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#when jack is able to be vulnerable and cared for and attended to when he’s sick

authorangelita · 3 months

Note

How about: is there a recent line written for a wip that you'd like to share?

What is a favorite line from a fic that you've written?

And I'll turn the question back on you: Is there an idea that you have that you'll never write?

Thank you for the questions!

How about: is there a recent line written for a wip that you'd like to share? I've been sharing lines as I write this month, so I went back a couple of weeks for this one. I woke up one morning thinking about a spin on the Jack Lives story in which Matty is the one who doesn't believe it to be true and who launches a op to figure out what happened. Here's a bit from that:

Matty was worried, and she hated worrying. She'd always been able to maintain a separation, a distance from her team. People called her a hardass and a bitch and Matty the Hun to her face, so she knew what they said behind closed doors was worse.

But this team had wormed their way through her defenses, and they were hurting. She could see it in the dark circles under Mac's eyes, the shaking of Riley's hands when she typed, and the way Bozer's enthusiasm had decreased tenfold. They came to every briefing with large cups of coffee, sat quietly, spoke softly, and followed her orders almost without complaint.

She blamed one Angus MacGyver for getting under her skin. He was a man who exuded confidence and vulnerability, often simultaneously, and she had no damn idea how that worked. He was a genius with enough childhood issues to fill the Mariana Trench, and he was the most capable operative she'd ever met.

What is a favorite line from a fic that you've written? Oooh, good question. This is technically two lines, but I really like the beginning of Vigil Keepers.

Mac crumpled as soon as the gurney disappeared from view, falling to his knees and leaning over to hide his face with his hands. Blood coated his fingers and soaked into his clothes, but he didn't seem to notice or care as his shoulders shook with silent sobs.

And I'll turn the question back on you: Is there an idea that you have that you'll never write? Ha! That's fair. One of my fave episodes is Compass, and I have a soft spot for Frankie and her friendship with Mac. For a long time, I wanted to write a fic where Frankie goes to Mac a couple of years after Compass and asks him to donate sperm so that she can have a baby. She's married to another man, but he's sterile.

Mac agrees, but he lives a dangerous life, so he doesn't want her to tell the child that he's the father. Fast forward a year or so, after Frankie has the baby, and she and her husband are killed in a car accident. Mac is named guardian of the toddler and leaves Phoenix to raise the kiddo. Jack leaves with him, and they probably move to Texas. After some time, Mac's past comes back to haunt him and Murdoc (or maybe someone else but most likely Murdoc) kidnaps the kid, and Mac and Jack get the old team back together to get Mac's kid back.

I've never written the conversation between Frankie and Mac about his sperm, but I did start the fic with a fun little phone call that's under the cut.

The call was unexpected but not unwelcome.

"Frankie!" Mac exclaimed as he answered the video call with a smile. He hadn't heard from her since he'd gotten the invitation to her wedding about a year ago. Because of work, he hadn't been able to attend, but he'd sent something off her registry. Though, he had no idea what it was now. Maybe a cheese knife and plate combo or a set of towels. He'd let Riley choose it.

"Hey, boy genius," Frankie responded, also smiling. "Long time, no see."

"Too long. Sorry I missed the wedding."

She nodded, accepting his apology. "I'm actually calling because I'm going to be in LA this weekend. Can we meet up for coffee?"

"Yes, I will definitely be in town."

"Definitely?" She raised an eyebrow at his certainty.

Mac switched the camera view to show her the CAM boot on his left leg that was propped up on his coffee table. "Medical leave."

Frankie was horrified. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'll be fine. I jumped off a... thing and landed badly."

"That thing was a moving train, and you're lucky you didn't break your neck." Jack couldn't help himself. He had to speak up from where he was returning from the kitchen with two bottles of water and a bag of chips.

"Hi Jack," Frankie called out from the phone, so Mac switched the camera again and aimed it at Jack.

"Hi Frankie. How are you?"

"I'm pretty good. You?"

"You know how it is trying to keep this one alive." Jack nodded toward Mac, who rolled his eyes.

"That I do," Frankie said with a laugh. "Hey, Mac, I have to run, but I'll text you about coffee. Try to stay out of trouble, okay?"

"No promises."

They all laughed and said their goodbyes.

#fan fic writer asks game #impossiblepluto asks #recent line(s) from a fic #favorite line from a fic of mine #an idea that I'll never write

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fluffallamaful · 1 year

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Another AU Idea: Servant Quackity AU

Basically, post-failed-nuke Tommy, Tubbo, Punz, and Jack all ban together and — thanks to the fact that basically all major players on the server have a positive connection with at least one of the above — manage to convince everyone to actually form a bit of a truce. They get everyone together and they start to actually try to settle things peacefully, lawfully, under new rules that everyone comes up with together. Some people need closure, either because of something that was done to them or something that they did to someone else. Some people need assistance, and they need community outreach, too. And so, they make plans, they talk, they settle. It’s a clean slate — or at least. It’s GOING to be a clean slate.

Among the “reparations”, however, is Dream. Who, thanks to his continuous mental and physical deterioration post-Pandora, has finally had his body collapse under him and ended with him paralyzed from the neck down.

Sam…still has work to do. He’s still convinced that he’s a Good Person and needs some serious self-reflection before he can be allowed anywhere near an incapacitated Dream. Quackity, on the other hand, has just had his confrontation with Charlie and is fresh on the realization that he has turned himself into something of a monster. He needs something to help him rehabilitate himself into a functioning member of society again. He needs a job that will allow him room to change into something else. And Dream needs serious help.

I think you can see where I’m going with this.

Quackity is sentenced to Community Service, in which he has to attend to Dream’s every need. And he’s actually pretty eager to do it! He wants to change, he wants to get better, and he just — he can’t be that person anymore, and this is a way to make sure he becomes someone new.

Dream, on the other hand, is…not so happy about this arrangement. He just bared his throat to Tommy, and was immediately betrayed by the arrival of a nuke — even if it did fail, it was one hell of a punch to the gut and now his walls are back in full force. He’s paralyzed, he’s helpless, and now he’s been put under the 24/7 care of someone who 1) tortured him for six (three) months straight and 2) who he just tried (and failed) to take revenge on. He knows Quackity hasn’t forgotten that.

Quackity can tell that Dream isn’t a fan of this arrangement. That doesn’t mean he’s not going to give it his all.

Anyway this AU is legitimately just pure fluff as Quackity slowly falls into a competition of trying to outdo himself every day in his attempts to make Dream feel as comfy as he can.

ohhhhh interesting!!!!! this one’s a cool one :O so the nuke fails, leaves everyone in shock, and pushes dream over the edge of physical deterioration? the specifics of how tubbo, tommy and punz end up banding together, and the timing for when dream’s paralysis kicks in is interesting to me 😯 however i’m going to ignore this for now because i like this servant and quackity set up 😂

(discussion below)

🦙🦙🦙…

it’s so nice to be able to play around with quackity actually making his own decisions to help dream,, and dream actually knowing what’s going on. like in the other AUs, we either have had quackity being forced/encouraged into helping dream by someone else,, or we’ve had dream having zero clue of the fact that quackity is trying to help (or he’s been a blob)

but much the same as the other AUs, dream is terrified of being under quackity’s care while he’s in such a vulnerable state. though interestingly i feel that quackity would be far more understanding of it this time round. he’s more careful with his words, softer with his tone, gentle with his touch. he makes it his top priority to make dream as comfortable and safe as possible. it’s kinda like pet blob au, but with 1000 more egg shells

i’m obsessed with the idea of him using the same caring tone that he used for slime on dream? especially since i assumed that he’d know of the fact that dream confessed to tommy that he just really misses his friends? perhaps he makes it his aim to have dream feel like he’s loved as a friend.

i also feel like it would be cool for dream to go non-verbal again? like rejecting quackity’s help and care. the only words he does end up spitting out are angry. they’re hissed and they’re threats. like a cat bailed up against a wall

🦙🦙🦙…

#llama asks #soup the destroyer #thank you for waiting for this oneeeee #kinda trying to answer them in batches #Soups Servant Quackity AU

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ficforce · 3 years

Text

NSFW Alphabet Extended

Joker/52 x Female Reader NSFW / Mentions of past abuse No established timeline Established relationship

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

“Uh, JJ?” Y/N watched the man practically run out of the room not even a minute after they had both finished up. Had she said or done something? Y/N pulled the blanket up to her chest after sitting up and worried that he wasn’t going to come back… This wasn’t the first time he’d done something strange after they had had sex but it was the first time he’d left; she brought her knees up and couldn’t help the tears that were threatening to spill out of her eyes. “I got water, alcohol, juice and I put the kettle on in case you want something hot, I also grabbed some snacks in case you were hungry - oh and I grabbed some body wipes too!” Joker had piled everything he had mentioned onto a tray and brought it to the side of the bed, placing everything down before then grinning at her like he had done something really innovative. The grin dropped quickly as he noticed her watery eyes and the slight quiver of her lip. The man sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her into a hug, holding her tight in his slight panic, “What did I do? Did I hurt you? Did I push you?” Joker had had a shitty childhood that had followed into his young adult life, he remembered all the times he was forced to do something or it was forced on him, he remembered being left cold and in pain with no-one giving two shits; it terrified him that he might have inflicted the same kind of pain on her. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” Y/N pushed against him just enough to be able to look at his worried face, “You didn’t do anything… I definitely wanted that but it’s just… you left, right after and…” she realised now he had run out to get her food and drink, things to take care of her if she needed it. He had asked her last time about aftercare and how he wasn’t sure how to best provide it for her. She had told him that a bottle of water might be appreciated and hadn’t expected him to take it so far as snacks. “I thought you’d just left me.” “No way,” he kissed her cheeks as he squished her face a little between his hands, “Now, you want water, juice, vodka or tea?” The man was completely oblivious as to his awkward after sex etiquette.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

‘They’re like stilts.” Joker chuckled as she poked at his leg, “I like being taller than everyone else.” He likes his legs; he liked that he could move ridiculously fast, that he was flexible and able to kick someone in the face without having to get too close. “You love it when I lean over you like a big creep.” “That’s because I love creeps, apparently.” Y/N grabbed the collar of his top and pulled him down for a kiss, “What do you love about me? Physically?” “Hmm,” Joker gave it a little thought, straightening back up and lighting another cigarette, “Physically… that’s a tricky one. What do I love about my queen of hearts?” He liked everything, it was hard to pick just one thing; he turned his grin on her all of a sudden and smacked her backside, “I like your ass.”

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Running his fingertips through the cum leaking out of his lover, Joker slowly pushed it back inside her entrance, gently fingering her and relishing in the wet, warm feeling of her freshly fucked hole. “T-thats gross…” Y/N blushed and looked away from his fascinated expression. “I think it’s pretty.” He brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked them clean, “We’re all mixed together, impossible to separate.” Only he could make something like this sound almost romantic.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Y/N watched as Joker played with his deck of cards, shuffling them more expertly than any dealer in the big casinos, he then began to hum as he set out a game of solitaire. Sometimes he snuck into her apartment just to be there with her; it wasn’t always a booty call. There was something she noticed when he opened a brand new pack of cards though, something she wasn’t sure he was entirely conscious of doing. The long haired man would always pull out and burn one of the cards to ash before replacing it with the joker card. Last time Y/N had mentioned it he had packed everything up and told her he had business to attend to before leaving.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

“What’s this thing?” Y/N looked over at him from where she was putting away her clothes, her cheeks became a little warm as she saw he was playing with a vibrating cock ring. “It goes at the base of your dick… makes you last longer and the vibration gives me a little something when you push all the way in.” Joker snorted at it and tossed it back in the draw. He was sat cross legged on her bed in nothing but a towel and hair turban to keep him from getting the pillows damp; of course he had to snoop around in her bedside table whilst she was busy. “Why would someone need to last longer, you’d get sore, right? And why the hell aren’t they paying attention to your clit personally?’ He made little circular motions with his thumbs, “That’s just lazy, Y/N.” She often wondered how someone so tall and sexy could be so inexperienced, sure, he was a little odd but women should have been throwing themselves at him. “I’ll show you later, okay.”

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Joker liked all kinds of positions, he especially liked when Y/N was on top. So when she suggested reverse cowgirl he was curious and eagerly agreed to trying it out. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like any position where he couldn’t see her face; it made him uncomfortable and it didn’t feel as good as he knew it should. His hands fell onto her hips and applied a little pressure to slow her down to a stop, “T-turn back around.” He panted out and when she did as he asked, Joker felt better, he thrust up into her more eagerly than before and his purple eye watched her expressions as they headed toward orgasm. Afterwards, as they lay in a heap of sweaty limbs, Y/N kissed his jaw and asked him if it was the angle he hadn’t liked, he shook his head and told her that it just felt better if he knew she was enjoying it.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

“JJ, stop messing around with that and get over here.” She had told him he could pick one toy for them to try out from her collection but so far he was just playing with everything. He was taking particular joy in trying to secure a strap on to his head. “Look, Y/N, I’m an actual dickhead now!” He heard her groan at his joke but he definitely heard a giggle too, “Or ‘fuckface’… I heard you call someone that the other day.” Joker liked to make her laugh, he found it put him at ease before they had sex; somehow he was still nervous he was going to make her hate him or that he would somehow hurt her.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Her fingers felt soothing as they ran through his long hair, she had practically begged him to let her practice a french braid on him and he didn’t actually mind it. Y/N had always liked playing with his hair - even before they became a proper couple. “How do you get it so soft?” She asked as she brushed it out to start her braid again, “You never have any split ends either.” He really did take good care of it, it wasn’t something she ever expected from him but she couldn’t deny how much attention he paid to his hair - even his pubic hair was kept trimmed and oddly perfect. He glanced over her shoulder at her and gave a soft smile, “I wasn’t allowed long hair when I was younger, so I like to keep it nice.”

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Something had upset him, something had happened and Y/N hadn’t really known what to do when she found him huddled up in the corner of her bedroom. He was always good at sneaking in but this was the first time she had ever woken up and found him hiding in the dark rather than invading her bed. “JJ?” She called out her pet name for him as she got out of bed and padded over to him, kneeling between his outstretched legs before reaching out to touch his face. He flinched. “Joker, what’s wrong?” She tried again to touch him and this time he allowed her to rest her hands on his cheeks. Y/N checked him over, he didn’t seem to be hurt in anyway, he was just… not quite right. “Can I take off your hat?” He gave a nod and she removed the item quickly, her fingers ran over his hair to neaten it out a little and then she asked if she could take off his eyepatch. This time he shook his head no. “Okay, will you come to bed? We can cuddle…” It hadn’t been hard to figure out, once she had seen all the evidence, that Joker had had bad experiences with people - that someone had likely abused him in his past. One of her biggest clues had been the way he never got too rough with her, how he always had to be able to see her face. Joker cherished her when they were together, he always made sure she knew that he wanted her to feel good and loved. It was moments like this, when he was emotionally bare and vulnerable that she felt most intimate with him, that he let her in and trusted her not to hurt him. “I’ll be big spoon, okay, JJ?” Taking his hand she coaxed him toward the bed and wrapped herself around his tall frame; trying her best to make him feel safe.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

The first time Joker masturbated he had been a little scared that he was going to be struck by lightning. He may have been raised an assassin but they were still a religious order that frowned upon that kind of thing… unless you were some sort of twisted pervert. At first he had ignored the feeling, not wanting to touch himself because he didn’t want to feel sick afterwards; sex had always made him feel disgusting before. But as his vision blurred white and his muscles spasmed, his fist moving on its own along his length as he milked every last drop out of it, he felt weightless afterward. The tension melted out of his body and he wanted to take a nap. He didn’t feel bad, he didn’t feel disgusting - he felt good. He doesn’t masturbate half as much now that he had Y/N. His right arm didn’t ache as much either…

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

“Is this okay?” Y/N asked as she straddled the backs of his thighs and placed her hands on his back. She had set up a large mirror at the end of the bed for this and she hoped it would work for Joker. She had wanted to give him a massage for the longest time but he could never really relax because he disliked having people behind him, touching his bare skin. She figured that if he could see what she was doing in the mirror it might help him. Joker hugged the pillow under his chin and watched her reflection intently, she pulled out a bottle of oil and began warming it in her hands, “I’d like it more if you were naked too.” He saw her look back at his reflection and rolled her eyes, “Maybe in a little while then.” Feeling her slick hands stroke over his bare back made the man let out a low moan; he loved being touched. Stroked, pet, cuddled, caressed - it didn’t matter as long as it was a positive touch. His kink wasn’t being choked or hit or even just tied up. His kink was being treated sweetly by his lover.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

“Excuse me, ma’am.” The shop assistant sounded a little panicked from outside the changing room door. “Ma’am, you… you can’t have your boyfriend in there with you. I’m sorry but please stop having -‘relations’.” Y/N glared at Joker as he held in his laughter, she had told him to get out the second he had materialised in her changing room but he had said he wanted to play. “Anywhere isn’t an acceptable location for this kind of thing, Joker!”

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

It didn’t take much to turn her boyfriend on, sometimes just looking in his general direction was enough motivation for him to pull her into long, lovely kisses and feel his hands sneaking under her clothes to caress her body. So as she finished paying for her new lingerie and took the bag from the cashier, she had to wonder how he was going to react to her intentionally teasing him.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Going through her sex toys seemed to be one of his favourite hobbies, mostly because it would make her stutter and feel flushed. This time Joker held up a pretty chain with a clamp either end, “Those are nipple clamps, JJ.” “They look like they hurt…” He tossed them aside in distain then found a pair of handcuffs next, “Why… would you intentionally want to be hurt?” Joker put those back too, his expression unhappy. Y/N came to sit down beside him, “Sometimes a little pain feels good-“ “Sex and pain shouldn’t go together. I’m never going to use any of this shit on you.” She gave a little shrug, embarrassed that he didn’t approve of her little kinks but understanding all the same, “And that’s okay… I’ll never mix the two together when I’m with you. I promise I’d never try to hurt you.”

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

His hands gripped her shoulders a little too hard and Joker quickly moved them to the edge of the kitchen counter behind him so he wouldn’t bruise her. Her mouth was so warm and the way she was sucking him felt so good that his legs were starting to shake. As much as he loved having his mouth on her and his tongue inside - this was always his favourite treat. It took all his willpower not to thrust into Y/N’s mouth; one look down and he felt his balls tighten at the way her lips stretched around him and how damn pretty she looked like this. “I-I’m gonna… Fuck, Y/N, I’m - !!” P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

The headboard of her bed thumped rhythmically against the wall as Joker plowed into her, his hands holding her thighs up and open so that he could go deeper. “J-Jo-ker! Ah, I… P-please!” He felt her walls tightening around him, heard how wet she was and knew she wouldn’t last much longer. The man slowed his pace, still filling her to the very hilt but almost dragging out how quickly he pulled out to the tip and then dived in deep again. Unable to process the mixture of slow and fast, hard and gentle, Y/N’s body began to shake and tremble, her eyes squeezing shut as his name filled the room loud enough for the neighbours to hear.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

The endearing problem with her odd boyfriend, other than not knowing where he came from or even where he would come from next, was that he was able to go - sexually - at a moments notice. He loved a quickie, he loved it slow, sideways and once he had loved it upside down. Y/N had taken to carrying extra underwear with her just in case.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Y/N loved Joker, she adored him and she knew he cared about her deeply too… she just wished he would try new things with her that were not so safe. She liked a little breathplay every now and then but Joker wouldn’t risk choking her. He was a strong man and he knew he could get carried away. Then again, she thought as she looked at how high they were on the roof of a skyscraper, he liked to have sex in some pretty scary places.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

“I… actually can’t…” Y/N rolled onto her side panting heavily, everything ached a good way, the sheets were wet under her and every time Joked touched her she felt her body spasm. She was over sensitive and even though she knew he could make her orgasm again - she ws certain she would probably die. “I need a break.” “Okay, then we can go for round six?”

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) Joker loved toys. His favourite thing was to go through hers and then try them out if they interested him enough. There were many times he would bring new ones home for Y/N and then look at her with an excited purple eye. Y/N looked at the new toy he had brought home and blinked, “Is that a fucking tentacle dildo?!”

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Sometimes Joker wasn’t aware that he was actually teasing her, he just liked to touch her. Y/N bit her bottom lip as his thumb brushed over her clothed nipple again, it was hard and aching from his absent minded touch - she had no doubt he was only messing with her nipple because it was erect. It was the same for his other touch on her body. His other hand was on her inner thigh, his fingers tracing up and down the seam of her bottoms. “You’re driving me crazy!” “I haven’t even done anything?” Joker let out a surprised yelp as Y/N pinned him down to the sofa and climbed on top of him.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

“I’m calling the police!” Y/N hid her face in Joker’s neck as they listened to her neighbour yell through the wall - they were kind of loud on a regular basis. “I could go and have a word with him?” “Don’t you dare, Joker! We’re already in trouble because you did the…. Thing!” He grinned and blew a few heart shaped smoke rings for her, “You love it when I do the Thing.”

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

The bouquet of flowers she found on her table when she got home were a wonderful surprise. She noticed they were mostly purple with her favourite colour splashed in here and there; she didn’t need a note to know Joker had left them for her. Putting her bag down and kicking off her shoes Y/N picked up the flowers and smelled them, appreciating the gesture more than the aroma. Looking around the small apartment for him she realised that she must have just missed him… or he was hiding. Joker was surprisingly shy when it came to romantic gestures. X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) The first time she saw him naked, Y/N had been a little intimidated because, like most things about him, his cock was long. There was no way all of him would fit inside her without tickling her tonsils. Trying to calm her nerves she had turned her gaze onto his body, ran her hands over his lean muscles and pressed kisses to the scars she found. “One day, you’ll share your story with me, JJ.”

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

“Are you done?” Joker asked as he hovered over Licht, the young man was testing some new formula and he had said he needed Joker’s help. Watching the vial turn a different colour the scientist smirked to himself, “Have you got a date?” “I’m just horny. I miss Y/N and you’re being so boring!” He knew he had a problem, he knew he probably had too much sex but who could blame him when he had such a wonderful woman waiting for him?

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

His head rested on Y/N’s shoulder as they lay in bed; he couldn’t sleep and she was trying to help soothe him to sleep. She massaged his scalp between running her fingers through his hair and she had even tried making him a hot drink. Sometimes he couldn’t sleep, even after the euphoric release of a good orgasm to melt his troubles away. Feeling her hand brush over one of his scars Joker let out a sign, “Remember when you said one day I’d share my story?” Her hands paused for a second, the weight of his words causing her breath to stutter, “…Yes.” “Would you still love me, even if I wasn’t a good man?” “No matter what you were in the past,” She kissed the side of his head, “You’re my Joker and I’ll love you for who you are now.”

#joker/52 #reader #fire force #enen no shouboutai #enn enn no shouboutai #alphabet

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 years

Text

[This Anon is referring to this game theory.]

...I can see that happening, yes. Crowley must, after all, appeal to those with a preference for glasses on their pretty boys.

This became its own set of shitpost headcanons in of themselves, but I will allow it for now because it supplements my ever-expanding pretty boy game theory. I only wrote for the students, NOT faculty because the list of students itself is already super long.

Enjoy.

Riddle wrote an entire speech to the headmaster about how he will contribute to NRC and improve the school community if he gets accepted. All of that went right out the window when Crowley clasped his hands during the interview and shouted about how Riddle is perfect. That strict persona, coupled with the contrast of his boyish appearance...it is perfect for appealing to those that like the youthful look, but still want someone respectable!

Trey had a relatively normal interview. Crowley was impressed by how reliable Trey seems to be--he’s sure to make use of Trey’s “big brother”/”boy next door” vibes for NRC advertising. He didn’t find out about Trey’s thing for dental hygiene until after Trey was already accepted, but Crowley was quick to dismiss it as a real concern because it’s not like he’s going to sell pictures of Trey brushing others’ teeth for extra profit (well, not unless there is a high demand for that).

Cater was very relaxed, even slouching a bit in his seat. He interrupted Crowely in the middle of one of his questions to ask to take a photo for his MagiCam account. Though Crowley found this to be a little irritating, he knew that social media is a good way to reach a wider audience. Having a handsome student well-versed in the use of the web and able to capture candid photos of his peers seems like a huge advantage to NRC’s social media presence!

Ace was super casual. He showed up a few minutes late and sat down without being given permission to. He’s nothing like his older brother, according to the records Crowley consulted. Ace’s brightness was able to charm Crowley in the interview, and he allows the trickster in just because of that infections, albeit shit eating, grin of his.

Deuce tried very, very hard to show off how “reformed” he was. Came to the interview in a full-on suit and gelled back hair so he looks like a responsible young man. Lost his shit mid-interview when Crowley brought up his past delinquency as a potential issue. He was still let in because Crowley knows “bad boys” with a soft side can be appealing to some.

Leona got to skip the interview. Not because he’s royalty or anything, but because Crowley knew just from reading Leona’s application and seeing his picture that he would be a worthwhile student to slap onto advertisements. THE ANGST PRACTICALLY WRITES ITSELF. Look at how handsome Leona is, and how dark his backstory is. You can change this arrogant, broken cat boy, Crowley will hawk at his audience, all you need to do is donate your money to NRC!

Ruggie was accepted for his mischievousness--and partly due to his sad history in the slums. He didn’t show up to the interview wearing the fanciest clothes, but there is a charm to his humility, his frugality. Crowley thinks that winsome laughter of his will net the school some extra cash. Some would love to dote on people like Ruggie, after all!

Jack has muscles, and that’s all Crowley needed to see to accept him. Sure, he may have only responded to interview questions with simple, short answers, sometimes punctuated by grunts, but...muscles. Crowley’s already thinking of throwing as many sports-related events as possible for the upcoming school year, just so Jack can get all hot and sweaty in front of a live audience. NRC merch sales will go through the roof.

Azul groomed himself for several hours in advance, and practiced interview questions with the Leeches beforehand. First impressions are very important, and attending NRC would be the opportunity of a lifetime! He performed very well and dressed sharply. When his interview wrapped up, Crowley started questioning his eyeglasses, which confused Azul a lot. He was told that he is accepted, granted that he maintains wearing spectacles. Azul, being the big brain octoboi that he is, understood Crowley’s game and complimented his shrewdness. Crowley killed so many birds with one stone by accepting Azul...he appeals to those that like smart boys, glasses, and...well, tentacles.

Jade & Floyd spent even more time preparing than Azul did. They are concerned about Floyd making an outburst or a comment that could jeopardize their acceptance--and if they don’t also get into NRC, then Azul will be all alone. To their surprise, Crowley accepted them a few minutes into the interview after he asked them to sit and just...interact with the other brother. He was shouting something about how twins are a “rare find” and that “people love having two lovers tease them” while furiously shaking both of their hands. They left the office very confused, while Crowley was smirking to himself about his great find. Not only do the Leeches have a strong brotherly bond that will melt people’s hearts, but their whole butler/bodyguard dynamic will play well off of Azul. And those fangs...that’s the cherry on top!

Kalim is automatically in thanks to that massive donation the Al-Asim family oh-so-generously gave to the school. It didn’t matter if he was bouncing off the walls and veering way off topic during the interview. Crowley knows that Kalim’s endless, youthful cheer is sure to appeal to someone.

Jamil is calm, poised, controlled. Almost too much so. Crowley was on the fence about him--doesn’t Jamil seem a little too boring upon first impression?--but his beauty is nothing to sneer at. He allows Jamil in, if only to be a companion to Kalim...and boy, does Crowley not regret that decision. People sure do love the “super repressed crazy one”, huh?

Vil came with a perfectly coordinated outfit and makeup, ready to kill the interview. A shame that Crowley cut it short to congratulate him on his acceptance. Such beauty and confidence will do well at NRC and shilling NRC merch...! His status as a MagiCam influencer and model is also sure to attract Crowley some sweet, free publicity!

Rook was dubbed “the token pervert” in Crowley’s mind the moment he strolled into the office for his interview. He took a great fascination with the headmaster himself, asking many personal questions and even if he can touch Crowley. A very forward lad, even back then. Still, there’s a market for these types of things! Rook’s French (one of the romance languages!) also played into his acceptance--multiingual people can have a broad appeal...!

Epel’s innocent outer appearance instantly won Crowley over, even though he didn’t speak clearly and didn’t wear nice clothes at the interview. Sure, he’s just the son of some farmers from a backwater town, but Epel is just so meek and beautiful! He’d be perfect for those in the public who want someone to take care of. That mild rebellious streak of his may also be popular!

Idia almost didn’t make it. He stuttered and mumbled through his interview, avoided eye contact, and sweated bullets the entire time. It also didn’t help that he looked so disheveled. Crowley forced Idia to change his clothes and wash his face to see how well he cleaned up--and Idia cleaned up very well. The headmaster let Idia in after that to have “otaku” type for advertisements and to potentially beg the Shrouds for donations. Plus, having another sharp-toothed boy doesn’t hurt. The Leeches can’t be the only ones that appeal to the public’s fang fetishists!

Ortho didn’t really have an interview. It was more like Idia made him one day and asked if Ortho could be enrolled as a student. Crowley just shrugged and let it happen. He’s sure that someone out there is into robots in “that” sense.

Malleus did not need an interview. His magical ability already speaks as to why he was an instant acceptance--and he’s related to the Great Witch of Thorns! That, combined with his commanding presence and mysterious allure, makes him a powerful force to be reckoned with. Plus, he has an emotional vulnerability behind all of that...

Lilia spooked Crowley by dropping in from the chimney. Despite this, he nailed the interview and now supplies Crowley with all the content he needs for his “thousand year old vampire that looks like a 12 year old” trope folder. He looks young, but he’s wise and will bite if you’re not careful! On top of all of that, Lilia has a fatherly side, which Crowley knows will make him endearing to some.

Silver fell asleep mid-interview...! Oddly enough, Crowley still accepted him despite that. Soft, sleep boys, after all, have their own sense of charm! Besides, what kind of self-respecting pretty boy fan wouldn’t want to stare at Silver’s peaceful face as he rests?

Sebek’s booming voice nearly sent Crowley flying out of his seat. So loud, and so assertive--yet Sebek also expresses his strong, burning desire to be at the Young Master’s side. Crowley knows that such devotion and boisterousness can be a charm point, so Sebek was accepted!

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sondepoch · 4 years

Text

Wake Up

Tales of Our Love (Simeon x Reader)

Angels and humans don't belong together. Simeon knew that, and yet he still allowed himself to fall in love with you. But while he was able to pull himself together when the two of you broke up, he never could have predicted where his actions would end up driving you. So when he found your body, only one plea danced on his lips—for you to just wake up.

~Part of a series but can be read as a oneshot:

He Chose God | Wake Up | Astronomical | ✎ |

MASTERLIST

Superman.

That's what you always joked: "Simeon, you're my Superman."

The angel never failed to chuckle, only vaguely understanding the reference, always accepting the compliment by stealing a kiss from your lips. But you meant the words with all your heart.

Superman. The strongest man in the world.

And Simeon was just that.

You learned early on in your relationship that the angel was built like a Greek god, from the way he would wrap an arm around your waist and lift you with one hand to steal you away from whoever was holding your attention—and then there came the day when you got to see the muscles hidden underneath the clothes, and you learned he really was like Superman. Strength, stamina, and endurance to boot.

Indeed, Simeon was among the strongest individuals in the entire Devildom during his yearlong stay, and you never forgot that fact for a moment.

But you only understood the scope of his mental strength on the final day of the exchange program.

"W-what do you mean?" You asked, your eyebrows furrowing. You didn't understand. Surely you were hearing Simeon wrong. "Goodbye? Won't we be seeing each other after this?"

"Little lamb," Simeon said affectionately, but he was using the nickname he hadn't used since the beginning of the school year, back before the two of you ever grew involved. He was being distant. "You must understand that an angel and a human can never truly…"

He didn't finish the sentence, knowing that you knew exactly what he was trying to say.

"You told me…" You swallowed hard, feeling the thickness in your throat and the tremble of your lips. "You told me you would always love me."

"And I will," Simeon repeated. "But from afar. You must return to the human realm, and I have Celestial duties to attend to."

"Y-you said you loved me. You—you said you were in love with me—" You choked at the end of your words, the thickness in your throat growing almost too dense for you to bear. But you continued on, the accusatory tone of your voice never dropping. "Were—were you lying?"

Silence.

You took a step forward, tears suddenly threatening to spill from your eyes. But you never faltered. You had to know. You had to.

"Tell me, Simeon—were you lying?!"

The angel turned to you, sorrow lacing the clear blue eyes you'd grown to love so much, but they weren't sad for his sake. They were sad for yours. He gazed down at you with pity.

"I never lied to you, little lamb," He raised a hand to cup your cheek. "You have captured my heart. But we cannot be together. It's unnatural, for an angel and a human, and...we cannot."

You let out a sound that sounded almost like a child throwing a tantrum, but you couldn't bring yourself to care as you grabbed Simeon's shoulders. You attempted to shove him away from you, to put some much-needed distance between your bodies so that you could suppress the dam of emotions threatening to break free, but the angel was too strong for him to even realize you were trying to push him away.

Superman, you thought. The affectionate nickname left a dark shadow where it passed through your mind.

Unable to push him away, you gripped his shoulders, hating that you were using him to steady yourself even as the guy was breaking up with you.

"Bastard!"

Deep down, you knew that insulting Simeon wasn't the way to go to release the bubble of emotions you were feeling. Hell, you were more upset than you were angry, but when you felt the tiniest better after that first insult, the rest seemed to flow from your lips as easily as, well, water from a dam. And it seemed that you had finally broken. "You're awful, Simeon—absolutely awful! How could you be so heartless? So cruel? I—I—" You hesitated, wondering if you were ready for your next words.

"I hate you!"

You beat a helpless fist against his chest, knowing that it wouldn't hurt him.

Fucking Superman.

And it was at that moment—when you were so broken and emotionally ripped apart that you had yet even to process the fact that tears were streaming down your cheeks—that you looked up into the sapphire eyes you had grown to love so much.

You regretted it.

How? You wondered numbly, staring at the angel's impossibly clear eyes as he stared down at you, not a trace of emotion in his eyes.

He's already gone, you realized, for the first time understanding the scope of Simeon's mental strength. He's already distanced himself.

You stared helplessly into the eyes you were once so familiar with, not recognizing the empty look.

That was the day when you learned that your Superman wasn't just physically strong but mentally jacked, the angel so in tune with his mind that was able to close off the part that was in love with you completely. You stared into his eyes, realizing that the Simeon you loved was already gone. Already locked away. Probably never to resurface ever again.

The Simeon in front of you was different.

He made no motion to follow you when you took a trembling step backward, fearful at the sudden blankness of his gaze. It was a shield, you would one day understand. He hid away the part of him which could get hurt by your cruel words, the part of him that would beg for forgiveness and kiss you to make you take back the "I hate you" that left your lips.

"You're horrible," You murmured, taking another step backward. The Simeon you knew would have winced at the words, cringing in discomfort because you so obviously meant them—but the angel in front of you had steeled himself. Having hidden away everything vulnerable the moment he began to break things off with you, you realized that this relationship was already over.

The Simeon you loved was gone.

"I wish I had never met you," You said to him, before you couldn't bear to be in his presence a moment longer. You ran at top speed away, though you knew he wouldn't be following. You ran and you ran and you ran until you miraculously ended up at Diavolo's castle, sobbing desperately as you asked the demon lord to send you away.

"But the brothers…" He began to protest, knowing that the demons in the House of Lamentation would hardly be pleased to learn that their human had left without being able to properly bid you farewell.

But Barbatos urged the lord to reconsider, and soon enough, you were on your way, whisked back to the human world where there was nothing to remind you of the angel you loved.

Nothing to remind you of your heartbreak.

It was easier than you expected—returning to your usual life.

Everything went back to normal so soon.

You were grateful that your friends never asked where you went, grateful that your family never forced you to talk about your time spent away. If they had asked, you doubted that you'd have been able to say a word without bursting into tears.

Because the memories of Simeon were still so raw.

And no matter how you tried to forget him, you couldn't.

It got to the point where you were crying yourself to sleep every night, your heart aching for his touch and your mind refusing to let go of the affection you stupidly harbored for the angel.

It hurt.

It hurt so fucking much.

Some nights, it felt like you couldn't breathe. Like your own love was choking you do death as you raised a hand in the darkness reaching for—for what? You certainly weren't reaching for Simeon. He had made it all to clear that he was no longer yours, that he had moved on.

So what did you reach for?

An escape.

Fuck.

The moment those words crossed your mind, you should have stopped. You should have picked up your phone and called your friends, or summoned one of the demons to get your mind off things, or done anything to halt the train of thoughts which was beginning to gain speed.

But there was no going back, was there?

An escape, you thought drily, knowing all too well what the words meant. There was only one escape from your pain.

You reached for the sleeping pills.

Slipping them into your mouth, one after the other, delicate sips of water in between, you'd never felt calmer. For the first time since returning from the Devildom, you were at peace. At last, the rhythm of your heart beat steady, understanding that you would soon be from this perpetual cycle of ache.

An escape.

Freedom.

Death.

When you gave in to the temptation of slumber, you knew you would never be opening your eyes again. You found it in your emptying heart to mentally apologize to all those you'd be hurting—but you knew that the one you loved wouldn't care. Why would he? He had made it so painfully obvious that his affection for you had vanished.

You closed your eyes, memories of your time with Simeon playing out in your head against your will. And though you didn't want them, they brought a quiet smile to your face before you were truly gone.

But where you were finally reaching eternal peace, the angel you had fallen for was cast into a state of turmoil.

Simeon heard the beat of your heart as it pounded against your chest in a final, futile attempt to keep you alive. He felt it in the constriction of his own throat, when he sensed the part of him that he had locked away tremble.

For a moment, he resisted. He looked back at the paper he had been assigned to deliver, marked URGENT, and considered staying on his task. He considered remaining in the Celestial Realm, and ignoring whatever was going on with you.

But then the part he had locked up inside began roaring with a ferocity he had never felt before as it realized that the connection to you had been severed—and that realization was all it took to bring Simeon to your bedside, shaking your body frantically to wake you up.

"Little lamb?" He whispered in the darkness, fearful eyes glancing down. He pressed his hand against yours.

"MC!" He shouted, practically pouncing on your bed as he began shaking your shoulders. "MC, wake up! My love, my sweet, my angel, wake up!"

He hardly noticed when tears began streaming down his face, when his fingers grew clammy and his breathing turned erratic.

He was too focused on waking you up.

"Angel," He whispered, recalling the nickname you had both adored so much. "Wake up. Wake up, I know you can do it, my angel. Wake up, please, and I'll never leave you again. I am so sorry. I was so foolish, if you wake up I will never leave your side again so please, please, just wake up—"

He shook your form violently, fear constricting his insides and making it feel like he was dying from the inside. He had to remain composed, for your sake. He had to be strong. He had to be like Superman, like the confident and mighty angel that you fell in love with.

But would Superman have hurt you like this? Would Superman have hidden his emotions away for the sake of propriety, never realizing just how much you would be hurt in the process?

"Wake up, my angel. Wake up," Simeon whimpered, rocking your body back and forth as he clutched you in his arms. The two of you had always slumbered together in the Devildom, and there had not been a single morning where he hadn't raised you, always with a kiss—so why wasn't it working now?

Simeon was desperate as he crashed his lips into yours, meeting.you in a despairing union that could hardly be called a kiss as the angel tried, to no avail, to breathe the life back into you.

"Wake up!" He shouted once more, slowly realizing that you wouldn't. "MC, please! Please just wake up!"

He kept shouting until his throat was hoarse, until your shirt was drenched with his tears, until your body was cold and all the warmth had vanished. Until it felt like he had repeated those two words so much that they lost all meaning, and yet he couldn't bring himself to say anything else.

"Wake up," He pleaded, gazing into your closed eyes.

You never did.

MASTERLIST

He Chose God | Wake Up | Astronomical | ✎ |

Word count: 2.1k

Notes: Fuck life has been crazy for me for these past few weeks, and I've hardly been in the right headspace to write fresh content - but this is me pushing my shot at getting back into it. Far from my best work, but i need to start somewhere, and mindlessly rewriting this isn't going to help me get back into the groove of things

Comment & Like

Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

417 notes · View notes

marvels-agents100 · 4 years

Text

the thing about love

volume I

sure, it could hurt you, baby, but give a little try

pairing: aaron hotchner x gender neutral ! reader

warnings: gore, death, blood, aaron is sad and traumatized, reader is shot, the usual,,, reader attempts to seduce a man at one point

word count: 14,685 (grab a snack, babes)

author’s note: welcome to s l o w b u r n central, also, this is currently my pride and joy, my lil babey, please love her

You knew he wasn’t yours to have. His heart had left him long ago, locked in a box in the back corner of his closet, leaving behind a dark void between the cobwebbed bars of his ribs, his burdened breaths a soft echo inside his chest. The only love, the only care he felt he was really capable of was the love he held for Jack. And yet, he laid in bed every night and wished the silk of his sheets would cover him completely, swallowing him into wherever he went when he fell asleep, locking the door behind him and losing the key. The guilt alone was eating him alive- how dare he feel exhausted for loving his son?- and it never left his mind, no matter how focused he was on a case. The lack of compartmentalization was something that would take time to get used to.

You saw it on his face, every time the glass door to the BAU swung open with the push of a heavy arm, every time the lines under his eyes became darker and deeper, every time he sighed like the sorrow and darkness that plagued his mind had leaned upon his shoulders once more. It killed you to see the weight he carried every day; you couldn’t begin to imagine how he felt. What completely broke the beat within your chest was how much you wished you could help, yet you knew he would never let you.

That was, until he did.

You had joined the BAU after Elle left, also specializing in sex crimes. The team is your family, your life, and everything in between. You watched them rise and fall, love and lose, laugh and cry. And every time one of you needed help, the others were there to support each other. It was a beautiful, wonderful thing, the BAU. And that beautiful, wonderful thing also included a certain Aaron Hotchner. Most of the team were too intimidated to ever really try prying into Hotch’s psyche, especially since Hailey died. However, one particular day, you couldn’t stop yourself.

Your knuckles tapped gently on the door to his office, your ear close to the wood, listening for a response. The blinds had been drawn the entire day, and hours had passed since the rest of the team had departed. If you didn’t know better, you would worry if Aaron was even alive in his office.

“Come in,” his voice rumbled, the words slipping past his lips with a small sigh.

You opened the door cautiously, first looking inside, then fully stepping in. It shut behind you with a soft click, Aaron’s eyes never looking up from the file before him. His left hand lazily dragged out a signature along the bottom of the page. Your arms tightened around the small stack of files you held in your arms- a compilation of yours, Spencer’s, and Emily’s.

You cleared your throat softly, “Hotch,” you greeted, a polite smile on your lips as his gaze finally flickered up to you, “this is all the work from Spence, Emily, and I on the Atlanta case.”

“You can leave it on the table there,” he gestured towards a small end table with his pen, before returning to his writing, “thank you.”

You nodded, setting the stack of papers down softly, stealing a glance at him before turning and making your way back to the door. Your hand hesitated as it reached for the knob, your heart begging you to turn around and talk to him, comfort him, absolutely anything to just help him.

He noticed your hesitation, your frozen stance by the door catching his attention. He sat up fully, his pen dropping on the desk as his brows knitted together.

“Is there something else, (Y/L/N)?”

Your outstretched and hovering hand slowly closed to a fist, your eyes shutting as you realized there was no way to play this off without him being suspicious. You turned to him, meeting his gaze and trying to keep from caving under his intense stare.

“Actually,” your hands ran down your pant legs, and you found yourself finding a seat across from him, “there… there is.”

He leaned forward on the desk, his expression still studying you, but his voice softening as he recognized how nervous you were, “What’s going on?”

“Sir,” you began, having trouble meeting his eyes, “I don’t want to overstep, and I know you’re a private person, but you’ve been in this office all day with the blinds shut and the door closed and- well, I’m sure I speak for the whole team right now- but we’re worried that you’re not okay, and if you wanted to talk- not that you’d need to, I’m sure you can work through a lot on your own, being knowledgeable in psychology and all-“

“(Y/N).” He cut off your rambling, your eyes finally snapping to his when he said your name. He paused for a beat before continuing, “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

You sighed, trying to not be discouraged by his complete avoidance of your question.

“What’s going on, Hotch?” You asked softly. He looked down at his hands, sighing deeply.

“It’s nothing you have to worry about,” he shook his head slightly as he spoke.

“But I do. And I will. I worry, you know that.” You gave him a small smile when his gaze lifted back to you. He returned it for only a moment before it dropped away from his lips.

“It’s just…” he took another breath, “it would’ve… it would’ve been her birthday today.”

As his voice croaked out those words, you felt the beating of your heart stop. The physical ache made you drop your head for a moment, just to catch your breath.

“I’m so sorry, I-“

“It’s okay.” He interrupted you again, “I know it’s been a while now, and I’ve been able to make peace, for the most part. But, every time today comes around, or Christmas, Thanksgiving- hell, whenever any holiday comes around- he always… Jack always-“

He couldn’t finish his sentence, his hand coming to rest against the bridge of his nose, catching the tears that threatened to spill over. Your head tilted as you watched him, tears of your own beginning to gloss your eyes.

“He asks about her, doesn’t he?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

Aaron sniffled, letting a deep breath straighten his back again as he tried to compose himself.

He nodded, “Yeah, he does,” he scoffed and shook his head, “I never know what to say.” The chuckle that fell from his lips was humorless, just a sad acknowledgment of how pathetic he felt.

“God, Aaron, who would?” Your once hesitant hand reached forward and rested upon his, “You are living in a situation with Jack that no one could have prepared you for, one that no one will ever have the answers for.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” He joked, a single laugh escaping as he used his free hand to wipe away a tear. You let out a watery chuckle, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Yes, because despite the fact that there isn’t a single parenting manual on raising a kid like Jack, everything that you have figured out on your own has made him into the wonderful little boy he is.” You smiled at him, “You are an amazing father. The world deserves more dads that are like you.”

He gave your hand a squeeze, a real, genuine smile gracing his lips. A moment passed before he spoke again.

“Thank you, (Y/N), I appreciate you checking in on me.”

“We were all worried, sir.” You replied, “And we all know you don’t really talk about the dark, stormy thoughts that bounce around that head of yours,” he chuckled at that, “but, I felt like you needed to know: we’re always here. I’m always here. If you want to talk, if you want me to talk and distract your thoughts, if you just need the presence of someone in the room- no matter what it is- I’m here.”

He nodded once, eyes never leaving yours, “Thank you.” His voice was much quieter now.

You gave his hand a pat and stood, smoothing down your pants with your palms.

“Anytime.”

He stood as well, circling his desk to open the door to the office. You were close behind, stopping short when the door didn’t open. Aaron’s hand was stagnant on the knob, his eyes locked on yours.

“What is it?” You asked, a confused look on your face.

“I-“ he paused, then shook his head and opened the door, “have a good night, (Y/N).”

You nodded politely, choosing to ignore his behavior, knowing he had already made himself vulnerable enough for the night.

“You too, sir.”

***

“(Y/N), Spence, we have a case.” JJ breezed by the two of you, heading for the conference room. You were hovering over Spencer’s shoulder, his hand scribbling on the beaten pages of a legal pad. It was his idea, attempting to solve the Zodiac’s cypher. He could pick out patterns with a single glance, and you were able to add the small, less logical and structured details that his analytical mind always seemed to miss.

Needless to say, neither of you had figured anything out. It was simply a way to pass down time.

Upon entering the conference room, Spencer close behind, you found your seat between Emily and Derek. Penelope began pulling images onto the screen, her brightly colored fingernails tapping softly on her tablet. You leaned back in your chair, toes rocking it ever so lightly back and forth, back and forth. Hotch was the last to arrive only seconds later, his presence alone notifying you of his arrival. He had a way of making himself known before speaking a single word.

“Garcia,” he urged, signaling for her to begin.

“Alright,” she began, the unmistakable sunshine leaking through her words, “giddy up, cow boys and girls, you’re headed to Houston!”

You had to hold back your giggle- it sounded like she was pitching a dream vacation.

“Unfortunately, it’s not to attend the rodeo, but to find who killed these three men in the past month.” Three pictures flashed onto the screen, the bodies of three victims displaying before the BAU. “The bodies of Tyee, Kele, and Dakota were found three weeks, two weeks, and almost one week ago.”

“Why are we just now being called in?” You asked.

Garcia sighed, almost sadly, “Police claim to have not seen a connection, but others living on the reservation say that police didn’t try to.”

A pause fell over the room, the only movement being Derek’s head shaking slightly in disappointment.

“Cause of death?” Hotch asked, breaking the small silence.

"They were all shot once in the chest, then- and this is an image that will never leave my mind- were scalped. If that wasn’t enough gross and icky for you, they were all missing their left thumb.”

“Tyee Begaye, Kele Etcitty, Dakota Nez. All mid 30’s, all Native American, all living in the Alabama-Coushatta reservation. The similarity between them all makes me think they could be surrogates,” Morgan stated, his fingers carding through the file before him.

“What are they wearing?” Emily asked, referring to the burlap and tan clothing that, frankly, looked like a cheap and offensive Halloween costume.

“That, my lovely Emily, would be an attempt at traditional Native clothing.” Garcia replied, “Strong emphasis on attempt.”

“The scalping indicates that the Unsub is probably white, since the textbooks teach that it was purely a Native ritual. In reality, it was a white governor who offered rewards for ‘Indian scalps’.” Your fingers made air quotes around your words, “Maybe we have a white supremacist who is trying to seek some twisted form of revenge.”

“The missing thumb interests me,” Rossi thinks out loud, “is there a ritual or tradition that involves the thumb?”

“Not necessarily,” Spencer spoke, “however, the now disbanded Atakapa tribe lived along the Gulf of Mexico, until an epidemic nearly killed the entirety of the tribe in the late 18th century. They believed in life after death, and anyone who died by a snakebite, or whose corpse was eaten by another human, would be denied that afterlife.”

“Why would our Unsub be displaying rituals from a tribe that doesn’t exist?” JJ questioned.

“That’s a question we can answer on the plane,” Hotch stood from his chair, “if our Unsub sticks to his timeline, we have two days to find him before he kills again. Wheels up in 30.”

***

Discussion on the plane wasn’t leading very far, mostly because of the lack of information the team had on the murders. It was abundantly clear that local authorities, or at least the particular officers that had investigated the murders, didn’t take much interest in actually finding who had commit them. It was incredibly frustrating, knowing that you and your team could be miles closer to finding a serial killer if prejudice didn’t stand in the way of justice.

You pushed those thoughts away, knowing that thinking too hard about it would just infuriate you. There wasn’t time to be angry, you had to focus.

“Why the outfits?” Rossi asked, “These men are clearly Native American, why feel the need to dress them in stereotypical clothing?”

“It has to be a part of the fantasy,” JJ answers, “they look like they’re characters from a western.”

“What time period was traditional clothing like this worn?” Emily inquired, her eyes never leaving the file in front of her.

“When forced assimilation of the 19th and 20th centuries began, traditional clothing stopped being made in the name of appeasing the powers that be,” Spencer began, fingers wiggling with his words, “Most traditional, Native American fashion designers began making clothing only for certain celebrations and rituals, exclusively for personal use. It wasn’t until 1934 that the passage of the Indian Reorganization Act began to encourage the production of traditional clothing once more. The patterns and weaving we see in modern fashion today all began in 1942, when Native American fashion was featured in a high profile fashion show, and instead of being discouraged, was appreciated. Most designers use their Native roots to assimilate traditional textile with modern trends in order to reach a larger audience.”

“So clothing like this isn’t mass produced?” Morgan asked.

“Unless it’s close to October 31st, no,” Spencer answered.

“It’s August, there’s no way he purchased these almost a year ago, he wouldn’t have been able to control his urges for that long.” Emily shook her head, completely baffled.

“Maybe he’s making them?” You offered, doubt in your voice, “I mean, they don’t exactly look well made.”

“He could be ordering them online,” Hotch countered.

“Alright, alright,” JJ interrupted, “I think the significance lies in what the costumes are supposed to mean. He’s calling back to before the 19th century. What fantasy is exclusive to that time frame and involves Native Americans?”

“If we had more information on the killing itself, I feel like a lot of these questions would be answered,” Dave’s voice was laced with frustration.

“I agree,” Hotch began, “Prentiss, Morgan, I want you to talk to the ME, try to find absolutely anything that wasn’t reported. David, (Y/L/N), go to the newest scene and see if you can add to the reports as well. Reid, JJ, and I will go set up at the station, start interviewing families and the officers that were on the original scenes. We need to get all the information they neglected to share,” Hotch directed, approving nods coming from the rest of the team.

“And if they try to stop us?” Morgan asked, Hotch giving him a confused look.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“Look, when I was with the Chicago PD, I saw this kind of prejudice within my own precinct. Bad cops won’t stop being bad cops just because we’re in their jurisdiction.”

Hotch paused a moment before speaking.

“Our job is to build a profile and catch whoever is doing this,” he began, “and we are going to do that, even if a bad cop- or anyone, for that matter- tries to get in our way. We’ve dealt with worse than this; I have faith that this team can still perform successfully.”

Morgan nodded in agreement, but you knew he still had his doubts, “Yes, sir.”

You all had dispersed through the jet, Emily and Spencer fiddling with a chess board between them, Morgan and Rossi both listening to music and staring dramatically through the window, and JJ flipping through her file in her own space, reading and rereading every word until her eyes ached. It was a habit, she knew, trying to memorize every detail of the case in order to justify her decision to present it to the team. Although choosing cases was no longer her responsibility, she still found herself with the guilt of not being able to help every person whose name was written in manila files on her desk.

You sat across from Hotch, him close to the window, your feet propped up on his unused armrest. You hummed lowly to yourself while glancing over the file, fingers tapping against the manila to the beat of your voice.

“You know,” Hotch spoke up, “if you ruin this seat with your shoes, it’s coming out of your paycheck.”

Your humming stopped and your eyes snapped up to him, catching the small smirk on the corner of his mouth, the smirk that he tried in vain to play off as he kept his gaze trained on the open file in his hand. A smirk of your own tugged at your lips, the papers in your grip falling lazily into your lap.

“You mess with my check, Hotchner, and I will consider you an enemy,” You threatened, your finger pointing at him to emphasize your words.

He shrugged casually, eyes lifting to meet yours, “I’ll add you to the list.”

Your angry resolve broke, a chuckle leaving your lips. Although his joking caught you off guard slightly, it all was oddly comfortable. His shoulders weren’t tight like they usually were, his eyebrows weren’t tensed, and his frown had disappeared. Usually, his rare humor would throw the whole team for a loop, but when it was just you and Hotch, there was just something so natural about it.

“Yeah, put my name right between ‘going to bed at a decent hour’ and ‘smiling’.” You retorted, narrowing your eyes and giving him nothing less than a shit-eating grin.

His face dropped from the sly smirk to stone-cold in a split second, causing your smile to grow even wider.

“How did you know that?” He asked quietly. You laughed then, a full, joyful laughter. You didn’t see how his smile had returned, and his softened gaze stayed trained on you.

“I guess you could say I’m good at my job,” You replied, wiping under your eye as you caught your breath.

“Now that,” he pointed at you, “is something I can’t deny.”

You smiled again, but genuinely. It almost made you blush, him inadvertently saying that you were good at your job. He didn’t compliment people too often, but when he did, it was always completely genuine and special.

“But I will still make you pay for this seat.”

“Yeah, okay,” you giggled, waving your hand dismissively at him.

***

The crackle of dirt and gravel under your soles mixed with the bustling of law enforcement around you. Rossi walked close by, both of you stopping as you reached the true crime scene. He sighed deeply as his eyes scanned over the red stain in the terra-cotta colored dirt, trying to not think about how little the uniforms around him cared about the life that stain had once provided.

“It’s pretty desolate out here,” you stated, purposely keeping your eyes up as you scanned the mountains around you, “the Unsub definitely knows this place, he’s familiar with it.”

“That means he’s probably local,” David agreed, eyes never leaving the dried blood on the ground, “(Y/N), look at this and tell me what you see.”

Your eyes finally flickered down to the blood, your hands finding home in your pockets in an attempt to hide your clenching fists.

“It’s…” your voice trailed off, your head tilting slightly as you realized what David was hinting at, “It’s… small. Dakota was shot, this all just looks like blood lost from the scalping and the removal of the thumb.”

“Which means,” Rossi added, “this is just a dumpsite. He’s taking them to a secondary location.”

“How long between the missing person’s reports and the discovery of their bodies?”

“Hours, no more than a day.”

You sighed, stepping closer and lowering yourself towards the ground, elbows resting on your knees. “So, he’s not holding them, but he’s shooting them in a secondary location before bringing them to these mountains, and dumping them.” You stood again, turning to David, “Why?”

His head shook slightly, “Possibly a forensic countermeasure. If he were to shoot them here, he could leave behind casings, splatter patterns… more evidence than what we have now, at least.”

You glanced one last time at the ground before beginning to walk towards the SUV. “I think we should get back and tell them what we’ve found.”

Rossi got into the driver’s side while you settled in next to him, a matching frown on both of your faces. You looked out the window, allowing your mind to drift away from the case. Usually, you stopped straying thoughts before they could begin, but you decided to set them free for the duration of the car ride back to the station. Upon arrival, your mind was to be strictly business.

You first thought of Hotch. You thought of the exchange you had a few weeks prior, where he opened himself up to you, even if it was just a fraction of the feelings he kept bottled up inside. Things had shifted, at least in your perspective, since then. He was more… himself. When there wasn’t a case- those few and far between days of strictly paperwork- you would find him smiling a little more, always directed at you. It was always just a tilt of his lips, just a twitch at best, but you always noticed it. He would find you in the break room, he would make light conversation. It was always professional, always appropriate in his position of Unit Chief, but you knew it was more personal.

Maybe it was your wishful thinking, maybe it was all made up by your own habit of overanalyzing. But, the physical reaction you had whenever those small moments of warm sunshine burst through the dark curtain of SSA Aaron Hotchner, the way your stomach turned and your cheeks ignited, now that… that was not constructed by your mind. That was a real, true reaction to a man you (apparently) liked a little more than you originally thought.

“Penny for your thoughts?” David cut your wondering short, and you were almost thankful for it.

“Hm?” You acknowledged, snapping out of your daze.

“Call me a profiler,” he chuckled, “but I know when you’re thinking too hard. Is something bothering you?”

“No, no,” you denied, a small laugh leaving your lips, “just, trying to stay focused on this case.”

“Hm.” He hummed, obviously not believing you. “Is it about the 16th?”

Your eyes snapped to him, his gaze holding steady on the road in front of him. A breath of pause added to the sudden tension in the air.

“How do you know about that?”

“Anytime Aaron Hotchner cries, you can be sure that I will know about it.”

You sunk back into your chair as another beat of silence filled the SUV. Honestly, you had no clue how to talk about the situation between you and Hotch. And frankly, you didn’t know if there even was a situation, it could all be made up in your head. Telling Rossi that you have the hots for your boss wouldn’t fix any problems you currently faced, it would only create new ones.

“I just want to see him happy,” you whispered, keeping your eyes forward.

“He is happy-“

“I mean, truly happy, Dave,” your head rolled towards him, his shoulders dropping slightly as he understood what you meant. He sighed heavily, readjusting his grip on the wheel.

“I think he lost that when he lost her, (Y/N), I don’t think he will ever go back to who he was before,” he sounded so sad, admitting that the man he considered family would never see a light he once knew.

“Maybe,” you agreed, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t try like hell to help him find it again.”

Dave glanced at you, a small smile tilting his lips up, “I think you’re the perfect person for the job.”

***

You had arrived just as Emily and Derek did, Hotch and the Captain of the station coming to meet you at the door.

“Captain McGuire, this is SSA Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), and David Rossi.” Aaron introduced. The captain politely shook all of your hands.

“Thank you all for coming,” his words were borderline disingenuous, but you smiled politely and let it go.

“We’ve got some news to share,” Dave said, turning towards Hotch. He responded with a nod before turning and leading the four of you to the Houston PD conference room, where Spencer and JJ were already waiting. Everyone stood around the table, unable to sit down with how uneasy the case felt.

“Everything here is just as you would imagine,” JJ began, clearly irritated, “these officers didn’t care enough to properly investigate these murders.”

“All of the families said that our victims were well respected, got along with other people, nothing too out of the ordinary,” Hotch added, his arms crossing over his chest as he looked at the evidence board.

“Dave and I think they’re being held in a secondary location,” you stated, everyone’s eyes turning to you. Your gaze met Aaron’s as you continued, “There wasn’t nearly enough blood at the scene for a man to have been shot there.”

“Forensic countermeasure?” Hotch inquired.

“That’s our guess.”

“Well,” Emily sighed, “I guess that makes more sense. The ME said the scalping and thumb removal was antemortem. The last step of his fantasy was shooting his victims. This guy would need somewhere to torture his victims without anyone hearing it.”

“I had Garcia do a search for any trespassing or squatting complaints around the mountains where the bodies were found, just to see if any witnesses saw the Unsub while he was disposing of his victims. There wasn’t anything significant,” Spencer chimed in.

“I’m starting to think this guy has more experience than we might think,” Morgan said, “he’s able to abduct, control, and torture grown men, then dispose of their bodies quietly.”

“What does that mean?” JJ asked.

“It means there’s probably more victims,” Hotch was storming out of the room as he spoke. You were close behind him.

“Spence, call Penelope, have her start digging!” you quickly spoke, hurrying to keep up with Hotch. You weren’t sure why, but you knew he was furious. He must have put something together before you.

“Hotch, Hotch!” You hissed, jogging lightly to catch up to him. “Aaron!” You finally stood in front of him, his angry steps halting before he could run you over, but his glare still trained on the door to Captain McGuire’s office.

Your hands hovered in front of you, level with his chest. You scanned his face, seeing nothing but anger in the way he glared over your shoulder.

“What is going on?” You asked quietly, teeth clenched together. It was then that his eyes flickered to you for a fraction of a second, a deep breath leaving his lungs. His shoulders lost some tension and his eyes closed, his attempt at calming himself clearly visible.

“We know this station is riddled with cops who don’t care about justice for anyone of Native descent,” he began, his voice low and dangerous, “how many people have died without justice? How many were at the hands of the same Unsub we’re trying to catch?”

“Hotch,” you tread carefully, “believe me when I say I am equally as furious as you. However, you, of all people, know that storming into that office right now will only cause more problems. We are surrounded by people who don’t care if we leave here successful or not, and the Captain may be a part of that group. We need to be smart about this.”

He huffed, but he knew you were right. It was a bit out of character, him getting so upset without being able to control it. He noticed that since Hailey had died, his emotions were a little stronger and a little harder to control, especially when it came to his job. His need for justice made him do things he would have never done when she was alive.

Was it a fault or strength?

“How do you propose we do that?” He asked, his voice more gentle than before.

“Let me go in there, break the news,” you offered, “if that man is anything like who I think he is, I could bat my eyes and get anything I want from him.”

Aaron’s gaze shifted from you, to the office, then to you again. “Okay,” he finally agreed, “in and out. Be careful.”

“Yes, sir,” you grinned, turning and walking towards the Captain’s office. You glanced back over your shoulder, seeing Hotch in the same exact spot you left him. Sending him a small wink, you reached the door and let yourself inside.

Hotch took another deep breath as you disappeared into the office, once again trying to calm himself. He had faith in you, he knew you could handle yourself, but the thought of that man- any other man, in fact- looking at you in the way he knew that Captain was going to look at you… well, that made him furious all over again. It was completely inappropriate, he knew, but he knew it wasn’t something that was within his control. He had just been feeling a greater sense- a greater need- to protect you, to make sure you were okay. He, himself, had a lot of questions about it. Why was he feeling this way? When did it start? Am I even able to feel this way again? Of course, he didn’t have any answers to his own questions. It always seemed to be that way. So many questions, all unanswered.

Despite his better judgment, he turned towards the conference room, fighting the bubbling anger in his chest.

***

The door clicked closed behind you, Captain McGuire’s eyes shifting from his paperwork to your face, then dragging down your body. You cleared your throat, your heartbeat already picking up slightly. You weren’t nervous, you knew you could take him down in a second if need be, but the way he looked at you like you were an object almost made you see red.

“Agent (Y/L/N), please, have a seat,” he gestured to the chair across from his desk.

“Thank you,” you spoke quietly, sitting down and crossing your legs, “I just came to discuss something quickly.”

“Of course, what is it?” He leaned forward on his elbows, a sign that he did, in fact, like you. You already knew that, of course, but the confirmation did make you a bit more confident.

“You see, we seem to think that this particular Unsub didn’t start killing three weeks ago. We think there’s previous cases,” you kept your voice soft, playing up an innocence you found that all men had some form of attraction to.

“With all due respect, I think I would remember a case like this.” He held his hand up as he talked in a way of dismissing you. You knew you could either snap at him and get kicked out, or play along and possibly get what you want. You had to feed into his ego.

“Oh, absolutely,” you agreed, uncrossing your legs and leaning forward, elbows resting on your knees. It gave him a full view, so to speak, and his eyes shifted exactly here you wanted them to. So predictable. “I would never insult your intelligence like that, sir,” he seemed to perk up at that nickname, “we’re just asking that you do a review with your officers, maybe someone will remember something they didn’t before?”

His eyes met yours again, and he had to clear his throat before he talked.

“Anything you need,” he was trying to flirt back now.

“Thank you, sir,” with a smirk, you stood and walked out, feeling the eyes of Captain McGuire follow you the entire way. As soon as the door was completely shut, you felt a chill run down your spine and you let yourself shiver.

You really hoped your flirting would get you something.

***

“Garcia, I need you to look for any cases within the Houston area that might be linked to these,” Spencer spoke into the phone.

“I already have, my little Einstein,” Garcia’s voice crackled through the speaker, “there’s nothing that looks like these.”

“They’re gonna be hidden, babygirl,” Morgan pressed, “details might have been left out in the case files. Send us anything that has even the smallest connection.”

“I’m going to need more time for that, love,” she sighed, nothing but disappointed in Houston authorities.

“Work fast for me, baby.”

“Oh, my beautiful, brown Hercules, do I work at any other speed?” She spoke seductively, earning a few smiles from the intensely frustrated team surrounding the phone.

“You never disappoint,” Morgan cooed, taking the phone and hanging up the call.

Hotch reached the room shortly after the call, everyone’s eyes snapping towards him as he entered. He looked over his team, eyebrows pulled downward, expression stone-cold.

“Are you okay, sir?” JJ asked bravely, her voice soft and understanding.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, “anything from Garcia?”

And just like that, Derek began to update Hotch on what Penelope was searching for, and all was forgotten. Hotch was good at that- making everyone forget about what he was feeling. The question he dreaded most was also the question he heard the most- are you okay? He would hear those three words and immediately have to find an escape, and excuse, as to why he couldn’t quite answer them. His feelings were ones that were felt only by him, shared only to the family picture he kept on his nightstand. It was comfortable, easy, and it kept him away from vulnerability.

He made sure he was facing towards the door of Captain McGuire while he worked, his gaze constantly flickering upwards and out the window of the conference room, hoping to find you there every time. When you finally emerged, he could tell how uncomfortable you were. You let yourself shiver, taking a moment to breathe before moving towards the conference room. Hotch made sure to meet you at the door.

“Anything?” He asked as soon as the door shut behind you. You sighed heavily before answering.

“He said he will reopen some cases and do some debriefing, but I honestly don’t think we will be getting much out of it.”

His eyes closed and he shook his head in disappointment. “Okay,” he finally spoke, “we’re on our own here.”

“Hotch, come look at this,” Derek called, pulling Aaron’s attention away from you. He hurried to Morgan, looking at the photograph held between them.

You moved towards the table and began working, praying to any God, any higher being, that something- anything- would catch a lead in the case.

***

“If I read one more file before I get a cup of coffee, I just might rip it to shreds,” you muttered, shoving your eyes into the heels of your hands. Your elbows rested heavily on the conference table you sat at, the many, many reviewed files scattered between you and the rest of the team. Analyzing them for any connections had been nothing short of tedious and time consuming.

It had been hours now, and nothing new had come to light. The sun had fallen asleep long ago, dipping behind the mountains, leaving a path of stars in its wake. The moon shone fully, the soft white blanketing Houston in a gentle embrace. You wished you could be sitting on the balcony of your apartment, staring at the twinkling of the stars and bathing in the cool air, your only warmth coming from a cup of hot tea gently resting in your hands. Instead, you were staring at pictures of dead men, trying to get ahead of a killer that was many, many steps ahead of you.

“Spence, have you found anything?” JJ asked, her voice sounding just as exhausted as you felt.

“I’ve read every file at least twice now,” he sighed, “I’m sorry, I can’t find any connections.”

“Don’t apologize, you’re doing everything you can,” you scolded softly, pointing a lazy finger towards him.

“Thank you,” he spoke gently, a thankful smile on his lips.

Your eyes returned to the papers before you, scanning over a single sentence before you gave up, “Why are we still looking, anyways? What do you think we’re going to find when- and if- we find any more victims?” Your hands accented your words, your frustration abundantly clear.

“MO,” Morgan answered shortly, “we need to know how this Unsub started- when he was still learning how to kill, when he was discovering what he liked most. That’s when he first made his mistakes.”

“Okay,” Rossi chimed in, “but how do we know that those cases were fully investigated? What if they’re just as neglected as the three we already have?”

Morgan sighed and ran a hand down his face, looking utterly defeated, “I don’t know.”

The ringing of Morgan’s cell phone caught everyone’s attention. He answered quickly, putting it on speaker.

“What’d you find, baby? You’re on speaker,” He asked.

“I’m sorry to report that I haven’t found much of anything,” Garcia said, “I mean, there are lots and lots of middle-aged, Native American men dying- which breaks my heart into very little, tiny pieces- but nothing that fits into our timeline or modus operandi.”

“Try expanding to neighboring states,” Emily recommended.

“I already did, sweet Emily,” Garcia sighed, “nothing.”

“Alright,” Morgan sighed, eyes closing as he exhaled, “keep searching, babygirl. Let us know if anything pops up.”

“Of course,” she sounded just as disappointed, “heads up, loves, we will find something.” Morgan hung up, setting his phone down before dragging a hand down his face.

Hotch’s file flipped shut in his hands, the fluttering catching the team’s attention, “We need to take a step back. Looking over the same words won’t get us any further.”

“What do you suggest we do?” Dave asked.

“Take an hour. Get coffee, food, whatever you need,” Hotch stood from his chair, straightening his suit jacket, “I wish we could stop for the day and return tomorrow, but we don’t have that kind of time.”

You stood, stretching your arms above your head, “Well,” your arms dropped to your sides, “I’ll take an hour. Hell, I would take 15 minutes. Any time for a mental break would be beneficial, at this point.”

“There’s a 24 hour pizza shop one block east,” JJ pointed out, “want to grab a bite there?”

“I’m in,” Derek stood.

“Me too,” Spencer agreed, rising as well.

“Pizza sounds so good right now,” Emily whined.

“Only if it is authentic,” Dave wagered, “(Y/N)? Hotch?”

“If I get full right now, I will definitely pass out,” you chuckled, “you guys go ahead.”

“Hotch?” Dave repeated.

“I’m okay, thank you,” his lips twitched into a polite smile for only a moment, then it was gone once again.

“Suit yourselves,” Derek teased, sending the two of you a dazzling smile as the rest of the team left the conference room.

You dared to peek over at Hotch, watching as his eyes looked back down at the numerous open files in his workstation. He even picked one up from the table to get a closer look.

“This break includes you, you know,” you said, smirking when his eyes jumped from the page to you. He set down the file again, a sigh falling from his lips.

“I don’t think I could take a break from this one, even if I wanted to,” he shook his head slightly as he spoke, arms crossing over his chest. A small silence filled the room.

“Okay,” you sighed, “I’m going to get us some coffee- good coffee, from the store across the street- and maybe some food, then we can sit and look over some of these together. Maybe we can find things together that we can’t find alone.”

He nodded, pulling out his chair and settling into it, “I would appreciate that, thank you.”

You smiled, nodding once in his direction. His eyes were already back on the files before you had even turned to leave. Something about this case bothered him, deeply, and you were almost certain you knew what it was.

Ever since Foyet came and destroyed nearly everything Aaron loved, particular cases weighed on his mind a bit heavier. It all came down to justice. Hotch couldn’t stand to see anyone or anything come in the way of true justice. You weren’t completely sure as to how Hailey’s death or George Foyet could have sparked this, you only knew of how angry Aaron would get now if anyone stood in his way.

You entered the corner store, heading straight to the hot coffee by the drink station. The fluorescent lighting only irritated the headache you had been fighting for the past hour, but you just ignored the pain as you came to a stop in front of the industrial sized coffee maker. You pulled two large, styrofoam cups from the dispenser, filling one to the very top with rich, black coffee, for Hotch. The steam billowing from the cup made your lips twitch up into a smile, the thought of caffeine beginning to change your mood for the better. Quickly making your own cup of self motivation, you moved towards the check out counter, the employee behind it looking just as tired as you felt.

“Just those?” She asked, finger already tapping away on the screen before her. You pulled a PayDay (Aaron’s favorite candy bar), from the small display on the counter and placed it next to the coffees.

“And that,” you answered politely, “thank you.” Your eyes wandered over the small keychains and magnets displayed on the counter. Most read ‘HOUSTON’ in large, colorful lettering, while others were decorated with horses and huge, green fields. Your head tilted as you looked, and a particular keychain caught your eye.

It was silver, sparkling subtly in the harsh lighting. You reached out and pulled it from behind the ‘HOUSTON’ keychains, the small cowboy hat resting on the ends of your fingers. Your eyebrows furrowed as you thought, becoming completely entranced by the small trinket.

“That one’s real popular,” the employee drawled, her southern accent pulling at her words, “everyone wants to be a cowboy, these days.”

“I see,” you replied quietly, still staring at the keychain.

“It’ll be $2.38 for those coffees and candy, ma’am.”

You shook your head, snapping out of your trance, “Yes, of course, sorry.” A nervous laugh left your lips as you reached for your wallet, the silver hat falling away from your hand. Quickly handing her a five dollar bill, you grabbed the coffee cups and candy bar before she even managed to open the register. “Keep the change, thank you!”

You almost ran out the door, needing to get to Hotch immediately.

***

“Hotch!” You all but burst into the conference room, kicking the door shut behind you, “I think I might have something!”

He looked up at you, slightly startled by your sudden entrance (but he would never admit it), “What is it?”

You almost laughed at how calm he sounded in comparison to how loudly your heart was pounding in your ears. Promptly setting his coffee and PayDay in front of him, you yanked a chair over until the armrest clinked against Hotch’s chair, then sat and set your own coffee down.

“Remember what JJ said about the costumes, on the plane?” You asked excitedly.

“Something about looking like an old Western-“

“Exactly!” You interrupted, “I might be jumping to conclusions, but the gun, the scalping, the race of our targets,” you counted your list on your fingers as you spoke, “I think our Unsub’s fantasy includes him being a cowboy. Like, a heroic, wild west cowboy.”

He nodded, eyebrows dipping as he thought it over, “That would explain the extreme sadism,” he added, “the narrative of most of those shows are cowboys versus Indians.”

“So,” you took a quick sip of your coffee, “maybe we should be looking for other murders that included any type of rope, gun- hell, even something like a horse.”

“That will help narrow it down,” he agreed.

“And! I almost forgot!” You couldn’t contain yourself, “Ranches, farms- they’re huge pieces of land that would be a very smart location to torture someone quietly.”

“We need to call Garcia,” he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket quickly, “and (Y/N)?”

“Hm?”

“Good work, really,” his hand rested on your shoulder, “but I’ve never expected any less.”

Before you even had a chance to respond, his phone was to his ear, and he was asking Garcia to narrow her search to the new parameters you had discovered. He rose and walked toward the board, looking over the crime scene photos, hand resting on his hip, as he talked. You just sat still, shoulder burning where his hand had laid, heart pounding in your ears. The warmth of his compliment surrounded you, making your cheeks hot and your mind fuzzy. A smile slowly edged it’s way onto your face, your shoulders rising as you held your coffee a bit closer, trying desperately to keep that warm feeling inside. You knew how ridiculous it was, to be sent into a full blush over a small compliment- and quite frankly, it was a compliment you heard a lot- but the mere fact that it came from SSA Aaron Hotchner, the man you found yourself think about way too often, made it all that more special.

“Thank you, Garcia,” he hung up the phone, turning to you again, “you should take a break. I can handle this by myself for a while.”

You relaxed back into your chair, taking a slow sip of your coffee, “You first, Hotch.” A smirk found its way to your lips.

“I’m fine.”

“No one ever says that when they’re actually fine.”

He just stared at you for a long moment, gaze narrowing slightly.

“You’re not going to budge on this, are you?” He asked.

“Not an inch,” the smirk never left your face. A smile of his own played on his lips.

“Fine,” he conceded, “but, as soon as Garcia calls back, it’s back to work.”

“Deal,” you nodded, “now, come sit and enjoy your coffee and candy I got you.”

He followed your orders, settling into the chair beside you (which was very close to you), and finally taking a drink of his coffee. A content sigh made his shoulders relax, eyes closing as he set down his cup.

“I never knew coffee from a gas station could taste so good,” he sighed, eyes meeting yours as a content smile settled on his lips.

“You’re welcome,” you teased, nudging his arm with your elbow.

“And this,” he held up the PayDay, “is my favorite. How did you figure that out?”

“Every old man likes PayDays,” you said cheekily, biting down on your lower lip to keep yourself from giggling. His eyes narrowed at you, but his smile only grew.

“I could put in an insubordination complaint right now,” he threatened.

You relaxed in your chair, letting out a noncommittal sigh, “Just show me where to sign, Hotchner.”

He laughed, putting the candy back on the table and shaking his head, “You’re lucky I understand your humor.”

“And it’s one of the reasons why we get along so well, Hotch,” your nudged his shoulder.

He chuckled a bit, his smile settling on his lips. He looked deep in thought, a certain tenseness tightening his shoulders and making a muscle leap in his jaw. You looked over at his hand, noticing how it fiddled with the corner of the candy’s packaging.

“What’s bothering you?” You asked, not really expecting much of an answer. He had opened up to you before, but it had been extremely late at the time, and he was, in that moment, probably more sleep deprived than rational.

He locked eyes with you, staring for a moment before speaking, “I’m sorry you had to talk to Captain McGuire,” he looked away, “and that nothing really came of it.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured, slightly confused as to why he looked so guilty about it, “I did it because he potentially had information that would be useful to us. I’d flirt with every dirtbag in this station if I thought it could help us.”

“I know, and that is what makes you so valuable to this team,” he avoided your eyes, reaching for his cup again, “you’re able to control your own emotions in order to do your job.” He took a sip.

Oh. You thought, that’s it.

“Hotch, you had every right to be angry.”

His eyes snapped to you, unmistakably surprised that you saw through him. Well, maybe he was aware that it wouldn’t be too hard to see what was bothering him, but he wasn’t used to someone just… calling him out completely.

“I was irrational,” he spoke, “unprofessional.”

“If I was in your shoes, I would have acted the same way.” Your hand hesitantly found his arm, palm resting on his bicep and fingers landing on his shoulder. His gaze flickered down to your hand, then met your eyes once again.

“You’re allowed to be human,” you said, softly, “and sometimes, humans have emotions. That’s kind of the whole reason why we have a job.” You giggled a bit as you spoke, trying to show him how ridiculous it was to feel guilty for a perfectly natural and normal reaction.

“Did he bother you too much?” He asked, nodding towards the office of Captain McGuire. You chose to ignore how he had changed to subject.

“No, not really,” your hand fell away from his arm, feeling noticeably colder when contact was lost, “I’ve heard worse from the men I meet at bars.” You chuckled a bit, shaking your head, “You know, you should hear some of the things I say to drunk men that bother me. I think you would find it amusing.”

Of course he would, he would love to hear you put a man in his place. The feisty attitude you saved for those who bothered you was one of his favorite things about you. It never failed to make him smile, wether it was directed at someone else or- on occasion- him. Your demeanor was nothing short of soft and caring, but once someone crossed you, well… hell hath no fury quite like yours.

“I would have to agree with you on that,” he chuckled, finally beginning to loosen up, “but, please, if any of these officers seriously bother you, tell me.”

“Alright,” you held your hands up in mock defense, “but I can’t guarantee that I will hold off on putting my two cents in.”

“I wouldn’t dream of getting in the way of that.”

“Good.” You smiled brightly. He returned it, having to look away before his face began to flush red. He wanted to just reach out and touch you- hold your hand, hug you, anything- but the thought of trying made his hands start to shake. You made him nervous, a feeling that he didn’t feel often, that he didn’t enjoy at all. But, he knew what it meant. He knew that he was far past the point of no return; the future would consist of his complete and utter falling for you. It terrified him, honestly, but it also thrilled him. He knew what love was, he knew how it felt. The ‘great love’ every one always fantasizes over, was a love he had already experienced. And God, was he determined to feel that again. Not always- he wasn’t always in the pursuit of love- but ever since he met you, that perspective changed.

But it still was frightening, the thought of loving you. He had experienced love, but he also had experienced loss. He knew that letting you take full control of his heart would be putting himself at risk of extreme, unimaginable pain. Pain that he never wished to feel again. Pain that he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. It was a dangerous, terrible gamble, the game of love. On one hand, he would be sacrificing himself in the constant war he fought with vulnerability, but on the other hand, he could mend the still broken pieces of his heart and be whole again.

The shrill ringing of your phone pulled him away from his internal battles, his brown eyes finding your (Y/E/C) ones.

“Garcia,” you breathed out, promptly answering and putting the phone on speaker. “You’re with me and Hotch, Pen, what’d you find?”

“Hello my lovely lady and sir, I have two potential victims for you,” she answered, the indistinct clicking of a keyboard in the background. “I narrowed the search with everything you gave me, then again to any murders that took place Thursday through Saturday.”

“The same time frame he’s using now,” Hotch added.

“Exactly. That search left me with two names,” she paused a moment, probably pulling up the case files on her screens, “Kenneth Thompson, 35, died six weeks ago by a single gunshot wound to the chest, and his body was found in his apartment, with his limbs hogtied, like a cow… or a little piggy.”

“His race?” You asked.

“White, which doesn’t match our latest victims, but I have more,” the clicking was heard again,

“Carlos Dominguez, a 32 year old hispanic man, found four weeks ago, dead, by a single gunshot would. But, there are also reports of deep lacerations to his hairline area.”

“So, he tried to carry out his fantasy, but it quickly died when he couldn’t ignore that Carlos was hispanic.” You suggested.

“He always favored the shooting,” Hotch said, “but didn’t develop the hatred towards the Native Americans until his third victim.”

“Or rather, he just realized that he couldn’t use surrogates for them. He needs the real thing.”

“That explains the development of the thumb removal- if he kills Natives with the belief of an afterlife, then he can’t let them go to their version of heaven. It wasn’t necessary for the first two victims.”

“He makes them suffer, even in death,” you shook your head, completely disgusted, “thank you, Garcia.” You hung up the phone, placing it back on the table and leaning back into your chair. Your eyes eventually found Hotch, whose elbow sat on the tabletop, his jaw cupped in his hand.

“I think we need to call the team back in here,” you said quietly. He checked the watch on his wrist briefly, then returned his hand to his chin.

“They have fifteen minutes, let them have it.” He muttered.

***

Briefing the team when they returned was anything but nice. They stood around the conference table once more, as Hotch told them about the new victims and the Unsub’s MO. Revealing and analyzing the true sadism of this Unsub was something that even Emily struggled with. The more the team learned, the more motivated they were to stop him.You could see them all getting visibly more distraught the more you told them.

“So, this guy is just playing cowboy?” Derek asked, anger evident in his voice.

“‘Playing cowboy’ is a very tame way to put it,” Emily scoffed.

“How do we even go about trying to find this guy?” JJ asked, arms crossed over her chest.

“We can start with farmland,” Dave suggested, “single out any that are secluded, or on very large pieces of land.”

“Let’s call Garcia,” you said, taking your phone out of your pocket.

“How big would a farm have to be in order to be secluded enough for this Unsub to operate?” Emily wondered.

“If we take into the fact that the Unsub is probably firing a gun on his property,” Spencer began, fingers intertwining together as he thought, “and, a football field- without the end zones- are roughly 1.38 acres, or 60,112.8 square feet, I would say you would need at least four or five acres to conceal that type of noise.”

“What can I do for you, Holmes?” Garcia chirped through the phone.

“We need you to pull land deeds- look for any farms with at least four acres of land, within the comfort zone,” you said, holding the phone near your voice.

“Got it,” she began typing away, “oh, my- well, you have 143 matches, my dear.”

“You said he hogtied his first victim,” Dave pointed towards you, “Garcia, narrow it down to farms that have cow and/or pigs on them. He had to learn how to tie a knot like that somewhere.”

“You have a brilliant mind, my Italian Stallion,” Garcia praised, “we’re down to 87.”

“How many of those also have horses?” Emily asked, “Can’t be a cowboy without a horse.”

“22.”

“That’s still too many,” you sighed. Hotch laid his palms flat on the conference table, head bowing in defeat.

“We’re missing something,” Spencer mumbled, walking towards the evidence board with narrowed eyes. His head tilted as he stared at it, mouthing words to himself silently.

“What do you see, kid?” Derek asked, taking a step towards Spencer.

“The gun,” he responded, finally.

“The gun?” Morgan questioned. Before getting an answer, Reid had whipped around towards the phone.

“Garcia, the first two victims, what did they conclude about the gun used?” He spoke quickly.

“Um,” she typed just as fast, “it was registered, but reported stolen two weeks prior by 62 year old Harvey Pooler… oh no, Pooler died four days before Kenneth was killed. Heart attack.”

“Did Pooler own a farm?” Spencer asked.

“Let me… see,” a small gasp came through the phone, “He did.”

“Take a 50 mile radius from the Pooler farm and cross that with our 22 potentials.”

There was a couple seconds of typing before she spoke again, “We have a hit. Five acres owned by a Timothy Locke.”

“What do you have on him?” Emily pressed.

“He lived there his whole life,” Garcia spoke quickly, “mother died when he was young, father was… well, not the best father. Multiple trips to the ER when Timothy was still little Timmy.”

“Where’s the father now?” Hotch asked.

“Dead,” she answered shortly, “Month and a half ago, natural causes.”

“That’s right when the killings began,” Rossi observed.

“There’s our stressor,” JJ added.

“What about hobbies? Places he frequented? Anything to tie him to the cowboy fantasy,” You asked.

“Besides his ownership of horses,” Garcia clicked away on her keypad, “he was a frequent flyer of the local rodeo, even participated in it… oh no.”

“What is it, babygirl?” Morgan asked worriedly.

“This particular rodeo, well, it was more of a reenactment type of show,” she explained, “most of their ‘historical retellings’ were that of the wild, wild west. The racist, kill the Natives, wild, wild, west.”

“Garcia-“ Hotch began.

“Oh, honey, I know. Addresses are sent… now.”

“Let’s go,” Hotch said, everyone starting to hurry out of the room.

“Be safe, my loves!” Garcia called.

“Love you, Penny, great work,” you told her, before hanging up and following your team towards the SUVs.

***

The kevlar vest reading ‘FBI’ hung on your shoulders, the slight weight grounding you completely in the events that were about to occur. You glanced over to Hotch- who was staring straight at the dirt road with both hands on the wheel- then looked over your shoulder at Reid and Emily in the backseat, nodding at them slightly before facing forward once again. Your heart was already racing with adrenaline, the rhythmic beat loud in your ears.

Emily glanced out the window, eyes scanning over the seemingly endless fields surrounding the many farms in the area. It all looked so peaceful, the way the green blades stretched towards a crystal blue sky, it was almost heartbreaking that such awful, heinous deaths had occurred on the very same land.

Spencer was leaned over slightly to see out of the front windshield, eyebrows pulled downwards and lips set in a serious frown. He was scanning for a farmhouse, a shed, anywhere that someone could keep another person hostage. The three of you were already driving on the property, just looking for the specific spot where the Unsub operated.

“Over there,” Spencer pointed to the right, a small, white, wooden house coming into view. Hotch turned sharply down a dirt road that shot off the main one, hoping it would lead up to the farmhouse Spencer had spotted.

It wasn’t long before the vehicle stopped, the four of you swiftly jumping from your seats, meeting Dave, JJ, and Morgan as they also left their SUV. You looked up at the farmhouse, eyes squinting slightly from the now rising sun. It was large enough to be comfortable for two, maybe three, people, with a front porch that lead to the entrance. It was two stories, a small, round window sitting on the front and center of the house. The white of the painted wood seemed to illuminate in the orange of an awakening sun, and you could’ve called it beautiful, if you weren’t aware of the horrors that took place inside.

“What’s our plan?” Emily asked, facing Hotch.

“We’re going to do a soft entry,” he began, “Morgan, Reid, and JJ will lead in the front, Dave and I will go around the back. Prentiss, (Y/L/N), there’s a cellar to the right, take some SWAT officers with you, but I want you to clear below.”

“You got it, boss,” you nodded, turning and calling over two SWAT members.

“Alright,” Hotch drew his gun, “Let’s go.”

You and Emily moved alongside Derek, Spencer, and JJ, breaking off as they closed in on the front door. You reached the doors of the cellar, looking over at Emily. She looked back at you, smiling slightly and offering a reassuring nod before grabbing ahold of the handle on the left door. You took a deep breath and grabbed the other one, looking back to Emily once more.

“One,” she counted softly, “two… three.”

You both simultaneously lifted the doors, the two-man SWAT team moving forward, descending the stairs before you and Emily. You were close behind, guns raised. Your flashlight moved around the room, finding it to be mostly empty, save for a few cardboard boxes in the corner. You turned to your right, finding a door tucked away by the staircase.

“Emily,” you alerted, “we have a door.”

She moved over to stand beside you, “Boys, over here,” she beckoned the SWAT officers, nodding toward the door with her head.

They approached slowly and quietly, taking position on each side of the doorframe. One reached out and placed a soft hand on the doorknob, waiting three seconds before turning it and pushing it open, immediately drawing their weapons in from of them as they cleared the small room. You and Emily followed them in once again, your eyes going straight to the unconscious man in the very middle of the floor. His head hung, arms bound behind him and legs bound to the chair he was sat in. His shoulders slumped, his hair stringy, and a small trail of blood trickled down his forehead.

You rushed towards him, the light flickering on as you knelt down beside him. Emily’s hand left the light switch and moved to the restraints on the man’s hands, working quickly at the knots. With gentle pressure, you pushed your fingers on his neck, breathing out a sigh of relief when you felt a pulse beneath them.

“We need a medic in the cellar,” you spoke into your radio, keeping your fingertips against the man’s pulse and taking a silent count of how many beats passed every minute.

“Sir?” Emily asked, finally untying his hands, “Sir? Can you hear me?” She had to hold onto his shoulders to keep him from slumping completely forward.

“We found the hostage, Hotch,” you said into your comm device, “currently unresponsive, we have medics en route.”

There was no answer.

“Hotch?”

Silence. You looked up at Emily, whose worried expression matched yours.

“Hotch,” she tried, “can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“Hotch, Reid, Morgan,” you spoke quickly, “JJ, Rossi, do you copy?”

Radio silence.

“Stay with him,” you said, quickly rising to your feet.

“(Y/N), what are you-“

“You,” you pointed at one of the SWAT members, “come with me.”

“You can’t just go up there- (Y/N)!”

You ignored Emily’s protests, jogging up the stairs of the cellar, the SWAT officer right behind you. Holding your gun in front of you, you turned left, heading towards the back of the house. Reaching the back door, you slowly crept up the stairs, clearing right as the SWAT member cleared left. The first room was the kitchen, small and vintage, then you passed into a living room, with purple couches sitting in front of an ancient TV. Cowboy themed decor hung on every square inch of the walls, ranging from horseshoes to framed photographs of Western icons, such as John Wayne. You moved through the room, turning left through a doorway, which led to the entrance of the house. Pink and yellow sunlight leaked through the glass detailing at the top of the door, illuminating the staircase that sat almost directly in front of it. The SWAT officer appeared on the other side of the entryway, nodding towards you in a silent was of saying ‘all clear’. You nodded back, allowing him to ascend the stairs before you, his boots creaking slightly against the steps.

As you neared the top of the stairs, you could hear the low voice that plagued your every thought, the voice that talked to you in your best dreams and worst nightmares, always speaking of comfort and serenity.

“Timothy, we just want to talk-“

A sickening, teasing laugh cut Aaron off, the unmistakable sound of heeled boots tapping against the floor echoing through the house.

“We both know that’s not why you’re here, officer,” a southern accent laced through his words, his voice dark and deep.

You crept towards the voices, which were carrying down the hall. One door was open, down near the end and to the right. With quiet steps, you made your way towards it. You held your hand out toward the SWAT member, having him stop a few feet behind you. Placing yourself at the edge of the doorframe, back passed firmly against the wall, you dared to peek your head into the room.

That’s when the smell started to hit you. It was rotten, pungent, and… familiar. Your nose crinkled, eyebrows furrowing as you tried to understand why you recognized something so awful. Then, you realized.

The smell of death.

Your eyes scanned over the walls, stopping at a far corner. Hanging from the ceiling were the three scalps that were taken from your victims, a silver bullet casing tied up with each one of them. You took in a shaky breath, trying to stop yourself from hearing their screams, or picturing the way they looked as they were tortured.

Shaking your head to clear those thoughts, you turned your attention back to your team.

The Unsub’s back was to you, JJ held firmly in a chokehold with his left arm, his right hand holding a revolver with the barrel pressed to her temple. Hotch, Morgan, and Reid stood in a semi-circle in front of him, guns all drawn and aimed.

“You don’t have to do this, man,” Morgan bargained.

“Of course I do,” Timothy Locke, the Unsub, laughed again, “if I have her,” he shook JJ slightly, “then I have a chance of leaving here alive.”

You moved your head out a little more, catching Hotch’s eye. Looking between you and Timothy, he nodded, ever so slightly. You knew what he meant, you didn’t need his words to know what you had to do.

Quickly, you switched to the left side of the doorframe, positioning yourself to enter the room without Locke seeing you.

“Putting the gun down and surrendering will get you out of here alive,” Spencer urged, clearly distraught that the Unsub was holding a gun to his best friend’s head.

“And you would love it if I did just that, wouldn’t ya?” Locke sneered, readjusting his grip on his gun slightly.

You slipped into the room silently, gun raised and steps slow. Hotch’s eyes flicked to you every few seconds, his expression- hardened and serious, but what else is new- unchanging.

“We know what your dad used to do to you,” Hotch said lowly, catching the attention of Timothy.

“You don’t know shit.”

“We know of the hospital visits, the broken bones. We know that you were left alone with him after your mother died,” Aaron’s voice was unfaltering, purposely trying to irritate Locke.

It was working.

“I said,” he hissed, “you don’t know shit.”

“Then enlighten me.”

Timothy took a deep breath in before speaking, “Do you know what happened in this house? Between these walls? How every time I wasn’t good enough or smart en-“ his hands swung out to the side as he talked, his anger getting the best of him. In one swift movement, his right arm had extended away from JJ, and you were holstering your own gun and lunging for Locke’s weapon.

You pushed his arm backwards, his hand tightening from the surprise. A single gunshot rang out, and a searing pain ripped through your left arm, causing you to cry out. JJ moved out of his grasp, which had loosened significantly, turning towards him and kicking his left knee inward, making him sink to the floor. You pressed your right hand to the hole in your arm in an attempt to stop the bleeding, using the last bit of adrenaline in your body to swing your leg up and connect your foot to the face of Timothy Locke, making contact with a sickening crack, rendering him unconscious. He was down before Derek, Spencer, and Aaron had even moved forward- it had to be less than ten seconds.

Spencer reached you first, pressing his palm over your hand, applying more pressure as your grip started to loosen and your fingers slipped from beneath his.

“Look at me, (Y/N), look at me,” he ordered. You tried to, but your head was dizzying and you were having a hard time keeping your eyes open.

“You’re going to go into shock,” he spoke quickly, “just keep your eyes open, okay?”

After cuffing Locke and checking in with JJ, Hotch rushed towards you, reaching you just as your knees buckled and gave out from below you. His arms held you steady, his knees bending as he slowly sank down to the floor with you.

“I- I don’t think the artery was hit, but there’s a lot of bleeding, so I’m not su-“

“Reid.” Hotch interrupted. Spencer’s eyes shifted from you to Hotch, eyebrows turned upwards, nothing but worry in his features.

“Call for medics again,” he instructed Spencer, whose hand was still on your arm, “don’t stop calling until they get here.”

Hotch’s hand replaced Reid’s, his free arm holding you against his chest. Your eyelids still drooped up and down, your battle with sleep being anything but victorious. It was almost like a dream, blurry and vague, with a feeling of unfamiliarity. You weren’t completely aware of what was happening. Hell, you still were not feeling the pain of a bullet passing through your arm. That’s how you knew something was very, very wrong.

“Keep your eyes open,” Hotch spoke, his soft words landing delicately on your ears, “keep looking at me, (Y/N).”

The corner of your mouth tilted slightly, “I got,” you let out a small giggle, high on adrenaline, “I got shot, Hotchie.”

“Yes, I know, honey,” his voice was still soft but by God, was he using all his strength to keep it that way. He fought against the way his heart threatened to leap from his chest, the way his mind became frantic at the sight of your blood painting his fingers crimson, the way he could feel his breaths losing rhythm.

It was through and through, he thought, it will be okay, they will be okay.

And yet, despite his logical thoughts, he felt like he could cry as he held you close.

“Did you get him?” You asked, your words weary and strained.

“We did,” Aaron could only whisper to keep his voice from breaking, “you saved them, (Y/N). Now, just do me one favor and keep your eyes open.”

Your hand shakily covered his, your fingertips delicate they brushed lazily over his knuckles. The small touch brought a small, content smile to your face- and that mad tears reach Aaron’s eyes.

He looked up as the EMTs burst through the door, kits jostling in their hands. Seeing them felt like taking a breath out of water, like he could finally get oxygen in his lungs again. He looked back to your drooping eyes as they pulled you out of his arms, working quickly to stop your bleeding.

He stood and backed away, stumbling over his own feet slightly, his gaze never leaving you. You were moved to a plastic cot, straps securing your head, chest, and legs, as you were lifted from the ground and ushered through the door. Hotch stayed where he was, focus trained on the pool of blood that began to seep into the wooden floor, turning it a dark burgundy. His mind attempted to understand that the stain was, in fact, from your blood. Suddenly, the weight of what he saw everyday piled on his shoulders, from the gruesome photos to the actual victims. He was always aware of their humanity, of their worth, but his jaded mind could look past that and move along. Now, it seemed he couldn’t hide behind compartmentalization and insensitivity.

Sirens chirped outside, the sound floating in through the window, and his head snapped up at the sound.

Flashes began to obscure his vision. He saw the home he shared with Hailey, he saw the smiling and devilish face of George Foyet, he saw the lifeless eyes of the mother of his child, the blood that stained the carpet, the way his fist smashed in Foyet’s cheek, the way Hailey looked when she was gone, the way Jack looked when he asked where she was.

Then he saw you. He saw your smile, the light step of your walk, how delicate your hands looked as you wrote, how you bit your lip if you focused enough, the way your hair caught the light. He saw the sunshine that brought light into his dark, dark life.

The siren chirping once more brought him back to reality.

With his trance broken, he rushed out of the room, steps pounding against the creaky floor and echoing throughout the house. He ran down the stairs, the echos creating a drum roll in his wake as he finally stepped onto the front porch. The ambulance door clicked shut, the EMTs finding their seats before the ambulance sped away, sirens blaring.

He watched you leave until the sun engulfed the ambulance in orange light. His chest was heaving, in and out, mouth hanging open slightly. Suddenly, the kevlar around his torso felt much too tight, his hands finding the velcro and tearing at it. His breathing quickened, the kevlar falling to the ground, but the pressure in his chest still present. Frantically, his finger fumbled with the top button of his shirt, nearly ripping it off in his urgency.

“Aaron?” Dave asked, ascending the porch stairs towards his friend, “Aaron, are you okay?”

“I can’t,” Aaron wheezed, hands pulling down on the collar of his now exposed undershirt, “I can’t breathe-“

“Sit down, sit down,” Dave ushered him to the floor, Aaron practically crumpling into himself, “now, exhale completely.”

Hotch did as he said, shoulders hunching as he let out his breath.

“Now 4 seconds, in through the nose,” Dave followed Aaron’s movements, his hand accentuating his breathing, “hold for 7 seconds,” there was a pause as the two men held their breath, “and now, out for eight.”

Aaron closed his eyes as he exhaled, the tightness of his chest beginning to loosen.

“Keep doing that until you’re ready to talk,” Dave said gently, settling into the floor of the porch while he waited. Hotch completed three more cycles before he opened his eyes. He looked at Dave, eyebrows flicked upward in worry.

“Now,” treading lightly, Dave asked, “what was that about?”

“I don’t know,” Hotch answered quickly, avoiding Dave’s gaze.

“Aaron, the rest of the team may be fooled, but I am not,” Dave began, pointing over his shoulder at the team, “I’ve seen the way you look at them, and the way they look at you.”

That made Hotch’s heart flutter, the thought of you looking at him the same way he looked at you.

“I’m not pushing you to do anything you don’t want to,” Dave defended, “but you already have so many things you keep to yourself, you might have to let this one out.”

Aaron sighed, jaw clenching slightly, “I know.”

“Good,” Dave smiled, patting Hotch on the shoulder before getting up and walking away, preparing to fend off the rest of the team and their questions. Hotch was on his feet just as quickly, rebuttoning his shirt and retrieving his kevlar. His face had returned to the stoic expression everyone was used to, but his pulse was still racing.

***

“The doctor says they will be okay,” Derek told the team, taking a seat beside Spencer, “they’ve been moved to recovery; we can visit once they’re awake.”

Everyone nodded, a gloom hanging densely in the air. The team knew you would be okay, in all reality. Spencer had been sure to spout off a multitude of statistics to prove that a shot in the arm, avoiding the brachial artery, was survivable. But, despite the logical comfort, Hotch could only remember the way you looked, bleeding and incoherent in his arms. The bright, lively red of your blood on his hands was an image that would stain his mind as permanently as the very same blood stained the wooden floor of that house. He figured he could add it to his endless collection of gruesome images that lived in his brain, but he also knew he was a fool if he thought he could compartmentalize that away.

His elbows leaned against his knees, hands coming to a steeple upon his lips. The lines beneath his eyes grew deeper with every passing hour, but he remained in the same position, just as quiet. When it came to his thoughts- in particular, the dark, intrusive thoughts that came to him when the sun went down- he was fairly good at navigating through them, keeping them from degrading his worth as a human and protector. However, as he sat in the uncomfortable, plastic chair of the hospital you were a patient of, he could only think of how many people had been hurt (or worse), because of him. He could only see the way Reid cried as Tobias Hankel tortured him, the way JJ broke when he told her he couldn’t protect her job, the betrayal in Morgan’s eyes when he realized he had buried an empty casket, the beaten and bruised face of Emily after Benjamin Cyrus found out she was FBI.

But then, he saw Hailey. He saw her lying, dead, on the ground of the bedroom they had once shared, the room in which they had decided what to name their child, the room they laughed and cried in, the room they had loved in. She gave him everything he had to live for- his son.

Then he saw you. Dipping in and out of consciousness, calling him nicknames and smiling as you bled onto the floor. The way you giggled and called him ‘Hotchie’ was a happy image spliced into a bigger picture that made bile raise into his throat.

Lastly, he saw George Foyet. At least, what had been left of him. He remembered how he didn’t even feel his knuckles split open as they collided with Foyet’s face. It scared him, truly, how he didn’t stop, even after George was gone. It scared him how he would’ve stayed there, killing a man that was already dead, if Derek hadn’t pulled him away. The broken, mangled face of The Reaper haunted him the most.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him away from his thoughts, his eyes reaching upwards to see who it belonged to.

“You in there, boss?” Emily chuckled, a dazzling smile on her face.

“Uh, yes,” he nodded once, clearing his throat as he stood. He smoothed down his shirt, suit jacket having been abandoned long ago. In vain, he tried to look like he hadn’t been caught off guard.

“They’re not awake yet, but the nurse said we can go see them, if you’d like.”

He nodded, blinking twice as her words processed in his overworked mind, “Lead the way.”

His strong facade was held together by bubblegum and paperclips when he entered your hospital room. The way you looked so serene- with your eyelashes resting upon your cheeks and your shoulders completely relaxed- it was almost overwhelming. It was only hours earlier that he watched that same face contract in pain, those same eyelashes flutter in an attempt to stay awake.

He stayed by the door as the team found their place around your bed, his hands finding themselves in his pockets and his eyebrows pulling downwards, like they always do. His heart physically ached beneath his chest, its beat no longer the allegro of anxiety, but the slow waltz of failure. He had failed you- failed to protect you, failed to keep you safe. Imagining where that bullet could have landed made it all the worse.

It was bittersweet, really, the way you made him feel. There was a sunshine, a happiness that you infected those around you with. Your warmth was a gift you gave to everyone you met, regardless of who the were or what they’ve done. You would pull the hurt and forgotten from the earth without questioning their origin, your delicate hands caressing them gently with the comfort they’ve never known. You spoke words that covered the listener like summer rain, moved in a way that mimicked the lithe movement of dandelions in the breath of spring. He would surrender himself to you in the way the tides surrender to the moon, and a small part of him knew he already had.

He would give what little of himself remained, if you’d asked. The thunderstorms and lightening he had journeyed through had washed away pieces of him, leaving an otherness that felt all too unfamiliar, that stared right back at him whenever he looked in a mirror. But, regardless of how much he lost of himself, no matter how withered he became, all of it would be yours, if you’d asked. Because, despite the darkness that engulfed his waking moments and controlled the rest, you were always beside him, with a candle to light the way. And for that, he would promise to love you with everything inside him, despite the raindrops that dance on his feet.

If you’d asked.

But, you wouldn’t, he knew, so he wouldn’t fall in love with you. He couldn’t. His heart was tired, weary, and weak. The thought of loving you- in the jumping-from-a-cliff-but-laughing-as-you-fall kind of way, because allowing himself to love you would open a floodgate- and potentially losing you; that was a trauma he couldn’t see himself recovering from. He didn’t have the strength to. So, he would reside in the outskirts of your life, keeping himself close enough to feel the warmth you radiated, but far enough to feel a chill trace his spine.

And that’s exactly what he did. He stayed near the doors of your hospital room, looking silently as the team conversed lightly with your sleeping ears, hoping you would hear their words despite your lack of consciousness. He could hear their gentle whispers, the way they teased each other, the gentle laughs they exchanged. He stood in a room of people that loved and were loved, each of their hearts clean of the bruises that riddled his.

He doesn’t remember when he left, or how he ended up in the George Bush Intercontinental Airport, but he was seated in an airplane seat, staring out to the wisps of clouds and star-spotted sky, mind empty and full all at once.

***

Your eyes slowly pried themselves open, the bright, white light overwhelming your senses momentarily. A groan left your mouth, eyelids dropping once again, your head tilting towards your pillow.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” the voice of Derek Morgan teased, a small smile coming to your lips.

“Am I in heaven?” You croaked out, “I think I hear the voice of an angel.”

“You’re too good to me, (Y/N),” he laughed, his hands gently patting yours. You opened your eyes again with a sigh, looking around the room at your team.

“You had us worried there, kiddo,” JJ chuckled.

“Sorry,” you grimaced, “I didn’t mean to get shot, I swear.”

“Well,” Spencer spoke up from his chair beside the hospital bed, “don’t ever do it again.”

“Pinky promise.”

“Yeah, leave the dying to me,” Emily joked, earning a weak laugh from you.

You looked around at your family, the people you loved most in the life you had, and you hid the disappointment you felt because one was missing.

***

Aaron entered his apartment, shoulders heavy as he set his briefcase by the door. He turned to find Jessica asleep on the couch, hands tucked beside her head. He walked towards her, pulling a blanket from the back of the cushions and draping it over her. She stirred slightly, but settled quickly.

He moved numbly, putting his gun away securely and removing the belt around his waist. Walking towards the bedroom down the hall, his shoes were kicked off and his dress shirt was discarded, leaving him in slacks, socks, and his white undershirt.

With a low creak, his eyes peeked through Jack’s barely open door to find him sleeping soundly in his bed, the dark blue comforter pulled up to his chin. Aaron stepped into the room fully, closing the door softly behind him. Carefully, he climbed into the bed beside his son, settling into the pillows. Jack reacted immediately, curling under his dad’s arm. With a small kiss to the little boy’s forehead, Aaron allowed himself to fall asleep, willing away the darkness of the day. Pushing the twisted thoughts away, his mind concentrated on the boy in his arms, and the incredible love he held for him.

#aaron hotchner imagines #hotch x reader #hotch #criminal minds #angst #this is so long im so sorry #I hope y'all are ready to READ

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atlafan · 4 years

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Take it Slow - Part Forty

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry.

Warnings: TW - Mentions of past abuse! Angst. Fluff. Smut.

Masterpost (all previous parts can be found in the masterpost)

“It’s good to see you, Y/N. How was your trip to England?”

“It was incredible! Would you like to see some pictures?” You say to Dr. Mara

“Sure.” You show her a few. “That is incredible.” She squints at you. “You look a little tired.”

“Long couple of days. Went out drinking a few times. Harry and I, uh, had sex when we were in London.”

“Wow, how do you feel?”

“Great! I’m really happy we waited as long as we did, but I’m also really happy to be so close with him now.”

“Any flashes?”

“Yeah, during the first time. But it didn’t happen until the end…it was scary in the moment, but I was fine after.”

“How often have you been active since then?”

“Just about every day, sometimes it’s multiple times a day. It’s been fun.” You smile. “We’re really exploring each other. I’ve been feeling like my old self lately.”

“So…what’s getting at you today? Is it him living with you?”

“No, I love that we’re living together. That transition has been relatively smooth.” You look away then back to her. “He keeps bringing up doing me from behind.”

“Oh.” Her face falls.

“Yeah.”

“He doesn’t know that’s how…”

“No. And I can’t bring myself to explain it. He just wanted to have a conversation yesterday and I blew up at him. The day just got worse and I had a panic attack.”

“I’m so sorry dear.”

“I felt better this morning, but I know I hurt him last night too. I didn’t let him hold me while we slept.”

“You two usually hold each other?”

“We usually fall asleep cuddling in some fashion, yeah. We usually wake up that way too. I just didn’t want to be touched last night though, everything was running through my head.”

“That’s understandable.”

“I just can’t bring myself to do that yet, it seems stupid because we’re having sex now.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid. That’s a very vulnerable position to be in, regardless of what happened to you.”

“I know he’d be careful with me.” You look down at your hands. “I can tell he tries his hardest to hold back. I can tell he just wants to pound into me…I feel like when we’re doing it we’re not fully able to let go and be ourselves because we’re both afraid of something bad happening.”

“Would you prefer to have aggressive sex?”

“It’s not that I want it to be aggressive, but I would like to get to a point where I can tell him to fuck me, and he just fucks me! It doesn’t always need to be sweet, does it? I just want to be a normal fucking person!” Tears start to well up. You grab a tissue not wanting to mess your makeup up. You still had to go back to work after this.

“Y/N, no need to get worked up, alright? There is nothing wrong with you.” She smiles warmly at you. You take a deep breath.

“I feel like every step forward I take, it’s two steps back.” You look at her. “I’m gonna have to tell him, aren’t I?”

“You should only do what feels comfortable, but good communication can go a long way. I hope you know you have made a tremendous amount of progress, and you should be proud of yourself.” She looks down then back at you. “I’m going to propose something, but it’s entirely up to you.

“Alright.”

“If you get to a point where you want to tell him, but you’d like some extra support, I want you to know you can bring him here with you. But only if you feel comfortable with that.”

“Okay, I’ll, um, think about it.”

You think over everything on your way back to work. You scarf down your lunch quick at your desk. You see a note, it was from Harry. Came to surprise you, but you were out. Hope you have a good day. I love you. You sigh and smile. You tuck the note inside your desk. You decide to print the photo of him kissing you on your cheek. You dig out another frame you had and put it in. You stick the photo next to the other one you had of him.

Niall knocks on your door. There was a project he needed to go over with you.

“Got it, I’ll get right on it.”

“Thanks.”

“Listen, I’m sorry I snapped earlier.”

“I shouldn’t have pried.”

“Harry stopped by.”

“Yeah, I saw him.” He makes a strange face. “I made him tell me what happened.”

“Niall! Jesus fucking Christ!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

“And let me guess, you told him?” He blinks at you. “That wasn’t your information to give him!”

“I’m so sorry, I was upset with him for what he did, and-“

“You don’t need to be upset with him! You’re not the one fucking him, I am, okay? This doesn’t concern you!”

“Everything okay in here?” One of the older women pops her head in.

“Everything’s fine. Niall are we done here?”

“Yeah.” He gets ups and leaves. You wanted to slam your door shut, but you knew that would be unprofessional.

You didn’t say goodbye to him before you left for the day. You had never been so annoyed with Niall. He tried to catch you before you left, but he just missed you. You drove to the apartment fuming, but trying to calm yourself. Excited to see what the place actually looked like.

“M’girlfriend should be here any minute. She’s usually the early one.” Harry says to the realtor outside the apartment. “I know it’s cold, sorry.”

“Not a problem, sure there’s traffic.” Harry sees your car pull up, you find a parking spot, and get out.

“Hi, sorry.” You kiss Harry on the cheek. You look unpleasant. “I’m Y/N.” You shake the realtor’s hand.

“Shall we?”

You and Harry follow the man inside. It’s a really nice lobby. You can see all of the mailboxes on the wall.

“Wow, there’s a lobby attendant here?” You say.

“Yes. There are a lot of elderly folks here, it’s a peace of mind thing. There’s often a doorman as well. In fact there was an elderly couple in this place before, but they recently moved to Florida.”

You follow him into the elevator. The apartment is on the fifth floor. The realtor unlocks the door and guides you in. There’s a hallway, similar to the one you have now, only there was a beautiful hardwood floor, looked newly refinished. There was a coat closet. You both step further in and see a large living room.

“Harry look!” You point to a gas fireplace. “We could put the TV above the fireplace, and the sofa could go here.” You gesture. He smiles and nods.

“The kitchen is closed off, but over here would be a formal dining area.”

“Oh! I like the idea of that. Much easier for dinner parties.” You push through a door and go into the kitchen. Yours and Harry’s jaws drop.

There were granite countertops, new cabinets, and stainless steel appliances. There was a small island similar to yours.

“Plenty of room for both of us in here.” You look around a little. “Everything is so new.”

“Place was renovated after they moved out. They were here for over thirty years.”

“Wow!” You take Harry’s hand.

“Ready to see the rest?” You go back out to the living room. “Let’s start with the loft, just up the spiral staircase. This is where the bonus room is.”

The three of you carefully go up the staircase. You and Harry walk around the small area. It could easily fit both of your desks and all of his equipment.

“Harry you could almost make this your studio if you wanted.”

“You’d be okay with having clients come here?”

“Sure, why not?” You shrug.

The three of you go back down the stairs, and go down a hallway.

“So here’s the hall bath, it’s a full bath that has jack and jill doors for the guest room.”

“It’s a great size, glad it’s a tub shower.” You both check out the guest room. It could easily fit Harry’s bed and other bedroom furniture.

“And here’s the master.” The realtor opens the door for you.

“Holy shit!” You exclaim. “Pardon me.” You giggle. Your eyes grow wider with every step you take.

The room was absolutely huge. There were two closets so you and Harry wouldn’t have to share anymore. You could easily fit a king sized bed down the road if you both wanted. The ensuite bathroom had a beautiful tile on the floor.

“Harry look, two sinks!” You say excitedly. Your jaw drops again when you see the shower. “It’s just like the one in London!”

“Yeah, no kidding. And there’s still a tub in here too, that’s good.”

“Oh I love it.”

“Why don’t you take a few minutes to chat in here, I’ll be in the kitchen.” The realtor leaves.

“What do you think? You’ve been quiet.”

“Just takin’ it all in. It’s a great place.”

“It’s incredible! I could really see us living here babe.” You smile at him.

“Me too. Seems like a great fit for us. That loft alone would be a big help.”

“What do you think, should we put an application in?”

“I think we should.” You hug him excitedly.

You meet the realtor in the kitchen, and tell him you’d like to apply. He gives you a form and a pen.

“Has anyone else inquired?” Harry asks as you fill out your portion.

“Not yet. You two found this place at a good time, not many people willing to move in the middle of the winter.”

“Here Harry.” You hand him the paper and pen. “So how long will it be until we know?”

“Well, the landlord will want to do a credit check and all that. In the meantime, make sure you have first, last, and the security deposit ready to go.” You nod along. “Should be able to tell you in a couple of weeks most likely.”

“Here you are.” Harry hands him the finished paperwork.

“Wonderful, thank you both so much.”

“Thank you!” You say.

“I’ll walk you both out.”

The three of reach the street. You both shake his hand again, and go to your separate cars. You can’t wait to get out of your work clothes when you get home.

“Want some of the leftover curry f’dinner? I can heat it up.”

“Sure.” You say walking into the bedroom. You come back out wearing pajama pants and a sweatshirt. Harry hands you a bowl, and you sit down at the island. “Thanks babe.”

He sits down next to you. You both exchange small talk while you eat.

“Did you see I stopped by today?”

“Yeah.” You smile. “That was nice of you.”

“How was Dr. Mara?”

“Good, it was a good session. I really shouldn’t go during my lunch, I was sort of worked up today, but she helped me.” Your phone starts to buzz. It’s Niall calling. You roll your eyes.

“You’re not going to answer?”

“No, I’m mad at him.”

“Why?” You drop your fork and look at him.

“You know why.” Harry bites his bottom lip. “I know he told you, because he told me he told you. It wasn’t his information to give out.” Harry goes to open his mouth. “And I’m not ready to talk about it yet. I know we need to, but I just can’t right now.” There’s a knock at your door. “That son of a bitch. I don’t want to see him right now.”

Harry gets up and opens the door, it was Niall. He blocks him from going further into the front hall.

“Would ya let me in?”

“She said she didn’t want to see you. Surprisingly enough, she doesn’t seem mad at me anymore, so I’d like to not rock the boat.”

“You’re wrong, I am still mad at you, but I’m choosing to let it go because you didn’t understand fully what was happening.” You say with arms crossed leaning against the wall. “Why are you here?” You squint at Niall.

“I tried to talk to you before you left, but I missed you.”

“Had an apartment to look at.”

“How was it?” You scoff. “Y/N, I’m really sorry okay?”

“You do this all the time! You tell other people things about me because you’re trying to protect me or some shit. It’s enough! I get it you two are best friends, but he’s my boyfriend, and I get to choose what information about my life he gets to know.”

“I’m your best friend too.” His eyes start to tear up. So do yours. “I love you Y/N, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“I love you too Niall, but you two can’t run to each other every time one of us is upset about something. You need to let him and I work through whatever it is. Or if we want to talk to you about it, let us come to you, don’t pry for the gossip.” Harry’s a little taken back at how loosely the two of you just threw around I love yous. He wonders when you two first said that to each other.

“I’m sorry, I just got upset when he told me what he said, and I thought back to that day I came to your place and you…” He was full on crying and so were you. You walk over to him and you throw your arms around each other. Harry stands there awkwardly. “I can’t bare the thought of you bein’ mad at me.” He whispers.

“When it comes to what happened to me, can you just…not?” You look at him and he nods. “Okay, thank you.” You let go of him.

“Are we okay?”

“Yeah.” You smile and wipe your face.

“Don’t be too hard on the lad, he means well.” You look over at Harry and roll your eyes. You decide you’re going to start doing it even more because you know it annoys him.

“Mhm.”

“Well…I’ll get goin’. I just came by to make things better. I’ll see ya tomorrow.” You hug again. “See ya mate.”

“Bye.” Harry waves him off. You look at your boyfriend and roll your eyes again. He follows you back to the kitchen. You both sit back down to finish eating. “You’ve certainly gotten into a habit of doin’ that.”

“Doing what?”

“Rollin’ your bloody eyes at me.”

“My bloody eyes.” You mimic his accent and laugh. “I really don’t notice when I’m doing it.”

“Highly doubt that, love.” He sighs. “Are ya still mad at me, really? I feel terrible about everything. I really am sorry for upsetting you.”

“I just want you to listen to me when I say I don’t want to talk about something, okay?”

“I will.”

“I don’t want you to be afraid to talk to me about things, but I thought after the first two times I said no you would’ve gotten the hint.”

“I’m sorry, I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not.” You put a hand over his. “I know it’s, um, a really nice way to have sex, I just am not in a place where I feel safe doing it that way. And it’s not that I don’t feel safe with you…I just need to be able to look at you while we’re doing it. I don’t know where my mind will wander if I can’t see you.”

“Alright, makes sense.” He rubs his thumb over the top of your hand.

“What do you say we crack open that oat milk ice cream we got?”

“I hope it tastes good.” He chuckles.

“It’s cookies and cream flavor, bet it’ll be great.” You grab the carton out of the freezer and grab two spoons while Harry cleans up the bowls from dinner. You gesture to have him follow you to the couch.

You grab the remote and turn Chopped on. You loved Tuesdays on the Food Network. You both dig in to the ice cream.

“Mm, this is good.”

“Yeah! I’m surprised, honestly.” Harry says. “You know what’s crazy, we just put an application in for our very own place.”

“I’m so excited, I loved that place so much. There was so much space.”

“Yeah, I like that there’s some room to grow if need be.” He says looking at the TV. You choke on your ice cream. “Jesus, you alright?” He rubs your back as you swallow.

“What do you mean room to grow?” He blinks at you. He realizes he said an inside thought out loud.

“Um…just like if we got a dog down the line.” You squint at him, you knew he wasn’t being entirely truthful. “Plenty of room for a small dog to scamp around.”

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about having kids some day, but you were only twenty-four. You were in no rush to care for a baby when you could barely take care of yourself. You knew Harry loved babies, but it was way too soon to start talking about any of that. Was it something he was already thinking about?

“Right, that’s what I thought you meant.” You turn your attention back to the TV.

“I love you.” He says.

“I love you too.” You nudge him. He puts an arm around you.

“Fuckin’ Ted.” He points his spoon at the TV. “He’s always gettin’ in the way! They only have twenty minutes mate!” You laugh hysterically. “It’s true!”

“I know! That’s why it’s so funny.” You take another bite of ice cream. “And that idiot over there doesn’t know how to properly grill pork, it’s gonna be dry.”

“Should’ve ground it up and fried it into fritters or something.”

“I agree.” You snuggle into him.

“M’gonna put this away, alright?” You nod. He puts the carton back in the freezer and gets back on the couch. “Would you lay on me?”

“Mhm.” You smile.

He lays on his back, head resting against the arm rest, you lay your head on his stomach, and lay your body between his legs. One hand laces in your hair, and rubs your scalp gently, the other hand rests on your back. He felt so happy to have your weight on him. He missed you so much last night.

“I missed you last night.” He says quietly. You look up at him. “Never gonna make ya that mad at me again, I swear.” You prop yourself up and kiss him.

“Wanna go make up?” You give him your bedroom eyes, and he picks you up immediately.

He turns the TV off, and carries you into the bedroom. You giggle when you sets you down and yanks your sweatshirt up of your head. His head goes right between your breasts, planting kisses where he sees fit. His mouth wraps around one of your nipples and your head rolls back. He twists your piercing with his teeth and you groan. He lifts you slightly and puts you on the bed. He leans up and takes his shirt off. Your hands trace over the butterfly. His skin was hypnotic. He pulls your pants down, and parts your legs. He kisses you, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, then lets it go as he kisses down your neck, chest, and stomach. He sinks his teeth into your lower stomach and leaves a pretty decent bruise behind.

His mouth finds your clit next. Your hips buck up at the contact. His tongue flicks it a few times before he nibbles on you. Your hands go for his hair as you get lost in the feeling. His thumb replaces his mouth, and his tongue licks a stripe up your center. He hear him moan while he licks all around you. His tongue goes up inside you and you let out a moan of his name. You tasted amazing. Harry felt like he had been neglecting this side of things since you had started actually having sex. He could kick himself, why on earth would he deprive either of you of this?

“Harry.” You grind against his tongue. “Please fuck me.”

“Not yet.” He says bringing his mouth back to your clit, and inserting his middle finger in you. You pull hard on his hair. You want to clamp your legs together, but he uses his other hand to keep you spread apart.

His fingers curl up, and makes that come here motion deep inside you. Your head falls back into the pillow. You loved the way his tongue worked over your clit as his fingers hit that special spot inside.

“Shit, Harry.” Your back starts arching. “Harry.” You mean. “Harry!” You come all over his fingers, and your back arches completely off the bed. He slowly pumps in and out of you as you grind against him, riding out your high. “Fuck.” You say breathlessly.

He sits up and takes his own pants and boxers off. Dick throbbing and leaking for you. You grab at him, and rub your thumb over his leaking tip. You move him to lay down, and shuffle between his legs. You wrap your lips around his tip. You wanted to return the favor. His hips push up, and you take more of him into your warm mouth. You let go of him with a popping noise.

“Love the way you taste babe.” You say.

He grabs you and puts you back on your back. He grabs your legs and wraps them around his waist. He kisses you, sticking his tongue in your mouth as he pushes into you. He swallows your gasp.

“So fuckin tight, angel. Feels amazing.” He says into your neck before sucking the skin into his mouth.

“Love the way you fill me up, Harry.” He wasn’t going to last long with the way you were talking. “Don’t you think I should be on top?” You say into his ear. He leans up to look at you. “I mean, I think you should be teased a little for being so bad.”

“That so?” He smirks.

“Mhm.”

He rolls you both over so you’re on top of him.

“Don’t move until I say.” You grip the headboard, and slowly grind up and down on him. His hands slide up and down your thighs as he watches you ride him. His fingers dig into your hips, trying his best not to just thrust up into you. “Feels so good.” You say throwing your head back. You dip your hand down and rub your clit as you continue to grind against him slowly.

“Fuck, Y/N, please let me move.”

“Not yet.” You two had a habit of using your previous words against each other. Your breathing got faster as you could feel yourself getting close. You bite your bottom lip and close your eyes. “Shit.” You moan. You keep grinding against him, and look down with a smirk. “Alright, go ahead.”

Harry grips your ass and thrusts up into you causing you to gasp. You lean down on him and clutch at his shoulders as he fucks you. All of a sudden you’re on your back again, and the sound of skin slapping skin fills the air. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder. He grinds into you and you moan loudly.

“You like that?” He smirks.

“Mhm.”

He fucks you like this for a few minutes, then drops your leg and comes down closer to you, crashing his lips to yours. You rake your nails down his stomach. His hands knead your breasts, one sliding up to your throat. Only lightly adding pressure like the other night.

“Just wanna remind ya of somethin’.” He says into your ear, nipping at your lobe. “You can take control whenever ya want.” His other hand reaches down for your clit and pinches it. Your back arches up in response. “But I’m the one in charge.”

He rubs on you quickly as he thrusts so deep tears come to your eyes. Between that and his words in your ear, you knew you’d be close again soon. He feels you tighten around him and your legs shake. You were sensitive now, but he didn’t let up.

“Fuck, Harry!”

“That’s it baby girl, come for me.” Your toes curl and your nails dig into his back, sure to leave marks. He groans into your neck.

“Fuck.” You say as your body goes limp around him.

He keeps going in and out of you, and you fully wrap your legs around him. He’s propped up with one arm, and his other reaches for your hand, you intertwine you’re your fingers. He brings it to the side your head. It was such a small act, but it turned you on so much.

“Fuck, I love you so much.” He says into your ear.

“I love you too. I love the way you make me feel, inside and out.” He nips at your jaw.

His thrusts start to get sloppier and quicker. He’s coming to his own release. You hear him moan your name a few times as he shoots up inside you. He collapses on top of you. You plant kisses to his forehead and run your hands through his sweaty hair.

He pulls out of you slowly and you wince from your sensitivity. You get up slowly and use the bathroom.

“Oh wow.” You say to yourself.

You didn’t realize how hard he had fucked you. You brush your teeth and wash your face. You smile at him as you open the door. He goes in to do his thing. You put on the t-shirt he had been wearing earlier, wanting to be fully encompassed with his scent. You crawl into bed, and scroll on your phone. He comes out a few minutes later.

“Shit, it’s late.” He says looking at the clock.

“S’only 10:30.”

“We’re usually in bed by now.” He chuckles. “When did we get so old?”

“Nothing about what we just did makes me feel old, speak for yourself grandpa.” He pretends to be offended.

“If I’m grandpa what do you think that makes you?”

“The young girlfriend that your kids tell you to dump because I’m only after your money.”

“I knew it!” You both giggle. “C’mere, love.” He opens his arms for you, and you lay on his chest. He sighs happily, playing with your hair.

“Mm, I love when you do that, feels so nice.” You close your eyes and listen to his gentle heartbeat.

You absolutely do not want to get up when you hear your alarm go off. Nor could you because Harry somehow had rolled on top of your body. You were starting to think you needed to set up a camera in the room just to see what he does in his sleep. You were a sweaty mess and you needed to shower. You turn your alarm off, and rub your eyes. You try to move, careful not wake him, but Harry’s hands grip at your sides.

“Five more minutes.” He says into your chest. You giggle.

“I have to shower.”

“But you’re soooo cozy.” He whines. You run your hands through his hair.

“Babe, please let me get up.” You coo.

“Can I shower with you?”

“Yes, but I can’t be in there long.”

He lets you up, and you throw your hair up into a bun on the top of your head. You didn’t have the energy to wash it. It was still pretty fresh from the salon. Harry was a sleepy boy this morning. He mostly just kept his arms around you while you washed yourself. You washed his back and chest for him. He woke up a little while you scrubbed his head for him. He kisses you before you both get out.

You throw a simple dress and boots on. You decide to keep your hair up in a bun, but you adjust it so it looks a little nicer, pulling some pieces out to frame your face. You put on some makeup, and grab a scarf to cover your neck with. You pack your gym bag as well before going out to see Harry in the kitchen making smoothies.

“Thank you sweetie.”

“Sure thing.”

“M’going to the gym after work. I’ll probably be home around six.”

“Okay, I might be home later than that. Gotta lot to do today.”

“Alright, I can make something for dinner then.” You smile and kiss him on the cheek. He grabs your wrist as you turn around. “What?”

“S’all I get for a goodbye kiss?” You giggle and press yourself against him. You give him a good kiss. “Mm, thank you.” He hums. “Can I come see ya at lunch today?”

“Sure! I’d love that.”

“Have a good day, love.”

“You too.” You grab your lunch out of the fridge, throw your coat on, and head out the door.

A coffee is waiting for you on your desk when you get there. You grab it and go down the hall to thank Niall.

“Good morning.” You say to him.

“Hey there.” He smiles at you. “You’ve been wearin’ a lot scarves lately.” He smirks.

“Yeah…it’s the only thing that covers these up.” You move it to the side to show him.

“Jesus. Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Sometimes.” You shrug. “But, not in a bad way.” You blush slightly.

“You two work everythin’ out?”

“Mhm…I still haven’t explained everything, but I told him when I felt ready I’d tell him.”

“Good. Sorry again.”

“Don’t mention it. Let’s move on.” You smile.

“Tell me about the apartment.”

“It’s beautiful! Gigantic too. We put an application in.”

“That’s great!”

“Yup, you know you and I need to plan a night for the two of us to get together. I haven’t even been able to tell you everything about England yet.” He frowns.

“I…don’t know if I can do that.”

“Why not?” You sit down. He sighs and looks at you.

“Well, on top of everything else last night, Sarah got mad at me.”

“About what?”

“I was like thirty minutes late to our plans…which were at my place.”

“Why were you late?”

“Because I wanted to make things right with you. She was pissed because she sat out waiting in her car because I haven’t given her a key or anythin’. She wasn’t thrilled when I told her I was at your place.” You roll your eyes. You knew Sarah had a tendency to get jealous, and make mountains out of mole hills. “She doesn’t really want me hanging out alone anymore. Says we have plenty of alone time at work.”

“What?! That’s ridiculous Niall. This.” You gesture between the two of you. “Is completely different than getting to hang outside of work.” You take a sip of your coffee. “So she’s basically telling you that you can’t be friends with me anymore?”

“I don’t know…but I don’t wanna rock the boat. I really like her, it’s been a while since I felt this way about someone.”

“Do you two love each other?”

“I’ve fallen for her yeah.”

“Do you think she’s the one?”

“Why are you askin’ me somethin’ like that?”

“Because it seems pretty fucking stupid to stop being friends with someone for a person you’re not even in love with.”

“Not everyone moves as fast as you and Harry you know? She could be the one. And I’m not stoppin’ bein’ friends with ya, we just need to lay low for a bit, til she cools off.”

“Fuck that.”

“You can’t say anythin’ t’her or she’ll get mad at me.”

“Niall, I fucking introduced the two of you, she’s not going to get away with this.” You groan. “Why does this always happen to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Anytime I have a guy friend their girlfriends always end up telling them to stop talking to me. It happened to me all the time in high school.”

“She didn’t tell me I couldn’t talk to you, she just doesn’t want me hanging out with you one on one for a while. And I wasn’t really in a position to justify anythin’. I wanna keep seein’ where this goes with her.”

You roll your eyes and sigh.

“I’m going to start the day, thanks for the coffee.”

Harry showed up for lunch just like he said he would. You hear a knock on the outside of your door.

“Hey you!” You say excitedly. “C’mon in, close the door.” You get up and greet him, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Need t’heat this up love.”

“Oh! You’re right. I’ll go bring these to the break room for us, hang tight.”

You leave to go to the break room. You see Niall sitting, waiting for you.

“Sorry, I forgot to mention Harry came for lunch. Probably shouldn’t eat together anyways.” You say putting your food in the microwave.

“Jesus, is this how it’s gonna be?”

“Not until you set her straight. If you don’t I will.”

“But what if she-“

“Niall, if this is something you two break up over, then it wasn’t meant to be. Harry doesn’t have a problem with us being friends, why should she?” He sighs. “You know I’m right.”

“Yeah, I know.” You put your hand on his shoulder, then leave with the food.

You go back into your office, and close the door behind you. You sit next to Harry and hand him his food.

“How’s your day so far baby?” You ask him.

“Good, busy already. Happy I could break away to see ya.”

“Me too.”

“This is such a good lunch, thanks again for makin’ it f’me.”

“You’re welcome my love.” His heart flutters.

“Come sit with me.” You giggle and sit on his lap.

“This is all the affection I can show you in here.” You coo.

“I know, just wanna feel ya on me.” He nuzzles into your chest. You stroke your hands through his hair.

You loved when he was like this. Just your cuddly boy.

#harry styles #take it slow #harry styles x reader #harry styles y/n #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff fic #harry styles smut fic #harry styles angst fic #harry styles y/n fic #fluff #smut #how do we feel about the conflict with niall?#harry styles imagine

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starring-movies · 4 years

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Killing Eve: Episode Analysis

*SPOILERS*

Season 3, Episode 7 - Beautiful Monster

We begin the episode with Villanelle, who is waiting to meet with Hélène, after the sloppy kill in Romania. As she’s waiting, we get some close-up shots of Villanelle and a suit of armour, which she tells Hélène “was really staring at me”. The close-up shots are repeated from S2E5, where they portrayed the ‘watcher’ and the one ‘being watched’. In S2E5, Villanelle was the one who was ‘the watcher’ (i.e. the one with the power and in control); whereas in this scene, Villanelle has now become the one ‘being watched’ (she has now lost the control in her life and job that she previously had).

As we see Villanelle waiting for Hélène, within the shot of Villanelle we can see 8 swords behind her, the imagery of which invokes the tarot card, the ‘Eight of Swords’. After looking it up here, the ‘Eight of Swords’ card is “a symbol of the limiting thoughts, beliefs and mindset that prevent her from moving forward in her life. However, look closer: if the woman removed her blindfold, she would quickly realise that she can escape her predicament by letting go of her limiting beliefs and establishing a new, more empowered mindset. The water pooled at her feet suggests that her intuition might see what her eyes cannot”.

This imagery is very apt for Villanelle’s current situation; as she’s feeling the limitations due to the lack of freedom that she’s realised she has, together with her entrapment in working for The Twelve. The spears are also positioned to look like they’re coming out of Villanelle, which illustrates to us how she’s on the mental offence and trying to protect her current vulnerabilities and fragility from what happened in Russia, from Hélène.

A song (most likely an unreleased Unloved song) with the repeated lyrics, “into the fire”, is used in this scene. Paired with the suits of armour and weaponry in the scene’s shot, we are shown how Villanelle is metaphorically going “into the fire” and beginning a battle against The Twelve for her freedom.

When Villanelle goes in for her meeting with Hélène, there are more swords and suits of armour around the room and behind Villanelle, further emphasising the entrapment she’s in. A Dutch tilt angle is also briefly used, and it’s only used on Villanelle. The Dutch tilt was last used for Villanelle in S3E2, to show her disorientation and shock after finding out that Eve was alive. However, it’s used in this scene to reflect Villanelle’s unease at having to attend this meeting with Hélène.

We also get a call back to S1E7 in this scene with Hélène. Hélène commandingly tells Villanelle to “sit down”, just as Anton repeatedly did back in S1E7. With Anton, Villanelle refused to sit down and disobeyed his orders; however with Hélène, Villanelle knows that she is outmatched, and so reluctantly has to comply with the command.

Hélène then proceeds to press on the wound on Villanelle’s arm, but then quickly embraces her. This is Hélène’s attempt both at a power play and at manipulating Villanelle. She does this as an act, to show Villanelle that she’s more powerful than her and can easily hurt her if she wants to; but also wants to give the impression that she can provide the ‘motherly’ protection and care that she knows Villanelle is in search for.

Villanelle responds to this act in typical Villanelle fashion, by appearing like she was going to reveal what happened (“I did something bad to my mother”), but then deflecting (“I took a shit in her shoe when I was three, a really big one”). She does the exact same thing as this with the psychologist fromThe Twelve in S1E2, when she is confronted with a picture of ‘Anna’ she says it’s not Anna but her mother, but then says she was joking because her mother had “really thin, shitty hair”; and she also does it in S1E5 when Eve asks her what happened and she agrees saying “okay”, but again diverting by saying “can we get one thing clear before we go on with this? Is that a sweater attached to a shirt?”.

Villanelle uses her comment to Hélène, where she thanks her “for the inappropriate touching” and tells her “god, you’re sexy”, to try to maintain her facade to Hélène that nothing’s wrong with her and also that she saw through her ‘caring mother’ act.

This is the second episode of Season 3, the other being S3E2, where different title cards are used. In S3E2, the title cards were on a red background (the colour of Villanelle’s outfit in Rome), but this time they’re on a green background (the colour of Eve’s outfit in Rome). The red colour for Villanelle was used in S3E2, as that episode was the liminal one for her character development. It was in that episode where she began to try to climb the ladder to becoming a Keeper in The Twelve, subsequently becomes discontented from the realisation that she’s been tricked and also that she doesn’t have the freedom she thought she had. Whereas it’s this episode that is the liminal moment for Eve, where she finally fully accepts and embraces her “monster”.

The title cards are also emblematic in showing us the progress of Eve and Villanelle’s journey to becoming “the same” as each other. From S3E2 to S3E7, the black circle with Sandra Oh’s [Eve] name in it becomes slightly larger, symbolising Eve’s “darkness” becoming more prominent. From S3E2 to S3E7, the black splodge with Jodie Comer’s [Villanelle] name in it becomes significantly smaller, symbolising her growing humanity and her receding “darkness”. In S3E7, the black circles with Sandra Oh and Jodie Comer’s names in them have also become the same size as each other, indicating that Eve and Villanelle have finally come to a point where they are “the same” and managed to reach an equilibrium.

The song ‘Look What You Made Me Do’ by Jack Leopards & The Dolphin Club (thought to be an alias for Taylor Swift to righty release the song under her own ownership), is played during the title cards. The lyrics we hear are:

“I don’t like your little games,

I don’t like your tilted stage,

I don’t like you,

I got smarter, I got harder, in the nick of time,

Honey rose up from the dead,

I do it all the time,

Look what you made me do,

Look what you just made me do,

Look what you made me do,

No, I don’t like you”

The song is appropriate for Villanelle, as it emphasises her feelings and struggle against The Twelve. She doesn’t like the “little games” they’re playing with her and she “got smarter” in realising how she was being manipulating by them.

In the next scene we see Eve having a meting with Carolyn to discuss their progress with finding out what happened to Kenny. As usual Eve brings the focus back around to Villanelle and Carolyn retorts that Eve should “do well to remember heroes only get the girl in Hollywood”. It’s clear that everyone else can see Eve’s obsession and attraction to Villanelle, except Eve herself. Kenny calls Villanelle “your girlfriend” to Eve in S1E8 and Hugo picks up on it, asking Eve “what’s the deal with you and Villanelle... why is it? Do you like watching her, or do you like being watched?”.

We then get a scene of Eve, Bear and Jamie in the Bitter Pill office, as they try to track down Villanelle. Eve starts speaking to the bakery that Villanelle ordered the bus cake from, to try to get her personal information. Before Bear tells Eve he’s found the information that she was looking for, she was about to use Niko’s pitchforking to pity the bakery worker into giving her the information. This shows us how, although Eve does have love Niko, he has always been disposable and able to be pushed aside in Eve’s life, in favour of the things she values as more important (like her job or in this case, Villanelle). It also shows us how Eve just uses Niko, she was using him before to maintain her facade of having a normal life and now she’s using his tragic maiming to find Villanelle. This additionally shows us Eve’s relentlessness and how she has no moral boundaries for what she is willing to say or do to try to track down Villanelle.

When Villanelle and Dasha are in the hotel in Aberdeen, they have a conversation in the hotel lift. Just like Hélène did at the beginning of the episode, Dasha presses on Villanelle’s wound, as a power play. However, unlike with Hélène, Villanelle knows that she can ‘one-up’ Dasha and they start trying to take digs at one another.

Villanelle tells Dasha - who we know, from her tracksuits, her necklace with a ‘D’ on it, and the fact that she refers to herself in the third person, that she is incredibly self centred - that Russia has changed since she lived there and that there will no one waiting for her to return home, but she will only be greeted by “indifference”. Hélène told Dasha in S3E4 that “people would be dancing in the street and chanting your name, ‘Dasha, Dasha, Dasha’”; so Villanelle telling her that people will be indifferent about her returning to Russia would dent her ego a little bit.

In response to this, Dasha bites back by saying that she doesn’t care about a “hero’s welcome” and if she wants stroganoff, she says “my son can make it”. We then suddenly get extreme close-up shots of Villanelle and Dasha, because Villanelle “didn’t know [Dasha] had a son”. The extreme close-ups continue as Dasha continues to push the knife in further, by saying that she will die with her feet up and holding her son’s hand, but that Villanelle will die alone because she destroyed her family.

Although Villanelle and Dasha don’t get along (and Dasha tried to kill Villanelle once), Villanelle still most likely views Dasha as a mother figure of sorts. Dasha mentioned that Villanelle was “dumped” on her when she had “mosquito bites for breasts”, which tells us that they’ve known each other for a very long time and that Dasha (just like Konstantin) would have had a part in raising Villanelle. In S3E4, Dasha starts cleaning up Villanelle’s things telling her “you don’t deserve nice things if you don’t look after them”, just as a mother would. Also in S3E1 Dasha also makes a big deal about how proud she is of Villanelle, saying “you’re so talented, you’re the best I ever trained, you’re destined for greatness”; and telling Eve in S3E6 how “I created her, I took raw shit and moulded it into steel, I broke her back, I give her wings”.

Villanelle will be aware that she’s like Dasha’s prodigy. So for Villanelle to suddenly find out that Dasha has a son, and she’s not like the child that Dasha never had, it’s yet another disappointment and loss of a maternal figure and/or family for Villanelle. The sudden use of the extreme close-ups just accentuates and draws our attention to Villanelle’s emotional reaction to this realisation and Dasha’s enjoyment in her suffering.

However, Villanelle hides any hint that she’s been effected by what Dasha has told her and instead comments, unfazed, about Dasha’s halitosis (which is bad breath) - again another remark that knocks Dasha’s ego.

We then see Villanelle and Dasha on the golf course in Aberdeen, observing the target they’ve been sent to kill. Villanelle is wearing the green hairy outfit, literally embodying the “beautiful monster” that Hélène said she was. However, although Villanelle fulfils the role of the “beautiful monster” on the outside; by deciding to not kill the target and letting him run away instead, she doesn’t actually end up fulfilling the role of being the “monster” that Hélène said she was.

Dasha also comments to Villanelle about how she will miss “that feeling you get when you snuff out a life, when you can see your own eyes reflected in dilated pupils, when you can count the number of breaths they have left on one hand”. This is something that we’ve seen Villanelle enjoy a number of times: the Greco kill in Tuscany S1E1, the Carla De Mann kill in Paris in S1E2 and the Fat Panda kill in Berlin in S1E3.

When Eve finds Dasha on the golf course while in pursuit of Villanelle, Dasha makes a comment about Niko’s moustache being “like Stalin”, which prompts Eve to kill Dasha by crushing her chest. We see the same expression from Eve, which we saw from Villanelle at the Tuscany kill in S1E1, as she revels in “that feeling you get when you snuff out a life” that dAsha was describing. Similarly, we also see Dasha’s enjoyment as she watches Eve and vicariously feels her experience “that feeling”, from killing her.

After Villanelle hit Dasha with the golf club and is waiting for Konstantin to pick her up, the song ‘Watch Your Back’ by The Coathangers. The lyrics:

“I’m stuck here,

No way out,

Back, you can never go back,

You can never go back,

No, no, no”

The lyrics of the song demonstrate how Villanelle now has “no way out” and “can never go back”. By ‘killing’ Dasha she’s now made her choice and will never be able to return to working for The Twelve and has to find a way to move forward now instead.

The song also relates to Eve, who similarly “can never go back”, after having a hand in killing Dasha and finding enjoyment in the act of doing so (unlike when she killed Raymond). Once Eve has fully released and embraced her “monster”, she can never return to the life of normalcy she once had.

Just like how Eve was about to use Niko’s pitchforking to get the information she wants, she also does it again when the American target tries to get help from her. The American man asks for help to escape from Villanelle, but Eve just repeatedly asks him what the girl looked like, and then proceeds to push him out of the car so that she can peruse Villanelle. It shows us Eve’s frenzy and focus on trying to find Villanelle and not caring about anything, or anyone else, at all.

‘I See Darkness’ by Red Mecca also starts to play as Eve crushes Dasha’s chest. The lyrics we hear are:

“Just as time,

Wonder why,

I see darkness in you,

Lose my breath,

Alone with you,

I see shadows of you”

The last time this song was used, was for Villanelle’s mother in S3E5. The song is used in this instance, to again show how Eve has come to a turning point and a point where her “darkness” is fully rearing it’s head. As the song is used for Eve’s darkness while she kills Dasha, the use of the song for Villanelle’s mother to connect the two scenes, supports the thought that Tatiana may have also been a killer (and most likely killed Villanelle’s father).

When Villanelle and Eve narrowly miss each other at the train station in Scotland after Konstantin had his heart attack; an unreleased song, presumably by Unloved is played over the scene. The lyrics we can hear are:

“I once had a love,

Or did love have me,

It set me free,

It set me free”

The song encapsulates Villanelle and Eve’s relationship: do they love each other or are they at the whim of Love, being consumed and controlled by it? Whatever the answer may be, they can both say that the love they have for one another put them on a journey that has “set [them] free”. Eve has come to accept her “monster” and Villanelle’s eyes have been opened to the lack of freedom she has in her life.

In the final scene of the episode, at Liverpool Street train station in London, Eve gets a phone call from Villanelle. We get a wide shot of Eve as the camera pans away from her, which is a shot that is repeated with Villanelle in the tea dance scene in S3E8. The wide shots are used to highlight Eve and Villanelle’s isolation when they’re not together; when Villanelle and Eve aren’t together, they have no-one else who is there for them. The shots are also used to illustrate to us how everything else in the work pales into insignificance when they’re together; there can be so many other people around and so many other things happening, but their sole focus is on one another - the rest of the world continues to turn but their worlds’ stop when they’re without the other.

You can read my previous Killing Eve posts here:-

First Introduction to Villanelle

First Introduction to Eve

S1, E1 - Nice Face

S1, E2 - I’ll Deal With Him Later

S1, E3 - Don’t I Know You?

S1, E4 - Sorry Baby

S1, E5 - I Have a Thing about Bathrooms

S1, E6 - Take Me to the Hole!

S1, E7 - I Don’t Want to Be Free

S1, E8 - God, I’m Tired

S2, E1 - Do You Know How to Dispose of a Body?

S2, E2 - Nice and Neat

S2, E3 - The Hungry Caterpillar

S2, E4 - Desperate Times

S2, E5 - Smell Ya Later

S2, E6 - I Hope You Like Missionary!

S2, E7 - Wide Awake

S2, E8 - You’re Mine

S3, E1 - Slowly Slowly Catchy Monkey

S3, E2 - Management Sucks

S3, E3 - Meetings Have Biscuits

S3, E4 - Still Got It

S3, E5 - Are You From Pinner? [Part 1]

S3, E5 - Are You From Pinner? [Part 2]

S3, E6 - End of Game

S3, E8 - Are You Leading or Am I? [Part 1]

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a-vast-african-plain · 4 years

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Pride, Prejudice, and Redemption

Bill Williamson x gn!reader Pride and Prejudice AU. Featuring Vandermatthews and gn!reader because I decided period typical homophobia doesn’t exist here lol

•Our story begins with the Van Der Linde family.

•Dutch Van Der Linde and his husband Hosea have raised four adopted sons

•The family has a title and a small estate, but their money has run out and they are in danger of losing everything

•Dutch’s solution to this is to find wealthy matches for their sons to marry. Someone with plenty of money who is in need of a title.

•Hosea would rather his sons marry for love, but can’t deny the desperate situation the family is in

•But which of their sons is eligible?

•Arthur, who is charming and humble, is still pining after Mary Linton, whose father won’t accept him because of his family’s lack of money.

•John married a woman named Abigail several years ago and has a son named Jack.

•Javier is still suffering from the pain of losing his first love to someone else.

•Which only leaves Bill, a bear of a man known for being surly and closed off.

•Dutch and Hosea try their best to find someone for him, but it goes about as well as you would expect

•Bill seems uninterested in finding a match at first, not wanting to speak to anyone his fathers try to introduce him to

•But the truth is obvious to his family from the way he watches other couples, the way his eyes linger on John’s little family when they’re together

•Bill is lonely, though he’d never admit it

•It’s easier to pretend not to care than to be vulnerable, to hope that the other person will see you and accept you for who you are.

•Bill has lost all hope that he’ll ever be able to find someone who will.

•In a last ditch effort to find both find a companion for Bill and someone who can save the family from destitution, Dutch and Hosea decide to have the family attend a ball

•Hosea makes sure everyone looks their best, in order to give a good impression

•He does a good job, but he can’t stop Arthur from avoiding the other guests by staying out on the balcony, or John and Abigail trying to sneak away to god knows where.

•Bill just stood on the sidelines, too nervous to mingle.

•When a group of men and women pass him by, Dutch manages to catch Bill’s eye and motion towards them.

•Bill looks reluctant, but he approaches the group, desperately trying to come up with a conversation starter

•As he nears, however, he trips and to his horror, manages to spill his drink on the most beautiful person he’s ever seen

•You had attended the party at your parent’s insistence, but you were bored out of your mind, your friends not interested in anything but gossiping about the men of the Van der Linde family

•Feeling something spill on you, you spun around, coming face to face with a handsome man who looked incredibly out of place

•Dutch and Hosea watch, frozen, waiting for the inevitable fallout

•But instead of yelling, or berating Bill, you start laughing

•“It’s fine,” they hear you say. “This ball was feeling a bit dull anyway. At least this livens things up a bit.”

•Bill’s face is still red from embarrassment, but now he’s smiling too

•Your gazes lock, and for the first time that night, you feel your heart skip a beat

•He’s looking at you like you hung the moon

•Offering his hand towards you just a bit awkwardly, he asks if you’d like to dance

•And you accept, stained clothes and all

•You’re not even worried about how you may look to the other guests

•Not as long as he keeps looking in your eyes like that

•Dutch and Hosea are thrilled and begin to discreetly ask around about your family

•They discover that you come from a very rich one, though you’re known to be adventurous and a bit of a rebel, much to your parents’ dismay.

•They’re very strict, apparently, and have spent the last few years trying to convince you to settle down with someone nice.

•Someone with a title.

•The night ends too soon, but you and Bill part with whispered promises to see one another again soon

•And you do

•Again and again and again.

•Before you know it, and to the delight of both your families, you’re inseparable.

•Bill takes you on adventures with him and in turn, you teach him about things that he’s never even dreamed of

•You both learn to be vulnerable, and you fall in love with each other, with all of each other.

•The next spring, he proposes

•And you, happier than you’ve ever been and deep, deeply in love, accept.

#bill williamson #bill williamson x reader #gn!reader #bill williamson x gn!reader #pride and prejudice au #historical au #vandermatthews #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #javier escuella #arthur morgan #john marston #Savannah writes #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #bill williamson/reader

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peace-coast-island · 3 years

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Diary of a Junebug

A spooky midnight feast

What a long night - and I mean that in a good way! First the theatre, now it's the Spooky Moon Festival. We just enjoyed a spooky midnight feast hosted by Jack to kick off the festivities.

A couple days ago we visited Peace Coast Island to see Marlo and Don. Marlo’s an old friend from Rosevine who left home about six years ago to become an actress in New York City. Not too long after moving there, Marlo met Don, a journalist for News Times, and as of last year they became engaged.

Marlo is who some would consider a starving artist. While she has appeared in numerous commercials, soap operas, and stage shows, Marlo hasn't gotten her big break yet. She has always managed to get by with odd jobs in between sporadic gigs but it sometimes seems like she gets the short end of the stick. It's a shame because she really is a talented and versatile actress.

But it looks like Marlo's finally gonna get her big break with Sugar and Spice, a brand new musical comedy drama that just made its debut at Starlight Theatre. The show played for two weeks there and the next stop will be Port Beacon, followed by Etienne Falls, Glassenwick, Cabot Bridge, and Petunia. This isn't the first time Marlo's gone on tour for a brand new show, but in past experiences, the show turns out to be a bomb and the tour closes early. Though based on the reviews for Sugar and Spice so far - as well as my own thoughts on it - we have high hopes!

Tagging along with Marlo for the first leg of the tour is Don. Since Marlo went off on her first tour, Don has been tagging along to write a review for the show, so he gets work done and gets to spend some time with Marlo - a win-win situation for both. However, if the tour goes on for the full twelve weeks - or more if things go really well - that's gonna be the longest time the two have been apart from each other.

Instead of heading back to New York, Don's gonna be staying at the camp for a while. He's gonna write an article about the Spooky Moon Festival, which he plans to finish tomorrow to get that out of the way. Marlo was the one who suggested that he take some extra days off by visiting the camp to get his mind off things. It's so sweet how much they're gonna miss each other while Marlo's away.

I've met Don a handful of times since he and Marlo started dating. They're a sweet couple, like a comedic duo with Marlo being the funny one while Don's the straight one - they play off each other super well. Anyone who can keep up with Marlo's antics while having a great sense of humor is a winner. I can't wait for the day when they finally get married!

Considering how long they've been together, it was hard to believe that they almost broke up last year. Don spoke about the near breakup when he and Marlo appeared as guests on Garden Chats, a podcast about mental health, a couple months back. It's a really good episode that not only brings up interesting points about the stigma behind depression but also the strong bond Marlo and Don share. Don said that he was hesitant to do the podcast at first but in the end he was glad he did it.

How the two got together is a cute and funny story. Marlo had her first acting gig for an ad for a security system where she played a damsel in distress during a break in. Don was nearby and thought Marlo was in danger so he swooped in to save the day, only to be humiliated after getting yelled at by her and the crew. The poor guy was so caught up in helping someone in need that he failed to notice the cameras and other equipment that were clearly visible. After getting over the embarrassment, Marlo decided to take him out to dinner as she found him kinda cute and didn’t want to be responsible for him crawling under a rock and never ever seeing the light of day again.

For the next four years Marlo and Don hardly left each other’s side. Marlo’s dad often complains that every time he comes over to visit his daughter, her boyfriend’s always there - though over the years he’s warmed up to him. Likewise whenever Marlo comes home, Don usually tags along with her. I think it was Luciana or maybe Emmaline who said that sometimes they forget that Don’s not from Rosevine nor has he ever lived there.

In a way it’s kinda like an opposites attract sort of relationship. Don’s more serious and levelheaded while Marlo is more lighthearted and playful. She’s confident and ambitious, always jumping from one thing to another. He’s more of a go with the flow type, the one who picks and chooses his battles with consideration. He may come across as a no nonsense kind of guy sometimes, but he’s also a sensitive one. She may have a tendency to ramble on and attract trouble, but you have to admit her heart’s in the right place. Marlo gets in over her head while Don gets taken in for the ride. They compliment and contrast each other - sometimes even picking up each other’s traits over the years.

So imagine what was going through everyone’s heads when rumors started going around about the engagement being broken. Since there was never really a confirmation or a denial, no one really knew what was going on. At least for me and my circle of friends, while we were concerned, we knew it wasn’t our place to get involved in any way. Now that we know what really happened thanks to the podcast, I’m glad that the whole thing never really made the gossip mill.

The podcast that Don and Marlo did was hosted by Lessa, probably making it the first time I’ve ever listened to a podcast where I know the host and the guests on a personal level. Don spoke about how he was recently diagnosed with clinical depression and how he had suspected that something was wrong with him for a long time before that. Pressure from work and his engagement along with a bunch of other personal issues led to him getting cold feet and abruptly breaking things off with Marlo. With everything going on he suddenly found himself unable to cope so he ended up almost sabotaging the best thing to ever happen to him. Looking back, he felt that it was his way of punishing himself for not being happy enough despite having everything he could have ever wanted (and more) from someone he loved.

Marlo also spoke about the near breakup and how she began doubting herself when Don started pushing her away. When he told her that he couldn’t marry her, she couldn’t believe it. So she fought back, demanding an explanation and blaming herself. But because she loved him, Marlo knew that she couldn’t just stand there and watch Don slip into a downward spiral.

The “breakup” lasted for about a month, which was the longest Marlo and Don went without talking to each other. By then their friends had noticed a change in Don’s behavior as he was isolating himself from everyone and acting erratically. Marlo felt helpless but persisted and once Don realized that he wasn't all right, he turned to Marlo and her family for help. Since then their relationship has grown stronger.

It was interesting to hear them be so open and vulnerable about their struggles. If the whole conversation isn't proof of how much they care about each other, I don't know what is. I'm glad that Don's getting the help he needs and that Marlo's luck is finally changing.

As for the wedding, there's no set date yet but it's definitely happening. Though at this point they're pretty much like an old married couple, which is super cute. With everything going on in their personal and professional lives, they want to wait until things settle down before tying the knot. Daisy Jane, Andrea, Almie, and I are betting that the wedding's happening sooner rather than later - as in this year. Based on these past few days, it looks like we're not too far off the mark!

Marlo was absolutely fantastic in Sugar and Spice! From the catchy songs to the witty dialogue and relatable characters, it's no wonder that the play has been getting glowing reviews! Marlo stole the show, easily one of the highlights of the play. Unlike previous shows Marlo toured for, she's not stuck being the saving grace of a poorly executed script, something that she has been the victim of far too many times.

The show's about a group of friends who work at a bakery called Sugar and Spice. Marlo is Gingie, a newcomer who had just left home and rediscovers her love for baking through the bakery. There's a funny running gag of Gingie coming up with the most ridiculous cookie recipes that turn out good and leaving the kitchen in such a state of disaster in the process. It's a cute and funny show about a bunch of friends who like to bake.

In between shows, Marlo joined us at the camp. Most of the nights were sold out or didn't have enough seats for the camp, which was why we were unable to attend the first week. Once things got settled down with rehearsals and such, Marlo and Don were able to have some time for themselves at the camp. The two enjoyed picnics on various hangout spots, sightseeing near the mountains, and chilling at the beach.

We also helped Jack set up for the Spooky Moon Festival. Marlo was bummed that she's gonna miss it so Don promised to take a lot of pics for her. It's been great catching up with them and seeing them have fun together. They plan to return in the near future so that's something to look forward to!

The Spooky Moon Festival comes once every few years to celebrate the Spooky Moon. While helping out with the festival, I've learned a lot about the event. Basically there's a spooky looking moon that looks like it's covered in cobwebs that comes into view every four years. It looks super cool, like something out of a vintage spooky picture you see in old books. Everything about the festival gives off Halloween vibes and I'm really digging the aesthetic!

After seeing Marlo off, we got to prepping for the midnight feast. Don's been a great deal of help and it's nice getting to know him on a one on one basis. I think this is the first time I've hung out with him without Marlo. He's been enjoying the camp, which is great as Marlo didn't want him to worry about her too much. Like I said, it's sweet how much they watch out for each other.

At midnight, the festivities began! Making the food was a lot of fun, especially making everything look spooky and cool for the occasion. Decorating cookies was my favorite part as well as cutting out dough into fun shapes for the pies. It took a lot of prep time but the effort was so worth it - everything came out great!

Along with the food, we enjoyed listening to spooky stories, playing fun games, and looking at the moon through the astronomer's telescope. The Spooky Moon's a lovely view to see, made even better with good company to share it with!

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

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yunohawkeye · 5 years

Text

500 Follower Special - Arthur x MC x Theodorus NSFW Alphabet

I finally finished it! I’m sorry for the long wait but here it is :) And thanks to @jennacat84 for having a look over it.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

You can expect some very tight hugs from Theo and some teasingly sweet caresses from Arthur.

On a normal basis you’re the one being sandwiched between them but there are days where things are switched up. When either of their demons catches up to Theo or Arthur and they’ve been the one focused on today one of them will be embraced by the other two.

If it’s been Theo he embraces you tightly from the front and Arthur embraces him from the back while he lets his fingers trace over Theo’s form or holds his hand in his, depending on the intensity of the breakdown.

If Arthur is the one fighting with his demons, you’re the one who hugs him from the front, gently pressing his head on your chest and your hands carding through his hair. Theo will start with light spooning but it doesn’t take long for it to turn into a tight full-body hug, when he isn’t able to hold his worries back.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On himself Arthur likes his lips - mostly combined with his wit - and how he can make you blush with his words and squirm with his mouth. Arthur loves your legs. He loves being smothered by them and they are his favorite place to bite. Also, he’s big on you wearing short skirts or shorts.

Theo likes the size of his hands. How he can bury his fingers deep within you and the sounds he elicits from you when he does. He also always melts when he holds your hand in his and realizes again and again how small and delicate yours look in comparison to him.

Deep down Theo is a simple man and so his favorite part about you is your womanhood. He actually is kind of embarrassed that his preference is so… primal. But he loves to drown in the smell and taste of you and to hear you scream out his name while he does.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

First of all, both would never even think about coming inside of you without consent.

Arthur loves to come on your thighs and gets really turned on when he sees his essence run down your legs.

Theo on the other hand loves to come on your back. There’s just something that makes him feel mesmerized by it.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

You can bet that Arthur and Theo have a whole lot planned for you. They’ve talked about it from time to time but are still debating if they should tell you because their plan would turn out rather… intense for you.

It consists of you being completely tied up, blindfolded and gagged while they take you from both sides, edging you until you can’t take it anymore combined with them both biting you just long enough to keep you conscious. The only problem that comes up when you want to come is that teo likes good girls while Arthur likes you to be naughty.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

I don’t think I have to tell you that Arthur has a lot of experience. Theo on the other hand doesn’t have too much experience but enough to know what he’s doing. Plus, he is intuitive enough to know what keeps you satisfied.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

There are a lot of positions you try out but one has become your favorite. It consists of you being on your hands and knees while Arthur is taking you from behind and while you are having Theo’s member in your mouth while he kneels in front of you.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Intimate times with them are not really goofy.There is only some teasing from Arthur but it has mostly a dirty-talk character. In the end both are more of the serious kind, one a little more than the other.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Both keep their hair neatly groomed although Arthur prefers it a little shorter than Theo.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Both of them jumped over their shadows to stand with you like they are now, so coming together in those vulnerable settings turns out very intimate.

Even when you decide to go for a rougher and kinkier night the aftermath is always very sweet and loving.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Theo is almost made of self-control and never really does it. This changed drastically after getting into a relationship with Arthur and you and he got the urge more often, although if you’re the one being away for a long time he’d even confide in Arthur, which still is a big step for him.

Arthur normally went out and got himself a fling before getting serious about the relationship. Now he only ever comes back to his hand when neither you or Theo are around.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

I don’t think it’s a big surprise that Theo is fan of pet play and would really, really love to see you wearing a collar with a leash attached.

Arthur loves it when you act and talk dirty and are confident around him. So lift your skirt to give him a glance of your underwear, if you decided to wear any at all. He gets off on you being naughty.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

When it’s all three of you who come together it always happens in one of your rooms. But if it’s only two it’s a little different because then the next empty room looks just as good.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

They both get really turned on when you let a not so innocent comment slip at the dining table, accompanied with a wink (effectiveness may vary depending on Vincent’s attendance).

Theo especially likes when you’re an obedient, good girl for him while Arthur gets off on you being a naughty girl, flashing him some skin or just wearing short clothing makes him have a hard time holding back.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Both are quite possessive and even after you’ve talked about it countless times there’s still a little tension between Arthur and Theo from time to time. So another person joining is out of the question.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Theo is almost addicted to eating you out, he loves how easily he can make you squirm and cry out his name. He wouldn’t outright ask for it but won’t say no when you offer to go down on him.

Arthur prefers to make you cum with his fingers so he can take in every expression you make. When it comes to you going down on him he’s a little more demanding and hints that he’s in the mood for seeing your head between his legs. But in the end he is more of a giver overall.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It’s quite rough on a normal basis but always slow and very sensual when one of you had a really bad day. That happens when you’ve been in any kind of danger or if the past caught up to one of them.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Quickies don’t really happen with all three of you involved but both are up for it with you.

Arthur asks for it more often while Theo does give in to the temptation less, but also from time to time.

But as they’ve grown more fond of each other as well they prefer to do it together.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Both are up for a good amount of risk.

They’re ready to go for everything that doesn’t actually hurt either of you or leaves permanent scars.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Both of them can offer a lot of stamina and can go for some rounds… when they’re the one topping.

But when either of them is the one being cared for, both do come quicker and harder and can’t go for that long.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Both love to use toys on you and if you’re up for it they’d like to try out a big variety of them.

Theo isn’t that big on them being used on him, just like Arthur. Although he’ll indulge once or twice a month.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Ha… Haha… Do you even need to ask? On milder days it already consists of endless teasing and you can believe me when I say that you won’t be able to form coherent stories on a wilder day. On those they will probably edge and tease you until you can’t take it anymore.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Theo normally grunts and groans in a mild volume, which rises the closer he gets. Arthur pants a lot and moans silently, which become more frequent and louder the closer he gets. But both are more vocal overall and even let out a whine once in a while when they are in a submissive position

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Theo has been tricked by Arthur once as the writer told Theo and you that he arranged one whole wing of the mansion to be free so all of you didn’t hold back in volume that night. Everything was alright until breakfast the next day where Theo almost choked on his pancakes when Vincent told him that he had heard weird noises from the room next to him while he was painting. Even though Theo gave him a deadly glare, Arthur just chuckled to himself and took a sip of his coffee.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Theo is pretty average in length, maybe a little longer plus a little on the thinner side.

Arthur’s a little slim but also on the longer side.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Arthur’s sex drive is high and is down to go for it almost always. Theo’s yearning made a 180° turn when he got together with you. Before he never felt the urge but now it has gotten hard for him to hold back whenever he sees you.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) If either of them has played the submissive part that night they will fall asleep rather quick, otherwise they stay awake and wait until you are sound asleep. Some days they lie there without a word and some days they might chat a little.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp theo #ikevamp arthur #theodorus van gogh #theo van gogh #arthur conan doyle #Nsfw-alphabet #n//sfw

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imaginepirates · 4 years

Text

King

Chapter 1

For @ironducke, who prompted me to write a fic about Elizabeth, believing James is responsible for her father’s death, putting a price on his head. I hope you guys like angst. I loved this, ran away with it, and have thus decided to do a short series. The chapters will be shorter than usual fics, but there will be more of them.

~1600 words

@emdrabbles @tesserphantom @viper-official @paljonkaikenlaista @wordsinwinters

~~~~~~~

He’d been dragged in hours ago, yet Elizabeth still hadn’t seen him.

It hadn’t taken long for someone to find him. How they managed to capture him, Elizabeth didn’t know, but she was sure the reward had been worth the risk. She’d offered a hefty sum to anyone willing to carry out her task, as well as a lifelong safety from pirates. Her newfound position granted her power that she hadn’t dreamed of; it was easy enough to get what she desired.

She desired revenge. Something had broken inside her when her father died, something only revenge could satisfy. She knew, of course, that Cutler Beckett had ordered the killing, but there was time enough for her to kill him later. No, there was a more personal matter to attend to.

Surely, he must have known. Surely, he should have stopped it. He should have helped. He’d always been helpful before, doing whatever was asked of him. Her father had trusted him, and was then betrayed. Perhaps he’d done the killing himself. All that Elizabeth knew was the pit of disgust and despair that she fell into whenever she thought of it, a chasm that opened whenever she thought of him.

After becoming Pirate King, one of her first orders was to place a bounty on the head of Admiral James Norrington. He’d committed multiple crimes against her, including giving the heart of Davy Jones to Cutler Beckett. For what purpose, Elizabeth didn’t know. She hadn’t cared for his title in the first place, and if he’d been trying to win her over, he would have done a better job by staying with her. Not that his drunkenness hadn’t revolted her anyway.

There was nothing he could’ve done to save himself. Pirates, merchants, and fishermen alike jumped at the opportunity to make themselves such a hefty sum as Elizabeth offered. For the merchants and fishermen, eliminating the threat of piracy had drawn them to her cause. Everywhere, men were actively hunting for the admiral, and sooner or later, he was bound to pop up.

He sat in a cell several floors below her, in the brig of some old ship making up part of the Cove. Elizabeth hadn’t decided just what to say to him yet, though she figured she wouldn’t be able to speak if she tried. Just the thought of him made her shake with rage; she would undoubtedly hurt him if they were in the same room.

Good, she thought. He deserves it. He deserves to suffer, to hurt, to feel as much pain as I did. We trusted him. It was the one thought Elizabeth couldn’t shake from her mind. She’d trusted Norrington once. She’d seen him as a friend, even. And lord knew her father had trusted him. How could he?

Elizabeth had wanted James alive. She wouldn’t let him have the sweet escape of death until she gave it to him- until he begged for it. He would bleed first, both physically and mentally, before she would give it to him. It would be the last mercy he would ever receive.

She told herself she was making him wait. Not knowing the reason for his capture would drive him crazy. Perhaps it would break him a little, tire him. She thought of the surprise on James’ face to see her, and cherished it. Or perhaps he knew already; it was possible that his captors had informed him of his fate. In that case, she was content in the fact that he knew he was waiting on her, that she hadn’t decided he was worth her time yet.

She refused to let herself think that she wasn’t ready to see him yet. Of course she was. She’d been ready since the moment she declared the bounty. Still, there was something holding her back from him, keeping her away. Her stomach refused to settle, and her chest was tight. Fear.

A shadow of her old self, whispering into her ear. You can’t hurt him; he’s your friend. You’ve known him for so long.

Have I? She asked herself. Have I known him? I thought I knew him once, then he nearly drank himself to death. I thought I knew him then, too, and he slipped away again, back to his old masters. I thought I knew him, and he let my father die.

Elizabeth kept him waiting for days. She hardly ate, and hardly slept, but she had her work to distract her from uncomfortable thoughts. She was in charge of staging the final battle between pirates and the East India Company, a battle she didn’t plan on losing. Those thoughts too came to her at night, when she doubted her planning and stratagem. You’re only a little girl, after all.

Jack gave her a pitying look each time she passed by. It was unbearable. It was like he could read her mind, and she was almost of a mind to send him away. She didn’t need him to remind her of her discomfort. She certainly didn’t need his pity. She was fully capable of everything she did. Or so she told herself during the day.

She couldn’t put James off any longer. She had to see him, to get things over with, to make her next visit to his cell that much easier. Thus she walked down through the ships, descending through the hull of one and onto the deck of another. Dim lights lit everything around her, but they grew ever dimmer as she went downwards.

The brig was unsanitary, even for the standards of pirates. Elizabeth suspected the last time anything had been washed was when the last pirate king had ordered it done. A century ago, then. Barnacles had managed to grow inside the room, reminding Elizabeth too much of the Dutchman and its crew.

Only one cell was in use. There was little light, but Elizabeth could make out a figure curled up on the ground, unmoving. She wondered if James had heard her come in. He gave no indication that he had, so she stepped in front of his cell, intending on making her presence clear.

Eyes peered at her from the darkness. James lay on his side, staring up at her with eyes sunken into their sockets. “Admiral,” she addressed him. She wanted to make herself clear. You’re no admiral anymore. Not here. Not now.

“Elizabeth,” he rasped, eyes widening.

Ah, so they didn’t tell him. “Do you know why you’re here?”

There was such a look of bewilderment on his face that she almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

As he struggled for words, she continued. “My father is dead, though I expect you knew that already. I want to know why, and how, and why you didn’t do anything to stop it.”

James said nothing, shock written across his features. “I-I didn’t know,” he whispered. His voice sounded like it hadn’t been used in days. Weeks, even. Elizabeth found herself wondering when he last had water.

She let out a dry laugh. “Don’t lie to me, James. You can hurt me all you like, but don’t lie to me. Not that it’s beneath you, anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

“How can I make this clear to you?” She stared down at him with contempt. “Beckett had my father killed. You knew about it. You did nothing.”

Shock was replaced by hurt, and James seemed to crumple into himself. “I didn’t know, I swear.” He was crying softly, soundlessly, but Elizabeth wouldn’t make the mistake of falling for his tears. “Elizabeth, please.”

“Please what?” Her voice was a dangerous whisper. “Believe you? After what you’ve done? I don’t think so.” He looked pathetic, lying there, and she reflected that it was the most vulnerable she’d ever seen him. She was taking sickening pleasure in it. “Get up.”

James made no move to rise, and Elizabeth almost told him to move again, but she could feel that something was wrong. James could be stubborn, she knew this. He could refuse her. But the look he was giving her was one of pain, not rebellion.

He tried pushing himself up on his arms, only for them to shake violently. The weakness made Elizabeth pause. She let her gaze fall to the floor, and realized that what she’d mistaken for water was actually blood. It spattered the floor around James, and there were dark splotches across his coat, both old and new. He was wheezing with effort to lower himself back to the floor, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice how large his coat seemed against his frame.

I will not feel sorry for this man, she told herself. I want him to feel pain. I want him to feel agony. Still, her stomach wanted to rid itself of its contents. She forced the bile back down, instead letting herself be transfixed by the concentration James had to put into moving.

Abruptly, she left. There was nothing for her to do, no words for her to say that would hurt him more than he was already suffering. He wouldn’t be able to listen to her, anyway. He would be too blinded by the torture of his body to pay any attention to his mind.

I don’t have to do anything. It would be a miracle if his wounds weren’t infected. He’ll rot away, all on his own.

#potc #pirates #pirate #pirates of the caribbean #elizabeth swann #elizabeth #norrington x elizabeth #norrington #James Norrington #commodore norrington #writing #drabble #request #drabbles #king #miniseries #mini series

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jack-kellys · 4 years

Text

it’s fizz, with another fic, another au. idea lowkey stolen from the lovely @vioislit, but she has input don’t worry :)

anyhow

———————

“super” broke

words: 1.2k

warnings: cursing, pain description, passing out...yes that’s all

—————

Jack

Jack didn’t actually like being late.

Crew was supposed to be at tech way before the actors, and yet here Jack was, earning a disappointed glare from his stage manager. Especially as her ASM, assistant stage manager, he should be ten minutes earlier.

Another thing Jack didn’t like- or understand, really: why was he, a design major, assigned to assistant manage again? He could’ve helped design this whole set instead of attending rehearsals and taking notes and all the damn reading he had to do and the organizing and piles of paperwork… Well. Maybe he was assigned this to reorganize himself, actually. God knew he’d been wildly caught up in...himself.

Jack had reason, of course. It wasn’t some self-absorbed thing (for once, Spot would say). He was genuinely busy outside of Shakespeare In Love—he had semester courses that were finishing up and finals were damn near literally creeping up his asshole, he swore. He had an entire art project to do that in actuality would have taken him two months...if he didn’t have only two weeks to do it.

Jack groaned inwardly as he set up his laptop backstage, nabbing his printed pre-show list to start checking things off around the area. He was used to burying himself, but lately the soil felt suffocating. The show—which had turned out to be much bigger than anticipated—his classes, upcoming finals, and...y’know.

The whole superpower thing.

Back in September, when Jack was working a play and running the lighting board, he’d been alone on headset and bored. He hadn’t learned much about sound design yet, so of course he was messing around. The spotlights weren’t up on the catwalk yet, their PSM wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and no one’s voice was crackling over the headset. Jack was idly turning dials on the soundboard as a result. Because Jack—and he knew this—was an idiot, he turned one of the many colored dials way up to one side. He’d done it before to a few different dials and nothing had happened, so he figured ...Wrong. He figured really fucking wrong.

A piercing sound struck horizontally in his skull, like it's lightning-bolt points were stabbing through his brain and out of his ears. His hands lost feeling and he tried to cry out, eyes squeezed shut, though he could only emit a small gasp of agony. Honestly, Jack couldn’t feel much of anything with the blinding pain at the forefront of his nerve endings. He knew his knees were to the ground now, he sure as hell wasn’t standing with his legs heavy as lead. It wouldn’t end, it seemed, the pain still as powerful as it was initially. If his hands decided to be useful, they could switch off the dial, or take off his headset, but for now, they were set on feebly attempting to protect himself. For some reason, he’d stuck his hands out and away, like the pain source was right in front of him.

Then, the brain-burning feeling dropped away, and Jack carefully opened his eyes to find a slightly opaque blue forcefield surrounding him like a bubble. He shifted to one side, and the blue moved with him. He sat up, and it adjusted. Jack broke out into an astonished grin. How the fuck had he gotten a forcefield from a sound board? Not like he cared how he got them—all that mattered was that he could make a forcefield with his fucking hands and that was the coolest shit he’d ever seen.

So that was the whole ‘superpowers thing.’

Since that day, Jack had been experimenting with himself, hence why everything else was becoming even more heavy on Jack’s back. He couldn’t help but dedicate real time to figuring out this random new ability. Homework kind of took a backseat to mysterious abilities.

Jack would find himself a private area in between classes—secluded enough not to simply be found but reasonable enough to not look sketchy—and just concentrate. Envision the blue around himself as he held up his hands, eyes scrunched closed. Picture its shade, a stark and royal blue, but still able to see right through it.

“Jack.”

The pulse of something so close to being emitted from his palms.

“Jack.”

Feel the zap of energy between his ears, somewhere deep in his brain-

“Jack FUCKING Kelly! You in there?”

His gaze finally focused back in with a gasp. Someone was whapping his cheek.

Oh, god. Right. Shakespeare. Shit. He was still standing backstage, and was apparently staring at nothing.

“Hi Sarah, um,” Jack chuckled sheepishly to his stage manager. “I, uh...dissociation’s a bitch, huh?”

Sarah Jacobs frowned. “Technically true,” she muttered. “Just get back to it. Actors are called in twenty, so make sure your side’s all set up.”

“Thank you, twenty,” Jack sighed with a smile as her boots padded away. Thank God he was on her good side. Sarah was one of the toughest seniors Jack had ever come across. Her glare could probably cut straight through a freshman’s heart.

Jack had finished setting in only ten minutes, about to decide to help the other ASM when something blinked out above him and a loud “SHIIIIIT, Jesus…” called from the back of the house.

“Oh God, Spot, what happened?” Jack groaned, glancing up towards the lights as he came center stage. A whole line of them had gone out. Shit. “The hell did you do, man?”

“Whatever it is, you’re dealin’ with it!” Spot yelled back. “I’m going over cues in three minutes. You figure it out, Kelly.”

He was on Sarah’s good side. Not Spot’s, despite he and Jack being in the same grade and shared many classes together.

“Fucking….fine.” At least it would give him something to do.

Jack’s investigation led him outside, unfortunately. He shivered against the cold as he checked the power box, only understanding what about half of the switches meant. Conlon never gave him a damn break, did he.

A gust of wind blew through him, making him shake like a damn leaf in addition. Fuck Spot rights, Jack decided spitefully.

“Uh, hello- hi?”

Jack paused, turning around to see leaves swirling in the air still as well as a curly-haired kid staring at him with wide eyes. He looked freaked.

Jack’s lips pursed, hand coming up to gesture.

“Did you…” Jack pointed to the kid, then in the direction the leaves were blowing.

“Yeah,” the kid nodded hesitantly, “I was running-“

“You were running?” Jack scoffed, surprised. “And it created a damn windstorm?”

“Well, yeah, what’s it look like?” The kid shrugged, taking a few steps closer to Jack. “Maybe don’t...tell anyone, okay?”

He looked rather vulnerable, eyes shifting around their surroundings in search of other possible witnesses. A pang of sympathy struck Jack’s heart, he couldn’t help it.

“Sure thing, kiddo,” Jack smiled. “I’m Jack. You can trust me, I promise.”

Jack watched the guy breathe out a small sigh. “I’m Anthony,” he smiled slightly, sticking out his hand. “And thanks.”

Jack’s smile grew. “Nah, nah, I get it. Gotta keep your identity secret, and all’a that.” He shook the kid’s hand as Anthony let out a small laugh.

Something white and hot zig-zagged up Jack’s arm at the contact. He felt his whole body nearly vibrate, and then he blacked out. This really wasn’t Jack’s goddamn day. ——————

of course the first thing I write is gonna be a series, because I hate making life easy please tell me if you don’t wanna be on my tag list anymore! or if you wanna be on it! it’s been a few months heh :) just message me I don’t bite

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justforbooks · 4 years

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Herb Heilbrun was born October 11, 1920 in Cincinnati, Ohio to his father Herbert, who worked for his wife’s family business that “produced high-quality made-to-measure men’s suits” and his mother Mary Lou, who “Had a promising tryout during Hollywood’s “silent” era, but decided that life in the movies was no life at all after working severals grueling days as a film extra”. As a young boy who loved building wooden model airplanes, he attended elementary school at North Avondale Elementary in Cincinnati alongside his future best friend and Tuskegee Airman, John Leahr. Herb remembers December 7, 1941, when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. He didn’t hear the news until later on in the afternoon when he stopped at a favorite restaurant in the neighborhood called Sugar N Spice and all of the employees were sitting around listening to the news on the radio; the “Japs” were bombing Hawaii. He had just turned twenty-one in October and was working at the Wright Aeronautical defense plant that had just opened north of Cincinnati and within weeks he decided to join the Army Air Corps and do something he had always dreamt of doing… learn to fly. That following May in 1942 Herb passed the entry exams for the Air Corps and the Cadet Board of Examiners and was then sent home to await an opening for aviation cadet classes. He was finally called up in February of 1943. He had B-17 training in New Mexico and B-17 combat crew training in Texas. When he was finally ready to set off to Europe in a shiny new B-17G, everyone in his crew showed up except his waist gunner. Missing even one member of the crew forced them to be considered incomplete for combat and they were broken apart and placed into other squadrons as replacement crew members. Herb was forced to return to combat crew training and eventually was able to ship out overseas. November 1944, Herb landed in Italy with combat assignment in the 301st Bomb Group. Combat airfield life forced the men to live in a tent city, take off on runways made of interlocking steel mats and build furniture from from junked aircraft.

The following excerpt is from “Black and White Airmen - Their True History” (John Fleischman)

We have to fly whatever airplane is given to us because they’re always fixing something on them. “On February 1, 1945, Herb found himself in a deathtrap, only it was his own side that nearly killed him. It was mechanical failure, not flak. The mission was an oil refinery at Moosbierbaum, just outside Vienna. The weather was awful. The B-24’s, which flew at lower altitudes, were more vulnerable to bad weather, so the pressure was on to get as many high-altitude B-17s as possible into the attack force. That put the major in charge of the repair shops for Herb’s squadron under the gun. The night before Moosbierbaum, Herb’s crew was on the order of battle, but rumor said that there weren’t enough airworthy B-17s for such a big mission. The major promised a maximum repair effort overnight. Herb had no idea what he would be flying in the morning.

Crews always had favorite aircraft, but except for the special Pathfinder ships, no crew had a guarantee of getting their “own” plane. Herb’s crew preferred “Haley’s Comet” a bright metal B-17G named by a previous crew after Jack Haley, the actor who played the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz movie.” That was the plane Herb’s crew wanted to fly most if it were on the flight line for the next day’s mission.

“The Comet was out of action for Moosbierbaum; they would have to take the luck of the draw. But when Herb reached his assigned aircraft on the flight line, he was stunned. It was a crate, an orphan B-17 from the Eighth Air Force in England that had crash-landed behind Soviet lines, been patched together, and flown out to Italy. It belonged to no one now unless the major’s repair crews tore it apart for spares or converted it into a squadron “hack,” a stripped-out bomber good enough to fly men to Naples or Rome on leave. Suddenly this old crate was pretending to be a bomber again, sitting there fueled, armed, and bombed up to join the order of battle. When Herb reached the cockpit and pulled out the plane’s logbook, he felt sick. The engines had 521 hours on them. Herb knew from his time at Wright Aero that an aircraft engine with close to 500 hours on it wasn’t safe. After 500 hours, an engine needed a total teardown and rebuild. To fly this crate on a combat mission was crazy. But it was too late. Planes all around them were going through the engine start drill. Any minute, the colonel’s ship would be rolling toward takeoff. The rest of the squadron had better be with him at 10,000 feet and building the attack formation within minutes. Herb remembered what he’d told his flight engineer before Brux: “We’re going to fly whatever airplane they give us. We’re going to fly it to wherever they tell us.”

Herb Glanced across at Harry in the copilot’s seat. There was nothing to do but start the engines and pray. Maybe an oil seal would blow on Engine Start. None did. Herb took off, climbed to his assigned position in the formation, and set out for Moosbierbaum. All four engines were running, but Herb was worried. To keep up with the formation, he couldn’t nurse his suspect engines. As the bombers crossed the Alps into southern Austria, the number one engine began to smoke and then vibrate violently. Herb shut it down and managed to “feather” the head propeller; that is, he rotated the blades into a neutral position to minimize air resistance. Unfeathered, a frozen prop would drag them down as surely as if the airplane had a ship’s anchor dangling from the wing.”

Now it was equally dangerous to turn back alone or go on with the formation to target. Running on three engines, Herb ordered the bombardier to jettison half the bomb load. The barrage tore up the Austrian pastures below them, but the lighter airplane picked up a little speed. They would be able to stay with the formation, Herb thought, if nothing else went wrong. Then engine number three erupted in smoke and violent vibration. Herb feathered the prop. On two engines, they were finished, at least, with this mission. Herb lowered and raised the plane’s wheels, the signal to his squadron leader that he was aborting, and turned his crippled crate toward home.”

The radios didn’t work, I couldn’t get fighter escort, I couldn’t get anything. So I called the crew and said, we gotta problem, I want you to charge your 50 caliber machine guns and stay with them. We’ve got two engines gone, we’re a long way from home, I don’t know what’s going to happen if we’re attacked, but we’re going to give em what we can give em!

I figured if I got over the Alps, the worst thing that could happen was that there’s a flat place before you get to the Adriatic that would allow us to either bail out or get it on the ground. We might be captured. We got that far and I made a little deal with the Lord, I didn’t say get me home *laughs* I was pushing that hard, I said just get me half way down the Adriatic because the British had launches in Yugoslavia and when they’d see an airplane they’d come out, pick you up and take care of you.

“Moosbierbaum was waiting for the rest of Herb’s bomb group with bad flak and terrible weather. The flak claimed two B-17s, and the weather scattered the attackers. But Herb and his crew were already fighting for their lives. The enemy was gravity. To get home, they had the Alps to scale first, and Herb would need every inch of altitude the plane could grab to get over on two engines. He ordered the rest of the bomb load jettisoned. The B-17 gained a little height, but the snowy mountaintops ahead still looked much too close for comfort. They had no Little Friends (P-51s) to protect them, but they had no choice. The guns had to go. Herb ordered the gunners to heave their heavy 50 caliber machine guns overboard, followed by anything else the crew could tear loose — the oxygen cylinders, ammunition, extra clothing, flak jackets, and helmets. They kept the radio, their parachutes, and the navigation chart. Somehow, they scraped over the Alps without attracting Luftwaffe attention. Herb recited one of his silent prayers, asking only to reach the coast. The minutes tick by. Herb caught a glint of sunlight ahead, flashing off the Adriatic. Then Herb saw a thin stream of oil drizzling out of engine number two. A B-17 can’t fly on one engine, at least not for long.

Herb prayed, “Dear Lord, please just get me halfway down the Adriatic.” His radioman made contact with an American flight control station so at least someone would know where they went down or if they bailed out. Herb, though, was determined to go home. He radioed ahead to the airfield, asking for fire engines and ambulances on the runway”… We got halfway down the Adriatic and I called the crew and told them we were going home. And I’ll never forget, I called base and said Foxtail one two to Long-skirt, I’ve got two engines gone, one leaking oil. I told them where I was at 7,000 feet and 75 miles away from you and I said if a group is landing please hold them and give me permission for straight in approach on one seven.

“Number two was leaking heavily now. Herb figured that he had one pass at landing. They were too low to bail out now, and too crippled to go around the field again. It was land or crash. On February 1, 1944, Herb made one of the best landings of his life in the worst airplane he ever flew. He let the crate roll all the way down to the end of the runway before coming to a complete stop. The crew climbed out, giddy with relief. They were home, safe, sound, and dry.”

The major came roaring up in a jeep. A magnificent landing, the major shouted, a magnificent achievement to make it back on two engines. “Lieutenant Heilbrun, you’ll probably get the DFC for this,” said the major, meaning that Herb would get the Distinguished Flying Cross, one of the AAF’s highest honors. What Herb almost got was a court-martial. For the next five minutes, the lieutenant told the major precisely what the lieutenant thought of someone who would send ten men on a bombing mission in an aircraft with more than five hundred hours on the engines. “Criminal” was one of the more polite words Herb used. Lieutenants did not talk this way to majors in the AAF, especially with so many enlisted men and officers standing around, soaking up every word. And yet Lieutenant Heilbrun said all that and walked away from the major. Maybe that was another reason for the DFC that Herb was awarded for actions above and beyond the call of duty on February 1, 1945.”

Herb continued flying, keeping his crew alive and ended his final Mission, with a total of 35, on April 16, 1945 - “Herb’s personal Victory in Europe day”.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS

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sincerelymarinette · 4 years

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A Recorded Life (27/50) - Miraculous Ladybug

Words: 2362 Chapter Summary: Adrien has seemed strong through everything since his identity was revealed, but what happens when it comes crashing down on him? Marinette is overwhelming herself with work, and waiting for an important phone call. To make a hard day even harder, the first Akuma after their identities were revealed comes with determination. Author's Note: Adrien's emotional vulnerability? Check. Marinette stressing about everything? Check. An intense Akuma? A CHECK. I love love love this chapter. There are so many emotions and I can see it so clearly in my mind, especially the end. I also...tried to draw something for the ending because I could see it so clearly. I included it, and it's very cartoony. I'm a graphic designer with very limited traditional art skills, but I still think it's cute and had fun drawing it. I want to do more, so we'll see if I can get better...I mean practice makes better!

Prev / Next / Masterlist

Birthday Girl

---

Marinette was freaking out. She sat at one of the tables by the window in the bakery, eating a croissant for breakfast and working on her computer. It was Saturday, so while some places were a dead zone, the bakery was still open, and Marinette had homework to get done. Jagged Stone told her they needed to talk later, and left it open-ended, and that did not help her stress.

As she continued typing answers for school, she looked up to see Adrien run into the bakery with a pant. He had a worried look on his face, maybe that he could even cry. Marinette stood up as soon as she registered his face, and Adrien saw her. "What's wrong?" Marinette asked.

Adrien came over to the seat across where Marinette was standing, collapsed into the chair, and breathed shaky breaths. "My father wants to pull me out of school," He said, close to tears.

"What?" Marinette asked, sitting down.

"He wants to pull me out of school," Adrien said, putting his hands over his eyes to stop himself from breaking down. "I won't see any of my friends, and I will be supervised the whole time...I might not even be able to be Chat Noir anymore!" He told Marinette, muffled behind his hands.

Marinette's face looked angry. "He can't do that. What did you say?"

Adrien shrugged. "I screamed no, then I pushed past him and Nathalie and ran here," He said. "I didn't want to hear anymore. If I got more upset, Hawkmoth could akumatize me."

"No, we don't want that. He can't take you out of school!" Marinette protested. "That's so unfair."

Adrien finally looked up from his hands, eyes red. "The other night he said that I'm missing class due to Chat Noir. But everyone misses when there's an Akuma! He just doesn't understand."

Marinette gave Adrien a sympathetic look. "We'll figure it out. You just have to plead your case and let me know if I can do anything to convince him," Marinette encouraged.

"So running out was not my best idea?" Adrien asked, only getting a shrug from Marinette. "Oh well, what are you doing?"

"Lots of homework. And waiting for a call from Jagged Stone. He said he had something to talk to me about," She said, trying to keep calm even though she was jumping to conclusions about what the conversation could be about. Before Adrien could reply, Marinette's phone rang. "And I guess it's time," She said, and answered the phone.

"Marinette! How are you?" Jagged asked, sounding very excited.

She looked at Adrien a little confused. "Doing great. What's up?" She responded.

"We are releasing the first single Friday!" He said. "I know you've had that one done for a while, there are a few revisions we have to have, but it's time! And I know you keep pushing away at all the other covers and you're almost done, so this is great! We might even have an album release date soon!" Jagged rambled, but now it was clear what his excitement was for.

Marinette's jaw dropped. "Seriously?" She smiled widely, almost unable to contain her excitement.

"Yes!" Jagged said, sounding like he jumped. "This is going to be great! Penny is going to send you the file, and the email has a few revisions, but it's not a lot. It's going to be amazing!"

Marinette could squeal and scream and do a hundred jumping jacks. She was beyond excited and wasn't sure how to react. "I'm so excited," She said, much quieter. "I'm at a loss for words!"

"Me too," Jagged replied. "And I'm sorry to go so quickly, meetings all day. But I had to tell you as soon as I could!"

"That's okay! We'll talk later," Marinette reassured him.

Jagged sighed, what sounded like a sigh of relief. "Of course. Catch you later!" He said, and the call ended.

Adrien looked at Marinette, worried that something was wrong considering the roller coaster of emotions he just witnessed. "What...happened?"

"The first single is being released Friday!" Marinette repeated. "This is going to be so awesome."

"That's awesome. I'm so happy for you," Adrien said. "We should get ice cream to celebrate. I'm already texting Alya and Nino," He told her before she could protest.

Marinette nodded. "Sounds great, Adrien. Then we can figure out how to persuade your dad to let you stay in school," She smirked. They stood up to get ready to meet their friends to get ice cream, but Marinette almost dropped her laptop when a large crash came from a car landing right outside of the bakery. "Guess we might have to postpone, though."

Marinette rushed to the counter to hand her mom her computer and waved as she and Adrien ran out of the bakery. "Be careful!" Sabine shouted as the door shut.

The two of them ran around the corner, hiding back up against the wall. They faced away from each other, still nervous about seeing the other transform, but also out of habit. At the same time, they both shouted their own words.

"Tikki, spots on!"

"Plagg, claws out!"

They smiled to each other after turning into their alter egos, and flung their weapons to get to the nearest rooftop. Before heading towards the Akuma, they looked to each other. Ladybug sighed. "This is Hawkmoth's first Akuma since he knows who we are," She told him. "This could be a tough one."

"Nothing we can't stop," Chat Noir smiled back. With one nod of encouragement, he started jumping towards the next building. "Besides, if it's as bad as we're feeling, we can always call Rena Rouge or the others for backup."

"Chat," She called after him, he quickly stopped and looked back. "I have to tell you something."

His face turned to look more concerned than before. "Is something wrong?"

"Fu has been calling. I've been too scared to answer and talk to him," She confessed.

Chat Noir nodded with a little sigh. "Okay, then I guess we've gotta beat this the old fashioned way."

The two of them offered small smiles to each other as they jumped off the roof to another one, going right in front of the Akuma. The girl was flying with rocket boots, and shooting blasts out of her hands. "Ah, Ladybug and Chat Noir, welcome to the party!" The Akuma cackled, flying up to them to only be a few feet away. "And you brought presents! What beautiful jewelry."

"Sorry, kid," Chat Noir said. The Akuma was clearly no older than thirteen, so she must not have gotten what she wanted. "These are ours. But I'm sure we could get you a replica."

"But, I want them!" She crossed her arms, a pout on her lips.

Ladybug chuckled. "You should learn to be grateful for what you have, uh-"

"My name is Birthday Girl," She announced. "And I always get what I want, so give me your jewelry!" She shouted at the superheroes. When they didn't react, she groaned and held her hands out in front of her, and shot at them.

She hit their legs, and it sent both of them propelling backward. Landing on their backs, Birthday Girl flew above them. "All of Paris will attend my birthday party, bringing me only the best gifts that I want. And right now, all I want is your Miraculous!" She shouted, and turned to the streets. She started hitting people with the blasts from her hands, and they started walking towards the building where Chat Noir and Ladybug were sat.

They both got up as quick as they could, their legs aching. Before the people could start coming up the building, Ladybug called out, "Lucky Charm!"

They still didn't know where the Akuma was, and the Birthday Girl was very determined. She was flying around, blasting as many people as she could into her army to get the Miraculous. The Lucky Charm item dropped into Ladybug's hand. "A mirror?" She asked when a mirror in the shape of a circle fell into her hands.

"Got any ideas?" Chat Noir asked.

"Not yet," Ladybug said as she looked around, trying to come up with a plan. "Just don't get hit," She told him, and put the mirror on her side, next to her yo-yo.

"Got it," Chat Noir replied. They both took off in opposite directions, trying to get away from the minions following Birthday Girl. Ladybug was still looking around for clues, when all of a sudden, Birthday Girl grew to twice her size. She was evilly laughing, and the mask on her face faded as she finished a conversation with Hawkmoth.

Birthday Girl stood in between the buildings where Ladybug and Chat Noir were. "Hawkmoth wants me to have everything I want for my birthday, so he agreed to help me. He made me even more powerful so we can share the jewelry you brought me!" She screeched, much louder now that she was bigger.

Her army continued to grow as she was now blasting people without a second thought. She was determined, and every time the heroes deny her, the angrier she would get, and the more people that would chase after Ladybug and Chat Noir. "Hawkmoth knows who you are. Do you really want to endanger everyone around you, Marinette?" Birthday Girl asked, trying to get inside Marinette's head.

And it was working. She didn't know what to do; she froze. "Just let it be over, give me your Miraculous, and you and your friends will be safe," Birthday Girl continued. It was now apparent to Chat Noir that she was granted another power: persuasion. It worked with her reasons; she wanted to make people give her what she wanted. "You wouldn't have to worry about your parents, your school, or Adrien," Birthday Girl said. "If you hand me your earrings, it will all be better."

Chat Noir jumped over to Ladybug's building, but he never landed. One of Birthday Girl's army members caught his tail, and pulled him down. He was stuck in the crowd, his arms held by many mind-controlled people. "Ladybug, don't listen to her!" Chat Noir yelled. "When Hawkmoth gave her more power, he also gave her persuasion!"

"Look at him. He could get hurt, poor Chat Noir. If you give me your Miraculous, I'll let him go," Birthday Girl told her.

Chat Noir watched as Ladybug raised her hand to her face. "You...you promise?" Ladybug asked.

"Of course, just give me the jewelry, and he'll be safe," Birthday Girl continued.

"Ladybug, don't do it!" Chat Noir shouted. "Ladybug, listen to me! If you give her the jewelry, no one will be safe!" He said. "Let go of me, cataclysm!" Chat Noir shouted, turning his hand down to hit the mountain of Birthday Girl's army. They collapsed below him, and Chat Noir was able to catch himself, and get up to the building he was on before.

"Ladybug," Chat Noir said, out of breath. "You're Paris' hero. If you give up your Miraculous, more people will get hurt."

She still wasn't listening. It was like she was in a trance to ignore Chat Noir, still contemplating giving her Miraculous up. Birthday Girl was continuously talking to her, keeping her stuck. "Ladybug!" Chat Noir yelled, as loud as he could, "We will work through this together. We will win!" He said. "More people will be safe if you keep your Miraculous, and all of your friends have told you they're not worried, because you'll protect them!" Chat Noir said. "Trust me, Marinette," He sighed as he did all he could to get her to listen.

Ladybug shook her head when she heard Chat Noir say her name. Quickly, she realized what was going on. Ladybug jumped back, and grabbed the mirror at her waist. She held it out in front of her, aiming the mirror right back at Birthday Girl. "Let's mirror that- you want to give me your Akuma."

---

Marinette and Adrien sat on top of a secluded rooftop, their Kwami's eating their food. Marinette was hugging her knees, head buried on them. Adrien sat next to her, much more relaxed.

"Marinette, why are you so upset at the Akuma?" Adrien asked.

She lifted her head slowly. "I'm not mad at the Akuma. I'm mad at myself. I let myself fall victim to Hawkmoth's persuasive ways, and I almost gave up my Miraculous," Marinette confessed. "My hands were on my earrings, Adrien."

"Don't beat yourself up over this. The important thing is that you didn't give them your Miraculous," He encouraged. "You were right; the Akumas were going to get harder."

Marinette didn't reply; she just looked out over Paris, quiet for a minute. "I almost failed them today."

Adrien shook his head. "You know better than anyone how persuasive Hawkmoth can be. He takes emotions and makes them so much worse. And now that he knows who you are, he was able to take your caring and emotional side and use it against you. It's a dirty way to play. And he tried, and he failed. He knows we're a force to be reckoned with, and as long as we're partners, he will never win."

Marinette nodded as she listened to Adrien talk. She released her legs and looked at him, a small smile on her face. "You're right. Ladybug is nothing without her Chat Noir, and we make a great team. We'll talk to your dad about school, because I can't lose my partner, and we'll make time to see Fu. We'll work through this."

"That's the Ladybug and Marinette I know," Adrien smiled. They locked eyes, staring at each other for a moment. Marinette had fully believed she had gotten over her crush on Adrien, but now, looking at him, she realized she was lying to herself.

And Adrien had never stopped loving Ladybug, even if he did push it to the back of his mind.

They both jumped when Adrien's phone rang loudly. "Agh," He sighed when he saw the message. "Gotta get home. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Sounds good."

"Plagg, claws out!"

---

@lady-of-the-roses-and-lilies @bookishserendipity03 @avatheexceed @gkz10 @coccinellegirl @kat-thatoneweirdo @strawberryblondish @snow-swordswoman @lilgaga98 @evufries

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