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humanpurposes · 9 months

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Just for a moment, part iii

Tom Bennett has a habit of climbing through her bedroom window whenever he's in trouble // Main Masterlist

Tom Bennett x OFC

Warnings: 18+, mentions of war and death, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, smut, Tom Bennett's daddy issues

Words: 5400

A/n: Also available to read on AO3.

Monday 27th May, 1940

The morning starts off with a miserable drizzle. Kitty watches the grey fade to warmth through her shift, until the early evening sun shines brightly through the wide windows of the shop.

The month of May has very much been the same, cold and wet at first, but the weather has been clearing up nicely. Dad is devoted to the garden now, digging up the grass and planting vegetables in every free space he can. It’s on posters all over the shop: Dig For Victory. Live off spuds and SPAM when the rations run out.

Life feels mechanical; most days she doesn’t feel like a real person at all. All week she stands behind the counter, exchanging coupons for pitiful amounts of tea and sugar, stocking up the rack of newspapers and skimming over whatever horrors the headlines are screaming about that day. When she gets home, she pulls together some kind of dinner from what food they have while dad sits by the wireless. When mam gets home from the munitions factory, they gather around the table and eat in silence.

The house is so quiet without the boys. The only time it feels a little lively is when they get a letter from one of them, but they aren’t very consistent, especially considering there’s three of them.

Every so often, she gets a letter from Tom Bennett, but she tends to keep those to herself.

Her life has become a waiting game, she realises, existing between brief moments of happiness with nothing but her memories to entertain herself. She finds herself thinking about Tom an awful lot. It’s not so bad during the day when she has something to do, but when she lies alone at night, her mind can wander. She still leaves her window unlocked and huddles close to the wall because maybe— just maybe, he’ll come through the window and fill the space beside her.

Once she’s packed up the register and put up the shutters, she waves goodbye to Mr Gregory and leaves him to lock the door.

She runs into the postman at the top of Slade Grove. She feels slightly less guilty for not remembering his name when he greets her as “Catherine.” It’s what her teachers at school used to call her, and it’s what mam calls her when she’s in a particularly foul mood. Now it just puts her on edge.

“Can I give these to you now?” he says, handing her a stack of three envelopes. “Saves me a house later on.”

She flicks through them as she carries on walking. Two are addressed to Michael Wheelan and they look boring, letters from the bank or something official, but upon seeing the third she stops and smiles.

Miss Catherine Wheelan 28 Slade Grove Longsight, Manchester United Kingdom

It’s written in Tom’s handwriting.

She tears it open immediately, her eyes flickering between the page and the street ahead, weaving through any passersby.

Dear Kitty,

Sorry it’s been a while since the last one. Morale hasn’t been the best to be honest. Do you know what they’re calling the last eight months now? “The phoney war”. Apparently things are only going to get worse from here, not that it’ll help your nerves.

Thanks for checking up on dad for me. I do worry about him being on his own, with Lois being away and all. I wonder if she’ll be back yet by the time you get this. Have you heard much from your lads? I hope they’re doing alright.

You’ll be pleased to know I haven’t been picking as many fights, but sure you know me, sometimes I can’t help myself. I’ve been reading over what you said. I know it’s not helpful, I know it’s stupid, but then I’ve never been one to think things through, have I? I suppose that’s not much of an excuse. It’s instinctive. It’s like my head tells me what I’m doing is wrong, but I don’t know what else to do.

And we could die any day. Kitty, the state I’ve seen some of these men in…

The writing becomes crooked and trails off, ending with a smudge of ink.

Maybe I should write about something less depressing? Did I tell you about this gorgeous bird I met at Port Stanley?

Kitty’s heart drops.

Beautiful thing she is. The moment I saw her I knew I had to have her, so I stowed her away and brought her on board with me. She whistles a lot, and she has these lovely yellow feathers that really brighten up the bunk. She’s a noisy eater though, munches on seeds like she’ll never eat again. I’ve named her Vera.

I can see the look on your face now. Don’t worry, pretty Kitty, there’s no other bird that could ever replace you.

“Charming,” she mutters to herself.

I think I quite like these letters really, it’s nice to give myself a moment to think, even if I can’t hear from you straight away. That’s when I miss you the most, right after I’ve sealed the envelope and written your address. I hate the waiting.

She glances up, seeing she’s only a few doors down from her house.

I should have leave coming up soon. I’m looking forward to putting my legs on dry land and sleeping on a proper mattress…

She checks the top of the page. The letter is dated from weeks ago. “Soon” could mean anything.

… and the odd late-night tryst to see my fancy woman at number 28.

She scoffs a small laugh.

I bet you’d slap me for that. God I hope your mum doesn’t get her hands on this before you. Ey up Mrs Wheelan, see what I meant was, your Kitty’s a very well-mannered lady.

She purses her lips in an attempt not to laugh, coming to stop before her own front door.

Take care of yourself Kitty. Don’t spend too much time fretting over me.

Your dear friend,

Tom Bennett

Her smile fades quickly— why shouldn’t she worry about him?

It’s always the same with letters from Tom. Her heart leaps and for a few brief moments she feels so bright, just to have some kind of news from him. She could read pages and pages of his stupid ramblings and his moments of sincerity, but then it’s over all too soon. He signs off as her dear friend, then suddenly the words on the page are no longer new, and he’s still thousands of miles away, picking fights with his crewmates and launching shells at German ships.

The days pass slowly, but when she stops and looks back, the eight months have felt like nothing. Her life is flying past her and she hardly even notices, too caught up in the memory of those nights in September.

All for him to call her his fancy woman and feed her jokes about birds.

She knows better than to get her hopes up with Tom; she’s seen him go through every crush he’s ever had. He used to go through phases of ditching her for whichever sweetheart he was entertaining at the time, only to come crawling back to her when he’d inevitably cock it all up. Because he’s Tom Bennett, and he can’t help but make a mess of everything.

And like a good friend, she always kept her window unlocked for him, always held him when he needed it and did her best to set him straight. Because that’s what friends are supposed to do, surely, and he never said they were more.

Is that truly all she is to him? A dear friend, a listening ear and a convenient shag.

She rubs her fingers over her eyes because she will not cry over Tom Bennett. With the letter back in its envelope, she puts it into her bag and tries to find her keys, when she notices the smell of cigarette smoke. It’s hardly a rarity, but it makes her think of him.

For whatever reason, she glances over her shoulder at number 27. Low and behold, she sees a man with a cocky smile in a tight, white t-shirt, leaning in the doorway, lowering a cigarette from his mouth.

“Alright, pretty Kitty?” Tom says. “Was waiting for you to notice me–”

Suddenly she’s flying across the street and flinging her arms around his neck. She stands on her tiptoes to put her head over his shoulder and he leans into her, holding one arm over her back and one around her waist.

She closes her eyes. His breath is hot against her neck. He is here. He is real. He is more than a memory or words on a page.

Tom presses a soft kiss to her temple and she feels him smiling against her skin. “Take it you missed me then?”

She pulls away, holding back the urge to cry again, hardly able to catch her breath. This close, she can see every detail of him this close, the texture of his skin, the lines around his mouth and brows, the circles under his eyes, the scruff along the sides of his jaw, the little cleft on the tip of his nose. “Maybe a little bit,” she says.

She gives a little yelp of surprise when she feels him pulling her into the house. He closes the door behind them and then her back is against the wall, her handbag dropped by her feet.

Tom shrugs her coat from her shoulders before he surges in to kiss her, fiercely, desperately. Their bodies are tangled in one another, her hands in his hair, his tracing over the curves of her body through her dress.

And then he moves away. She tries to follow him only to realise he’s smirking.

“Missed me just a little bit?” he teases.

She wants to roll her eyes, but she just smiles. “Quite a bit.”

He drags his thumb over her lower lip, pulling it down to watch it come back into place.

Kitty huffs impatiently as she nudges her nose up into his.

Their eyes meet and the anticipation lasts a lifetime.

Tom hums as he leans in to kiss her again, slower and deeper, pressing her a little further into the wall by the firm hold on her waist.

“Missed you,” he utters between kisses, “so fucking much.”

She runs her hands over every part of him she can reach, his neck, the sharp line of his jaw, over his ears and into his hair.

“How long have you been back?” she breathes.

“Since this morning,” he says, coming to kiss her neck, the spot he knows will have her back arching against him.

“You didn’t come to the shop,” she says.

“Wanted to wait for you.”

She glances down the hallway, to the seemingly empty kitchen.

Tom huffs and pulls away from her, leaning with one hand against the wall. “Dad’s flogging his paper. Lois is out. Empty house for a few hours.”

She turns her head back to face him, pleased at the flush in his cheeks and the mess she’s made of his hair.

Tom’s eyes look down to her waist, where he presses his thumb into the fabric of her dress. “Come upstairs,” he says lowly, “I want to fuck you properly.”

She nods mindlessly, closing her hand around his as he leads her up the stairs, to a bedroom with two single beds, separated by a curtain. The room is about the same size as the boys’ bedroom in her house, but with only two beds, there’s enough space for two separate wardrobes. Her brothers make do with sharing everything.

Nothing about the room denotes Tom Bennett, not the floral wallpaper or the knitted throws on the beds. Not the books, perfume bottles and silver candelabras on the mantle, and certainly not the lingering scent of hairspray.

He leads her to the bed furthest from the door. She follows the stream of sunlight coming in from the window, and then she notices the details that are his. The ashtray and the empty beer bottle on the bedside table, the ditty bag and the pairs of boots at the foot of the bed, and the sailor’s hat left on the floor by the wardrobe.

The door closes and his footsteps tread softly behind her. His hands snake around her waist and turn her to face him.

She places her hands on his chest, running her hands over his torso, mapping his body through the soft cotton t-shirt. He feels firmer than he used to, a consequence of loading shells into guns and living off rations. She feels along his arms too, over muscles, veins, tendons and the scar below his bicep.

Tom presses a kiss to her forehead before he starts to undo the buttons on the front of her dress. A familiar restlessness rises in her belly, and suddenly she thinks she can’t bear to wait another moment. With the buttons undone, she puts her hands over Tom’s as he slides the dress down to the floor, along with her stockings and quickly slips out of her shoes.

She wastes no time unclasping her brassiere and muffles Tom’s awestruck groan by pressing her lips to his.

Somehow he manages to rid himself of his t-shirt and slacks without parting from her for too long, and he guides them both to the bed. She giggles as he lands on top of her and the metal bedframe squeaks.

“Now,” Tom says, pressing a delicate kiss to her neck. “Don’t have to worry about being quiet like we usually do, do we?”

“No…” Kitty breathes as he moves down, dragging his lips and tongue down her body. When he comes to her breasts, he cups one with his hand, and takes the other nipple in his mouth. Her head rolls back against the pillows but she brings her eyes back to him. She wants to cling to every moment, every sensation, all the movements of his tongue against her skin and his hair falling in front of his face.

“Eight fucking months,” he half growls as he moves further down, kissing along her stomach and running his hands over her hips. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

She instinctively bites her lip when he ghosts his lips over her clothed cunt.

He tuts. “Don’t hold back on me now, sweetheart. I want to hear how much you missed me,” he says, curling his fingers around the hem of her underclothes before dragging them along her legs, leaving them somewhere on the floor.

He trails teasing kisses along her thighs. She squirms and whines every time he edges closer to her centre, until finally, he drags his tongue through her folds, from her entrance, up to her pearl with a deliciously agonising pressure. She doesn’t hold back the moans that sound in her throat, curling her fists through the bedsheets.

He works over her pearl with his tongue and lips, groaning against her as he does it and squeezing his fingertips into the flesh of her thighs.

It’s been so long since she’s felt like this, even on the nights when she felt herself getting too desperate, she can never quite match the feeling.

In a way it infuriates her that he can make her feel so good, but what’s worse than that is that he knows it. She can see his smug, half smile as he mouths at her cunt, so pleased at the noises she makes and the way her hips are starting to move against him.

She curls in on herself as her peak washes over her, but he manages to hold her down, right where he wants her, and keeps going until her whole body shudders and her legs are quivering.

“Fuck,” she breathes, “Tom…”

Even then he doesn’t give her much of a reprieve. He moves back for a moment before he positions her legs over his shoulders. His tongue is against her again, only now he moves lower, teasing over her entrance.

She whines impatiently.

“Fucking greedy, aren’t you?” Tom chuckles. He licks over her again— too much and not enough. “Just take it, take what I give you.”

But it doesn’t take long for him to slip his tongue inside her while his nose nudges against her. His name is a dreamy chant on her lips now. The pleasure rises and burns until she’s sure she can’t take anymore. She threads her fingers into his hair, gripping at it, urging him on, just a little more, and she’s sure she’ll fall apart.

Then he’s gone without warning, but he soon compensates the loss by replacing his tongue with a single finger.

Tom gazes up at her through his lashes. He keeps his eyes on her face as he pushes inside of her, deeper, deeper, until she takes a sharp intake of breath when he finds her sweet spot.

“Give me another one,” he groans, lowering his head down to circle his tongue over her. “Come on, pretty Kitty.”

She follows it like a command. Her second peak is sharper than the first and has her gasping for breath as she feels herself come undone around him.

“There you go,” Tom grins as he brings her legs from his shoulders and starts to make his way up her body.

He props himself over her, one hand on either side of her head. His silver chain, usually hidden below his shirt, dangles in front of her as their eyes meet. They breathe together, chests rising and falling in perfect unison.

He hesitates for a moment, before he places a lazy kiss to her lips. “God,” he utters, “you’re so fucking gorgeous, do you know that?”

“Just keep saying it,” she says.

He takes one of her hands and guides it down to his briefs. She traces her fingers over the hem before she slides underneath and wraps them around his already hard cock.

“Fuck—” Tom hisses through his teeth, his brow furrowed and his jaw tight. He reaches for the bedside table and hands her a condom. “Do the honours for me,” he grins.

She tears it open and reaches back down to slide it along his length.

Slowly, he lets his weight fall against her as he slides inside of her, burying his face into her neck and letting out a shaky breath against her skin.

She brings her arms around his shoulders as he rocks into her, gently at first, but she can feel that it’s not enough. His breaths are getting sharper and his thrusts harsher as he whimpers into her neck.

She holds him as tightly as she can, hoping it will somehow soothe the ache in her heart, because she still feels the absence of the last eight months. Because she can already feel the time slipping away.

Tom withdraws from her neck. “Look at me,” he pleads.

She does, and he brings his forehead to hers. His nose presses into hers and their lips barely brush over each other.

“You feel so good,” he says. His expression fades into something darker and more determined as he fucks her harder and faster, “so fucking tight.”

She feels it too, the urgency to make up for the time and the distance with a carnal need.

They reach their climaxes together, moaning into each other’s mouths and keeping their bodies tight together. It never feels close enough.

Once they’ve caught their breath and they feel their desire mounting again, Tom lies back on the bed and brings her to straddle him.

While the position isn’t unfamiliar, the movements are, but she’s eager enough, gauging both of their reactions as she grinds her hips against his. She goes slowly, at first, bracing herself against him while Tom keeps hold of her waist to guide her movements.

“Nice and slow, just like that,” he whispers, gazing up at her with a slight smile, “show me how much you missed me.”

She doesn’t care how the bed creaks under them, that she’s breathing and moaning too loudly. There’s something freeing and unashamed about how they fuck. Seeing Tom’s face twisted in pleasure and hearing his needy whines as he starts to buck his hips to match her movements.

And when another climax tears through her, she wishes she could drag the moment out forever.

Tom takes her in his arms as they collapse back on the bed.

She feels like she’s dreaming, not quite awake but still aware of whose arms are cradled around her, whose heartbeat she feels against her ear, who reaches for a packet of cigarettes and flicks his lighter.

They talk about things they’ve already discussed over letters, the bloody war and all the misery that comes with it. Life in Longsight seems dull in comparison to Tom’s tales of sea battles and antics on board the Exeter. But even in the middle of the Atlantic, in the midst of a war that’s consuming the whole world, he still found time to wind everybody up. She can’t tell if she hates him or admires him for it.

There’s something different about him. Where he used to sound so cocksure and carefree, his voice is duller.

Tucked under his shoulder, she shifts her head to get a better look at him, propped up against the pillows, taking drags from his cigarette, pouting his lips as he exhales the smoke and tapping the ash into the tray. Her eyes tell her it’s the same person, the same jaw, the same nose, the same lips, the same shade of blue in his eyes.

No… he looks different in the way his face falls. He seems less smug than he used to be. He seems tired, older, colder.

Of course he’s different, how could he not be? The war has reached every corner of the world, but he’s been in the thick of it.

“Your dad must be glad to have you back,” she says quietly.

Tom’s body tenses underneath her. He brings his cigarette to his lips again, giving a little irritated huff as he exhales. She wonders if that’s a thread she should avoid tugging on, but it already seems to be unraveling. He reaches to stub the cigarette out in the ashtray.

“I didn’t want to go back,” he mutters, his expression stern and sad. “I thought I was doing the right thing by going. I’ve spent enough of my life making a mess of everything, I thought if I did something good then…” he glances down at her, then shakes his head. “But I was so fucking scared—” his voice breaks his eyes are glistening.

Kitty sits up and clenches her hand around his. He’s trembling.

“You’re alright,” she says, softly, “you’re alright.”

He breathes quickly and she can feel his heart thundering in his chest. His descriptions of the attacks on the Exeter and the aftermaths had been brief, which she thought must have been a way to protect her from it on his part. Maybe he didn’t want it in writing, maybe he didn’t want to think about it once he had lived it, to be surrounded by fire, smoke and death at every turn.

“I thought dad would help me. I told him I didn’t want to go back, I thought he could help me somehow.”

“And what did he say?”

His nostrils flare as he huffs again. “He thinks it’ll be a bad look for the movement. He doesn’t think I’m genuine.”

Kitty strokes her thumb over his knuckles and his fingers tighten around hers.

“For a moment I thought he’d be pleased,” he says, his voice thick and coarse, “just for a moment.

She breathes through the tight feeling in her chest. “Maybe if you spoke to him again—”

“No,” he says bitterly. “Made up his mind now. Sure, what does it matter either way? I’m not much use here.”

The light feeling in her limbs is starting to fade. She feels solid and heavy where her body meet the mattress.

“Your dad needs you,” Kitty says, “and Lois.”

He scoffs.

“Don’t tell me you’re upset with her too?”

Tom frowns. “Stupid fucking mistake. What does she think she’s going to do now?”

“She told you then?”

“She sent a letter.”

Lois had called in a few weeks ago to tell them the news. Mam already had her suspicions, even though Lois was barely showing. She and dad were horrified, but of course they didn’t make that clear until after she had left. “A baby on the way and no husband, for shame.”

“She knows it was stupid, but she’s not asking anyone else to deal with the consequences,” Kitty says.

“All because she wanted to mess around with some posh boy.”

Kitty swallows down the dry feeling in her throat. “I don’t think what she did was much different to me and you.”

Tom looks down at her with wide eyes. “Me and you are different,” he says.

“How so?”

His lips shift, like he might say something, but he doesn’t. “I don’t know, I thought Lois was more sensible than this.”

“She’s certainly not done herself any favours, but you won’t help by being angry at her.”

“But she’s always been the responsible one, you know?”

“That’s not fair, Tom, she’s your sister not your mother.”

Tom stares up at the ceiling with his lips parted. “No… I suppose not.”

He turns his head into her. “I should never have gone in the first place.”

There’s lots of things that she thinks she would want to change. Sometimes she wishes Tom wasn’t so reckless and impulsive. She wishes he’d find an interest that wouldn’t end him up in trouble with the police. She wishes he really was a pacifist, and that way he would be here, and the only thing separating them would be a single street and two windows. It hurts to think of what could have been.

But those things cannot be changed, and even then, he wouldn’t be him. He wouldn’t be the Tom Bennett she’s adored for as long as she’s had memories of him.

She shifts against him, hooking her arm over her chest and her leg over his hips. “I know things are hard,” she says. “Just don’t leave them on a bade note. You’ll regret it if you do.”

They don’t speak for a while. The evening drags on, the sun dips lower in the sky, voices and the shouts of children sound from the street and Kitty is content lie beside him, listening to his heartbeat and his slow, controlled breaths, while he plays with her hair.

“I love you,” he breathes, so softly she thinks it might be a voice in her head. “When we got hit, it was all I could think about. That I might die then and there, and you’d never know.”

She feels her mouth break into a smile. “You love me?”

“Oh leave off, I’ve said it now,” he says with a grin.

They dress and he leads her downstairs to the kitchen. While he fusses with the kettle, Kitty takes a seat at the table.

“You’ve not met Vera yet,” Tom says over his shoulder, nodding at the small birdcage on the table. Inside, a little, yellow canary with black, beady eyes tilts her head and chirps.

“Hello, Vera,” Kitty says.

Vera chirps back.

Tom turns back around with a single cup of tea and a plate of toast. “Have to be stingy with the butter and milk, obviously,” he says setting them in front of her.

“Oh,” she says, “no, I won’t have any, don’t waste your rations on me.”

Tom angles his brows at her. “It’s not a waste.” He takes a seat in the chair opposite and lights a cigarette. “Come on, you’ve been on your feet all day.”

She hesitates before she reaches for the milk, spilling the smallest dash she can manage into the cup and skipping the sugar. Then she takes a cut of butter no larger than her thumbnail and spreads it across the toast. She takes a few tentative bites, ushering some back to him and tearing off a few crumbs to feed to Vera. Even the most mundane parts of life have become luxuries now.

“How long are you back for?” she asks.

“A week.”

“And then?”

“Off to Dover. They’ve got some big operation planned.”

“And will you be back after that?”

He draws his tongue between his lips. “I don’t know.”

Before long, the front door unlocks and Lois’ heels click through the hallways as she comes into the kitchen. “Dad not back yet?” she says, tossing her coat over the banister. She stops at the head of the table and looks between the two of them. She’s holding a brown paper bag. “Hello, Kitty. I’ve just been in to see your mum.”

“Oh she’ll be wondering where I am,” Kitty says, glancing across to Tom.

His chin is tilted down, and he looks up at her through the smoke with pleading eyes, like an injured puppy.

“Tell ‘em the Gregorys invited you up for tea,” Lois shrugs. She reaches into the bag and pulls out tiny pieces of clothing that are vaguely familiar to Kitty. “For the baby,” she says. “Thank God your mum kept all your old stuff.”

“Make do and all that,” Kitty says, briefly catching Tom’s eye.

She downs her tea and hurries to the hallway. Tom had left her coat over a sofa in the front room, and her bag is still on the floor. She tuts at his carelessness and shouts a farewell to Lois as Tom comes to see her to the door.

“Thanks for stopping by,” he says formally, with the corners of his mouth curled.

“Of course,” she replies, peering round his shoulder to see if Lois can see them.

Tom looks round too and smiles back at her as he leans into her ear. “A pleasure, as always, pretty Kitty.” He catches her lips in a quick peck before he opens the door for her.

She hurries across the street and finds her keys in her handbag. Before she opens her own door, she looks back to number 27. The glow of the spring evening beams off the red bricks of the houses and Tom looks golden, watching her through the haze of smoke from his cigarette.

It’s like before, all those months ago, before he first went away.

Each night, Tom steals into her bedroom. They kiss as quietly as they undress each other and set themselves down on her bed.

It gets more unbearable with every day that goes by. Each hour is an hour closer to carrying on with her life without him, when he’ll become another person to wait for, another reason why she wants this war to end.

On their last night, he fucks her from behind, keeping her mouth covered and muffling his own sounds in the crook of her neck. His breath and the hold on her mouth only makes her more desperate.

If anything, that first evening has ruined her, going back to gentle lovemaking is excruciating.

She quietly pleads for “more… more…”

Tom clamps his hand tighter around her mouth. “No, no, no, be a good girl,” he whispers harshly, “just be a good girl for me, Kitty.”

Once they’re both too tired to carry on, he wraps his arms around her. He tells her he loves her, and she says it back.

Dover is closer than the Atlantic at least, but the distance is all the same. He’ll still be gone.

She watches him as he dresses and follows him to the window. Before he leaves, he kisses her, deeply and desperately, pulling her still bare body against him.

When they move away for breath she gazes into his eyes. She could never forget them, the storm of blue and grey rings around his pupil, but he already feels like a memory, something intangible, there but not quite.

He presses a kiss to her forehead and his lips linger there. “When I get my next leave, I’ll come straight to you,” he says.

She doesn’t doubt it’s a promise he’ll keep. Tom Bennett doesn’t often make promises to her, but so far, he’s never broken one.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

Series taglist: @hanula18 @azxulaa @whoknows333

#my fics #tom bennett #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #world on fire #wof #world on fire bbc #world on fire season 2 #world on fire fanfiction #tom bennett x ofc #tom bennett x female reader #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennet x reader #ewan mitchell #tom bennett smut

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hotchs-bitch · 1 year

Text

Hold On

Summary: When a case hits a little too close to home, it’s time for Aaron to face the music and be honest about his feelings after the breakup

Pairing: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n), Hotch x Beth mentioned, Emily Prentiss x mentioned oc (aka @leftoverenvy)

Word count: ~12k (the girl cannot shut up) (it’s closer to 13 but it’s worth it I swear to god it is)

Warnings: hotch pov, case-compliant violence/injuries, mentions of suicide, mentions of pregnancy & pregnancy scares, domestic actions without fluff, relationship talk/references to relationship, angst angst angst, deep delving into their feelings, this is basically a case study, I once again leaned way too heavily on song lyrics so pls listen to it

A/N: As Taylor Swift said…. Dear reader, if it feels like a trap, you’re already in one. Mwahaha. Anyways I hope you enjoy this. Massive shoutout to @munsons-curls and @doctorstethoscope for fixing my many mistakes and validating me, and to everyone who has let me take them on this little ride. I can’t express how much I’ve enjoyed writing this fic, or how excited I am to write the epilogue

Find it on ao3 here and as always, happy reading <3

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—————

There's so many dreams that we have given up

Take a look at all we've got

And with this kind of love what we've got here is enough

So hold on to me tight, hold on, I promise it'll be alright

'Cause we are stronger here together than we could ever be alone

Just hold on to me, don't you ever let me go

Once upon a time, Aaron had considered himself lucky. He had a steady job, as dangerous as it was fulfilling, with the BAU. He had a son, energetic and joyous despite all he’d been through. He had you, beautiful and strong and endlessly supportive of him. He had a version of the life he had always wanted, the normalcy of family game night and someone else making Jack eat his veggies. It had been perfect.

But then, he’d screwed up. Hadn’t he? He had opened up, just a bit too much, and told you something you didn’t want to hear. Scared you off.

Instead of spending the rest of his life with you, as he’d planned, Aaron found himself alone. He tried not to blame you, tried not to feel bitter about the inevitable result of finally opening up to someone so wholly.

He bit back every thought of how conditional your love turned out to be, every scathing remark about how Biometrics was one of the most useless departments in the Bureau. He pretended not to care when he overheard that you were dating again, courtesy of JJ and Prentiss’ water cooler gossip.

He’d done what Aaron Hotchner always did; he’d buckled up, lifted his chin, and done what was expected of him. He’d found a nice girl, one that fell for him quickly, and he wished he could return the depths of her affection. He’d continued to work, putting away bad guys with Morgan and Reid while missing the easy way you’d always been able to read his mind in the field.

He moved apartments as soon as it became apparent that the ghost of you would never leave; he just wished that it hadn’t followed him, haunting him with thoughts of you dancing around the new stainless steel kitchen, or flopping onto the brand new suede couch.

He’d done what you asked him to, two years ago when you’d walked away from him and left him to pick up the pieces of his son’s broken heart and ignore his own.

Everyone has a breaking point, though. Aaron, to his credit, hadn’t reached it many times in his life.

There was the first time his father hit his little brother; the first time Aaron fought back. Open-handed slaps, broken noses, Sean screaming. He had never regretted it, not even when he wound up in the hospital that night.

There was George Foyet, dead on the blood-soaked carpet after a blur of a fight. Bloody knuckles, blurry vision, Haley’s blood flecked on her killer’s face. He’d do it a hundred times over if he had the chance.

There was the breakup, the one that simultaneously snuck up on him and had been inevitable. Crumpled flowers, Aaron yelling, you packing your desk. If he hadn’t snapped, would you have stayed?

And then there were the breaking points Aaron never expected to reach.

Leaving for a case the day you broke up with him, only to return to a half-empty apartment. Empty closet, the ‘hers’ sink from the his-and-hers themed bathroom scrubbed clean, your favourite mug left in the dishwasher. He had shattered the mug, thrown it off the balcony where you liked to drink your coffee in the mornings.

The first time you’d come along on a team outing after the breakup. Laughter, avoiding glances, ignoring how good you looked. He had taken home the first woman who caught his eye that night, learned her name- Beth- and given her a place in his life, like that would solve anything.

No matter how many breaking points he experienced, Aaron could never be sure about when the next one would occur. His saving grace through it all was that at least he could keep his composure at work.

Where Aaron failed, Hotch wasn’t allowed to.

Maybe that’s why it’s such a shock when the team gets news of a bombing in New York, just days after Emily’s wedding, and Hotch nearly keels over at his desk.

You’re in New York.

— — —

The drive to the airstrip is a blur; the whole team is worried, of course, but Aaron can hardly see straight until he’s on the plane with a file in his hand and Emily is squeezing his arm.

He remembers giving a quick and quiet order to Garcia, to call you and find out if you’re okay, and it doesn’t help his nerves that all she could tell him was, “Her phone is off.”

“She’s okay, you know,” Emily murmurs, discreet enough that no one else can hear. “It’s a big city. She’s just fine. We’ll catch this guy, and then you can see her. We just need to work the case first.”

Aaron- Hotch, now- takes a deep breath and does his best to hide that those words are exactly what he needs to hear right now, even if he doesn’t plan on seeing you. She’s right; they just need to work the case. “Alright. Okay,” he says a little louder, “What do we know?”

“Not much,” Morgan frowns at the file in his hand. “A bomb went off at The Vessel. It was a structure, I guess, but no one was allowed inside and that’s where the bomb was. Makes sense with the casualty numbers- Seven wounded, two dead.”

“Probably nearby tourists, taking pictures with it,” Prentiss says thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s sending a message to outsiders, but didn’t want a high body count.”

“That could be it,” Rossi agrees. “‘Stay out of my city’.”

“There’s been no communication to any news outlets so far,” JJ chimes in. “I don’t think we’ll learn much more until we get there and have a chance to check out the scene.”

Reid adjusts a few papers so they align, most of his attention focused on the task. “You know, most seemingly random bombings have a high chance of being followed up with a string of serial bombings, for a number of reasons. Sometimes the unsub gets addicted to the attention, or the feeling of killing, or the initial bomb doesn’t impact the intended target,” he continues, not noticing the look Rossi is shooting him.

Hotch takes a deep breath and tries to push back the feeling in his chest that resembles a brick being crushed into his sternum. “Alright. JJ is right. There’s not much more we can do with no signature and no other bombings. Everyone, just try to relax; I have a feeling we won’t be getting much rest in New York.”

He watches as the team follows his instruction. The tension is palpable but they know there’s nothing they can do; the waiting is everyone’s least favourite part of the job. Still, they try to relax. Morgan pulls on his headphones and closes his eyes, JJ and Reid start to play cards, and Prentiss and Rossi re-open their file folders to review case details.

As much as he’d like to do the same, Aaron can’t bring himself to move. He sits there, head against the window, and he wonders if you’re okay. Were you caught in the blast? Did you become one of Reid’s bombing statistic numbers? Or are you perfectly fine, content somewhere in the city with no idea that Aaron is on his way there?

He wonders, briefly, against his will in a moment dripping with guilt, which potential is worse.

———

Aaron Hotchner is something of a practiced master at hiding his agony. Maybe that’s why his voice is so level when the plane starts to descend, and he finally speaks to do the one thing he knows how; direct his team.

“Morgan and Rossi, go to the bombing site. See what you can find. Prentiss, head to the hospital with Reid and start talking to victims, and JJ, see if any news outlets have been contacted yet. We’ll meet at the station later.”

As though on cue, Garcia’s computer screen against the wall of the jet lights up. The tech analyst looks a bit paler than usual, and Hotch crosses his fingers and chalks it up to bad lighting until she speaks.

“Sir, there was another bombing. Three minutes ago, in a grocery store near the Village. There’s no casualty numbers yet.” She looks like she might cry now, and it’s not hard to figure out why.

“A grocery store is a serious escalation,” Rossi says, opening the file folder he’d just closed. “There’s locals, long-stay tourists, families shopping. Big jump from a tourist trap.”

“So we know he’s not possessive of the city. At least, he isn’t just trying to get rid of perceived outsiders,” JJ offers, and Morgan shakes his head.

“If this guy is looking for the homey-cozy ‘love thy neighbour’ deal, he’s not about to get it in New York no matter what he bombs,” he points out.

When the plane jostles them all a little, Hotch takes the moment of silence to re-assess assignments. “Garcia, is search and rescue at the second bombing site?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. The team is split between doing recovery at both locations,” she says, and one nod from Rossi means Hotch doesn’t hesitate to reassign.

“Morgan, you’re with me at the new site. We’ll be assisting with search and rescue before anything else. Rossi can handle the first scene by himself. Everyone else, stay as assigned.”

“Hotch, are you sure about that? I might be able to…” On what was probably going to be an offer of how he can assist at the original scene, Morgan falters. Of course he does. There’s nothing to be done when the bomb’s already gone off.

“I’m sure. There are people out there, and they deserve to be saved.”

———

When the plane hits the tarmac, his team is ready. It’s like watching a well-oiled machine, the way they pair off and head off to their assigned zones. The only pause is between Aaron and Rossi, when he grabs his friend’s arm on the way off the plane. “Dave…”

“I’ll tell you if she’s there,” Rossi promises, and then he’s gone in a black SUV while Hotch climbs into one with Morgan and heads to the Village bombsite.

“So, search and rescue,” Morgan says, raising his voice to speak over the sirens that Hotch has turned on. “Are we heading in, or assisting from the sidelines?”

“According to Garcia, the ambulances aren’t able to make it out to the grocery store. There’s too much rubble blocking the roads that aren’t under construction, and it’s New York traffic in addition to the media outlets swarming the place.” Hotch lets out a concentrated breath. “It’s going to be all hands on deck. Look for survivors, get them to an ambulance.”

“Got it.” The second Hotch throws the car into park, Morgan is sliding out of his seat and onto the sidewalk. Both men make their way through the media storm, past the ambulances that managed to park closer than they did, and into the store.

Search and rescue is there already, along with the SWAT team. They’re moving debris, lifting fallen shelves, and occasionally carrying people out to the ambulances waiting for them.

Hotch sets into motion instantly. He breaks off for the frozen food aisle where he doesn’t see anyone searching. “Is anyone over here?” He calls out, but there’s no answer.

The bomb must have come from across the store; there’s less debris here, but the shelves are twisted and collapsed all the same. Shattered glass from the freezer doors covers the ground, and he tries to avoid it as best he can as he walks down what once was an aisle.

He steps around stray items- a warped metal freezer door frame, a pile of frozen pizza boxes, pints of melting ice cream- while keeping his eyes trained for any sign of another person anywhere.

When he finally does see something, it makes his adrenaline spike. It’s a leg, poking out from under a freezer shelf. If he has to venture a guess, he’d say that someone is pinned under the bent freezer frame, but whether they’re merely unconscious or dead remains to be determined.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Hotch raises his voice a little and gets closer to the figure. He can see the leg a bit more clearly now, and a hand poking out from under the side of the freezer. The fingers twitch slightly. Thank god.

The sweatpants the person is wearing look vaguely familiar, and Hotch can’t place them until he sees the image of Nemo on them, and it clicks. As soon as he realizes, his stomach drops. His hands go clammy, the blood rushes from his face, and it’s all he can do to stay on his feet.

When the dizziness hits him, he wants to throw something and scream and maybe sink down onto the floor and cry, but he can’t.

He can’t, because he remembers when Penelope made sweatpants out of quilts for everyone on the team four Christmases ago. He can’t, because she’d had more than enough Disney quilt for two pairs, and had given you and him matching pants.

He can’t, because he recognizes those pants because they’re in his closet at home, but the only other person who owns a pair like this, obviously handmade, from a quilt covered in Disney characters, is…

It’s you.

Aaron can’t help himself, couldn’t stop it if he wanted to; he turns his head, bends over, and throws up on the grocery store floor, on layers of glass and rubble and thawed boxes of Pizza Pops. Right there, staring at your leg and hand, Aaron almost breaks.

But where Aaron has chinks in his armour, Hotch has none. Hotch is the one who takes a deep breath and wipes his mouth and straightens up, the one who uses every bit of strength to lift a warped freezer shelf up and reveal you, with a mangled wrist but looking generally otherwise unharmed.

You look terrified.

Not that Hotch can blame you, of course.

“It’s alright. You’ll be okay,” he says, and he doesn’t know if it’s Hotch or Aaron talking, because he sounds calm but he has no idea what happened or how hurt you are. “Were your neck or back hurt? You need to answer me.”

You’re looking up at him, gaze half-lidded, and he doesn’t know if he should be scared or relieved when you shake your head and croak out, “They’re fine.”

He knows it’s risky, knows he should call for Morgan or a member of SWAT or anyone with a gurney to transport you safely. But you’re in front of him, dazed, grimy and half-conscious with your wrist bent at an angle, and all he can do is pick you up and hold you close to him. “Hold on,” he instructs, and he feels your arm wrap around his neck.

“Aaron…” you whisper, and he strains to hear you as he makes his way towards the doors with you in his arms. No words follow, though, and he looks down to see you crying against him, silent with tears slicing through the coat of dust on your face. Your arm starts to slip, and he squeezes you a little.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” he promises, “But you need to stay with me. You’ve probably got a concussion, so don’t close your eyes. Hold onto me, tight. I’ve got you.”

When your grasp tightens again, he resumes moving towards the exit. The first breath of fresh air must invigorate you, because he feels you tighten your grip even more. “Aaron,” you repeat, less feeble than before, but he doesn’t want you wasting an ounce of energy.

“I know, but it’s going to be alright,” he shushes you as gently as he can until you arrive at the ambulance, and he passes you off to two paramedics who slide you onto a gurney.

He tries to step back but your hand shoots out and grips his dirtied suit with more strength than he thought you had. “Will you visit? At the hospital?”

The correct answer is no. No, there’s a case to work. No, you’ll be fine. No, we broke up and that’s weird. “We all will,” he promises instead without a hint of regret. “Just let them take care of you, and we’ll be by when we can.”

Relief shines in your eyes, and it’s the last thing he notes before your grip loosens on him and you’re wheeled up into the ambulance.

A minute or so passes before Aaron senses someone behind him and turns to see Derek, who’s watching the road the ambulance disappeared down. “She’s gonna be okay,” he says to Aaron, offering him a nod of support.

Hotch doesn’t know who he’s trying to reassure.

— — —

They reconvene at the station a few hours later, and Aaron sits mostly silent while his team discusses victimology, motives, and the chemical makeup of each bomb. He tries to contribute once or twice, but he falls quiet every time he recalls the way you’d looked up at him.

There had been fear in your eyes, of course. You’d been in a bombing, and he knows how natural fear is after traumatic events. But there had been recognition there too, a solemn kind. He wonders to himself if you wish anyone other than him had found you and brought you to safety, or if he’s worrying about nothing.

You’re safe now, and that’s what’s important. Even if you recover and stay in New York and Aaron never sees you again, at least you’re safe.

Who is he kidding? He can’t go along with never seeing you again, safety be damned. And yet…. He clenches a fist, ignoring Morgan and Reid’s discussion about chemical compounds. And yet, you’d been so close to dead. An aisle or a footstep away, and you could have been ripped away forever.

It makes him sick to think about.

He’s thinking so hard about it that he’s got no idea how long he’s had his gaze fixed on the table before JJ’s sharp “Hotch!” breaks through and gets his attention.

He clears his throat, embarrassed to be caught off guard. “I’m sorry. I was… elsewhere.”

“Did you hear what Emily said?” She asks, and he shakes his head. When he makes eye contact, JJ’s features soften. “You should go see her.”

“No. No, that’s unnecessary. We have a case to work,” he says, and Morgan scoffs at that. “We need to work it like any other case.”

“Any other case? Hotch, you carried her to the ambulance! It’s first aid 101. She could have had a broken spine, and you threw protocol out the window,” Morgan says, staring his boss down. “This isn’t any other case. You guys were in love, man. Go see her.”

Hotch sighs, wishes that the floor could open up and swallow him. Of course he wants to see you, buthe needs to catch the person who did this, first. “It’s not my priority. There are people dying, and we need to stay focused on that. I told her that we would all come visit her after the case is closed.”

“We are focused,” Emily points out. “You aren’t. You’re not helping anyone like this. Just go talk to her, see how she’s doing.” When Aaron opens his mouth to protest again, she cuts him off. “I’m not saying you should live at her bedside or propose to her, but just go say hi. It’s going to help both of you.”

When he looks to his right, Rossi has one eyebrow up. “You know you aren’t winning this one, right?” he asks, and Hotch sighs again. “Bring the girl some flowers, too.”

Aaron closes his file and stands up. “I’m not bringing her flowers,” he mutters. “I’ll be back in forty-five minutes. If anything else happens, keep me updated.”

——

When he gets to the hospital, flowers in hand, Aaron finds your room almost immediately. He knocks twice on the door, is greeted with a soft, “Come in.”

“Hi,” he says gently, leaving the door open. He watches, waits while you do a double-take like you can’t trust your own vision when Aaron Hotchner is standing at the door.

“You came,” is your response, and he can’t decide if your voice is coloured by exhaustion or disbelief. Maybe it’s both, but he doesn’t like the idea of not being seen as dependable to you, even now.

Encouraged slightly, Aaron takes a further step into the room. Maybe you do want him here, and you weren’t delirious when you asked him to visit. “You asked me to; of course I came. How do you feel?”

While he waits for an answer, he observes you. You’re in a fresh pair of clothes, and before he can enquire about it you’re speaking.

“I’ve been better.” You hold up one arm in a cast. “But I’ve just got this and a concussion, so it could be worse. Remember that case in Kansas where I broke my leg? That was way worse.”

Aaron shakes his head, wanting to scold you for speaking so lightly of an event that had very genuinely terrified him, but he stops himself. It’s not his place. In lieu of conversation, he raises the vase of flowers slightly.

“I, uh, brought you these.”

In the two long years that you’ve been gone, Aaron has never stopped reading human behaviour. More than anything, he has experience with your body language, and he looks over you with a familiar eye.

He sees the tension in your shoulders, your eyes narrowing slightly in the direction of the arrangement, and he knows that you’re remembering the last time he brought you flowers. “Thank you,” you say after a pause that’s almost too long. “What kind are they?”

“They’re Gladioli,” he says, and the words are fully out of his mouth before he remembers that he should have lied.

When you were dating, he had always brought you flowers. On your birthday, when you solved a case, when you just felt down; Aaron was there with a bouquet, one that always meant something. Celebration, or supportive love, or some other flower language message that he knew you would understand even when he couldn’t say it out loud.

He’s pretty sure that by the time you broke up, you had memorized the whole flower dictionary. But it’s possible, he hopes, that you never came across the Gladiolus flower. Hope. Love. Remembrance.

Why he bought them, he can’t say for sure. Maybe old habits die hard. Maybe he wants to know what you’d do if you recognized the flowers.

When you finally speak, it’s with an indecipherable voice. He’s got no idea whether or not you know what these flowers mean. “They’re beautiful. Can you just put them there?” You point one finger at the windowsill, and he follows your directions to place the vase down.

“Of course.” He sets the flowers down in a beam of sunlight, adjusts them this way and that until he’s satisfied. Once he stops moving, a heavy silence falls over the room.

What is there for you to discuss?

He’s racking his brain looking for something, anything, to talk about, until you speak bluntly.

“What do you know about the bomb?”

“What?” He hadn’t even considered that you might want to talk about the case. You’re a former agent of his unit, so ethically, it’s fine to discuss this with you. Still, he’s concerned about the trauma to your body and mind. Before he can speak again, or protest, you’re already talking.

“The bomb,” you repeat. “Do we know who it was placed by? Is it connected to any other bombs? What was it made with?”

This is familiar. This is okay. This is something Hotch knows how to talk about, even when you’re laid up in a hospital bed and he’s only talked to you a handful of times since you broke up two years ago.

At least it’s not awkward anymore. He can read it in the way you sink back into the bed, and how his own shoulders release a bundle of tension that’s been there since he initially heard that there was a bombing in New York this morning.

“We’re still trying to figure that out,” he admits. “It was made with the same chemical compound as the one that blew up The Vessel this morning. It was a homemade compound, nothing that could have been acquired naturally without extensive knowledge of bombs.”

“The Vessel? That’s a tourist attraction.” You sit up, but Hotch shakes his head.

“A closed one,” he corrects. “People just go there to take pictures outside the structure, now. That’s why there’s such a low body count.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not just closed. The Vessel is the attraction that closed after a string of suicides,” you say, and Hotch’s head snaps up in attention. “It was a big thing on the news. Have you looked into anyone related to any of those suicides?”

“No, we haven’t.” He’s already fumbling for his phone. “I’m going back to the station. Just… keep us updated on your condition, okay? We would all like to know how you’re doing.”

“Absolutely not.” Hotch can’t decide if he’s more annoyed, impressed, or concerned when you stand up. “I’m coming with you.”

“You aren’t a part of the BAU anymore,” he reminds you. “You made that choice.”

“Yeah, well, there weren’t any lives at stake. He went after a grocery store, Aaron! What’s next, the Empire State Building? Times Square?” You grab your bag of possessions collected from the bombing and rustle through for your purse. “Did you drive here?”

“You can’t come with me. You’re in the hospital for a reason.”

“For a concussion! People are dead.” You stride towards the door, holding your purse and jacket in the hand that doesn’t have a cast around the wrist. “Can you bring the Gladioli, please?”

Is he caught? Do you want to bring them because you know what they mean, or just because they’re nice flowers? With a sigh, Aaron picks them up and pulls his car keys out, knowing that you’ve won this one. “We aren’t putting your name on any reports,” he warns, taking your jacket and bag of possessions in his other hand. “Strauss would kill us both if she thinks I’m borrowing agents from other units.”

“I don’t need credit. But we need to find this guy, before he hurts anyone else.”

———

When Aaron gets back to the station, he thinks that his agents probably expected him to come back with something like Thai food, or information about a new bombing.

They likely weren’t expecting him to bring you with him. Or maybe they were, because the response of greeting waves and murmured ‘hello’s are less surprised than he had expected.

“How are you feeling?” Prentiss asks casually, but Hotch can see the flicker of panic in her eyes when she glances at your cast.

“I’ve been worse. Listen, Aaron told me about The Vessel…” you start talking to the team as Hotch calls Garcia to loop her in, and suddenly everything feels more normal than it has in two years.

When you’ve finished filling the team in, Hotch starts to speak. “Garcia, we’re going to need history on the deaths that occurred there before it was closed down. Rossi and Prentiss, go through medical reports. Reid, I want you going through any written notes or other evidence found with the bodies.”

While he talks, he notices you slipping out of the room out of the corner of his eye. Morgan grabs his phone and calls Garcia, trying to help her comb through articles for a list of suicides that occurred at The Vessel.

Hotch sits down with Reid, paging through suicide notes and crime scene photos sent by Garcia until he feels like his head is spinning.

That’s right around when you come back, your presence subtly announced with a cup of tea placed in front of Hotch and a gentle squeeze of his shoulder as you pass.

When he brings the cup to his lips, he smiles. It’s English Breakfast tea with a dash of sugar in it; his beverage of choice when it’s too late in the day for coffee. “Thank you,” he says, and you just give him a grin before going to assist Rossi and Prentiss.

After a few minutes of idle work and murmured discussion, Derek shushes everyone and puts his phone on speaker. “Okay, baby girl, tell us something good.”

“None of that, crime fighters. After a truly depressing deep dive through news articles, I’ve got 37 names belonging to people who… you know, died at The Vessel.”

“That’s not workable,” JJ remarks, “We need to narrow it down.”

“We said he has a protective, low body count style. Could be the family member of a suicide victim. One who doesn’t have the guts to cause the maximum amount of carnage,” Rossi suggests.

“That’s good,” Hotch hears himself say, like he’s hearing it from a distance. “A parent would show aggression. Garcia, look for suicide victims with surviving siblings in the area. Focus on the ones with older siblings.”

The click-clack of her keys is the only audible sound before she reports, “16 left. Still too many names.”

“Do any of them work in auto mechanics, or in proximity to cars?” Reid asks. “There’s a specific compound in the bomb that’s almost impossible to come by unless you have access to garage-grade chemicals or a specialized lab, and the lab is unlikely for him.”

“Two names. Anything else?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hotch sees you perk up. “Did any of the victims work at that grocery store?”

“Uhh…. One! He wasn’t on our list of two, but his name was Jackson Moyer.”

“Wait, I’ve got something here.” Reid sorts through papers- suicide notes and similar images sent from Garcia, and Hotch doesn’t know when he had time to get them printed out- until he pulls out a sheet of paper. “Jackson Moyer. It says in the note that his girlfriend broke up with him on the same day he got fired.”

Emily leans over to look at the note. “It’s dated nine months ago.”

Nine months. “She was pregnant,” Hotch blurts out, and a heavy silence falls over the group.

Moments later, Garcia gives the confirmation. “Nora Carr, Jackson’s girlfriend, had the baby…. Three days ago, but she gave it up for adoption,” she reports.

“Right before the bombings started.” Rossi’s observation sits heavy for a second until you speak again.

“Back to the victim. Does he have a surviving family member matching the description?” You hold the end of a pen in your mouth, worrying it between your lips while you look at your files. “A sibling or close cousin, maybe.”

There’s a moment of typing before Garcia says, “Bingo. His older brother, Jeremy. It looks like they were really close growing up; same sports teams, friend group, classes, you name it. He doesn’t work at any kind of auto shop, though. He works in retail.”

“He felt betrayed when his brother killed himself,” Hotch starts.

He’s caught off guard when you continue his train of thought for the first time in two years. The ease with which you take over his idea is one that he’s missed; sometimes, when he’s having difficulty going somewhere with a profile, he misses working with you. It’s like you hold the other piece of the puzzle.

But now, even if just temporarily, you’re here and you’re fitting the puzzle piece into place

“And he saw giving away Jackson’s child as the ultimate betrayal. Does he have a boyfriend or girlfriend with access to the chemicals used?” You ask.

“Yep. Her name is Erica Harmon and she’s a grad student at Columbia. She’s a TA in a load of undergrad chem classes, too.”

“He’s got access to the chemicals through her,” JJ says, frowning at her list of materials found in the bombs. “Almost all of this is lab-grade, and the rest of it wouldn’t be hard to find at a supermarket.”

“And he’s probably going after Jackson’s ex-girlfriend next,” Morgan says, already grabbing his gun as the rest of the group stands up.

Prentiss looks at her boss. “Where do you want us?”

“You and Reid, head to Jeremy’s house. Rossi, Morgan, JJ, I want you at the ex-girlfriend’s apartment.”

“Where am I going?” You ask, using one hand on the table to steady yourself when you stand up and wobble slightly. “I need a gun.”

“No, you don’t. You need to stay here, and I’ll stay with you.” Aaron sits back down, pulls you into your own chair with both hands on yours while he ignores the team’s stares.

“Hotch, are you sure?” Morgan asks, but Aaron doesn’t even look over.

“Go.”

He hears the sounds of rustling to his side, his team leaving as fast as they can while Garcia says something about sending them the addresses, but he can hardly focus. “Are you okay?”

“A little…” You bring a hand to the centre of your forehead. “A little dizzy, that’s all. Are they going to be okay?”

“They’ll be just fine. We profiled that he targets the buildings themselves, not the people in them. He won’t be able to take a hostage successfully.” Aaron promises.

He hopes he’s right.

He hopes he hasn’t lied to you yet again, especially when you give him a hopeful smile.

“I missed this,” you say, so casually that his heartbeat falters before you continue to speak, giving him clarification that he doesn’t want. “Working with everyone, being on cases. Biometrics isn’t nearly as interesting.”

The confession cracks his face into something resembling a smile. “Never a dull moment here,” he agrees before the two of you fall into a silence that he can’t decipher.

Should he have said something else? We missed working with you, or I missed having you around, or Biometrics is practically an entry-level unit. Maybe even, Are you thinking of rejoining the team?

He still doesn’t know why he lied to you on the day of the breakup, why the words ‘it’s not reversible’ had ever left his lips. You could have come back to the BAU at any time, Strauss be damned. Of course, it would be his head on the chopping block, but still. You deserved to know.

He doesn’t say anything.

“How’s Beth?” You blurt out, and he wonders how long you’ve been holding onto that question before you asked it.

He wishes you hadn’t asked. He has a moment of panic, gives you a reaction he already hates himself for before he does it. Instead of answering, he stands up and picks up his now-empty mug of tea. “I’m going to get another. Do you need anything? Some water?” He suggests, brushing the back of his hand on your forehead the way he does when Jack is sick.

The look in your eyes is unreadable when you slump down into your seat further, staring at the table. “I’m okay,” you mumble, and Aaron hates himself even more for the familiar way he caresses your hair before he walks off.

His return a few minutes later finds you curled up in one of the large office chairs, your head leaned back while you speak into your cell phone. “… not sure when I’ll be back,” you’re saying, and you glance up when he enters the room. “I’ll call you back later, okay?”

You hang up and tuck the phone under your leg before you look up at him. You don’t say anything.

He doesn’t say anything.

You don’t say anything.

“I brought you tea,” he blurts out.

Aaron Hotchner, ex-prosecutor, Unit Chief of the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, well-known in more than one elite circle for his nuanced understanding of the human mind and what makes it tick. That’s him.

Or maybe it’s not, because after two seconds of awkward silence he’s offering you the mug of tea he made for himself.

“I thought you went to get yourself one,” you say, but a barely-trembling hand reaches forward to accept the mug nonetheless. Thank god he’d grabbed a clean one.

“You need it more. How’s your arm doing?” He asks, and you shrug.

“It’s been better, but it’s been worse. Hurts less when I don’t think about it.”

Aaron has always prided himself on giving you what you need. If you’re telling him that you don’t want to think about it, he can work with that. He can distract you. “Who were you on the phone with?”

It’s excruciating, the length of time that he sits in silence before you answer. It feels like he’s waiting for a signed murder confession. He sits there and waits for what feels like days, weeks, maybe a month or two to hear you say, “My friend.”

“Garcia said you were visiting a friend. That’s why you bought the onesie, isn’t it?” He guesses, remembering that awkward run-in with Beth and Ella at the museum gift shop.

He can’t believe he brought it up. Can you see the shame for it on his face, or the tips of his ears red with embarrassment?

It had been a great day. He had had a rare day off, and he and Beth had taken the kids to the park. They’d gone out for ice cream afterwards, and finally for a tour of Jack’s favourite museum that ended with the museum gift shop. It’s almost a perfect memory, a day that he would fit into a snow globe to preserve if he could.

He knows that if he did that, somehow preserved the day in a sphere full of glycol, he would just remember the look on your face in that gift shop. He still can’t put a name to the emotion other than ‘torn’.

Aaron Hotchner; the master of understanding every human mind except yours.

“She just had a baby,” you respond, and he blinks twice before he remembers that you aren’t in the gift shop anymore and that he asked you a question.

You’re here in front of him now with a broken wrist and a concussion and you finally seem to be opening up to him, and he doesn’t want to risk missing it by staying in his own head.

“Boy or girl?” He asks while you sip the tea. It's an English Breakfast with nothing but a bit of sugar, but you don’t seem to mind.

“He’s a boy. His name is Tristan and he’s cute, too. Do you want to see a picture?” You’re already eagerly reaching for your phone, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop you now whether he wants to see the pictures or not.

When you show him the screen, a part of him wishes he had stopped you.

The baby is tiny. Tristan is swaddled in a blanket, the top half of his head poking out just for tiny eyes to squint at the camera. Aaron can see the top of a scrunched nose, maybe the beginning of a cry or a yawn. He examines the details, the obviously-plush blanket with grey-blue floral detailing.

Aaron does his best to fixate his attention on Tristan and ignore the fact that the photo is of you holding the baby, looking almost maternal and definitely happy and…

He looks away.

He can’t help it; he hardly stops himself to consider whether it’s rude of him to actively dodge the photo. Instead, he clears his throat. “Very cute,” he agrees, “You’re right about that.”

“Yeah. He was born a little premature, so I thought I’d take some time off of work, come up and help her out for a little while.” You look down at your cast and let out half a scornful laugh. “Some help I am. I don’t even think I could hold him now.”

“I’m sure you’ve been plenty helpful,” he assures you without a thought. After all, for years you had as much of a hand in raising Jack as Aaron did. “It just might have been cut short a little.”

“Yeah, a little. I’m probably going to have to head home after this. It doesn’t make sense to stay when I can’t do anything.” You look glum at the prospect, and without a thought Aaron reaches a foot out to bump against the roller wheels of your chair. It’s a gentle tap, one that just serves to get your attention.

“Talk to your friend,” he advises. “Maybe you can still cook, or help her clean up around the house. There’s no need to cut your time off short just because you can’t hold a baby.”

Your head tilts just a bit, and your eyes narrow as though you’re looking at an equation in the air that Aaron can’t see, let alone guess the factors of. He hopes you can solve it, whatever it is. “Maybe,” you say, and that’s when he hears the conference room door open.

“Hey, double trouble.” Morgan has a trademark grin from ear to ear as he sits down at the table, and Hotch swivels in his seat to face the team as they file into the room.

How did it appear to them? Him close to your chair, you tucked into it with one leg under you and the other hanging off the side. Did it seem uncomfortable, like you didn’t want to be there? He wishes he could have taken a picture of the two of you, somehow, something he could study and examine and hope to understand.

You’ve been alone in a room for… well, he’s lost track of time, but it’s been a while and he still can’t tell if you’re comfortable or not. He’s got no clue until you pipe up and wheel your chair closer to the table.

“Dibs on being ‘double’. You can be ‘trouble’.” You nudge his shoulder with your own, and Hotch does his best not to smile. There’s no use in encouraging you, after all. Still, he can feel some of the tension drain from his shoulders at the light tone; you’re happy to be here, happy to work on this case and to talk to him.

“Actually, you can’t assign nicknames based off of a group nickname when the name itself is a play on how many members there are,” Reid corrects as he sits down with his case file in hand. “You can only do that if each nickname is a separate title.”

Morgan groans out loud at that and reaches over to swat Reid’s arm. “C’mon, man, you’re taking all the fun out of it,” he complains, leaving Reid with a mildly perplexed look on his face.

“We can try again,” Prentiss offers, slipping out of her bulletproof vest. “Hey, sugar and spice.”

Aaron can feel your reaction before you can even open your mouth, and he beats you to it by a half second by warning, “Don’t say that I’m spice.”

The look on your face tells him that that’s exactly what you meant to say. He pushes away thoughts of Look how well I know you in favour of We’re at work.

“How did takedown go?” He asks. The debrief usually happens on the jet, but it feels wrong to discuss the case without you now. Debriefing is an essential part of each case for everyone who works on it, and he does his best to make sure that each member of his team- past or present- can leave each city with a sense of closure.

If anyone needs closure on this case, it’s the woman wearing a cast who hasn’t had to face the horrors of the BAU in two years.

And maybe Aaron, because it’s just as important to him that you feel okay after the events of the last day. Maybe you need to know that the unsub is behind bars, but Aaron needs to know that you know.

Dave, who has been smirking ever since he saw Hotch quickly wheel his chair away from yours upon the team's arrival, speaks first. “Nice and easy. We caught him while he was assembling a bomb in the apartment complex's boiler room. Taking a hostage never crossed his mind.”

“He didn’t even go to Nora’s apartment. She had no idea what we were talking about when we tried to interview her,” JJ says. She hasn’t sat down yet, and is already working to gather up the metric ton of paper covering the conference room table.

Maybe Hotch should have thought to do that.

“Good. And Erica, the girlfriend?”

“She had no idea about any of it. Morgan found a copy of her keys on the unsub’s keyring, and her best guess was that he copied them right out of her purse.” Prentiss passes JJ a stack of papers and sighs. “I feel bad for that girl. She had no idea what was happening right under her nose.”

“She had no way of knowing that her boyfriend would be pushed over the edge like he was. She’s gonna need help after this, for sure,” Morgan says thoughtfully, and the group mumbles out a collective agreement.

“Either way, mi bellos,” Rossi stands up to clasp his hands together, “The case is closed and we’ve got someone in cuffs. All’s well that ends… well, you know.”

It catches Hotch off guard when his stomach pangs at the thought of leaving. Boarding the jet and heading home. Leaving New York, leaving Jackson and Jeremy and their girlfriends in the past, leaving you to deal with the aftereffects of being injured on your own.

He can’t stop himself from speaking, even if just to re-think his words before they become law. “We can stay the night.”

There’s no subtlety to the rise of Morgan’s eyebrows, or the glance that Prentiss and JJ exchange. But there’s nothing he can do about it now. The words are out there. It’s already done.

“Why would we do that?” Reid asks, always one to voice the question no one wants to vocalize. Hotch has always loved his curious mind and his need to understand every aspect of something.

Even if he kind of wants to throttle the kid right now, because how the hell is he supposed to answer that?

“Because you all did some good work today,” he answers after a painfully long minute, “and deserve a night off. We can all go out for dinner and be on the jet early in the morning.”

That answer seems to satisfy the room, and Aaron ignores the look Rossi is giving him as he glances over at you and drops his voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you promise. “Do you, you know, maybe have an extra seat at that table?” You look nervous; he can read that clear as day. The idea that this could put you on edge almost makes a laugh bubble up in his stomach but he shoves it down in favour of a smile.

“I’m sure we can pull one up,” he assures you in a murmur. “We’d love to see you a bit more before we leave.”

“Oh.” You sound almost surprised, and he’s glad that he thought to hide behind the royal ‘we’. “Okay. Can I ride there with one of you?”

“Of course.” Aaron stands up and pulls your chair away from the table so you’ve got room to stand. Unnecessary chivalry; he has to remind himself to cut it out. “We can take a taxi.”

—

That’s how, fifteen minutes later, he finds himself in the passenger seat of a cab with you, JJ, and Garcia squished together in the backseat.

He wonders what you’re talking about back there behind the partition in low whispers, the occasional giggle, and one or two sharp “Shh”’s. The taxi stops too soon for him to find out, and your little group finds the rest of the team at a table already.

You slide into a seat and Hotch unconsciously moves to take the seat farthest from you- a habit he’s built in the last two years- only to find Morgan already sitting in it. “Sorry, Hotch. You snooze, you lose,” he defends with a wide smile.

By the time he turns to see what other seats are free, the only one left is right next to you. “Aaron, over here,” you say, and with all eyes on him there’s nothing to do but come around the table and sink into the stiff chair.

The waitress comes by to take drink orders a minute later, and Hotch orders himself a water. He’s here on official business, and he refuses to get drunk. It’s what his father did, and that always ended up in violence or big scenes made in public. Hotch does everything he can to avoid that side of himself, especially when he’s representing the government.

“What kind of wines do you have?” He hears you ask, and he turns his head to see the waitress produce a menu from what must have been thin air.

“She can’t drink,” he says loudly, putting out a hand like he can stop the menu from making its way to you. “She has a concussion.”

Speaking around you, to you, for you, is a dance, as Aaron is slowly learning.

You frown, and he hopes he hasn’t overstepped. You don’t say anything, and he holds his breath. You finally look up at the waitress and order a water, and he sighs in relief.

“Thanks, it slipped my mind,” you murmur once she’s walked away, and he gives you a tight smile before getting dragged into an argument between Morgan and Reid.

Dinner, for the most part, passes in a blur of quiet conversation and polite laughter. It isn’t until everyone is eating dessert, half the team feeling the effects of the wines they’ve been indulging in, that everything goes to hell.

He really shouldn’t be so surprised. The evening has gone without a hitch so far- Aaron’s left arm occasionally bumping your right when you try to eat at the same time has really been the only obstacle- so he figures that you’re about due for something to go wrong. Some event to stir up the peaceful bubble he’s stumbled across.

It happens, as many things do, in the form of Emily Prentiss opening her mouth. She leans over you to speak to Aaron, and it’s like he’s watching the train crash in slow motion when she says to him, “So, how’s the single life?”

He can feel the way you stiffen up next to him, white knuckles on your fork, peering out of the corner of your eye. Do you want to hear the answer? “Prentiss, please. That’s hardly appropriate.” His voice is being held together like it’s wrapped in duct tape, but it comes out steady enough.

Emily sighs at the scolding. “I just wanted to know,” she grumbles, pushing a piece of cheesecake around on her plate. “You and Beth broke up a week ago; I’m just curious.”

“Good question,” JJ says. “Have you talked to her since? Wait, is that why she wasn’t at the wedding?”

“You told us she was sick, but statistically this is the least likely time of year for someone to experience cold or flu related symptoms.” Spencer frowns down at his rootbeer. “Did you lie? You could have told us that you broke up. We could have helped.”

“Same way I got over the second Mrs. Rossi,” Dave jokes, lifting his glass in a salute. “I don’t think I left the strip club for a month.”

“Please,” Aaron repeats, raising his voice slightly. “This isn’t appropriate.” He directs it primarily to Emily, who started this whole thing, and he notices the shell-shocked look on your face out of the corner of his eye.

“I just wanted to know,” Emily repeats, as petulant as a stubborn child.

She wanted you to know, more likely. Aaron has been careful about not talking about his relationship- Emily only knows because he developed a case of drunkenly loose lips the night of the wedding and overshared to her wife, Katie- and now you know the one thing he didn’t want to become widespread. There’s no way that wasn’t intentional.

“I should…” You push your chair back with a ‘screech’ and stand up, hurrying out of the restaurant in the direction of the lobby without further excuse.

Hotch watches you go, lets out a groaned “God.” while he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I need to- I’ll be back.” He tosses down his napkin and takes off in the direction you exited.

“Now, that wasn’t too nice,” Derek points out, and Emily shrugs.

“I didn’t like the tension. At least now they’ll talk.”

Meanwhile, Aaron finds himself rounding the large fountain display in the lobby to talk to you. “Are you leaving?”

When you look up, there’s vague surprise on your face. Did you think he wouldn’t follow you? If there’s one thing Aaron knows about himself by now, it’s that he would follow you to hell and back.

“I think I should. I think that would be best.” Instead of looking at him, you fiddle with your keys and look everywhere else. The chandelier, fountain, reception desk; everywhere except at Aaron himself.

“Just… just hold on, a couple of minutes. I didn’t mean to upset you, by not saying something. I thought it would be… easier.”

That gets a reaction. Your eyes snap to his, and he can see something like hurt swimming in them. “Easier?”

“Yes. You didn’t have anything to do with it; why should I have to tell you?” He challenges, even though it’s half a lie. You weren’t faultless in the breakup, but he’s not going to be sharing that fact.

“You don’t think I would want to know?” You take a small step towards him. “Even just so I could be there for you?”

“That’s not a good idea,” he counters. “I have friends I can speak to about breakups.” He regrets his words the second that he sees the pain in your eyes. Oh, because you’re supposed to be friends now. That’s right; his last breakup was with you.

Three feet away, perched on the edge of the fountain, an older woman is watching the two of you intensely. She’s obviously listening, and that’s something that Aaron doesn’t want to deal with. “Look,” he says, his voice low and quiet, “Will you come up to my room? We can talk there, but I’m not doing this in public.”

The conflicting emotions on your face seem to be going to war until you take a deep breath and take Aaron’s hand, your fingers wrapping around his as you board the elevator.

He hopes you don’t notice David Rossi standing near the elevators. He hopes you don’t notice the thumbs up that the older man gives him, or the middle finger he gives in return.

The elevator ride is silent and long, almost excruciatingly so, and he’s half relieved once you get into the hotel room and take a seat on separate beds facing each other. His suitcase is against the wall, zipped up, and the desk is covered in various writings and readings that he doesn’t even know when Spencer had time to unpack.

You break the silence first, your face expressionless like it’s an interrogation. It feels like he’s on the wrong side of the interrogation table for once when you speak. “You and Beth broke up.”

“We did,” he agrees, and that’s when he wonders if he made a mistake bringing you up here. He doesn’t want you to hear the whole story; why not just confirm the breakup in the lobby and send you on your way?

Well, he couldn’t have done that, and he knows why. It’s still a half-decent alternative to this, though.

“Why?”

“Why… did we break up?” He clarifies, and you nod. “We wanted different things.”

Finally, emotion crosses your face; a flicker of anger. He doesn’t blame you, especially when he remembers the sacrifice you made. “Different things? So, she didn’t want more kids? Or was it work-related?”

He isn’t going to get through this without telling you the whole story; he can see that now. As hard as it is, he knows you aren’t letting this rest until you get a comprehensive answer.

“She had a pregnancy scare.”

Your sudden bark of laughter is hardly a surprise, but it makes him wince all the same. “You broke up because you don’t want to have another kid? Are you serious?”

He tries to answer. Instead, memory hits him like a brick wall, wraps its arms around him and drags him down into it.

“Aaron? Honey, where are you?” Beth’s cheery voice entered the room before she did, and Aaron looked up at her with a smile.

“Hey, sweetheart. How was your day?” He asked. He hated this domestic part, the part where he had to pretend to be just as in love as she was.

But love grows, he knew. Just as flowers could blossom from cracks in the pavement, love could develop with time and affection. It wouldn’t be fair to her, to not return the open affection she gave him.

He always wondered why it never felt easy or effortless, why he often felt like he was just a young boy playing at being in a relationship, instead of an adult who was actually in one.

“My day was good,” she said, a barely-contained smile on her face. “So, you know how I’ve been under the weather lately?”

That was an understatement. She’d thrown up more than once in the last couple of days. Love or not, Aaron cared enough that he was on the verge of taking her to the emergency room himself. “Of course. Are you feeling any better?”

“Not really. But my period was late yesterday, so I thought, why not?” Why not, what? She wasn’t making any sense, and it wasn’t until Aaron saw the little stick in her hand that the pieces flew together for him, like a puzzle begging to be solved. “And, well…”

He stared down at tanned hands presenting him the stick, two tiny lines deciding his future for him. “You’re pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant,” she confirmed, throwing her arms around his neck. He slowly brought both arms up to hug her- a facade of excitement, even though his face would certainly betray him if she were to look at it. “Isn’t that great?”

“That’s… wow.” It was as honest of an answer as he could give. “Are you going to see a doctor to make sure?”

“Of course I am.” She pulled away just enough to kiss him, but he broke away soon enough. “Aaron? This is great, isn’t it? Aren’t you excited?” There was an edge in her voice, one that told him that his face- expressions of shock, uncertainty, certainly no joy- was giving him away.

He couldn’t dodge the direct question, the look in her eye. She already knew the answer before she asked the question, and they both knew that this was his chance for redemption.

He didn’t take it.

A week later, the doctor confirmed the false positive. Aaron couldn’t have brought himself to be upset if he tried.

The same afternoon, Beth packed up hers and Ella’s things, and they were gone.

He wanted to feel sad. He wanted to feel heartbroken. He wanted to punish himself, for knowing that he had missed out on the closest chance he had had to a real family in years.

It was the reason you left; your sacrifice, the heartache you’d both been left with, everything you’d both gone through was deemed useless in the deciding moment. It was his one chance, and he hadn’t taken it.

He just felt numb.

“Aaron.” Your voice, pitched sharp, manages to pull him out of his trance. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t know why you’re asking. He wants to know if you’re okay. He wants to apologize, to fall to his knees and hold onto you the way he should have two years ago.

“I’m fine.”

“So, Beth had a pregnancy scare,” you prompt. “And that’s why you broke up?”

He hesitates. “Yes.”

He hesitated too long.

“Why?” You ask.

He knows that you’re only pushing it because you know him.

You know him better than anyone; you know that he doesn’t walk away from things that he wants, not when he has a choice.

And wasn’t that what he wanted? Didn’t he want Beth, more children, a family of his own?

“Don’t do this.” It’s a plea, and it goes unanswered.

“Why did you break up? Aaron… come on.” The desperation in your voice kisses his ears. It reminds him that you’ve been hurt at least as badly as he’s been. It tells him that you aren’t there as a concerned friend; you’re there as someone who deserves the answer to the question you asked. Someone who’s a part of the twisted equation, who fits into the formula of the last two years. Someone who’s been hurt by him, for him, only for him to throw that sacrifice away.

He replies by just saying your name, the name he’s spoken so many times. He’s said it before with love, playful annoyance and affection. After the breakup he said it less often, and it was often delivered with spite or tears of proportions that he didn’t know he would, or could, shed.

This time, when he says your name, he thinks he sounds… broken. His voice cracks, his face flushes, and he looks down at his feet. He’s still got his dress shoes on, and he counts the eyelets- 3, 4, 5 pairs of them, black laces looped neatly through- without saying another word.

Your name, as broken as it is between his lips, is an admission of guilt. It’s a confession, an entreaty for you to stop pushing, and it contains unspoken defeat.

“Aaron.” Your voice is firm when you repeat his name, and his eyes snap up from his shoes- 3, 4, 5, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5- to meet yours. “Don’t I deserve to know?”

You do. He knows you do. The ‘don’t I deserve?’ angle is never something you’ve used, and he knows this is a last ditch effort to get the truth out of him.

You do deserve to know.

How can he say it? How can he tell you the truth? How can he possibly look into your earnest eyes and pretend that he can defend himself and the decisions that he’s made?

He can tell you that more kids doesn’t make sense; he knows that, in a factual sense. He wasn’t around enough when Jack was little, is hardly better at being around now. The job is priority; he could get hurt or worse, and leave behind a widow with more mouths to feed than she can handle. He could become a twisted version of his father, pitting his children against each other. He’s too old to run around with toddlers for the next ten years.

He can tell you any number of things that make sense, but you won’t accept anything less than the truth. That, at least, is written plain as day on your face.

“She isn’t you.”

His words hit you like a bucket of ice water. They slap you so hard that you have half a mind to bring a hand up to your cheek and check for sore spots. “Aaron-”

“It’s true. I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear, but you wanted the truth and that’s it.” His breathing sounds more ragged now, like he’s fighting to stay collected.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking, telling you. He isn’t trying to get you back. You made your choice, you walked away, and that’s that.

“Aaron. You want a family,” you remind him, your voice cracking. How can he not remember? How can he throw away the last two years, disregard your sacrifice like this?

Hadn’t that always been his dream? A positive pregnancy test with a woman who loved him? And yet, in the final hour, he’d walked away. He’d made a choice, one that he has to face now, with you.

“I know. God, I know, but it just… it couldn’t happen.”

“Because she’s not me? Are you serious?” Your voice is hardly above a whisper, fraught with disbelief and maybe a hint of fear at the potential weight of his answer, and you wish that Aaron were speaking even quieter when he responds. You wish you couldn’t hear him at all.

“Because there’s no family without you.”

The dry scoff that escapes you is answer enough, especially once it’s paired with your head dropping into your hands. “Then what the hell have we been doing?”

“I tried,” he defends. Desperation is poured into every syllable, filling in the spaces of the things he can’t say like resin on wood. “I gave it a chance, she was happy. But when I saw that test…”

Neither of you knows if he’s stopped to figure out what he should say, or if it’s because he can’t say it. He looks small, appears defenceless in a way that he never lets himself.

“I couldn’t do it,” he finishes. He spreads his hands out, a placating gesture. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want a family with her. When I saw that test, I was scared. Terrified. A baby is a commitment, and I don’t- I can’t- see myself making that commitment with anyone but you.”

“You know how I feel about kids.” For a moment his eyes flicker down, to where your phone sits on the bed, and you have half a mind to wonder if he’s going to bring Tristan into this.

Maybe he’s settled more into this conversation. Maybe he’s realized that he doesn’t have much to lose here. For whatever reason, his rebuttal to you, perched facing him on the opposite bed- worlds away, yet only mere feet- is more of a challenge than a question. “When did I ask you to have any?”

“What?” You tilt your head the slightest bit, stray hairs illuminated in the yellow-grey light, and he thinks his heart skips a beat when you blink.

“I didn’t ask you to have kids. I never asked for that.” He knows it for a fact; that simple thought has been his port at sea more than once, on the nights where he wondered exactly how things had gone so wrong.

You blink again. ‘I want us to get married, have as many kids as we can, I want all of that and I want it with you.’ Those were his words, spoken so passionately two years ago.

But there were other words, too, and they fly back into your mind like they’re trying to haunt you. Words that circle you, remind you that you were the reason he couldn’t have that life.

‘I’ve been thinking, and you’re more important to me than having more kids.’

‘Just say the word, and I’ll never bring it up again.’

‘I’m not going to sit here and tell you what I want, because I’m not forcing you into that. You don’t want it, fine. We don’t do it.’

You remember him confessing what he wanted, so earnest and unexpecting of you to go along with it.

Phrases swirl your head, sentences that haven't done so since the breakup.

Sentences that you hadn’t let yourself understand until now.

‘I would be happier knowing that I’m in a relationship with someone who wants the same things I do. I want that with you, I want you to want it, but that isn’t happening.’

‘I want us to go back to normal. How we were.’

‘You’re all I need. I mean it.’

“You want a family. That’s what you want.” Your protest is weak, and you don’t know if it’s a protest for your self-protection or his feelings.

Maybe it’s both.

“You were my family. You and Jack. I was so happy with you.”

“Not as happy as you could have been,” you counter. Aaron visibly hesitates, a moment of back-and-forth sway before he crosses the room to sit next to you on the other bed.

“You…” the breath he takes is deep and rattling. “You made me happier than I could ask for.”

You move back and he does too, kicking off his shoes to mirror your crossed legs. The two of you sit and face each other. The headboard sets the scenery behind him, cheap hotel wall art behind you. When you take a breath, so does he.

“You walked away,” you remind him. It isn’t a show of blame; it’s a reminder, pure and simple, that he wasn’t happy with you.

“No, I didn’t.” He reaches out, one of his hands trembling as it grasps yours. “I wouldn’t have.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute. Instead, he watches as his hand wraps around yours, squeezes it once.

He’s just about to let go when you squeeze back.

“You told me to go,” he whispers, staring down at those linked hands. If he looks you in the eye now, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. “It’s what you wanted.”

You laugh, and the sound is humourless and dry. “What I wanted? Aaron, you only stayed past that first day for me, to make me feel like I wasn’t ruining your life. I didn’t kick you out; I let you go.”

“I didn’t get a choice. I chose to stay, I chose you above a bigger family, and you didn’t let me,” Aaron says, and your hand tightens on his. “I tried, okay? I- I found Beth, we moved in together. For God’s- Ella called me ‘dad’. I did my best to have that life. I tried. It didn’t work.”

“I don’t know what you want,” you confess, and he hates himself a little more when he sees the heartbreak in your eyes. “I just want you to be happy. I thought I was giving you that.”

Aaron shifts himself, moves a little closer to you. He thinks he might be about to say the wrong thing, the thing that destroys whatever tentative relationship the two of you have built.

He doesn’t care.

This relationship, this dance of overdoing and understepping and caring too much without saying enough? He doesn’t want it.

He doesn’t care about throwing it away.

“Nothing,” he vows, extending one hand to raise your chin when you look down, “Nothing has ever made me as happy as you did. That’s all I wanted. You.”

You avert your gaze, and you feel your face grow warm. It’s been a long time since he looked at you like this, with all of the care and attention in the world somehow pouring from the gaze of warm hazel eyes locked on yours.

“What do you want me to say?” You ask after a stretch of silence. Not even the sound of breathing dares to disrupt the quiet; neither of you want to make the wrong move right now, not when you can see the crossroads ahead.

“Whatever you want to say. Just not what you think I want to hear.”

That’s what it’s come down to, at the root. Both of you lying, sneaking, saying and doing whatever you can to protect the other’s feelings and do what you think is best. He’s tired of it.

You did what you thought was the right thing, and let him go. He did what he thought was the right thing, and chased the life you made possible by leaving. But neither of you are happy, and he can admit that now.

“I still don’t want kids.”

“I’m still not asking you to have any.” He waits two beats, unsure if he can even bring himself to ask what he knows he has to.

“Does Jack count?” He’s breathless as he waits for the answer. You could have found freedom in the last two years, after several spent living a mother’s schedule. Maybe you don’t want a hand in any child’s life, and he won’t begrudge you that.

“He’s… no,” you say, and Aaron exhales in what might be relief. “But that doesn’t mean I want more. You want more.”

“I want you,” he corrects, the same way he did two years ago. Maybe this time you’ll listen, and accept his words for the truth that they are. “I had more. I didn’t want it, not without you.”

Your breathing, shallow and timid, hitches at his words. He notices the slip-up in a heartbeat, wants to trip over himself and correct it. Before he can, you say, “But the future-”

“The future,” he interrupts, clasping one of your hands in both of his, “My future, it only matters if it’s you.If you’re happy with Jack, I’m happy. You’re what I need. You’re all I need.”

“Aaron, please.” Your voice is small, and that’s when he realizes that he’s been trailblazing this conversation with hardly a thought about what you want. Maybe you’ve moved on, or fallen out of love.

He doesn’t think you have, though. Between your conversation at the wedding and the fact that you’re still here, both hands now holding onto his, wide eyes peering into his own, he thinks he’s made a safe bet.

“Please, what?” He murmurs. He can defer to you now, let you approach this at your pace. He’s said his piece.

It’s not until he sees your eyes squeeze shut that he remembers your concussion, and he’s sure that this conversation isn’t helping what must be a painful headache.

“I… it’s getting late. And I really should sleep. My head...”

Every instinct in Aaron’s body is well-honed, trained to take opportunities that might pass him by otherwise. It’s what got him Haley, what got him into the BAU, and now it’s what might get you back.

Every instinct is screaming not to let you leave.

“Do you want to talk more about this later?” He offers, his right hand releasing your left. The other two stay linked, his fingers brushing the cast, and you make no move to loosen them as you nod.

He waits. He isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, but he waits.

You close your eyes, already on the verge of rethinking before you speak. But you’ve got instincts, too, and they’re all telling you to stay in this room. Your future is in this room, and you aren’t about to close the door on that. Even if the conversation can wait, you know exactly how it will end.

It’s clear to you now that Aaron only left because he did the same thing you did, tried to protect your feelings. He never would have left if you hadn’t forced his hand and left first, and the thought of the time that you lost makes your chest seize unpleasantly.

It’s not too late to undo old mistakes, though.

“Can I sleep here? It’s not really safe, getting a taxi this late.”

Aaron lets go of your other hand first. “Of course, you can.” He’s half situated to go to sleep already, just has to take off his tie and loosen his shirt. He doesn’t get off the bed, and that’s why it surprises him when you lay down in the same bed, on your side.

“So you don’t have to share with Spencer when he gets here,” you explain through a yawn, and his heart hurts when he sees the way your nose crinkles. He’s missed it, missed you.

Sleep comes quickly, somehow. The exhaustion of the day, of the conversation, overtakes you both in what feels like mere moments.

When Aaron wakes up, it’s with his arms around you and his nose pressing into your neck. He holds on for a moment before he has to let go; you’ll have time later, and the team is waiting.

Getting out of bed, Aaron finds the other queen bed- Spencer’s- empty, untouched.

When the two of you arrive at the jet, late with your suitcase, he says, “I stayed with Morgan and Rossi. We thought you could use some privacy.”

You let go of Aaron’s hand to reach out and ruffle Spencer’s hair, ignoring the look he gives you when you mess up his curls. “Thanks, Spence.”

If the team is anything, it’s ‘respectful when the time calls for it’. No one says a word when you and Aaron sit next to each other. No one blinks when your hand slides home into his.

His fingers lace around yours. He squeezes once, and you squeeze back. As the jet takes off, soaring towards DC and your new future, you hold onto him. It’s going to be alright.

Once upon a time, they always said that you and Aaron were the lucky ones. Maybe they were right.

Tags: @crowfootwrites @abschaffer2 @jaspxr @angelfxllcm @spacecowboyhotch @ssamorganhotchner @sadgirlml @sunshinemunchkin @wheelsupkels @ashhotchner @laurensprentiss @hotchnerxo @strange-mischief @helmihotchner @dontcallmekittens @ssacharcoalgrey @allthefandomstogether @pandorasdreamings @hotched @scargarcia-magshotchner @multiverse-mxdness @nevillescomslut @queenofthepouges @ivanaplvc @itseightbeats @justreadingficsdontmindme @jareauswife @reidselle @rousethemouse @mojo366 @anlin2058 @realdirectionx @feedthemadness-sweetie

Series tags: @riot—ing, @jori21, @simpingfortoomanypeople, @mynotesapptbh

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Tell me what you thought/yell at me <3

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charliethomascoxuniverse · 1 year

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Charlie Cox: ‘I love being a superhero — I thought that ship had sailed’

Charlie Cox on the return of Daredevil, the joys of sea swimming in Dalkey and his rewarding character-driven work in RTÉ’s Kin

Kirsty Blake Knox April 27, 2023 (X)

Charlie Cox is a busy man; he smiles widely from the back of a car as it ferries him from a physical therapy session to the set of Disney’s Daredevil.

“We’ve just kind of started, it’s really great. Pretty intense, hence the physical therapy,” he says.

Cox has returned to play Matt Murdock, the blind lawyer-slash-superhero.

The show started life on Netflix and ran for three seasons before it was cancelled in 2018.This resulted in an online #SaveDaredevil campaign which resulted in 400,000 signatures begging Marvel to bring him back.

It took a little time; a contractual clause prevented any characters from the Marvel-Netflix shows from appearing in any non-Netflix projects for two years after cancellation.

And now Cox is suiting up again in his Spandex costume, running around punching people in the face and fighting for justice. It’s a demanding shoot — the series is 18 episodes long. And he is a fan of doing as many of his stunts as possible.

“I kind of get involved as much as I’m allowed to and is appropriate. Obviously, the stunt team are professionals and there are things they can do that I can’t even get close to,” he says. “I feel like the name of the game is to get as involved as you can… it makes the scenes more realistic.”

Cox took on the role, which had once been played by Ben Affleck in 2015. At the time, landing the role came as a shock.

“I never thought of myself as being appropriate casting for an American superhero. That never really occurred to me,” he says. “And in my 20s, a lot of my friends, and a lot of British actors, had gone and done that already. So when I got to 30 I was pretty confident that ship had sailed. I was very fortunate to get a character that I’ve now been playing for almost 10 years. It’s unbelievable.”

Cox is a father to two young children (seven and three) but they are a little young to fully grasp the role their dad plays in the Marvel Universe.

“I’m not sure they quite understand… One of the books we read him (his three-year-old) is called Superbat. A bat who is a superhero. But that’s his only real understanding. And so he thinks that I’m Superbat,” he laughs.

Cox realised he wanted to be an actor while in school and studied at Bristol Old Vic drama school. His first big break came in 2007 when he starred in Stardust alongside Robert De Niro and Michele Pfeiffer.

He has performed on the West End and Donmar Warehouse, in dramas like Treason and took on the role of Owen Sleater in Martin Scorsese’s Boardwalk Empire. For Irish viewers, we can see Cox on our screens every Sunday night, as Michael Kinsella in gangland drama Kin.

It’s pretty unusual for Marvel Universe actors to appear in a homegrown Irish drama. But Cox’s wife is executive producing the series. When another project he was attached to fell through, he read the scripts and felt compelled to be part of it.

“I’ve been working probably 20-plus years, and there’s a handful of times where I’ve read a script and felt like I’m reading something written by a truly brilliant writer,” he says. “And that quality of scripts never ceased. Sometimes you can get a really good pilot episode. But then as you get deeper into the season, some of the writing starts to disintegrate a little bit, but with Peter (McKenna) that was never the case.”

Obviously, the scale of production is a lot smaller on Kin than other productions, but he says these productions can be just as, if not more, rewarding to work on.

“If you have a limited budget, the way you handle that is you write long character-driven scenes… So weirdly, the lower budget stuff often is more appealing. Because you get to really get deep into the character and the relationships and the dynamics… it’s sort of like theatre. So, from my point of view, sometimes that stuff is more appealing.”

He continues; “I’ve learned I’m not precious about my character’s involvement. I don’t care much if my character does cool stuff … what I care about is, ‘are they moving?’”

He says this is some of the appeal of playing Michael.

“This life that he’d come from…and now he’s trying to rekindle a relationship with his daughter. [The] vulnerability, and the desire, and the need to fundamentally change his nature. That was really exciting to me.”

Cox perfected his Irish accent by listening to the voice of former Dublin goalkeeper, Shane Supple. He got up to speed with Ireland’s gangland scene by listening to podcasts featuring award winning crime journalist Nicola Tallant.

“I was kind of blissfully ignorant of the whole thing,” he says. “When I actually read the first two scripts, I just thought it was all fiction and then I agreed to do the part and I started doing my research. I was like, ‘oh, shit, this stuff is happening. It’s current and it’s happening right now.’”

Despite the violent nature of the series, he found filming and living in Ireland to be idyllic.

He and his family were based in the seaside village of Dalkey — where Matt Damon was holed up during lockdown. Cox became a sea swimming fanatic while residing there.

“I absolutely loved being there… I had conversations with my wife about moving to Dublin because I loved it so much. It’s not really viable with my job… Season one, we’re in lockdown. We lived in Hanover Quay, which was delightful…

“Season two, we moved to Dalkey. I felt like it was one of the best kept secrets in Europe… I was swimming in Vico every day… I found it to be like a haven. And I would love an opportunity to go back at any stage.”

Cox is extremely polite and amenable. And modest — despite his success, Cox says he still suffers professional insecurities.

“I never think I’m going to be hired,” he laughs. “I read years ago that Christopher Walken always thinks his job he’s doing is going to be the last time he is hired. I don’t quite have that, but I certainly identify with it. I’ve never felt like ‘Oh, I’m always going to be hired.’”

He says this comes with some advantages, as it makes him more present.

“I’m filming in New York and I’m lucky enough that I’m still able to play a kind of a lead in a TV show,” he says. “You know, the time is ticking on that in a big way. And so I certainly don’t want to wish that away.

“It would be easy to kind of bemoan the amount of hours you have to work, and missing the family, but there’ll come a time where I would kill to be able to be the lead in the TV show. I think the trick is to really enjoy it while it lasts.”

As he makes his way out of his car and towards his makeup chair, I ask if he has any projects outside of Daredevil coming down the tracks.

“I’m going to be doing this until the end of the year. And then I’ll be back on the panic station wondering if I am ever going to work again,” he laughs.

~*~

#finally a new interview at last!!! 😁💗✨#I just spent the last hour running this through at least half a dozen applications to get around the damn paywall #I was starting to worry nothing was going to work 😬 but it finally came through \^.^/#charlie cox #michael kinsella #matt murdock #kin amc #daredevil #daredevil born again #interview #article

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thehellsystem · 7 months

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the varigo is killing me rn.,,. . do you have head canons

WRITING A VARIGO FIC RN SO YES Varian just never stopped being afraid of blood. So, one time, Hugo got hurt during the trials. Bleeding all over the place kind of injury. "Did Varian help him?" "Did Varian support him?" Varian dropped like a rock to the ground and Nuru and Yong found them knocked out and one of them covered in blood and they were like "...what is WRONG with these adults?" Playing Pokemon Violet DLC,,,,, Varian would have a Galarian Zigzagoon and Hugo would have a Zorua. They hate each other Olivia was NOT for Varigo. She was over here going "Nope that is MY Hugo, I have had him all to myself for years and you can't have him" and Ruddiger was entirely ready to have another human to feed him apples so they were just fighting each other. Still very bitter about having to share their people, though. AUs... thinking about aus Specifically a Star Rail au where Varian is Mara-struck. That appeals to me. I could write that. But I don't want to share vat7k with people that like hsr because nothing is scarier than having a popular fandom in your fandom of like, twelve people. SPEAKING OF HOYOVERSE GAMES Varian would have a cryo vision. Since they stand for conflicted ideals most of the time, he'd probably get it during the snowstorm. His ambition was to save his dad, but he wanted to listen to his dad so badly. Hugo would PROBABLY have a pyro vision. I think he'd get it after Varian got posessed, because most of his life was spent doing mindless thieving. The second he could focus on something else, he realized how much he just wanted a calm life. He looked at his crush being posessed and went "I am NOT doing this again! Jesus!" Varian listens to Michael in the Bathroom on repeat at 12am every night and Hugo is So Tired of it. He's a Heathers fan and cried listening to Someone Gets Hurt (Reprise) from Mean Girls. They like horror movies but are both objectively afraid of them. In the bad way. Varian watches that one really fucked up episode of My Little Pony and is out for the rest of the year on horror movies. He kins Stygian.

Varian and Ruddiger copy each others expressions. Olivia noticed this and got EXTREMELY jealous, so she started doing it with Hugo. They both have their little vermin copying them. Hugo does not have Can Eat Spicy Food Swag. He only has White Boy Swag. Hugo and Rapunzel do white girl shit together. Rapunzel loves Varian very much, but she and Hugo are posing together for Instagram pictures and buying Starbucks and going to Target. Hugo with a braid is real to ME because I feel like that reminds him of Rapunzel. Varian thinks it's funny. ON THE SAME NOTE Hugo does not understand Rapunzel. He doesn't understand people who do nice things for no reason. If he's doing something nice, it's because he expects favors back. Even if the favor is just something like a kiss from Varian or a good pat on the back from Eugene. Rapunzel will give him little gifts and he panics because he doesn't know what she expects back from him. Varian has to explain that she's just That Nice. He's very concerned. They participate in actively sitting in each other's laps. Ask them when the last time they sat in an actual chair was and they stare off into the distance and have a flashback scene in their mind. Hugo is objectively uncomfortable to sit on but his scrawny twink ass is just laying on Varian whenever possible. Royal meeting and they don't have an extra chair for him? Don't worry gang, he already has one!

They are both deranged! Yippeeee!

#vat7k #asks #varian and the seven kingdoms #thehellsystem #hugo vat7k #varian #varigo #really craving spray cheese #the teal mask #olivia vat7k #rapunzel #sorry for genshin posting guys you don't have to block me #au

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rfxiii · 5 months

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Can you write something about Michael and his wife (reader ofc) being toxic towards each other? But one way or another, no one wants to get divorced.

My deluded ass is romanticizing toxic relationships in fiction!!

(Oooh, I do love a good toxic dynamic with the games hottest daddy, so this was fun)

Toxic Relationship between Michael and His Wife!Reader:

TW: toxic relationship, verbal altercations, referenced domestic violence (but none actually occurring in the relationship), mentions of smut, seriously- nothing is too explicit but dni if easily triggered by the above

I’m under the firm belief that pretty much every relationship with any of the characters would have its own degree of fairly toxic shit. But just based on Michael’s general behavior, his dishonesty, his practical inability to stay loyal to anyone unless they benefit him, and his staunch incapability to admit fault, that a marriage with him would pretty much have to be toxic to some varying level.

You love him. And you’re at least pretty sure he loves you. But sometimes you feel more like property or a child. He cheats on you, he gaslights you, he talks down to you, and he’s basically admitted that he’d rather kill you both than let you walk away from him. But when you do anything to upset him, he acts like a victim.

He’s manipulative as all hell. You know he cheats on you- he’s not good at hiding it, or really, he doesn’t much care to try and hide it. But you hold eye contact with a waiter or cashier for one moment too long and he’s snarking at you the entire car ride home about it. He makes mountains out of molehills, and his insecurity is no secret to anyone.

He has never said “I’m sorry” to you once in your entire marriage- and god knows, he’s done plenty that should warrant an apology. But what he lacks in the ability to admit fault, he makes up for in expensive jewelry, new cars, pretty clothes, and the best angry sex you’ve ever had in your life.

Arguing with him is like being stuck on a racetrack. It’s an endless cycle of going round and round in circles wondering when you’ll ever be able to stop. He is always right, and convincing him of the opposite is impossible. It’s easier just to shut up, let him believe he’s won, and then go do whatever the hell you wanted to to begin with. You can’t win with him, but having him pissed at you is easier than trying to win a fight.

He genuinely likes the criminal lifestyle, despite how he talks down about Trevor or tries to act like he wants to “retire”. But, that being said, if you ever mention that you don’t like all the danger his lifestyle brings, then you’re instantly at fault. Suddenly he “only does it for you” so you can “have the life that you want” and he can “buy all the expensive shit you have”. Even if you never asked for any of it, it’s still your fault, and he still does it because of you.

He likes to fight, it’s almost like stress relief or an outlet for his anger. And honestly, you kind of like it too, or you would have left his petty, childish ass by now. The fights keep things interesting after he “retires”. He doesn’t have any banks to rob or any cops to kill, so he focuses that energy on starting arguments. It is your fault sometimes- you start your fair share of fights too. But more often than not, it’s Michael that blows them way out of proportion.

He can’t be reasoned into apologizing or admitting fault. You could say something like, “I wish you and Trevor hadn’t been out all night drinking”. To which he’ll instantly come back with, “oh, right! I’m sorry I’m such a big piece of shit! Even though everything I do is to keep this family livin’ in this big house YOU wanted! But nothings ever good enough for you! Is it, sweetheart?!” And now you’ll be fighting for the next week.

He wouldn’t lay a hand on you, but with the way he screams and threatens, you could be convinced that he would. Lucky for both of you though, in favor of a physical altercation, he prefers taking out his aggression through fast, rough, punishing sex, and degrading, almost cruel, insults while he fucks you. He’s usually in a better mood afterwards though.

Your relationship has always been a muddled mess of fights, bitter words, passive aggressive comments, and hateful screaming. But you love him, and he does love you. And you both knew what you were getting into when you married each other. You can both pretend that it bothers you, but in the end, nobody can understand your fucked up little family the way you two can.

#gta v #gta 5 #grand theft auto v #grand theft auto 5 #michael de santa #gta x reader #x reader #/reader #michael de santa x reader #michael de santa/reader

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happysyn · 6 months

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Thinking about a reverse robins au where...

Talia leaves Damian, age 8, with Bruce due to infighting in the League of Assassins. Damian is Batman's Shadow until he and Bruce have a falling out over Bruce refusing to admit the Teen Titans to the League. Damian, age 18, takes on the name Nightwing and moves to New York to lead the Titans with Jon.

When Arthur Brown is killed, Crystal overdoses and Stephanie, age 12, becomes Spoiler to avenge her parents. Tim, age 11, sees her while stalking Batman and provides her with pictures and intel under the alias Shutter. Bruce catches them one night, and Tim blackmails him into mentoring them.

When Bruce realizes Stephanie is living on the street, he decides to adopt her. Jack and Janet are their typical absentee selves, so Tim's adoption remains unofficial. Damian, age 19, resents Tim and Stephanie so much that he refuses to let them train with the Titans.

The Joker kidnaps Tim, age 14, while he's on patrol and turns him into Joker Jr. Steph, age 15, goes solo to save him and Joker makes Tim beat her with a crowbar, then locks them in the warehouse with a bomb. Stephanie dies trying to save Tim, then is resurrected and taken by Talia al Ghul, who wants to use her as leverage to win Bruce and Damian back.

Tim, now paralyzed, becomes the Oracle, saying that there's no Shutter without Spoiler. Unbeknownst to anyone, he gets to work trying to clone Stephanie.

Damian, age 23, blames himself for Stephanie's death and moves back to Gotham. While hunting the Joker, Nightwing runs into Jason, age 13, who's working for Two Face. He finds out that Jason is trying to support his family - Catherine is still battling her drug addiction and Willis was left wheelchair-bound after working for Two-Face. When Damian looks at Jason, he sees another desperate teenager that he failed, and he's determined not to make the same mistakes again. He takes Jason under his wing, training (and paying) him to fight against crime rather than for it. Jason takes on the mantle of Michael (he is going to be the guardian angel of Crime Alley. He's going to defend them from every threat.)

Tim, age 15, finds out about Jason and comes as close to a villain origin story as he gets. He thinks that Damian is trying to replace Steph, and accuses him of grooming another martyr to die for Gotham. When Damian won't back down, Tim insists on being included in Jason's training and swears to pull the plug the *second* he thinks Damian is putting Jason in undue danger. Training Jason together gives Damian and Tim the common goal they need to build a functional relationship for the first time.

Stephanie, age 19, comes back to Gotham as the Red Hood to kill the Joker, only to find that he's been missing for years. Still, she's plenty annoyed with the new street kid who's stolen her place. (Damian wouldn't even LOOK at her, but he'll take this stupid kid to a baseball game? With Tim?)

She and Batman dance their dance for a few months, then she finds out that Jason isn't an orphan. That Bruce paid for rehab so his mom could get clean, then found his dad a job so they could move somewhere safe. And it's just... Where was Bruce before? Where was he when her mom overdosed? When her dad was killed? Where was he when Tim was taken and twisted, when he was beating her to death for that fucking clown, when she tried to shield him from the blast even as he was strangling her? Where was Bruce then?

Red Hood kidnaps Catherine and lures Jason, age 16, to the warehouse where the Joker killed her. She reveals his secret identity to Catherine, then beats the brakes off of him.(In another world, Sheila Haywood smoked a cigarette while Jason was beaten. In this one, Catherine Todd begs for his life.) There's a bomb because there always is. Because there has to be.

Batman isn't too late. He saves Jason and Catherine, but Hood gets away. Catherine begs Jason to hang up his suit, but Willis stops her. He tells Jason that he's proud of him, and glad that he's chosen a better path than Willis had.

Nightwing, age 26, hunts down the Red Hood while Oracle, age 18, puts together the pieces of her identity. Nightwing catches up to Hood her in one of her safe houses and has a very dramatic monologue, as a treat. ("The last person who left my siblings trapped with a bomb thought it was funny, too. But he wasn't laughing when I was done with him. I wonder if you'll have that same look on your face when I kill you.") He nearly kills her, but is stopped by Oracle.

Tim drags Stephanie back home kicking and screaming. After months of therapy, healing, and screaming at Bruce, she allows herself to be brought back into the fold. She and Jason will never be friends, but they've made amends enough to coexist. Stephanie takes up the Spoiler mantle again.

To celebrate, the family goes to Haly's Circus. The Grayson's die, and Bruce takes in Dick, age 9. Dick discovers their secret identities and dubs himself Robin. He's an angry little gremlin determined to murder Zucco, and Bruce feels like he's been here before a few times already.

Later, there's a rumor of another Spoiler running around. Stephanie, age 22, is not prepared to find tiny Barbara Gordon, age 10, running around by herself, trying to catch bad guys. She starts chasing Barbara around, trying to talk her out of heroics. ("Is this how Bruce felt? Oh, hell, I'm too young to be a mother.") She finally relents and starts training Barbara herself. ("But you can't steal my name, kid. Gotta come up with your own." "Fine. I'll be Batgirl, then." "Batgirl, huh? Alright, let's see if you can live up to it.")

I'm just so 😩 about them

#reverse robins #can you tell that im obsessed?#dc #batman #bruce wayne #damian wayne #tim drake #stephanie brown #jason todd #dick grayson #barbara gordon

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bullet-prooflove · 10 months

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The Beauty of the End Part Two: Reckless Michael 'Riz' Ariza x Reader (feat Taza & Creeper)

Tagging: @anime-weeb-4-life, @danzer8705 @mysoulisasunflower @vannabanana1995 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @sxmmarie @camelia35 @queeniesdiary @briefpersonenemy @creativitybeware @genius2050 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @oureternalbond @rubes2323 @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @callsignartemis @kmc1989 @librarian1002

It’s Creeper that notices the change, he’s the only one that stays sober during nights at the club house so he’s always the most perceptive. He notices that Riz sticks around for longer, that he spends most of his time drinking and getting high, that he hasn’t laid a hand on his guitar since he returned from Nashville, that he’s paying a little more attention to the girls at the bar. He hasn’t talked about you in weeks, and every time your name comes up he pretends he hasn’t heard it.

It comes to a head during Poker Night at Vicki’s. They’ve been to a thousand and one of these events, they’re a way of blowing off steam after a tough run. Some of the guys take a girl upstairs, others drink, do a little pot, Creeper just likes to play the game because while everyone else is distracted, drunk or high, he cleans up big.

When Riz pulls a girl into his lap he’s taken aback, he can tell the other guys are too. He hasn’t so much as looked at another woman since he’s been with you and now he’s whispering in a whore’s ear as she plays with his hair. When he takes her upstairs to bed, they’re all too fucking shocked to say anything. Creeper raises his eyes to the ceiling when the distinctive noise of the headboard slamming against the wall in the room above breaks through the silence.

“What the fuck is that about?” Taza asks him as he sets his cards face down on the table.

Creeper shakes his head.

“He hasn’t been the same since Nashville.”

*************************************************************

When he’s done fucking the whore, Riz tells her to leave. He waits until she slips out of the door, still barely dressed before he climbs out of the bed and lights a cigarette from the pack he keeps on the dresser. He lingers by the window, staring out into the darkness, trying to ignore the state of his reflection in the glass.

He looks like hell. His eyes are glassy from the whiskey and the weed, there’s dark circles underneath them, highlighting the bender he’s been on over the past couple of days because despite the fact he’s made it clear he doesn’t want to speak to you, you’re still calling. Each and every time he’s seen your name pop up on his screen, it's like a fucking knife in his chest, so he blocks you.

Somehow that makes it worse.

He sits down on the bed, taking a drag before he blows out a smoke ring and watches it evaporate into the air. The sex didn’t do anything to quench the anguish in his chest. He wonders how many will be enough, how many women will it take before he forgets you?

**********************************************************************

Riz was a ladies’ man before he met you and in the ruins of your relationship, he takes up the mantle again. He fucks his way through Santo Padre, Stockton and Bakersfield, it doesn’t matter when, where or who. He gets the shit kicked out of him on the reservation for fucking a Blackjack player’s girlfriend in the bathroom. He simply laughs in the other man’s face, telling him he should be keeping his girl more satisfied. Both Taza and Creeper have to pull the other guy off him, because Riz gives up fighting after the second punch. His face is a mask of blood and he’s still smiling, he looks fucking crazed.

It’s Taza that approaches him in the end.

Riz is lying on his bike outside a rest stop, staring up at the sky and puffing on a joint. He watches the clouds pass overhead as he inhales, holding the smoke in his lungs for as long as possible before releasing it. Taza kicks the base of his boot, jerking him back to reality. The bruising on his face is starting to come out, a blossom of pink, purple and green all fading into the natural hue of his skin.

“You’re gonna need to get yourself tested, the way your chasing tail.” Taza comments, plucking the joint out of Riz’s mouth before tossing it on the ground and crushing it beneath the heel of his boot.

“I always glove.” Riz informs him, before sitting up so that he’s straddling his bike.

“What the fuck is doing on with you?” Taza snaps at him. “You’re a fucking mess. You’re not even going home anymore; you just sleep at Vicki’s and fuck anything that moves.”

Riz simply shrugs. He hasn’t been forthcoming with any of the details and Taza finds it frustrating because the Riz he knows, the one he’s been friends with since the very beginning, has always been an open book. He doesn’t know this man. This stranger hell bent on self-destruction.

“You don’t have to be a shrink to see that you’re trying to fill that hole in your heart.” Taza tells him, throwing his leg over his own bike and pulling on his helmet. “I don’t know what happened, but you need to get your shit together real quick, because I’m not sure how much longer Bishop is gonna let this go.”

Riz says nothing, instead he pulls out his sunglasses from the top pocket of his kutte and pulls them on over his red rimmed eyes.

“You’re banned from Vicki’s by the way.” Taza informs him as he adjusts the strap under his chin. Riz’s head snaps up towards the older man and Taza gives him a look. “Until you get your head on straight, you’re not to go back here.”

“Is that an order from my V.P?” Riz asks him, his gaze straying to patch on the other man’s kutte.

“Do you need it to be?” Taza asserts with an even stare.

Riz shakes his head before hitting the kick pedal of his bike with his foot and pulling off into the road. He isn’t wearing his helmet and that scares the shit out of Taza, he watches as the other man disappears into the distance, his hair streaming into the wind behind him. Taza knows a thing or two about hating yourself and he thinks that’s what he’s seeing when he looks at the other man, a chasm of self-loathing so deep that nothing will ever be able to fill it.

“That looks like it went real well.” Creeper says from beside him as he sips from a take away cup of coffee.

“As well as it could.” Taza says with a sigh as he shakes his head. “This can’t go on much longer, he’s going to get himself killed.”

Love Riz? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#che taza romero #taza romero #taza #neron vargas #creeper vargas #neron creeper vargas #michael riz ariza #riz x you #riz mayans #riz x reader #riz ariza #michael ariza x reader #michael ariza

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lovesosweeet · 4 months

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KNOW IT ALL x THE BAND CAMINO

part 9

a calum hood songfic

read 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

Michael has been watching Tillie’s location for a week.

He’d checked up with Calum after the Halloween party, given that he figured he’d feel like absolute shit. Calum was fuming when he’d picked up the call, saying he had nothing nice to say about Tillie right then and that’s all he had on his mind, so he hung up after a brief rant. That’s how Michael knew something had gone down at Tillie’s place the next morning.

Michael knew his best friends very well. He knew Calum would need to talk about it, but he wouldn’t talk about it with him, and he couldn’t talk about it when he was angry. Tillie was somewhat unpredictable in that there were two options. One would be to go out and get wasted, hook up with someone new every night, and do everything possible to not have to think about things. The other option? Hole up in her bedroom and avoid living life at all.

Tillie’s blue dot hasn’t left her condo once.

He’s well aware that she won’t pick up if he calls, so he does what he know Tillie would do if roles were reversed. He lets himself into her place.

Tillie can hear her door open from inside her bedroom.

“I’m not home!” She yells.

He laughs quietly, popping his head into the doorway of her bedroom. The first thing he notices? She dyed her hair purple. She’s propped up on a mountain of pillows and a throw blanket is awkwardly strewn around her. There’s an empty pizza box on the edge of the bed and a few things of cup noodles on the nightstand.

“Permission to enter?” Michael asks.

“If you clear the shit from my bed and come cuddle, yes.”

He rolls his eyes and enters the room. He tosses the pizza box onto the floor and kicks off his shoes before he climbs into Tillie’s messy bed.

She won’t say it, but she’s glad he’s there.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Tillie sighs. “I broke up with Nick.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” she mutters.

Tillie liked Nick. He was nice. He was attractive and fun to be around. Deep down though, she knew it wasn’t more than a few months, maybe a year or two at best, of just coasting by and having a relatively good time. It would’ve been settling for something that works, rather than something that she actually enjoys.

After the fight with Cal, she decided it was wrong to be in any sort of “relationship,” regardless of how casual, with anyone who wasn’t Calum. She decided she’d go back to being emotionally unavailable and just live her life, find one night stands when she wanted one, and… mourn. Both her sister, and whatever she thought she could have had with Calum.

“He was nice!” Michael says. He might know Tillie better than anyone else does, but he still couldn’t ever fully read her. That’s part of why people are so drawn to her: she’s a mystery.

She sighs. She has no doubt now that Michael knows how she feels about Calum. He may not have admitted it to anyone, but surely he knows that she loves him. Surely he saw what she saw in Nick. He’s great, but he’s not perfect for her.

Not that anyone is perfect for her.

“Tillie, to be fair, you’re kind of unpredictable.”

Tillie rolls her eyes and runs her fingers through her purple locks. “Not really.”

“You pick people and drop them. You end up going after Cal for fuck’s sake, and everyone thought that was going well, then you drop that suddenly and disappear. Then there’s another revolving door of people, and then there’s Nick, and, I guess, now there’s not.”

When Michael looks over at her after he speaks, his heart sinks. Tillie is crying. She doesn’t cry. Tillie never cries.

“Woah, Tills, what’s wrong?”

He knows the answer to the question. It’s Calum.

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispers.

“Clearly it does. You’re upset, and you aren’t exactly known for getting upset.”

Tillie doesn’t know what to say, and she debates dropping everything altogether. She’d offer to order another pizza for delivery and they could play video games for hours. She knows she can’t. The truth of everything that happened is clawing at her insides.

“Will you ever tell me what happened, T? I know it’s something big. You loved him and then just left.”

“What?” Tillie asks, her head snapping to look at him. He didn’t think he’d say it out loud.

“What do you mean?”

“You said I loved him.”

Michae shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, I think that we all know that you did.”

Tillie is floored. Was it that obvious? Apparently it was.

“I do.”

“What?”

“I do love him,” she admits. She’s never said it. It feels like somewhat of a relief to say it.

“So, what happened?”

How can she explain it all? The blood on her hands, the running away, her fear of doing something awful to Calum… how does she put it in words and tell Michael why she broke his best friend’s heart?

“You don’t have to tell me, you know?” Mike adds, sensing that she’s possibly incapable of putting words to her thoughts. “I’m sure Calum would like to hear whatever you have to say, though.”

“He’s mad at me.”

“Tillie, if what you have to say to him is that you love him, he’ll suck it up and listen to your explanation.”

read next part (last chapter)

#5sos #5 seconds of summer #luke hemmings #calum hood #ashton irwin #michael clifford #fanfiction #fanfic #5sosfam #imagine #calum fic #calum 5sos #calum imagine #songfic #calum x ofc #calum x fem!oc #know it all #the band camino

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transmogrified-in-the-void · 3 months

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Chapter 1: Obey the Groove

Virtue, manager of new band Bardic Inspiration, takes everyone out to relax after days of trying to find a new guitarist. Hijinks ensue, and something begins that nobody could have predicted.

When it comes down to it, Virtue thinks that Absinthe is a romantic. A fool-hearty, ridiculous, stupid romantic, but a romantic nonetheless. She’ll rant and rave up and down the halls that no she’s not and I don’t even like romance, but Virtue knows better.

Every gesture, every gift, every heart-felt word is a sign and a treasure. The idea of a fantastical journey, even one grounded in the real world, is overly appealing to Absinthe’s soft heart, even if that journey belongs to someone else. To put it simply, every moment of Absinthe’s life is tinged gold and pink with meaning, adventure, and desire. How is that not a romantic’s view of the world?

Tonight, however, takes that to a completely new level. Whereas normally Absinthe will find cosmic meaning in what song she hears first, and that’s the extent to their fantasy, the person playing guitar in front of her has taken the toned down rose tinted glasses and shot it full of trenbolone.

It was supposed to be a relaxing night, too, which is why Virtue is so fucking annoyed at the singer. Bardic Inspiration finally got a big break, opening for a tour in a few weeks. So of course Michael decided now would be the best time to go further his game developer career, leaving the band short of a guitarist. Today was the last day of try-outs, and after a night of going out and taking it easy they would decide who would be the newest member of their little entourage.

At least, that was the plan.

Alas, the glue of the group, the poetic Absinthe Malone, chose a bar with local musicians. Secretly, Virtue was hoping that this wasn’t because Absinthe didn’t feel like anyone who tried out over the last few days was “it”. Hoping is useless when you know better.

“Virtue, I think it’s him.” Absinthe whispers in Virtue’s ear. “I’d need to sing with him, y’know, but I’m almost positive it’s him.”

Virtue groans and rubs their hand over their face. “We just spent four days doing tryouts for 54 different people. How do you know none of them will work out?”

“You know why.” She prods them with her elbow, and Virtue almost hates that they know exactly what she means. “Besides, if this works out, and the band likes him, makes your job easier, right?”

“I don’t think you know what my job is, Sin.”

Too late, she’s already gone up to him as he finishes his song. He’s talented, Virtue will easily give him that. Almost as good as Michael was, at least on the guitar. He has Michael beat on vocal talent, no matter how easy it is to do that.

Objectively, he’d be a good fit musically. The covers he’s been playing are in line with even Gemini’s stranger tastes, he’s clearly competent enough to learn Michael’s parts, and he can actually hold a tune.

But the biggest problem is the one that Virtue’s been having with almost everyone who tried out. One of the three band members doesn’t like them with a passion. With Gemini it’s more understandable, she’s aggressive and touchy towards almost everything in life. She’s loud and brash and gets on peoples nerves if they’re not prepared.

In fact, that last fact was so common that a large portion of people who tried out would almost get into fights with the drummer. Granted, some of them were her fault, but nobody in the band wanted someone who Gemini could rile up so often. That fact made Virtue incredibly angry some days.

If they managed to get past Gemini, Airael was the next large obstacle. Virtue doesn’t even know why he dislikes the people he dislikes, but the fact is always loudly announced. If any person simpered or whined when told that they were an “inherently unlikeable musician” (ooh boy Virtue wanted to strangle Airael for that one), the bassist would point blank refuse to have them considered.

And most unfortunately for Virtue, it was Absinthe who took the cake in terms of most tryouts disliked. If they played fine, then Absinthe would sing with them, and then make a disgusted face and sit back down. If they didn’t play fine, she’d tell them to leave while glowering at the paper in front of her.

So overall, Virtue wishes that Bardic Inspiration was filled with anyone else right now, and wishes that everyone stop looking for the magical perfect guitarist to show up and just get on with it. Hopefully (against Virtue’s best interests), this random guy playing the guitar on a Thursday night will finally put this saga to rest.

“What’s Sin doing?”

Virtue jumps as Airael appears next to them. Considering how tall he is, it should be impossible, and yet he always finds a way to sneak around.

They sigh. “She thinks that this guy is the one.”

Airael hums in thought, and looks him up and down. “Well, he sounds good, and doesn’t look like a douchebag, so I wouldn’t mind.”

“Do you think Gems could get to him?”

Another pause as Airael looks at Guitar Guy again. “If she does, I don’t think it’d be too awful. Too early to tell, though, you know that.”

The pair watch as Absinthe moves the microphone and gets ready next to Guitar Guy. She’s almost vibrating with excitement, but Guitar Guy is chewing on his lip and shifting his feet. Whether out of nervousness or anticipation, Virtue can’t tell.

“Ooo! Is Sin gonna sing a song tonight?!” Gemini makes her way to the duo and stands in between them with a large grin. “Is he gonna be the one?”

“We don’t know, Gems.” Virtue almost sighs, the exasperation almost drowning them. Why is it that everyone they work with is so exhausting? “If, against all odds, Absinthe likes him, and Airael likes him, and you don’t kill him, then I’ll talk to him. But who knows if that’s ever going to happen.”

Gemini’s grin only grows sharper. “Cross my heart hope to die, I won’t cause any major problems.”

“That doesn’t help with anything.”

“C’mon, Virtue. She’s so cute she’d never hurt a fly.” Airael bends over towards Gemini and gives her a peck. “Look at her.”

Virtue groans. “Flies are not who I’m worried about and you know it.”

“Look at her!”

“Ahem.” The group turns to look at Absinthe standing at the front of the small stage with a big smile. Even a year later, Virtue can’t believe how perfect she looks with a microphone in her hand. “I thought you all should get a little bit extra on this beautiful night! So a little change in vocals for this song!”

She looks back at Guitar Guy and mouths a countdown. He starts to play the beginning of Absinthe’s little brother’s favorite song, and Virtue decides to watch him play instead of watching the crowd like they normally do.

Absinthe starts to sing, and the familiar wave of unending care, love, and excitement rolls through Virtue. The dirty secret of Bardic Inspiration’s success, their singer’s ability to push their emotions out into the world using music, literally. A secret held only by her three bandmates, and one ex-bandmate.

Virtue watches as Guitar Guy relaxes, and then tenses his shoulders. He takes a deep breath while playing, closes his eyes for a moment, and his body relaxes again. When he opens his eyes, they follow the crowd, and slowly find Virtue’s gaze. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch. He’s probably played here a few times, if a stranger’s stare isn’t startling.

Their shared gazes hold for a few seconds more, and he goes back to scanning the people who are likely looking at the stage with a new reverence. Virtue can understand their reaction. It’s similar to their first time hearing Absinthe sing. The pure force and genuinity of the emotions sent out feels like touching divinity in so many ways.

The more that Virtue studies Guitar Guy, the more they see how subtle his reaction to the Power is. His face didn’t change, other than the initial tensing it’s not apparent what happened, but he’s truly relaxed now. The tensing in his legs is gone, he isn’t sitting perfectly straight in the chair anymore, and he’s actually looking at the crowd.

The singing stops, and there’s a taunt silence as everyone realizes that the music isn’t playing. They clap, Absinthe does a dramatic bow, returns the microphone to its stand in front of Guitar Guy, and she skips over to everyone.

“I think he’s the one, guys.” She grins. Airael holds out the drink she’d been sipping at earlier, and she shakes her head. “I’m already on cloud nine. That was better than any time I sang with Michael.”

Virtue starts to corral them over to a table to talk as Absinthe gushes over the feeling of being on stage with Guitar Guy. She can barely sit still, and Virtue orders some food for the table.

Airael puts a hand on Absinthe’s shoulder, and she stills. “Sin, we need to talk to him first.”

She turns bright red and leans over so her candy green hair hides her eyes. “Sorry, sorry, yeah, of course. We do this together. I know that.”

Gemini cackles and ruffles Absinthe’s hair so it starts to stand up. “We know, Sin, you’re just excited.”

Absinthe whines into her hands and puts her head on the table. “Leave me alone to die of embarrassment.”

Virtue hums as the food arrives. “So I shouldn’t bring up you essentially bullied a random stranger into letting you sing one song for their set.”

There’s a muffled scream, and Virtue knows that she’d be banging her head into the table if they weren’t in public. Everyone laughs, and Airael pats her back sympathetically.

“Can someone kill me please?” Absinthe begs, and everyone laughs again. Virtue turns to watch the rest of Guitar Guy’s set absentmindedly.

“Also, what’s his name? You never told us.” They ask, and get another muffled scream in response.

Next chapter

#p bangs the keys #the powered universe #tpu #original writing #creative writing #my writing #virtue #virtue character #gemini #gemini character #airael #airael character #absinthe #absinthe character #bardic inspiration #bardic inspiration band

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angeygirl · 4 months

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I'm going to say it.

Michael Afton has worse daddy issues then Brambleclaw. At least Michael learned from his behavior and actively tried to atone for his sin. Bramble treated his wife worse then Tigerstar ever did. (Even if Tiger didn't love Goldenflower, or whatever he did respect her as a good mother for his kits)

Bramble also continued this through his entire life, Michael... well, ok Michael died and all, but he died trying to redeem himself, and died again also trying to redeem himself.

Mike is his father's parallel with them both killing a kid (or several) but Mike then 180 turns and goes out to risk his life every night (or five of them, over like... 4 or 5 games? Depending?) to decided he wants to Not Do That

Not counting clan leader's nine lives here because nine lives are expected and no where near as traumatizing as the way tigerstar died. Funny, Mike and Tiger both lose all their organs

Michael lived his whole life and afterlife in his father's shadow. Bramble redeemed himself but also he was never committed to betraying Firestar in the first place? And then I think that was it? Like, it's over so we can go home but no lets have bramble and squirrelflight fight over Ashfur drama for 2 separate arcs IDK Bramble retiring was a good decision by the authours.

#really hoping no one actually sees this post or tries to yell at me I;m just rambling idk what I'm saying #I've never played a fnaf game or read the New Prophecy so maybe I'll regret this?#but if an hour long video essay explains how bramble was abusive to his wife and the narrative excuses it then I'm siding with Michael #michael afton #brambleclaw #nonsense post #incomprehensible post #i need sleep

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holylulusworld · 2 years

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Family-in-law (5)

Title: Family-in-law (5)

Summary: Why does Winnifred Barnes hate you? What does your mother have to do with it? And will you and Bucky get your happy end?

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Characters: Winnifred Barnes, George Barnes, Andy Barber, Mike Weiss, Ari Levinson, Jake Jensen

Warnings: angst, language, awful mother-in-law, pregnant reader, awful behavior, mentions of cheating, manipulation, fluff, romance, mentions of character’s death, mentions of attempted rape (not the reader)

Rating: Mature

Words: 2,7 k

<< Part 4

Monster-in-law masterlist

“James Buchanan Barnes, stop tickling your pregnant fiancé,” Bucky doesn’t give in. He runs his fingertips up and down your sides, snickering as you fight his fingers. You push against his naked chest while fighting to not slip in the showers. “Buck, that’s dangerous.”

“Aw, look at you,” his eyes drop to your swollen belly. “You are showing, doll. Soon everyone will know you are having my baby.” He stops tickling you to bring you into his arms. His hands soothingly run up and down your back and his lips press against your temple. “You’re so beautiful inside and outside.”

“You’re a cheesy man, Mr. Barnes,” he laughs at your words. “But I kinda like you. Maybe you can stick around.”

“I kind of like you too, Y/N. I hope you’ll stick around for a while,” Bucky lovingly looks at you as you place your hands on his chest. “For the rest of my life, to be precise. You and I, till the end of the line.”

“I hope so too,” you stand on tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him softly. “How about we lead this somewhere more…private…”

“Holy fuck! The dry spell is broken!” giggling you try to escape Bucky’s hands and lips. He grasps you, ready to devour you right here, in the showers. “I’m gonna devour you, sexy lady…”

“Mr. Levinson, stop beating around the bush. I’m a grown woman, and you don’t have to shelter me. You said that you know the reason for Winnifred Barnes’ behavior, so tell me what we can do to make her stop,” your mother says in an exasperated tone. She’s just done with Winnifred Barnes and the games she plays.

“Did you know Winnifred Barnes and you went to school together?” Ari looks up from the manila folder in his hands. “It was a hard piece of work to connect the dots. You moved miles away, she did too. What a coincidence your children found each other.”

“We went to school together?” your mother furrows her brows. “I was a little shy back then, just like my daughter. I stayed mostly to myself and had only a few friends. I don’t remember a girl named Winnifred.” She truthfully says. “Honestly, I don’t think anyone remembers my name.”

“She does,” the private investigator place an old police report and picture of a car wreck onto his desk. “Maybe back then people called her Freddie or Winnie,” Ari explains. “Do you remember her now?”

“Freddie,” shaking her head your mother frowns deeply. “That name doesn’t ring a bell. I don’t remember much from my time at school. I wanted to stay invisible most of the time until I met my husband.”

“Mrs. Y/L/N, did you get into an accident on the night of your prom,” something flashes up in your mother’s eyes. “I need you to tell me the truth now.”

“I-“ she shakes her head, sniffling. Suddenly memories she forgot about long ago hit her out of nowhere. “I went to prom with a boy I thought likes me. His name was Michael, and every girl was jealous to see me attend the prom with him. It’s just…he…”

“It’s okay. Everything you tell me will stay within these walls, Mrs. Y/L/N,” Ari softly says. He can see your mother struggles with her feelings and doesn’t want to be too pushy. “If you want to help your daughter, tell me what happened that night.”

“Michael tried to get into my pants,” she hastily says. “Or rather, he tried to force himself on me. But…” exhaling sharply she looks at Ari.

“But?” he asks.

“There was this nice guy,” she says. “His name was Jimmy…I mean everyone called him Jimmy, but his name was actually James.” Now her head snaps toward the pictures. She gasps, as her heart starts racing. “He almost ripped the door to Michael’s car open and dragged him off me.”

“He saved you that night?” your mother nods. She gives Ari a soft smile, as she remembers her savior. “What else happened?”

“He beat the shit out of Michael, that’s what happened,” Ari chuckles as your mother tells him how James punched and kicked Michael until he was a sobbing mess. “After Michael peed his pants, Jimmy helped me out of the car and offered me a ride. He wanted me to go to the police and tell them what happened but, they would’ve only arrested Jimmy for hitting that bastard.”

“So, you drove away with Jimmy?”

“Yes,” her eyes fill with tears now. Your mother takes a deep breath as he hands clutch her knees. “I haven’t thought about that night in ages, Mr. Levinson. It’s a shame I didn’t remember Jimmy at first. He saved me and all I did was forget about him.”

“Mrs. Y/L/N, you were barely sixteen. I can tell, no one thinks about their teens a lot. I don’t,” Ari gives your mother a soft smile. “Please continue.”

“We barely made it a few miles until a thunderstorm approached. Jimmy drove a little too fast. He wanted to go to the cops. I tried to not think about the statement they would want from me, and then…there was this car,” she cries now. “Jimmy tried to change course, but it was too late. The other car rammed us and…”

Your mother’s voice cracks, and she can’t continue her story. “He was flung from the car and died immediately,” Ari recites the police report.

“Unfortunately, yes,” your mother wipes her eyes. “The other driver was drunk and got killed too. I needed months to recover and, when it was time for me to return to school, my parents decided we will leave town.”

“Why?”

“People believed Jimmy and I got drunk and left the prom to make out,” she bemoans. “I should’ve said something, but it wasn’t my place to tell people the truth. I told his parents what happened and thanked them for raising a good young man. They are the only ones knowing the truth beside my parents.”

“I see,” looking at Ari your mother frowns deeply. “Take your time.”

“I just still don’t understand what my past has to do with Winnifred Barnes’ hatred toward my daughter. That was a lifetime ago,” she says. “Can you now tell me what you found out?”

“Jimmy or James was Winnifred C. Barnes' first love,” now your mother’s face falls. She slumps back in her chair, shaking her head. “She named her firstborn after him.”

“Bucky…of course,” she exclaims loudly. “James Buchanan Barnes. Y/N told me that his mother sometimes calls him Jamie or Jimmy. Bucky hates it, though. I just don’t get it. It was an accident…”

“I know that. The cops know that. Even his parents know that Y/M/N,” Ari gets up from his chair. He walks toward your mother to hand her another manila folder. “A friend of mine dug a little deeper. The moment Y/N stepped into Bucky’s life; his mother did a background check. She always does that with the new girl in her son’s life. The only difference is, this time she found out that—”

“I was the one in Jimmy’s car,” shaking her head your mother looks at the folder in her hands. “What else did she do?”

“Winnifred knows every little bit about your daughter’s life. She didn’t aim for you but Y/N,” Ari sits on his desk. “She wanted to hit you where it hurts the most. Of course, she tried to make your daughter’s life living hell.”

“I will kill that fucking bitch,” your father finally speaks up. He balls his hands into fists and spits the words out. “What is wrong with that woman? The boy died so many years ago. It wasn’t my wife’s fault. It was an accident. The other driver was drunk and rammed the car.”

“He was the one that got away,” your mother says, looking at the folder in her hands. “She never got over Jimmy, honey. I don’t say that I would’ve done the same, but I understand her. You were my first love, and I would kill anyone hurting you.”

“Darling, she wanted to ruin our daughter’s life,” exhaling deeply your father looks at the folder in your mother’s hands. “What now, Mr. Levinson. Shall we let that woman get away with all she has done to Y/N?”

“We should find a way to make her stop,” looking at Ari your mother swallows thickly. “I will talk to that woman and tell her what happened that night. She can ask Jimmy’s parents and his brother for confirmation.”

“What if she doesn’t want to listen to you, darling?”

“Well, in that case,” your mother chuckles darkly, “I will bury that bitch. She will never get back up after I send her flying to the ground…”

“Bucky, what is it?” you giggle as Bucky wrapped his tie around your head to make sure you cannot see his surprise. “Baby, I want to know what you are hiding from me.”

“It’s a surprise, be patient,” he opens the door for you, smirking as you impatiently stand in front of the room, shifting from one foot to the other. “You’ll love it.” He pecks your neck before guiding you inside the room. “Voilà.”

He takes off the tie to let you have a look around the nursery he and Steve renovated in secret.

You slowly step inside the room, smiling softly as Bucky already painted the walls in unisex colors. Your old cradle stands in the middle of the room, and Bucky’s old teddy bear, the one he got from his father last week, sits in the cradle.

“Bucky,” you pounce on Bucky, kissing him all over. “That’s so beautiful. And you got my cradle, and there is your old bear, the one on the pictures.”

“You admired the old bear one the pictures last week. I called my dad and asked me to get my old toys and stuff,” Bucky runs his hand over your hair when you wrap your arms around his waistline. “He got all my toys and trinkets for me.”

“This is so thoughtful of you, baby. I want our children to have something from our past. Now they got your bear, Buck,” you whisper against him. “I couldn’t be happier. I love you.”

“Love you too, doll,” he smiles wildly. Bucky is not a man of many words but he loves to tell you about his feelings. “So much. You and the little bean in your belly.”

“Winnifred C. Barnes,” your mother waltzes into the office, holding her head high. “What a strong name for such a weak woman. I always believed women like you know how to not draw too much attention toward their foul play.”

“What do you want here?” Winnifred blanches as your mother, Ari, and your father steps inside the small office. “I didn’t allow you to enter my house.”

“I did,” George follows the others inside the room. He crosses his arms over his chest, huffing as Winnifred glares at her husband. “That is enough. You ruined your relationship with our son. I can only meet up with my son in secret. I want you to listen to what Mrs. Y/L/N has to say.”

“No! She’s a homewrecker and a murderer. She is the reason for Jamie’s death,” Winnifred gasps as all eyes are on her. “I—I mean Jimmy.”

“Jimmy and I never were a thing,” slamming the police report and a letter from Jimmy’s parents onto the desk your mother glares at Winnifred. “He saved me that night. My date tried to force himself on me and Jimmy saved me.”

“Liar. You are a worthless piece of shit, just like your daughter,” your father steps toward the desk, ready to rip Winnifred apart.

“He offered me a ride to the police station,” your mother continues, as she opens the folder Ari hands her. “I don’t care if you believe me or not, but Jimmy was a hero to me. He saved me and died as a drunk driver rammed his car. It was raining and he lost control. Read the police report, call his parents and brother. They all will tell you the same thing.”

“I don’t care,” Winnifred violently shakes her head. She doesn’t want to believe your mother’s words. If she does, everything she did would have been horrible. “No…no! You are the reason that I lost my Jimmy!”

“Winnifred, that is enough,” George steps in. “I checked on the information. Jimmy’s parents confirmed that Y/M/N told them about the accident. Winnie, she never was with your boyfriend. Jimmy’s death was tragic, but an accident. Let the past rest, and the boy too.”

“I can’t…he’s dead because of her. I wanted to…we wanted…to have a family. We had all those plans and a bright future,” she cries now.

“I thought you love me, and our family,” as your mother places the folder onto the desk, shaking her head, George’s face falls. “You are a great pretender then. I want you to think about what’s really important. If you cannot accept that your son loves Y/N, then you are not welcome in this family any longer.”

“George,” she gasps, “you can’t do that. Not for that girl!”

“I guess you won’t miss your family as you are still longing for a dead boy who died so long ago…”

“What do we do now?” your father looks at the men crowding his living room. “Mr. Levinson?”

“My partners are here to make sure that Winnifred Barnes will leave your daughter and your son-in-law alone. Over there we’ve got Jake Jensen, tech expert and the best hacker you can hire for money, and the grumpy man in the corner is Andy Barber, the best lawyer in town.”

“I’m still here, Ari. Why do you always forget about me,” Mike glares at the private investigator. “Now, let’s get to the point where we explain our plan.”

“We will fight fire with fire,” Andy pushes off the wall. He looks at your mother, giving her a curt nod. “If Winnifred Barnes even looks the wrong way at your daughter, she will regret it.”

“Son, thank you,” George Barnes sits on your sofa, looking like someone punched him in the guts. “I’m so sorry.”

“That wasn’t your fault, George,” after Bucky’s father arrived at your and Bucky’s apartment, he told you everything happening this morning. “I never thought my mom’s past is the problem here.”

“Rebecca and I made sure that my wife knows that we will not accept another mishap. If she wants to lose her family, it’s up to her,” Bucky silently nods. He hates to see his father heartbroken and sad.

George didn’t mention all the things Winnifred said about Jimmy, or that he knows that she named their son after her dead boyfriend.

“We wanted to look at a few houses tomorrow,” you jump in to break the awkward moment. Your heart aches for your mother, and the Barnes family. A tragedy from the past just destroyed a family, and the chance to bring two families together. “My father wanted to join us. Do you want to join us too, George?”

“I’d like that,” George gives you a soft smile. He can’t understand how his wife could treat you so badly for something that lies long in the past. “I know a thing or two about houses. I could give you advice.”

“He’s finally asleep,” Bucky holds you a little tighter tonight. He kisses your temple, inhaling your scent as he buries his nose in your hair. “What did your mother say?”

“She explained a few more things. I didn’t know about any of this,” you whisper. “I wish your mother would come to her senses. It’s a tragedy, but the boy died so many years ago.”

“I won’t forgive her, Y/N. Whatever reason she had, this is inexcusable,” he mumbles against you. “She hurt the woman I love. Your mother was a kid back then, just like the boy.”

“I know, Bucky. It’s so sad he died,” you sniffle now.

“Baby doll, can my dad live here for a few days until he found something new?” almost shyly Bucky looks at you in his arms. “Please.”

“Of course, baby. He can stay as long as he wants to.”

“Winnifred,” Dot coos into the phone. “How can I help you? Do you have a better plan to get me my Bucky back?”

“A little patience,” Winnifred ignores the nagging feeling that her doings are wrong. All she has in mind is to get back at your mother for rebelling against her. “I will bring Y/N and her mother down…”

>> Part 6

Tags in reblog.

#Family-in-law (5)#bucky barnes #ceo!bucky barnes x reader #business au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #pregnant reader

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sketchybusiness4130 · 8 months

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Honestly I'm really surprised that no ones gone and made a dating sim for fnaf sb so here's some ideas I made for a crossover mod within Monster Prom about Security breach around a year and a half ago.

As someone who might only know of sb and nothing what monster prom is let me go into some detail of the game before I share my ideas

Monster prom is a dating sim set in a high school with almost all of the characters being monsters

So think like monster high but with crack shit humor and everyones gearing up for prom night in a weeks(you can change how long a game last so it could be only one week or two) that game is also multiplayer so you can share the experience with friends!

Back when I had writtin this out I had planned on using the in-game mod menu to make this into a mod but with almost every idea i come up with and get really determined over I lost interest after getting into the actual making it into the thing phase. I gift these ideas for ANYONE to pick up and use! all I ask is to let me see what you make

Now with that out of the way, onto the actual content!

Monster prom & security breach crossover ideas

Freddy and the rest of the cast are in spooky high school wow!

Event storyline with Freddy that has him and Bonnie Hook up after finding out Bonnie didnt acctly die. if you play your cards right you get the chance join them ;3

Monty and Damian chilling together and then getting into a fist fight and/or a fight over who can cause the most damage

Vanny event that also has Jerry pop up at least once and the two bond over killing people

Freddy bonding with Liam over being adopt dads (liam is a "dad" in cannon apparently)

I'm gonna have all of em be monsters rather than robots but I cant decide if I want to do this with Freddy too mainly cause I really want to have a

scene where Gregory pops out of fredds stomach hatch which spooks and horrifies everyone watching, someone exslapes that OMG Freddy YOUr Pregernore?!?

Vanny and zoe bonding over being fan girls

Vanny got catfished by Afton and is now stuck taking care of him outside of school hours

Sun and vanny scene that starts off with they getting along pretty well and they both start listing off things the two both like and then vanny shares she loves killing kids which ends that budding friendship real quick

Gregory with a Fazblaster will always end well! (hint, it doesnt) roxy gets blinded and if u fuck up the choice so do you

Aaravi finds out that a human child is just chilling amongst all of these “monsters” and self proclaims herself as Gregory's new guardian or something along those lines. Gregory is taking none of her shit at first but likes her attitude and they end up as good friends/a sibling dynamic

“DONT YOU KNOW HOW DANGEROUS MONSTERS ARE KID?! You cant just chill with these creatures, you must be on your guard at all times. I'll show you the ways “ something like this

Gregory in a small way reminds Aaravi of her brother, and even more so for Michael. ido how I'll be able to convey this smoothly but damnit it has to happen somehow

There will be events that lead to odd places around or near the school. Sun made a playroom under the gym bleachers, vanny event/storyline leads you down into the basement to meet afton, Chica event that has the two of you fall into said basement

Maybe chicas storyline can be the two of you searching for montys monster mash thing?

Ok so freddy is still a robot but hes a ghost haunting said robot, aka Freddy is Michael afton.

Gregory: “i wanna be like you freddy-”

Freddy:”thats great superstar!”

Gregory: “a kick ass immortal robot >:3”

Freddy, horrorifed: “no you dont”

Freddys lived a long ass life

Player gets punted into the Sun, aka Sun the monster

Vanny storyline has you help her try to get out of having to take care of Afton, one of the final choices is on how to this [1]he's so old a frail, lets just burn him in a fire [2] beat him at his favorite game, princess quest.

[1] would cause you to fail and have afton be quick to say i always come back with vanny agreeing by giving examples of how many times he has already died and come back, some of which was because of a fire! She loses confidence and you lose your chance forever

[2] has afton scoff at the idea of anyone managing to do such for HE is a master at the game and is the true number one fan and if you dares say otherwise your in for a reckoning, you in turn say “if ur so confident then there should be no problem with wagering my win for vanny’s freedom”(maybe rephrase this) and then commences the most epic game of princess quest, the narrator before you get into it comments on the fact that lucky for you ur a speedrunning champion for old arcade games like this one. It ends up being a close game but you manage to beat the old basdter's high score!

Moons eyes change from blue to pure red depending on his mood

Sun likes to hide out during gym but can't get the braves to full on skip so that's why he made his playroom under the bleachers. Plus no one ever goes under there besides the injured trying to crawl away from their death

Among us Gregory vent meme

Gonna have each of the bois be something completely different than the other, freddy as already stated is the only one that's still a robot, monty is a were-gator that stays in his gator form as often as he can because he’s self conscious, Sun and moon are some kind of doll. Magic or some shit makes their change, Gregory is still a full on human. As for Chica and Roxy, I'm not quite sure what I wanna do for them other than just furry.

Furry roxy, then bird thing for chica, air people? Yes, when it get brought up joke about it “this will most likely end up proved non canon by the next game but who cares!”

Gregory: Freddy, I'm serious!

Freddy: hi serious, im

Ok Plan is to make the mod with only Sun Moon and Vanny to start off.

So that would be at least 3 to 4 different routes to make. I want to also throw in a small handful of random events. After making/posting the final result i get to work on update GlamRock, which will add the rest of the cast along with a shit ton of new random events.

Someone brings up how her mouth never moves “annoyed: look its a skin condition”

Vanny Route, activated after buying a rabbit's foot

Sun Route, you get pulled into this route after buying sun-drops

Moon route, is gotten by buying moon-drops

Nope ok you get Sun AND Moon’s routes after buying “celestial themed candy”

Depending on your choices durn this route it will branch off into 3 different endings. Similar to how Aaravi and Hex’s routes work in monster camp ;>

One event has you join sun during one of his shifts at the daycare he works at (guest star of gregory? Depends if i get around to fricking drawing him)

Moon “moonlights” as a aerial dancer, durning his route you get to watch him durning one of his performances. Joke is made on how much you would love to see him on a pole ;>(this whole game has so many horry jokes, tho you can turn off any nsfw realted stuff through settings)(even then nothing explicit happens or shows btw! At most Just implied)

During both of sun and moon’s routes you get the chance to pair up with both depending on ur choices

Costume ideas

Vanny, white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland

Moon, pied piper

Gregory, crying child/ghost

Roxy, Red Riding Hood

And thats everything I wrote! As you can probably tell I did not bothing with polishing this up much, if I did I'll never getting around to actually posting this(<- already been procrastinating on posting bc of this reason) so I just decided to post as is.

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf security breach #fnaf sb #monster prom #mod idea #never gonna finish this so here yall go #please i beg someone else to make this or something simalir #{original post here}#fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf vanny

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autisticsupervillain · 4 months

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It's Fictional Throwdown Friday!

This Week's Fighters....

Kevin McCallister vs Michael Myers!

Conditions:

Kevin has a full day of prep time with complete prior knowledge on Michael and his abilities. Michael is composited from every available resource, including games, comics, and video games (excluding Dead by Daylight)

Scenario:

Michael Myers has broken out on the dawn of Christmas Eve and he's ready to spread havoc once more. Unfortunately for him, Home Alone Kevin McCallister has grown up on ghost stories of the notorious boogeyman and he's not going down without a fight.

Analysis: Michael Myers

"I met him, fifteen years ago; I was told there was nothing left; no reason, no conscience, no understanding; and even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, of good or evil, right or wrong. I met this six-year-old child, with this blank, pale, emotionless face, and the blackest eyes...the devil's eyes. I spent eight years trying to reach him, and then another seven trying to keep him locked up because I realized that what was living behind that boy's eyes was purely and simply...evil."

I can say nothing else that will better describe Michael Audrey Myers than that quote right there. Michael was, for all intents and purposes, an ordinary six year old child. Until, one Halloween night, he grabbed a butcher knife, went upstairs to his sister's bed room, and stabbed her death. Then, without saying a word, he went outside onto the front lawn and patiently waited for his parents to come home.

Michael is then sent to a mental institution where he is treated by Dr. Samuel Loomis. Loomis spent a good chunk of his life trying to reach the young boy, only to see absolutely nothing behind those eyes. Dr. Loomis discovered what all of Haddonfield soon would learn. There is no humanity in Michael Myers. There is nothing there but pure simple evil.

He would break out as an adult and spend the rest of his life tormenting the people of his home town, Laurie Strode in particular. Unfortunately for the many babysitters he would butcher, Michael Myers is far more than a simple man. He possesses blatantly superhuman strength, making him capable of lifting people of the ground with one arm. He's frequently been shown to be capable of smashing wooden doors to pieces and crushing skulls with his bare hands, as well as tossing people through the air singlehandedly.

His durability is similarly impressive, as he has repeatedly shrugged off getting run over, as well as survived getting riddled with bullets more than once, ranging from revolvers to shotguns. He's walked through high pressure fire hoses with absolutely no reaction and he's even so durable that a shovel snapped against his chest on contact. In his most impressive outing, he survived getting blown up by an oxygen leak at point blank range, albiet he collapsed shortly afterwards. This was a blast so massive that it completely obliterated the room he was standing in and nearly engulfed the whole hospital in flame.

While a lot of this is proof of Michael's inhuman resilience to pain, this becomes even more impressive when accounting for the fact that Michael doesn't even have a healing factor in some continuties. With his healing factor, Michael can regenerate from having his eyes shot out of his head, or from having corrosive acid directly injected into his veins. He's come back from having a gioutine embedded in his face and recovered instantly from having a metal pipe shoved through his torso.

Adding onto Michael's superhuman qualities is the fact that he gets stronger every time he kills someone, actively feeding on the chaos and despair he sows until he's an unstoppable force of nature. When getting an electrical cord jabbed directly into his dick barely even staggers the guy, you know you're dealing with something else entirely.

This isn't to say that Michael is some brainless brute. Unlike some of his future clones, Michael is quite cunning and manipulative at times. Firstly, he is an expert at stealth and laying down traps. He frequently sneaks around even trained police officers, seemingly outright teleporting. He's also infamous for faking his own death in order to escape and ambush people later. Notably, he once crushed the voice box of a paramedic before dressing him up in his clothes in order to trick Laurie Strode into killing an innocent man.

Michael is fast enough to keep up with people sprinting even at light stroll and has once even dodged a handgun bullet at close range, reacting at subsonic speeds to do so.

Source:

Having said all that, Michael is not perfect. His healing factor does have pretty severe limits, with his most impressive healing feats either knocking him into a coma or taking up to a year to fully recover from. For example, at the end of Halloween 2, Michael barely survives being hit with an explosion that engulfed an entire hospital room in fire, a feat granting him a durability of around 401 kilojoules.

Source:

While this does showcase his monsterous durability, it also showcases his limits, as this explosion knocked him out for decades.

Though this could be argued to vary by the continuity. The Halloween films are a massive mess of tangled timelines and retcons that constantly erase each other from canon. Across all of them, however, Michael's most impressive feat is this one of him seemingly surviving an explosion that completely obliterated an old church building. An explosion that generated an energy equivalent to 284 megajoules. And even that took him out of action for three months.

Source:

Still, regardless of the continuity, Michael Myers remains one of the most dreaded slashers in cinematic history and for damn good reason.

Analysis: Kevin McCallister

We associate a lot of bad guys with Christmas, don't we? From the curmudgeonly and greedy Ebenezer Scrooge to the nefarious, mean old Mr. Grinch. But none of them are more bloodthirsty or nasty then Kevin McCallister.

Obvious joke out of the way, now let's get into this.

Kevin McCallister is an eight year old kid in the affluent and massive McCallister family he feels he doesn't get the respect he deserves from the rest of his family. In a house of fifteen people, he's seen as the trouble maker, leading to a lot of resentment on both ends. After a particularly bad day during the lead up to the family's Christmas vacation, Kevin childishly wishes he didn't have a family.

The next day, Kevin got his wish. His family was gone. Disappeared. Kevin was the man of the house this Christmas and he was going to live it up while he could.

In truth, his family just forgot about him in their rush to the airport, but Kevin didn't need to know that.

It's all fun and games at first, scaring away the pizza guy, inadvertently robbing a store, and outrunning the cops. But when sone bumbling burglars named the wet bandits come knocking, Kevin decides its his duty to defend his house. By any means necessary.

Kevin is just as creatively sadistic as you'd expect for an eight year old given carte blanche to kill two burglars. He's smart enough to fool people into thinking there's real people present with elaborate use of pulleys, voice recordings, blow up dolls, and automated cardboard cutouts. He's impersonated his own father to gain access to a luxury hotel, scared people away with clever use of movie clips, and is smart enough to realize all mall santa isn't the real deal. ...He's eight years old, that's impressive for him.

But, let's face it, he's best known for his elaborate saw traps. On the smaller scale, he's super heated a door knob with an iron, hit people in the nuts with staple guns and bb darts, set people on fire more than once, and sent people through walls with falling anvils, paint cans, and falling cannons in strings.

But, it's when he takes New York as his stomping grounds that he really breaks out the big guns. After setting Harry's head on fire a carefully hidden blow torch, he filled the toilet with enough explosive gas to blow up the entire room when he went to put it out. Judging by the size of the toilet bowl and how much gasoline was likely in there, the resulting explosion would've generated at least 49 megajoules of energy, if not up to 801 megajoules.

Source:

Or that time he channeled all of a building's electricity into Marv and reduced him to nothing but a screaming skeleton. Vaporizing that much of a human being would require energy equivalent to 251 megajoules.

Source:

And in the fourth movie he.... uh.... flooded a house. And... ruined his dad's wedding. That's.... about it.

Yeah, bet you didn't even know there were four Home Alone sequels. There's actually SIX but Kevin's only in the fourth. Joke's on me for watching them all for this, I guess. Which is a shame because Kevin could've gotten some good scaling from the international terrorists in the third one.

Regardless of the franchise's subsequent milking, Kevin turned Home Alone into a Christmas comedy classic through his wit alone. He's repeatedly made bumbling fools out of the Wet Bandits and absolutely outsmarted everyone around him. To the point of becoming the head of an International Private Security Company by the time of the sixth movie. But depite all that, he's got a few flaws.

Namely, well... he's a kid (by the time of this analysis at least. He's not a kid in the sixth movie. Presumably.) He's scared of the monster in the basement, he thinks his neighbor's out to get him, and he genuinely thinks he made his family disappear. He's an incredibly smart, creative, but still naive kid.

For all we joke about Kevin's murderous tendencies, the core story of Home Alone is about him growing up. Facing his childish fears, taking responsibility, and learning more about the world.

But, if you're the kind of foul scum that'd still from kids on Christmas, then you'd better watch out! Because Kevin's not all alone with you. You're Home Alone with him.

Throwdown Theme:

youtube

Throwdown Breakdown:

Here we are, the ultimate Halloween vs Christmas matchup.

...well, besides Jack Skellington vs the Grinch I suppose. Or Dracula vs Santa....

Anyways, surprisingly, there's a decent amount to talk about here.

It goes without saying that Michael can just walk through all of Kevin's low level traps. A hot door knob and bb guns aren't going to stagger someone who walks off bullets semi regularly.

Though, interestingly enough, a nut shot was one of the few attacks to actually make Michael scream, so the nail gun to the nuts trick might still work.

But Kevin's stronger traps would be devastating. One of Michael's biggest problems is that his best endurance feats consistently require long periods of rest and recovery. He's constantly getting taken out for years or even decades by large amounts of damage and I think Kevin's traps can certainly deliver that.

Remember that big explosion that Harry survived in the second movie? Even at the low end, that explosion is 122x stronger than the one that took Michael out for decades at the end of Halloween 2. (49000 kilojoules vs 401) While the high end of that blast is nearly three times stronger than the church explosion, the best durability feat Michael has ever displayed. (801 megajoules vs 204) Meaning that regardless of which end you use, Kevin has enough fire power to put Michael down, as both of these feats took Michael out for months to years.

Yes, this does mean the Wet Bandits are more durable than Michael Myers.

But, Michael is a lot smarter than Harry and Marv in turn. What's stopping him from using his superhuman speed, stealth, or teleportation to ambush Kevin?

While this is still a distinct possibility, I think there's a few reasons it won't happen here.

1. Kevin has used decoys to lure opponents around in the past. While if he tried the whole "hey, I'm over here come catch me" trick in person he'd certainly get teleport murdered, he's more than capable of leading Michael around with silhouettes and voice recordings (or as we in the industry call it, the FNAF 3 tactic). Remember, this trick has worked on even intelligent adults in the series, not just the Wet Bandits, so there's precedent for it. The helpless kid Michael thinks he's ambushing could just well be a decoy meant to blow up in his face.

2. It's very rare for Michael to actively try and dodge attacks or leverage his speed. He prefers to either tank and overwhelm or fake his death and ambush/escape. The latter tactic could definitely work on Kevin if not for the fact that anything that could actually knock Michael over in this fight would almost certainly be strong enough to kill or comatose him. See above.

3. Michael typically uses his teleportation and stealth to either herass and stalk helpless victims or to get past large groups. He'd likely assume this is the former instance rather than the latter and granted his antics would likely be effective here. Kevin is still an easily terrified eight year old, after all. But, he would not be prepared for how booby trapped the house is going to be and would still be liable to set off already set traps even while teleporting or sneaking, simply because he didn't detect them. Worse, Kevin's more harmless traps, like the ones that spray feathers on him would leave Michael unprepared for Kevin's more devious devices, assuming he could tank them.

This is honestly, surprisingly, one of the closest matchups I've done in awhile. Michael can very easily win if he plays his cards right. He's just unlikely too right away against what he sees as just another kid victim.

Shouldn't be too suprising I suppose. Halloween 2018 showed just how weak Michael is to booby trapped houses.

This Throwdown's Winner is...

Kevin McCallister!

#fictional throwdown fridays #kevin mccallister #michael myers #halloween #home alone

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demona-andariel · 10 months

Text

Object of Obsession - 5 / 46

Fandom: Halloween

Pairing: Michael Myers x OFC

Summary: In Haddonfield everyone knows the legend that was Michael Myers. Content and at ease, they’d forgotten what it was to feel fear in the month of October. But now, he finds himself back and ready for blood but then a bond forms between him and one of his victims. A bond he can’t seem to break. And it starts to make him do things he never thought of doing before.

Warnings: (Encompassing the whole story in no particular order) kidnapping, noncon, explicit sexual content, smut, loss of virginity, rough sex, blood and violence, knifeplay, canon-typical violence

Author Note: Minors DNI!

Word Count: 3,970

Chapter 5 - A Nick and a Blow

The closer Michael got to the house the more aware he was of his killer side being silenced. Whereas before it had confused and slightly frightened him, now he accepted it. The fear came from his worry that he wouldn’t be able to kill people, that his sudden lack of will or ability to kill her would interfere with what he loved doing. But, each step away from her, from the house, only strengthened the killer inside of him till she was all but forgotten. Whatever was keeping him from killing her wasn’t keeping him from killing others. Outside and away from the house, from her, he was regular old Michael, the killer.

He decided to experiment, just in case. He was rather curious. After having sex, he couldn’t help but wonder if his sexual urges were strengthened now that he’d discovered the pleasures he received. He had purposefully found a young woman about her age who was more attractive than her: Tall, blonde, and with a bomb ass body. The chase had been lackluster, much to his disappointment. Holding the young woman by her neck and examining her near-naked body had given him no desire to fuck her. He even moved to press himself against her, but nothing. The way she begged, the way she cried, the way she pleaded for her life just added to her unattractiveness. He had cut her shirt, hoping that her naked breasts would do something. But if anything, his knife just sang far more loudly for her blood. He didn’t even bother to look at her pussy, there was no need. She just didn’t interest him. He easily appeased his killer instinct and stabbed her, delightfully watching as her life slowly left her eyes. She had been the only kill for the night. Not that he minded. And now, as the sun rose, he returned home, back to her.

Was she waiting, ready to attack him? Most likely. It amused him, the thought of her preparing to fight him, yet again. He rather enjoyed her fighting spirit as she both fought him and herself. Did she figure out that they couldn’t kill each other? Oh, he figured it out. He couldn’t kill her, but she couldn’t kill him either. He clearly remembered the moment she could have. She wanted to, she had the chance, and yet she stopped just shy of piercing his heart. He should have figured it out then. But, his mind had clouded over with desire and interest.

He paused at the front door. Round two? The thought of having her underneath him again, whispering “Fuck” and caressing his chest excited him. And this time, he was going to see all of her. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by him that she managed to keep a lot of her clothes on. There was no need for that. For the foreseeable future, she was his prisoner. His toy. And he was very interested in exploring every bit of her till she was no longer a mystery to solve. Maybe then he’d be able to kill her. But, killing her was no longer a priority.

A smirk crossed his lips. There was still a lot of fight left in her. He hadn’t tamed her yet, not that he wanted to. Their little cat and mouse game was quite fun, a great build-up to the sex.

Opening the front door, he readied himself for an attack. To his surprise and slight worry, there was none. He searched around, cautiously closing the door behind him. What was she up to?

Soft humming caught his attention, making him tilt his head to one side. If she planned on ambushing him she’d already given away her position. He made his way down the hallway till he reached the stairway. Looking to his left he spotted her on the ground. She had her back against the basement door, legs straightened out and planted on the wall on the other side.

She traced the floorboard with her fingers, head bent to one side away from him. She was wearing a completely new set of clothing, and that excited him. He wasn’t entirely sure why. Something new perhaps? He wasn’t a fan of the clothes she previously wore. Her brown hair hung loosely around her head, slightly tangled as if she hadn’t brushed it. And her skin, what little he could see, wasn’t nearly as pale as it had looked the night before, but more of a tan color.

Her position on the floor was rather curious. He glanced at the basement door. It was as if she was making sure that something didn’t escape. Which was odd as nothing was down there.

She slowly raised her head. The moment she spotted him she quickly got to her feet, dusting herself off. She didn’t move, but neither did he. Her gaze roamed his body briefly and he saw her take a deep breath before she focused on his still bloody knife.

Her eyes narrowed. “Just kill me already,” she demanded, storming up to him. He watched her curiously, enjoying the rage she felt. She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand. He couldn’t kill her. He had accepted that reality. If she didn’t know that meant he had the advantage, he was smarter than her. But, just because he couldn’t kill her, didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt her. He’d already proven that a few times.

His cock twitched slightly at the thought of cutting her. His mind brought him back to the first night he had her, to the second cut he’d made. It was small, but the little line of blood that trickled down her chest to her neck had been his undoing. He tilted his head slightly as he examined her body. She’d done a good job covering nearly every inch of her skin. She had received some light knife wounds the last couple of days. He wanted to see them.

He grabbed her right hand and twisted it enough to see the side. The cut there was shallow and would not leave a scar once it was fully healed. It was the one she’d made when she took his knife for a second time, surprising him. But of course, she had the advantage as his mind was a jumbled mess of sudden emotions he didn’t know what to do. His thumb ran along the scabbed wound.

She instinctively pulled her arm back, but he strengthened his grip. He liked her little battle wound. Letting her hand go, he grabbed her left arm and started to push her sleeve up.

“Stop!” she demanded, pulling away. This time, he let her, enjoying her attempt to be stern as she stamped her foot down and clenched her fists. Despite her short stature, she held firm, glaring up at him without a hint of fear in her eyes, at least, for now. He raised his knife and she tensed. The sight of the blood still on it caught his attention. No, that wouldn’t do. He couldn’t mix her blood with that of the other woman. Lowering it he went into the kitchen, keenly aware she was following. She watched him clean the knife and dry it.

Her automatic flight senses seemed to kick in as he approached her rather menacingly, knife in hand. The palpable sense of fear filled the room, and yet, she kept a calm pace with each step back that she took till she hit the wall. Then, she waited for him. She didn’t try to escape or run away.

He paused, examining her. The long-sleeve dress she wore had many buttons going down the front, stopping just short of her knees. From there she wore tights to cover her legs. She had made sure that almost every inch of her skin was covered. Almost. There was something about seeing her collar bone peeking through that got him excited. A simple yet effective tease. Even the belt that she wore around her waist, teased her curvy figure underneath. Yes, he quite liked the way she was dressed now versus the night before. Those buttons screamed to be let open.

He placed one hand on the wall beside her head and leaned in while slowly and lightly dragging the knife down her face. He wasn’t cutting her, he didn’t want to. He liked her face, the thought of seeing a cut from his knife on it didn’t sit right with him for some reason. But, he did like to tease and watch her reaction.

Her hazel eyes stared back into his blue ones, searching. She seemed to be looking for some kind of answer. A realization seemed to hit her as the tension eased from her face. “You can’t, can you?”

He leaned back, feeling a little proud that she’d figured it out, as well as slightly disappointed that he didn’t have that advantage over her. But- He leaned in and lightly nicked her collarbone.

“Ouch,” she gasped, jumping at the contact. “Asshole!” She planted her hands on the collar of her dress to lower it and see the damage his knife had done. It wasn’t bad, barely visible. A speck of blood seeped out. Returning her gaze up at him, he felt a sense of amusement at the fire in her eyes. “Okay, I get it. You can hurt me.”

Without warning, his head jerked to one side slightly, his masking going askew. She’d slapped him. “Asshole,” she muttered again, shaking her hand from her effort.

Aggression overtook him and he grabbed her offending hand, slamming it onto the wall before pressing his body closer to her and the knife to her throat as a threat.

Her fear was easy to see. “You hurt me, I hurt you, asshole,” she said in defiance.

She couldn’t see the amused smile that crossed his lips. He huffed and her muscles tightened in response as she made a fist with her trapped hand. She really didn’t like when he did that.

He continued to tease her, dragging the sharp blade along her skin. She craned her neck up and to one side, breasts rising slightly higher as her breathing deepened. She didn’t take her eyes off him though.

He paused by the nick he made, half tempted to lick her little wound. He wasn’t sure if it was fear that kept her from making any moves, his knife could easily pierce her skin, or something else. Reaching the first button on her dress, he slipped the tip of the blade underneath and cut the thread, releasing the button. It hit the floor with a sharp ping as it bounced away from them. Oh, he rather liked that sound, and the way her dress slowly opened up. Another slide, another cut of thread, and a second button bounced on the floor.

Going for the third button, she brought her arm up and covered her chest. “Did you not get a good look at them last night?” she asked.

He raised his eyebrows in response. There was no way she thought it was a one-and-done thing. That he would just fuck her and let her go. That the two of them would live together in his house and he’d ignore her for the rest of her time there. He didn’t let anyone go. If they escaped him he’d eventually find them.

He couldn’t read her face, whatever she was thinking was a mystery for once. He refocused his attention on her dress. The buttons over her breasts just screamed to be released, straining against the fabric as her breathing deepened even more.

“No, no, no!” she said firmly, grabbing his wrist, surprising them both. “First, this is my favorite dress. Second, I don’t have a lot of clothes unless you wanna go to my apartment and bring some more of my stuff over here.” Her face flushed crimson at her words, but she did have a point. As much as he wanted to cut the clothes off of her, he wasn’t about to go searching for her apartment to get her more clothes.

But, if she wasn’t going to let him cut the buttons off then she’d have to take her dress off instead. He took a step back and lowered his knife, making her sigh with relief. Their eyes met and he nodded his head, tilting it in a way to indicate what he wanted. The frown on her face amused him. “Are you serious?” she asked, sounding appalled. “I will not willingly-”

He raised the knife and she let out a heavy breath in response. Either she takes off her dress or the knife does, his message was clear and she understood it. She turned her head away and grumbled. Her face was a beautiful shade of red from embarrassment when she fixed her gaze back on him.

He allowed her to take her time, watching with amusement the internal battle she fought between being embarrassed, shy, and annoyed. With another deep breath, she unhooked the next button. The way her dress slowly split open, revealing more and more of her excited him. He had no idea that such a little thing could bring so much joy. She stopped at the button just below her bra and above her belt, fixing a hard stare at him.

He gave her a look before deliberately lowering his eyes and nodding his head for her to continue. Her whole body tensed. She was going to run. Just as he prepared to chase after her she did something that surprised him. She relaxed, letting out a sigh. Looking away, she withdrew one arm from a sleeve and then the other. Unhooking her bra, she took it off letting it drop to the ground.

His eyes focused on the long cut that was on her forearm. He took a step closer and lifted her arm to examine it more closely. So far, it was the longest and deepest cut he had made. Still pretty shallow and probably would only leave a faint scar. He ran his fingers along it. His mark.

Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Her nipples weren't as perky as he expected. But despite that, they were far more enticing and intoxicating to view than the female he’d killed earlier.

Trapping her wrists under one of his hands again he lifted her hands over her head. She wasn't even fighting him, but he liked limiting her actions. His free hand ran down her chest. First pausing at the nick he made by her collarbone.

"Asshole," she muttered.

He suppressed his amusement and looked at her, she purposefully looked away. He continued to the one in the middle of her chest. The one that started it all for him. That was officially his favorite one.

Fuck! He wanted to lift her up, have her legs wrap around him while he pressed his mouth between her breasts, stuff his cock in her and fuck the shit out of her. The marks he made on her were starting to drive him insane with hunger and need.

She let out a gasp as his cool hand touched one breast. He glanced up at her and smiled as she closed her eyes and her throat moved as she swallowed. Her breathing changed as it deepened, causing her breast to press a little bit more into his hand.

His desire hit him even harder. He really needed to fuck her. As much as he wanted to tease her, to play with her some more, to see her fight back her clear attraction, his cock strained to be in her again. His calm cold calculating mind was overwhelmed with lust and need. She yelped as he picked her up, managing to slip his hands under her dress to cup her ass tightly. He pushed her firmly onto the wall, then planted his lips between her breasts, sucking hard on that nick. That mark needed to stay there forever.

Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist. A very loud groan rumbled through her chest. Her hands wrapped around his neck to support herself, but she still leaned back against the wall instead of towards him. He scraped his teeth along her skin, pressing his tongue down enjoying her salty taste.

Her own natural scent blended into the almost overpowering rubber mask. The temptation to take it off just to smell her nearly overwhelmed his own resolve. No one was supposed to see his face. And he wasn't going to break his own rule for her.

He shifted her weight onto one arm. The damn dress was still in the way. His fingers deftly undid her belt before she could stop him. The moment it hit the ground she stiffened.

"Wait, wait," she breathed, pushing against his shoulders.

No more waiting, he wanted to snap. Still, he had his own clothes on. In annoyance, he set her onto her feet and unzipped his coveralls.

The sound of her running up the stairs pissed him off. And he felt as if he’d lost part of his erection, annoying him even more. Tying the arms of his coveralls over his waist, he stormed towards the stairs. He wasn't in the mood to chase her now. Hitting the first step, he paused as she came bounding back down. Her breasts bounced carefree with each step. His saliva glistened between them. She held two things in her hand, a bottle and a condom.

She paused two steps above him. Her face turned a glorious shade of red yet again. She rubbed her fingers along the bottle. “A girl-” she paused fidgeting. “Look. You’re really big and I’m very tiny. Unless you want to traumatize me, all I ask is you let me use this.” She drummed her fingers along the bottle. Then she raised her right hand, showing the condom between two of her fingers. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to wear this?” He didn’t have to answer. She let out a sigh, tossing the condom behind her. “Whatever,” she mumbled. More words followed, but whatever she said he couldn't make out.

“Let’s do this,” she said with a loud exaggerated sigh. Her pace down the stairs was slower, her eyes stared at the ground. He took a few steps back and she followed. Letting out a deep sigh, she finally moved her head up, her gaze stopping to stare at his bulge. She clicked her tongue as she opened her mouth to lick her lips. Their slick moistened look gave him an idea.

“Well?” she asked.

He reached out and rubbed his finger along her soft lips. Her pupils dilated. She knew what he wanted. The defiance in her eyes amused him, but it wouldn’t stop him from getting what he wanted. Tangling one hand in her hair, he started to push her down. For the briefest of moments, her muscles tensed to keep herself standing straight, but then she gave up. With a sigh, she sank to her knees.

He started to tilt her head to get her to look at him, but then stopped as she, without prompting, undid the sleeves he’d tied around his waist and lowered his coveralls. She glanced up at him for a moment, but her expression was something he was unfamiliar with. She lowered his boxers, releasing his semi-hard cock. He expected her to flinch or lean back to get away from him. She did move, tossing her hair back, she leaned down to grab the bottle of lube she’d brought down and squirted some onto her hands.

His cock had been semi-hard when she revealed it, but now, sitting on her knees, breasts out, he was already feeling the blood rush down. She brought her focus back to his cock then glanced up at him momentarily before readjusting her stance. She reached out, her fingers oddly graceful as she clenched them for a moment, then she lightly brushed them along his shaft, making him moan at the touch and close his eyes for a moment. He nearly choked as his whole body tensed the moment her warm hands firmly grasped him. He opened his eyes to look at her.

Her eyes kept traveling from his to what she was doing with her hands. She kept adjusting her grip and pace until his grunts got louder. His hand tightened around her hair. There was a skill with how she handled him. She’d done it before. The lube allowed her to slide with ease, much to his satisfaction.

Her mouth parted ever so slightly. He wanted to stuff his cock in there. Adjusting her kneeling position, she looked up at him again, mouth opened, and then she swallowed his head.

He very nearly came right there and then, as her pink lips circled his shaft and her tongue pressed against his head. Her mouth was so warm and wet. His right hand reached out and he grasped her hair. Her hazel eyes sparkled and she lowered her head a little bit further to take more of him in. He couldn’t help but push his hips forward to see just how far he could go, but her hands on his shaft worked as an effective barrier.

Her eyes read Not today. A part of him demanded he show that he was in control and not her. If he wanted to go further in her mouth then he damn well would. But, she applied pressure by sucking her saliva back before opening her lips to release him. He had a feeling, that if he forced things to go how he wanted, she would stop trying.

His heavy breathing nearly masked the sounds she was making with her mouth. His hands rose up and he pushed his mask up, just enough to release his mouth and nose. He had to lean his head back to get a better look at her. Damn. He’d told himself he would never take off his mask. Not for a single person. But, he wanted to be able to just watch her and hear her sounds without any interference.

Letting his cock go yet again, she glanced at him before purposefully licking his shaft, running her tongue up to his head, and then swallowing him again. He clenched his hand tighter on her hair and she moaned. The feeling of the vibration around his cock made him swallow hard. His other hand grabbed her head. He was a patient man. But, he would eventually have her take more of him in her mouth.

Her eyes barely left his face, focusing intently on his lips. Fuck! He groaned. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t look at her anymore. His eyes closed as he focused on his end. Her hand bothered him as she used it as a barrier, keeping him from going too far. He pushed back the wonder of what it would feel like. For now, the way her pink lips wrapped around his shaft, the way she sucked in her saliva, the way her hands moved along him gripping him with the right amount of pressure and speed, and the way her hazel eyes looked up at him, was just too much new. There was plenty of time to explore more later.

Her other hand cupped his balls, fondling him and that was it. He tightened his grip on her hair and grunted as his balls contracted and he came in her mouth. She didn’t stop touching him, didn’t stop staring, didn’t stop rubbing his shaft with her hand or pressing her tongue against his head until she seemed sure he was done. And then, she leaned back, met his eyes, and swallowed.

He froze and her eyes widened in surprise at her action. Neither of them had expected that.

Chapter 6 - Oh, Gods!

#michael myers x oc #Smut #horror #noncon tw #Slashers #fanfiction #michael myers fanfic #tw noncon

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