#maybe it’s also the attachment to the house itself

[vox-fantasma]

i think i figured out why i don’t like the gift exchange system in hades 2 as much as i did in the first game. this isn’t to say that i don’t like the characters as much, or think they’re less interesting - i love eris and nem (obviously i have a type but we’re not gonna talk about that), odysseus and dora are always fun to talk to, and hecate has this compelling surrogate mother/mentor figure relationship with mel that’s really juicy to explore. but in the original game, so much of the engagement comes from the mystery of zag’s relationship with the residents of the house of hades. with every line zag exchanges with the others, it’s clear that they have history, one that sits heavy in the subtext and tone and only tacitly referred to in their brief conversations. you’re incentivized to get as many nectar bottles as you can, even to the detriment of your run, because you want to know these people, get closer to them, uncover their hurts and repair their relationships - it works whether or not you’re playing as zag or as yourself. as you grow closer to these characters who initially see zag only as a shadow of himself - an entitled prince, a reckless boy, an untouchable authority - you uncover more of zag’s whole personality in tandem with the people who perceive him, which in turn fuels your determination to get even more nectar or ambrosia so you can finally see zag and meg kiss and make up, dammit. you know these people enough to want to see them happy.

granted i haven’t spent as much time with the second game as i have with the first, and it’s also still in development, so things could change (probably not drastically, but it could!) but because of the way the narrative is set up, you kind of already know who you’re working with from the get-go. and most of them already like you! hecate is your firm but loving mentor. odysseus is your genial spymaster. dora is your quirky roommate. skelly is, well, skelly. you could make an argument for nem, but just from the first few conversations you can already kind of infer why she’s so belligerent to mel and that it doesn’t truly come from a place of real hatred, only jealousy. which is cool! but also, no mystery. the only characters you don’t know much about from the start - by which i mean their motivations, what drives them, who they care for, etc. - are moros and eris, which is why i think i progressed their relationships much quicker than i did the others. i wanted to find out where they stood in this war, what made them tick, how they ended up where they are now. eris especially - why does she insist on making things more difficult for mel, despite her apparent fondness for her (if the way she calls mel ‘babe’ is any indication)?. what’s with the blasé attitude? is it a front? is she truly so unconcerned with the fate of her mother and siblings? does she just want mel to relax a tad?? this paired with the fact that there’s reduced opportunities to see her means that i find myself saving my one nectar until she shows up. the potential for relationship progression is there in a way that it just isn’t with the others.

this all to say that perhaps i just want to replay hades because i miss my little guys.

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

thinking about a house. the house is sentient but not in a way i would typically recognize. it would view me as both a part of itself (similar to how an animal is a part of its ecosystem) and also something inherently lesser (like how an owner views its pet). i can't communicate with it in any meaningful way. i can't even tell when it's paying attention to me if it doesn't try to draw my attention. it can manipulate whatever is inside of itself except me, which would give me a sort of edge if it ever viewed me as a threat, but since it doesn't it sees it in more of a "awww look at your little claws" way.

[astrolook]

Moon in the houses

Moon in the 1st House: Emotions? Yeah, I’m wearing them like a neon sign.

Mood Swings? Who Needs a Weather App? – One minute, you're on cloud nine, ready to conquer the world, and everyone around you is like, "Wow, you're so inspiring!" . The next minute, you're in a full-on emotional hurricane, and people are like, “Uh, is everything okay?” Yep, they can literally see the storm clouds forming.

You’re basically an emotional X-ray for anyone who needs to know how you're feeling. Super helpful in knowing exactly where you stand.

You have the perfect built-in therapist, your mom, who never asks for a copay and always responds with “I love you, sweetie.”

Moon in 1st gives you a youthful young face. If a man, could be a mama boy. On the flip side, mommy could be overbearing.

When you're happy, you radiate positivity like the sun itself. You make everyone around you feel like they’ve just had a shot of espresso… without the jitters. But when you're in a mood, watch out. It’s like the ocean’s about to swallow up the entire coast. You can go from zero to “I’m emotionally drowning, help!” in 0.3 seconds.

Moon in the 2nd House: The Emotional Shopping Spree - You feel things, and you buy things. Repeat.

When you're feeling happy, it’s like “treat yo' self” day, and suddenly you’ve got 14 new pairs of socks that totally spoke to you in the store. Feeling stressed? Well, it's probably time for a little retail therapy... because nothing says “I’m handling my feelings” like buying a $50 scented candle you’ll never use.

Impulsive purchases. When your emotions take a dive, so does your bank account. "I'm sad, I need a new purse."

When someone asks how you're feeling, your response might just be, "Well, I bought a new jacket, so I’m feeling fabulous."

Your Emotions Are Always on Sale. You're like, “You know what would make me feel even better? A cute new scarf!” Because nothing says “I’m emotionally balanced” like a $15 markdown.

You love investing in things that make you feel good—whether it’s a cozy home, a nice meal, or that perfectly curated playlist you bought (yep, it’s a thing). Your finances are tied to your emotional health like a carefully organized spreadsheet.

Moon in the 3rd House: The Over thinker's Hotline - You think, you feel, you text… then you overthink it all.

Your emotions are running wild and they need to talk. A LOT. Like, you’ll have a deep emotional moment and then immediately text your bestie about it, but also text your mom for a second opinion, and then maybe send a message to a group chat for a third—just to make sure everyone’s on the same emotional page.

You’re the Emotional Wi-Fi of your social circles—always transmitting and receiving feelings, whether anyone asked or not.

You overanalyze everything. Sent a text at 11:30 PM? Now you’re wondering if that emoji you used in your response was “too much.” Did they think you were crying in that voice message, or just, like, “really emotionally engaged”? You end up spiral-commenting under your own messages. "Wait, I wasn’t mad, I swear!" Cue overthinking every single word.

You’re emotionally open, but also maybe one text away from sending an entire novel about your mood swings. If you have a Moon in Aquarius in 3rd house, you are very much into conspiracy theories.

The overthinking is so strong, even Siri gets nervous. “Did I say that correctly? Does it sound too emotional? Let me try that again, Siri, do you think they’ll understand?"

Moon in the 4th House: Home is Where the Feelings Are - Your emotions? Oh, they're all cozy in your emotional fortress… with snacks.

If you're ever feeling down, you know exactly where to retreat: the couch, surrounded by blankets, a mountain of snacks, and probably a weirdly specific playlist of “emotional” songs you know no one else understands.

Your vibe says, "Come on in, let me feed you, and here’s a blanket!" You’re basically the human version of a warm cup of tea.

On the flip side, you can get way too attached to your personal space. Don’t even think about messing with your “comfort zone,” because that zone is sacred. You might find yourself overly attached to places, people, and objects in your home that just... feel right.

If someone says something you don’t like, you might retreat into your home and pretend to reorganize your kitchen for the next four hours. Not because it’s necessary... but because it’s emotionally satisfying.

If there’s food involved and your loved ones nearby, you’re ready for some serious heart-to-hearts.

Moon in the 5th House: The Drama Queen of Feelings - Life’s a stage, and you're always in the mood for a performance.

Your feelings take center stage like you’re auditioning for a Broadway show every single day. You’re all about self-expression, fun, and creating joy—because, let’s face it, life’s too short to not have an emotional karaoke session on a Tuesday night.

Moon in 5th bestows with a girl child. Of course, we need to check whether it is associated with any other planets.

Professions like actor or any artistic professions fits you. You can turn any situation into a joyous celebration and make even the most mundane things feel like a special event.

The flip side? When you're down, it's like the curtains close on the show, and you’re the star in a drama you didn’t sign up for. You may exaggerate your emotions a little (okay, a lot)—an offhand comment from a friend turns into a full-blown emotional musical number. Cue the tears, dramatic exits, and possibly a solo performance on why no one understands your very deep feelings.

You’re basically the person who gets emotionally invested in every movie, reality show, and Instagram post you see and also celebrities.

Moon in the 6th House: The Emotional Overachiever - Feelings? I’ll just organize them into a to-do list.

With the Moon in the 6th House, you take your emotions very seriously—like, spreadsheet-level seriously. You're not just feeling your feelings, you're tracking them, analyzing them, and organizing them with the same precision of a perfectly color-coded calendar.

Your home? Probably a Zen-like temple of organization. You could be a productivity guru and an emotional support animal all rolled into one.

You’re probably the person who compulsively checks your horoscope, wellness app, and to-do list while also making sure you're drinking enough water—because, yes, your emotional health must be on track.

Service - oriented professions.

Probably keeps a journal. Your motto - "Productivity meets therapy!"

Moon in the 7th House: Emotional Rollercoaster + Relationship Drama

You Have a PhD in Relationships – You analyze, you nurture, you feel. Basically, you’re the emotional therapist of every relationship/partnership you’re in.

Emotional Dependency? Yup, It's Real – Your partner's mood? It's now your mood. If they’re happy, you're on cloud nine. If they're sad, well, buckle up, emotional crash ahead!

You Can’t Just "Date" Someone—You Feel Them – It's never just a date night. It's a journey. You’ll be emotionally invested before the appetizers even arrive.

If your partner says, “I’m fine,” but their voice cracks, you’re immediately putting on your emotional detective hat. Something’s definitely wrong.

Your partner's mood shifts and you’re already planning a 5-step plan to emotionally heal them. Just call you “Dr. Love.”

Moon in the 8th House: The Emotional Detective with a Dark Twist

If emotions were a rollercoaster, you’d be the one flipping the safety bar off and screaming, "Let’s go faster!"

Family gatherings? More like family mysteries. You can feel the unspoken tension, and you’re practically Sherlock Holmes, trying to figure out what’s being left out. Every holiday dinner has a side of “What aren’t they telling me?"

When you lose your virginity, you could even hide it from your family.

Being vulnerable with you is like peeling an onion—layer after emotional layer until someone’s crying. Sometimes you overshare, sometimes you say, “I’m fine,” but everyone knows you’re not. You can’t help it.

You can turn pain into growth like a magical wizard. Hurt feelings? Great, now you’re ready for transformation. You take all that emotional mess and somehow turn it into deep wisdom—or a really great, tear-filled diary entry. Either way, it’s epic.

Moon in the 9th House: The Emotional Philosopher on a Soul-Searching Road Trip

Your emotions don’t stay local. You feel them on an international level, like, “Why am I feeling so deep right now? Is this about my past life in a distant land or because I watched a documentary on the Amazon?” Your emotions are basically the United Nations of your soul.

Family & Friends Talks Are Like TED Talks – When you try to explain your feelings to family/friends, it’s less “Hey, I’m upset” and more “Here’s a 45-minute monologue on the meaning of life, and also I read a book on existentialism last week.”

One minute you’re high on life, quoting philosophy, and the next, you’re googling “Why does everything feel so overwhelming?” You’ll go from thinking you’re a wise sage to wanting to crawl into bed and watch Netflix documentaries. Your moods are basically a journey, so pack your bags.

You can't just feel something—you need to analyze, interpret, and probably give it a name. "I feel anxious. Is this anxiety or is it just me tapping into the collective consciousness of humanity?

You’re an Emotional Nomad – You can’t sit still. Emotionally, you need to keep moving, exploring, learning, and growing. "Home? Well, I feel emotionally connected to 17 different places.

Moon in the 10th House: The Emotional CEO of Life

Your emotions are always on display like you’re giving a TED Talk about your deepest feelings.

You don’t just work; your career is an emotional journey. “Am I feeling fulfilled at work? If not, should I change my entire career path? Do I need a promotion to feel better about myself?!” Your job? Basically your emotional therapist, but with more PowerPoint presentations.

Public approval is your emotional fuel, and you’re like, “Did I mention I’m emotionally attached to other’s opinion of me?”

Your mood? It directly impacts your work ethic. When you’re emotionally stable, you’re like, “Let’s take over the world.” But when you're upset? You’re still working, but you’re crying in the break room, making dramatic phone calls to your loved ones.

You’re emotionally invested in how the world sees you. You need to be the best at everything, but emotionally—"Did I look too emotional during my presentation? Was my inner turmoil apparent?" It’s a lot of pressure to keep it all together, but hey, it’s worth the “likes”.

Moon in the 11th House: The Emotional Social Butterfly Who Forgets Why They Came to the Party!

People love your warm, nurturing energy, and your squad is basically a second family. Just be careful—you might adopt every stray friend like a lost puppy. You could even get in trouble for helping your friend.

One day, you're the life of the party, the next, you’re ghosting everyone because feelings. People around you should have learned to just roll with it.

If you are feeling bad, you might turn to strangers online for some emotional support.

You’re energized by like-minded people and might thrive in large social circles, community work, or even fan clubs (yes, you might cry over your favorite celebrity’s life updates).

You might bend over backward to fit into a group, even if it means suppressing your own needs. That’s right—you RSVP to events you know you don’t want to go to, then regret it immediately.

Moon in the 12th House: The Emotional Mystic Who Feels Everything & Nothing at Once

congratulations—you’ve unlocked "Feelings: Hardcore Mode." Your emotions live in the deep, mysterious waters of the subconscious, making you an intuitive, dreamy, and sometimes tragically misunderstood soul. You might love solitude but also feel unbearably lonely, sense energies others miss, and randomly cry for no reason (or is there always a reason?).

Your intuition is next-level. You pick up on vibes, unspoken emotions, and even spiritual messages like a human radio antenna. Your relationship with your mother could feel distant, mysterious, or full of unspoken emotions. Either she was deeply spiritual and nurturing or emotionally unavailable and hard to read.

Unlike most, you actually enjoy being alone. Your inner world is rich, and isolation helps you recharge from the chaos of life.

Even in a crowded room, you might feel disconnected. You crave deep emotional bonds but struggle to express your own feelings.

Emotional stress can manifest physically—sleep issues, mysterious body aches, or just always feeling tired for no reason.

You might secretly love someone from afar rather than openly express your feelings. (Just confess already!). You crave deep, spiritual connections but may self-sabotage by isolating yourself. You love soulmate vibes, but fear vulnerability.

[saturngas]

hickeys on display

[🪐] satoru wears proudly the hickeys you left on him last night

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: established relationship; only one suggestive paragraph; crack fic? again me trying to be funny; nanami mentioned!; slight possessive traits;

word count: 1k

..

nanami sometimes pitied you. you were a good human being, a nice woman, a devoted and strong sorcerer. but why did the world reward you with this menace that calls itself satoru?

the moment his eyes landed on the tall sorcerer walking in the bakery shop, nanami swore he wanted to throw himself off the window.

satoru had convinced him to go out to his favorite bakery shop to spend time while his beautiful wife returned from the mission. the blonde man actually didn't have any other plans for the day, so he could bare a couple of hours with the strongest.

but not like this.

Japanese culture revolved in humbleness and respect towards others. satoru was anything but that. he had gained multiple stares since he landed on the bakery, all eyes focused on the angry marks on his attractive neck and collarbones.

"what happened to you? were you attacked on your way here?" nanami asked sarcastically as satoru sat down in front of him.

"what do you mean, nanamin?" he faigned ignorance as he adjusted himself on his sit, his large hands fidgeting with the menu. nanami sent him a dead stare, not believing his cluelessness. "oh this?" he pointed to his exposed skin. "oh it's just that I miss my wife so much. I also want anyone to know im so taken."

Nanami couldn't believe his ears. he wanted to choke the hell out of the sorcerer for being so shameless.

"your ring is sufficient."

satoru eyed the silver band adorning his ring finger, the lovely reminder of your wedding playing on his head. "well, yeah I guess... but people dont usually look at other's people hands first."

the curious and judgmental stares from the strangers in the store were making nanami a bit uncomfortable. maybe he should just have his baguette as a take out.

"nanamin, have you ordered yet? I think ill have the strawberry cheesecake and a vanilla milkshak— what are you doing?"

in front of him was nanami holding up his phone, hands ready to take a picture of satoru as an evidence to you and a reminder to him to never go out with him again.

"im sending your wife a picture of you. I hope she doesn't approve this and takes you home away from people." as soon as satoru heard the mention of his wife, he stood taller in his sit, puffing out his hard chest, his exposed bruised neck more on display as a boyish grin struck his face.

"haha, okie~" a fit of giggles left his lips that made nanami exhale the hardest he had that evening. "please tell her I miss her and that I love her with all my heart."

come get your husband. he has no shame.

your phone buzzed in your pocket as a final puff left the remaining of the curses you just have exorcized. you checked the message sent by a good friend of yours, nanami. you couldn't help but laugh.

since you were called for a quick mission not too far from tokyo, poor satoru was left alone without his pretty wife. he insisted on going with you, however you reminded him of the house chores he had been avoiding the past weeks.

your husband had a habit of sending you recurrent messages whenever you were away. it could be him on a mission overseas sending you pictures of himself in every angle just to crack a smile on your face. or it could be him spamming you on texting him back if you left him on read by accident.

right now, it had been around thirty minutes since satoru had informed you he had finished his duties, sending you visual proof—he would often get away with it—and a dozens of messages declaring he missed you and was miserable without you, so he let you know he would be visiting nanami, probably because there wasn't anyone within his range he could bother.

what you didn't expect was the photo attached to nanami´s previous message.

satoru was sitting in a booth—probably in some bakery shop—with one of the biggest grins you had seen on his angelic face. his baby blue eyes were covered by his rectangular glasses and his white hair was a bit messy.

but what immediately caught your attention wasn't his toothy grin or his perfect jawline—it was the shameless exposure of his bare neck, where purple and red marks decorated the pale skin of his collarbones, neck, and trapezius.

the night before was a night. satoru made you feel so full that your eyes were at one point covered in tears of pleasure, your jaw as tight as ever as you took all of him so well. the carnal heat inside you was boiling and daring to explote, so you released it with snug bites on satoru's skin, anywhere within your range, making him groan and hiss in painful arousal. there were moments where you would almost chew on the rosy skin to suppress the loud moans. satoru took good care of you. but now?

your husband deliberately decided to wear that low collar sweatshirt you loved so much. but not right now! how was he so uncaring about showing the entire world your marital business?

a sighed left your lips as you replied to nanami with an "im coming," before departing your way to the place, already having the directions since satoru left his location on with you all the time.

"please dont ever do this, toru."

"then dont give me these hickeys! and dont leave me alone too much! I need to remind myself you still exist, baby."

"I was done with my mission in like two hours!"

"oh wow, you are getting stronger pookie bear."

taglist: @snwvie @fanficsforkicks

hello guysss, im working on other works because I have like so many ideas but it's kinda hard to write them all the way I want to. im also working on pt 2 of some works some of y'all have suggested. bare with me alr :]

[yoitsjay]

batboys and brat taming reader who is their best friend(whom they treat like a sugar baby) 👀

The wording confused me a little bit but I think I got it-

I'll take care of you.

Summary: your a brat, a best friend, and a pampered little whore. What else could you want?

Warnings: alluding to smut but none written, spoiling you rotten

Bruce Wayne:

You had known ol’ Brucie a long time. You liked to think of your friendship with him as quite stereotypical. A rich kid who befriends the poor, lowlife kid of a criminal who somehow managed to go to Gotham Academy.

Ever since you were children Bruce always took care of you, he supported you in whatever career path you chose, and when things didn't work out, you could always fall back on him and he would deal with it all. He'd offer multiple times for you to come live at the manor with him but you refused every time. (the bratty part of you just wanted to rile him up and see when he'd snap)

As you two got older, your friendship never wavered, in fact it only got stronger… and that's when the benefits really attached itself to the friends label. Bruce began refusing no for an answer, especially after a really rough run in with one of your abusive exes. He dragged your ass to the manor and set you up with a room, he started paying off any debts you owed, and he got you anything and everything you could ever want.

Yet you were still a brat… he could handle it though, because in the end he knew that your loyalty was his, and he would never betray that trust. He never wanted to lose you.

Dick Grayson:

Whether you were a family friend, or some stranger he saved / met on the street, you and Dick had become really close friends in such a short amount of time. You were both bratty in a way, and each had your fair share of breakups that you could complain about to each other.

You and Dick had a routine where you'd get together after each breakup, either at his house or at yours. You would show up with ice cream, snacks and other things.

and by the end of the night he'd have his cock shoved up your cunt, or your mouth and you both let out your frustrations.

Dick also spoiled the shit out of you. He paid your bills, and was more than happy to do so, he also bought you whatever you wanted, similar to Bruce, and you didn't even have to ask for half the things that he gifted you.

You didnt concider yourself a sugar baby, not until your friends were gossiping about Dick, and told you that he either wanted you to be his girlfriend, or he wanted to keep fucking you, so he spoiled you to gain favor.

either way you shrugged. “And in the end my bills are paid, i have no debt, and i'm happy and have an awesome friend. Sugar baby, girlfriend, I'm taken care of either way.” You told them, and they just laughed and carried on.

In terms of brattiness, he's the brat, always whining, clawing at you for attention, you gotta put that boy on a leash just to get a break, though you found a way to get him to do what you want…

just a spread of the legs.

Jason Todd:

He has no time for brats, he's a busy man, and he could easily have anyone else to have fun with, but he wanted you, wanted to hang out with you. You were Jason’s friend for who knows how long, so he learned how to deal with your attitude long ago.

Food, most of the time, more often than not, something shoved in your mouth… like his fingers… or his cock.

Just something to suck on, that's all you needed to be satisfied.

Though, he always goes out of his way to make you feel good too, maybe he doesn't spoil you with material items, i feel like Jason is a bit more sentimental, so instead he takes you out to nice restaurants, amusement parks, rage rooms lazer tag- anything and anywhere as long as he gets to spend time with you.

He has no need for a girlfriend either, because he has you, his best friend that he gets to fuck- whats better than that.

Tim Drake:

You're his assistant at Wayne Enterprises, you had been working under him for the past couple of years, since you were about 16 and started your internship there. You both went to the Academy too, so it was easy for you and Tim to fall into a routine together. He'd come to your place and pick you up every morning, you'd get coffee then go to school on the weekdays, then when you worked on the weekends he would come pick you up again, and instead you'd go to work.

You were and are the best damn assistant he's ever had, you had a fiery spirit and didn't let anyone talk down to you, you made people see you as an equal, always. Even Bruce appreciated the way you stood up for yourself and those around you.

You were also attentive to all of Tim’s needs. Yeah that's what an assistant did, but you did way more. And because of the things you did, he would give you constant pay raises, or bonuses for your hard work… Then he started picking up little nick nacks that he knew you liked, he started paying attention to your coffee order, and he'd go buy you coffee.

Best part was, you didn't even notice that he was spoiling you, but your coworkers sure did, and they started the gossip train about you being Tim’s sugar baby.

When it finally reached yours and Tim’s ears, you kind of gave each other a look from across the office.

And then you fell into another rhythm… every day at 2 o’clock during his facetime meeting, you'd be under his desk…

if you could make him break, he’d give you his black card.

This was an arrangement you could get behind.

Damian Wayne:

For some reason you caught his eye. Don't worry, it baffled him too. He didn't understand why he found you so exhilarating.

He hated it.

He talked to you, but he'd degrade you,make fun of you, every chance he got, but he'd always use it as an excuse to get close to you.

When it was time for the senior dance, he found out that you had a few guys asking for you to be their date.

He didn't like that.

One day in the hallway, he walked up to you and he practically shoved you into the lockers. “your going to be my date to senior prom.” He demanded.

You stared at him, an unimpressed look across your face. He stammered. “I- i mean…will- will you go to senior prom with me?” he corrected his sentence-

corrected his sentence! what have you done to him?? This cold, bratty batboy, the richest kid in gotham- and he was groveling at your feet from just one look on your face.

You've reduced him to- to… a simp.

Blasphemy.

Tag list:

All: @francesfarhadi @only-my-unexistent-fiances

Batfam:

BW: @ilaiise

DG: @ilaiise

JT: @ilaiise

TD: @ilaiise

DW: @ilaiise

[princesspenguin-1]

Illumi as a father headcanons:

Illumi is not the type to care about marriage, he never thought about it before and just worked to not let his family down. But once a turning point happened in his life and some of the responsibilities of the Zoldyck house fell on his shoulders, he married you at the behest of his parents.

Only on Silva's orders will he hint at a child to you. He will never rush things without a clear plan.

Before the birth of the child, you will be carefully examined by all possible doctors, and if any problems in your health are found, you will be forced to undergo treatment for some time. (not that this is bad)

During pregnancy, he will be quite caring, I do not think that he will be cruel to you in any way. The maximum will be rude words or sharp and painful touches to pacify his wife. But no more. He understands that he must in every possible way keep the child inside you, even if it means tolerating your whims and listening to your protests. (but do not be too spoiled, after all, a couple of needles in your body can change your behavior against your will)

Illumi raises her children in a gender neutral manner. Even if the first child is female (although a boy is preferred), Illumi will still have no problem raising her as his heir. Illumi is extremely caring and cautious, as we saw earlier he is very attached to Killua, but this will become even stronger for his own children. The first cry, step, word, achievement, all this will not be missed by Illumi's eyes, he is the one who is with the child 24/7.

Sometimes he takes one of the children with him on missions. Yes. From an early age, he taught them to see blood and not to disdain the dead.

So the children with steel immunity and calmness watch their father do his dirty work.

In the first years of the twins, they had "live" eyes, over the years they lost their shine and became similar to Illumi's.

Illumi spoils them with sweets, because he heard that in this way children can be "appeased and thanked". It is difficult for him to express feelings, but if there is candy, it is not difficult, right?

With the appearance of children, he became more tactile. Usually this manifests itself when he walks with them by the hand (in infancy he carried them in his arms) as well as when he trains them, showing and putting them in the right pose.

He feels strange when he does not have the opportunity to watch them, he must control everything. (this also applies to you)

Of course, he instills in them respect for elders. Any word he says (or the words of the elder Zoldycks) is law.

Children love Kikyo. Yes, it is true. As soon as she saw them little, she could not resist and picked them up, she often nurses them, remembering the times when Illumi himself was a baby. She constantly praises them and predicts the future of great killers. As they grow older, the children begin to imitate her character. For a long time, you and Illumi could not understand why your children at some point throw a tantrum or behave like spoiled brats, but seeing the analogy between them and Kikyo, everything becomes obvious.

(I really like these characters, maybe I'll write something else in the future)

[astraystayyh]

Somebody else

Hyunjin x reader. Exes to lovers. Miscommunication. Hints of past toxic relationships. Flawed characters and happy ending :)

Inspired from Somebody Else by The 1975, highly recommend listening to it while reading!

You and Hyunjin have broken up, guilt and blame simmering between you both. He doesn't care anymore, or so he thought. Then why does it hurt him to see you with someone else?

skz song series masterlist.

Strobing lights, vibrant streaks of blue and red ricocheting off your skin. Bodies pressed to yours, trying to fray themselves a passage to dance in. Someone bumps onto your shoulder but you don't care enough to even glance at them. Your eyes are fixated on Hyunjin.

You broke up two weeks ago, you don't even remember why. Petty arguments and even pettier reactions from both of you, your egos holding you back from saying what you truly feel. 

You hated arguments, especially with him. Because they reminded you of how much you cared for him, immensely so, how you regarded him as a part of your soul, one you couldn't part with. The mere thought of his departure left you feeling like a seashell washed ashore- hollow and condemned to echo the sounds of the ocean it was forcibly separated from. 

So, in the heat of the moment, you let anger pull you in her fiery hold- she's all encompassing, wrapping around you like a steel shield, making you less vulnerable in Hyunjin’s hands. But she also clouds your senses, and you find yourself uttering stupid nonsense, such as ‘Maybe we should break up’.

You’ve never thought about it, let alone wanted to end things with him. You wanted to take those words back as soon as you said them, to rewind the seconds and erase them from both of your memories. But then Hyunjin agreed, so easily, as if he was eagerly awaiting the bait you just threw at him. 'You know what? Maybe we should' and he left, slamming the door of your apartment. 

You stayed up all night, waiting for him to come back. He knew you didn't mean it, right? Surely, he understood that it was your feeble attempt to guard your wounded heart. It's been stomped on carelessly, thrown around enough that he must know you were just afraid.

But you haven’t seen him since.

And now you're both here, at the party that Changbin organized. He's your mutual friend and he insisted that you'd come as well. "Binnie, I don't want to."

"You both are just idiots who'll get back together. You’re coming," he silenced you, and you sulked in your place. But his words ignited something in you- a childish hope, that maybe he was right and Hyunjin still cared about you.

But all of it was shattered as you set foot inside Changbin’s house. It was easy to find Hyunjin, sitting in the middle of a couch, legs slightly spread apart. He was wearing a white shirt, its top buttons undone. You watched as he easily captured the attention of everyone around him, as they hung into his every word, admiring him. That's the thing with Hyunjin, it's easy to admire him, to crave being near him, because he's enchanting, and his laugh makes you want to make him happy ten times fold.  

You scoff bitterly, as someone places their hand on his arm and he doesn't move them away. He leans onto their touch and a surge of bile rises in your throat. Perhaps this is what you fought about- anger that cowardly hid behind it your insecurity at dating someone so sought after. It was foolish after all, to believe that the sun would get attached to a mere speck of light.

"You're here alone?" a voice interrupts your train of thought, and you turn around to find Chan. You smile at the familiar face, a welcome respite from the dull ache settling in your heart, making itself a home within your veins. 

"Our friends are all over the place," you explain, and he nods in understanding. "Changbin made me come but I don't know where he is," he whines, leaning closer to your ear so you could hear him over the pulsating music. 

"So, we're all here because of Bin?" you giggle and Chan's laugh fills the air, his dimples proudly on display. There was this comforting aura surrounding him, which made it much easier to breathe in his presence. And you needed to feel safe somewhere at this party, where all you saw were glimpses of Hyunjin and the hurt he inflicted on you. 

"Do you want to dance?" you ask, and Chan's grin widens in response, so you grab his forearm leading him to the makeshift dance floor.

Hyunjin silently watches as you and Chan dance with one another. He can’t see you properly, hidden by the swarms of bodies pressed together. But he gets glimpses of you each time someone moves a bit away. You appear to him like a mirage- something he once had and yet so unattainable right now.

I don’t want your body, but I hate to think about you with somebody else

Hyunjin is fine with the fact that you left him, that’s what he tells himself as he downs his drink. He’s used to people leaving after some time when he’s no longer enough. He did think that maybe things with you would be different, that for once, someone would stay. That you would shatter this idea ingrained in his mind- that he’s easily disposable, as someone told him a long time ago.

But you wished to leave him too, and for the first time in his life, Hyunjin wanted to beg someone to stay. He thought of pulling you in for a dizzying kiss, so you’d second-guess your decision, so he’d show you that he’s still good at something. But he swallowed this pathetic want and he left.

He walked slowly, thinking that maybe you’d follow him. You’d shout his name and then he’d turn back and run towards you. He’d throw his pride over his shoulder and he’d apologize.

But you didn’t.

So, he’s okay with it, or at least that’s what he thought. He doesn’t want you anymore. So why does it hurt to watch you with Chan?

Our love has gone cold you’re intertwining your soul with somebody else

An ugly thought rears itself into his brain. You’ve liked Chan long before you broke up with Hyunjin. Maybe the time you've spent with Chan, working on your musical project made your heart gravitate towards him, and you were simply awaiting the right moment to end things with Hyunjin. That’s why you’re smiling so effortlessly at Chan. That’s why he’s spinning you around, and holding your arm to move you away from a drunk couple.

Hyunjin lost you before he realized he lost you. Maybe when he laid next to you in bed you were thinking of Chan. Maybe it was his touch you longed for whenever Hyunjin hugged you. You wouldn’t be the first to do this to him. 

I’m looking through you while you’re looking through your phone and then leaving with somebody else

You’re laughing hard, and your hand is on Chan’s shoulder as he steadies you. But then you look up and your eyes lock with Hyunjin’s. He can only watch as the happiness slowly drains from your face, as you whisper something into Chan’s ear who then leads you outside. 

Hyunjin's heart sinks in his chest- he couldn't recognize you anymore, the affection once present in your eyes diluted to a mere semblance of indifference. And you still looked so beautiful to him, despite it all. He felt as if you were stabbing him with a rusty knife, and yet all he focused on was how soft your hands looked holding the bloody blade. 

Hyunjin gets up to pour himself another drink, shrugging away the hand of the person who was sitting next to him. He doesn’t want you anymore, he doesn't care that you're probably kissing Chan right now. But he secretly hopes that if he drinks enough, the faces all around him will blur until all he sees again is you.

No don’t want your body but I’m picturing your body with somebody else

"Are you okay?" Chan asks, his voice soft and concerned as you draw in a deep, shuddering breath. It feels as if there was no room in your heart anymore for oxygen, the ache for Hyunjin taking it all up.

"Is it bad that I miss him so much?" you ask, your voice sounding frail to your ears. 

"He misses you too. You know that, right?"

"He left, so easily. I don't think he does after all," you smile sadly. It hurt to utter those words out loud, because it made them feel much more real, intensifying the raw pain within you. 

"I’ve never seen him look so sad before," Chan points out and you know he's just trying to help, but it just further tears you apart. You don't want false hope, you don't want to build yourself a world where Hyunjin still wants you, only for it to be shattered afterward. 

"Can we talk about something else?" you plead and he nods, before sharing with you the ropes of his latest project. He's working on a ballad for once, and you listen attentively, allowing yourself to be absorbed in the intricacies he describes. It provides you a temporary solace, which then makes a frightening thought dawn on you. 

Is this how it will be from now on? Seeking distractions from the people surrounding you, in the hopes it will quest the thirst of the ache threatening to drown you? 

Oh, come on baby, this ain't the last time that I’ll see your face

"Yn!" Hyunjin calls out, breathless, watching you abruptly stop in your tracks. It's foolish and pathetic, but he couldn't resist following you when you bid goodbye to Chan. He was sick of the tumultuous thoughts swirling in his head. He wanted to hear them from you. It'd make accepting them easier.

"Leave me alone," you shout back, walking even faster and away from him.

"Fine, leave again. That's all you fucking do anyways," he yells angrily, frustration seeping into his words. It makes you pause once again, and you suck in a deep breath before marching back to him. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Chan? Out of all people?" he scoffs, ignoring your question. That's the only thing he kept thinking of. You and Chan, laughing, talking, dancing, the way you used to with him.

And come on baby, you said you found someone to take my place

"Fuck you Hyunjin," you spit out, turning around but he stops you, a hand wrapped around your forearm. Despite the anger cursing through him, his hold on you is still gentle. You can free yourself from him, easily.

"So, it's true, then? You replaced me with him?" Fresh pain swims in his eyes, and he makes no attempt to conceal it anymore. He was tired of pretending he was okay with you leaving.

"What is it to you, huh? You left me," you shout back, jabbing your finger forcefully into his chest. 

"I left? You're the one who said that it'd be better if we broke up!"

"It's not like you disagreed, huh? You probably felt so relieved that I handed you this outing, didn't you Hyunjin?" 

"Don't twist this on me," he says firmly, gripping your finger to halt your repetitive jabs. "Am I that easy to forget? Did I matter this little to you?" He questions, voice cracking with his every word. 

"Let me go," you plead, tears brimming in your waterline. 

"Answer me. That's the least you could do for me. I need to hear it from you." Hyunjin has never been this unguarded with you, searching your eyes with an intensity that shakes you to the core. He's asking and yet it feels as if he's just expecting you to say yes, to reiterate the idea drilled into his mind, to prove everybody right once again. 

"I didn't forget about you, is this what you want to hear?" you whisper, voice laced with excruciating exhaustion. "You're all I thought about for the last two weeks. I heard your voice in my mind more than my own. I even kept your opened drink in my fridge just in case you might come back for it." 

"You're killing me, yn," he shuts his eyes closed forcefully, as if your words physically pained him. "Didn't you tell me that we should break up?" 

"You don't understand," you shake your head, a bitter chuckle leaving you. "Everyone loves you Hyunjin. Everyone would fight to be with you. You must know it, and it's dangerous when someone knows they can easily replace you. I have no one to protect me so I tried to protect myself. I didn't think I’ll survive if you left me too."

"Everyone loves me?" he repeats, as a newfound emotion shines in his eyes. "Are you in this everyone too? Do you love me, yn?" his voice wavers, as the weight of his question hangs in the air. 

You feel as if the world around you stills, holding its breath for your response. You know that any possible future with Hyunjin rests upon the words you'll choose to speak. You already know the answer, even though you decided to not tell him. Out of all the emotions you've ever experienced, love still scares you the most. And you're afraid of what your confession will entail, of tipping the balance towards a crueler reality- one where Hyunjin doesn't return your feelings. 

"Please let me go," you beg, as a singular tear trails out of your eyes. 

"Look at me," he urges, desperation lacing his words. But you shake your head, unable to meet his gaze, afraid that he will peel all your defenses with it. "Baby, look at me," he calls softly, as he gently wipes away your tears. The nickname sounds so familiar coming from his lips, and it further crumbles your shaky resolve.

"Don't call me that if you're leaving, please," you beg and he smiles softly at you, hooking a finger under your shin.

"Can't you see I'm too in love with you to go again?" he whispers, the tenderness in his voice washing over you, casting a flicker of hope into your heart. 

"I'm scared too," he speaks again, placing your hand on top of his widely beating heart. "I'm scared and so tired, yn. Of feeling disposable to everyone around me. When you... When you told me it'd be best if we broke up, it felt worse than anyone leaving me before. Because it was you. And I really wanted you to stay." 

"I didn't mean it, I never thought of it even, I promise you. I'm so sorry." The words tumble from your lips in a rush, an earnest attempt to keep the hope alive, to prevent it from withering down. "Please stay. I love you, I truly do," you plead, no longer caring how vulnerable you sound in that instant. You curl your hand around his, and he intertwines his fingers with yours, squeezing them gently. And you feel as if the universe exhales in relief, resuming its usual course. 

"I never wanted to leave either. And when I saw you with Chan I thought I lost you for good," his voice is softer now, as if embarrassed of his own admission. "It hurt, more than I imagined it would." 

You press your forehead against his, closing your eyes to relish in the feeling of being so close to him once again. 

"Really?" you tease gently, a glimmer of a smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "You looked perfectly fine to me."

"What do you even know,” he mutters quietly, before pressing his soft lips onto yours.

[ssa-dado]

15 - Epistulae ad Lucilium

Aaron Hotchner x fem!professor!reader Genre: fluff... I think? Summary: Late at night, Aaron struggles to comfort his inconsolable son, Jack. Desperate, he turns to a book and a plush, gifts from you, which momentarily soothe Jack. However, work interrupts as another case calls him away, deepening the rift with his family. At the FBI, the team investigates a series of murders rooted in something up your alley. Warnings: DAD HOTCH DAD HOTCH DAD HOTCH, Haley being mad at him, CM case in detail. Word Count: 9.8k Dado's Corner: Not only did the brilliant mind of @c-losur3 inspired the "dad Hotch" part, but she also gave birth to Aaron "You sound exactly like her" Hotchner. Show her some love! This entire chapter is written from Aaron's POV. Fun fact: when he's with Jack, he’s simply Aaron. But the moment the phone rings, he shifts back into being Hotch. fun, right?

masterlist

It was late into the night, and the house was quiet... save for the soft hum of the baby monitor and Jack’s persistent cries echoing through the walls.

Aaron paced back and forth, cradling his crying son against his chest, his heart sinking a little more with each sob. He had tried everything - rocking Jack, singing lullabies in a low, soothing voice, even walking him in circles around the room. But nothing worked. Jack's cries, relentless and heartbreaking, filled the quiet house.

Jack was inconsolable.

Hotch was no stranger to pressure. He had faced down killers, stared into the eyes of danger, but this? This was different. This was Jack, and the stakes felt infinitely higher.

He had held off on trying this one last thing, but now, he had no choice. He paused, glancing at the small bookshelf in the corner of the room.  There, among the rows of children’s books, sat one that he hadn’t reached for yet tonight. His eyes settled on the small brown plushie sitting nearby that had arrived months ago in a giant cardboard box - your gift.

It had been an unexpected surprise, that day. A package too big for the porch had appeared, and if it hadn’t been for the Croatian postage stamp, Hotch might’ve thought it was a mistake. But no, he knew it was from you. You had mentioned in one of your letters that you were off to Croatia for a teaching stint, and he'd expected maybe a postcard or a quick note, but instead, there was this - a large package filled with something quirky, something that was so... you.

When Haley had seen it sitting by the door, she’d raised her eyebrows, eyeing the box with suspicion. “What on earth is that?”

Hotch had smiled faintly, already guessing. “It’s from her.”

Opening the package had been an experience in itself. Nestled inside was the plushie - a strange-looking creature Haley hadn’t immediately recognized. Her brow had furrowed as she picked it up, holding it at arm's length. "Is this... a brown skunk?" she had asked, her tone teetering between amusement and confusion.

But Aaron had found it endearing, charming in that odd, thoughtful way. Attached to the plushie's tag was one of your signature sticky notes, written in your unmistakable blue ink. It read:

"Hi Jack, meet your new friend, the pine marten. I read that humans are the greatest threat to the European pine marten, hope you can prove them wrong. He's a cool guy! He is also the national animal of Croatia (a privilege reserved for a select few). P.S. Here's your first word in Croatian: Kuna. It means marten."

Aaron had smiled at the note, his heart warming as he imagined you carefully writing out those words, taking the time to craft something special for his son. The gift was thoughtful, filled with meaning, as all your gestures were.

But that wasn’t all. Beneath the plush toy lay a small book, its cover adorned with a cartoonish pine marten embarking on what looked like an adventure. There was another sticky note stuck to the front:

"To Jack's parents: Here’s a complimentary book with the pine marten’s adventures. You’ll find translations in English, but I encourage you to try reading it in Croatian. Aaron, if you ever actually attempt it, give me a call. I’m always up for a comedy show."

Haley had chuckled at that, shaking her head. “I always wonder how she comes up with these ideas…”

Aaron, flipping through the book, hadn’t replied, too caught up in your careful handiwork. Each page was thoughtfully illustrated, with colorful hand-lettering in the margins. You had even drawn little pine martens on the sticky notes, making it seem as if they were the ones doing the translating. You’d put so much thought into it that he could feel it in every page he turned.

And somehow, since the day Jack was born, that pine marten plushie had become his favorite - maybe he could feel the love and care that came with it, the way only children could.

Now, as he grabbed the toy and the book, a small glimmer of hope sparked in his chest. Jack’s cries had softened just a bit when he saw the plush marten.

Maybe this would work. It had to.

Aaron sat down in the creaking rocking chair, gently cradling Jack against his chest as he carefully opened the familiar book. The title, "Male Pustolovine Kune Borove", made him smirk as soon as he saw it, the memory of his first attempt at reading it aloud bringing an amused warmth to his chest. The way he had butchered the pronunciation was miserably laughable, even to him. He was certain you had picked it just for that reason, knowing full well he’d struggle, probably just to get a good laugh out of him.

And, knowing you, he was probably right.

"Alright, buddy," He murmured softly, his voice a low and soothing balm as he turned the first page. "Let’s see what Kuna is up to tonight."

Jack’s tiny fingers instinctively reached out for the plush pine marten, gripping it tightly as he nestled deeper into his father’s arms. The gentle rocking and familiar sound of Aaron’s voice seemed to finally calm the little boy, his sobs quieting, his body softening against Hotch’s steady frame. As he read, Aaron’s hand gently brushed through Jack’s soft hair, soothing him further with each tender stroke.

“You know, buddy,” He murmured, more to himself than anyone, his heart swelling with affection, “the person who gave you this book is very special to me, she’s one of the most amazing people I know. Of course," he added with a soft chuckle, “you come first. But she’s right up there.”

Jack, too young to understand the words, let out a soft sigh, comforted by the warmth of his father’s embrace and the gentle rhythm of the story. As Aaron continued to read, his thoughts inevitably drifted back to you. They always did, especially in quiet moments like this. It felt natural, comforting even, to talk to Jack about you - someone who meant so much to him, yet had been far away for so long. Aaron had always wanted you to meet Jack, and speaking about you made it feel as if, somehow, it brought you closer to him, closer to them.

“Did you know,” he whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “she’s accepted a teaching position in Quantico? She could’ve gone anywhere, but she’s coming here. Closer to us. You’ll get to meet her soon.”

A small smile crept across his face as he thought about the letters you’d sent over the years. “Don't look at me like this, buddy, I liked getting her letters, even if she does like to make things difficult for me sometimes,” he said, glancing at the Croatian text in front of him with an amused sigh. “But I don't think I'm going to miss them, not at all. Not when she’ll be close enough to just… be here. And trust me, Jack, you’re going to love her, just like I do.”

Jack stirred slightly, his little hands gripping the pine marten even tighter, as if he already knew who his father was talking about.

He chuckled softly, glancing down at the beloved plush toy in his son’s arms. “You know, you’re inseparable from that pine marten all because of her,” Aaron said, his voice filled with warmth. “And here I am, reading you this story in Croatian... because of her too.”

He paused for a moment, watching as Jack’s eyelids began to droop, his tiny body relaxed against him. He couldn’t help the swell of love that filled him as he kissed his son’s forehead, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You’ll meet her soon, Jack,” He whispered, his voice soft and full of affection. “And when she holds you for the first time, I need you to do me a favor, alright buddy? You have to avenge me,” he said with a playful glint in his eye. “Because she’s never going to miss a chance to mess with me. So, when you’re in her arms, you give her a look - like this,” Aaron made his best serious ‘Hotch’ face, one of his famous stoic expressions. “Make her think you’re onto her.”

Aaron chuckled softly, the sound barely above a whisper in the quiet nursery, but then he leaned in closer to Jack, his voice dropping to a playful, conspiratorial tone. “And listen, buddy,” he whispered, “if she ever starts saying words that sound like ‘Hegel’ or ‘Plato,’ you go ahead and start crying, just like you did earlier. Alright?” He smiled, brushing a gentle hand over Jack’s soft hair. “In the Hotchner household, we’re lawyers, little man. We don’t have time for all that abstract philosophy,” he teased, his grin widening. “You just make it clear to her, no funny business, okay?”

Jack sighed contentedly in his arms, his tiny fingers clutching the pine marten as he drifted off to sleep. He kissed his forehead once more, the weight of the day finally beginning to melt away as he continued to read, the warmth of the moment enveloping them both.

Just then, Haley appeared in the doorway, her hair tousled from sleep and her eyes filled with frustration. "Aaron, is he still crying?" she asked, though her tone softened when she saw Aaron  sitting with Jack and the plush marten in his lap. "Are you reading him the brown skunk story again?" she asked, her voice a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

Aaron, too tired to defend himself, simply nodded. “It’s the only thing that works.”

Haley leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching them with a half-smile. “Does it put Jack to sleep, or you, Aaron?”

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed on the side table. The noise cut through the soft moment like a knife, pulling him back into reality. He knew what it meant before he even looked at the screen.

Another case.

Haley’s smile faded instantly, replaced by a familiar frustration that he’d seen in her eyes too many times before. She straightened up, her voice rising just a bit. “Are you serious? It’s the middle of the night, Aaron. You’ve barely been home, and now you’re leaving again?”

Hotch rubbed his forehead, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He didn’t want to go, not tonight. But he had no choice. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, already reaching for his phone. “It’s a new case.”

Haley let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head as she turned to leave the room. "Of course it is," she muttered, her words fading into the stillness as her footsteps echoed down the hall, each step a progressively quieter reminder of the growing distance between them.

Hotch's heart clenched, a sharp ache spreading through him as he stood frozen, watching her retreat.

The nursery felt unnaturally heavier now, the excessive silence thick and oppressive.

He looked down toward Jack, who was still nested peacefully in his arms, his tiny chest rising and falling in the soft, rhythmic cadence of sleep. The gentle glow of the nightlight bathed his son’s face in warmth, casting a tender light over the innocence of his slumber.

The small pine marten, nestled against Jack's cheek, stared back at Hotch with its beady, lifeless eyes, but it seemed to carry a weight of its own, its presence a reminder of the thoughtfulness and care that had come with it, a symbol of the love that lingered even in absence. Jack's fingers clutched the toy tightly, as if it were the one constant in a world where his father’s presence was becoming less and less frequent.

Haley's words, bitter and sharp, lingered in the air like a distant storm, a shadow that refused to leave. And as Hotch stood there, caught between the quiet of his son’s peaceful sleep and the echo of Haley’s retreat, he couldn’t help but feel the vastness of everything slipping through his fingers.

He wanted nothing more than to stay here, to hold his son and be present. But the buzzing of his phone on the side table pulled him back to reality. With a heavy sigh, he glanced down at the screen. His heart sank even further.

“Hotchner,” he answered, his voice clipped with resignation.

As JJ's voice filled his ear with grim details of the new case, the weight of Haley’s words pressed even harder against his chest. It was the same cycle, always the same. Each time he left, Jack would wake up alone, Haley would grow more distant, and the gap between his family and his job would widen. His guilt gnawed at him, a relentless ache that never truly subsided.

But he couldn’t ignore the call.

He never could.

---

Hotch arrived at the FBI building late, his mind still replaying the scene at home, the way Haley had looked at him with a mix of frustration and defeat. The team was already gathered in the briefing room, the fluorescent lights too harsh for the late hour.

He still felt the pull from the nursery, the warmth of Jack’s small body against his chest. But now, here, the weight of duty replaced it. He had to push it aside, at least for now.

“We’ve got six confirmed victims so far,” JJ began, her voice level but laced with tension. “But the local police didn’t connect the dots until the sixth victim. The MO keeps changing with each murder, which is why it slipped through the cracks for so long.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his mind snapping to the present. “The unsub might be experimenting. They could be evolving, trying to find their signature. Or…” he paused, considering the alternative, “we could be dealing with someone who’s familiar with different methods, someone who knows how to disguise their work.”

Gideon crossed his arms, his expression unreadable but intense, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. “What’s the timeline?”

JJ scanned her notes, her brow furrowed. “The first victim was found three months ago. Then the second and third within two weeks of each other. But the real concern is the escalation. Victims four through six were found in the past ten days.”

Hotch's mind raced through the details.

Three months.

Three months of missed opportunities. Every minute wasted in connecting the dots could’ve been a life saved. The guilt returned in a wave, a reminder of every moment he hadn’t been there, both at work and at home. He shook the thought off, burying it as deep as he could for now.

He had to focus.

“There’s no clear pattern in terms of location or victim profile,” JJ added, her voice quieter now.

“That suggests escalation,” Morgan said, stepping forward and leaning against the desk, his arms folded across his chest. “The unsub’s confidence is growing. They’re moving faster.”

Reid, who had been staring at the evidence board in silence, finally spoke up, his voice thoughtful and measured. “Changing MOs could mean we’re dealing with someone new to killing - experimenting with different methods. But,” he hesitated, “it could also mean there’s a purpose behind each change. The way the kills are evolving might have a deeper meaning.”

Hotch took a breath, grounding himself in the task at hand. “Gideon, Prentiss, Morgan,” he said, his voice taking on its usual command, though there was a subtle edge of weariness to it. “Head to the latest crime scene, we need fresh eyes on it. JJ, Reid, and I will meet with the local authorities and review their files. Reid, I want you to start working on the geographical profile, see if there’s any consistency in the locations.”

The team moved with purpose, their steps quick and deliberate as they gathered their bags and made for the door. But Hotch lingered, just for a heartbeat longer, rooted in place as a familiar heaviness settled in his chest. The guilt wrapped itself around him like a tightening vine, threading through his thoughts with every passing second.

It wasn’t just the weight of the case that pressed down on him - it was the aching truth that once again, he had chosen this, chosen the relentless pursuit of justice over the quiet, fleeting moments with his son.

He pushed the thought away as best as he could, but the ache remained, a constant reminder of everything he was losing while trying to save others.

---

There was nothing quite like the hollow hum of a six-hour flight to clear his mind, though the thoughts clung to him stubbornly at first, like shadows he couldn't shake.

As the plane crossed the first timezone, the weight of realization settled in: he would never be the husband Haley deserved, not in the way she needed.

By the time they passed the second timezone, another truth pressed against him like a bruise: he would never be the father he wished to be, not enough to erase the empty spaces he left behind.

But it was during the third stretch, as the world below darkened and the hum of the plane grew louder, that he understood the final piece of the puzzle. If he let these thoughts consume him, if he lingered too long in the ache of what he couldn’t be, he would lose the only thing left to him: his ability to be good at this, at the one thing that demanded his whole being.

As the plane descended, Hotch leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the cracks forming in his personal life, not now, not with a case like this waiting for him. The moment the wheels hit the tarmac, the emotional turbulence he’d been wrestling with needed to be packed away, stored in a corner of his mind that he could no longer afford to visit.

He was good at compartmentalizing, too good.

By the time he, JJ, and Reid stepped into the stifling heat of the local precinct, Hotch had already shifted fully into his role, his mind sharpening, refocusing on the case that had now become his only priority. The quiet turmoil of his personal life faded, replaced by the pressure of a killer they were struggling to catch.

The exhausted police chief approached them, his face haggard from sleepless nights and the mounting pressure of a case that had spiraled out of control. "We’ve been spinning our wheels on this one," the chief admitted, his voice weary.

He motioned to the evidence board, where the victims' photos were tacked haphazardly, a mess of lives lost without a clear thread linking them. “It wasn’t until the sixth victim that we started connecting the dots, and by then, we were already behind. These murders don’t make sense together.”

Hotch approached the board, his eyes moving methodically from one image to the next. The crime scene photos were brutal: faces frozen in death, bodies contorted, each one telling a different story. He took a deep breath and gestured toward the chief. “What have you got so far?”

The chief’s sigh was heavy. “Every victim is different. Male, female, different ethnicities, different ages. The methods vary too: strangulation, stabbing, blunt force trauma. It’s like we’re dealing with multiple killers, but we know that’s not the case. There’s something linking them, but we can’t find it.”

Reid was already pacing, his eyes flicking from the board to the map on the wall. His mind churned as he analyzed and reanalyzed the positions of the bodies and the evidence scattered before him. His hands traced invisible connections between the dots as he muttered to himself, sorting through the details that still felt elusive.

Hotch turned to Reid, his tone even but commanding. “Reid, what are you thinking?”

Reid didn’t tear his eyes from the board, his voice steady but quick as he processed the flood of information. “At first glance, it seems chaotic. The changing MOs, the lack of a clear victim profile - it all suggests disorganization. But…” He paused, picking up the file of the third victim, and his brow furrowed. “There’s hesitation here. The killer hesitated during the third murder. This wasn’t just random. This murder feels… intentional. Like the unsub was evolving or refining something.”

JJ moved closer, her gaze scanning the file Reid held up. “Intentional how?” she asked, her voice edged with the need to understand.

Reid pointed to the victim’s wounds. “Look at the pattern of injuries. The cuts are precise, controlled. The unsub took their time with this one. This isn’t just about killing, it’s about making a statement. It’s as if there’s a theme here.”

Hotch, his instincts alert, zeroed in on Reid’s theory. “A theme?”

Reid nodded, grabbing the other files and spreading them across the table like pieces of a fractured puzzle. “The first victim,” Reid began, pointing to the photo of a middle-aged man found in an alley, his body aged prematurely, his face drained of life. “Time. He was killed slowly, methodically.”

Hotch continued, understanding that the young doctor was onto something, “His watch was broken, and the time stopped at exactly midnight. He was forced to watch it happen, minute by minute. The unsub was playing with the concept of time, as if controlling it.”

Reid nodded and swiftly moved to the second victim, a young woman found posed in front of a mirror, her body displayed almost like a work of art. “The second victim represents virtue. She was strangled, but the way she was posed afterward - like a Madonna figure - suggests the unsub was making a comment on purity or morality. The unsub didn’t just kill her, they transformed her into a symbol.”

JJ glanced at the photo, her brows knitting together. “So, the killer’s trying to send a message?”

Reid’s voice picked up momentum, his eyes gleaming as he continued to unravel the pattern. “Exactly. The third victim, it’s the theme of friendship. He was stabbed multiple times, but the placement of the wounds shows care. Almost like the unsub was reluctant at first, then deliberately chose each strike. This murder represents betrayal, the wounds symbolizing a broken bond.”

Hotch’s gaze darkened as he took in the significance of each murder. “What about the fourth victim?”

Reid flipped through the files, landing on a young man found at a cemetery, his body arranged as if in sleep, with his hands folded over his chest like a corpse in a casket. “The fourth victim represents death itself. He was already dressed in funeral attire when he was killed. The unsub buried him halfway in a grave that had already been dug, leaving him in a liminal state, neither fully alive nor fully dead.”

JJ’s breath hitched slightly at the thought. “The unsub’s not just killing. They’re staging these murders to symbolize something deeper.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched as he processed the unfolding realization. “And the fifth victim? Religion?”

Reid nodded, pulling up the photo of a woman found in a church, her body draped across the altar, surrounded by religious symbols. “She was killed in the church, posed like a martyr. The unsub’s making a statement about faith, morality, and sacrifice. It’s almost ritualistic.”

Hotch’s gaze sharpened. “And the sixth? Freedom?”

Reid picked up the most recent file, the image of a man found in a wide, open field, his body scattered with wounds, as if he had been tortured for hours. “He was bound at first, kept restrained for days, but when he was finally killed, it was in an open field. The unsub let him go, only to take that freedom away in the end. It’s the ultimate act of control - giving the victim a taste of freedom, then ripping it away.”

JJ stared at the crime scene photos, her expression shifting from confusion to horror. “So, the unsub isn’t just experimenting with methods. They’re following some kind of philosophical framework, each murder connected to a larger theme.”

The word ‘philosophical’ hit Hotch like a trigger, and instantly, his mind began to drift. It was as if that word had become synonymous with you.

He barely registered the rest of JJ's sentence because the moment she mentioned philosophy, his thoughts were no longer in the room.

They were with you.

Over the years, it had become an automatic reflex. Any time the conversation veered toward deep concepts, philosophical debates, or ancient texts, his mind would latch onto memories of your voice, your insights. You were the one who could crack these kinds of cases almost effortlessly. The way you connected with these abstract ideas, how you always found the hidden thread - he could practically hear your voice explaining it, guiding him.

He missed you in moments like this, missed working by your side.

The cases felt heavier without your presence.

Especially now, with you back in Quantico, just within reach but not close enough. It made his itch for your partnership even more acute, more frustrating. You were always the one who could decode the intricacies of a mind like this. He craved your insight, your steady presence, the way you challenged him and calmed him all at once.

He could almost picture you now, sitting at your desk, flipping through files with that slight furrow in your brow as you connected the dots others couldn’t. This case felt like it was made for you, and the itch to call you, to have your insight cut through the confusion like a knife, gnawed at him.

It was more than just missing your professional brilliance, it was the familiar rhythm the two of you had shared, the way you could pick up on each other’s unspoken thoughts with a glance. You had always been in sync, a partnership that felt more like second nature than work.

His gaze stayed fixed on the board, but his mind was far from the room. "Focus on the first victim," he said, his voice low but more urgent than before. "The first kill is usually the most significant. What can you tell us about the theme of time?"

Even as the words left his lips, the thought tugged at him - he needed to call you. You would see what they were missing. And, truthfully, he just wanted to hear your voice again.

But he couldn't.

Not yet.

You were likely teaching, and the last thing he wanted to do was disturb you in the middle of class. Even though it was morning in D.C. and he knew your lessons wouldn’t start until the early afternoon, he could picture exactly what you were doing.

If he knew you well - and he did - you’d be hunched over your desk right now, a double espresso halfway emptied beside you, scribbling down notes for your upcoming lesson. Schemes, summaries, diagrams, anything that would help your students grasp the material. Every scribble was made with the same care and thought you always gave, just like the book you had gifted Jack.

He could see you clearly, writing as fast as you could, racing to keep up with the faster pace of your mind. On topics that especially interested you, your hand would move so quickly that the gel blue ink of your pen would smudge across the page. That was the only imperfection in your otherwise meticulous notes. But to him, even that smudge was a detail he cherished. It was another way you showed your heart and passion, pouring yourself into every word.

He couldn't interrupt that.

Not now. But the urge still lingered, and the longing to share this case with you, to hear your insight, gnawed at him with every passing second.

His attention snapped back to the present as Reid’s voice filled the room, his philosophical lecture flowing uninterrupted. Hotch hadn’t even noticed that Prentiss, Morgan, and Gideon had returned from the crime scene, now quietly listening to Reid’s ideas.

“Time, philosophically speaking, is a concept that has been debated for centuries,” Reid began, his voice steady and thoughtful. “Kant believed time was a construct of the mind, a way for humans to make sense of their experiences. Augustine argued that time is divided into past, present, and future, but none truly exist in the same moment-”

Before Reid could continue, Morgan cut in, shaking his head with a half-smile. “Slow down there, professor. Not all of us are ready for a PhD lecture on time.”

The brief moment of levity brought a faint smile to Hotch’s lips - barely there, just a twitch - but enough for Gideon to catch. It wasn’t the first time Hotch had heard this kind of deep dive into philosophical musings, and the memory was enough to stir something inside him.

You, again.

He could almost hear your voice over Reid’s, see you pacing, effortlessly turning philosophical debates into a practical narrative. There had always been an energy between the two of you, a mental chess game where each new idea or concept clicked together in a way that made even the most abstract notions understandable,at least to those who could keep up.

Across the room, Gideon noticed the change in Hotch's expression, the subtle flicker of something unspoken. He raised an eyebrow knowingly, understanding exactly where Hotch’s thoughts had wandered. He had seen this look before way too often now.

Hotch quickly noticed Gideon’s silent observation, his smile fading as his face hardened back into its usual stoic mask. He stepped toward Reid, signaling him to wrap it up, the professionalism sliding effortlessly back into place. As he passed Reid, he muttered just low enough for him to hear, “You sound just like her.”

Reid paused mid-thought, blinking in confusion. “Her who?”

Hotch didn’t answer.

The room seemed to still for a moment, the tension subtly thickening as the rest of the team exchanged glances. It wasn’t hard to guess who Hotch was referring to. Even though you were never part of the team, your presence lingered in moments like this, your intellect, your connection to him.

Everyone in the room knew it.

Before Reid could press the question any further, Hotch’s phone buzzed again, the sound cutting sharply through the quiet. The vibration echoed ominously against the table, pulling everyone’s attention. Hotch glanced down at the screen, his expression immediately hardening as he read the message.

“Another body,” he said, the grimness in his voice pulling the room back to the brutal reality of their work. His earlier thoughts of you were now pushed to the background, swallowed by the urgency of the case.

The unsub wasn’t slowing down. If anything, the kills were escalating, the pace quickening, leaving them scrambling to piece together the next part of the puzzle. Hotch could feel the pressure mounting, time was slipping through their fingers, and they still hadn’t cracked the philosophical code that would lead them to the killer.

But even as Hotch mentally prepared for the next step, a thought lingered at the edges of his mind: You would have seen it already. You would know what they were missing. It gnawed at him, the need to reach out, to hear your voice offering clarity. But there was no time for that now.

---

At the crime scene, something had shifted. This time, it wasn’t just the brutality of the kill that had the team on edge, it was the new element, a disturbing and cryptic message left behind.

Beside the body, stark against the wet pavement, was a large "X," crudely drawn, yet deliberate in its placement. The symbol, bold and unmistakable, seemed to pulse with meaning, as if it were taunting them, daring the team to uncover its secret.

The victim’s body told a different story: this murder was tied to the theme of lust. Everything about the scene - the suggestive placement of the victim, the meticulous positioning of the clothes, and the intimate nature of the wounds - hinted at the unsub's twisted interpretation of lust. But it was the "X" that radiated significance, a signature of sorts, demanding their attention and indicating a deeper layer to the crime.

Back at the police station, the air buzzed with tension as the team tried to decipher the meaning behind the mysterious mark. Hotch stood silently at the head of the room, his mind swirling with the ideas being tossed around by the team.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and scowled at the photo of the "X" on the evidence board. "What if this unsub’s just messing with us? Like on a treasure map. 'X marks the spot,' right? Could be their way of saying, 'Hey, look here, you're getting warmer.' Could be a taunt."

Reid, pacing near the board, rubbed his chin in thought. "Historically, an 'X' can represent a crossroads, a point of decision. In medieval times, it symbolized judgment - both in religion and law. It could indicate the unsub sees themselves as a judge, perhaps someone deciding the fate of their victims."

Prentiss chimed in, her voice thoughtful, eyes scanning the crime scene reports. "It might even be a form of signature. In some cases, killers leave marks, symbols to claim their work. Maybe it's less about us and more about the unsub marking their territory. This ‘X’ could be their way of saying, ‘This is mine.’"

As the ideas bounced around the room, Hotch remained unnervingly still, his eyes locked on the photograph of the bold "X" scrawled beside the body. The image seemed to pulse with meaning, but the answer eluded him, hovering just beyond reach like a word on the tip of his tongue.

Each theory felt plausible but incomplete, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. Hotch’s mind churned through the ideas, but something - something vital - was missing.

Gideon, who had been silently observing from the sidelines, finally stepped forward. He watched Hotch closely, noting the tension in his posture, the way his brow furrowed with concentration. Gideon knew Hotch well enough to see when he was wrestling with something more than just the case.

“You should give her a call,” Gideon said quietly, his voice cutting through the murmur of ideas.

Hotch blinked, pulled from his thoughts by the unexpected suggestion. “Why?” he asked, his tone guarded, though deep down, he knew exactly what Gideon was implying.

Gideon’s eyes held a knowing glint, his expression calm but certain. “She’s already a step ahead of us, Aaron. You know how she is. She can see the bigger picture, the themes, the patterns that might be slipping through our fingers. These murders, this complexity... she’ll catch what we’re missing. She always does.”

Hotch hesitated, the weight of your name hanging between them. You were the first person who came to his mind - philosophy had always been your language, and you had a way of translating the abstract into something that made sense, even in the darkest of cases.

But calling you felt so complicated.

“She’s got a lecture at the academy this morning,” Hotch said quietly, his gaze drifting away. “And even if she could help, it would take her hours to go through the files.” His voice softened, as if he were reasoning with himself as much as he was explaining to Gideon.

Gideon raised an eyebrow, his faint smile betraying how far ahead he had already planned. “That’s why I had Garcia send her the files yesterday,” he said smoothly. “She’s been going over them ever since Reid made the connection with the themes.”

He had anticipated this. Of course, he had.

Hotch straightened, the hesitation still tugging at him as he pulled out his phone. The urge to hear your voice, to let you guide them through the confusion, gnawed at him. He dialed your number, his thumb hovering over the call button for a second longer than necessary. The phone rang, and anticipation built with every ring until finally, you answered.

“I was waiting for your call, partner,” you said, your tone familiar and easy, as though no time had passed since you had last worked side by side. Your voice alone brought a sense of comfort, one that Hotch hadn’t realized he needed in that moment.

Before Hotch could respond, he picked up on the faint sounds of a classroom in the background - soft murmurs, the scrape of chairs, and the faint shuffle of papers. Then your voice came through, a bit more formal than usual, though laced with the familiar hint of humor. “Now you’re on speaker. Everyone, this is SSA Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief of the BAU.”

Hotch’s smile faded slightly, the weight of the situation settling in. “It’s an active case,” he cautioned, his tone firm but gentle, a reminder of the need for discretion. “The details are confidential.”

You laughed, the sound rich and unburdened by the darkness that often filled his days. “I know, I know. But Gideon told me I could bend the rules just this once, and you know that I’m the first one who always wants to play by the book. But sometimes you have to bend the law, because ethics are more important… just don’t write that down in your notes.”

Hotch shook his head, though the faint tug of amusement softened his otherwise stern expression. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured.

Then your tone shifted, growing more serious, more focused. “That ‘X’ isn’t just a letter. The way it’s drawn, the graphics - it’s too condensed. It’s too deliberate to be a regular ‘X.’ What if it’s not a letter at all? What if it’s the Roman numeral for ten?”

Reid, who had been silently pouring over the files, immediately perked up at your suggestion. His face lit up with recognition, as if a light had been switched on in his mind. “Yes! Roman numerals, that makes perfect sense. But why ten? What’s the significance?”

Hotch’s mind whirled as he stared at the photograph again, the symbol suddenly taking on new meaning. “In Roman numerals, ten doesn’t just represent the number, it signifies sequence. It could mean ‘tenth,’ like this is part of a larger series. The unsub could be following some kind of plan or pattern.”

Prentiss, still studying the details, looked up sharply. “What if this is the tenth victim? The police didn’t connect the earlier cases until recently. There could be other victims we don’t know about.”

Gideon nodded, his face unreadable but thoughtful. “That’s possible. The pace of the killings has picked up recently, but that doesn’t mean the earlier victims weren’t just as important. We might be missing the full picture.”

Your voice cut through the air again, focused and clear. “If that ‘X’ is the Roman numeral for ten, then Penelope should start pulling data from unsolved homicides in nearby areas, cases that might have slipped through the cracks. If there are other victims, they’ll be there.”

Hotch didn’t hesitate as he patched the call through to Garcia, his fingers moving swiftly. The line clicked over, and Garcia’s familiar, playful voice came through with her usual flair. “Spank me, teacher. I’ve been a bad, bad girl.”

Laughter erupted in the background on your end - the unmistakable sound of your students, likely stunned at hearing such an exchange from an actual FBI technical analyst. Hotch’s face remained serious, though he could picture the small smile tugging at your lips. You were probably trying your best to let it slide, convincing your students that it never happened and brushing it off as a figment of their imagination.

Or so he thought.

You didn’t let it slide, not at all.

You chuckled softly, your voice warm but teasing. “Penelope, I think we need to keep it professional this time. But if I weren’t engaged, I might just ask you to show me your Python. What do you think? Was that good enough?”

Of course, once again, you proved him wrong.

The laughter from your classroom grew louder, borderline hysterical now, clearly not expecting such a quip from someone like you. Hotch, despite his best efforts, couldn’t entirely suppress the smile tugging at his own lips. There was something about the way you matched Garcia’s banter, unexpected but effortlessly fitting. Still, the reality of the case loomed, pulling him back to focus.

“I knew it! Deep down, you’re a naughty girl just like me!” Garcia shot back, her voice full of mischief before quickly shifting gears. “All right, all right. Let’s get serious. Let’s see what I can dig up.”

As Garcia’s voice faded and the team fell back into their analysis, Hotch leaned back slightly, his thoughts racing. Despite the levity, a sense of weight pressed down on him. The murders weren’t just random - there was a deeper thread running through them, something that tied everything together, but it remained elusive.

“There’s something we’re still missing,” Hotch muttered, half to himself but loud enough for the others to hear. “Something that ties these murders together in a way we haven’t seen yet.”

Your voice came through the speaker again, this time with an edge of intensity. “What if the X isn’t marking the number of victims? What if it’s connected to something literary, related to the theme of that murder - lust?”

Reid, always quick to piece together intellectual puzzles, murmured, “It could be connected to a text, a framework. The killings are following themes, and they might be related to a specific work of literature.”

You continued, your voice growing more thoughtful, “The theme of lust makes me immediately think of Dante’s Inferno - the second circle of Hell, where the lustful are punished.”

Reid’s mind raced, picking up on your line of thought. “Yes! In Dante’s Inferno, the lustful are driven by uncontrollable winds, symbolizing the way they’re tossed by their desires. But… wait…” He paused, pacing in front of the crime scene photos pinned to the wall. “In the fifth canticle of The Divine Comedy, the second circle represents the punishment of lust. Multiply the fifth canticle by the second circle, and you get the number ten.��

Gideon's gaze intensified as he considered the details of the case. "This isn't just a random act. It’s carefully and mathematically calculated," he observed, his tone thoughtful yet troubled. "But something still feels off. The message should be clearer—it’s already masked beneath a Roman numeral. It shouldn’t involve any additional complexity like a multiplication."

Hotch's eyes brightened as the realization hit him, the missing piece finally clicking into place. “What if this isn’t just about the sin of lust?” he said, his voice sharper now with clarity. “What if it’s about the negation of lust? Maybe the unsub isn’t punishing the victims for acting on lust, but for failing to avoid it. It’s not about the act itself, but about their choice not to resist. You live a life of indulgence, and you die for it. But the real question is - how could they have saved themselves? What did they fail to do?”

Suddenly, your voice broke through again, sharp and full of clarity. “Living a life through reason: that’s the real theme of the murder. Epistulae ad Lucilium. Seneca the Younger. In the 10th letter to Lucilium – he talked about the importance of living a life through the stoic ideals, the key is self-control, avoiding indulgences like lust”

The room went silent for a moment as everyone absorbed what you had just said. Reid’s face lit up as he immediately followed your line of thinking. “Exactly! In the 10th letter he mentioned ‘Sed ut more meo cum aliquo munusculo epistulam mittam, verum est quod apud Athenodorum inveni: 'tunc scito esse te omnibus cupiditatibus solutum, cum eo perveneris ut nihil deum roges nisi quod rogare possis palam'.”

It felt like you could see the confused look on each agents’ face, even if you were in Quantico: “That translates to ‘But as is my custom with sending a letter with some small gift, it is true what I found in Athenodes: 'then know that you are freed from all desires, and with it you will come to ask nothing of God except what you can openly ask.'”

You further explained the meaning “For us mortals, it means that when you free yourself from wanting things for yourself, you reach a peaceful state. In this state, you will only ask for things that are good and honest, with nothing selfish or hidden behind your requests. To find inner peace by we need to let go of desires and living with clear intentions.” You paused “Wow Spencer how did you know the entire passage in latin?”

Hotch unintentionally cut off Reid’s response - who had been beaming from your recognition, his boyish grin spreading across his face as he began, “Eidetic memory, I read the entire book when I was only twe-.” But Hotch, ever focused, quickly steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Are you saying the unsub is following Stoic philosophy?” he asked, his tone sharp with urgency, seeking clarity in your analysis.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steady and thoughtful. “The killings are modeled after the teachings in Epistulae ad Lucilium - also known as Letters from a Stoic.” Hotch swore he could hear the hint of a suppressed giggle on the other side of the phone, but you quickly returned to the matter at hand.

“These letters weren’t just philosophical musings; they were moral teachings. Seneca was writing to his student, Lucilium, urging him to live a life governed by reason, virtue, and restraint. Each letter deals with a specific theme - like friendship, time, death, religion, virtue, and freedom. Seneca believed that by controlling our desires and passions, we could free ourselves from the things that enslave us - namely, emotions like lust, greed, and fear. Sound familiar, Unit Chief?”

Before Hotch could respond to your unexpected jab, your tone shifted back to focus on the case. “In these killings, the unsub is punishing people for failing to live up to Stoic ideals. The crime scenes aren’t random at all: they’re deliberate, calculated representations of the failures Seneca warned about. The victim of lust was killed because they lacked control over their desires, which is a fundamental tenet in Stoic philosophy. It’s not the first letter Seneca wrote, and it certainly won’t be the last.”

Reid jumped in, clearly excited by your insight. “Exactly! Each murder is a representation of one of Seneca’s letters. The victim of lust was killed because they didn’t live a life of restraint, but the other murders also follow this pattern. Virtue, time, friendship, freedom, religion, death - they all correspond to themes Seneca explored in his letters. The unsub is picking people who fail to live up to these ideals and killing them as if it’s a lesson.”

Morgan, still crouched beside the latest crime scene photo, looked up, his expression darkening as he tried to connect the philosophical themes with the brutality of the murders. “So we know why the unsub is killing—to punish people for failing these ancient ideals. But how does this help us catch them?”

You spoke again, the gears in your mind turning quickly. “There’s something else you need to consider. If these murders are following Seneca’s teachings, then we know there’s a deeper message behind each kill. Seneca’s letters were instructional, they were lessons written for his student, Lucilium. So if we think of these killings as lessons, then it’s possible the unsub isn’t just acting alone. They’re teaching someone.”

JJ frowned as she processed your theory. “A message... to who? Who’s the student in this scenario?”

Gideon, who had been silently contemplating the unfolding theory, stepped forward, his voice grave. “The unsub is taking on the role of Seneca, but every Seneca has a Lucilium. They’re not just killing; they’re teaching someone. These murders are lessons, each one showing their ‘student’ how to live, or rather, how not to live.”

Hotch, his mind racing with the implications, pieced it together quickly. “So there’s a ‘Lucilium’ out there, someone the unsub is guiding. Someone they’re grooming, possibly teaching how to kill.”

Prentiss straightened, her face hardening as the realization sank in. “Which means we’re not just dealing with one unsub. There’s a mentor and a student. Seneca is teaching Lucilium to follow this twisted moral code.”

Hotch stepped back from the evidence board, his brow furrowed as the weight of the case began to fully reveal itself. “We’re looking at two unsubs. The one we’ve been calling ‘Seneca,’ who’s leading these murders, and a second unsub, ‘Lucilium,’ who is learning from them. The second person is still in training, which means we have a chance to stop them before the lessons are complete.”

There was a heavy silence in the room as the team absorbed the gravity of the situation. The realization that they were up against not just a killer, but a teacher guiding an apprentice, added an entirely new layer of urgency to the case.

You broke the silence again, your voice more serious than before. “If you find ‘Lucilium,’ you’ll find Seneca. But there's more. In Epistulae ad Lucilium, Seneca also discusses two more themes that haven’t yet appeared in the murders: slavery and the crowd. If the unsub is following the structure of Seneca’s letters, then we know what to expect next.”

Gideon, always focused on the broader picture, spoke with quiet authority. “If Seneca is teaching Lucilium how to kill, it means Seneca has a criminal record. No one just starts teaching murder out of the blue. Garcia, start running a search for known offenders with a background in philosophy, particularly Roman and Stoic philosophy. Look for connections between any of these offenders and known students or proteges.”

Garcia’s voice crackled through the speaker, her usual lightheartedness replaced with focus. “Already on it, boss. Cross-referencing every offender who’s mentioned Seneca, Stoicism, or anything close. I’ll narrow it down as quickly as I can.”  

---

Back in his office, Hotch sat slumped in his chair, exhaustion pulling at his every muscle. The scattered papers in front of him were neatly organized, but his mind was a tangled mess, caught in the lingering grip of the case.

This one weighed heavier than most, the usual closure that came with catching an unsub evading him. They had barely stopped him in time, so close to another life being stolen under the theme of slavery. The image of what could have been haunted him, the brutal calculation of the murders, the way each victim had been a lesson, twisted and final.

Hotch's weary eyes drifted toward the window, where the darkness of the night had now just settled in, casting heavy shadows across his office. The weight of the case pressed down on him - how close they'd come to failing, the lives that had hung in the balance. It wasn’t just the exhaustion in his bones, but something deeper, a quiet, lingering ache that refused to let go.

The near miss with the last victim, the theme of slavery still fresh in his mind, gnawed at him in a way most cases didn’t. Just as the silence became suffocating, a soft knock at the door broke through, pulling him from his spiraling thoughts. Without looking up, his voice low, he said, “Come in.”

He assumed it would be Gideon. They still had loose ends to discuss, details of the case to tie up before the night slipped any further away. He braced himself for another long conversation, expecting Gideon’s familiar, steady presence to fill the room.

The door creaked open, and someone stepped inside. Hotch didn’t glance up at first, still scribbling notes on the corner of a file. But the sound that followed wasn’t the shuffle of Gideon’s footsteps. Instead, there was a lightness, a familiar cadence, and Hotch frowned in confusion.

“Jason?” he asked, looking up, only to freeze as his gaze met yours.

You stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “You really thought I was Gideon? You’re slipping, partner.”

For a second, he was caught off guard. He offered you a soft smile, one that came more easily than expected. “I wasn’t expecting you.” he said, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

You sauntered in and sat down across from him, the easy confidence in your posture disarming him further. “Well, you should always expect the unexpected from me, right?” you teased, your smile growing.

Hotch chuckled softly, the sound surprising even himself. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this, missed you. He’d been so focused on the case, on the mission, that he hadn’t let himself dwell on it. But now, sitting across from you, the memories of all those years working together rushed back, hitting him harder than he anticipated.

Hotch’s gaze softened, but there was a heaviness behind it. “Your help was crucial. We never would’ve figured it out without you. The connections, the philosophy, it was all you.”

You waved him off, shaking your head as if brushing aside his praise. “Reid deserves the real credit,” you insisted. “He’s the one who picked up on the themes firsthand. I just... connected the dots. Besides, I was only on the phone. You and the team did the real work.”

But Hotch wasn’t about to let you downplay your role. “You did more than connect the dots,” he said firmly, his eyes holding yours. “You always see things others don’t.”

For a moment, your teasing demeanor faltered, replaced by something softer, more sincere. You held his gaze, and for the first time since you’d walked in, the banter between you faded into something deeper.

You broke the silence first, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Careful, partner. Compliments like that might go to my head.” The dynamic between you two had always been one of mutual respect, even if it was sometimes hidden behind teasing and banter. Now, after all these years, it felt even more significant.

His expression softened even more, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as well. It was in moments like this that he realized how much he missed you being a constant in his life. Even though you were closer now, taking a teaching position at Quantico, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough. The case had stirred something in him, made him realize that the distance between you wasn’t just physical.

“So,” He asked after a moment, his curiosity piqued, “what brings you here? Shouldn’t you be celebrating, considering we finally cracked the case?”

You raised your eyebrow, giving him a look as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “I’m here for the paperwork, of course.”

He blinked, taken aback. “Paperwork? You helped us close the case; there’s no need for you to be bogged down with reports. I won’t let you do that.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you leaned forward. “Oh no, partner. I deserve to fill out each one of those reports, especially since I might’ve bent a rule or two helping you out under the pretense of ‘teaching material.’” You gave him a cheeky grin, but he could hear the seriousness beneath your words. You weren’t just here to wrap things up, you wanted to take accountability.

“I already told you,” He said, his voice firm but warm. “It’s my team, my case, and I’ll take full responsibility. I’m not going to let you do the paperwork for bending a few rules.” He was firm in his stance, not wanting to drag you into the mess of administrative fallout.

But of course you didn’t back down. “Arguing with me is a waste of time, partner. Let me do the paperwork. We both know if you let me handle it, you’ll get out of here sooner.”

Before he could protest, you leaned in with a grin that hinted at something more. “And if you get out of here at a decent time, you, Haley, and Jack can come over for dinner. Pete’s been looking forward to meeting you two after all this time, and I’ve been dying to meet Jack.”

He froze for a moment, surprised by the invitation.

Dinner?

With you and Peter?

The thought had never crossed his mind, and yet, hearing you suggest it now sent a strange warmth through him. “Dinner? You never mentioned this.” he echoed, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

You smirked, crossing your arms. “Yes, Aaron. Dinner. Pete’s already planned it, and I figured using food was the best way to bribe you into giving me those reports.”

He chuckled, a warmth spreading through him at the thought of the invitation. “Dinner, huh? What’s on the menu?”

You gave him a smug look. “A few Mediterranean recipes I’ve been perfecting. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

He raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re not going to poison me, are you?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’ll never know unless you hurry up and let me help with those files.” The tension between you broke, and he shook his head, smiling. But before he could respond, you added, “Want to bet I can finish the paperwork faster than you?”

He leaned forward, his voice playful now, catching onto the game. “And what happens if I win? You’ve never beaten me in a bet before.”

You leaned in just a little closer as well, close enough for him to catch the soft, fading notes of your rose perfume, lingering faintly after a long day. There was a glint of mischief in your eyes as you matched his tone, voice low and teasing. “You tell me.”

Without missing a beat, Hotch's playful expression shifted, his eyes growing more serious, though there was a flicker of anticipation that softened the weight of what he was about to say. The words came out before he could second-guess himself, as if they'd been lying in wait, building with every shared glance, every passing moment between the two of you.

“If I win,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something deeper, something vulnerable, “you come back to the BAU. You work with me again, together.”

His heart thudded in his chest, each beat a reminder of the space you had left behind when you had gone, a void he had tried to fill but couldn’t.

He hadn't expected the words to feel so heavy once they were out in the open, hadn't realized how much he wanted you back, not just for the casework, but for the way you steadied him, the way you saw through the layers he kept so tightly wrapped around himself.

He watched your grin slowly fade, your eyes searching his as if you were weighing everything, and for a moment, he wondered if he'd pushed too far, revealed too much. But then he remembered the years you had spent together, the unspoken trust, the way you could read him just as easily as he could read you.

The silence stretched between you, thick with shared history and unspoken feelings, until finally, you broke it.

 “We’ll see, Aaron,” you said quietly, your eyes holding his. “We’ll see.”

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @cuddleprofiler ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @kyrathekiller ; @lorereid ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @prettybaby-reid

Dado's Corner pt.2: Here's a pic of Kuna the pine marten - aka Jack Hotchner's fav plush toy

[thehigherseekerastro]

Astrology Observations: Non-chart Edition 💻

This is just a quick post, a short list of astrology opinions – my own –, about the world of astrology online itself, not the actual placements described, but that I think are worth noting to help better analyze and understand the astrology content found on the internet. Enjoy!

(♠) (♠️) (♠️) (♠️) (♠️) (♠️) (♠️) (♠️) (♠️) (♠️)

Beware of "roasting placements" posts –

regardless if it's on Tumblr, X or TikTok. Those are VERY broad "descriptions" (if we can call it that). Anybody who understands how astrology works would never generalize to such a level that they think they can roast an entire placement, as if there was only one possible manifestation for that placement. There's an entire chart that is very unique to everyone. Your (and other people's) chart can be set up in a way that makes you behave the complete opposite of that stereotype, so people can't just be accusing others of things without knowing them lol.

Not to mention that they are usually plain rude and ignorant for no reason, just to be spiteful.

Astrology is not "Projection Land" –

so don't use it to, nor fall for someone else doing it. It's nobody's excuse to trash their ex, their mother, the friend they had a falling-out with, through you, making you feel horrible about yourself, just because they are projecting their own feelings onto a particular placement.

So, yes, there are patterns to signs, placements and even elements, but that needs to be handled with a lot of responsibility. It needs careful analysis, and the person needs to be able to separate their personal grievances from the actual information before they vomit their disdain on the internet where anyone can see. I always make sure to include a blend of positive and negative POSSIBLE manifestations of placements, and I make that clear, so that people know it's a MAYBE, and also not about everyone. It's not to insult others, more so to inform them of what you should be aware of IN CASE THEY ENCOUNTER IT.

So the people who are like "X-Y-Z placements are TRASH!!!! I dated so and so and it went horribly blah blah blah"...

Keep on scrolling. Move along. They're bitter and they're either trying to make you feel horrible too or antagonize you against someone else. Remember: misery loves company.

Don't use astrology to save face either –

so don't be hyping up your own toxic trait that is in fact present to excuse yourself.

"Oh, Tauruses are stubborn," (stereotype) "but that's because they are consistent and see things through."

NO, BABY. Tauruses are consistent AND they can be annoying as hell with their stubbornness and acting a fool, but still refusing to act right. The two things can coexist.

If you happen to manifest one of the more challenging stereotypes of a placement, it's not there for nothing. It's a lesson for you to work on and heal as soon as you're made aware of it. So don't be using astrology to justify staying in your troublesome habits just because there might be a quality attached to it. That's not maturing and growing. Growing is realizing all things work in balance, and there's downsides and potential to most things. So hone the positive aspects of that placement, but continue to try to heal the challenging ones.

Avoid astrology content creators who use their blog/profile as their little Burn Book –

just attacking people and placements right and left. "This sign is manipulative!", "that planet in such house is a jealous and bitter person!", "females with such rising are fake!".

They don't know shit. They just want to air out their anger. If you absorb it, that's on you. So, if you notice somebody only has negative things to say all the time and never praises anybody... RED FLAG.

And yes, I'm also talking about the people who exclusively make content like "How will your relationship end based on your 12H in Composite", "Synastry aspects that indicate you will be cheated on", "Signs of a narcissist in a birth chart", and just overall fear-mongering and negativity.

Avoid astrology content creators who use their blog/profile as a space to boast and compliment themselves –

because it also happens often, and it's usually a combo with the previous one I mentioned above. They shit on everyone else, but the placements they love and praise are ~ coincidentally ~ their own.

If you see a take that starts with defending or praising a placement a lot and it is followed by "because we are...", I'd immediately log off.

It's one thing to speak from experience and empathize. It's another to be like "Virgos aren't judgemental, because I'm a Virgo and I'm the best person on the planet, you're the problem if we don't like you!"

Again, people who cannot be self aware should not be sharing advice or opinions on other people. They're attention seekers. And surprisingly, it's often NOT the people with Leo placements.

CAUTION WITH THIS ONE, as I'm making a broad observation that is not describing everyone, just a pattern I see often, but my perspective could be limited here –

like I said, from most problematic posts I've seen, and I've seen quite a few, it's not from people with the stereotypical "egotistic and self obsessed" signs, like Leo, or even other fire signs.

I've seen it most often happen with people over-praising their personal EARTH placements, and then attacking everyone else.

Which to me makes sense, because when an Earth placement is great, they're GREAT! But when they're not... Good luck convincing them that they are just a human being and aren't better than everybody else and always right. You'd have to be constantly hammering the cold harsh reality on their face 24/7 to keep them humble. (A job only fire sign placements are up to, bc they don't give a shit if you're offended, and don't get tired of having to fight to death).

Earth signs being preceded by fire signs means their need for validation and praise is often hidden from plain sight, but it's deep within them. And being opposed by water signs can mean falling into delusions of how they actually impact the outside world, often overestimating their value.

So if you mix that with the Earth practicality and pragmatism, it becomes very hard for them to see that they will not feel more in control if they criticize everyone else around. It's them judging themselves, but not knowing how to deal with that self-hatred, so they project it onto others. Just because one got a lot to say doesn't mean they should, nor that what they have to say is correct. People CAN be loud and wrong, and these types of folks over here on these posts often are.

The top 5 most judgemental and lacking self-awareness I've seen here on Tumblr are:

Virgo

Capricorn

Aquarius

Sagittarius

Taurus

Apply it to (rising, sun, moon, Mercury and Mars).

PS: This is very specific within the context of astrology content creators. I'm not saying all of the people from those signs and element are like that, or attacking them personally.

Women are not perfect. Men are not inherently bad –

so also be cautious of people who trash any type of men, regardless of their sign, planet or houses, but claim only the women of that sign are good.

Yes, we know that, systemically, our society is patriarcal and men's toxic behaviors tend to be encouraged, so it's not uncommon to run into issues with masculinity. Regardless of that, men are human beings. And so are women. Everyone has potential for good and bad inside them.

"Cancers - all the men are cheaters and manipulators! But the women are the sweetest people you will ever meet!"

No. Cancer when it's expressed in its most toxic side is highly manipulative and fake. Which is historically a "skill" used by women to survive in this world. So if you run into a "good Cancer man", he will be a light in your life. If you run into a "bad Cancer woman", that'll be even worse, because she will be a horrible person, all the while projecting an image of innocence and acting like she has no idea what you're talking about and is just a sweet victim.

(just look at Ariana Grande, for example, and her history of cheating on her partners with other men who were ALSO in committed relationships at the time, ever since she was 21, but she always tells her stories as if she's the one getting unfairly bullied and that people are making stuff up about her.

I'm not making personal judgements about her, because I don't know her personally. I'm just using her as an example of the same cheater-manipulator dynamic people attribute to all Cancer men, applied to a Cancer woman).

Use your critical thinking skills. Again, that's a projection. Specially if someone goes as far as making an extreme comment like "ALL MEN of the zodiac are trash"... That's clearly a lot of bitterness, hurt, and bad PERSONAL experiences, that they are now vomiting onto the internet.

Men and women are equally beautiful creatures, each dealing with their own sets of potential and challenges. Astrology doesn't pick and choose, and certainly does not care about hookup culture or the dissolution of human relationships in the 21st century.

Just because someone is talking about spiritual practices does not mean they are evolved –

anybody can talk about anything. That means nothing. Does not mean evolution. Does not mean maturity. Does not mean understanding. Does not mean knowledge. Does not mean awareness.

So don't think that just because someone has an astrology blog or they say they're an astrologer that means they are some evolved soul, wise beyond their years and with only good intentions. Oftentimes, people will obsess over analysing others to avoid taking a long hard look at themselves.

As I've given many examples here, many people can be using astrology to live out the most childish and troubled parts of their personalities and character. And instead of identifying those challenges in their chart – since they claim to be such fans of astrology – and working on them, they prefer to hop online and start pointing fingers at other people and their lives.

Now, let's also exercise our own empathy here and understand that sometimes those people themselves don't even realize their struggle. They're a human, after all. So it's up to you to curate what you consume and how you consume it. Don't discredit people's experience, but also, do a background check on the info before you internalize it, because a lot of the times people will be hurting you without realizing they're just looking for company in their sadness. They'll convince themselves they're helping.

Be conscious in YOUR OWN spiritual journey and learning. Know who YOU are. And then other people become helpers along your path, not the commanders of your destiny.

That is it, my dears. I hope this was clear to understand and it was helpful. Hopefully, it will aid in your understanding of things when you come across astrology posts online, leaving you less confused as to what is and isn't pertinent. And I hope it sends you on a path towards good and love.

Be well! ❤️

MASTER LIST

[cannibalizedlove]

Timothée Chalamet (characters) x Male reader headcannons

Information and warnings — smutty and fluffy head cannons, head cannons for my favorite timmy characters, kink head cannons, all male x male ideas.

Hal, The King.

- Obsessed with showing you off, you’re his consort, and he makes it known.

- Absolutely possessive and will have anyone who looks at you for too long be beheaded.

- Loves spoiling you, you live in absolute luxury.

- Takes you horse back riding all the time, it’s his favorite activity to do with you.

- Trains you in combat even though he knows you’ll never need it, he’ll always protect you.

- Degrader to the max, he loves letting you know you’re below him.

- Loves when you worship him, definitely more of a receiver than giver.

- Completely vocal, a slew of groans, curses and degrading remarks never stop leaving his mouth.

- Dom for sure, he’s too prideful to be below you, but if you beg enough, maybe he’ll let you inside him.

- Definitely into pet play, you’re his mutt and he makes it known.

- Always adding “my” infront of pet names, degrading or not. Ex: My sweetheart, my pathetic boy, my whore.

- Kinks including; cock worship, breeding, power imbalance, exhibition, humiliation (giving), sadism, impact play, pet play.

Laurie, Little Women.

- He’s always writing you love letters.

- The biggest sweetheart and an even bigger flirt.

- Takes you to see all the newest films, and pays more attention to your reactions than the film itself.

- Your relationship is hidden, due to the time period.

- He treats you like a bestfriend in public, simply for the safety of the both of you, but loves you like a dog behind closed doors.

- Laurie waited until you told him you loved him before he made any sexual advances, he wanted it to be purely making love; not having sex.

- He always will treat you first, you’re his everything, of course he’ll get you off before himself.

- Not the most vocal, but definitely not silent.

- He prefers to let out soft moans and quiet praises rather than being vocal and over the top.

- Obsessed with sucking you off, and more so the faces and noises you make during it.

- He’s a sweet boy, the most intense he gets is probably the occasional slap on the ass when you look too good.

- Kinks include: praise and breeding, otherwise he’s mostly vanilla.

Lee, Bones and All.

- Absolute lover boy, attached to your hip.

- He’s a complete house husband, always cooking you something when you get home.

- If you’re also an eater, he’ll always make sure they’re not a threat anymore before even letting you see the body.

- If you’re not an eater, he’ll make sure to only feed off of people who are a safe option, he never wants you to have to see him hurt.

- He’s always singing country tunes to you in the pick up, and holding your hand as he drives.

- If you’re ever called any slur while you’re out with him, he’ll tell you to run along before feasting on them.

- Lee’s a big crier, anytime you hug him and tell him you love him, the waterworks come out.

- He’s out and proud, he doesn’t care about any homophobia and constantly talks about his boyfriend.

- For a long time he refused to have any kinky sex, he was terrified of hurting you and never wanted to talk down on you; you’re perfect to him and he never wanted you to think any less.

- When you told him that it was okay, and you wanted him to be more aggressive in the bedroom — he gave you that exactly.

- He’s obsessed with making you suck on his fingers, and loves staring down at you while you do.

- Loves giving you handjobs and watching you squirm.

- Lee fucks like a rabbit, fast and hard, and for hours.

- Ties you up and blindfolds you while playing with your cock.

- He was surprised he enjoyed being topped, but still gives you directions while you’re inside of him, top or bottom; he’s definitely the dom.

- Kinks include: Bondage, sensory deprivation, daddy kink (both ways), exhibition, gagging, praise and degration.

Elio, Call Me by Your Name.

- Always taking you to parties, showing you off to everyone.

- Loves dancing with you, and pushes you out on the dance floor before you can say no.

- Annotates books and lends them to you, asking if you liked the parts he highlighted.

- Takes you swimming constantly, always throwing you into the water and laughing when you yell at him.

- Plays songs for you every time you come over, telling you you’re as handsome as the piano’s melody.

- Bikes out to the markets early to bring back gifts as soon as you wake up.

- Flops onto you and holds you tight when he cries, never ashamed to be himself with you.

- When hes angry he’ll throw things in his room, and you always help him fix them.

- Likes when you hold him like a child and read to him, and has fallen asleep many times while sucking on your chest or neck.

- Always sneaking you past Mafalda in the late hours of the night.

- 100% whiney and whimpery, you have to kiss him to swallow his drawn out moans.

- Loves receiving head, and thinks you’re magic the way you work his length.

- A switch but prefers when you take control and use him.

- Obsessed with just going dumb, he wants you to control him, make decisions for him and use him whenever you want.

- Cries often during sex just from the sheer overwhelming pleasure, always begging you to hold him through the tears.

- He’s definitely into being your pet, just being a complete boytoy for your use, enjoying being your lap dog.

- Calls you Mister and begs for your attention when he’s needy.

- Kinks include: Orgasm control, pet play, age play, free use, edging, dry humping, spanking.

Paul Atreides, Dune.

- Another absolute lover boy.

- He had dreams about you for months, and when he first saw you his heart skipped a beat.

- He’s completely devoted to you, he thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread and doesn’t dare to give anyone the amount of attention he gives you.

- Paul absolutely yearns for you, he feels like a piece of him is missing when he can’t see his boy.

- He offers to train you, even though he knows you’re much, much better than him.

- During nightmares he wakes up in cold sweats and sobs into your chest, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

- He always tries to call the largest sandworm to impress you, and offers you a ride every time.

- Paul isn’t a very sexual person, but he enjoys pleasing you whenever you ask him.

- He always goes slow and holds you the whole way through, being as gentle as he can be.

- He has a fantasy about using The Voice on you, but is much too nervous to tell you about it.

- Kinks include: He enjoys calling you mommy sexually or not, (yes even if you’re a man, he’s got serious mommy issues), praise kink, vanilla.

Kyle Scheible, Lady Bird.

- After Lady Bird, Kyle worked on himself and found that he was head over heels for you.

- You were nervous due to his reputation, but decided to give him a chance and hes forever grateful for that.

- He’s still a bit of an asshole, but in an endearing way, you love how passionate he is about things like war and taking down the economy.

- He’s always smoking a hand rolled cigarette and telling you how much he hates buying things, so he’ll always make you gifts instead of purchasing them.

- Always bringing you to his gigs, and cheesily shouting you out in the crowd.

- He writes all his songs about you, you’re his muse.

- At first he was embarrassed dating a guy, especially at catholic school, but he quickly got over it when he realized you were too amazing to pass up over some dumb homophobia.

- He’s obsessed with marking you, you never leave the house without a purple splotch to tell everyone you’re his.

- Loves when you suck him off while he’s smoking, he’ll grab a fist full of hair and let you work while he finishes the cigarette.

- He’s not too out there kinky, but he’s definitely rough.

- He loves manhandling you and turning you into a bitch.

- Definitely has a thing for calling you the F slur.

- Always forces your head down when he finishes, making you take it all.

- Kinks include: rough sex, manhandling, being burned with cigarettes, marking, slur usage.

Gatsby Welles, Rainy Day in New York.

- GOD this man.

- He does everything for you, you’re his muse and he’s obsessed.

- Always gambling to buy you the nicest things.

- As stated in the movie, Gatsby has autism, so it’s a bit difficult for him to express how he feels completely, but he always shows you how much he loves you in any way possible.

- Always talking about things to do in New York, the two of you are never stuck in the house.

- Whenever he reads romance novels, he imagines the two of you as the main characters.

- Sings to you all the time, especially to get you to sleep.

- Total cuddler, he’s laying on you, holding you, latching onto you whenever he can.

- Always refers to you as “my boy”, or “my angel boy”, complete romantic.

- Takes you for walks anytime it’s raining, and always winks when your clothes become soaked and begin to cling to your body.

- You’re his everything, he’ll do anything for you, as soon as you ask for something you have it done.

- Same goes for the bedroom, anytime you bring up an idea or concept, he has it done that night, he loves spicing things up.

- The most gentle lover in the world, he doesn’t like hurting you unless specifically asked for, and even then he’s extremely gentle on the slaps.

- Somehow gets more poetic during sex, hes always finding new ways to sweep you off your feet.

- His biggest fantasy is having you cock warm him while he plays piano, and can’t wait to ask you for it.

- Kinks include: loving you, yearning for you, did I mention loving you.

@mattykay

[violetlunette]

Twisted Wonderland RoleSwap AU_Master List (WIP)

I’m playing around with called a TWST RoleSwap AU where characters switch lives with another.

For example:

If Grim and Lilia switch roles then Grim will be the wise eccentric mentor figure raising several cubs. And meanwhile, Lilia will be the gremlin who works as half a student with whoever fills Yuu’s role.

Backgrounds will be altered to accommodate characters.

Say Malleus; if he takes the role of Yuu then there will be an addition to his backstory where he was sent to earth. The basics will remain the same. Like how in Riddle’s story he has a toxic mother. Or how Vil’s has him being an actor who seems stuck in villain roles and in second place to Neige. The main change is how each character reacts to it based on their personality.

When all the roles are switched I plan to twist them all into a story. (Eventually...)

For now, let’s lay some groundwork. Due to the limited options in the polls, I won’t be able to list every character. So, please either tag or comment if the character you would like to see is not listed. I will count them the best I can.

Here are the roles that have been filled;

Ramshackle;

Yuu's Role: Najma

Najma is a cunning young woman who suddenly finds herself in the mysterious Twisted Wonderland. To stay at the magical Night Raven College she pretends not only to be a mage, but a boy as well. Thankfully half the students are more feminine than her.

While at the school she discovers many strange mysteries of Twisted Wonderland’s past as well as her own involvement with the world.

Grim's Role: Yuu

Yuu is a mysterious figure Najma meets the moment she awakens in Twisted Wonderland. Though there’s trouble during their first meeting, Najma and Yuu are forced to work together in order to stay at NC. But what mysteries does this strange being carry?

(Note: The Shrimp is only used to represent “Yuu.” As of now there are no plans to make them a sentient shrimp.)

Ramshackle Ghosts' Role: Skully J. Graves

A ghost at Ramshackle who quickly becomes attached to Najma due to his years of loneliness. (Maybe overly so.) He has a very firm idea of how things should be and doesn't like to deviate from this mindset. Despite this, he is very gentlemanly and courteous.

Housewardens;

Malleus Draconia Role: Leona Kingscholar

Descended from a powerful magical creature and one of the most famed families in wonderland, Leona is one of the most powerful mages in the world. This immense magical ability often contrasts with his lazy demeanor. He tends to treats others with an imperious attitude.

Leona Kingscholar Role: Malleus Draconia

The second-born prince in his homeland, Malleus is highly respected on campus and extremely talented in skill, rightfully earning his role as the Savanaclaw Housewarden. Yet his frightful demeanor often deters classmates and leaves him by his lonesome.

Riddle Rosehearts Role: Ace Trappola

The Heartslabyul house-warden with an upbeat personality and a mischievous streak. Even though the house is famed for it’s strict adherence to the rules, Ace seem to have a blatant disregard for them. Often it’s as if he is an agent of chaos warring on “order” itself.

Idia Shroud Role: Ortho Shroud

Upbeat, forthright, and brimming with curiosity, Ortho is caring and attentive housewarden to everyone in Ignihyde. But despite his cheer there appears to be a dark secret behind those bright yellow eyes. His family is also rumored to have connections to the mysterious phantoms that no one seems to want to talk about.

Vil Schoenheit Role: Epel Felmier

A famous actor and the Housewarden of Pomefiore. He is beloved for his dainty appearance with an ephemeral beauty, putting on pare with another actor. His looks often has him typecast to certain role and underestimated by the people around him. However, those who challenge him often come to regret this.

Kalim Al' Asim Role: Ruggie Bucchi

Despite being the heir to a rich and powerful family, Ruggie is someone always looking to make even more money through deals and schemes. In his words, “money makes the world go round, so let’s give it a spin!” He always tends to be behind the scenes of things, as if puppeting events.

Azul Ashengrotto Role: Kalim Al' Asim

Kalim is a kind soul who is always willing to benevolently help others. His generosity makes him an odd choice a house warden who are known for their calculating ways. It’s rumored that his merciful dispossession is just a sham as deals with him tend to never turn out the way they should.

Vice-Housewardens;

Trey Clover's Role; Deuce Spade

The brash and violent Vice Warden of Heartslabyul. He and Ace have known each other since childhood and are partners in chaos. He can be slow on the uptake, and his grades suffer as a result. (Note: He and Riddle tied, so I flipped a coin. [No, really.])

Ruggie Bucchi's Role; Jack Howl

Raising in a poor environment, Jack is always working and looking for opportunities to create a better life for himself. Often, this makes him too busy to hang out and make friends, making him an outcast within his dorm. He greatly admires Malleus for his leadership skills and strength.

Jade Leech's Role; Rook Hunt

Rook appears to be a kind, eccentric sort who is more than willing to lend a hand to those in need. Despite this, he seems to be one of the most feared individuals on campus and there always seems to be a playful gleam in his eye.

Jamil Viper; Azul Ashengrotto

Ruggie’s vice-warden and personal assistant, who always seems to be standing behind them. He and Ruggie have been together since childhood and appear to be quite close. However, there’s seems to be something other than cheer between those forced smiles and there always a plan waiting to unfold behind Azul’s gaze.

Rook Hunt; Jade Leech

Vice-warden of Pomefiore and Epel’s personal assistant. He is soft-spoken and courteous to everyone he deals with, the exception being his look-a-like Floyd with whom he has a sharper yet playful smile for.

Ortho Shroud; Idia Shroud

Ortho’s gloomy companion who shies away from socialization. He is so introverted that his body rarely—if ever--leaves Ortho’s dorm room. Instead, he will accompany Ortho through his tablet and create holograms when he needs to take form. He spends nearly all his time gaming online, or watching his favorite music bands.

Lilia Vanrouge; Silver

Leona’s vice-warden and overseer. He has a cool and collected persona and is so low-key that his calm demeanor often crosses over into a state of visible drowsiness. Some believe he passed this onto the Prince.

Other Students;

Ace Trappola Role; Riddle Rosehearts

A Heartslabyul first-year student who finds himself getting more and more annoyed with the chaos of his dorm that’s supposed to represent the strictness of the Queen.

Deuce Spade Role; Floyd Leech

An erratic first year whose mood swings make him fit in perfectly with the chaos of the dorm. That said, he doesn’t seem particularly happy about this fact. He is ofteen seen hovering around Ruddle.

Cater Diamond Role; Vil Schoenheit

A young man of striking beauty, he considers himself the fairest of all. He is big on social media and has many followers. He is one of the few voices of reason within Heartslabyul who isn’t afraid to stand up to the manic house wardens.

Jack Howl Role; Sebek Zigvolt

A LOUD live-wire student. In his zealous to impress Malleus, whom he admires, often expends a great deal of energy to accomplish very little. His brash nature tends to put him at odds with those around him. That said, he is one of the top students in his grade, often competing with Riddle.

Floyd Leech Role; Cater Diamond

One of Kalim’s assistants and one of his best friends. He knows his way around just about any social situation and a wizard with words, which comes in handy when dealing with Kalim’s clients. Despite his easy-going nature he seems to be the only one with his head not in the clouds.

Epel Felmier Role; Trey Clover

Trey is a humble first-year who constantly finds himself out of his comfort zone after Jade and Epel decide to take him under their wing. Though why they did so, even he has no idea. People often worry Jade is rubbing off on him.

Silver Role; Lilia & Grim

Lilia is Leona’s playful guard who often sneak up on unsuspecting students. Despite his easy-going nature, he takes his role as guard very seriously, though he seems more loyal to Silver than Leona. Despite being a fae he has no magic and thus had to enroll as one student with Grim.

Grim meanwhile, is a dire beast who often proclaims that he will one day surpass Leona as the greatest magician. He will eat anything and everything, and his tendency to get carried away often gets him and Lilia into trouble Jamil has to smooth over.

Sebek Zigvolt Role; Jamil Viper

Leona’s cunning and talented retainer. He is the most talented student of his year and isn’t shy about showing this. Though most his talent used to wrangle his fellow dorm members under control.

For reasons unknown, he seems interested in Najma.

NRC Staff;

Dire Crowley’s Role; Maleanor Draconia

Malleus’ Mother and the Princess Consort of the King of Briar Valley. Due to events of the past she is bias against non-fae, which leads to many to wonder why she became the headmistress of a school that is predominately humans and beastmen. Everyone fears her for her temper.

Crewel’s Role; Sam

A professor at Night Raven College who teaches the school's science curriculum, including potionology. Sam is friendly and charismatic, often calling his students by nicknames like "little imps".

Trien’s Role; Rollo Flamme

A stern old teacher who teaches the school's social studies curriculum, including the history of magic. He is a widely feared professor who is strict with students both in and out of class. He seems to detest his job and magic as a whole.

Vargas’ Role; Baul Zigvolt

Sebek’s stern grandfather. Despite always snapping at everyone like a croc, he is the most caring towards the students and the most protective (particularly his grandson, Sebek). He would rather die than admit this, however. Sebek often brags how he used to be a high ranking general.

Sam’s Role; Ernesto Foulsworth

A trickster who runs the school shop with his brother Gidel selling several odd trinkets he “picked up.” Despite always smiling and acting friendly enough, there always seems to be a tone of resentment behind his words. He often talks about his “friends.”

[kinardsevan]

so i'm one of those who is really of the mindset rn that this fling needs to be with Josh, and living in that mindset, I wrote this:

Evan glances up across the coffee house with a smile on his face, laughing at Josh’s comment on the petulance of some first responders. 

The relationship that has developed between the two of them recently is interesting, to say the least. He never really saw his sister’s coworker as someone he’d know any deeper than as an acquaintance, but after Maddie was kidnapped by that serial killer, Josh had somehow found a place in his life. 

Initially, it was because of they were in such close quarters while Maddie was missing. Josh could tell he was still going through it after Tommy, and then there was the issue of Eddie leaving also weighing on him. Maddie getting taken was the cherry on top that had nearly broken him, and somehow the other man being there as a shoulder in the midst of it all had been more meaningful than Evan could express. So a few late night coffees after Maddie had been found turned into a hookup, and then one hookup turned into two, and suddenly it had been a few weeks.

Granted, they were both clear on what was happening between them. At best, they were friends now with some really stellar benefits. He really liked Josh, could maybe see something else growing between them if his heart wasn’t still basically smashed potatoes all over the ground. Plus, being around the other man had given Evan the clarity of the fact that his attraction to men wasn’t solely tied to Tommy. If anything, it was simply that the intensity of his attraction to Tommy is what had finally shoved his bisexuality out of the dark and into the open. Hanging out with Josh, hooking up with him from time to time, helped him understand better that pursuing a relationship with another man wasn’t all that different than trying to pursue one with a woman. 

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Josh laughs, bumping into Evan’s shoulder as the blonde picks up his coffee and danish from the order counter. 

“I’m not disagreeing,” Evan states, lifting a hand in surrender. Josh grabs his things after Evan, and they head towards an open table. Evan has his danish shoved between his teeth and he makes a face with it. 

“Oh that’s priceless,” Josh states, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I need to send a picture to your sister.” 

Evan rolls his eyes, but he turns towards the other man, still walking backward towards the table as he makes the face again while Josh snaps a few photos. He’s still moving when he stumbles into someone, suddenly stepping forward and whipping around, letting the danish fall into his hand as he stammers that he’s so sorry and looking up-

right into those blue eyes. 

Evan gulps as the amusement on his face sinks away. All at once, he feels his heart hammering in his chest as though it’s trying to take flight out of his body and physically attach itself to the other man. 

“I’m so-…E- Buck.” 

It feels like someone’s twisting a fist around his stomach, hearing Tommy say his nickname. There’s no particular intonation. It’s just the fact that he’s called him that at all. It hurts just as much as it did the first time. 

Right at that moment, Josh decides to make his presence known, and he steps forward, shoving a hand out and giving a warm smile to Tommy. 

“Josh Russo,” he states. Tommy blinks a few times before he realizes what’s happening and he shakes Josh’s hand. 

“Tommy,” he answers, his voice soft. There’s the flash of something in his eyes as he glances at Evan, but he releases Josh’s hand a moment later and rubs his own over the leg of his jeans. Evan can’t help but glance over at Josh, who smirks at the gesture. 

“We were just getting coffee,” Evan says, and he doesn’t know if he’s trying to make an excuse, or if he thinks Tommy would even care. Either way, Tommy only smiles in response, a small one at that, and nods. 

“That’s- that’s good,” he replies. He moves to step around them toward the counter. “I have to grab mine, actually.” 

Evan turns toward him, mouth open like he wants to say something, but the words don’t come, and he turns back around. 

“Should we sit,” Josh asks after a moment. Evan doesn’t so much respond as he just finishes crossing the cafe to the table they’d been headed towards, and they sit down. 

He doesn’t know what to say, and in that moment, he’s silently thanking God that Josh keeps talking about his entire point he’d been on before their disruption, because Evan isn’t sure he could focus if he tried. As much as he knows its rude, he can’t stop himself from glancing back up in Tommy’s direction, taking him in. It feels like torture and like coming home all at the same time. Seeing him again calms something inside of him, if for no other reason than being able to know that he’s still alive and apparently safe. At the same time, he’s astutely aware of the darkness under Tommy’s eyes, the way his cheeks are more sallow than the last time they saw each other. He doesn’t know the story there, but he wants to. 

He watches with intermittent gazes, glancing over and then away quickly whenever Tommy seems to be looking in his direction. Still, the entire period is over far too quickly, and then his ex-boyfriend is crossing back through the coffee house quickly, walking out with his coffee order. 

“You should go after him.” 

Evan snaps out of his reverie as the door slides shut and glances back at Josh, shaking his head. 

“Huh? W-what?” 

Josh nods, a friendly smile on his face. “I mean it. You should go after him.” 

Evan furrows his brow at Josh. “He broke up with me.” 

Josh lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head at Evan. “So, when I asked all those weeks ago, did you ever actually tell him you’re in love with him?” 

Evan’s jaw goes slack at the question, unsure of what he means. “In love…?” 

“Oh my god, okay,” Josh replies, still chuckling. It’s almost off-putting to Evan. “I recognize the look, Buck. From every time I had to listen to your sister talk about how much she missed her husband when they were split up before Jee-Yun. And newsflash?” He points out the window in the general direction of where Tommy headed off in. “He’s got the same look, and it’s like everyone knows it but the two of you.” 

Evan gulps, considering Josh’s words. For all the things he’d thought about in the time after the conversation at the dispatch center, after deciding to ask Tommy to move in with him, and after the breakup, he’d never rethought the whole “in love with him” question. Still, if he has to quantify the feeling inside of him, make comparative notes to other times he’s known himself to be in love, the only person who even comes close to comparing—and even then it’s a long shot—is Abby. And as he pieces that together in his head, it’s almost too much to bear.

He loves Tommy. He’s in love with Tommy.

Josh nods as he watches the realization cross Evan’s face. 

“Like I said. You should go after him.” 

Evan pushes up from the table suddenly, only to stop halfway up, feeling bad about the sitaution. 

“Listen, I didn’t-..” 

Josh laughs again. “Oh, sweet, sweet, baby Buckley. I have known what this was from day one. I was just wondering how long it was going to take the two of you to pull your heads out of your asses.” 

Evan snorts at the comment, rolls his eyes again but still gives Josh a smile. 

“Besides,” Josh adds. “We can still be friends. I have to imagine the beefy one has gay friends he can introduce me to.” 

Evan laughs. “I’ll see what I can do about that for you.” 

“You better,” Josh replies, lifting his coffee to his lips. “Now go get your man.” 

Evan doesn’t wait a moment longer. He rushes out so fast that he leaves his coffee and bitten-into danish sitting on the table. On the street, he whips his head back and forth, and it takes him a moment to spot Tommy as he starts to round the corner onto the next street. 

Evan bolts after him, crossing the distance between them swiftly on his long legs. Still, when he reaches Tommy a minute later, he’s only a few feet from his truck. His coffee sloshes as Evan turns him around, and when Tommy’s eyes meet his, he has that same sad look in them. 

“Buck, what?” 

“First of all, don’t ever call me that again,” Evan states quickly, a bit breathless. “And second of all…” He settles flat on his feet, looking back and forth between Tommy’s eyes for a moment. Something in him keeps thinking back on Tommy’s obsession with romantic comedies, and the fact that there’s nothing quite more ‘romantic comedy’ than stopping someone on the street and just kissing them. 

So he does. He steps into Tommy’s space and wraps a hand around his head and pulls him in, kissing him with enough passion and determination that if he could shoot actual sparks, they’d both be on fire. For a moment, Tommy doesn’t respond, and Evan isn’t sure if it’s because of the surprise of it all or because he doesn’t feel the same way, but after a moment, he feels Tommy melt, and open his mouth to Evan’s request for access, kissing him back fully. 

Who knows how long the kiss goes on for. All Evan knows is that when he finally breaks away from Tommy, he’s breathless, and so. Fucking. Happy. He presses his forehead against Tommy’s, stroking his thumb down the back of his head. 

“I love you,” he states softly. “I’m in love with you. Maybe it doesn’t matter, but that doesn’t make it any less true. I love you, and I’m going to keep loving you, no matter what you think I need to do to sew some wild oats.” 

“Evan,” Tommy murmurs back. His expression is still pained, and Evan can see the conflict in his eyes. 

“You, Tommy,” he counters. “You. Not someone else, not a different option, or a different life. You. Only you.” 

“You could-..” 

“I could do a lot of things,” Evan states. “I could die on my way home today. I could have an aneurysm tomorrow. I could live sixty more years, all without you because you’re too afraid to give in. I know who I am and what I want, and I know I’m not going to find it anywhere else because the way I feel about you? No one else has ever come close.” 

Tommy stares at him with those sad, expressive eyes, and the want in his expression is so clear that it makes Evan hurt for him. He watches as Tommy’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He’s quiet for another moment before taking a breath. 

“I’ve been back in therapy,” he says softly. “Trying to work through it all. I thought you were moving on-..” 

“I’m so close to not moving on that I can still see the starting line in front of me,” Evan tells him. He lets out a soft huff. “Josh- he- there was a thing. With Maddie. He was there through that, a-and he’s queer, so he’s been a good friend recently.” 

Tommy stares at him skeptically for a moment, as though he’s questioning what all of that means. Except, there’s also the part where he told Evan that he was still figuring himself out and basically needed to see other people, and from that standpoint, there’s not a lot he can do or say, especially when the man is standing in front of him telling him that even after spending time with another man, nothing has changed for him. 

“I don’t want you to feel like-..” 

“I don’t,” Evan cuts him off, gesturing between them. “I’m clear on this. On you. And I think if I was going to change my mind, that would’ve happened by now. The problem is that I kinda can’t stop being in love with you.” 

He watches Tommy gulp, sees him nod. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he rests his forehead against Evan’s. 

“I kind-of can’t stop being in love with you, either,” he replies softly. “Much as I’ve tried.” 

Evan lets out a small laugh and then leans into him, kissing him once more. 

Tommy’s arms are tight around his back this time, keeping him close as he sighs into Evan’s mouth. There’s so much to say, so much to work through from the past few months, so much to be considered in the midst of it all. But love hadn’t been a factor in the breakup, and with it on the table, it’s not something either one of them can turn away from. 

When they break apart again, Evan laughs again, and Tommy laughs with him. They remain close for a moment before Evan finally realizes the back of his sweatshirt is wet. He turns his head and glances at it, spots the coffee stain quickly. 

“Shit, sorry,” Tommy says, turning toward his truck and then back towards Evan. “I uh, I have-…” He blushes. “I have one of your hoodies in my duffel, if you want to change.” 

“That would be nice actually,” Evan responds, a smirk on his own face. Tommy nods and they cross the few feet over to his truck. He opens the back seat and pulls his duffel bag up, retrieving the blue hoodie and offering it to Evan. Evan tugs the wet one over his head, revealing a navy t-shirt that’s sinfully too tight. He swaps pieces of clothing with Tommy, who rests the wet one in his backseat before turning back to Evan. Evan’s smile is wider as his head comes through top of his hoodie. 

“Smells like you,” he states. Tommy’s own smile falters a little. 

“Yeah, I know,” he responds wistfully. Evan steps forward as he tucks his a hand into the pouch of the hoodie, uses the other to curl his finger around Tommy’s chin and pull him into another quick kiss. 

“I can solve that for you, if you’d like,” he states. Tommy is quiet for a moment and Evan is smiling at him again. “You free?” 

Tommy rolls his eyes, unable to stop the smile on his own face. “Yes, I’m free.” 

Evan nods, gesturing back towards the coffee house. “It’s a little early for a beer. Coffee?” 

Tommy glances down at the cup in his hand and then back up at Evan. “Considering half of this one is on your sweater, sure. You still owe me a drink anyway.” 

[compact-turtle]

Yandere Soldier x GN Reader PT 1

Concept: Yandere Soldier X GN Reader PT 1

TW: , Kidnapping, gaslighting, possessive, manipulation, brief mentions of ptsd, mentions of death, fear, war, danger, guns, usual yandere behavior, Sexual harassment (Not by yandere), murder, hostage situation

Summary: You save the life of a dying soldier. He becomes attached to you...

Wordcount: 1.7K

-Yandere Soldier, whose fellow comrades burst through a hospital door. They lay him on a bed and shout for help.

- Everything hurts. His lungs are on fire. A million needles are pricking him. Desperately, he tries to scream, but nothing comes out. 

-Doctors and nurses immediately surround him. His crying comrades scream for them to save him. None of it mattered though. All of their voices start to become faint. 

-His vision grows hazy. A dark void begins to swallow his consciousness. There’s only so long he can fight and endure. It feels like someone is holding his head underwater. Every time he tries to get air, it submerges him deeper.

-Is this the end?

-Fear slowly trickles into him. The unknown nature of death frightens him. He’s seen it time and time again. His vibrant comrades slipped into the cold hands of death. Only one thing kept him alive on the battlefield. A fantasy that he'd find someone to love.

-He'd return home and find someone who cherished him. They'd go on dates and dance around in the kitchen. After every fight, they would make up (in bed maybe). Life would have its ups and downs, but he'd cherish every memory with them. 

-In these fleeting moments, he mourns his lost dream. It terrifies him more than death. The idea that he'd never experience love or any of its joys. 

-Yet, he hears something. A soft voice calling out to him. It envelops his mind like a warm blanket on a cold winter night. It soothes him. Slowly, the voice pulls him from the ever-growing vacuum.

“You’ll be ok, sir. Just stay with me.” 

—

-Yandere soldiers who stand outside your room flirting with you. You sat on your bed listening to him. A small smile snakes itself on his lips as he prepares his joke. 

“Why did the chicken go to your house?” 

“Hm. I’m not sure.” 

“Because it was egg-cited to see you!” 

“That was so cheesy, Ivar.” 

-You let out a small snort. The joke was awful. Regardless, it didn't matter to Ivar. He’d tell you a million bad jokes as long as you kept grinning at him. A rush of euphoria filled him up every time. 

-A few months ago, Ivar woke up from his coma. His brain was muddled. There were gaps in his memory. Even his body refused to cooperate. However, adrenaline kicked in as he heard the door creak open. Without a second thought, he lunged for the intruder. 

-Yet, his body gave out. The long coma made its effects known. Ivar thrashed every which way. He tried to kick or punch. Anything. 

-In the end, the staff had to sedate him. When he awoke for a second time, a doctor was there to calm him down. They stated he was in the hospital receiving care for an injury. Also, noting how he tried to attack a member of their staff. 

-He apologized and asked for the doctor to summon the staff member. A heavenly angel was sent to his room. They were dressed in a clean pair of scrubs with a small heart pin on their pocket. Ivar was memorized. His heart began to palpitate and his eyes widened. 

-It wasn’t until you opened your mouth that it all clicked for him. You were the one who saved him. The one who pulled up from the jaws of hell. 

-The two of you began to bond. Ivar waited for you to arrive in his hospital room like a small puppy. He’d eagerly greet you then wait for you to tell him about your day. 

-Throughout his encounters, he learned that you were a volunteer nurse at this hospital. You wanted to help people during the wartime and make an impact on others lives. 

-Some of his comrades began to tease him about his obvious affection. The only one who didn’t seem to notice was you. Perhaps, Ivar was being to obvert or perhaps you chose to ignore it? Regardless, none of those thoughts managed to stop his ever-growing feelings. 

-During this time, Ivar noticed someone during your shifts. Another man who became interested in you. Ivar observed how the man’s eyes would linger on your behind. The way that awful man undressed you in his mind. 

-For the first few days, Ivar ignored it. He convinced himself eventually, the man would stop. After all, how could someone defile such a sweet angel like you? 

-Unfortunately, the man began to escalate his harassment. They'd smack your ass when you bent over or try to squeeze your chest after a usual check-up. The hospital refused to remove him as your patient due to the lack of staff. All they did was reassure you that he’d be gone soon. 

-This pushed Ivar over the edge. Couldn’t they see how you were suffering? You were always happy to help patients. You’d come into the hospital practically beaming. However, the man sucked your light.

-So he made a decision on your behalf. He kindly disposed of the man. It wasn’t too difficult. All he had to do was disrepute a few machines next to him. The man seemingly died of a “natural cause”. 

- A sense of joy washed over him seeing the man suffer. How their eyes turned desperate, begging Ivar to do something. Inside, a small part wishes that he could’ve done more for the man.  Death was something too kind for this man. Maybe drag his knife across their skin to see him truly suffer. Slowly and gradually to make the pain last. Still, someone might have noticed the cuts. Better to play safe. 

-Anyways, he knew he made the right choice. You secretly confided in him that you were glad the man passed away. Every shift, you were afraid of another encounter with that man. Pride swelled in his heart as you told him your relief. 

-There came a day when Ivar was finally discharged from the hospital. He was disappointed to say the least. Thankfully, he already came up with a plan to solve the problem. Ivar stood at the top of some stairs. He looked both ways about to jump. However, he was stopped by your voice calling out for him. 

-You told him that you enjoyed the daily conversations. You also mentioned how you’d love to be his friend and spend time outside of work together. 

-Naturally, Ivar jumped at the opportunity to be with you. He quickly exchanged phone numbers. 

-The next few months consisted of him texting you everyday. He’d check up on you, text random pictures of his meals and so forth. 

-The two of you also had regular hangouts. Sometimes Ivar would take you to see movies, or a walk around the city. Honestly, if you even mentioned something you wanted to do, Ivar had that activity planned out the next day. 

-Ivar felt closer to you than anyone else. Just the thought of you was enough to send his heart racing. 

-Looking up at the clock, Ivar noticed the time. He needed to get going if he was going to prepare everything on time. 

“Sorry, angel. I’ve gotta run. The men need me for a project. I’ll see you later at seven, right?” 

“Seven sounds good to me! Can’t wait to see what you have planned out for us.” 

-Ivar smiled at you. He quickly gave a small goodbye hug. Trying to be discreet, Ivan smelled your neck. The strong scent of your body wash lingered in his nostrils. He desperately wished to cling to you. For you to never be apart from him. 

-Pulling away with a small sense of disappointment, Ivar waved goodbye. 

—------------

-A large bouquet of red roses rests in Ivar’s arms. This afternoon, he spent three hours finding the perfect florist. There was no room for imperfections. Every single detail had to be flawless. 

-After six long months, Ivar had finally worked up the courage to ask you out. He envisioned how it’d play out. You’d accept the roses with a gleeful smile. Afterward, Ivar would take you out to the lake. The two of you would dance across the beach and then share a passionate kiss to end the night. 

-“Wow, Ivar. Finally making your move after all this time?” Chadwick, one of his comrades, said teasing him. 

“Of course, boys. Wish me luck.” Ivar replied, winking, “I’m about to land the angel of my dreams. Some of you, though, are gonna be stuck as single dogs forever. “

-The men burst into laughter. Ivar joined along. Each one patted his back and congratulated him. Some even began to ask about the wedding date. While being praised for his boldness, a loud blaring echoed through the room. Immediately, the mood became uneasy. Everyone turned their attention to the TV overhead. 

“Breaking News! Nightshade Hospital has been overtaken by a rebel group. Multiple hostages are currently being held including medical staff and patients alike.” A news broadcaster said standing outside the hospital, “Shots have been confirmed to have been fired in the building. Please continue listening as we continue to bring more updates about this pressing matter.” 

“Ivar, isn’t your angel at home today?” 

“They shouldn't be at work. Mondays are their days...” Ivar trailed off

-He began to recall you complaining about taking a shift for a coworker. Ivar felt his stomach drop. He moves closer to the TV to get a better look. His eyes are desperately searching for any sign of you. Maybe you decided not to take that shift after all?

-That’s right. It’s possible you were still in your apartment. Safe and sound. You probably were eating snacks on the couch. Or reading that novel you never finished. After all, you weren’t even supposed to be at work today. 

-Buzz

-Quickly, he pulls out his phone. A text notification appears on the screen. Dread ate away all his hopes. 

-Ivar, I’m hiding in a room on the third floor. I think they just shot Dr. Roberts.

[l3irdl3rain]

Come on, we all know you've gotten attached to The Flat One. I feel trying to argue against her eventual adoption is just gonna make it feel more silly when she does join the fray.

since you all think you're so funny (lighthearted) i suppose i should explain the situation. TLDR: I am planning on keeping The Flat One. It will be a few weeks before she is ready to be separated from her mother so I'm going to foster them all at my house for the time being. In the week we've had her she's continued to put on weight and she feels like maybe her chest is already starting to round out a little.

I'm going to talk more about her medical issues under the cut. I shared an article about FCKS and other thoracic deformities. If you're interested in that here's a link. Please remember I am not a veterinarian so my own explanation may get things wrong.

We did take some radiographs and it definitely appears to just be flat chested kitten syndrome (FCKS) and not pectus excavatum (PE). This sounds like it's the better case scenario, as PE often requires a surgical fix. FCKS on the other hand often resolves itself (if it doesn't end up being fatal). She does have a spinal deformity that is common in kittens with FCKS.

The Flat One is about 5 weeks old, generally if a kitten with FCKS can make it past the 3 week mark that means it will be okay. She's also survived without any veterinary intervention or any specialized care from her previous owner.

That doesn't mean there isn't still risk of something going wrong. Because her chest is so flat it can cause respiratory problems. When she plays hard with her siblings her respiration rate is much higher than that of a normal kitten's. If it gets bad at times she may need medications.

With some time her chest should naturally start to round out on its own. Recovery can take a long time, but usually by the time they're 4-6 months their chest has rounded out to almost normal. On the other hand, her spinal deformity is there to stay.

Even with how attached I've let myself get I probably could have let her go once she was old enough to be away from her mom. However, it's unlikely she'll be "normal" when her siblings are ready to go. We could potentially try to adopt her out anyways and just explain her issues to people. Or we could continue to hang on to her until she is more normal at the 4-6 month mark. I might not be too attached yet, but I definitely would be at that point.

Also, I have the benefit of having so many people who have been so generous in helping myself and my cats. And if this comes down to needing a surgical fix I've already got the funds from Persephone's gofundme.

[marsbutterfly]

MECHANIC BADDIE HANJI WHO FIXES UP READERS CAR. SHES ALL LIKE I CAN TAKE CARE OF IT DARLING. YOU JUST SIT THERE AND LOOK PRETTY. (IDK SHIT ABOUT CARS) JUST NEED AN ACTS OF SERVICE HANJI

I'll Fix It All

a/n: omg happy new year!! this turned out way longer than I originally intended for it to be. i was hoping to post it before the year turned but i'll also accept the first day of the year lol. enjoy.

warnings: fem!reader (she/her), nb! hanji zoe (they/them), modern au, anxiety, panic attacks, kissing, fluff, comfort. also like, i don't know much about cars or car repair so pls bear with me. tagging: @wizzy21 wc: 2.5k | wattpad! | ao3!

"No, no, no, no, NO!" You cry out as your car slowly begins to lose speed. This isn't the first time this week, nor the second, nor the third. You couldn't even count on one hand the amount of times the engine had been making that weird noise and the light had been blinking at you like a malevolent eye.

But you thought you could put it off, that you could easily ignore it, and that it would fix itself like it had many times before. Maybe you just needed to check the coolant or add some more water to the radiator, except you continuously forgot to do so. And it finally came back to bite you in the ass.

As the smoke comes out of the hood, you grip the steering wheel tightly, a loud grunt escaping your lips as your forehead presses against the horn, the loud noise filling the air all around you. Still, you are lucky enough to be in a somewhat empty area so the least amount of people will be disturbed.

Your first instinct is to panic. You can feel the blood rushing through your body, your face getting warmer as a few tears begin to prickle in your eyes. You let out a shaky exhale, cursing yourself for allowing this situation to happen in the first place. Before you can even begin to cry, you feel your phone vibrating in the cup holder next to you, the caller's name showing up on the screen attached to the dashboard. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ‎‎‎"Sunshine ☼"

With a sniffle, you wipe the tears before they even have the chance to roll down your cheeks and pick up your phone, pressing the green button on the screen as you try your best to sound like you are composed and not entirely freaking out at the moment.

"Hello, my most beloved," you say, trying your best to sound like your playful self. Though it has no sound, you can almost hear the smile dropping off Hanji's face. It was not out of the ordinary for them to quickly pick up on the slightest change in your tone of voice.

"What happened?" They ask without missing a beat, the tone of their voice filled with love and concern, almost as if they were already expecting you to be in some sort of distress. "I was doing the dishes and accidentally broke a glass because I got such a bad feeling that my hand started shaking."

You sniffle but a small giggle exits your chest, the idea that the two of you are so intertwined that they can even sense when you are in some sort of distress, "Yeah, I'm fine… My car just finally gave out on me and I'm in the middle of a random neighborhood because I decided today, out of all days, to take a random shortcut!"

"Send me your location, and I'll get my tools and meet you over there," they say and you can already hear them moving around on the other end of the line. You wish you could protest but, the more you look at your car, the more panic fills your body. So you simply let out a quiet "okay" before hanging up.

Though your hands nervously shake, you can open your text messages and send Hanji a pin of your exact location. It isn't too far from your house, maybe five minutes if you speed up, and that knowledge only adds more fuel to your frustration. "Why now? I could have easily pulled into my driveway before you gave out!" You can't help the angry grunt that leaves your throat as you slam your hand against the steering wheel.

The waiting time seems like an eternity, an eerie feeling in the back of your mind like you are being watched. Your eyes dart to your phone, half convinced that maybe you should just call a toll truck when you see the headlights of Hanji's motorcycle as they speed down the road.

The light from the post shines above them and you can barely distinguish if they are an angel or a real person. As soon as their bike is parked behind your car, you exit the vehicle, running towards their embrace.

Their hair is still messy from having a helmet on and they hold a small toolbox with their left hand, but that does not stop them from hugging you as tightly as they possibly can. Their lips press against your head as the two of you remain like that for a while.

"Shhh, it's ok, my love," you can feel the smile in their voice, a gentleness like nothing you have ever experienced before, "Hanji is here to fix your problems."

"I truly appreciate you coming this fast," you whisper against their chest, "I genuinely thought my car would be able to handle the journey today but… I guess I was wrong."

"Did you have any trouble starting it this morning?" They pull back, their arm still wrapped around your frame. You think for a second, having trouble focusing on anything other than this panicky feeling in your chest.

Slowly, you begin to remember your day: you left work and the car started. You left for lunch and the car started. Clearly, it had started when you left home that morning… Didn't it?

"Oh shit…" You whisper while an embarrassed expression takes over your features. Your eyes shift towards the ground as you pull slightly further away to create a bigger distance between your bodies, too self-conscious to even look at them. "I couldn't get the engine to turn this morning. I had to start it, put it in neutral, and then start it again."

They nod, kissing your forehead once more as they stand in front of the hood of your car. You are still too embarrassed to look but you can hear the moment their toolbox touches the ground and as their hands pop it open. A few seconds go by as they begin tinkering with the metal inside, though your knowledge of cars isn't deep enough for you to fully understand what is going on.

You cross one arm against your chest while the other rests above your hand, your index finger tapping on your cheek while you can't help but take small nibbles on your thumb's nail. The anxiety inside of your chest never dissipates, nor the shame.

The morning had been nothing but a blur. You woke up late for work, forgot to eat or even bring anything to snack on until you had time to go to lunch, spilled water all over your car, and, to top it all off, it was raining in the morning. The engine not starting was just one of the many, many things that had gone wrong. You meant to text Hanji about it so they could meet you during your work hours and fix it but, of course, you forgot to charge your phone the night before.

You close your eyes and exhale, leaning against the car. Before you can get yourself into a frenzy, you hear Hanji's gentle voice pulling you out of the dark spiral you were about to send yourself into, "Okay, good news and bad news."

"Please explain it to me like I'm five," you say, shooting them an exhausted look and it causes them to chuckle quietly. "Bad news first."

"The alternator, or thing that charges your car battery, isn't properly working for some reason. Maybe because it's old, maybe it's faulty, but it for sure will not start working again, like, that thing is dead."

You nod, surprisingly following along with what they are telling you. You realize that all this knowledge comes from the previous times they have come to your aid or maybe from all the times they would check under the hood of your car before you left their house while the two of you still lived in separate households. Regardless, you turn your attention to them once more.

"I checked the fluid and the coolant and everything seems to be full and working ok. I ran some codes and nothing out of the ordinary popped up and lastly, I checked your oil." They say, wiping the grime out of their hands with a bleached towel, their face slightly sweaty, especially around the area where their glasses sit on their nose.

"Fuck… And the good news?" You ask, biting your nails even more, almost to the point of blood. With a gentle and concerned expression, Hanji takes a few steps forward, wrapping their dirty digits around your trembling palms, and only then do you notice just how short your nails have become.

"I can easily fix it. The last one we bought still has a warranty, so I can just change them." They whisper, placing a kiss against your fingers. A sense of despair fills your body again as tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, your lip trembling as you speak in a quiet yet pathetic voice.

"Please, don't leave me alone."

They sigh, running their hand over their messy hair. They look over to the open hood of your car and around the neighborhood, trying to think about what the best choice would be in this situation.

"The store is fifteen minutes away, on my bike, I'll be back in - "

"Please, don't leave me alone!!" You beg desperately, whatever is left of your fingernails now digging into the skin of their biceps, your eyes are wide open as tears stream down. You weren't that upset about the car breaking down, but just the intensity of all the feelings you had been holding back finally caught up to you the moment you realized you would have to be without them for even a second.

Hanji is taken aback by how sudden your response is, and how desolate you sound. They can see the anxiety written all over your features and it causes their heart to ache in their chest. That's the moment in which they realize just how many feelings you have been bottling, just how bad your week has been, and just how you have refused to talk to them about it.

Almost like they gain consciousness, their arms wrap around your frame, pulling you closer to their body. In exchange, you bury your head on their chest, not carrying that their shirt is now covered in grime and sweat, even if it is chilly outside. "Is there anything you want to talk about?" They whisper, their lips pressed against the top of your head.

You want to shake your head, to put your walls up once more and brush it off as "just a bad day", but it was more than that. It had been a bad week, a bad month, and you had gone through it all by yourself, in silence. Crying in the shower but still putting on a smile when around them, your appetite barely exists but you still eat all of their cooking. But before you can deny anything, the tears begin pouring down your face once more, you cling to them like they are the last life vest on a sinking ship.

“I d-don’t know what is going on with me…” You gasp, hiding your face in a mixture of shame and search for comfort. “I just… I just want to be close to you at all times, I just never want to be alone and I just… Everything is too much and not enough, everything is going wrong. I…”

“My love,” they whisper, holding you slightly tighter with one arm. With their free hand, they prop up your chin, a gentle and warm smile taking over their lips once your eyes meet. “You don’t have to suffer alone, ok? I am here for you, no matter what, when, or where. I will always be by your side.”

“Good and bad?” You sniffle and they chuckle softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your eyes as they lean down so their forehead is touching yours. They nod.

“Good and bad, my angel…” They whisper, their eyes closing as your noses brush together. You lean closer, your lips brushing against theirs so lightly that it nearly feels like a paint-filled brush against a canvas, working its way through a halfway-painted masterpiece.

Hanji gently presses your body against the car door, their grip on your waist is tight as they make sure to keep you safely in place. Your lips are half-open, temptingly wet in the dim light of the street pole, your face is stained with silent tears and the only thought going through their head? “I really need to kiss her.”

And so they do. They lean forward ever so slightly until there is no more room between the two of you. When your lips collide, you can’t help the quiet gasp that exists in your body, your hand gently resting on their cheek while your thumb brushes against the softness of their skin. 

You get lost in the warmth of their body, in how comforting it feels to have them pressed against you like this. Your nose brushes against theirs as your head tilts slightly to the side, the faint smell of coffee and menthol cigarettes still lingering on their breath as it mixes with the scent of the gum you had in your mouth earlier.

They nibble on your tongue gently, sometimes brushing the tip of their own against it and it’s enough to cause you to nearly melt in their arms. If it wasn’t for their strong arms holding you in place, you would have fallen to the ground into a puddle underneath their feet.

Neither of you wants to pull away, but the need to breathe is becoming stronger by the second. When you separate, your forehead rests against theirs, and your eyes remain closed as you enjoy the smell of their skin. Even if it isn’t a pleasant smell, it brings you too much comfort in this moment for you to care.

“I’ll call Moblit and he can come to help, ok?” They whisper, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You nod, lacing your fingers with the ones on their left hand while they pull their phone out of their pocket with the other. "I'll send him to the store and I will stay with you. You won't be alone, I promise."

As they speak to the man on the other end of the line, you can’t help but allow a small smile to form on your lips as you think about how lucky you are to have someone like them in your life. Someone willing to stop everything at the drop of a hat to come to rescue you when you need them most. 

As they blow you a kiss, you find yourself thinking about that one specific sentence once more, realizing that no truer words had ever been spoken:

“Hanji is here to fix all your problems.”

[mushroom-words]

Hate Me, Waste Me || Tate Langdon

Fandom: American Horror Story Pairing: Tate Langdon x Fem!Reader Words: 1983 Notes: This has been rewritten and reposted from a previous account. It’s being posted from mobile, so I apologize if the formatting is weird. And, as always, if this sort of content isn’t your thing, simply don’t read it. I put warnings in for a reason, baby. Edit: I fixed the formatting on desktop. Warnings: Non-con. Pre-death!Tate. Loss of virginity. Blood. Reader is bitten, smacked, and spanked one time each. Unprotected. Creampie. Forced orgasm (just the body protecting itself). Tate is a possessive little bastard. I think that’s it, but if I missed any, please let me know. Summary: Tate refuses to share you with anyone else and reminds you that you're his friend—no one else's.

MONSTERS LIVED AMONG humans. They adapted to camouflage themselves—to hide under the pretense of being your teacher, your neighbor, your family, your best friend. It was a hard lesson to learn and not one that ever came easily.

You were an outcast at Westfield High. Maybe that was why you and Tate seemed to gravitate towards each other. He was a loner, but it also seemed to be by choice. Like he detested the social interactions and thus separated himself from them. The only person he bothered with was you.

It never occurred to you that there could be a darker reason behind his attachment. You were just happy to have a friend. Even one that wasn’t particularly fond of sharing you with anyone else.

Kyle Greenwell’s voice drifted over the phone line. “You have some neat ideas. You’re actually pretty smart there, (Y/N).”

A blush broke out over your face at the compliment. You’d been reluctant when you had been partnered with him for a project for your Government class. Kyle was the quarterback for the Westfield Wolverines and had recently received a football scholarship to Georgia Tech. He’d never so much as looked your way before being paired with you, but he was actually a lot nicer than you’d thought he would be.

Kyle Greenwell was the kind of guy who seemed to have it all—fit and athletic, intelligent and handsome, charming and funny. He was the kind of guy who shouldn’t have given you the time of day. But you admittedly had stumbled into the line of girls vying for his attention when he turned out to be the complete opposite of what you had expected.

“You think so?” You cleared your throat delicately, biting your lip against your smile. “Yeah, I mean—thanks. You too,” you rambled.

Kyle chuckled warmly. Heat bloomed beneath your cheeks. You held back a wistful sigh at the sound. But then your smile fell victim to confusion when your doorbell rang. The cordless phone cradled your ear as you started to make your way to the front of your house.

“I’d like to brainstorm some more with you, if that’s okay,” Kyle continued. “We could meet in the library during lunch—or we could always meet up somewhere after, if that’ll be better for you.”

You peeked through the window curtains and saw Tate standing at your door. “Yeah, that sounds good,” you told Kyle. “I’ll see you in the library tomorrow then?”

You unlocked the door and opened it for your friend. He smiled, and you returned it but held up a finger before he could say anything. His smile fell into a frown.

“See you the n, (Y/N). Bye.”

“Bye, Kyle.” The line went dead as you pulled the phone away from your ear and gave Tate your full attention. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

Tate’s expression had hardened from what it had been when you’d opened the door. The hairs on the back of your neck bristled. Your smile dropped uncomfortably. Instead of answering, he pushed past you to walk inside.

“So,” he said. “Who’s Kyle?”

“Kyle Greenwell. We’re paired for a project.” You frowned and shut the door. “We’re gonna work on it tomorrow in the library during lunch,” you added, carefully placing the phone back in its cradle.

With your back to him, you missed the flash of anger that crossed his features. You missed how his nostrils flared, the way his eyes darkened from aged hickory to burnt coal. You missed how his body went rigid.

“So you’re leaving me alone.” You didn’t miss the way his voice had tightened, the hint of darkness lacing between the words. Chills skittered up your spine.

Swallowing past the sudden dryness in your mouth, you turned to face him with delicately furrowed brows. “No? We’re just working on a project—”

His hand shot out to grab your chin. The words died out in a startled squeak.

“Stay away from him,” he seethed.

Your eyes rounded. This wasn’t the Tate Langdon you knew. The one you loved like a brother, the one you considered family. You didn’t know who this was.

“Tate—”

“No.” His fingers tightened against your jaw as he yanked your face closer. “Don’t you fucking go near him again. Do you understand me, (Y/N)?”

“You’re hurting me,” you protested. You tried to pull away, but he held firm.

“Fucking say it, (Y/N). Do you understand me?”

As you looked into his eyes, you were looking at an entirely different person. They weren’t the eyes of your best friend. They were black as night, dark as sin—you might as well have been staring into the depths of the devil himself.

Panic started to claw at your chest. You smacked your hands against his chest and shoved him with a desperate cry of, “Let go of me!”

He stumbled back a couple of steps with a swear but was quick to bounce back with what looked to be twice the anger. Tate lunged forward and drew his hand across your face. The sharp impact knocked you to the floor. Your head smacked the corner of the small table against the wall where the phone sat.

Your ears were ringing before the pain settled. Sharp and throbbing and pounding against the inside of your skull. A veil of fog disoriented your head as you blinked heavily through the sludge. You were only vaguely aware of the warmth your blood provided as it trickled from the open wound.

Tate crouched beside you, brushing aside some of the hair that curtained your face. “Y’know, you’re a real fucking bitch sometimes, (Y/N),” he mused.

Your eyes fluttered as you tried to regather your surroundings. His fingers continued to linger against your skin. A touch that once brought you comfort. Even through the daze, you shuddered beneath it now.

He smirked and cocked his head. “You’ve gotta learn, y’know,” he said before abruptly flipping you onto your stomach. His weight settled on you. “You’re mine.”

A quiet groan slipped past your lips in protest of his hips rocking against your backside. Tears slowly began to drip from your eyelashes. Your fingers curled into the polished wooden floor, nails scratching at the finish as you tried to drag yourself away.

Tate laughed again, filled with a twisted joy at having you completely at his mercy. “And where do you think you’re going, baby?” he said, pinning your wrists down by your head.

“Please,” you whimpered. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your damp cheek in what could have been mistaken for affection. The vines of dread tightened around your chest.

He shushed you gently when another whimper fell from your lips. “You have to learn your lesson, (Y/N),” he murmured, dragging the tip of his nose along your cheek. “How will you learn if I don’t teach you?”

Tate lifted up and moved his hands from your wrists to trace the curve of your body. Then your pants and underwear were both ripped down to expose your lower half. You cried out as the cool air brushed against your skin.

Lifting your head, you tried again to pull yourself out from underneath him. You grabbed hold of the panic twisting inside of you to scream out for help. Your voice broke against the rawness of your throat, cracking as it bubbled past your lips.

He chuckled once more and planted his hand against the top of your back to keep you down. His fingers fluttered along the curve of your backside, tapping against the flesh in a taunt to the beat of his own depraved pleasure. Then he promptly lifted his hand and brought it back down in a sharp smack that made her cry out in pain.

Splinters jammed beneath your nails, drawing beads of blood from the sensitive skin underneath. You clawed at the floor when you heard him pull his zipper down. You sobbed, you pleaded, you screamed as loud as you possibly could.

Tate slipped an arm under your waist and lifted your body slightly. He lowered his head until his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, parroting, “You’re mine,” in a snarl that made your heart sink into the pit of your stomach.

Then he was pushing inside of you with no mercy, burying himself completely in a single thrust that utterly ripped you apart. He tore away your innocence like it was nothing. Your mouth popped open in anguish, but the scream that wanted to escape was rendered silent against the burning pain.

“Shit, baby,” he grunted, his hot breath puffing out to paint the side of your face. “You’re so fucking tight. Holy shit.”

Every thrust jerked your body forward. He yanked you back into him each time, his blunt nails imprinting crescents into your flesh. Your silence shifted into raw moans of despair—of disgust, of pain, of heartbreak. They mingled with his grunts and the muttered swears that fell from his tainted mouth.

Your stomach lurched upon hearing how much pleasure he was receiving from your suffering. Snot and tears and saliva coated your face in a display that was both shameful and pathetic. You hadn’t necessarily been saving yourself for anyone, but it was still something you were meant to give away—not have it ripped from your hands.

Tate nipped at the soft flesh between your shoulder and neck. You shuddered as his teeth grazed over the skin. Then he bit down, sinking those teeth into the juncture like a hot knife through warm butter. You cried out as blood—your blood—dripped from the wound. It curved over your skin and splattered in droplets on the floor. It was more than just a bite. It was a mark—a brand on his property.

You were his.

Tate ran his hand along your body and between your thighs. His fingers found your clit. He traced slow circles around it. The gentle touch was a stark contrast to the way his hips slammed against your backside. It wrenched another cry from your throat as you realized your body was reacting to it.

You knew enough about the female body to know that it would do what was necessary for protection. For survival. But feeling the slick between your thighs that did not come from the blood he’d forced from you made you sick to your stomach. You slammed your eyes shut and bit your lip hard to muffle the shameful little moans you felt clawing out of your throat.

Tate took great enjoyment in it. “That’s it, (Y/N),” he encouraged, chuckling breathlessly. “I’m not stopping until you cum. I wanna feel you submit to me.”

He rubbed in tighter circles, applying enough pressure to make your head spin. You sobbed out a pathetic whine as you felt the knot in your lower stomach pulse. It was building up to something strong, something depraved and sinful and wrong—oh, so very, very wrong.

You gritted your teeth against the coiling spring until it snapped. Tendrils of heat erupted from your center and radiated outwards in branches of liquid warmth. It shot through you like streaks of lightning in a stormy sky. Your entire body shuddered beneath him.

His responding groan was guttural, like it had echoed from the deepest depths of his chest. He snapped his hips quicker, harder. The arm barring your waist drew you closer as he stilled. He swore loudly and spilled into you, the new sensation bleeding uncomfortably between your thighs.

Tate slowly let his body relax. He slumped over you, dropping your body back to the floor, where you trembled in the aftershocks of what just happened. The disgust and shame and guilt. It cut you deeper than your spilled blood.

“You’re mine, (Y/N),” Tate panted into your ear, nuzzling your sweaty hair and kissing your cheek. “Fucking mine.”