.

“Can I see?” You asked softly. 

Hoodie’s hands remained still as he turned your request over in his head. Enough of his face was visible that you could see dimples forming and unforming on his jaw as he seemingly worked unspoken words in his mouth. 

…then he slowly started to raise his hands, slowly revealing his face.

You… actually weren’t expecting him to be so quick to show you…

As it rised, you could see the facial hair lining his jaw clearly now, he seemed to be a few days past a shave- nothing too much, faint nonetheless. Your eyes raked across each feature as they revealed themselves- first his mouth, then his nose and cheeks, and finally his eyes. They were tired, but there was something intense in them that shot warmth through you. 

He let the mask rest scrunched up at his hairline, pushing back any hair he might have had- keeping it out of sight. He must have had short hair. 

Your eyes flick across each part of his face before settling somewhere away from the look his eyes were giving you. 

“You look…”

He tilts his head to the side.

“..Nice…” you manage to get out, and offer him a smile. He matches it. He lightly shakes his hands, reminding you that they were still held captive by yours- did you help him lift the mask, or was he simply letting you keep your hands there? 

Regardless you tug your hands away and place them somewhere on his upper arms. “You should take your mask off more often, at least around the mansion,” 

Hoodie shakes his face, but does not elaborate. You decide not to push him.

Besides, this was nice, wasn’t it? How many people could say that they’ve seen what he’s got hidden away? Not a lot, you were sure.

A secret shared between the two of you. 

You open your mouth only to screw it shut as someone knocked on the door. 

“One minute!” Jeff called out from the otherside. 

One minute? Already? 

Your eyes dart from Hoodie’s face to the door behind him, then back to his face. 

“Alright-” Jeff keeps knocking. “Alright! We heard!” 

Jeff gave one last knock before ceasing.

“You know…” You rest your head on Hoodie’s chest. “My doors always open if you want to come help me learn my signs, that offer is still open,” You smile. 

He… actually returns it.

His hands find themselves to your shoulders and gently push you off of him. His hands remain as he stares hard at you. 

“What? Do you need a payment for your time?” You tease. He shakes his head, but you find enough boldness inside you to tug him down to your height. “You know for a game about kissing and other things, we didn’t do anything,” 

You felt him warm under your touch as he picked up on what you were saying. 

A kiss for his time, if he wanted it. 

He seemed to weigh his options, fully aware that whatever happened next wouldn’t affect the offer to teach you later. 

He leaned in quick and pressed his lips against yours. It was hardly a peck, it was over as quick as it started. It took nothing for him to pull himself out of your grasp and rise to his full height. He tugged his mask down over his face just mere seconds before the door opened- but you caught the smirk tugging across his face before it was hidden away.

“You-” You hiss playfully, only to cut yourself off as the light blinded you. 

“Alright, both of you out!” Jeff stood to the side, tilting his head to the side to try to get a good look at the two of you. Asides from the stumbling, neither of you looked particularly roughed up. That… did not seem to stop the “knowing” look Jeff gave you as you shuffled out into the hallway, still reeling from the peck Hoodie had given you. “Man he really fucked you up didn’t he,” Jeff teased. You shoot him a glare that he only waves off, he tells you don’t need to play another round if you’re too spent.

You glare holes into the back of his head as he walked back to the living room where everyone else was… until Hoodie taps on your shoulder. You spin on your heel to face him, quickly softening your face. 

He points at you, and swirls his pointer fingers around in a loose circle. He then points his index finger to the ceiling…

No, he’s asking if you want to go upstairs and start your signing lessons.

You smile, and nod. “I didn’t think you’d want to start so soon,”

Not that you were complaining. 

“You’ll have to go easy on me, though, not at all a quick learner…” You mutter as you walked with him down the hall and towards the stairs. You ignore the looks some of the others gave the two of you as you both passed by.

[keirawantstocry]

your page made me hyperfixate on morning crew polycule and on the topic of hyperfixating, maybe a little fic about Tubbo or Pac hyperfixating on a thing like a project that they forget to take care of themselves? Can be fluff or angst i don't mind :) -✉️

hiiiiiii im so glad ive infected you with the brain rot

Pac wasn’t sure how long they had been working. It seemed like he had been at Tubbo’s since he woke up but the exact time was unclear. They had been working for at least an hour because Tubbo had proposed that they try and figure out a way to expand the amount of kinetic stress the drill could take without using a water wheel or generator. His stomach growled and he looked down at it in confusion. Hadn’t he just eaten? Surely he had grabbed breakfast before joining Tubbo. “Did I eat breakfast?” he said out loud and Tubbo turned away from the machine to look up at him. “No, you said you would grab something for lunch.” “Oh. Is it lunch time? I feel like I’m hungry enough for it to be lunch time.” Tubbo stood, wiping his hands on his pants before glancing at his watch. “Ah,” he said in a strained voice. “It's midnight.” “EXCUSE ME?” At that exact moment, the door swung open on both of them and Fit stepped inside with a large backpack in his hands. He smiled gently at the both of them and their surprised faces. “Let me guess. You guys just realized that you’ve been working for hours and hours because you’re incredibly hungry?” Pac laughed lightly as his stomach growled. “Sim, Fitchie.” He lifted the backpack higher. “Good thing I brought this then.” Soon they were finally sat down, all cross legged on the floor with an absolute feast in front of them. “Did you make all of this?” Tubbo asked as Pac dug in. “I did,” Fit said proudly. Tubbo leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek before diving into the food. “Thank you.” “Sim. sim, obrigado, Fitch,” Pac said once he swallowed. “You’re so good to us.” He waved him off, a light blush blooming on his cheeks. “Oh stop. It’s nothing. Honestly.” His face softened. “It’s my honor to take care of you two dumbasses when you forget to.”

[pink-tea]

could you write something with sub!beomgyu who acts jealous after you spent a little bit too much time with another txt member, he gets super pouty and possessive over you and you're not sure why until it finally clicks and you make it up to him? <33 it can be short! i love ur work, thank u for feeding us in the sub!txt drought

i am happy to keep the people fed!! as proven with my most recent overspending in buying txt albums and their recent deco kit (which i can't even regret, it's so fucking cute </3), making sure they have dinner on their tables frfr, but thank you so much for the compliments!! as for jealous clingy beomgyu yesyesyesyesyesyesy-

☆ very very very suggestive but it never actually gets to smut? idk how to rate this

☆ 1967 words (whoops) (i made up for how long it took me to post with the length)

☆ jealous beomgyu, hair pulling, tiny tiny leg riding/dry humping (im starting to notice a pattern of things that i like to write bye), mean talk but it's more condescending than actually mean

beomgyu knew it wasn't right for him to feel this jealous. i mean, seriously, there's no way you'd ever look at hueningkai the same way you looked at him. but still, he can't help the way he monitors your interactions with the maknae out of the corner of his eye.

it was just the way the two of you played around so much, so touchy. always light slaps on each other's arms, giggling and laughing right in front of him, and he smiles and laughs too because he loves you both so much, but he just can't help the thoughts creeping in. what if there was something going on? maybe you liked the idea of younger, taller men-

beomgyu almost wanted to kick himself for thinking that way. you wouldn't do that to him in a million years, and huenginkai wasn't that type of person either. but still, he winces at the curl of jealousy in his stomach as the two of you play around during your friday gaming sesh.

he hadn't even noticed he was staring until you did, catching his eye and giving him such a loving, happy smile that it made his stomach do flips. how could he ever doubt you?

"you okay?" you ask lightly, tilting your head and looking so content that he couldn't help but smile back.

"i'm doing great," he replies, doing his best not to side-eye the shit out of you and one of his closest friends for the rest of the night. to his credit, you didn't seem to notice anything, only pouting and kissing him sweetly once you had to go back to your own apartment.

he loves seeing you smile, he realizes (although it really wasn't anything new) as he watches you jokingly blow him a kiss goodbye. he catches it and cheesily tucks it in into his pocket, making you giggle. he just really really doesn't like anyone else to be the reason you smile.

and everything's fine until beomgyu starts acting weird enough for it to be brought to your attention.

"you haven't come over for our gaming fridays in a while!" hueningkai complains one day, the comment meant to be light and off-handed. but it makes you pause, hand stuck midway into a box of popsicles. you were here in the boys' dorm for the first time in weeks, waiting for beomgyu to finish getting ready to go to a new boba place that opened a little while ago.

you hadn't even noticed how many gaming fridays the two of you had missed, but now that you thought about it, it's definitely been more than 4 already. beomgyu had been insisting on dates a lot more recently, going out to eat or watching a movie, or maybe just chilling and cuddling on the couch—in your apartment. you didn't even notice the way the time was flying by, more invested in your boyfriend's pretty eyes, his soft lips trailing kisses down your neck and on your collarbone, fingertips pressing into your skin as he begs you to call him yours.

"huh, yeah, i guess it has been a while," you ponder, finally pulling out a popsicle before patting huenginkai's head with your free hand. "you can count on me being here next friday," you promise, ruffling his hair and giggling at his whines and protests. so caught up in your platonic affection for the boy, you didn't even notice beomgyu until his arms were wrapped around your waist, chin plopped on your shoulder.

"i'm ready now, let's go," he huffs, words muffled into your clothes. you halt your ministrations, biting down the last of your popsicle before giving hueningkai one last smile.

"alright, be a doll and throw this away for me please! thank you-" you shove the popsicle stick in huenginkai's hand, barely able to finish your words before beomgyu is tugging you towards the door. you let out a noise of surprise, but let your boyfriend drag you to the door as you frown in confusion. hastily returning hueningkai's worried wave of goodbye before you're out, you wonder what has beomgyu so riled up.

"woah, hey, is everything alright?" you question, stumbling a bit in your attempt to keep up with his pace. his grip on your hand is tight, possessive, but there's a pout on his lips. beomgyu's the type to pout cutely, trying to appeal to you or get on your nerves, but this time he seems genuinely upset.

he doesn't answer your question, and you fall into a heavy silence as you walk down the darkening street, the warm rays of sunset making beomgyu look pretty even when he's upset. you don't say anything until you're passing by your apartment (you really didn't live far from them).

tugging on the hand the still hasn't let go, you force him to look at you, irritated and not bothering to hide the glare in your eyes as you look at him for the first time in 7 minutes.

"what the hell is up with you?" you hiss, your aggravated tone visibly making beomgyu flinch as bothered look only worsens. he looks away from you, opting to stay silent as he stares at the brick walls of your apartment complex. your patience only thins, and beomgyu yelps as you harshly shake your hand out of grip.

"look, if you're upset then we don't have to go on this date, because i have no clue why you're even mad at me for-"

"i'm not mad at you," beomgyu grumbles, holding his discarded hand close to him as he still stubbornly refuses to make eye contact with you.

"then what is it," you sigh out, exasperated.

a few more beats of silence pass by before beomgyu lets out a noise of discomfort- embarrassment. he groans and brings up a hand to mess with his mullet, "it's just...i don't like how you keep spending so much time with hueningkai" he admits, ears burning red as he stares at the floor.

you stare at him, shock and just a bit of relief flooding through you. you finally let a long, tired sigh escape you. your boyfriend wasn't mad, he was just fucking stupid.

"come on," you command, turning around and starting to walk up the stairs to your apartment. you make it up a few steps before turning around, beomgyu watching you with wide and confused eyes. your own eyes narrow at the sight.

"now."

the tone of your voice makes beomgyu startle and hastily walk up the stairs behind you. he didn't mean to get you mad, he thinks sulkily. maybe you were mad at the fact that he was jealous, mad over the fact that he had the audacity to get possessive when he obviously didn't own you.

you feel his gloom behind you as you walk up to your apartment door, but don't say anything, opting for silence. it's only when your keys jangle to open the white door that there's finally any noise, and you motion beomgyu to go inside first once it swings open. he hesitates before stepping in, hearing the door eventually close behind him as you walk in as well.

he only has a few moments to acknowledge your presence before suddenly he's gasping as the wind gets partially knocked out of him, pinned against the door.

he wants to wince at the feeling of his back crashing against the wood, but he doesn't get much time to think as your lips crash onto his. he whimpers into your mouth, lips parting open to let you have your way with him as his arms drape over your shoulders and claw at your back. one of your hands grips at his waist, the other gripping his chin in order to lead the kiss where you want.

his lips are soft and you can faintly taste the honey from his lip balm, but it's not nearly as sweet as the feeling of beomgyu melting into your body. he manages to groan out your name as you pull back, tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth in a way that has him staring back at you with a pathetic expression.

you let go and his lip falls back into place with a wet 'pop' and you take this time to properly glare down (metaphorically, the bitch is 5'11 </3) at the man.

"jealous, huh?" you scoff, making beomgyu wince as he whines at your mean tone.

"you were just being really touchy with him! always giggling and shit during our gaming fridays," he huffed, his worries finally revealed. the mention of the gaming days makes your eye physically twitch. no wonder he's been scheduling friday dates all of a sudden, this brat.

"touchy? touchy how?" you press on, voice cold as you focus on making the man squirm under you. you roughly shove your leg in between his thighs, ripping a mix between a gasp and a moan from his throat as it presses against the half-hardness of his dick. "like this?" you ask, peering dangerously close at his expression as he pouts and hesitantly shakes his head no.

"not like that? what about this?" you reach up to grab a fistful of black hair and yank beomgyu's head back, earning a soft cry as his head thunks against the wood of your door. you suck and bite harshly at the sensitive skin of his neck, feeling him squirm in your hold as you force the flesh red and irritated. beomgyu doesn't know if he should focus on the throbbing pain in his scalp or on the way he's steadily getting turned on by your aggressiveness.

"probably not, huh," you comment, releasing his hair to softly grab at his chin again. his eyes are barely focused, and you almost want to coo at the pretty sight of his dazed look and spit covered lips. you fucking adored beomgyu, it almost offended you that he thought you'd be looking at other guys.

"still think i'd touch hueningkai like this? think i'd like having him here instead of you?" you ask harshly, seeing beomgyu wince as he tried to shake his head no despite the grasp you have on his hair. his vision starts to get blurry, and he realizes that his eyes have started to water up, but either you don't notice or don't care enough to stop talking.

"you've got some nerve to be accusing me of looking at other people the way i look at you, choi beomgyu," you scold, releasing his hair in order to grab his chin again and tilt his head up to look at you properly. "couldn't look at anyone else even if i tried, so fucking pretty that it hurts my feelings sometimes," you simper, attempting to sweet talk but it only makes beomgyu feel like he owes you an apology even more.

"m' sorry," he mumbles, head drooping in shame. you almost laugh at the sight, sighing affectionately before pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. beomgyu stills against your lips before crumbling at the affection, body melting against yours before he's gasping into your mouth. you can feel the way his back arches and his body presses into you, your knee pressing harshly against his clothed dick.

"it's ok, you know how to make it up to me," you smile, beomgyu's hair tickling your cheek as his head falls forward onto your shoulder. his hips slowly start to rock against your leg, precum staining his boxers at the friction—at the feeling of your body caging him in. you grab the arch of his back, roughly forcing his hips harder into you as he cries out your name against your neck.

guess you'd just have to reschedule your date for later.

[daeneryseastar]

hotd episode three thoughts:

episode was titled ‘the burning mill’ for the battle of the burning mill and we only get to see the aftermath. no black aly, no bloody ben, just pain and suffering.

“i can’t fault him for upkeeping his oath.” is such a lame excuse, since he tried to kill her last episode, they could’ve just had her say she wants to honor erryk and his sacrifice by allowing him to have peace with the brother he still loved despite everything.

i went from ‘i still kind of care about you even though i’m not a big fan of the changes’ in regard to rhaenys to full on dislike. good job condal!! “maybe you can talk peace with alicent (she has proven time and time again her demon spawn will not listen to her) 😜 luke taking aemond’s eye started the war (a 7 year old defending his brother 6 years ago caused the war, sure jan) 🤪 im gonna imply you being practical about the war’s inevitably will cause me to stop supporting you 😋 just in a silly goofy mood 😛😛”

i liked mysaria and rhaenyra’s conversation, and appreciate the setting up for addam claiming seasmoke.

gwayne fucking hightower had more speaking lines than jace. glad to see he pissed his pants when confronted with moondancer however.

baela>>> arguably best part of the episode. dany’s theme playing over her and moondancer’s entrance is reaffirming my fancast <3

corlys whining about joffrey only being six and knowing nothing of the sea is honestly hilarious since that’s how most heirs start off as? also not surprised he doesn’t consider rhaena good enough to be his heir when he’s proven time and time again he’ll only support women in power if it benefits him. can’t wait to watch greencels bend over backwards and claim this is rhaenyra’s fault once again !

actually the way rhaena was treated this episode is just major ick vibes. the writers have this obsession with making every non-dragon rider targ a liability to their family? which makes no sense at all, but they couldn’t even include one line of rhaenyra saying she was sending rhaena to the vale for her safety to? i’m glad she told her upfront she was entrusting the future of their house to her (an omen for morning? i’m not holding my breath) but still.

you mean to tell me aemond’s biggest adversary in life wasn’t his toddler nephews??? but instead his big brother??? who has no redeeming qualities and proves he’s willing to hurt him to feed his own ego??? shocked, i tell you. absolutely shocked. ‘true brotherhood’ defenders are going to lose their shit when aemond attempts to kill aegon next episode (apparently twice? for once i’ll be on his side i guess).

the showrunners brought dyana back just to have her serve the man who raped her and be sexually assaulted again, what a feminist take!

had to see a dude get sucked down in the same scene. now i need luke to take my eye(s) out too.

i did NOT need to see aemond’s dingaling what the fuck

baelon’s… bastard… son? the same baelon who was head over heels in love with alyssa? the same baelon who never took another wife nor even looked at another woman after her death? the same baelon who’s sister couldn’t even convince him to take her to wife? vaegon having a bastard would be more believable.

helaena apparently doesn’t give a shit about jaehaerys! more absolute bangers from the writing department. instead of going mad over this loss and deliberately throwing herself out her window she’s going to see a really pretty butterfly that she must have and accidentally tumble over the balcony.

rhaenys praising jaehaerys is so fucked, he’s the reason you’re not queen right now, and he laid the groundwork for the greens to have any claim at all EAT MY ASS

why is alys american.

daemon’s harrenhal arc seems very interesting -so far- it was great to milly’s rhaenyra again (also am i the only one that thought she was holding a baby, jace or a hypothetical ‘what if daemon married her to begin with’ and not sewing up jae’s head) also “you will die in this place” is peak foreshadowing honestly.

alicent continues to pull the ‘i didn’t think the leopards would eat MY face!!!’ “i have perhaps been unkind but never dishonest” copium much??? you deliberately made rhaenyra and her kids life’s a living hell bc she managed to find happiness in her situation and you couldn’t stand that.

that sept scene was dumb as shit but at least rhaenyra has exhausted every single option possible for no war and her antis can shove it and be reminded that she’s the only monarch that gave a shit about the destruction about to happen. ‘team neutral’ team fucking idiot more like.

episode is rated 2/10 for baela, rhaena, jace/joff/aegon/viserys crumbs, and house blackwood mention.

[avengersfantasies]

hii!!!! can I send a request? if so can I request a Bucky Barnes x reader fic? maybe where reader and Bucky live together but reader has some eating issues that they haven't told Bucky about and he finds out one day. like maybe a hurt/comfort? If not that's totally fine im just in recovery right now and just needing some comfort rn ty!! <33

Summary: After eating dinner one night, your roommate, Bucky Barnes, discovers what you have been keeping to yourself.

What to expect: eating disorder (bulimia), fluff

taglist: @pattiemac1 @justsebstan @winterslove1917 @crist1216 @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @kandis-mom @vonalyn @mavrellover91 @natashasilverfox @gojoismysensei @itsafamilyshow @casa-boiardi

Join a taglist here

Submit a request here

You walked in from your date – the smell of your roommate’s cooking immediately hitting your nose. It smelled amazing. Everything Bucky cooked was phenomenal.

            “Welcome home!” the soldier called out from the kitchen. You flashed him a quick smile as you walked in and sat down at the bar. “How was the date?”

            You sighed. “It was…okay, I guess,” you answered.

Bucky nodded and tasted the sauce he was finishing up making. “You hungry?”

“I’m good,” you exhaled. “Had a lot to eat at the movie.”

He looked at you suspiciously. “What all is there to even eat at a movie?”

You chuckled and shook your head – walking off to your room without responding. You knew full-well that you hadn’t actually eaten anything at the movie except for a few bites of popcorn. You got into your bedroom and started to change into some comfortable clothing, and the familiar sound and feeling of your stomach growling echoed loudly. You ignored it – continuing to change into your sweats and get comfortable in bed. You lay in bed scrolling on your phone and laughing at videos posted by some comedians you followed. After a handful of minutes, however, it became too much. Annoyed, you got out of bed and headed to the kitchen where Bucky was cleaning up and putting away leftovers. Without a word, you opened up one of the cabinets and grabbed a plate – stacking it with food and putting it into the microwave.

“Thought you weren’t hungry,” Bucky reminded you.

You shrugged. “Yeah, well…smelled too good.”

You gave him a soft smile as you went to the other side of the bar to sit and begin eating your meal. It was delicious, that much you had to admit. If there was one thing you knew for certain, it was that Bucky knew how to cook a homestyle meal.

“It’s really good,” you told him.

He smiled. “Thank you…it’s one of my mom’s recipes.”

Hearing those words and knowing what you were going to do once you finished eating caused a wave of guilt to crash over you – causing you to look down and eat smaller bites. His mother…the woman that he no doubt loved more than anything in the world, the one he had lost when he was a young boy had created the recipe for the food you were eating, and you knew that as soon as you finished, you’d be throwing it up. Were you insulting her? Him? If he knew what you did after every meal, would he be angry with you? How many other times had you thrown up food that came from his mother? In the end, it didn’t matter. You weren’t strong enough for these thoughts to stop you from doing what you’d been doing for years.

“Thank you, Buck,” you smiled – putting your now-empty plate in the dishwasher and heading to your room. “Goodnight!”

“Night!” His voice was happy, and he felt accomplished having made one of his mother’s beloved recipes and having it turn out good.

You locked yourself in your room before bolting to the en suite and locking that door as well. Almost on instinct, you threw your body to the toilet – forcing yourself to throw up everything you had just eaten. You always sobbed quietly as you regurgitated your meals, but this time was different. This time, you sobbed loudly – not caring if anyone heard you. The food kept coming, and each morsel that left your body caused more guilt.

“Hey!” Bucky’s voice called out from the other side of the bedroom door. “Are you okay?” You didn’t answer, too upset to respond to him. At this point, you didn’t care if he found out what you were doing…if anything, a part of you wanted him to find you. Some part of you needed him to. Hearing more of your sobbing and puking, Bucky easily broke the lock on the bedroom door and entered – making his way to the bathroom and breaking that lock as well. “Hey, hey, hey,” he spoke softly – kneeling down next to you and rubbing your back. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you sobbed – looking over at him with tear-stained cheeks. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

“Sorry? What’re you sorry for?” he asked frantically – desperately wanting to figure out what was happening. “Did something make you sick?”

You let out another sob. “I’ve been sick, Bucky.” His eyes searched yours for some sort of explanation, but the more you sobbed and gasped, the more he understood. Soon, the realization set in.

He pulled you close to him – wrapping his arms tightly around you. “How long?”

“Since high school,” you cried out.

He kissed the top of your head – resting his cheek on the same spot. “I’m so sorry I didn’t realize.” A tear escaped his beautiful blue eyes and landed in your hair. “I should’ve realized.” The feeling of being wrapped in his arms brought you a sense of calm – a feeling that everything would be alright. He wasn’t angry that you had just thrown up the food that he had worked hard on making. In that moment, all he cared about what you. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”

You shook your head. “No…please.” Bucky stood up and grabbed a wet washcloth and got your toothbrush together – helping you get up from the floor and clean up. He flushed the toilet while you brushed your teeth, and once you were done, he carried you to your bed. “Please stay…” Your voice was hoarse and weak as you practically begged the soldier to stay with you. “I can’t be alone.” Bucky nodded and lay next to you – pulling you close to him and rubbing your bath with his metal hand. The coolness of his arm soothed you enough and helped you catch your breath. “Please help me.”

“I’ll do anything you need me to do,” he promised – placing a gentle kiss on your head and holding you as you fell asleep from exhaustion in his arms.

[quietwingsinthesky]

(@transmasc-rose) Hmm... 11Simm, Simm is around for his Baking Period instead of going back to the war, and this affects our Doctor.

alsjfjglsjfk okay im assuming by baking period you mean immediately post-regeneration and what im saying is that this got wildly out of hand, here’s 1000 words of eleven & simm & amelia pond

Amelia Pond remembers, a few months ago, when it rained so hard that the streets outside of school flooded. It hadn’t been so bad, even though no one had come to pick her up so Mels had promised Rory when his dad came, “Don’t worry, I’ll walk her home.” By then, his dad’s car was already making huge waves as it drove away. Neither of them had an umbrella or raincoats, so they’d sprinted between trees and bus stops as it continued to pour down. The streets became rivers, and when they caught their breath on Amelia’s front porch, they’d turned back to look at the unrecognizable world of their neighborhood almost underwater. Mels’ cold, wet hand in hers, Amelia had watched two rats swimming across the street, scrabbling over each other with tiny splashes and biting their tails to stay together until they got to the other side.

Anyway, that’s why she thinks Mels would understand her letting the men from the blue box into her house once she saw that they were soaking wet and why Rory would probably tell her she shouldn’t try to pick up rats because they might have rabies.

“If he’s the Doctor,” says Amelia to the man who stole all of the Doctor’s leftovers, (or was it stealing when no one wanted them?) “then who are you?” She’s been thinking of him as the rude Doctor, seeing as they both came from the same box, but that might be unfair. To the Doctor. She can’t just go assuming two men from the same box share a name.

“The Master,” he tells her, shortly. Amelia squints up at him.

Amelia doesn’t care much about politics because her aunt doesn’t care much about politics. Still, there are all these newspapers that someone must have bought that sit in the lounge and they both forget to clean up.

“Why do you look like the Prime Minister?” At that, the Master grins. His teeth are too sharp.

“Because I ate him.” Amelia wrinkles her nose at him. He’s going to have to try harder. Mels is much better at scaring her than he is.

“Stop that,” the Doctor tells him. “She’s-” He looks over Amelia curiously and guesses. “…Five?”

“I’m eight,” Amelia corrects and stands a little taller.

“She’s eight, and there’s a nasty crack in her wall that’s scaring her enough. You don’t need to make it worse.” The Master huffs and crosses his arms, but he does glance down at her again. She doesn’t think he’s decided to be nice, exactly, but maybe that he’s decided even if he isn’t lying and he does eat people, that Amelia wouldn’t be very tasty. He extends a hand to pat her on the head, and Amelia bites at it. She doesn’t manage to get him, but he snaps his hand back. He grins at her.

“She should be scared. I’m surprised she’s even still here.” Amelia frowns at him the same time the Doctor does.

“What do you mean?”

“Explain that, Master,” the Doctor’s voice flips from fun to serious very easily. She likes that about him. Most adults never use their serious voices around Amelia, only the fun ones, even when they have bad news to deliver.

“You’re counting the doors, Doctor. I’m counting the bedrooms.”

“So?”

“Amelia, you said you only live with your aunt?” the Master asks, pointedly. Amelia scowls at him, even though a part of her is delighted that they were paying attention to what she said.

“Yes.”

“So, why,” he emphasizes, “are there too many beds in this house?” The Doctor stops examining the crack and turns to him. Amelia watches a wave of something awful wash over his face. It makes her squirm, and despite herself, grab onto the Master’s hoodie.

“Oh, Amelia,” the Doctor says, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” She doesn’t like it, any of it, not the crack and not the feeling in the pit of her stomach that something’s gone terribly wrong. She doesn’t know what it is, but she knows- She knows- She can’t remember why she’s crying. The Master’s hoodie is grimy enough already, so she sticks her nose in it to wipe her face clean. He smells like a wet dog.

“First things first,” the Doctor says, “whatever was in the crack is now out of the crack.”

“I know. I can smell it.”

“So, we take care of that. Amelia,” he addresses her again. Amelia pulls her face out of the Master’s hoodie to look at the Doctor. “Do you mind if I pick you up?” Amelia is too big to be picked up anymore, at least by her aunt. Still, she nods. “Good. I’m going to put you in the safest place I know.” The Doctor picks Amelia up easily, like she would pick up one of her stuffed animals, and then deposits her, without hesitating, into the Master’s arms as he protests.

“I don’t want her. Take her back.” Amy wriggles, but despite that, he doesn’t drop her.

“I wasn’t lying. Whatever prisoner zero is—I’m working on it—you’re far more dangerous.” At that, the Master hums, pleased with himself. Amelia thinks the Doctor might be even more mad than she’d assumed. “Which also makes you safe.”

The thing is, Amelia thinks, the Doctor isn’t wrong. She looks at the crack, and she looks out her bedroom door down the hall they say contains a monster, and nothing scares her.

“It’s a little early for us to adopt,” the Master mutters.

“Sorry, can’t hear you. Too busy hunting an intergalactic fugitive. You’d know all about that. Amelia, did you know he’s wanted dead or alive in over two hundred galaxies? In multiple time periods.” Amelia looks at the Master for confirmation.

“Two hundred and fifty-three,” he says.

“What’d you do?”

“Everything.” He carries Amelia out, following the Doctor, and only gets interrupted telling her a story she’s not sure she believes about taking over an entire planet when the monster shows itself.

[kosmicdream]

im confident enough to post FFAK, which has anal prolapse, but i dont post the true drama....... my opinions about manga. *dramatic music* sometimes i kinda want to do some reviews.. its mostly me complaining.. it makes me sound so bitter like "do you like anything kosmic!" and..yes ! i do!!! okay!! i like a lot of things. once in a while, i dip my toes into a popular series to try to see if we are a good fit. Series like: Beastars, Dorohedoro, Dungeon meshi,ect.. and i kind. well. I dont like any of them LMAO. I mean, Ok, i actually really was into Beastars for a time, but after the fight with the bear guy (its been a few years sorry) and that story arc concluded.. it just spiraled to laughable levels and did not recover. I was genuinely laughing at it at times bc it kind of felt like a desperate scramble with the like. loopholes and power upgrades.. But I was invested for a time, it had a charm to me! I also loved the art and im curious about the authors next series about santa (partly because i too, am writing a story about santa). Dorohedoro has a great visual style, fun characters, i enjoyed reading but it also kinda didnt ...land for me beyond that, which is a shame. I feel like it is a series that "should" have clicked with me. And its like, not offensive to me but.. I'll forget that ive read the whole thing. I like STUFF in it. but thats not enough for me anymore. If i had read it when i was younger tho, it might have been a diff story. idk. My most unpopular opinion of all is that... I hated Dungeon Meshi.. Sure its ..pretty! cute designs. but i found it SO painfully boring and it actually was a struggle to finish. in the end, it felt like a waste of time.. SHOCKING take i know. That is the darling of everyones heart and i like, understand WHY its popular. .. but for me, i was not fed by anything. i am unfed and starved and going to eat elsewhere oh, and i.. as a person who has read a lot of fighting mangas.. I have tried to read chainsaw man, but i dont know if I can. I did finish Fire Punch. I'm surprised to say: i kinda liked it but it took a long time to force myself to read thru it. I honestly hated many aspects of Fujimoto's storytelling/character acting that i didn't think my opinion on it would change, but I'm a little more open to it now. I dont think i could ever super be into it or whatever, but i did find genuine enjoyment in aspects of fire punch. I did not really like look back. I haven't read his other one shot(s)? Where am i going with all this..I guess im giving some unrequested reviews after all...oops... a lot of this is spurred by how houseki no kuni is one of my most fav series, not only visually/characters/story/ect.. but i cant lie.... the ending... was kind of a flop for me... gorgeous and poetic ig sure but.. AUGH! it isnt what i wanted. maybe it'll be one of those "it'll grow on me" endings but thats mostly me having to go thru the 5 stages of personal grief and gaslight myself into it, but as the like actual honest first-reaction feeling it kinda lost me. I think it did not work when i felt the confrontation btwn phos/cinnabar wasn't the one i wanted to see. i will say tho, while im dissapointed, its not like a DEEP one or anything. I know its a miracle to even get to an ending.. i guess my take away feeling from it was like "everything fit together too well, too planned" but didnt feel planned, emotionally. I wasn't sold on it. Anyway, im here to speak my truth and my hot takes which, i honestly dont even want to have that one about HnK but its the real feeling i have for it.. Once again Utena's ending just has made all these other issues i have with various stories more obvious LOL