#missing out on 3/4 of the ones i was trying to get is actually distressing right now

[battywitch]

I actually might cry 🙄

[lovelyverosika]

Angels going crazy…crazy…is he angry maybe…maybe

Hazbin Hotel! Adam x Fem!reader

Part 4 —> Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Warning: swearing, slight violence, mention of suicide, suggestive ;)

3rd POV:

Meanwhile in the courtroom:

Everything was quiet. All eyes on them. Adam stood in front of Monika with an unreadable expression on his face. "Sir, what are you doing?", Lute said as she came down the podium. Sera looked unsure as well and Charlie looked shocked or to say it better betrayed. Monika knew that redemption was possible the whole time and didn’t tell her and on top of it she’s not the nice demon she acted to be.

"Leave now.", said Adam with a stern voice. Monika raised an eyebrow. "Why?", she asked. "I said leave.", Adam said again, this time with a louder voice. "Naw, are you hurt because your sweet wife is actually a dumb loser bitch?", Monika said with a mocking grin. "I SAID LEAVE, YOU DUMB BITCH OR ELSE I BEAT YOU DOWN THE HOLE YOU CAME FROM MYSELF!", Adam basically screamed at her. Monika looked at him with widen eyes. "Whoa dude, chill.", said Monika with a slight scared expression on her face. "Enough is enough.", Adam said while grabbing Monika roughly and pushing her down the portal to hell. "I’m so sorry for all this mess.", said Charlie as she grabbed Vaggies hand and left for the portal as well. Without saying another word Adam flew out of the courtroom, leaving everyone either confused or shocked.

The streets of heaven were unusually quiet and the angels seem to be in some kind of distress. Why? Because of none other than the first man. The last time they saw him in such an angry state was when Y/N left heaven for 2 weeks for business. Right now he wanted to be alone to clear up his mind or at least collect his thoughts. He really hoped Emily didn’t took Y/N to their shared home, he doesn’t want to get seen in such a vulnerable state at all costs after all he was THE Adam, THE first man. He let out a sigh of relief when he opened the door and everything was quiet. Immediately he went into their shared bedroom and threw his mask on the floor. With a heavy sigh searched for something in the closet of his wife. After a few minutes he found it and couldn’t help but to crack a small smile. It was a stuff bunny, which resembles Y/N.

On their first valentine’s day Y/N has gifted it to him, of course he acted all rough and tough before actually accepting the gift. What would the other angels think if they saw THE first man being all infatuated because of a simple stuff bunny. Behind closed doors he let his facade fall together with his mask since he knew how sensitive Y/N was and how fast she got insecure about those kind of things. Loving kisses and lots of sweet, teasing words were shared that evening but no one needs to know how smitten he actually is. He lied down on her side of the bed, inhaling her comforting smell. He didn’t know how to feel, he still had mixed feelings about what he found out. Out of exhaustion he then fell asleep.

-time skip-

It was early in the morning when Y/N came home, she slept over at Emily’s since she thought it would be the best to give Adam some time. She couldn’t help but to be scared. Adam hated sinners but she changed and redeemed herself and when you think about it there are demons who did much worse than she did. Of course she regretted throwing away her previous life but the past can’t be changed. Everything here in heaven is different now, she finally found someone who makes her (after) life worth living for. Guilt flooded her mind, she only had herself to blame but she couldn’t just causally tell him that she used to be a demon, sadness and fear were one of her most dominant emotions.

Controlled by fear she only does things with a small chance of turning out bad, which lead to her missing out a lot of things since her youth. Adam always gave her a slight push to try out as much as possible as long she’s not too uncomfortable. The outcome was pretty satisfying to her, she tried out lots of new things and they even went to a concert together. Sure it was overwhelming at first but in the end she enjoyed it even more than he did. She smiled at the memory as she walked towards the bedroom door.

She took a deep breath as she opened the door with shaky hands but she relaxed a bit as she saw Adam still sleep. She walked up to him and smiled, he held the stuff bunny she gifted him close to his chest, that must be a good sign, right? Careful not to wake him she kissed his forehead and left the bedroom to prepare some breakfast. Even if he’s going for the divorce she wanted to show him her love and appreciation for one last time.

Right when she finished his favourite breakfast he came out of the bedroom. He sat down in front of her without saying anything, which made Y/N feel even more unsure and nervous than before. "Redemption…huh.", were the first words he said. "Well yes and I’m so sorry for not telling you..I just thought you would like leave me if I told you. And I know you don’t really like demons but I only got to hell because I thought suicide was the answer, which obviously isn’t true, so I’m not a murder or anything. But if you want to leave me I can totally understand that and I’m not mad or anything just a bit sad but-"

Adam interrupted her: "Sheesh babe chill, if you only were this talkative in bed..just kidding this is serious. I forgive you after all how can I stay mad at you when you’re my sweet wifey. Of course you were an asshole for not telling me but you’re still you. Damn I sound cheesy right now." With a loud happy squeal Y/N basically threw herself on Adam and hugged him tightly as they now lay on the floor. "Ouch fuck!", he said while patting her back. Y/N mumbled a quiet sorry before giving him a quick peck on his cheek. "So are we going like fuck now?", he said with a playful smirk. "Adam.. we’re having a wholesome moment right now.", Y/N whined before gently punching his shoulder. They spend the whole afternoon cuddling and just appreciating each other’s affection.

Later that day when the sun went down Adam took Y/N to her favourite flower garden. No one else was there just them. Suddenly Adam got on his knees, leaving Y/N confused and a bit excited. "I’m not good with words, babe but when I say I love you I really mean it and I know we’re already married but will you marry me? I wanna marry the other part of you as well..wanna make you all mine.", he said, leaving Y/N stunned. "Yes, yes and yes!", she answered, touched by his sweet word. Without saying anything else they kissed deeply with the sun setting down behind them.

They spent the rest of the night underneath their sheets naked while loving each other passionate and deeply.

The End<3

A/N: Looking back I never thought that anyone would read this fanfic, which is based on one of my delusional daydreams. The amount of support I got really touched me. That’s why I decided to continue this small Adam x reader series. I really hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for everything<3

[dilf-rot]

Hit and Run

Anon request: could you please write a Hannibal one-shot, where he saves the FBI reader from getting killed by another killer?

A/N: Maybe got a bit carried away, I am also in the middle of writing a chaptered fic with similar themes so… <3 

Tags: Hannibal Lecter x FBI! Reader, GN reader, descriptions of violence and stalking?, soft-ish ending?, Will Graham cameo lol, also Jack, car crash, attempted murder, followed by actual murder, damsel in distress sort of situation, Hannibal caring for you, MDNI 18+ not because there is smut or anything but because everything else I write is rated that way too 

Word Count: 1928

If you enjoy my work consider sending me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/rotwrites (Not required by any means, writing requests are still free!)

-----------------

You had been following this case for months. Plenty of sleepless nights spent going over the details, searching for anything you missed, trying to understand what, or rather who you should be looking for. And despite plenty of warning from your consultations with Will Graham, you were getting far too enveloped in it.

He had suggested you take a step back, let someone else take the reins on this one to keep your own sanity about you. He was worried you’d end up like him.

And as such, he had recommended you also seek the advice of one Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

Unbeknownst to you, Graham had other reasons for doing this. He needed someone else to occupy Lecter’s thoughts for once so that he may be freed from the oppressive force of nature that was the doctor.

But following his introduction to you the case had also begun to infect the mind of Lecter, he felt as if you were being rather reckless in your actions surrounding your investigation, and for some reason he had become rather protective of you.

Joining you for investigations, always standing two steps behind you, only an arms length away during consultation meetings with Jack, constantly offering you rides home, inviting you to spend the night when you were closer to his than your own house. It seemed that both him and Graham had sensed something more happening and wanted to ensure nothing would end up harming you, though Lecter’s approach had been far more direct. And in the last few weeks, he had become a sort of constant presence in your day to day.  

Although tonight, you were determined to make it back to your own house for the night without needing Hannibal’s assistance. As you drive away from his office, you find yourself gaining a strange feeling down in your gut. Not quite the same rushing feeling of adrenaline, but something lower and creeping. A sensation walking up your spine and settling in your chest.

You tried to shake it off as you turned onto the highway and made your way closer towards home. As you were turning off to your exit, a dark car swerved through 4 lanes, hitting the edge of your back tire and spinning you out into the ditch. You hardly had enough time to register what was happening before your car ended up stuck in the gravel. The force of it disorienting you.

The car door is flung open and an unknown force drags you out into the gravel. You try to scream and free yourself but are quickly silenced by a hard kick to your head. Your vision going black.

When you awoke, the room around you was empty. Metal walls starting to rust, a round concrete floor surrounding you. Your legs and arms were bound, and you were gagged. This was not supposed to happen. Nobody was supposed to know who you were or what you were doing, the profile you were working on wouldn’t have known who you were.

Shouldn’t have known.

But here you were, tossed against the cold floor of what you presume to be some sort of grain silo or storage tank. The air was dusty and damp. You could make out very little of your surroundings, just a small amount of light trickling in through the cracks in the metal and the opening above you.

The metal rattles in the wind and you try to come up with a plan. You would play along until you could get free and then you’d take them out and make your escape. 

There is a loud bang against the outer wall of the metal, a dull and cacophonous sound. It makes you jolt, trying to sit up, you slide your feet under you and roll over into a sort of seated position. Your head and heart pounding. It is difficult to take deep breaths, the gag getting in the way. You try to push it away from your mouth, working the muscles in your jaw in an attempt to spit it out, but it is tied too tightly.

A door opens, light streaming in and you make out a dark figure. Another rattle of metal. A bang against the side of the structure. 

The sound sends chills up your spine but you try to steady yourself and remain calm. 

“Are you alright?” The figure speaks and a sense of relief washes over you. It is Doctor Lecter, and as he approaches you smells iron and notice he is unusually disheveled. In the low light you can make out dark stains along his suit coat and slacks. He bends down, and removes the gag.

In this lighting he looks angelic. His face highlighted along the edges, his eyes practically glowing.

As he drops the gag fabric to the side, he runs his hand across your face, his thumb running along your jaw. His palm feels sticky against you. You fight the urge to lean into his touch. Now was not the time to act on whatever unprofessional thoughts you had surrounding him.

“What happened?” You hold still as he unties your legs and arms.

“You got too close it seems.” He helps you to your feet, but as you struggle to take a step he decides to carry you. Placing his arm behind your knees and swinging you up into a bridal carry. “I took care of it.”

You lean your face against his shoulder as he carries you out through the door he had appeared from. You can see the side of the grain silo is dented and splattered with blood. As he begins to walk you towards his car you turn back and make out a slumped figure in the grass, bloody and still.

You look at Hannibal, his face is empty but as you stare up into his eyes, he meets your gaze and faintly nods. You recognize now that the stains on his suit are blood. Either that man’s, or his own. And the stickiness of his palm was the blood drying onto his skin. 

As Hannibal places you in the back seat of his car, the flashing lights and sirens of police cars appear over the road. You see now that you were brought to some field along the roadside. You aren’t sure how far from your highway route it is.

Hannibal closes the door and seems to greet the officers and first responders. You cannot hear what he’s saying, and you do not recognize them. That is until Will Graham hops out of an unmarked vehicle with Jack Crawford.

You curse under your breath. 

Will practically runs to the car, ignoring Jack's protests. He says something to Hannibal, and looks panicked but the expression on his face fades. You roll down the window.

“Hey,” you say meekly.

“We’ll talk tomorrow.” Will is uncharacteristically cold, but you nod and roll the window back up. Jack and Will continue to exchange a few words with Hannibal, and when they seem to be done, they walk away to talk to the other law enforcement.

Doctor Lecter gets into the car, and looks you over. “I’ll take you home,” and starts to slowly pull away from the field.

You stare aimlessly out the window. Beating yourself up in your head. How could you be so reckless? So stupid. This whole thing could cost you your job. You may never be placed on another case again. You should have listened. Shouldn’t have gotten so enveloped.

The world passes by outside the window. The lights and street signs are hazy and blurred. You can hardly register where you’re going, the exhaustion from your previous work day and the whole incident setting in. You aren’t even sure what time it is. 

When the blur of passing scenery stops, you realize you are not at your home, but Doctor Lecter’s. 

“Why are we here?” You ask, trying not to sound disappointed.

“Jack thought it would be best not to leave you alone.” Hannibal steps out of the car, and comes around to open your door.

“I’m fine,” You try not to groan as he helps you get out of the car. Your head is pounding and your legs ache. You try to protest further, “Look I was just being stupid, we don’t even know if it’s the same guy.”

“You should be with someone until we know.” He places an arm around your waist, and helps you up to the door.

“Hannibal-” You look back towards the car, you don’t even know where your car is. Or any of your things really.

“Come inside.” Hannibal helps you to the living room, his arm only leaving your waist when it is time to lower you onto the couch. He props a pillow behind your head as you lay down. The ache in your bones eases slightly from the soft cushioning below you. 

Lecter disappears for an unregistrable amount of time. You are thoroughly absorbed in your own thoughts. Playing months and months of memories trying to figure out what had gone wrong. How you got here. Where you had missed something. 

When Lecter returns, he is holding a tray in his hands.

“Tea?” You look at the tray he’s carrying with a puzzled expression. It holds a glass tea set.

“To help with the headache.” He places the tea set on the table in front of you. You can’t really tell what’s in it, some floral matter of some kind. He pours you a cup and sets it carefully within your reach.

He sits down in a chair across from you, leaning back against it. You take this time to look at him in earnest. His suit is dirty, stained along the sleeves and chest with blood, discolored now. His hair is out of place, strands falling loose and in his face. He seems relatively unbothered by all of this.

“Hannibal,” You start and he leans forward towards you, “is that… your blood?”

“No,” he sort of half smiles at you and goes back to his more relaxed position.

“Do I have any on me?”

“Yes, but it is your own.” His voice is even and you can’t decipher how he feels about it. About you. 

“Oh. Can I… shower? And borrow some clothes?” You fidget, imagining what it would be like to wear his clothes. To be so vulnerable with him. 

“Can you stand on your own?”

 You attempt to, but your knees buckle and your head gets foggy and dizzy from the sudden movement.

Hannibal catches you and eases you back down to the couch, his arm finding your waist again, “How about a bath?”

You nod, and within a few moments you are sitting on the counter of Lecter’s bathroom, watching him fill the tub with warm water. You find yourself absently kicking your feet in anticipation. You say not a word as he moves towards you, his hands finding your hips and sliding you off the counter, helping you walk over to the tub. 

His hands reach the edge of your shirt, but before he can pull it off of you, you make a face and he nods. Closing his eyes as he helps to undress you, not even taking a peek as he offers a hand to help you into the tub. The warm water makes you sigh as your muscles and aches are slowly relieved. Maybe staying here for the night won’t be so bad, at least you know Doctor Lecter would keep you safe. Willing to kill for you.

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10

MDNI----------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, brightest member

warnings: implied smut, evelyn annoying the fuck out of hotch pt 2

Chapter Nine:

The morning light filtered in Evelyn's bedroom, casting a lazy glow across the room as Spencer's kiss melted into Evelyn's lips. She stretched languidly across the bed, the soft fabric of her lounge set--a cozy ensemble chosen for the day's travels--wrinkling beneath her. The scent of mint lingered in the air, a fresh reminder of her morning routine now complete. Spencer stood, the sheets sifting, his departure slow and reluctant.

"You're not leaving me already, are you?" Evelyn's words were a playful whimper, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal a hint of feigned distress. Her hand lazily patted the empty space beside her as if to say there was no good reason for him to get up just yet.

"I'm going to engage in a necessary biological process commonly referred to as 'using the restroom'," Spencer said, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile. "You're very needy in the morning,"

"'M not," Evelyn protested with a drawn-out whine, but she puckered her lips in a pout that begged contradiction, her hands pulling on his sleeve. "Round two?"

Spencer's laughter was a soft rumble, his lips grazing the delicate spot beneath her chin, causing a ripple of giggles to escape her. "Tempting as it is, I should get out of here before Hotch shows up. I'm not sure 'we were just analyzing sleep patterns' would fly as an excuse."

"Yeah, I doubt he'd buy that."

As the bathroom door closed behind Spencer, Evelyn sank back into the pillows. Casual was a term she had never associated with sex before--yet here she was in a no-strings attached arrangement. The simplicity of it all was good and so was the sex--god the sex was good. Evelyn never knew it was possible to want to have it all the time, yet here she was feeling like she could jump his bones at every minute of the day.

Spencer re-entered the room, his eyes sweeping over the space with an inquisitive glint. The room was a reflection of Evelyn herself--unapologetically girly, with walls adorned with soft pastel shades and shelves lined with an array of romance novels. He paused at the collection, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

Evelyn shot him a look, her arms crossing defensively. "Listen, not everyone finds the dictionary to be a page-turner."

"I didn't say anything," Spencer replied, his hands raised in surrender, the ghost of a smirk on his face.

"You didn't have to," Evelyn retorted, "I could hear you thinking it."

Spencer's fingers grazed the spine of particularly worn novel. "May I?"

"Hands off, pretty boy!" Evelyn's protest was cut short as she bounded from the bed, trying to intercept Spencer's reach for the book.

Spencer's chuckles echoed in the room, the book just out of Evelyn's reach as she hopped in vain. With a quick, fluid motion, he captured her wrists with one hand, and with a gentle firmness, her pressed her against the wall. She stood on her tiptoes, the top of her head barely reaching his chin.

"Spencer Reid, if you don't put that book down this instant, I'll--" Evelyn demanded.

"Patience," he replied, the pages flipping rapidly under his gaze. "I'm conducting research."

"Research, huh? In that case let me assist," she trailed off, her hands catching the hem of his shirt, coaxing him back to the bed.

With a laugh, Spencer closed the book. "Evelyn, Hotch will be here any minute. Are you even packed?"

"Of course, I am," she replied, "I'm just gonna miss our nights together while I'm gone, Dr. Reid."

"I'll miss you too," Reid admitted. "Did you know that the heart doesn't actually 'miss' in a literal sense? It's a brain colloquialism for the activation of the brain's reward system, particularly the anterior cingulate cortex and insula, which respond to emotional stimuli..."

Spencer's lecture on the heart was cut short by a sudden, firm knock on the door. Evelyn's eyes widened as she darted a glance through the window, spotting the familiar black SUV outside.

"It's Hotch," she hissed, a note of urgency in her voice. "Please tell me you parked in the garage."

"I did," Spencer assured her, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Okay you stay here," Evelyn directed, her gaze flickering from Spencer to the door as she snatched up her suitcase. "Make sure you wait until we're gone to leave, mkay?"

"Yes, ma'am," Spencer replied, a soft chuckle in his voice, punctuating his words with a gentle tap on her ass as she made her way out.

Evelyn moved to the door with a fluid grace, pulling it open to find Hotch in an uncharacteristically casual stance. He was dressed down for the flight in a soft, gray henley that accentuated his build, paired with jeans that were a far cry from his usual suits. She found the sight disarmingly attractive. Hotch, in turn, was struck by how Evelyn's casual outfit clung just right, only seeming to enhance her natural elegance.

"Morning, sunshine," she chimed, her smile sharp and gleaming as she tore her gaze from his body.

Hotch's gaze fell to the overstuffed suitcase at her feet, one brow arching higher than the other. "Planning to move in, or is that all for three days?"

"Oh, Hotch, you wouldn't last a day with me as a roommate. I'm a handful and then some," Evelyn teased. "And this," she gestured to herself, "takes a suitcase full of effort. It's not sorcery, but it's close."

Hotch watched her with a measured gaze, finding himself momentarily lost in thought. Inwardly, he doubted the necessity of her suitcase's contents. She hardly needed meticulous preparation to look the way she did. It was a thought, he chastised himself for having, he was her boss, and such considerations were definitely beyond the scope of the role.

Evelyn made a move for the suitcase, but Hotch was already one step ahead, effortlessly hoisting the luggage before she could. Side by side, they walked to the car, their footsteps in quiet accord. With a swift motion, Hotch stowed the luggage in the car, and they both climbed into the car.

Evelyn settled in and her gaze fell to a coffee cup awaiting her. "Hotch, is that for me?"

Hotch started the engine, feigning indifference. "Let's just say I prefer my mornings peaceful, and a caffeine-deprived Evelyn is anything but."

She grinned, noting the vanilla scent wafting from the cup. "And you got my favorite?"

"I make it a point to remember the important details--unlike like someone."

"You know, I had a feeling you'd bring that up," Evelyn said with a roll of her eyes. "A girl's entitled to one coffee mishap, isn't she?"

The early morning drive to the airport was a quiet affair, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional melody that Evelyn couldn't resist singing along to. It seemed that every song on the radio was her 'favorite,' and she serenaded Hotch with a gusto that was inversely proportional to her musical accuracy. Hotch's expression might have read as mildly pained, but in truth, he found her off-key notes unexpectedly charming.

Evelyn navigated the narrow plane aisle with a practiced grace, sliding into the middle seat. On the window side, Hotch had already claimed his spot, his gaze fixed on the world outside. The aisle seat remained vacant but not for long. A man, older and with a certain disheveled charm that bordered on sleazy, soon occupied it.

His suit was a tad too shiny, the kind that tried too hard to impress, and his hair was slicked back in way that seemed to defy both age and gravity. Evelyn, ever the person she was, didn't seem to mind as she offered him a polite smile, the kind that was courteous yet distant. The man returned the gesture, revealing a gold tooth that glinted in the cabin light.

"Well, isn't this cozy?" the man started, "I must say, you make our cramped quarters seem rather pleasant."

Evelyn flashed a polite smile. "That's very kind."

Hotch sat quietly, his gaze fixed on the exchanged with an intensity that betrayed his calm exterior. His protective instincts were fully engaged, a subtle tension visible only in the slight clench in his jaw. He watched as Evelyn navigated half the flight with her usual poise, responding to the main's veiled advances with nothing more than polite nods and neutral smiles.

Oblivious to any underlying intentions, she carried on with an air of kindness, her attention occasionally drifting to the window. Hotch, ever watchful, noted the subtle cues--the way the main leaned in, the too-warm chuckles, the searching glances. Yet, Evelyn seemed unaware.

"Your choice of material is quite... enlightening," the man remarked, his knee brushing against Evelyn's for the umpteenth time.

"Oh this?" Evelyn remarked casually, holding up the romance book. "Just a little light reading for the flight."

The man chuckled, his tone dripping with innuendo. "Careful, those can set quite the mood. Might be more than you bargained for."

Confusion flickered across Evelyn's features, failing to grasp the full intent behind the man's comment. Hotch, however, was all too aware, his patience wearing thin with each 'accidental' contact between the man's knee and Evelyn's.

In a moment of quiet resolve, he leaned towards her, his voice a soft murmur meant only for her ears. "You said you prefer the window seat, correct?"

Evelyn's eyes widened, the corners of her mouth curving into a smile of genuine surprise. "Are you offering it to me?"

He confirmed with a simple nod, his eyes holding hers with a gentle firmness.

She lowered her voice, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "You're just full of surprises today, aren't you? I better start taking notes; the team's never going to believe this."

Evelyn stood up, her movements betraying a slight reluctance as she moved to switch seats. Meanwhile, Hotch stood from his seat, his stature filling up the limited space between them. As Evelyn edged by, the proximity caught her off guard, sending a surge of warmth through her, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

"Oh, sorry," she breathed out, barely audible, as a wave of crimson flooded her cheeks, her mind chastising her for the clumsy encounter.

Hotch offered a silent nod, his own heartbeat imperceptibly faster.

Time stretched on and as the drone of the engines filled the cabin, Evelyn rose yet again, her movements fluid yet mindful in the confined space. The narrow space forced Evelyn to turn her back as she edged by, her focus solely on the beckoning call of the restroom. Hotch, his composure momentarily slipping, masked his distraction with a cough that sounded almost strained against the quiet chatter.

Hotch was a man of control, yet as Evelyn moved past him, her presence was undeniable and quite literally right at eye level just like her ass. The fabric of her attire accentuating her every move, leaving an imprint on his watchful eyes that lingered longer than necessary. Hotch's gaze followed her every move, tracking her discreetly until she merged with the aisle.

The man beside Hotch, leaned in closer than necessary. "Quite the view, huh?" he commented in a hushed tone, a sleazy grin spreading across his features.

Hotch's expression hardened, his jaw setting a firm line. Facing the man, his eyes were steely, his voice a low rumble of warning, "I'd suggest you keep your observations to yourself. It's a long flight, and I'd hate for it to become any longer for you."

The remainder of the flight passed without incident, the earlier tension dissolving into the cabin's recycled air. Evelyn, none the wiser to the exchange between Hotch and the man, mused to herself about the sudden peace.

As they disembarked in Miami, Evelyn and Hotch were greeted by the warm air that wrapped around them like a welcoming shawl. The hotel loomed around them, a sprawling resort nestled amidst lush gardens and shimmering waters.

"Hotch, look at this place! I think the Bureau's expense department got their wires crossed," Evelyn gushed as they entered the lobby, where her attention was swiftly stolen by the sight of the pool through the floor-to-ceiling windows. "I half expect to see a celebrity or two lounging by that pool. Speaking of which, how strict do you think they are about conference attendees taking a 'research break' in the water? Asking for a friend, of course."

"Evelyn," he began, "what you do in your free time is at your discretion. However," he continued, his gaze locking onto hers, "we have a dinner engagement this evening with some key figures from the conference. It's an informal setting, but impressions matter. I trust you'll bring your usual insight and professionalism to the table."

"Professionalism? Oh, you've got it, boss man. I'll be the picture of professionalism--so much so, they might just mistake me for you," she teased, her grin suggesting she was only half-joking. "As long as you keep me on the guest list for these conferences."

Hotch's gaze lingered on Evelyn for a moment, a silent warning conveyed in the briefest of looks. "I need to meet with some representatives from the BSU," he said, "Here's your room key," he added, handing her a small envelope with a practiced hand. "Remember, 'be good' isn't just a suggestion, it's an expectation."

"Oh, Hotch, when have I ever been anything but good?" Evelyn asked, batting her lashes with an exaggerated innocence.

Hotch offered nothing but a deadpan look in response to Evelyn's words, the unamused mask firmly in place as he turned and walked away with measured steps.

Evelyn's delight was unmistakable as she made it to her room. The space was more than nice--it felt luxurious. From the plush bed to the breathtaking view that beckoned from the window. But the room couldn't contain her restless energy for long. She swiftly changed into a comfortable pair of jeans and tank top.

Evelyn's casual stroll through the hotel brought her to a halt outside a bustling conference room where Hotch stood, surrounded by a circle of professionals. One woman in particular caught her eye--a vibrant figure with a small tattoo adorning her exposed shoulder, her proximity to Hotch just shy of intimate. Her laughter rang out, a decibel too high, piercing the hum of conversation. The sound seemed to echo in Evelyn's ears, stirring an unfamiliar jealously as she watched, a sense of possessiveness she hadn't anticipated washing over her.

"What am I doing?" Evelyn questioned herself, a frown marring her usually carefree expression. She shook her head, trying to scatter the unexpected feeling that clouded her thoughts. She was already with one coworker. With one last look at Hotch and the woman, she turned, her footsteps echoing through the hall.

The evening had settled over the resort, casting a soft glow of the evening lights. In her room, Evelyn stood before the mirror, draped in a black dress that embraced her form with an almost immoral familiarity. The neckline offered a glimpse of the swell of her breasts that made her second-guess the appropriateness for dinner. She pondered if the dress crossed the line from chic to scandalous, especially since Hotch had left the dress code to her imagination.

As she reached for her lipstick, a knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

Opening the door, she was greeted by the sight of Hotch. His dark suit was crisp, the lines clean and authoritative, setting off the steely look in his eyes. For a fleeting second, Evelyn found herself at a loss for words, her usual quick-witted banter deserting her. She marveled at the sharpness of his jawline, the intensity of his gaze.

She blinked, a rush of warmth flooding her cheeks as she took a moment to appreciate the man before her. Regaining her composure, she greeted him. "Well, if it isn't Agent Hotchner, looking sharp enough to cut through red tape."

His eyes softened as his gaze dragged up her figure. It was rare when words, typically his steadfast ally, seemed insufficient. Clearing his throat, he allowed a genuine smile to touch his lips. "Evelyn, you look beautiful."

The unexpected warmth in Hotch's voice sent a flutter through Evelyn's stomach. A blush crept up her cheeks as she stammered. "Oh--uh, thank you, hotch," she managed, her voice a notch higher than usual. She stepped aside, gesturing him in. "Just give me one sec, I need to... uh, apply my lipstick," she said, her hands fumbling for the cosmetic.

As Evelyn carefully twisted the tube of lipstick, she began to speak. "So, who exactly is going to be at this dinner...?" She trailed off, focusing on the precision of the crimson shade as it glided over her lips, forming an 'o' shape. "And the seating arrangements, I hope they're not too formal. It's always so awkward to make conversation when--"

Hotch found himself unexpectedly transfixed, leaning casually against the doorframe yet entirely absorbed by the scene before him. Evelyn's lips, parting and pressing as she spoke, were all he could see. She was speaking--something about the dinner, the guests--but the words seemed to drift away. All of it was drowned out by the delicate precision with which she painted her lips, the occasional catch of her teeth against the plush red, the way he could imagine those same lips wrapped around his cock. The mundane task, one he had never given much thought to before, suddenly seemed the most fascinating thing in the world.

Evelyn caught the distant look in Hotch's eyes and paused, her lipstick hovering mid-air. "Hotch?" she probed, a note of curiosity in her voice.

He snapped back to the present with a slight start. "Huh? Oh, yeah, sounds great," he mumbled, almost as if on autopilot.

Evelyn eyed him quizzically for a moment but then shrugged it off with a smile. "Well, I'm all set," she said, slipping her lipstick into her purse. "Shall we?"

The restaurant was a cocoon of warmth and subtle elegance, its walls adorned with tasteful art and tables set with crystal and fine china that caught the glimmers of the chandeliers overhead. As Evelyn and Hotch made their way through the hushed conversations and the soft clinking of cutlery, she felt a flutter of anticipation mixed with the slightest edge of nerves.

As Evelyn neared the table, a sharp pang of recognition coursed through her--the woman from before was there. The woman who had flirted with Hotch, her casual elegance now a sharp thorn in Evelyn's side. The closer they got to the table, the more Evelyn felt the bitter vine of jealously winding its way up, tightening around her voice. It made it all worse as she realized the same woman that was flirting with hotch was the infamous Lillian Lewis, best-selling author and behavioral analyst. She was a legend in their work.

Hotch, ever composed, acknowledged the table with a subtle nod. "Professor, gentlemen," he began, "this is Special Agent Evelyn Gideon."

The men at the table, both influential benefactors of the BAU, received her with a warmth that melted away some of her stiffness. "Agent Gideon, a pleasure," the man, Thomas Weller, remarked, his handshake warm and reassuring.

Dr. Reeves greeted her with a thoughtful nod and a smile. "Welcome, Evelyn. It's always good to see new faces in the field."

Evelyn mirrored their greetings, her smile unfurling effortlessly, softening the formality of the moment. Her voice turned to one of admiration as she tried to push aside the knot of discomfort in her stomach. Despite her confusing feelings to Hotch, game recognizes game. And Professor Lewis was one of the best.

"Professor Lewis, it's an honor. Your work on micro expressions has been a game-changer in high-stakes negotiations."

Professor Lewis gave a curt nod, her 'Thank you' slicing through the air, sharp and devoid of the earlier warmth. Her eyes, a steely grey, seemed to appraise Evelyn with a scholar's critical gaze, flickering over her with an air of polite disinterest.

As they took their places at the table, Hotch smoothly slid Evelyn's chair out for her. As she eased into it, she shot him a teasing smile. "Such attentiveness, Agent Hotchner. I wasn't kidding about taking notes, the team will need a full briefing when we get back."

Hotch leaned in, his breath a whisper against her ear. "Remember how I said being good wasn't a suggestion?"

The warmth of his breath left her momentarily dazed, a tingling sensation lingering where his words had landed. She shrugged softly at his words, shooting him a quick wink.

As the dinner conversation ebbed and flowed around them, Dr. Reeves leaned forward, drawn by the familiar ring of her last name. "So, your father is Jason Gideon?"

Evelyn affirmed with a modest tilt of her head. "The one and only."

With a scrutinizing look, Professor Lewis cut into the conversation, injecting dryly. "Must've been nice having that as your golden ticket."

The comment hung in the air, and Evelyn felt a momentary discomfort. She recovered quickly, though, with a light-hearted retort. "Well, it certainly wasn't a Wonka bar, but it did come with its own set challenges," she said, hoping to deflect the tension with humor.

Without missing a beat, Hotch offered a measured nod in Evelyn's direction. "Evelyn has earned her place on the team. Her record stands on its own."

Evelyn managed to navigate the rest of the dinner with grace, her laughter blending seamlessly into the restaurant's hum. It was easy for her to charm the benefactors just like Hotch assumed she would: the way she remembered personal details, the easy way she joked about the appetizers, or how she gracefully deflected any praise to her team, specifically her unit chief.

As the clinking of glasses subsided, Mr. Weller nudged Hotch with a knowing look. "The bureau's lucky to have someone like her," before shooting a wink to Evelyn, he added, "And hey, if you ever get tired of this guy, give me a ring, huh?"

As they prepared to leave, Hotch's hand found its way to the small of Evelyn's back, guiding her through the crowd. The warmth of touch sparked a cascade of tingles down her spine, and she couldn't help but press back against his palm, a subtle gesture not lost on the observant eyes of the professor.

"Did you hear that, Hotchner?" Evelyn teased as she pressed closer to him. "The bureau is lucky to have me."

Hotch's fingers gave a gentle squeeze on her back, his voice low and teasing. "I knew that would go to your head."

The hotel's quiet corridors echoed with the soft tread of their steps as Hotch accompanied Evelyn to her door. The distant hum of the air conditioning lent a subtle rhythm, while the floorboards yielded a soft protest against their weight.

Evelyn paused at her door, her palm grazing the cool metal of the doorknob. Her gaze flickered up to Hotch. "Guess I'm not high on Professor Blake's list, huh?"

A smile of quiet assurance played on Hotch's lips, his gaze steady. "I wouldn't quite put it that way," he murmured, his voice low. "That's just her way."

Evelyn exhaled a breath tinged with mock amusement, her gaze honing in with accusation. "Well, she sure seemed to have a different way with you earlier," she insinuated, her words just loud enough for him to catch.

"What was that?" Hotch asked, an eyebrow raised in silent invitation for her to elaborate.

"Nothing," Evelyn retorted with a swift dismissal.

Hotch shook his head, a silent chuckle in his throat.

He lingered, his eyes savoring her--the contours of her face, the curve of her beck, the line of her shoulders. Hotch found himself captivated, unable to divert his attention. As the hallway seemed to condense around them, Hotch found his gaze on the delicate bow of her lips, the color seeming to tempt him in more ways than one.

"Goodnight, Evelyn," he finally managed.

"Goodnight, Hotch," she voiced evenly, her words smooth and controlled, a veil over the wild drumming of her heart.

With a final nod, Hotch turned and walked away. Evelyn retreated into her room, the door's click sealing her inside, its sound a faint punctuation in the quiet. She exhaled a deep, satisfied breath, a serene smile playing on her lips. She moved with a soft deliberateness, preparing for bed, her slow and purposeful movements discarding the dress.

She pulled out her pajamas, the fabric soft and familiar between her fingers. A shade of blush with tiny hearts, the material hugged her just right. Dimming the lights, she climbed into the plush bed, the sheets cool against her skin. 

next

taglist: @nonamevenus @aceofspades190

[jennay]

My Best Friend (4)

Noah Sebastian x reader

Master List

Summary: Noah and Jolly learn secrets about reader.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged 💜

1/2/3/4/5

Falling in your dreams from a high place had to be one of the worst feelings. But waking up to realize you had actually fallen off the back seat of the van you were sleeping on was even worse. Your face collided with the back of the passenger seat, sending a sharp pain through your nose. This was definitely not how you wanted to wake up.

“What the…?” you groaned, still feeling the jolt from Noah slamming on the brakes. Your nose throbbed, and you could already feel a bruise forming. You rubbed your face, trying to shake off the disorientation and the lingering remnants of your dream.

Noah pulled off to the side of the road, stopping and throwing the van into park. He turned around to face you, his short brown hair falling into his eyes, panic written all over his face. Jolly looked equally horrified.

You slowly scooped yourself off the ground, sitting back in the seat and gently rubbing your face. “What happened?!”

“That guy came out of nowhere,” Noah said, looking forward at the road, shakily putting his large tattooed hand back on the steering wheel. “Are you guys okay?”

You nodded, throwing your seat belt over your shoulder. “I think I prefer Jolly to drive,” you said with a soft yawn. “Where are we, what time is it?”

“Salem, Oregon…” Jolly said with a mischievous smile.

Your eyes widened in horror. “Why are we in SALEM, JOLLY, that’s not the route we agreed on?!”

Noah chuckled and pulled back onto the highway. “To see your family. Why else would we go there?” He paused, glancing at you in the rearview mirror, slightly surprised. “I thought you’d be happy? I know you’ve been missing them and it’s not like we really had a set plan.”

You shake your head, “I thought we were going to Washington??”

“I said one stop was in Washington besides I haven’t seen them in forever and I think seeing your sister would do you good, I already texted her and she’s excited to see us and meet Noah.” Jolly reminds you. “Why are you acting like this?”

“You text her!?” You almost scream. “Why?”

“Um…” He says sarcastically drawing out the m… “If it wasn’t for your sister we would’ve never met and you wouldn’t have your best friend Noah, which also offends me that Noah became your best friend!”

You lightly shake your head. “You do know she’s married?” You remind him. “Like a ring and kids married.” You feel your heart thud in your chest. Between laying down napping and watching movies you weren’t paying attention to the routes. The last thing you remembered seeing was Medford, Oregon.

Jolly shrugs his shoulders, “That’s fine it’s never been like that with her and me. We were always friends.” He turns to face you, “Now, explain why you’re being weird.”

You sighed, feeling a mix of emotions but mostly panic. “They only kind of know about Michael.”

Jolly laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

“They knew I was dating someone… they just didn’t know it was him at least not the whole time. They met him on FaceTime a couple times, my mom hated him… told me he reminded her of my dad. And my sister nearly died when she saw how much I was going out and drinking… Everyone panicked, so I told them we broke up a while back. I don't even want to get started with what my brothers said.” You lean your head against the window attempting to breathe without distress. “So I made up a story and told them I was dating Noah and that we moved in together… I just wanted them to stop worrying,” you sheepishly admitted.

Noah nearly choked on his coffee. “Wait, what?!”

You shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I mean, we live together now…”

“We don’t live together like that…” He shook his head. “We’ve never dated, now I’m your boyfriend?” He laughed, keeping his eyes on the road. “I guess I should feel honored.” He smiled again, “How long have you been lying to them and how the hell did you pull it off?”

You shrugged your shoulders, returning his gaze. “We take pictures together all the time, and I mean, it’s not like I wasn’t over at the house a lot even when Michael and I were together.” You rubbed your temples, regretting you said anything.

“Okay, but I’m gonna need some details… I don’t even know how long we’ve been dating.” He looked over at Jolly, “Can you believe her?”

You took a deep breath, “To them, I left Michael after three months, then I took a break… and I think we’ve been dating for, I don’t know, like six months?”

“Six months?!” Noah laughed, “That’s intimacy level.”

Jolly burst out laughing. “This trip just got a whole lot more interesting. Can’t wait to see how this plays out.”

“You guys fucking suck. Wake me up when we get there…and don’t kill us.” You say curling up in your seat.

Noah rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ll do my best, babe.” he says winking in the rearview. 

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

__

You stood in front of your sister’s front door, feeling Noah and Jolly crowding your space. Taking a deep breath, you placed your hand on the doorknob and slowly twisted it open. “Stephanie?” you called, waiting for a response. “We’re here!” you announced as you stepped inside.

Within seconds, your sister came bolting around the corner, heading directly toward you. She squeezed you tight, holding you close and rocking you back and forth. “I’m so happy you're here!” she squealed, pulling back to look at you.

You laughed a little, spotting her husband Kyle coming to join you in the kitchen. He walked straight to Noah, extending his hand. “You must be Noah,” he said, shaking his hand firmly. “I’ve heard good things about you.”

Noah nodded, remembering the previous conversation. He tried his best not to laugh, thinking about how you had explained that he was now your pretend boyfriend. “I’m sure she exaggerated a bit,” he said, grinning.

He put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. You stumbled a bit, moving closer to his side, and softly wrapped your arm around his waist. You felt him kiss the top of your head, and you smiled as you met your sister's gaze. Her eyes sparkled as she watched you and Noah, clearly happy and believing it all.

“Well, I feel out of place,” Jolly teased. “Everyone’s coupled up, and here I am.”

Stephanie giggled, pushing her straight long brown hair behind her shoulders. “You’ve always been the odd one out,” she joked.

Jolly shrugged. “Should we sit?”

As the crowd started moving to the living room, you realized your head was still resting on Noah’s chest, and you were still cradled in his arms. A small flip in your stomach happened, and you gently pulled away. Noah’s eyes caught yours, and you weakly smiled up at him, signaling you were okay.

“Go ahead,” you said, gesturing behind everyone. “I’ll catch up in a second. I just need to use the bathroom.”

You took a moment to steady yourself, feeling the warmth of Noah's embrace lingering. As you made your way to the bathroom, you caught a glimpse of the family photos lining the hallway. Each picture told a story, from Stephanie’s life, and childhood memories to recent celebrations. The nostalgia tugged at your heart, a bittersweet reminder of simpler times.

After freshening up, you returned to the living room where everyone was settling in. Noah was already engaged in a lively conversation with Kyle, and Jolly was making Stephanie laugh with one of his jokes. You felt a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that despite everything, you were not alone.

You joined them, taking a seat next to Noah. He glanced at you, his eyes filled with understanding and reassurance. You leaned into him slightly, feeling the comfort of his presence.

Your attention flung to your sister when she said, “How long has it been?” You didn’t notice how much you were zoning out until then.

“How long what?” you questioned, blinking away the haze of your thoughts.

“How long has it been since you’ve been home?” She paused, still smiling as she spoke. “I was so mad when you moved with Jolly. I could’ve killed you both.” She laughed, but there was an edge to her voice.

“I was just here like three years ago. You drama queen,” you said, smiling.

She took a sip of her wine, looking directly at Noah. You could tell she was mustering up her courage to say something. “Did you ever meet her ex?” she asked, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Jolly and Noah both nodded their heads, not wanting to say anything to piss you off, knowing it was still a touchy subject.

“God, wasn’t he the worst?” Stephanie continued, her tone casual but her words cutting deep.

You felt your stomach twist and turn. This was not what you wanted to do right now. “We don’t need to talk about him,” you reminded her, your voice strained.

Kyle rubbed his hand down Stephanie’s back. “Maybe a conversation for you and your sister in private,” he whispered, trying to diffuse the tension.

“I kinda wanna talk about it now,” she said, her eyes darting to Jolly. “Because how did you of all people not see the signs of abuse?” She set her wine down on the table beside her. “And from what I heard, you two were pretty close before dating.” she points to Noah.

You bit your lip, feeling the weight of her words. “Stephanie, not now.”

“Abuse?” Noah said, pulling his weight away from you. His curious brown eyes were full of sadness, watching you intently. How did he not see it? His arm was still draped around your waist as he waited for your answer.

“He didn’t abuse me,” you assured the two men, your voice trembling slightly.

“Maybe not physically, but there for a minute, I didn’t even know who you were. That man was manipulating the hell out of you and made you feel so bad all the time. I’m so glad you didn’t end up marrying him like you said you would.” She shook her head, her features turning angry. “You’d probably be dead within a year.”

Your mouth dropped. “That’s a messed up thing to say.”

“You swallowed a bunch of pills in April because you couldn’t handle all the shit, so don’t tell me you wouldn’t be dead nine months later,” she shot back, her voice rising with each word.

Noah’s grip tightened around you, his confusion and concern palpable. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I could have helped.”

Jolly’s face was a mask of disbelief, his usual jovial expression replaced with a look of horror. 

“He didn’t even go with her to the hospital,” Stephanie said, shaking her head in disapproval.

You stood up quickly, shaking your head as you stared at her in disbelief. “That was an awful thing to tell them. If I wanted them to know, I would’ve told them myself.” You took in a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart, before grabbing your bag and heading to the spare room.

You heard footsteps following close behind you, and before you could shut the door, it bounced back from Noah sticking his foot in the way. You turned around, guilty eyes watching Noah as he closed the door and walked towards you. He stared at the ground, trying to find the words to say to you but unsure of how to start the conversation.

You sat next to him but avoided making eye contact. “It didn’t feel important,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, his face turning to anger but still keeping his composure. “Not important? You almost died, and you think that’s not important?” His voice was low but filled with a mix of hurt and frustration. “I can’t believe you went through that alone.”

You felt a lump form in your throat as you tried to hold back tears. “I didn’t want to burden anyone,” you said, your voice trembling. “I thought I could handle it on my own.”

Noah’s expression softened slightly, but the pain in his eyes remained. “You don’t have to handle everything by yourself. We’re here for you, always.” He reached out, gently taking your hand in his.

You nodded, agreeing with him. You didn’t want to argue; you were growing tired. “I think I need sleep. We can talk about this more in the morning if you want.”

He nodded in agreement and stood up, grabbing a pillow and a throw blanket from the floor. You watched him curiously, the soft rustling of fabric filling the quiet room. “What are you doing?”

“Making my bed,” he replied with a small smile, his voice gentle.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound breaking the tension. “The bed is big enough for both of us.”

He hesitated for a moment, then smiled warmly. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, feeling a sense of comfort wash over you. “It’s gonna look weird if you’re on the floor in the morning.” You faintly smile.

 He nods in agreement sitting up. He plays along with your game. You both settled into the bed, you felt the cool sheets against your skin, contrasting with the warmth of his body next to you. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh linen, creating a soothing atmosphere.

His arm wrapped around you, pulling you close and at first you think it’s weird but when he whispers, “I can’t believe I almost lost you and didn’t know.” You realize this is a friend trying to hold close what almost disappeared from him. 

The steady rhythm of his breathing and the gentle rise and fall of his chest began to lull you into a peaceful sleep. You could hear the soft hum of the night outside, the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. The light barely peeked through the window casting a soft glow on Noah’s face.

“Goodnight,” he whispered softly.

The warmth of his embrace and the feeling of his heartbeat against your back made you feel safe and cared for. For the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of peace as you drifted off to sleep.

“Goodnight, Noah.”

[foreverisntenough]

- YOU’RE MINE -

Summary: While you daydreamed about his face an ocean apart, he had no idea what yours was about to do to him. With a twist of fate and the heat of summer, a new relationship would completely ransack his heart - Everyday heavy with the thought of one another, neither of you were going to let the unexpected love of your life go. You were going to be his, you were his, and you were going to stay his.

Warnings: This story will contain fluff, suggestion, smut love bombing, little sad, and kind of angst- not sure what else really…

Note: I was planning on keeping this just for myself so please be nice. I hope you like it! There will definitely be more parts (don’t know how many just yet though.)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Chapter 8 - ‘You’re Mine’

Marcel watched Trent rub his eyes sitting in the airport lounge. He looked so distressed that it confused his brother. He had a good holiday but wasn’t mad about getting back to his own bed, not understanding Trent’s dismay. He didn’t particularly want to ask, still annoyed about the snub last night but he did anyway.

“Bro, what’s up?” Marcel asked pretty disingenuously but he did care.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. All good mate.” Trent pushed the inquiry away.

“Marc, obviously it’s the loss of his unlimited supply he’s had for the past few days.” One of the other boys quipped alluding to the amount of sex Trent and you were having. The comment struck a nerve.

“Aye, shut the fuck up. Don’t talk about her again bro. I’m fucking serious.” Trent snapped, causing all the boys to quiet down. Tyler stood up and moved toward Trent sitting down next him placing his hand on his shoulder.

“Yo bro, sorry, just bants,” his friend spoke before Tyler could.

“You good Trenski?” Tyler said quietly more to him then to the group. “It’ll be fine. Keep your head down, focus in on the season starting, if it’s meant to be you guys will work something out later.”

“That’s not what I want at all. I don’t want later.” Trent sighed although seeing your name light up across his phone, a slight smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“… and you want?” Marcel chimed in inquiring.

“Her. Her all day.” Trent confessed but was getting overwhelmed by the attention on him now. He stood up walking away from the group with his hand rubbing his face the other opening your message. His brothers knew him well enough to know it was better to leave him be for a little. Trent was always stubborn but sensitive too although they hadn’t really seen him get so worked up over someone else before.

You took a selfie of your face pressed into the bouquet left by Trent, your face was tear stained, cheeks flushed full with a soft smile. You could see your naked shoulders rolled into the flowers, your arm holding the phone outstretched showing your legs wrapped around the arrangement your spine curled leaning into it. You liked the vulnerability of the photo but didn’t think too much about it as Trent had already seen every inch of you. You sent a text with the photo to him thoughtlessly

“Missing you baby 😘 Thank you again sweet boy”

The message had Trent’s heart beating out of his chest. The image of you in a towel, almost naked, made his cock twitch. He could almost hear your voice singing the word ‘baby’ in his head which ultimately just made him sad.

He boarded the private plane and tucked into his seat, headphones on, ignoring the boys who were being particularly rowdy. Marcel decided to check on Trent seeing that his little sulk was going on longer than he was used to.

“Bro, give her a call. Just try to relax, if you want her.. show her that. You’ll work it out if you actually give it a go and don’t just dwell on it.” His words were actually quite true which surprised Trent but he didn’t have the energy to give his brother shit about it.

“Yeah, yeah, mate. I’m gonna get this to work.” Trent said with more confidence than he actually had.

Your phone buzzed once you had arrived back in your apartment. The sun beamed through the window illuminating the flowers you had brought home, his sweater wrapped you up perfectly as you sat tucked on your couch.

“Hello..” you answered apprehensively but with a big grin.

“You okay, baby?” Trent asked you but you could hear that he was sad.

“Trying but little better hearing from you. I’m pretty cozy right now though, thank you for ‘leaving’ your jumper for me.. you did leave it on purpose right?” to him, you were incredibly endearing. He giggled at your words and your innocence.

The boys on the plane quieted down listening to Trent laugh for the first time all day.

“I did. Thought you’d like to have it.” He cooed with a big smile plastered across his face.

“It’s embarrassing how much I miss you already. Are you sure you’re 100% set on this whole football career?” You joked a little.

“Yeah” he giggled some more. “Pretty set on it, it’s my job after all.”

“Alright, alright. Fine, I guess I’ll have to come see you at work then.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Trent couldn’t pull the grin off his face as he kept talking to you. He stayed on the phone with you for a while before he told you he had to go because he didn’t want the call to drop during the flight, leaving you without a proper goodbye.

By the time they landed back in England the plane had completely gone quiet. The boys all passed out, begrudgingly having to wake up now to get off. Once on the tarmac the boys yawned saying their goodbyes surrounded by a barrage of Rimowa luggage and the Louis Vuitton duffle bag you lusted after when you first saw it in Trent’s hotel room. Trent, Tyler, and Marcel all got into a car to head to their family home to see their mum first, a ride that was particularly quiet compared to the brothers normal volume. They dragged their feet into the house. Marcel beelined to the couch slouching down into it. In typical boy fashion, the three boys had failed to tell their mum, Dianne, exactly what time they would be returning.

“Oh my god, my babies!” Dianne yelled seeing Marcel appear on the couch, leaving the kitchen, she ran over to him squeezing his face. “My youngest baby” she cooed.

“Mum…enough,” Marcel groaned trying to pull her hands from him.

“Coming from America mum, not back from war.” Tyler smiled walking over to her giving her a proper hug and kiss.

“And you… hello sweetheart” Dianne pushed at Trent who wasn’t really in the mood.

“He’s being a bitch today,” Marcel quipped, only to catch a light tap to the back of his head from his mum.

“Why so moody hun?”

“Yeah, just tired, don't know.” Trent ignored the obvious reason, giving his mum a tight hug before leaving to go to the kitchen, grabbing a water before sitting at the island.

“He’s upset he had to leave his girlfriend.” Tyler exposed him.

“…girlfriend?” Dianne was confused but wanted to stay calm in an effort to get as much information out of them as possible.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Trent yelled, overhearing from the kitchen.

“You wish she was.” Marcel chimed in again. The conversation fizzled out though with no one really having the energy to further it, the boys now splitting up going in separate directions throughout the house. Although Dianne was still hooked on the limited information about a possible girlfriend.

Trent sat at the island counter slumped over his phone, resting his face on his hand, swiping through photos. He sighed zooming in on little details seeing your smile lines, his hands on your waist, little freckles placed on your bare shoulders, your lips pressed to his skin. Pictures of you in bed had him fantasizing about being back there with you but when the pictures got a little steamier, erotic almost, he had to swipe out of the application to compose himself, he was in his mum’s kitchen after all.

“Going to tell me her name?” Dianne asked entering the kitchen, her hand coming to rub her son's back.

“Y/N” Trent sighed again. Pulling up a more innocent photo of you to show his mom. Trent became obsessed with taking pictures of you over your days together. He thought you were so beautiful without even trying. He had so many pictures of you asleep on his chest or wrapped in a towel in the bathroom, some incredibly more lude, and some much more sweet.

“She’s very pretty, Trent.” His mum confirmed.

“Yeah, I know. She’s perfect, the thing is she has no idea how beautiful she is and she’s so smart..” he began rambling about the intricacies of you. His mum just smiled listening patiently.

“You must really like her” she cooed “so she’s your girlfriend?” Asking what she really wanted to know.

“No, no, I mean…” he paused. “She’s mine, like she’s not but we’re… I don’t know.” Trent struggled to explain.

“Hmm okay. But you like her? And she knows this?” Dianne kept talking, trying to wrap her head around the situation.

“Yeah, yeah she definitely knows. I’m gonna have her come visit after the preseason.” Trent informed her.

“Oh… is she not from here?” She asked, causing him to laugh, thinking that would’ve been obvious or have already come up somehow.

“Nah, she’s American.” He said smiling at another picture of you.

“I don’t mind that” His mum smiled as she had American roots. “If you're happy, I’m happy sweetheart but don’t lose sight of priorities, alright?” Dianne wanted to make sure nothing was going to disturb his focus on the fast approaching football season.

Trent collapsed onto his bed in a huff after a long day of traveling. When he mustered up the strength to shower he stood in front of his bathroom mirror pulling his shirt over his head to see little love bites, light bruises from where your lips had been the night before. His hand brushed over the spots. He silently moaned at the thought of your lips back on his skin. The thought of you in bed paired with the fact that he wasn’t going to have that for weeks had his cock growing hard painfully. He turned to get into the shower in an attempt to clear his head. The water stung his skin. When he rubbed his hands over where he could reach on his back he felt the markings from your nails. He smiled a little at the memory of what caused you to scratch down him, his cock only getting harder.

Trent looked down at his cock beginning to leak pre-cum. He missed you a lot and liked you a lot but god, physically you drove him mad. He felt bad but he needed to release; the thought of you had him burning up. He placed one of his hands against the cold shower tiles, his other dominant hand began stroking his cock to the thought of you. For some reason the image of you on your knees in the bar’s maintenance closet was the one scenario that came flooding back to him.

“Fuck, you’re perfect baby. Taking me so well.” He moaned out, his eyes closed remembering you with his cock in your mouth. He could imagine your beautiful face tear stained bobbing up and down his length. He wanted to hear the sounds of you sucking him off so bad, feel the vibrations of your moans on his cock. God, this was going to be a long few weeks, his hand pumping himself faster until he released. His cum leaked, his chest heaving, your name on his lips. “Fuck..” he groaned.

Trent laid in his bed alone. He missed the smell of your perfume, seeing your clothes littered in the hotel room, he missed a strange place that you had managed to make feel like home. A few days passed and you spoke a lot but both were tentative to dive into conversations you were dying to have when you called him one night.

“Are you busy baby?” You asked needily. You missed Trent a lot. The days were getting incredibly long and your distance felt further than ever.

“Never for you, beautiful. You okay?.” He asked sweetly, genuinely wanting to hear how you were. Lucky for Trent he was often preoccupied with work outs most of the day but at night he was so lonely without you. He hadn’t even left for preseason yet, the time apart was just dragging on forever.

“I miss you…” you said quietly, a little ashamed at just how much you did.

“I know, sweet girl. Miss you so much.” He cooed back. He was being cute but it wasn’t exactly the mood you were in.

“T… I really miss you baby.” You sighed, practically moaning. You just couldn’t hold it together anymore.

“God, your voice is my favorite sound.” He was quick to reply with words that had your heart aching. You giggled trying to push away how sad you were, only making room for your desperation to bubble over uncontrollably.

“I miss your voice in my ear” you told him before he groaned at your suggestive comment.

“Yeah, you miss me telling you how sexy you are? What a good girl you are f’me?” He was practically growling. You sank down in your bed, rustling under the duvet. Trent leaned against his headboard trying to compose himself to some degree because the thought of you had the blood rushing to his cock.

“T, I miss being close to you.” You complained.

“Me too, baby. Miss your body so much. Do me a favor, yeah?” You smiled, praying you and he were going to be okay at this. You just needed to hear his voice coach you through an orgasm again so you could finally breathe during the day.

“Whatever you want.” You assured him you would do anything for him.

“Can you touch yourself for me?” He asked so innocently.

Your hand slipped into your sweats, your fingers running through your dripping wet folds.

“T, I’m so fucking wet. I miss you so much.” You moaned

“Yeah?” Trent couldn’t not smile. He liked knowing he could have you like this even across an ocean through the phone.

“Baby…” you paused, “can I see you?” You asked cautiously. Your phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime call before you even heard a verbal response.

“Lemme see that pretty pussy,” he said without hesitation, his voice laced with lust. You had discarded your sweats and leaned back propping your phone up for him to see you spread your legs some more, your fingers tracing through your folds gathering your slick.

“Fuck… suck on your fingers like it’s my cock baby.” He commanded you and you happily obliged, slowly dragging your fingers up your body pulling your shirt up with your fingers showing more and more to him. You sucked on your fingers being incredibly messy, spit pooling in the corners of your mouth, showing him as you licked your fingers like you would if it was him, drawing your tongue up around and down them.

“Do you miss having your cock sucked?” you asked boldly, pulling your fingers from your mouth. Trent knew he missed you but hearing your words made him completely fall apart. The thought of you had him impossibly hard.

“Yeah, baby, miss your mouth so much.” He said his hands sliding down to stroke his cock. He could barely talk because he was lost watching your fingers grazing back over your body down to your soaking wet core. Trent begged you to slide your wet fingers in and out of your body.

“Fuck T, I miss you... I-fuck.. I need you.” you whined at the feeling of your quick pace dreaming it could be him.

“Need you baby, want to feel your pussy on my cock again.” He moaned laced with desire. You talked to him like he was with you making you feel good like he had many times. Your mind was clouded by how badly you wanted him in the room with you, his lips on your skin. You were pathetically begging for him but he honestly was no better. There really was no shame, you both missed this.

“Be a good girl and cum f’me” he was barely able to grunt out the words completely enamored by the noises you were making that he missed so much.

“Fuck, fuck..fu- fuck..” you couldn’t hold it anymore, white hot pleasure surged though you as Trent watched you squirm.

“That’s it baby, feels so fu-fucking good” he shuddered. “Shit baby, I’m gonna cum too.” He said before he released onto his stomach, breathing incredibly hard, eyes shut.

“I miss you so much, I miss this so much.” You panted out.

“Me too baby. I don’t want to say too much or have you think it’s just some sort of post cum sentiment but I like this, I’m not sure what you think this is but whatever it is I really really like it. I like you so much. You’re mine, beautiful.” He admitted wholeheartedly, vulnerable, in stark contrast to his lustful words moments ago.

“Really?” You questioned despite hearing the sincerity in his voice. You rolled over in your bed, your face leaned against your pillow, laying your phone across from you the same, holding so it felt like he was on that pillow next to you.

“Yeah, really baby.” He cooed confirming.

“I wish you were here so I could kiss you, T” you said sweetly. You two were so enraptured in the other you failed to notice how much time had passed since you began the call.

“I want to kiss you so bad sweet girl.”

“Oh fuck.. it’s late here, it must be so so late for you T. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care, I missed your face. Wanted to hear your voice and definitely missed hearing you moan” he said giggling a little. You two talked for way too long after going back and forth gushing over the other, missing each other tremendously.

Nights continued like this, early evening for you, late for him, you stayed glued to your phones talking. Whenever you could you’d sneak a cheeky photo to send. You wanted to make sure he didn’t forget about you and he sure as hell wasn’t going to regardless. Trent practically drooled at his phone at the provocative photos and videos you sent to keep him attached. In the wake of the sexts and phone calls, you two were simultaneously falling more and more for each other, learning little things about everything. This wasn’t some athlete you met and slept with anymore, this was your Trent.

You two were completely attached to the other and yet, no one really knew about your closely intertwined relationship. You both were quiet, reserved, respectful of one another not wanting to push boundaries bringing other people in. You liked being his and you didn’t want to do anything to risk that so you kept your relationship with Trent to yourself. Trent took care of you. He called when he said he would, he texted with you as much as he could, he sent you gifts and flowers often, you were definitely together, neither of you had any interest in seeing anyone else but being far apart made asking or putting a label on things a little awkward.

It was late again. You two lost in each other's eyes talking about how much you missed being together.

“It's a long flight tomorrow, I can just sleep on the plane, baby. I’ll wanna stay up with you.” Trent said, yawning a little.

“T, go to sleep, please.” You cooed trying to get him to go to bed after talking with you for hours.

“Just keep talking to me, I want to hear your voice. I like it. If I fall asleep, I fall asleep.” You giggled a little at how cute he was but you decided to tease a little.

“Erm, no… If I’m talking I’d like it if you were actually listening!” You poked back at the sleepy boy on your screen.

“I am listening! I’m always listening to you, beautiful.” He tried to rectify something he didn’t really need to, you were kidding, but he was so tired he didn’t catch on. “Just wish you were here in my arms.” He cooed eyes half closed snuggling further into his bed imagining your warm skin on his, your scent, the feeling of the skimpy silk pajamas you were currently wearing.

“Goodnight babyyy.” You sang trying to hang up to get him to sleep.

“Wait, wait , wait…” he perked up some. “Do you know how beautiful I think you are?” He tried to sweet talk you into staying on the phone.

“I do” you giggled. “I read it today in the note that came with the flowers… again.” You made fun of him. The same way you were adamant to keep Trent hooked with explicit photos, he was sending you everything from flowers to luxury gifts to your morning Starbucks. His persistence had filled your apartment with little reminders of him. Deliveries appearing at an unbelievable cadence. Neither of you needed to do anything to maintain the other’s interest or hold fascination but it was a fun way to connect when you were far apart.

“I think you’re beautiful too but you're also awfully tired T so..” you kissed towards him on the screen exaggerating a ‘mwah’ sound “ goodnight baby.”

“Goodnight baby” he cooed “I l-lo..I’ll, yeah I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He hung up letting out a sigh of frustration. This wasn’t the first time Trent felt himself almost slip. Just like the night before he flew home from New York, Trent knew exactly how he felt about you but was terrified and the distance was not helping or giving him a good way to tell you. He was flying out of England tomorrow for preseason meaning your time apart was coming slowly but surely to an end. In lieu of that he needed to find a way to ask you to come and visit him officially now.

Weeks had passed when you were laying in your bed on a Friday night. You weren't big on nights out before but staying in consistently to talk with Trent or just cuddling up to your pillow missing him had become your new norm. Your friends had started to get a bit worried. They knew you were seeing someone, it was obvious, but they didn’t really have a lot of details as you tried to keep things hush. Although your emotional distance had them interested, they were more so curious if they should be genuinely concerned. Unannounced, your best friend came to your apartment to check in on you. The knock at your door caught you off guard. You slumped off your unmade bed, the blue light of the tv that was casting Sky Sports in hope of catching a glimpse at your Trent was the only thing illuminating the room.

“Ermmm… you okay? Where have you been, lady?” Your friend stepped past you into the apartment turning on a light.

“I’m here, just keeping to myself, don't know.” You shrugged. Your apartment was now filled with flowers and gifts from him.

“So this man…” she paused until you looked at her.

“What man?” You tried to play dumb poorly.

“You’re just buying yourself all these flowers now?”

“No, no. It’s... ” you started to laugh. It was funny. You weren’t sure what had gotten into you. You just missed Trent and it resulted in you hiding out a little. You both jumped when the phone on your apartment wall rang from the front desk downstairs telling you a delivery was coming up. The irony of a gift arriving from Trent right now was just icing on the cake for your friend giving her the perfect opportunity to pry.

Two packages and another bouquet came. You smiled at how sweet he was, you didn’t particularly care what was even in the boxes, he was always thinking of you and that’s what mattered but your friend was eager to know what was sent.

“Go on! I need to know” she just about yelled. You both sat on your carpet cross legged after you put the new flowers on the table. You opened the first box which contained another box but a black one with a white camellia flower you recognized. You pulled it out slowly, smugly just awaiting your friend's response.

“What the fuck!” She was actually yelling now.

“Stop! Let me open it” you laughed.

“What the fuck is happening! Who is sending you Chanel? Did you order from like a DH Gate site?” Still yelling with a ridiculous smile. She knew you would never do that and this was obviously a gift, from the man she knew nothing about, but she was just giving you a hard time as she normally did.

You opened the box and undid the tissue paper painfully slow for her, picking up a dust bag before removing a silver metallic Chanel 22 handbag. Your friend audibly gasped as your hand grazed over the shiny calfskin. Neither of you were strangers to designer items, shopping being a favorite hobby of yours but again… to receive this from a man was different. A card was sat in the box and she grabbed it quickly before you could even try.

‘Swear days are getting longer but the wait is getting shorter. See you so soon, baby xx T’

“T! T! Whose T?!?” She gently pushed at you.

“Okay, okay… he’s my… I don’t know what he is exactly, he’s just mine I guess.” You said honestly.

“Yours? Is this like a sugar baby thing?” You just laughed at her audacious question.

“Sort of…” her face dropped immediately. “I’m kidding!!! Obviously not, he just does well for himself I guess.” You were giving her nothing but crumbs.

“Well, what’s he do?” She said almost salivating at the bag now in her hands.

“Can I just open my other package in peace please?” You said ignoring her eagerness.

“Yeah! Please” she motioned toward the next box. “Then you’ll tell me more...”

“Sure” you said not really anticipating having to share too much. When you opened the package you were surprised to find a blank white box inside so you opened it a bit more hesitantly not sure what he had sent, praying it was nothing overtly sexual you’d have to explain. When you got it open there was just a familiar red jersey.

“Huh?” Your friend cut in. You pulled the shirt out of the box revealing the front to you and inadvertently showing her Trent’s double barrelled last name plastered on the back.

“Alexander-Arnold? So he knows you have a crush on someone else... good.” She joked. Most everyone close to you knew you had a little crush on him but it was superficial at best. Another note that had been tucked into the package fell as the shirt unfolded when you picked it up.

‘Flights booked. Meet me at Anfield, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you there. xx TAA #66”

He teased you signing it like he would an autograph, it was cute, funny, and ultimately a little sexy. You were caught in a daze. You held the little card flat enough for her to be able to make out what was written

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Your friend screamed snatching the note for closer inspection.

“Oh fuck..” you snapped bank to your reality. “Yeah, well.. I’ve been…”

“Fucking a soccer player!?” The word ‘soccer’ made you cringe but also laugh.

“We’ve just been talking!” You completely downplayed your situation.

“Did you DM him? How did this happen?” Your friend needed more information immediately and to be fair you hadn’t really gotten the opportunity to squeal about this all with anyone yet so you divulged.

“No, no we met here actually, I stayed with him for like a week at his hotel and… I don’t know, we really hit it off, I really like him. I think he likes me. I don’t feel like myself without him now. I guess that’s why I’ve been hiding out.”

“Yeah I would hide out too if a man that looked like that was on the other end of the phone, sending me Chanel.”

“It’s not a bad situation!” You joked. “I mean I miss him so much, it makes me sick but..”

“But? But he’s flying you out to see him!” Your friend was amazing at always seeing the positives.

“You’re right…” you paused when your phone vibrated, glancing down at it to see an unrelated text from Trent.

“Is that him? Oh my fucking god. This is wild.” She leaned over trying to see your phone. “ ‘Wah, no guys are into me’ … ‘I’m just not the type of look guys want’ …you're ridiculous, you know that?” She mocked things you had said recently complaining about men.

“Yeah, it’s him.” You said with a childish giddy grin on your face.

“Of course you pull a fucking famous athlete… only you.” She teased some more. You were objectively attractive, always turning heads but your confidence wasn’t great so when men paid attention often your confusion always made your friends laugh.

“Let me see your phone.” She said grabbing at it, opening your camera roll.

“Wait! Wait!” You protested knowing there were some particularly spicy pictures from your time together and lately… your time apart.

“Oh my god, shut up! He’s so hot, holy fuck.” She said zooming in on a picture of you two in the mirror after a shower back in the hotel.

“Stop! Wait, you can’t just ravage through my photos. Give him some privacy!” You tried to reason with her.

“Tell him to stop sending you pics of his dick then!” She teased not actually tapping on any of the clearly more explicit images.

“No!” You laughed. “I like them, they’re for me.” You said not needing a photo to picture his naked body you had come to know well right this second.

•

Thank you for continuing reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think or if you have any thoughts/ questions! 🤍

Next part is up - Chapter 9

[lurkingshan]

Only Friends: Fight Night

Another excellent episode, this time with everyone at each other’s throats. So much happened, so let’s break down the big fights and shifting allegiances.

Round 1: Sand vs Top

Phew, Sand really hates Top. I am dying for the backstory on the ex Top stole from him. I loved how this scene showcased Top’s two faces: the boyfriend mask he wears with Mew, and this nastiness that comes out with others. I think both faces are real to an extent, but it cannot be denied that he is lying and hiding parts of himself from Mew. I don’t think Mew would be happy to hear the way Top talks about him, flaunting him as a conquest he won. Sand’s disdain for Top and the way he operates could not be more clear, and his smug attitude in this scene gave Sand the push he needed to do something with the ammunition he has.

Winner: Sand, but Top doesn’t know it yet.

Round 2: Ray vs Boston

Ray walked into this scene with the upperhand, and we saw a moment of real fear on Boston’s face when he realized Ray knew about him fucking Top. But he recovered quickly and turned it around on Ray easily, hitting on his insecurities about Mew and accusing him of only wanting Mew to know so he could break up his relationship and try to get with him again. He called him disgusting (Boston’s favorite insult), and clearly, that was a direct hit, because Ray teared up and disassembled immediately. 

Winner: Boston. Don’t fuck with a fucker, Ray.

Round 3: Cheum vs Boston and Ray

Cheum got her passive aggressive on in this scene and made a bunch of passive aggressive digs at her “friends.” I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: everyone in this friend group is an asshole (run for your life, April!) and none of them seem to actually like each other much. After encouraging Boston to bring Nick and promising to be on her best behavior, she called him a “heartless slut” in front of the guy she claims she wants him to date, and then started picking on Ray for being single and condescended to him about finding someone, teeing up Boston to add insult to injury. Classic mean girl behavior.

Winner: Cheum, but not for long.

Round 4: Ray vs Everyone

As soon as Ray started chugging his liquor after his friends were mean to him, I knew we were in for some chaos, and he did not disappoint. Shots fired at every one of them, except for his most beloved Mew. Unfortunately, his drunk and high ass couldn’t get it together to coherently explain what he was ranting about in front of the crowd, but in the end it didn’t matter because he had already delivered the important information to Mew in the bathroom. Boston deserved it and I didn’t even feel bad for Cheum, she brought that shit on herself. Insulting Sand and offering him money for sex in front of everyone, though? Fucking ouch.

Winner: Ray, but in his typical fashion, he also lost.

Round 5: Sand vs Ray

Sand is the cause of this whole mess, but he seems distressed to see Ray in this state. I don’t know what he thought would happen when he gave Ray this ammunition, knowing how he feels about Mew and how little self-control he has, so I was rolling my eyes a little at his insistence that Ray stop thinking about Mew. You sewed this chaos, sir! Don’t light the match and then make a shocked Pikachu face when you start a fire! After having already hurt him in front of everyone in the bar, Ray rejected Sand and his help brutally, calling him a whore and throwing him to the ground, and then got in his car to wreak havoc on the road. Ray is focused on Mew and simply does not care about Sand’s feelings, and Sand can’t seem to stop trying to protect Ray from his own self-destruction no matter how many times he’s rejected.

Winner: No one, this is all around fucked.

Round 6: Mew vs Top

Mew, my boy, I didn’t know you had it in you! Throughout that scene I was shaking my head, wondering how he could have possibly missed the implication of what Ray was saying and whether he just won’t believe anything Ray says, and then as the sex scene started and he was more bold and confident than usual, I was like what is going o—oh shit! Mew, that was brilliant. I loved seeing him catch Top off guard like that, and given that he already knew before he went home with him, he was clearly giving Top one last chance to come clean and stop lying. Top failed the test, Mew is righteously pissed and genuinely hurt, and for once, Top is out of his depth with no idea how to fix his mistake. 

Winner: Mew. 

And Mew isn’t done, because next week we finally get to see him set some things on fire and kick Boston into the pool. Friends, I can hardly wait.

[janeyseymour]

La Cosa Nostra- pt 13

(co-written with @schemmentis): Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9. Part 10. Part 11. Part 12.

Summary: You and your wife spend some much needed time together, only for it to go up in flames.

WC: ~2.5k

When Melissa comes in, she finds you with both arms wrapped around your girls, them curled into your sides. She sees the tracks of the tears that had been pouring down your face earlier in the night, the pout of your bottom lip, the way that even in sleep and holding your girls you seem to be in distress. 

Melissa quietly gets ready for bed before slipping in between the sheets. Rosie gladly curls up to her when she gently shifts her to her chest so she can shuffle closer to you. The hand not resting on a small back reaches, the backs of her fingers lightly caressing your cheek, imagining she can wipe the now dried tears away from you. “Ti amo, vita mia.” She whispers in the dark of the bedroom.

You blink awake in the dark a few hours later. Your girls are still softly sleeping. You roll over and nearly start crying again when you see your wife asleep and holding Rosie. You knew she would be home, eventually. Still, seeing her is a relief. You curl in closer to her as you close your eyes again. Maybe you can get an hour or two of actual good sleep now that Melissa is here. Before your girls try to pry your eyes open again.

You somehow manage to wake before either of your girls, or your wife. You convince half awake twins to settle for kissing Melissa's cheek and whispering good morning before you get up and get them breakfast. You don't even have to remind them to be quiet when they go back to do the same to say goodbye before taking them to school. You know they miss her, even after only one late night. You do too. But you'd hate to take any more rest from her.

You hug the girls goodbye at school and are walking across the lot back to your car when your phone rings. Your brow furrows. Your phone hasn't rung since you were taken off the salon. You tug it from your pocket, your confusion growing at Tony's name on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N. Could you come down to the salon? It's kind of important.”

“Isn't all that your job now, Tony?” You all but sneer. 

“Look, we gotta talk about some of the financials. So I need you to help me sort it out, alright?”

You roll your eyes. “I'll be there in a minute.” You reluctantly agree, hanging up before Tony can say anything else.

Despite you not being a part of the operation anymore, you still step through the back entrance of the salon. Tony wants to call you in? Then you're going to come in at the business end of it. 

You stop halfway down the hall at the door of the back office being open. When it was you; you never left it open and unlocked. Too many important things were kept there. You glance inside, raising an eyebrow at the near emptiness of the office. The file cabinets are gone, and so is everything from on top of the desk. The room is empty aside from that desk in the middle of it.

“There you are.” Tony says as he turns down the hall. “C’mon.” He tugs you lightly by the arm into the office, shutting the door behind him. 

“Quite the rearrangement, Tony.” You comment, putting your hands in your pockets as you pace around the desk. “What's goin’ on, huh? What'd you suddenly need me for?”

“The ledger.” Tony says, cutting to the chase. “We need the ledger for the other business.”

You look at Tony, head turning to the side. We? You think to yourself as you study him. Suddenly it's we. And you're not a part of that we. “No.” You finally say.

“What?? What d’you mean no? Look, Y/N, my ass is on the line now, and we need that ledger that you have to have.”

“Oh, I have it.” You say. For all intents and purposes, you do. Only you and your wife know where it is. “I just ain't giving it to you. Tell whoever you're answerin’ to that if they want it; they better talk to me directly. ‘Cause I ain't trustin’ it with you, Tony. I wouldn't have trusted you to balance the cash register drawer.”

He goes to argue, but your phone ringing interrupts him. You roll your eyes at him as you leave, answering it.

“Hello?”

“Babe, where are you? Why didn’t you wake me?” your wife nearly shouts into the phone. “I just woke up!”

“Honey, you needed the sleep,” you tell her softly.

“What I needed was to see my girls off to school and to check on my wife before heading into work- on time!”

Her shouting at you makes you tear up all over again as you slam the door to your car. “I’m sorry. I’ll come pick you-”

“Don’t even bother,” Melissa huffs. “I’ll walk the few blocks.” And then she hangs up on you. 

Your heart nearly shatters in your chest, and your eyes instantly well up with more tears that threaten to spill over. “Mel,” you whisper out softly.

You do still drive the way to her work, and when you get there, she’s just storming in. It’s clear she’s on a warpath as she slams the back door and throws her bag on the chair in the office. You step in a few seconds later, sending a sympathetic look at Valentina; she looks horrified.

“Mel,” you whisper as you wrap your arms around her waist, trying to stop her anger. She just shrugs you off. “Mel, please.” Your voice breaks as your heart actually does shatter this time. 

She turns around at the hiccup in your voice, and there’s a fire in her eyes that dies out as soon as she sees the redness in your eyes and the tears that are there.

“Mi amore,” she whispers as she pulls you in.

“Mel, I- I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry I didn’t wake you this-”

“Hey,” she hushes you gently. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry I got so frustrated and yelled. I just… this all has me stressed to the max, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

You cry into her shoulder, and your wife is quick to kick the door shut with her heeled foot. You cry just as harshly and abrasively as you did last night, although this time you don’t have to stifle the sobs that come bubbling out of your body.

“Honey,” she whispers as she rubs your back soothingly. “Baby.”

“I- I don’t even know,” you continue to shake with the sobs that rack through your body. 

It takes you much longer to calm down than she hopes. But eventually she does, and after checking her progress on the ledger, she ushers you out of the building. She shouts to Valentina that she’s in charge, at least for this morning, and if someone comes in with an envelope full of money to just leave it on her desk.

“Melissa, you can stay,” you whisper as you wipe at your nose with your sleeve. “I’ll be- I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Melissa answers, leading you to the passenger side of your car. “If anything big goes on; Val will call me. Right now, you’re more important, amore.” She squeezes the hand she’s been leading you out by lightly, her head nodding for you to get in.

It’s only once you do that she closes the door for you before rounding the car and sliding into the driver’s seat. She reclaims your hand once you’ve buckled your seatbelt, kissing your knuckles as she pulls out of the parking lot.

“You really could have stayed.” You say quietly.

She squeezes your hand again, glancing away from the road just long enough to raise an eyebrow at you before looking back. “I’m not gonna leave ya when you’re clearly not okay. And don’t go saying you’re fine. I know when you’re lyin’, remember?”

You sigh, leaning back in your seat for the short drive back to your home. “I’m just…over emotional with all the changes. It’ll pass. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine, that much is true.” Mel agrees though she keeps a hold of your hand held in her lap. “But I’m not going to just expect this to pass. It’s been a lot lately, yeah. But it ain’t like you to just…” She sighs, without finishing. “You’re gonna tell me ya weren’t this way last night, too? Before I got home?” She asks softly instead, her thumb gently passing repeatedly over your knuckles.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Melissa nods, with a half grin on her face. “Which just means yes.” She says. “This is more than just everythin’ goin’ on- even if it has been a lot lately. For right now, stop tryin’ to fight me on stayin’ home, and consider talkin’ to me and lettin’ me help instead, huh?”

You don’t say anything else on the rest of the short drive. Instead, you consider everything over in your mind. As if you haven’t already a hundred times. By the time you’re following Melissa into the house, you could have another anxiety breakdown without much push.

You gladly slip into her side on your couch, her arms that had been held out in invitation instantly wrap around you. You sigh, though you don’t begin crying again. You return your wife’s embrace equally, clinging to her as much as you’re curling up to her side.

“Talk to me, tesoro.” Melissa repeats quietly, kissing your temple as she holds you close.

“Did Sammy tell you I almost turned myself in the other week? When they had you in the station?” You can guess her answer before she gives it based on how you feel her briefly freeze against you.

“No.” Melissa finally answers, one of her hands gently rubbing across your shoulders. “He didn’t. Probably ‘cause he already knew I was seconds away from tearin’ somebody to shreds that day. You really almost did?”

You nod, sniffling slightly. “I just…didn’t know what else to do. All this pressure on us and then gettin’ you so involved….them tearing apart Twelve Tables… God, that was as bad as watching somebody beat you, Mel. It’s like the same thing. You worked so hard for it and they ruined it because of me and—”

“Shh,” Melissa murmurs, tugging you into her lap to hug you even tighter. “None of it’s because of you, amore. We talked about all this plenty before we got serious, didn’t we? Then all over again before we got married? Don’t go actin’ like I’m some innocent little housewife over here, huh? You treat me better than that. You treat me like your partner, your equal, in everything. Includin’ all this. I knew what we were gettin’ into when we started, baby. We both did.”

“I know,” you mumble into her side. “But now... it’s so much more than just us and the business. We have your restaurant now. We have the girls now. The only thing that stopped me from turning myself in was the girls. I- I couldn't turn myself in and miss everything for the next ten to twenty years... the teen years, graduating and sending them off to college, high school boy or girl drama... potential grandbabies.”

“If either of them has a baby before they’re twenty, we are going to have problems,” Melissa chuckles lightly.

“Well... if I wasn’t there, you know that data shows kids with one absent parent statistically are more likely to fall into...”

“Not our girls,” your wife states firmly. “If anything happens to one of us, I have full faith that those girls will stay on the right track because of whoever is left with them.”

You just sigh into her, inhaling the scent of the perfume that she has on. You take a few shaky breaths, tears threatening to spill over again. They don’t though. You have your anchor right now.

“What do you need right now?” your wife asks you gently, once your breathing becomes more regulated. “Comfort, a solution, or to just... sit in the shit together?”

You shrug against her, and she only kisses your head as a response. You end up falling asleep, and when you wake up, Melissa is no longer next to you. In fact, the only reason you wake up is because your two tiny terrors are jumping on the couch next to you despite your wife’s quiet protests.

“Girls, let Mam sleep,” you can hear the redhead sigh as she drops their backpacks at the door.

“We are!” Rosie protests. “We just want to cuddle her and make her feel better after last night!”

Your response is to pull them both close to your chest with a soft sigh as you keep your eyes closed. “Mam needs some Cat and Rosie snuggles.”

“‘See?” Cat tells your wife pointedly. “Mam needs us!”

You hear Melissa’s low chuckle before she exhales quietly. “Is Mam going to be okay if I head to the restaurant?”

“Can we come with you?!” Rosie asks. “I miss Auntie Val.”

“Stay with Mam,” you tell them gently as you pull them further into your lap. “Cuddles, some pizza, and-”

“I only like the Pizza that Vince makes at the restaurant,” Cat tells you.

“We can order takeout from Mommy’s restaurant then,” you try to placate.

“Why can’t we just go there?” Rosie whines out as she tries to break free from your hold. For such a small little thing, she sure is strong. She ends up getting out of your restraint, and she’s quick to put her shoes on and grab her backpack before taking hold of Melissa’s hand.

“Girls, why don’t you... go grab some coloring sheets and crayons from the basement?” your wife suggests. They run off.

“They are not going to the restaurant now that it’s the front,” you tell her.

When you expect your wife to agree, she merely shrugs. “There are usually other kids with their parents, and the guys drop off in the back.”

“Melissa!” you say sternly. “My girls are not going to a front!”

“They are our girls,” she tells you firmly. “And I think... I think that if they’re at the restaurant, and the Feds show up, having the girls there will help fool them into thinking we aren’t up to anything.”

“Melissa.”

She just shrugs. “You want them off our backs? I think this is the best way to get them off our backs.”

You go to protest her idea again, but the girls come running back with new boxes of crayons and a multitude of coloring sheets in their hands.

“Come on, sweet things,” she says softly. “We can all go to Twelve Tables.” The redhead takes both of their hands, grabs their backpacks, and leads them out the door. You fume as you follow behind her. You can’t believe she would go against your wishes and make such a big decision on her own.

Tags: @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld

[invested-in-your-future]

What was it exactly that ruined RWBY after volume 3? Was it the death of the author or the creators simply lost touch with their work?

I think I talked about the changes and issues within the narrative before, so I'll just stick to the overall problems with the shift from V3 to V4.

Honestly? The author's passing might have an impact, but it shouldn't have this level of impact.

It's easy to attribute all the success to Monty and just pretend the show was doomed without him. Then why did V3 still come out extremely good? Clearly, there was still talent here - Dillon Goo carried V3 fights on his back, and the story continued - nothing instantly fell apart.

And yet the show did fall apart.

So, what happened?

Were they blindsided by Monty's passing? Were they too inexperienced? Did the hard shift in direction destroy the show's setting? How about the employee burnout?

In reality, I think it's a combination of all of those and more.

They were caught off-guard.

No matter how big Monty's actual role was, people at RT are still human beings.

Death of a friend can turn one's life upside down and fast - understandably, the company would struggle to continue after losing someone so integral to their identity back then.

The way Volume 4 is structured instantly shows that the rest of the staff got blindsided by having to continue the show - V4 is designed to spin its wheels, buying them time while they try to figure out what to do. It's averse to any characterization for the lead four or any change in status quo, and even the lore bits we DO get during V4 are very vague (because the showrunners have no idea what to do).

You can literally imagine them all running around behind the scenes frantically trying to see how they can pick up from where v3 left off and delaying, delaying, delaying.

The issue, however, is that at some point, that kind of stalling becomes their whole MO rather than a temporary thing.

The show effectively stalls any sort of payoff for anything from the first three volumes, shying away from addressing anything within its original identity.

After a while, it's not like they didn't have time to figure things out or turn things around yet - it's that they decided this stalling issue works fine as-is - even as far as V9.

The relationships never quite progress - Blake and Yang have been in limbo since V3, for example.

The characters never progress or regress - how many times did the show "hint" at Ruby's distress for years, promise Blake's growth, or have Yang on the verge of some big moment of self-reflection?

It's not even JUST that it shifted away from its original identity as a contemporary tech-fantasy show - while it absolutely DID do that, the issue is that the showrunners have no idea what shape the show's identity OR aesthetic should take OR how to do it.

The show just stalls because it works even if viewers start to dwindle, and they don't have to do anything that would "alienate" people (Like, let's say, addressing the elephant in the room that is Yang and Blake).

A staggering amount of effort is made to NOT progress things and to have characters go through all these locations without really changing at all.

Things happen but not really.

What did Ruby's journey from Patch to Mistral accomplish for her as a character? What did Blake's journey to Menagerie accomplish? How about Yang's journey to find her offscreen bandit mother? How about Weiss getting taken back by her father?

Nothing.

What did the conflict in Atlas accomplish? Were characters affected or changed in any way? Did Weiss finally have her story arc? Did Ruby face herself?

Nothing.

You could literally change up the end of V3 with them dropping into the future of Vacuo and you wouldn't miss a single story beat.

We don't know MORE about the world OR the characters, really - the dumb Brother Gods plotline revelations can be summed up in half an episode.

Mistral's fate, Vale's fate, Atlas falling? That can be done offscreen - it's not like the show hasn't already offscreened far more important things

Of course, the show DIDN'T just skip that padding so it still has to get the major story beats in as everyone moves through locations.

But those story beats happen in the weirdest way possible.

Why?

There is ego involved, yes.

Miles didn't have to add up the brother gods subplot he had dreamt up one day.

Miles didn't have to keep pushing Jaune into the front of the show at the cost of the actual leads.

It's no secret that the show would always work this way where one of the people involved would posit an idea of how they think something could be cool if it happened - Monty was pretty notable for wanting to have Raven fight Team JNPR in the Fall of Beacon for example, and he refused to elaborate.

Is it so surprising someone like Miles or Kerry would want to "add their own touch"? So what if those ideas clashed with literally everything in the setting before - be it narratively or aesthetically?

But there was something else that changed.

Before V4 the people involved would come up with something and then work it into the plot. While imperfect, there was a possibility of a somewhat healthy dynamic where, with, likely, actual pushback between those involved - Monty never did get his "Raven fights everyone" scene after all, no matter how cool it could have been.

After V3 that dynamic was gone, obviously.

The creative element of the show fell apart, but Miles and co seemed to keep going like nothing happened - and at some point rather than a bunch of people discussing possible paths for the show, it turned into a situation where Miles or someone else would propose an idea and then it would happen.

As the show grew in scope so did the necessity for actually making those desired elements fit into the story. It was no longer about "hey we can't really justify Raven randomly showing up and fighting team JNPR" - there were Kingdoms and multiple locations and dozens of characters involved now.

They just lost their friend who proposed the show in the first place, they struggled to make the show continue and they were clearly inexperienced running something as big as this.

Yet instead of growing, learning, or hiring people, they seem to have been content with just dumping what Miles wanted into the show without worrying about narrative structure, set-ups, payoffs, characterization, and so on.

The weird medieval aesthetic of various locations no longer fits the contemporary modern setting of the first three Volumes? So what.

The magicky ridiculous cheese of brother gods was the polar opposite of a more grounded setting before it? So what.

The decision to not show actual character progression and growth that could be Yang's recovery arc because "it was boring"? This would make any writer or college professor scream because that's now how you characterization, that's not how you do pay off or ANYTHING, but yet again -so what?

Why?

They were unwilling to learn and to accept critique.

Listening to staff commentary for the show (even before Monty's passing) there's one thought that would persist - "Wow, they sure sound content and prideful with not knowing their things and just going with the flow."

RT drank their own Kool-Aid - "Oh we are just a small indie group of friends - look how scuffed our production and decision-making is."

It was impossible not to notice back then - people would point that out all the time.

Yet instead of improving and changing and learning and, honestly, growing up, Miles or someone else would just throw some backhanded remark and continue.

A group of amateur film-makers can grow and develop, but RT were so proud of their status as being this industry underdog where it's just a group of friends(despite that not being the case for YEARS at that point), that they were unwilling to make necessary changes in their work culture, approach or, well, anything.

I keep coming back to Miles watching Land of Lustrous and going "Oh, I don't get it." and that's it - there's no self-betterment or willingness to "get it" showcased and that's emblematic of RT culture as a whole.

Whether there was talent in the company (there was), it wouldn't matter if people at the top would stomp their feet and refuse to learn or improve. Even V9 staff had quite a few talented animators involved - did not help.

They were too caught up in the "youtube machinima bro culture" RT's size had long since grown out of.

They were "a bunch of friends, just a bunch of indie amateur people creating content", and they were proud of it and of how scuffed everything was.

So what if at that scale of the company, the culture would end up creating genuine issues with power dynamics, harassment, over-work, inefficient production, employee burnout, resource wasting, and so on?

The working conditions drove away most of the talent they had left over the course of next few years.

(Un)Surprisingly being stuck in a frathouse mentality lasting decades is a really good motivator for actual talented people within the company to quit and work elsewhere. Who would have thought?

One logical path forward would be to hire actual industry professionals, right? They could have created a writer's room, hired management experts, a proper HR department, hired sensitivity readers, outsourced researching various topics, etc, right? Miles and Co could keep pretending to be auteurs while competent people would get paid to do what needs to be done and course-correct them.

Easy, right?

Well.

They were unwilling to hire professionals.

Reminder that it took RT till around Atlas arc to have anything resembling a writers' room, they still refused to hire actual sensitivity readers to ensure they don't end up writing something blatantly ableist or just outright all-around problematic.

In the cases where professionals were involved, the people in charge just ignored all suggestions (otherwise Volume 8 and 9 would have been stopped at brainstorming phase and changed - I refuse to believe no one took a look at it and said "this will crash harder than Genlock Season Two")

I have no doubts people at the core of RT wanted to honor their friend's legacy and make right by them, but...

If "everything was fine" and who they were was fine and no critique mattered then why change anything or listen to outside voices?

And thus they continued.

Overall

It's a mix of variety of issues, really. It's actually kind of fascinating RT managed to have so many things go wrong.

[guardian5tiger3]

What's up?

General collective pick a group tarot reading.

Groups

1 2

3 4

5 6

Group one

So you guys are being excluded or not participating as much socially. Trust it's for good reason. The universe has or is going to give you a gift of some sort. You are also in a pretty good energy as of now. In terms of any mystery or something you don't know or can't see I see you taking proper actions at this time, wether that be moving slow and cautiously or whatever it may be depending on you and what's going on ok. Practice gratitude at this time or you are. Understand that you're future is very bright actually. I heard someone say "you just don't know." So this is someone's guide Im guessing or a spirit speaking on behalf of some of your guides. Either way so it seems that you guys don't understand yet how good you've got it. But seems like you're enjoying the journey and keeping your head up or you got to. Have fun if you feel called. Maybe go sit in the grass outside look at some flowers or something. Go pet someone's dog that's on a walk maybe. Whatever floats your boat. You got a destiny you're going to.

Group two

Seems like a transformation is taking place. Most of you an ending already happened or it is happening. Whatever was left behind, mainly something social it seems , or something about you and how you are presented to others. It could be anything though technically.. believe me what's coming in is superior. It's deeper and more enjoyable. Something about......... That kind of humor so idk ... You guys have developed quite a lot as souls and it's time you get something that matches up with that anyhow. And yah for somee of you it could be a loverr. Yay . Whatever it is it's better than whatever ended or died out what have you. Maybe you ended relationships or just cut chords. Idk basically, death and rebirth and a great majority of you are at least half way through it so get readyy!! If ya aren't already ..

Group three

Something about a bird maybe. Somebody could want a family and or somebody could desire to post things on social media that are basically to flex if it be of them on vacation, them with family, their dinner. Whatever, right.something about bacon and or pork. Maybe about blts. Like, sandwiches.someone from above is watching over you. Be proud of who you are. Something about say(ing) your name. Something about fairness when dealing with other people make sure everything is fair and everyone is content as possible equally. If something dramatic happens it's a test of somebody maybe your own character and how you might go about handling it so keep that in mind.

Group four

Somebody is having dreams they could be nightmares or very confusing or something like that. Most likely some type of distressing . Maybe causing insomnia. I heard sleep apnea. I looked it up apparently that's very shallow breathing while you're sleeping so maybe somebody need to understand nightmares or something could be the cause of that. Either someone needs more love in their life or you know who this is and you need to do something or some things to help them ok. This could just be making sure their waking environment feels more safe and comfortable and less stressful hopefully then they might stop having bad dreams right. Also not just on this but in general, watch out for trying to help people by trying to have them get into what you're into. Like look for this specific thing that I like to do and enjoy this the way I do and you have to feel better like I would. Just give them options and be cool about it, you know ? Offer them a leg up ,I heard. Hmm. This was a cool reading. I hope it helps. Also, if someone snores too much dude just get them something to clear their nose)sinuses it might help a lot.it might have a cool almost minty effect.

Group five

Hmm. Growing, learning, looking towards the future. Right? Well there's still something wrong or missing or something. I get that the past is over, but your emotions might not be so you may have to notice if there's something you have to deal with. Especially if this is trauma or just grief not processed /(all the way)try not to be too guarded or let yourself always find ways to be distracted. Also, it's ok to be angry. It's ok to be hurt. There's nothing wrong with that and there's nothing wrong with you. Look outside of yourself. You're only human. Also , for someone or some people it's something about a toaster... Make sure you guys are eating ok and drinking enough water. If you have a comfort food especially if it's toast or something... You might wanna go for eating that now.

Group six

So you're not getting along with someone or there's someone in your past being brought up right now to me. If something is going on in a relationship make sure you look at it without an ego . If you let someone go or are about to make sure you know that it's worth it and you won't regret that. Especially if this is just some type of miscommunication. I do understand needing to defend yourself especially so people won't look at you in a lower way or treat you worse than you deserve but you might want to be in a calm place and reflect on this deeply. It depends on the specific person what's going on and what to do about it so I'll just say it's up to you guys and just make sure you know what is the right decision and to pick that.

[eldrai]

I’ve been reading lots of stuff about autistic Hotch. How do you think Hotch stims? Are there any gifs/examples from episodes?

OKAY so this is going to be a long list because I just went back through the episodes I've seen up to specifically looking for examples! But thank you for asking. I've been meaning to collect examples somewhere.

(I'll preface this with saying that everyone stims and just because I mention something here doesn't mean anyone is automatically autistic because they do that too.)

The main thing I can think of is what I very descriptively call "the hand thing" he does.

This is probably the clearest example of it in a gif I could find. What I mean is the way he rubs his thumb over the ends of his fingers. I see it as a fairly subtle way to stim and it tends to come up mostly when he's either thinking or stressed. That's the main thing I've picked up on because he does it quite a lot; I haven't gone over the earlier episodes specifically yet - only skimmed certain parts based on the incidences of it I found going through screencaps from @masterwords - it seems most prevalent in the earlier seasons.

A few more examples - they don't all have the actual motion in them but you can see his fingers curled up like that. He also brings his hand up near his face somewhat often, again usually when he's thinking.

He also does it a ton while walking and standing in general. Some more screenshots (thanks again @masterwords)

Two occasions stick out to me, both when he was distressed or highly worried at least. First is in Omnivore (4x18). It isn't strictly the thumb-over-the-fingers but it is similar, with his hand balled up and almost hiding his face at first.

And the second I really like because we get the hand stim very clearly but also rocking! It's in 2x08, when Derek refuses to step away from the lady with a bomb under her car. Please ignore the choppy editing and audio lol I just needed to show this:

Here we also see the same thing he does in the above gif of 4x18 - the teeth grinding. I think that's only when he's under a fair bit of distress though.

I've been keeping track of it from now on partly because one day I'm going to compile everything into one absurdly long meta. So I've undoubtedly missed many times and my timings might be a little off but here's some if you want to see examples:

LDSK - 11:23

3x15 - 3:00

1x08 - bomb + rocking

2x15 -

5x03 - start + middle

7x07 - tapping

3x12 - 6min

3x11 - 22min

2x23 - 6min + 30min

2x19 - 39min

2x08 - 31min + earlier

2x05 - 29min

2x02 - 37min

1x21 - 30min

1x16 - 17min

4x18 - after bus

9x06 - 24min with pen

9x08 - 8min 10s

9x09 -5min 30s, 7:57, 22:40

9x11 - 29:46

9x13 - 6:55

9x14 - 4:40, 29:50

As you can see, it's the most noticeable for me in the early seasons. 9x06 was around when I started keeping track as I watch, not retrospectively, for context.

Not all of these are the hand thing! Some are things like when he picks up a pen he tends to keep it in hand even when he's not actually writing anything, just slightly fiddling with it constantly. And again that's nowhere near JUST an autistic thing but I notice it in addition to the main hand thing.

Another thing is, mostly when he's anxious and holding something like a phone, he'll tap his fingers lightly against it. I have a clip of him somewhere on my blog doing it in 7x07.

There's also what he does with his hands when he isn't stimming that's interesting to me.

Hotch spends a lot of time with his arms either crossed or his hands in his pockets. Often the hand thing and the crossed arms happen at the same, where he'll have his right arm across his chest and with his left running his thumb over his fingers.

I find it really interesting because I read that as trying not to stim. Because if his hands are in his pocket, he can't. If he's got his arms folded, he can't. I'd imagine it fits well with him and his backstory. He's quite reserved in general so it makes sense he wouldn't want to stim very openly even if it's a subtle thing, and then you add in the implications from 1x08 and it wouldn't be a stretch to imagine he was discouraged, whether consciously or not, not to.

Then again, it could also simply be a comfort thing to do something with his hands rather than not stimming. Could be counted as stimming itself - something like pressure.

But in order of most to least frequent, the canon stimming I see from him is

The hand thing

Fidgeting with pens, etc.

Teeth grinding

Rocking

[pocketramblr]

5 ask game: au where Aizawa gets shot with a quirk erasing bullet during the Overhaul arc

Ok so the main obstacle here of course is I don't want Izuku to die, like, five minutes later. Perhaps my special little guy can stop this.

1- Lets say when Chisaki grabbed Nemoto to pull a fusion, Nemoto's gun was caught up in all this too. This doesn't matter until after he's been beaten and thrown to the side, and watches Eri and Izuku struggle in the middle of the crater. Asui brings Aizawa up, and Chisaki knows that if Eraser stops them, they're all taken for good. So he shoots at Eraser- and its a hit.

2- A moment later, a swordfish pierces his shoulder, but the damage is done. Asui shouts. Izuku screams. Eri wails. Amajiki "Do i have to do everything around here myself" Tamaki "the only big three who actually takes out a third of the expendables and the top brass on his own" Suneater picks up the gun to crush it. Then he looks at the sobbing Eri, and thinks about how Mirio wanted her to smile. "I'm sorry," he whispers to no one, and fires- the first one's a miss, he's not as good a mark as Chisaki. But he is one of Snipe's students, and the second one hits.

3- Since the bullets are made from her own quirk, Eri reacts.... differently to them. It doesn't rewind her as much as it gives her a reset. her horn shrinks but doesn't vanish, and the effort catches up to her as she passes out on top of Izuku.

4- Suneater crushes the gun, then starts trying to find the cure bullets in Chisaki's jacket, but frankly his second wind cast by Mirio's distress is running out so he ends up dragged to an ambulance while the police bag evidence. In a true stroke of genius, they do not transport Chisaki with all of his weapons and bullets, so Tomura doesn't grab them when he takes the man's arms.

5- In the hospital, they don't exactly want to just take Chisaki's word for the cure bullets and jab who-knows-what into Aizawa and Mirio, so they very carefully start studying one first. Unfortunately, Ujiko hears about this and nabs the other cure bullets. (much easier than trying to nab Eri.) Tomura and AfO won't be able to use the eraser bullets in any plans (no baby-afo fight) but they will try to ransom the cure at least. Tamaki attempts to give back his hero license and withdraw from the school, but Nedzu stalls him then guilts him into staying because for reasons beyond the teen's comprehension, Eri actually really likes him and with no erasure to stop her quirk if it goes out of control, they need anything they can get to help. Aizawa continues teaching because if being in full body cast didn't stop him, losing his quirk won't either, and Mirio is like 'well hold on a minute. if he's not stopping, why should i?' and continues training at school while quirkless, even if his actual work outside of school isn't happening anymore.

[romanticatheartt]

Rereading ACOTAR

Note: Before I start, this is not an anti post (well... maybe for Tam/in... definitely for him!) and if you think talking about the literal canon and call these unreal characters out on their flaws means that I hate these characters (which I do but that's my personal beef with Tamtam), then idk what to tell you lol

So 3 months ago after I read hofas I decided to reread acotar for the first time because I miss Feyre (and Rhysand... and the whole IC) like crazy. And I thought it be a good idea to read the original trilogy but since I'm a very mood reader I only read the first book lol. I had this post on my draft for 3 months now and I think I was scared to share them but now I don't really care.

I normally don't do rereads at all, my mind gets bored (I read my favorite scenes but never the whole book) so I decided to try something else and listen to the audiobook instead. And now I have thoughts!

This became longer than I intended but also I'm not going to add anything crazy that someone hadn't already pointed out so I'm just sharing some of my random notes (50 to be exact... it's long post) and thoughts of mine while reading this time around :)

This is definitely NOT a friendly-Tam/in post. If stating fact is considered as not friendly that is...

anyway ->

1. We have 2 chapter of the sisters in the beginning of the book and jeez both Nesta and Elain are the worst and as older sisters it pained me to read it for the first time. 2. I don't understand Elain, so I rather not talk about her and wait till her book comes out but she acts as a damsel in distress or be ignorant to the point Feyre questioning if she understand they're poor 💀 3. Although I have to admit, knowing Nesta now it was easier to go through it this time and not curse her in every page lol. But while reading the book I noticed that every time Feyre is thinking negatively of herself the voice in her head is the voice of Nesta. or whenever she wants to scolds herself, she call herself the names Nesta had called her. and it breaks my heart:

"and the part of me that spoke with Nesta’s voice had laughed at the idea of an ignorant human trying to admire faerie art."

"A half-wild beast, Nesta had called me." (2 times)

"Illiterate, ignorant, unremarkable, proud, cold—all spoken from Nesta’s mouth, all echoing in my head with her sneering voice."

4. Later on we see her actually coming after Feyre to saves her but this doesn't changes the fact that she verbally abused Feyre (and she acknowledge it!! trauma or not she abused Feyre to the point it left a mark on her so please don't turn her into a saint after one act of kindness lol) 5. There isn't much to say about papa Archeron except that he wasn't a great father. I understand depression have different effects on different people, but trauma is no excuse for how he was as a father (I genuinely believe a true parent would do anything for their children but some people are not cut out to be one and it's alright. but once you bring them into this world you have to guarantee that you can provide for them because they didn't choose to be in this life) 6. I know for a fact that if Feyre hadn't promised her mother to protect her family and didn't have a purpose to live her life, she would've been worse than Nesta. Because when she was in Spring Court, for at least 5 times she was guilt-ridden, thinking her family doesn't care about her at all (specially Nesta) or thinking about her shortcomings… (and like I said Nesta had a big role in these kind of thinking) 7. The first Feysand foreshadow was her painting night sky on her drawer<3 8. Lucien and Tam/in (specially Lucien) were so dramatic on their hate toward Feyre? she triggered a 48 years curse. It was always suppose to be this way. Andres knew what he was doing and accepted the fact that he might die. yes you can grieve but It's not really her fault now is it?

9. “You go somewhere new—and you make a name for yourself.”

^: well she definitely did that… 10. One of the things I noticed is that Tam/in was never NEVER Lucien's friend. he was Lucien's High Lord first then his friend and it's obvious from their very first scenes.

11. “We’re not going to bite.” Lucien’s white teeth gleamed in a way that suggested otherwise.

^: him and Cassian will get along well... 12. Feyre hates hunting... she says that to both Lucien and Tam/in. she does that out of necessity, if it's provoked. and not for the first time I realized Feyre is a mix of both Nesta and Elain. 13. Did we all got the vibe that Timtam was mad at Lucien spending time with Feyre because he knew he didn't have a chance once Lucien opens his mouth? 14. Feyre had real fear for Tam/in. in so many occasion we have her being genuinely scared of him. he even said it himself:

"But I could smell the fear on you, more than anything."

And in acomaf we have Rhysand saying he never felt fear of him from Feyre. and when they were UTM Feyre question herself that why she was always so quiet and submissive (not excatly the word she uses) toward Tam/in but with Rhysand she doesn't have that instinct. 15. This ship is the definition of Someone who doesn't know how to love x Someone who has never been loved and that's never a good pairing in any world. it takes one to be in a relationship with someone like Tam/in to understand that... 16. She always felt little, weak, stupid and so very human with Tam/in and Lucien and they never hide their feeling on the matter. 17. Feyre is such baddie istg... she killed a faerie, then went for a stroll and captured a suriel, THEN killed 2 nagas and a fkn wyrm while being a human... GURL- 18. Okay apparently every one says mature age in acotar world was retcon but Alis was talking about lesser fae not high fae? or specially their kind? idk I read that scene and all she was talking about was their kind and not high fae. 19. Timtam was never in control of his power... his power and anger had him on a leash not the other way around. 20. Feyre is always honry (LMAO)... but the sad part is Tam/in never matched her passion. he was always afraid that he's going to hurt her with his claws and bla bla bla BUT MY GIRL wanted him to claw at her💀 savage lol. all I'm saying is that he never gave all of himself to Feyre. 21. It always piss me off that Tam/in never taught her how to write and read. (and ig we all know why) 22. In chapter 19 we have Feyre asking if Fae can be mated to humans and in the next chapter we have Calamnai and something in her chest was pulling her to go and see and next thing we know she met Rhysand (aka her mate)

23. "There you are. I've been looking for you,"

^: PEOPLE DIED! 24. Imagine reading Feyre saying before her was the most beautiful man she has ever seen and not to think that it's fkn over for Tam/in lmao (point to this post of mine) It's also hilarious when she saw Tam/in after his mask was removed, she was like "handsome👍🏼" 25. Rhysand is such Theater kid istg (specially after hofas, the way he was just showing off)... he's like let me show her some tricks *walk around her and stars ripple from him* *blinking to show off the stars in his eye* *PURR* OK PEACOCK! 26. May I ask why on earth we never had a sex party like Calamnai in Night Court? I'm actually so mad because we lost the greatest opportunity WTF? Feyre was so hot and bothered about it and the reason they told her to stay at the manor was because Tam/in knew he will choose her and Feyre was like "oMg hE wOuLd chOoHe mE?" *tuck her hair behind her ear* girl- IT WOULD'VE FIT FEYSAND SO FKN WELL... maybe not on acomaf (even if it could be so healing) or acowar... BUT ACOFAS WAS RIGHT THERE!!! 27. One of the things I hate about the events after Calamnai is Lucien and Tam/in laughing at Feyre... ok... you weren't yourself, but the least you could do was to apologize for hurting and scaring her. it give off the vibe when people say "why was she out so late at night? what was she wearing?" it genuinely made me uncomfortable like the first time. 27. Something I noticed when I read the book for the first and I went 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩:

“No, I don’t want you to live somewhere else. I want you here, where I can look after you—where I can come home and know you’re here, painting and safe.”

"But his glamour had been ripped away. His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge."

Damn I was right... 28. Tam/in always kept the truth from her, even the truth that wasn't a part of the curse :) 29. When Feyre drank that faerie wine she saw through Lucien's glamour... does he always have that glamour?:

interesting... 30. Tam/in is fkn coward! in more than 2 occasions Feyre was like why he's not attacking Rhys? why he's not kicking him out? and mf never once tried to stop Rhysand. NOT ONCE. yknow... sometimes in romance novels when you see your loved one in danger you don't care if he's the most powerful being in the world you just act and try to save the ones you love even if you don't win (and we know someone does exactly that at the end of the book)... it's effort that matters!!! and this doesn't stop here either it's even worse at UTM... 31. it's funny that Feyre is "in love" with Tam/in but doesn't stop to appreciate the beauty (Rhysand), even if he's in his villain era and making the love of her life beg on his knee and breaching her own mind... 32. Why Rhysand never called Feyre "love" anymore? the first time I read it I had put away my phone and take a deep breath lol. just like that "good girl" he called her at UTM... sjm knew I would've died if she used it more. 33. Never say never... Lucien:

“Those clothes are enough to convince me I never want to enter the human realm.”

The Mother humbled him real quick lmao. 34. ELAIN IS NOT AN INTROVERT FFS I'm so tried at everyone calling Elain an introvert while she's a social butterfly and we see that in this book!! and it pains me to see Elain stans are like "I'm a introvert myself so I understand Elain..." no you don't. she's traumatized, she's at her lowest in acosf. just because, like Nesta, she doesn't throw tantrums and drown herself in alcohol and sex means she's fine? you should be more worried for the person who looks fine!! 35. I adored the scene where Feyre teaches Nesta how to paint🥹 it just warms my heart<3 and now that Feyre has a art studio I want to see them paint together again or read Nesta's smutty books together at HoW!! (I read a fanfic that Nesta teaches Feyre how to read with a stick on the snow pre-canon and it just warmed my heart<3 don't get me wrong I love how Rhys taught her lol but there's something else in sisterhood...)

36. “There is a better world, Nesta. There is a better world out there, waiting for you to find it. And if I ever get the chance, if things are ever better, safer … I will find you again.”

^: Stop...😭

37. “Amarantha is High Queen of this land. The High Queen of Prythian,” Alis breathed, her eyes wide with some memory of horror.

^: That's why the whole high king and high queen will never work. people will never accept one even if they're a just person. they had the worst experience for 49 years. they can never trust a person to rule for all like that again. and honestly I hate the whole thing bye... 38. To me Amarantha and Tam/in are mates... for obvious reasons and it's fitting! idc what anyone else says 39. The whole chapter where she kills that wyrm is so hot!! and the fact that she's human and she's so calculated and plans in the span of few minutes to kill it and doesn't just attack and uses her brain instead is so hot!! I understand why Rhys fell in love!! *HOFAS spoiler* and it's funny to me how an Illyrian, a Starborn and a Valkyrie with a deadly mask struggled to kill the wyrm 😭💀 40. The only person, THE ONLY ONE who bet on her that she'll survive? who would that be? THE LOVE HER LIFE? no... and that's not something to just move on from! there's only two assumption we can make. one, he never believed in her to begin with, two, he's a fkn coward... which I think it's both. Rhysand was r*ped and tortured for 49 years and he never stopped helping Feyre and believing in her. and knowing Amarantha wouldn't be pleased with betting on Feyre, he still did it... 41. UTM Rhys supremacy... That's it. don't ask me anything... 42. How Feyre remembered the riddle for 2.5 months is beyond me... 43. Feyre appreciating Rhysand's beauty so randomly like... GIRL FOCUS!! 44. When Feyre questions her reason for why she's doing all these, for "just a few decades", should've been the sign... 45. How Tam/in finding a way to get Feyre alone right before the night of her last trial pissed me off the first time I read it… the fact that this was a goodbye to him. That in the past 3 months he didn't try to even react to her but the night before her last trial decided to fuck her instead of helping her to get out… he can find a way now, he can get out of Amarantha sight for more than 5 minutes to fuck her, but he couldn't have done that in the past 2.5 months… yeah sure this is true love. like I said it's the effort that matters not whether you succeeded in it... Tam/in disgusts me for a better word. 46. no note... *sound of my heart breaking*:

“When you healed my arm … You didn’t need to bargain with me. You could have demanded every single week of the year. Every single week, and I would have said yes.”

"And if you had any stomach for cruelty, you’d go to Amarantha and tell her the truth about her whore. Perhaps she’d give you Tamlin for it.”

“I know,”

47. This MF sat there until he got healed while every bone in Feyre's body was breaking and when he somewhat healed he began kneeling and begging?... KNEELING AND BEGGING!! JUST FKN KILL HER! (the way Feyre kept saying that) I don't want to hear one single word about how he was injured, bla bla bla he's a fkn high lord and a warrior I'm sure he experienced worse. the least he could do, was his fkn best to stop Amarantha. and this time around reading it piss me off so bad that I wanted to throw my phone out of the window... but you know who got up even when he didn't have his full powers? to save her, to kill Amarantha, to die with her because he didn't want her to be alone while she died? yeah... The fact that the first time I read it I thought this was the reason Feyre was going to leave him and what did she do?... my girl has no self-respect istg... Love blinds people I suppose... 48. Whenever Tam/in touched Feyre after this whole thing I wanted to throw up... when he cradled her dead body? oh I wanted Rhysand to mist him so fkn bad. he doesn't deserve to touch her, he didn't deserved Feyre's love, not once... 49. In my language we have an expression "whoever does the final task, they are the one who finished the job" obviously in my language it has more rhyme to it lol but it's a silly idiom and a stupid one at that; and When people start thanking Tam/in I was like: FOR WHAT EXACTLY? he just killed Amarantha at the last minute while he watch Feyre getting tortured? he just sat for 2.5 months while Feyre and Rhysand (and Lucien) do the works to free not just him but the whole Prythian... all the while he was in his home and you lot were imprisoned UTM, away from your home... who are you thanking to? (at least they thanked Feyre as well...) 50. Feysand's balcony scene has a special place in my heart:

“Why?”

“Because when the legends get written, I didn’t want to be remembered for standing on the sidelines. I want my future offspring to know that I was there, and that I fought against her at the end, even if I couldn’t do anything useful.”

“Because, I didn’t want you to fight alone. Or die alone.”

“Thank you,”

“You never told me you loved the wings—or the flying.”

“Everything I love has always had a tendency to be taken from me. I tell very few about the wings. Or the flying.”

“Be glad of your human heart, Feyre. Pity those who don’t feel anything at all.”

whew... sorry this is so long! if you read this till the end I LOVE YOU. anyway I might do one for acomaf as well whenever I reread it. and I'm pretty sure Tam/in is going to make me see red even more than the first time!!

And I'm glad I was one of those few who saw the red flags in Tam/in even for the first time...

first time read: ⭐⭐⭐

second time read: ⭐⭐⭐.5

I noticed so many foreshadow in this book! and so many other 🚩that I didn't noticed for the first time! for some reason I can't give this book 4 stars because I tired to go easy on Tam/in but it got worse lmao💀

[genuine-wrestleboy]

the attraction (3/4)

words: 4,609

((here on ao3))

It’s a twenty minute drive from the hospital to Mike’s apartment, and you clutch your cup of sludgy cooling coffee like a lifeline the entire time. Maybe you’re an idiot to have agreed to this, but the two of you desperately need to talk, and Mike had seemed insistent that it would be better if you did it somewhere private.

“I’ll probably need to show you something,” he’d sighed. “It’s…complicated.”

So here you are, anxious and exhausted in Mike’s cramped kitchen, palms sweating against your slowly disintegrating paper cup. You’re too nauseous to actually drink it—a feat which would probably involve a distressing amount of chewing at this point—but Mike doesn’t offer to take it, and you don’t ask to throw it away.

“You want anything?” asks Mike, hovering by the cupboards, clearly unused to playing host. “I have, uh, not a lot, honestly.”

“I don’t think I could keep anything down right now anyway,” you tell him.

He looks at the cup in your hands. 

“Right,” he says, and drops into the seat opposite you. He spreads his bandaged hands along the tabletop, yellowing laminate that curls at the edges where it’s peeled away from the plywood beneath. Your fingers itch with the urge to pick at it.

“First off,” says Mike, “I want to tell you that I’m sorry.”

You hadn’t expected that. “What for?”

“That you got involved in this,” he replies, waving a hand, all this shit. “I should’ve known he’d try to make it someone else’s problem.”

You lean forward. “Why?”

“Because he’s a miserable old bastard,” seethes Mike, as close to angry as you’ve heard him. “And misery loves company.”

A miserable old bastard? That doesn’t sound like the man you met at all. Your Springtrap had been self-assured and a little smug, but he'd been fun, and—well, a lot of things you feel sort of dirty even thinking about in front of Mike now. His father. What a fucked-up position you’ve managed to get yourself into.

“Maybe he’s changed,” you suggest weakly.

Mike’s hands clench into fists against the table. “He hasn’t. I—gimme a second, I’m trying to figure out where to start, here.” 

He leans back and yanks off his hat to scrub a hand across his head. His hair, where he has it, is choppily cut, like he does it himself more on memory than in a mirror. It hangs in his eyes and down the back of his neck in patches, coppery brown streaked with grey. Big, haphazard chunks of it are thin enough to see down to his scalp or missing entirely, exposing skin that’s the same sallow purple as the rest of him. It’s a frankly baffling amount of attention to detail for an operation like Fazbear’s Fright.

Mike meets your eyes, and you realize with a guilty start that you've been openly staring.

“Maybe that’s as good a place as any.” He sets his elbows on the table, his hat dangling from one hand. He doesn't quite look at you when he speaks. “Here goes. My father is a brilliant man, but he—he’s ambition without empathy, he runs on, on fear, and ego.”

“Fear?” you ask.

“The idea of death terrifies him, I think,” Mike tells you. “And it…annoys him. ‘Someone like me should never have to do something as pedestrian as dying,’ that sort of thing.” His accent gets stronger for the impression, and you nearly slosh coffee all over yourself. It makes him sound almost exactly like Springrap.

Thankfully, Mike doesn’t seem to notice your reaction. “I was just a kid,” he continues, “I didn’t understand it back then, but for years he was doing these experiments, trying to figure out how to make himself live forever. He wanted—I think he was trying to locate the soul, I’m not sure. I have all his old research, but I can still only understand so much of it.”

Every hair on your body is on end, your skin clammy and prickling with electricity. “Did he do it?”

Mike levels a sobering look at you. “Yes. But it wasn’t what he wanted. And I don't think he fully understood it all, either. He started experimenting on himself at some point, but in the end what happened to him was an accident. What happened to me wasn't."

His eyes keep you pinned in place as he reaches up and pulls the surgical mask aside.

Time softens, treacle-slow, a long, precious pull of a moment where nothing has changed. It's not a surprise that Mike is painted under the mask, he's painted everywhere. The prosthetics are unexpected, sure, but only because they were hidden, which is a shame more than it's a shock. They’re stunning work.

"Did you do this yourself?" you ask in the second before impact. 

Seeing Mike's full expression is a novelty you have no time to appreciate, because his mouth opens with a stretch of visible tendon, and when he says your name, you can see his tongue move through his cheek, and the moment snaps with the force of a speeding car.

He isn't painted anywhere.

"I know it's a lot, just try to breathe." His voice is soft with a terrible care, and something that shares a border with regret.

Your mouth moves wordlessly. You feel like you’re staring at a window made of thick, frosted glass, and on the other side of the glass is something pacing, growling, waiting, your world about to be changed irrevocably. But on your side of the window is emptiness. Silence. Such utter, endless silence that the sound of shattering would be a relief.

"You should see the rest of me," Mike jokes thinly.

If the sound you make in response is a laugh, it's a very wet laugh. Still, the tension shatters, and relief floods you like waking from a nightmare.

"Does it hurt?" you ask.

Mike gives you a wan smile. "You recover fast—no, I appreciate it, I was worried there would be screaming. Yes, it does, but I've gotten used to it. You can get used to just about anything."

"Can I ask what happened?"

"I think it would be good for you to know." He crosses both arms across his chest, almost protectively. "For a while, my father was keeping prisoners for his experiments. One of them was my younger sister."

"God," you breathe.

"Naturally, they wanted out, and the way that they came up with went through me. Literally," he adds with a wry laugh.

"Your sister did this to you? Mike, that's horrible."

His attempt at a smile is a tight-lipped thing, closer to a grimace, or a wince. "It was and wasn't her. Death changes you. What my father discovered can capture consciousness, but only a shadow of it, and shadows are easily warped. Besides," he adds, shrugging, "I can't blame her. She thought I was him."

It's a lot to take in. "Your sister…was that, did your father—?"

"In his defense I think he regretted it," says Mike, bitterness thick in his voice. "At least until it served his purpose."

Blood starts to seep through your teeth from where anxiety is gnawing a hole in your lip. Through him, you think, does that mean—?

"You don't seem like a shadow," you venture.

"Do I not? I feel like one sometimes." Sighing, he loosens the bandages around his neck like a weary business man loosening a tie. "Remnant captures the dead, but it preserves the living. I got a dose of it before I died, and now I can't." He bites out the last few words with an ire that catches you off guard.

"Do you want to die?" It's too personal a question, you know that the second it leaves your mouth, but Mike just frowns thoughtfully.

"It doesn't matter what I want. If he's still alive, then I have to be here to stop him."

He lifts his eyes to yours, the piercing white pupils anchored in inky blackness, lays his arm out across the table. With precise, practiced motions, he strips the bandages from it, layer by layer revealing a taut stretch of desiccated, purpled skin. It clings tightly to the bones beneath, highlighting the shape of them with alarming apparency. Down by the bony wrist the skin parts here and there to dry, stringy muscle, fused to the scar-silk of the skin above.

Mike looks down at his arm almost like it’s unfamiliar to him. “My body keeps trying to heal itself, but it doesn’t remember how. Nothing really connects where it’s supposed to, but everything still works, more or less.  I don’t need to eat or sleep, I breathe out of habit more than anything else . I used to hope the Remnant would wear off eventually, but it’s been…a long time. I think maybe I could go on like this forever.”

Something nudges at your mind. “You used that word before, Remnant. What does it mean?”

It takes a beat; Mike seems to come to, as if out of a dream. He blinks, rolls down his sleeve. “Remnant is what my father called his discovery. It’s…the essence of life, in a way,  the energy a person creates and leaves behind. He found a way to distill it, to move it around in its purest form. He was injecting himself with it towards the end. That’s why I’m showing you this, so that you understand what I mean when I tell you that he shouldn’t be alive, and that what’s in that suit is never going to leave it.”

“Never going to leave it?” It’s a very good thing that you’re sitting down, because all the feeling has gone out of your legs.

“The Remnant in his system has been trying to heal my father for thirty years. If I had to guess, I’d say that that suit is a part of him now, or he’s a part of it.” Mike taps the tabletop for emphasis, then spreads his hands. “That line’s always been thin for him, anyway.”

Part of the suit. You can’t  even begin to wrap your head around that. The thought puts a hard, panicked lump in your throat that you laugh out nervously before it can turn into tears.

"You make him sound like some kind of monster.”

"He is a monster," says Mike instantly. "But he was a monster long before he got himself springlocked."

You remember your friends using that word, springlocked , but you don’t remember what it means. You’re starting to feel stupid asking Mike to explain every other thing he says, though, and if the mystery of it distracts you from the rest of his assertion, well, that’s nobody’s business but your own.

Mike starts to reach across the table, but stops just before he touches you, his hand shrinking back on itself. 

“I don’t want to scare you, for what it’s worth, but—listen, I can’t tell you that you shouldn’t be scared. Whatever reason my father has for wanting to find you, knowing him, he’s not going to stop until he does.”

You hope the thrill that goes up your spine at that looks enough like fear to pass any possible scrutiny.

“What am I supposed to do?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” Mike admits. “I’m sorry I don’t have a better answer for you. I promise I’ll figure something out, though, and you’re welcome to stay here until I do. I know it’s not much, but it might be safer for you not to be alone.”

You stare down into your coffee; you’re tired enough that drinking it is almost starting to sound like a good idea. “This has been the weirdest night of my life.”

Mike hides his laugh behind a hand. “For what it’s worth, you’re handling it surprisingly well.”

“I’m freaking out on the inside, I promise.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” says Mike indulgently.

Thin, watery light has begun to seep its way around the edges of Mike’s curtains, along with faint, warbled bird calls and the sinking sensation of a sunrise you hadn’t meant to see. None of it feels real, but then again neither do you, right now.

“Could I—?” You press your fingers against your forehead, kneading back a lurking headache. “Do you think that maybe step one of whatever we do could involve me taking a nap?”

“Oh, yeah, of course, I, uh—” Mike stuffs his hat back onto his head and slips the mask back over his face, pushing himself away from the table. “The couch is pretty comfortable, but honestly I’ve barely used the bed, you’re more than welcome to sleep there if you want.”

“The couch is fine.” You’re not sure you could make it much farther, anyway. Moving stiffly, you pour out the dregs of your coffee into the sink and drop the crushed cup into the trash.

Sleep drags you onto the couch with a firm hand and pulls you under before you can even think to kick off your shoes.

The room is bright with midday sun when you pull yourself back into consciousness. You sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and almost immediately regret it. Your head spins, and you slump back against the cushions, swallowing audibly with a throat that feels swollen and raw. Most of your body feels achey and bruised, including a warm, guilty soreness between your legs. At some point while you were passed out, Mike must’ve brought you a blanket, and you gather it around your shoulders as you lever yourself to your feet. It’s a thin, tatty flannel, pilled and faded with age, and the only sign of life in the otherwise spartan room. For all the warm gold light, it’s a pretty bleak space, the bare bones of somewhere to live in the strictest of terms and not much more. Particleboard furniture and bare white walls, a tiny tv that reflects your face back to you in warped duplicate in its curved screen. How long has he been living here? How long was he planning to stay?

You cross the room back into the kitchen, fumble through the cupboards for a glass. It’s where Mike finds you, sipping lukewarm tap water from a chipped Chipper and Sons mug. He’s changed out of his uniform into an equally shapeless sweater and slacks and a new baseball cap with an insignia that might be for a sports team. His face is covered again, too, and you want to tell him that it doesn’t have to be, but a little voice at the back of your mind stops you before the words fully form.

“Good morning,” he says amiably.

“Morning,” you return. “What time is it?”

He checks the watch hanging loosely on his thin wrist. “A little after one.”

You pause for the mental math and wince. “Got my full eight hours, I guess. Sorry for making you wait.”

Mike shrugs. “I kept myself busy. Seemed like you needed the rest.”

“Yeah.” You honestly wouldn’t have been all that surprised to learn that you’d slept for longer, you‘d been all but dead on your feet after the long night, and Mike’s marathon of nasty revelations certainly hadn’t helped matters. Not that you blame him for any of it, or begrudge him the telling, but in the light of day, with a clear head on your shoulders—clear er, at least—your aimless distress has started to solidify into the sure shape of a plan. “Could I bother you for one more favor?”

“It’s not a bother.” Mike leans against the counter opposite you and tucks his fingers into his pockets.

“If I’m gonna be staying here a while, do you think I could get a few things from my place? Maybe my car too if there’s somewhere to park it around here."

"I don't see why not." Mike scratches his chin idly under the mask. “The lot’s technically only for residents, but a lot of the units around here are empty, and they don’t monitor it too closely. Did you want to go now?”

“If you’re not busy—”

“I'm not—just let me find my keys. You can leave that in the sink, I forgot I even had that old thing.”

Mike drops you off in front of your building with his blanket still wrapped around your shoulders. You watch him punch your number into an absolute brick of a flip phone with a sort of baffled fondness, then a guilt you have to clear out of your throat like phlegm before you can speak. 

"I, uh, think I'm gonna stop by the hospital on my way back," you tell him, hoisting your tone desperately upwards and hoping it sounds light. 

Mike looks up from his phone. He's wearing a big pair of black plastic sunglasses on top of everything else, so even the slim chance you might've had at reading his expression is gone.

"You're not responsible for what happened to them, you know."

"What? Yeah, I—I know, that's not why I'm going." Should you feel responsible? The thought hadn't even occurred to you.

"Okay." He doesn't sound entirely convinced. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No," you say a little too quickly. "No, you don't have to do that. It must be, like, one of the safest places I could be, right? Besides, I kinda got the vibe that you don't really love hospitals."

Mike huffs a dry laugh. "Your vibes aren't far off. Just…be careful. Keep in touch."

"I will," you assert. "Thanks, thank you, for the ride. I'll see you later."

He waits until you're inside to pull away, and the thoughtful gesture sits in your stomach like lead.

Home sweet home. 

You start stripping down as soon as you're through the door, set Mike's sweatshirt to soak in the sink with a lot of hydrogen peroxide, and take the hottest shower of your life. Moving on automatic, you dig your suitcase out of the back of your closet and stuff some clothes and random essentials into it. Then, remembering Mike’s cupboards, you toss in all the food that you think might survive the journey back.

Step by step, one thing and then another without stopping, because right now it feels like maybe momentum is all you have. At some point, you redress. At some point, you slam the car door shut. At some point, you pass the exit to the hospital and you don't slow down.

At some point, you come back to yourself standing in the front lot of the burned-out shell of Fazbear's Fright. The smell of ash is still thick on the air.

Glass crunches under your shoes as you approach. If a building could look hungry, then this one does, the gutted windows like gaping toothless mouths strung with fluttering yellow ribbons of police tape. Big chunks of the roof have collapsed inwards, jagged slats of concrete sending their reaching rebar fingers skyward. You pick your way around, searching for a viable point of entry. It’s eerily silent, no birds or bugs or traffic sounds, no other signs of life. You’d half expected to be turned away halfway down the road, but whoever left all this tape seems to want no more to do with this place than the wildlife.

The main exit door gives after three firm shoves with a horrible screech. You clear a neat semicircle free of debris as you fight it open, raising a cloud of black dust that tickles the back of your throat. You press a sleeve over your nose and mouth and step inside, wait for things to settle. Maybe you should’ve asked Mike to borrow a mask.

The silence presses in again, and you want to call out, but something stops the process in your throat, and no sound comes. The bruisey swelling. The black dust. The tiny, wailing part of you that knows that there’s no going back from the choice once it’s made.

Inside, Fazbear’s Fright is a maze of free-standing walls. Late afternoon sun slants through in mote-thick shafts of light, throwing the sad remnants into stark clarity. Most of the building is obviously inaccessible, crushed by its own roof or dropping away into blackness where the floor has given way, but you make it far enough in to make out the charred shape of the employees only door, blocked by a barrier of fallen beams.

You walk on a little further, turning the corner into the hallway that had been so painstakingly papered with adverts just hours ago. The fire fed well here. High black stalagmites of ash cling to the walls, their peaks lapping at a ceiling somehow miraculously still intact. You sweep your phone’s flashlight over the damage, perhaps quixotically–what can you actually expect to have survived?

Down along the scorched baseboards, something glints gold in your beam. You sweep by a second time and catch it again, the corner of something reaching out from under the twisted black debris. Crouching, you edge closer, testing out the floor in front of you by inches as it starts to groan beneath you. A little closer, a little closer—

 The wood cracks under your foot, wedging your boot between two saw-toothed slats, and you cry out in panicked surprise. You fall back, scrambling to free yourself and nearly losing your boot in the process. More of the floor gives way as you pry yourself free and propel yourself back towards the wall.

You sit there for a moment, sucking in shaky breaths, letting your racing heart return to its normal resting rhythm. There's a new, deep gouge in the leather of your boot, and a sluggishly bleeding slash along the skin of your leg. Is that going to be a tetanus thing? Is tetanus lockjaw, or is that something else?

The glint of gold winks in the corner of your eye. You turn towards it, then back down to your leg, then back again. Well, you didn't come all this way for nothing, and if—if what you came for isn't here, then what the hell. You scoot yourself along the wall, spreading your weight as far out as you can, stretching an arm out in front of you. The tip of your longest finger brushes something that, somewhat to your surprise, feels cold. You risk another inch and manage to hook the edge of it, but when you start to pull, you realize that whatever you’re trying to grab is much bigger and heavier than you’d anticipated.

“Oh, come on.” You lay yourself out as far as you dare, hugging the wall tightly, and manage to get three fingers over the lip of the object. You tug, once, twice, and it starts to loose from the junk piled on top of it and slide towards you. Your momentary celebration is halted as a low groaning sound rises from the shifting rubble, your meddling threatening whatever delicate balance the building has settled into. You freeze, waiting, still as stone. Then you readjust your grip and yank, ripping the object from its spot and rolling yourself up and backwards as the ceiling collapses with a screech and huge cloud of ash.

You lay on your back just outside of the radius, your prize on your chest, laughter rising wheezily from your throat.

Your prize turns out to be a frame, still somehow mostly intact. Inside is the stained purple bow tie you remember from your tour, half-unpinned, mounted next to the photo of someone wearing a yellow rabbit costume, waving to the camera. You touch the glass with delicate fingertips, a wonder, a recognition, rising in your chest.

It’s not a big frame, but it’s heavy, and lugging it out to your car is a sweatier endeavor than you’d have liked. Honestly this has all been so much messier than anticipated, you’ll probably need to shower again, not to mention what you’re about to do to the inside of your car. Then again, your parking spot is pretty well hidden—you’d chosen somewhere in a well-shrouded patch of trees a little up the road, where any lingering cops would be less likely to spot you. Maybe it won’t be such a big deal if you just change here really quickly.

First things first, you fumble through your glove box for some hand sanitizer and squeeze a glob onto your leg; it stings like a bitch, but that has to be better than an infection. You clean your hands a little that way too, before digging out a tshirt you can use as a rag to give yourself a cursory wipedown everywhere else. The smell of smoke sticks to you thick as if you were still in the building, and maybe it’s because you have all the fresh air and greenery contrasting with it, now, but it’s taken on a sweet rot smell, like burnt roadkill. It grows in strength as you start peeling off your soiled clothes, until you’re almost gagging on it. God, you’re just going to throw all these away, there’s no way that smell is ever coming out.

Behind you, a heavy footfall in the fallen leaves. Ice roots down your spine, fizzling out across your skin, gooseflesh and foolish hope.

“Well, well—” a wet, ragged breath “—what a welcome.”

Before you can react, a huge hand, more metal than mitt, seizes the back of your neck, forcing your face down against the upholstery of your backseat.

“Running Michael’s errands for him now, are you?” His voice is like an old recording of a purr, scratched and warped almost beyond recognition. Springtrap drags a claw against your hipbone, teasing at the band of your panties, and you feel the skin split at his touch.

“No, no, that’s not—I came looking for you.” Your neck is at an angle that makes it hard to catch your breath. “He doesn’t know I’m here, I didn’t want—please, I didn’t tell him. I don’t think he’d—it’s none of his business, right? I don’t, I wouldn’t —”

Springtrap chuckles lowly. “You’re babbling. Are you afraid?”

You let out a little, gasping breath. "No."

A long-eared shadow falls over you; Springtrap nuzzles against your cheek, your ear, that slow, struggling inhale, shallow and guttering. “Liar. I can smell it on you. And that isn’t all I can smell.”

Blood spills over and trickles along your thigh, and you shudder. “Please—”

“There, there, darling. You’ll get what’s coming to you.” He trails a hand along your back, up under your t-shirt, all those long, sharp fingers twitching like a spider in its web. Your skin burns in his wake, with need, with the long, bright scratches that he leaves behind. Up between your shoulderblades, a neat snkt that cleaves your bra in halves. 

“You know who I am now, don’t you?”

You squirm in his hold, but he’s iron, immovable. “Yes.”

“Why did you come back?” His voice is as sharp as his claws, tight against the curve of your waist. Here and there you feel him break skin, feel the sting where he bites into you. Your blood beads up at his fingertips, your blood rushes downwards, your blood sings through your veins and throbs in your heart until you can taste your pulse on your tongue.

“I had to," you say.

“Had to?” asks Springtrap. Sly curiosity creeps into his voice, and you arch your back, desperate for contact. "You're playing the fool, my dear, and you should know that I don't suffer fools."

You let out a cry of pained surprise as one of his fingers swipes a sharp path from waist to thigh, shredding any clothing in its path. 

Hot, foul breath on your cheek like a caress, Springtrap's tone indulgent and fond, "You came back because you know who you belong to, isn't that right?"

"Oh," you breathe. Just like that you're something helpless and needy again, eagerly molding yourself into whatever shape fits best in his hands. "Yes."

Springtrap urges your hips back with a growl. "Yes?"

"Yes, sir," you comply immediately, want burning in you with the same bruising familiarity as the the fingers on your neck. Like an anchoring star behind your breastbone, storm-wild and wailing to drown out the last lingering whisper of logic languishing at the back of your mind. 

Your breath is a solid knot in the hollow of your throat, and your hair catches and pulls in the pinching joints of Springtrap’s hand, and you want, and you want, and it’s a terrible, clutching thing. It’s the stench of rot and smoke, the dark, angry promise of his voice.

"Say it," he hisses. There's an open hunger in his voice, a knife's edge balance between his cool facade and the inferno underneath.

"I'm yours." You wish you could see him, but you'd be lying if you said this position wasn't doing something for you. "Please, please, I��god, make me yours."

Cool air rushes against you as Springtrap peels your panties to one side, and you're already so on edge that it's enough to make you cry out. You're dizzy with your desire and helpless under his hands, and Springtrap drags a knuckle through your wetness and chuckles.

"You really did come here with this in mind, didn't you? My needy little slut."

"I—ah!—you were looking for me." How can you explain that it's not up to you, anymore, that you'll come back again and again, always, for as long as he wants you?

"And now I've found you." Springtrap hums thoughtfully. "Tell me, darling, what do you think happens next?"

[ghostflowerhotpotch]

What do you think George said to her school during the time Gwen was in another dimention for months? Like how would thst conversation even go? Was there a missing persons report filed for her? Did he just cover for her even after trying to arrest her? I have so many questions

Not gonna lie I had been wondering the same for the past (look calendar) 3 months? Wow times goes fast.

But yeah, I honest to G-d I had been wondering what the hell happened in Earth-65.

For starters, how did George get out of the trap? Did Miguel deactivated it once the portal got closed? Did any of the other officers saw it?

Something that I am really wondering at this moment is...what did he do with his cam?

Like cops normally have a body cam that is suppose to be active at all times, right? Wouldn't that capture the footage?

I am wondering about this because I am guessing that when the other cops found him, he was in a lot of distress that he couldn't really end up talking about.

Here is the interesting part for me: George says he quits, because he can't live with the idea of actually arresting her, and he can't continue being Captain if it means needing to lie about what he knows. He has a really rigid sense of morality on that front.

He initially, tried to arrest Gwen for that same rigid sense of Morality.

Yet it appears no one knows she is Spider-woman, despite the cam, the evidence he has been looking for 3/4 years, and being ready to go with it when she was in front of him- But if George can quit and that's the end of that story, it means he never told anyone.

Does this means he understood how badly he fucked up? Maybe he was more worried to where the heck she went?

I wouldn't be surprised if for a hot second he tried to investigate more on the other spider-people, (perhaps the Museum had some cams in the centre that show they just came out of nowhere?) Trying to find her, only to get to the conclusion that there is no way to get to her.

I wonder about that moment, the moment he realized Gwen may be gone for good, and he wouldn't see her again.

I imagine he must had needed to contact the school, no idea if he bothered to report her missing; probably did if only because procedure and all that jazz. Wouldn't be surprised if people in his squad were adamant in help him find her only to see that of everyone, he was the most hopeless about it.

I don't doubt he ponder about this many nights; I wonder if he ever looked the picture of his wife (or went to see her grave,) and just ask forgiveness for how much of a mess this has become.

I have so many questions and NOT ENOUGH ANSWERS.

[weirdcat1213]

HERE COMES THE PAIN WOWOWOWOWO

Trimax volume 5 thoughts :D

chap 1:

-RIGHT I HATE THIS CHAPTER CUZ IT MADE ME THINK I SKIPPED A CHAPTER BUT IT WAS A FUCKING FLASHBACK GOD FUCKING DAMN IT

-im...having feelings for sure

-GET ME OUT OF HERE

-im gonna put my head through the wall, i just fucking hate to see him like this

-HE WAS A LITTLE WAITER i hate everything

-PLS HE HAD ANOTHER HOME, PEOPLE LIKED HIMMMMMM

-oh that zoom to the eye is MESSED UP

-and yet...he manages to stand

-wait who ripped zazie's arm im confused

-oh it was that guy...why tho?

-GET THE GUN MERYL GET THE GUNN

chap 2:

-ah...fuck

-oh the vein geesus christ

-bro you had one job lmao

-also i dont think ww was born with any talent to kill or shit like that. i think its juts his determination to protect his home. hes walking the path of light but with blood

-YO WTH WHEN DID I MISS THAT EYE

-DALE MILLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

-YEAH WOLFWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD

chap 3:

-NO NOT THIS CHAPTER NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

-ITS HAPPENINGGGGGGGGGGGG

-Vash from hallowbond is that you?

-oh its because the feathers touched him ooooohhhh.....ok i get it now

-OH THEY ALSO TOUCHED MERYL I FORGOT

-NO SHUT THE FUCK UP ALRIGHT?? SHUT THE FUCK UP KNIVES

-ok i fucking hate everything he is saying right now, like i want to fucking kill him but...........MAN THAT IS SO WELL WRITTEN ITS SCRATCHING MY INSIDES REAL GOOD

-i never thought vash has pride but...i kinda want to think about it now. ik how he is a contradiction in stampede but now i want to think about this

-TAKE HER NAME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH

-oh wow holy shit thats um holy crap

-NAH I DIDNT REMEMBER THE FUCKING CHILDREN WERE IN THAT PANEL NIGHTOW YOU MF

-its...really interesting how nightow made the antagonist watch how the disaster really happened....wow

chap 4:

-*insert villain by teniwoha*

-oh thats interesting meryl is getting small vash memories. is it because of what the other person wants to know from vash? gauntlet wanted to know why vash yeeted july and meryl wanted to know about his past...hmmm

-you mean his bf

-i can see why a wing popping off from the debris would be fucking terrifying but that just looks beautiful im sorry

-damn..betrayal everywhere huh

chap 5:

-this is so tense and complicated well done nightow

-MERYL WITH A STEEL CHAIR GUN

-ok but putting aside how much i love seeing vash go berserk...why did he go berserk, actually? if it was cuz of distress ill take it, im that simple

-then again knives said something about his power erasing everything, maybe thats his power trying to take over but why is his power winning right now, specifically

chap 6:

-bro you cant just make me cry with the title panel thats illegal

-SHES HEREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

-NIGHTOW I WILL FUCKING FIGHT YOU

-also theres something so hauntingly beautiful about making that panel mostly white, like its ignoring the chaos happening like hes blinded by the light

-pls just leave your brother alone....

-so the black space is inside his head yeah?

-and thats why i like this guy so much, he aint afraid of admitting he doesnt know stuff.

-:c

-oh geesus oh wow ok

-GUYS MY WIFE IS HERE EVERYONE BE COOL

-why is she so cool tho, not fair

-"i dont want you to die i want you to suffer"oh cmon now thats just mean

-...............................

-:c