#however its its hard for me to get why certain things are defended to hell and back when its like

[squeakadeeks]

what ive been trying to do lately with series that drive me bonkers but are unavoidable is to reframe how i think about it from "i cannot understand how something so poorly done is so popular" into "if this malarkey can be so wildly loved and celebrated, why should i feel bad about my own art and writing?"

[maribirdsteele]

Dwelling in Night

Find my masterlist here.

Note - Random inspiration tends to strike when I should be asleep, it seems (as it does for the main character in this short blurb). Also, sorry about the title. I'm brain-dead and cannot think of anything else at the moment.

Genre - not sure, not really angst but not quite comfort either

Setup - ReaderXPeter Steele, but 1st person. Main character cannot sleep, and so she calls Peter, who is bound to be awake as well. They end up in a park.

Warnings - Maybe mild angst, but more just slightly existential thinking (kinda a stretch)

1.3k words

Time ticks at an hour I should be asleep, clock reading some late, or rather, early, hour. As I drift in and out of sleep, the digital clock almost ticks backwards, each recorded minute a lie told by the neon numbering. It’s in these hazy hours of the morning that the line between death and life seems to fade, leaving me stuck in an in-between, and it’s in these hours that I feel most alone. However, I know that there will be someone else awake.

Peter is lying in bed, eyes tracing the staticky popcorn of his dark ceiling when the phone rings. At this hour, there’s really only one person it could be, so he answers.

I feel a sense of relief as he picks up. While I can almost always assume his response, it is never assured, so each night he picks up the phone feels like a blessing, if I even believe in that sort of thing.

“Can’t sleep?” His question reveals his initial assumption that it was indeed me calling. And, of course, he is correct. He usually is.

“Yeah, Peter, it’s me,” I reply, as if he doesn’t know.

“I know.”

There we go. But then again, we both knew he knew. We rest in silence a moment, in our respective apartments a few miles apart, lying in our dark bedrooms at this awkward hour of morning.

His voice breaks the silence again. “Wanna talk ‘bout it?”

I think a moment, the twisting corridors of my mind making it hard to choose what route to take when I speak. I decide I’m feeling poetic at the moment, wanting to mix it up.

I finally say something, trying to convey my thought processes on this particular night. “It feels as if the sky is made of feathers, and it’s drifting down and bleeding into the earth.”

Peter is quiet a moment. “Meet me at the park?”

It’s a simple suggestion, perhaps a bit crazy for the average person at this hour, but the universe knows me and Peter are a bit beyond crazy, especially once the clock makes its way past midnight.

“Yeah. I’ll see you in ten,” I reply, hanging up and hopping out of bed. My body seems to respond, finally, as I slip on a sweatshirt to defend against the chilly March night and pull on the first shoes I can get my hands on—a pair of brown hiking boots. Perhaps not super practical, but not too bad.

And within a quarter of an hour, I’m standing in the middle of the park, quietly spacing out as the stars blink down on me. The grass is wet around my boots as I take a few steps around, eyes adapting to the dark shadows of trees.

And then the dark shadow of a certain tall man making his way over, not quickly, but not slowly either. His presence is purposeful but not forceful, and as he draws up beside me, his warm hand slips easily into mine.

It’s a simple moment, gazing across the empty park with our hands clasped in experienced understanding, but it’s worth the knowledge that waking up tomorrow will be hell.

“Ever feel like the stars are judging you?” I wonder aloud.

Peter huffs in thought, voice a bit rough with the obvious fatigue that comes with being unable to sleep most nights. “Nah. They’re so far away. Why should they care?”

It’s a good point, so I don’t reply. Instead, we start walking the path that takes us between trees and benches, with the occasional light along the trail. Each light almost hurts my eyes, but I don’t say anything.

Reaching our favorite bench, we sit, gazing over the dark river. The moon has long since set, leaving only stars in the dark sky, but the sun is not yet close to rising.

“It’s peaceful,” Peter remarks.

“Yeah,” I murmur, agreeing. “Sorry for dragging you out of bed, by the way.”

He shakes his head. “I asked you to come out to the park, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“But I called you first,” I immediately rebuke.

“Perhaps we should be apologizing to the park,” Peter jests, glancing at me and nudging a solid arm against mine.

I peer at his face in the dark, breathing out a brief chuckle.

After a brief pause in which some crickets make themselves known, Peter asks, “So, is there a known reason you can’t sleep?”

I sigh. “I would not say ‘known.’ Maybe I’ve just become too accustomed to the trivialities and routine of life. And yet I appreciate routine. I don’t understand it.”

Peter seems to mull this over a second. “Seems like a human curse, being creatures of habit and yet becoming bored of life with some ease.”

From the darkness encompassing us comes a single crow’s call. It’s an odd time of night for that, and we both pause in our thinking.

“That’s odd,” I whisper. A light breeze brushes through my hair and I smooth it out of my face, shivering slightly. 

Peter snakes his arm around me, pulling me into his side and transferring some warmth.

I untense my body, realizing that I had been getting quite cold. It’s not freezing weather or anything, but the damp tinge in the air seems to get into my bones.

I nestle closer into his warmth, grateful for it. He starts humming some sort of tune only he knows the order to, the pitch deep and low in volume.

I just sit, soaking it in.

Peter can smell the slightly spicy scent of me, a warm presence against his side. Oddly enough, it reminds him of when one of his cats curls up beside him on the couch, but this woman beside him is so much more than that.

He thinks sometimes he must be drowning in her while she sits so ignorant of it, or perhaps she knows but does not tell. Truthfully, he would be mostly content to just sit next to me like this for eternity, but time moves onward and nothing lasts forever, that is for certain.

Alone in his apartment, Peter sometimes (most times) thinks he must be bat-shit fucking insane, but these small moments of clarity with me always seem to bring a level of tranquility or at least an ability to think coherently.

“So, plans tomorrow?” He breaks the silent thinking session we seem to have been sharing.

“Today, you mean?” I immediately jet back. I have to keep him on his toes, of course, and banter never hurt anyone.

Peter concedes, “Yes, today, I suppose.”

I pause. “Day off, actually. Gotta clean. Run errands. Shit like that.”

“I can come,” he offers.

And so I agree. Peter’s company, in my experience, has never been to an ill end. Plus, sometimes I think it’s what keeps me sane in this spinning world around me.

We get up when the edge of the sky dulls, the blue not quite so deep, light not yet arrived but stars not as prevalent. Peter follows me back to my apartment, crashing in bed with me for the three hours of sleep before we inevitably wake up again to face the day ahead of us.

My limbs drag as I strip off my jacket and shirt, put on different sweats, leaving me in just the pants and a bra, the price of another sleepless night already affecting me. Peter clambers under my covers in just his boxers, not wanting the park bench grime to manifest in my sheets.

His arm drapes heavy across my waist and stomach, the sound and feel of his breathing lulling my already tired mind into a dreamless slumber.

Time ticks again with vigor, moving Peter and I out of those romanticized haunted hours and into sunrise, but the light of the morning doesn’t yet reach through my blinds far enough to grab the edges of our consciousnesses.

[bozepomagaj]

ATINY/MOA/CARATS vs Made in Abyss was the last thing I expected and its hilarious

feel like I need to say something since twitter absolutely loves spreading misinfo and just accusing people of shit, how have you people not LEARNED your lesson yet? Since when is twitter such a trusted source, especially gossip accounts?

And before you braindead stans start calling me a d!ckrider, I promise you I do not care about these men cuz I've got better things to focus on and I'm making this because people are overreacting and it's getting annoying. It's so obvious 90% of you haven't watched the anime (and thats completely fine, I get you) and then ended up listening to someone who made stuff up and overexaggerated. I'm not here to defend the author because I hate him as much as you do and can absolutely recognize the dude is into some weird shit but saying people are ONLY interested in this series because of r@pe and p€dophilia is INSANE. So let me answer some questions as a Made an Abyss reader (not calling myself a fan because you'll catch me DEAD before you see me buying any merch or manga despite my love for the series), kpop fan second.

Does Made In Abyss contain p3d0ph1l1c themes, gore etc.?

There absolutely is because the author is a creep (refering to the nsfw however, most of the times it's very easily skippable. As someone who hates l0l1con cuz it creeps me out, I can tell you that I really didn't have a hard time skipping said scenes even in the manga which is far more explicit than the anime (Prushka asking about Bond's 'stick', Faputa looking into Regs pants, Vueko's weird comments) and sometimes, they're even added as extras (0.5 chapters) which certain sites that contain scans don't even include. I didn't even know about the existence about a few of these chapters BECAUSE they don't include them.

The OVA is a nightmare to watch and was not only unfunny but creepy as fuck especially when they try to boil down such an amazing character like Ozen into 'I like seeing little kids in pain'. Now I have no idea if this was made independently but I don't remember the author making any spin-offs that they could base this on so I can't tell you who wrote it but even then I doubt that the author minded it since the man himself had to include that Faputas behind smells like the 'Sun' so again, not here to defend him cuz he most definitely is a weirdo, no doubt about it.

Is Made in Abyss torture p*rn?

If MiA is torture p*rn then AoT is military propaganda and supports child labor, TPN is also torture p*rn, JJK promotes violence, Berserk excuses r*pe and Evangelion is also p*do bait. See how stupid that sounds? Just because an anime INCLUDES something, does not mean it necessarily supports it. Yes, r*pe is mentioned but it's not even SHOWN, and it's a cruical part of a characters backstory. The torture that happens, happens only once if we exclude Riko's 'experiment' at the very beginning of the manga. And Mitty's transformation can't even be classified as torture cuz it's a.... transformation. Prushka's death is very censored so its not like you can jack off to that anyways. Now the piss thing is something I have noticed but haven't really payed attention it because bffr why the hell would I so idk, maybe the author is trying to tell us something or the guy thinks pee pee poo poo funny🤷‍♀️.

Is there any plot besides the weird stuff?

See now this is the part that gets me most because the reason why a majority of people nowadays got into MiA in the first place is BECAUSE of the amazing plot. The world building, the mystery, the fight scenes, etc. It's amazingly drawn, nicely paced and unique in its own way. But of course, it's manga&anime and what's anime without fanservice? I already explained that in manga, said scenes can be easily skipped and the anime thankfully doesn't include a lot of these. I do have to admit thag I dropped the manga for now since the chapter where they were in a bath cuz it was another one of those 'here we go again' moments where it made me roll my eyes and just close the tab so I don't really know what's been happening recently and if things go weirder.

I'm also gonna tell you honestly that yes, the fandom is filled with sweaty dudebros itching to see these kids half naked and the author is aware of them and pondering to them because he too is one of them. But a large majority is back from when the anime originally came out and are mostly hiding on twitter so it's easy to avoid them and they've been pretty rare ever since people with actual interest in the series have begun watching it. A reason why back in the day I didn't wanna interact with the fandom at ALL was because the moment I tried to have a normal conversation about the plot and what might actually be going on, I instead get bombarded with "UWAAAA😭😭😭" and 'c*nny' comments. I also cannot defend and don't even plan on defending the fact that Faputa is pretty much naked the entire series. I get that she lives in the literal wilderness, but the very least you could do is put a cloth on her y'know. And mind you, I'm talking about the manga. The anime is a LOT more heavily censored, and from what I heard, even MORE censored in Korea.

To sum it up:

Do I think Mingi/Soobin/Woozi are p*dos cuz they watched the anime? Absolutely the fuck not. Considering Mingi is a big CSM fan, I can see why he watched Made in Abyss because I was in that same pipeline. I think some of you are going way too far with these comments, if you wanna call them weird, creepy, wanna unstan them for reading stuff like this go ahead, not gonna stop because in the end no one can but accusing people of crimes isn't funny and never will be. If they were exposed for watching shit like Kodomo no Jikan then that most definitely IS eyebrow raising. Maybe I'm slightly biased due to me only enjoying MiA for the plot so seeing people say the fans are p3d0s when the first time I watched this was when I was freshly 15.... yeah idk abt that one. Whether they liked the weird and questionable scenes, I have zero idea I'm just here to say that you can enjoy said anime without being a weirdo and you shouldn't begin jumping to conclusions and start calling people straight up criminals. If anyone wants to have a productive conversation and ask questions abt said anime cuz I doubt you're gonna go watch an anime over a Twitter drama, go ahead and ask. If you wanna insult me and call me a d!ckrider then go ahead and do that too, who am I to stop you?

[cry-ptidd]

Hello! I wanted to ask if I have permission to use your oc in a potential fanfic.

Sorry if I ask so much about Laura in the future if I do get permission here, I’m currently writing a nun warrior fic of the two (Laura and Integra aren’t really a thing in my work, I kinda like switching dynamics, it’s not the worst ship,it’s just doesn’t speak to me. most ships in Hellsing don’t. It’s why I prefer oc/Hellsing ships over everything. The most I like is seras w/ integra/pip, Alutergra depends on the day..or month LMAO.)

Laura to me feels like she’s an actual character in Hellsing. She really has me writing out a strong nun that’s been betrayed by her own sisterhood because a vampire got into their heads (what Laura went through is what she has too, difference and similarities are at play.) So the entire sister hood of nun turned vampires are after the nun in question. The leader being the nun ex lover, a women she was once loved and found herself deeply devoted too. Now no deviation exists, it’s pure killing intent. The leader wants to turn the nun, knowing…that nun anger and aggression could turn her into a powerful vampire of all.

(There’s more to that honestly it’s sad, toxic yuri for the win.)

Laura and the nun relationship is going to be built mainly on trusts, team work, little yearning..little hatred….they both do want one thing I feel, if I am right on Laura here. To be held.

One still firmly believes in god and the other not. Similar traumas, different outcomes.

My nun oc is definitely a beasts in her own right, and becomes Hellsing in-house nun. Given work, Is a pissy women if she’s bothered, she’s witty, shes played at Laura physical needs by pretending to be a innocent nun on the first day and laughed in her face. A fight almost happened. Hard words exchanged. Throwing Laura’s past crimes in her face, not afraid of the werewolf and stood her ground with no weapon, Two mean bitches going at it daily.

she’s not a speaker for god more like a warrior.she may not like Laura at firsts, and she’s later picked up…On how Laura grows uncomfortable around certain things she’s done, ig pray, leaving the estate to church which worried Laura, turning her head away as she recites verses in battle. She figured Laura has some religious issues, and she’s not unfamiliar at all.

The nun has the same issues, somewhat different in other ways but same.

So she never shoves her religion onto Laura, she does call her a beasts in endearment later on. “My black beasts lays behind me two steps back, i don’t think I have to worry on my back side being cold.” When asked by Integra if she feels alright being paired with her on missions. It’s sweet down the line.She doesn’t mind Laura eventually, she can defend herself rightfully so.

She has killed a few lycans and been scarred up badly on her back from its claws.Laura being one? Yeah not the greatest start. One plot issue I want to touch upon is the dead nun, and that’s been hinted in the story thus far. Warrior nuns in my universe are rare, not many exist anymore. There’s a small group, and well trained. Living in some parts of the world, it’s gifts they had to be born with. A six sense. And that sense is sensitive, she can smell blood old or new, and a nun scent is easy to pick up. From the start my nun oc knew Laura had a hand in killing some nun, It’s why their relationship is rocky. She can smell it and her anger is not just wrath. It’s a burning hell to exterminate Laura however..since Laura is under Hellsing jurisdiction she can’t. That another pissy reminder when she wakes up to Laura cleaning her room without her permission.

This is a fanfic I’ve been writing for so long and hopefully I can start pushing it out soon, with art…but i definitely need more lore 😭. It’s a lot of questioning on sexuality, wants, desires, what killed their spirits, some sex shaming but it’s not done in a way Christians do it..it’s more like a read on their pasts.Like oh is there a reason you throw yourself around for a mere few hours of pleasure and then drink it away knowing it’s done nothing for you kinda sense lol. Cause that’s a can of fucked up, it’s not done from a place of having fun…nor understanding one self through sex there’s an underlying detachment .Can be said for both.

I also wanted to play the dynamic of a sacrificial lamb learning to bite back, learning to be a wolf when it calls for it. She doesn’t allow Laura to lead her, take from her or ruin. She makes the calls. I thought of the fic you written with that other nun and that made me go,”oh? What if I turn this around.” I wanted a nun that made her shots. She had control, that she had the strength now. She’s drives herself into a horrible situations that could end her human life, and the

Last thing she needs is some werewolf to think she’s far more detached than her and that she’s easy pray to consume.

A nun firm on herself

And will never let anyone take advantage ever more. Especially a wolf in human skin. She never been one to let anyone have their ways with her..,till a lover turned on her, it blindsided her to utter failure. The women she loved in her own church decided on her own will she wanted more. And the nun isn’t enough for her anymore.

She sees herself in Laura and Laura sees herself in her too.

Sorry if this is weird! But I wanted you to know about it, and how Laura been inspirational. I have so many aus that won’t see the day of light probably stay in my drafts. But this one? This is a fic I really want to write about and share, even if one person reads it. It’s fun to write about religion, body antimony, no one repressed,well not on true definition, more like learning to heal, love..accept…understanding nothing will be the same like it was, doesn’t mean there’s cruel ending to them both.

Another last thing: my nun never tries to make Laura be religious, or believe in god again. She’s above that, there’s a moment Laura ends up saying a Latin prayer in the last chapters. Mainly one to help cast a big spell for the nun, just for her. Which builds a strong bridge from then on.

It’s a story on a nun knowing there’s evil on both sides of the veil, and she herself has her moments of destroying, and Laura is prime example on what she could have been. It’s not a story about who is good or bad.

They both had their flames blown out, so which of them will have their flame lighten up once more ?Is revenge the answer? That’s the story thus far, and weapons are inspired by many of my fave mangas. Hellsing not one of them. Idk if you will read it, I would be embarrassed if you did cause..it is your oc and you aren’t a famous Japanese mangaka over seas doing whatever unknowingly. But maybe the art I’ll be happy to know you saw.

Goodness what a read!! This sounds absolutely delightful!!

Firstly, yes, I absolutely consent to you using Laura in your story if you so wish. People are free to use her in their fics or drawings with credit.

Secondly, this is extremely interesting! I can see both of them work very well together, their dynamic is one that is extremely interesting to explore! It would remind me a bit of Andercard, with a devout Christian fighter and an ancient immortal monster who doesn't take their faith seriously. Though here they are on the same side, and neither actively attacks the other.... and adding the mean bitch dynamic, of course. True cat fights in the halls. The inversion of the sexual dynamic is also very interesting, considering Laura doesn't often allow herself to be in the submissive role (especially with someone religious) unless she really trusts the other person.

I will correct a few nitpicks to really get their dynamic right: Laura does believe in God. She believes He exists; however, she absolutely loathes Him and thinks anyone who would worship Him to be foolish. And, while she HAS killed nuns before (remote covens are easy prey), the death of that one nun she loved wasn't planned. Laura also wouldn't immediately just jump at the first woman she sees to try and fuck her; she mostly does it out of boredom, or the women already seem to have a bit of interest already and she cultivates that; which would be the more likely case if she works alongside someone – but your OC being a nun, I can see how Laura would maybe try and be disrespectful to her religion and try to seduce her.

Aside from that, you got it pretty much right! Don't hesitate to pop in my DMs if you have more questions about it, i really like this project you have! And thank you for enjoying Laura so much!!

[madsworld15]

New Fic Alert! i held my head up high (Brian/Justin)

This one answers the prompt: getting arrested (Prompt #17) [12/21 for me personally] for the QaF Prompt Challenge 2024

Spending most of the day in jail was not something Justin would recommend. Hell, it did nothing more than increase the amount of anger he had in his soul for those supporting Prop 14. His dad now sat at the top of that list. Prior to this, Justin could brush off his father’s disdain for his sexuality as just that, a dislike. But now, now he knew that his father was amongst those people who wanted him dead.

When the officer came back to the holding cell and told Justin his bail had been posted, he hadn’t expected to feel disappointed. Not that staying in the jail cell was ideal, but it had also been the best break from everything he’d had in weeks. Breaking up with Brian, for good this time, had come with its own series of heartbreaking thoughts and realizations. Being in jail allowed him to drown them out with thoughts instead of how awful the place smelled and whether or not the people in there with him would hurt him.

Then, Justin stepped into the lobby of the Police Station, and all his thoughts and worries about whether or not he had made the right decision came flooding back. Standing in the lobby, next to his mom and Ben, was Brian himself. Justin licked his lips, ran a hand nervously through his hair, and approached the group.

“Brian, what are you doing here?” Justin immediately questioned his ex, while staring down his mother. He was certain she had called him in some side plot to get them back together.

“Your mom called. Said you needed to be bailed out of prison and asked if I had any cash handy.” Brian shrugged; his eyes looked Justin up and down. It was clear that despite his aloof, carefree demeanor, Brian was worried about him.

“Mom.” Justin sighed, “I don’t need you running to him every time something happens. We aren’t together anymore.”

“He still cares about you, Justin. Besides, where else were we going to get the money for your bail? Your father?” Jennifer didn’t back down despite Justin’s hard gaze. 

Justin rolled his eyes and stepped past them to leave the premises. “Either way, you shouldn’t have called Brian. I can handle things on my own.”

“Oh well, by all means. I will take my bail money back, and you can sit in jail until you ‘handle’ things.” Brian quipped back at him.

“Justin, we just wanted to help. Brian’s the only person we know who typically has cash on hand.” Ben tried to jump in and defend his mom’s choice in calling the brunet.

“Bullshit,” Justin replied. “Be honest, Mom. You hoped that by calling Brian, you could get us back together.”

“I just don’t understand why you guys can’t make it work. You love each other.” Jennifer wrung her hands and gave Justin a sympathetic look. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I am, Mom. Generally speaking.” Justin forced a smile at her and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Today, however, I’m pissed. The nerve of that…man.”

Justin continued his quest to leave the building. This time, Ben, Jennifer, and Brian all let him. Instead, they followed him out onto the street. Jennifer scoffed in response.

“I never thought the man I once married and loved would have his own son arrested. And for what? So he can prove he’s the bigger man?” 

“Considering he smashed my Jeep and beat the shit out of me when he first found out about our relationship, this doesn’t surprise me that much.” Brian shrugged. “Anyway, I gotta go. Take care.”

And with that, Brian was gone. Trudging up the street with his hands in his leather jacket and his shoulders hunched against the wind. As much as Justin protested Brian being there, a small part of him had hoped Brian would want to go to the diner for a cup of coffee and a chat. Or even just acknowledge him more than he did. Instead, Justin is met with the cold, hard truth: Brian still worries about him because he’s a good person, but he’s no longer Brian’s person.

Justin sniffed against the chilly air and smiled at both his mom and Ben. 

“Let’s get out of the cold. Think I can crash with you guys tonight?” Justin turned to Ben in question.

“Sure, you are always welcome at our place.” Ben wrapped an arm around Justin, and they walked off down the street. 

“Bye, Mom. Let’s get lunch tomorrow.” Justin called over his shoulder. 

“Take care of yourself,” Jennifer called, and then she, too, headed down the block toward the direction Brian had gone moments earlier.

[eldritchmochi]

Word prompt for the letters! SWORD TIME

mina pls that is so many letters lmao

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged)

okay, if it is not obvious, i have thought SO MUCH about disability in exandria, so heres a general worldbuilding headcannon vs character based hc but it's shown that disability isn't overly impactful in exandria. basically everything we've seen ranging from pcs like shakaste to big npcs like dancer and also smaller one off pcs like the moorbounder dealer in the city of beasts, whatever the name is, they're fully functional within society despite major physical disabilities and theres functionally not a whole lot of ableism at a surface level when it comes to worldbuilding (thanks matt).

however..... its not hard (for me) to extrapolate how the dynasty in particular would have a not great view on disability (thank u cherry for putting it into words as i was charlie day-ing over coping skills early on). it's not something that i talk about explicitly in coping skills (and may not since it would be really info dumpy and not vibe with the way i write or characterize the wizards lmao) but it's something ive spent a great deal of time thinking thru for the dang fic and my in-head notes are basically a) in a modern setting like coping skills, the healthcare situation moves at a glacial pace partly because elves live forever so what is a several year wait for a non emergent specialist issue and b) major disabilities, things that impact daily living to a significant degree that cannot be "fixed" with magic, are at best really only tolerated until anamnesis or consecution so the body can be reset into a more perfect form

i could wax poetic about the nitty gritty as it relates to coping skills specifically, but that is like, the base premise of 90% of the fic lmao

W - A trope which you are virtually certain to hate in any fandom.

okay so, heres the thing: with the exception of a few squicks, if something is well written with some fukken *heart* i will eat up just about anything. theres some tropes i don't really get myself and haven't found anything with it that's interested me, like hanahaki, but i have fav fics involving things i notoriously avoid, like kid fic and hs aus. like legitimately, my absolute fav fic is a non explicit hs au, which considering i basically dont read non explicit fics OR hs aus is fucking wild

O - Choose a song at random. Which ship or character does it remind you of?

lets see, i did one here for an ashrym fic, and one here for general shadowgast so lets go with a single character, and a delightfully weird song for her

obviously imogen, again, because its funny. do not ask me why spotify recommended this german edm country album to me a bit ago but i listened to the whole thing and it fucking slapped, and this song immediately went on my hells playlist

R - Which friendship/platonic relationship is your favorite in fandom?

I AM ONLY DOING ONE BECAUSE I DONT TRUST YOU MINA (ilu but also damn many letters lmao)

but callowmoore is just chefs kiss. i don't see anything necessarily romantic between them but i love the idea of the two of them bonding over being absolute gremlins. ashton definitely needs a charismatic wingman and fearne definitely needs someone who has (some level of) smarts re Doing Crimes, so the two of them playing off each other is just delightful and i love how soft they are with each other in cannon and in turn all the fanart (especially the forehead kiss???? im still not normal about that)

D - A pairing you wish you liked but just can’t.

hmmmmmmmmmmm okay i guess maybe reylo? the rots kiss was absolute garbage rey deserves better BUT i am in theory into her domming the shit out of him but reylo shippers as a whole soured me on the ship and now i just hhhh no thank you, even from authors i trust to write it in a way i'd enjoy :C

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending? 

T answered here! (basically no lmao)

I - Has Tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why?

homestuck :I like part of it was definitely the Fandom Cycle of falling out if interest with something, especially once there stopped being new cannon i could access but a bigger part of it was seeing all my fav artists and writers in the fandoms, particularly the ones 30+, PARTICULARLY Black artist, being absolutely shat on by kids for the crime of... being adults in fandom spaces basically, or otherwise creating fanworks that featured non-white, non-thin depictions of the characters. i live vicariously thru @/roundandtalented when they spam share hs art because i still love those characters but yeesh ye olde tumblr hs fandom got VERY toxic

M - Name a character that you’d like to have for a friend.

answered once here with ashton and here with astarion so i guess i gotta keep the train going with "a" name characters

hmmmmmmmmmm

okay lets say abby from ncis (i have watched Many crime procedurals lmao). i imagine she and i would be GREAT fashion buddies, especially when i'm bubblegum pop kawaii to her scary goth. we could swap tips on breaking in big stompy boots and all the best places for cute clothes, and i think we're fairly close in size too so could even SWAP gasp The Dream

E - Have you added anything cracky/hilarious to your fandom? If so, what?

god i do not know if fandom as a whole has picked up on any of the various things i've built in my fics but tbh i think its absolutely hilarious how i inevitably write a porn/camming au for like every fandom i write multiple fics for. it happens, every single time. EVERY TIME. in fact, mine and cherry's sg camming au started with me lampshading this trend i have, laughing about how FINALLY here was a fandom where i couldn't write camming and make it work, except whoops i thought too hard on it and made it work. this occurred over the course of like..... a single evening. i had the basic outline sketched out within twenty minutes of me being like "theres no way i could write camming into critical role, NO WAY" i am not even exaggerating

so i guess maybe my hilarious contribution to critical role is the contemporary magical setting proof-of-concept???? cherry did say there werent really that many at the time i asked because i lov me some modern aus

there are maybe some letters left idk at this point lmao but here is the meme for those of u who made it thru all that

[sir-sunawani]

Quicksand

Fem Reader x Sir Crocodile

20 Chapters - 46,838 words

Read it on Ao3 or Wattpad

CW: Language, violence, blood, moral ambiguity, murder, sexual themes and situations, yandere, angst with a happy ending, a referenced instance of physical abuse. 18+ only

Chapter 10: Smile

Fire and Ice. Heaven and Hell. A rock and a hard place. You were certain that you'd be more comfortable in any of those situations compared to how you felt right now.

You had gotten things moving first thing in the morning. A second shower had helped wake you up, after your deliberately light sleep last night, and coffee was keeping you fueled for the day so far. Things had gone relatively smooth at the beginning of the day - you hadn't been able to avoid sharing breakfast with Doflamingo, since the casino itself wasn't open yet you couldn't use the excuse of work.

The mild discomfort of breakfast was nothing compared to the tension in the air when Crocodile arrived.

You had expected the tension between them to be akin to rival gang members, or a couple Mafia bosses trying to keep the peace between their families in the middle of a wedding. Something out of a movie that was oddly debonair and impressively smooth.

You had not expected that Doflamingo would flirt with Crocodile.

Doflamingo had met you in the morning with more flair than the day before, and you could see why Buggy got along with him. He was easily someone who was plenty flashy. His clothes were more casual, and he had been sporting the biggest, fluffiest, pinkest feather coat to possibly exist. You could hardly believe that this was the same person who had kept himself in check the day before. It was easy enough to ignore during breakfast, as he had kept his demeanor from the day before intact, but when he had greeted Sir Crocodile you had seen a complete shift in his behavior.

"Croco-baby!" Doflamingo's entire space had brightened.

You're sure your face had looked completely horrified, but you didn't see Crocodile even twitch. The distraction had given you a chance to compose yourself, at least and you did your best to keep your professional face intact.

"I'm delighted you agreed to this. I was surprised I didn't have the pleasure of your company when I arrived yesterday." Doflamingo was, as far as you can tell, laying it on thick specifically to get a rise out of your boss.

"I'm over-seeing several Rain Dinners branches, Doflamingo." Crocodile says in an impressively even and apathetic tone. "I hardly cared to make time to arrive today."

"Aww, you made time for me, I'm flattered. You have such capable people working for you Croco, you should let them shoulder more for you so you can relax properly. I can lend you the bed in my room to help you destress. Young Miss (Y/N) could run the auction in my place."

Doflamingo runs his tongue across his upper lip when he finishes speaking, making his implication clear. You're caught between not wanting to share Suwani, and the realization that you found the scenario hot and may you never accidentally admit as much.

"You're here to run the auction as the CEO of Smile, you can't pawn that off on my employees." Crocodile replies flatly.

The sarcasm, irritation, and random hints of innuendo were going to give you gray hairs. Salt in Buggy's coffee wasn't going to be enough to make up for all of this. Your job was, at its core, to keep people happy. The more important the guest, the more you provided to make sure their stay was as pleasant as possible. However, there was no way you could interject between the two of them right now. Never mind the fact that Crocodile was your boss' boss' boss, and the idea of him being defended by someone in your position was laughable, but also you were sure there were years of back history between these two. You simply didn't know enough to effectively intervene.

Doflamingo's arm drapes across your back and his hand lands on your shoulder so suddenly you flinch. It wasn't him or the action itself, it was the fact that you had expected to continue to be ignored, not practically yanked into the conversation.

"Tell him, Miss (Y/N), we've gone over the details of the auction enough you could handle it."

"Capable as I may be, Mr. Donquixote," you reply, recovering from your surprise quickly. "I'm not paid to do more than one job. I decline."

"Fufufu," the tone of his laugh wasn't something you had heard from him before, and there was a strange shift in air. A new weight settled on you, and you realize he's finally, truly, paying attention to you. "If it's a matter of compensation, Miss (Y/N)-."

"Hardly," you interject quickly, there's no way you're going to find out if he means to compensate you with his money or his time. "Being unofficially compensated is illegal, Mr. Donquixote. I decline."

There's a second of silence and then Doflamingo laughs. It's an impressive sound, but you're not thrilled to be hearing it, and from the flash of emotion on Crocodile's face, neither is he.

Doflamingo straightens up and removes his hand from your shoulder. You feel your body relax, even though you hadn't realized that you were tense to begin with. You curse inwardly, you're getting pulled around by a VIP instead of keeping him in line. Not that Doflamingo was your typical VIP, but you had years of experience at this job.

You pull your phone from your pocket to check the time as Doflamingo returns to bantering – or badgering - Crocodile. Despite the Warlord's words, you're not sure if he wants to sleep with Crocodile, so much as he wants to get into a fight with him. Though maybe for the Warlord there wasn't much difference between the two.

"My apologies for interrupting, but the Auction begins in an hour." You report when there's a breath of silence in which to do so. "Mr. Donquixote, you should head to the venue to finalize the item order and deal with any last-minute issues to ensure a smooth start."

"Capable indeed," Donquixote muses, and his tone sends a shiver up your spine that you're barely able to suppress. "Very well, let's get this amusement going, shall we Croco-baby?"

Crocodile grunts at Doflamingo, before turning toward you. "Miss (Y/N), send Buggy to the Auction Venue, and enjoy the rest of the day off."

You bow. "Yes, Sir Crocodile."

After you turn and leave you hear Doflamingo. "I'm still going to be here after the auction, why are you sending my little pet away? I was just starting to like her."

"I don't need you sending my capable employees running for the hills, you feathery bastard."

Crocodile's tone was steady, but the words still made you smile.

. . . . .

You enjoyed your time off Wednesday, and you informed Buggy before you had sent him to the auction venue that you were taking Thursday as well, and it was his fault. Doflamingo was too flashy and if Buggy didn't want salted coffee for the rest of his days, he wasn't going to argue with you.

Unsurprisingly you didn't hear anything from Crocodile on Wednesday. You expected that he had his hands full with Doflamingo, and afterward he probably wanted – and needed – nothing more than to sleep. You had only dealt with the muted version of the man for the most part, and exhaustion had sunk into your bones from it.

You woke up Thursday to a single text.

Suwani: I would like to treat you to more than just dinner, if you would permit me the honor of buying you a gift.

You: I'm texting you on a gift.

"You need only offer yourself, (Y/N), as you are, and I will grant your desires even if they are numerous as the sands."

The memory bubbled up, and for a moment you could feel his warmth wrapped around you, the low voice filled with desire and need sinking into your skin.

You: But... since my desires aren't as numerous as the sands, then I will do my best to accept yours.

It felt a bit like playing with fire to send such a text, but you were already well aware that you weren't going to be able to stem the tide of gifts that Suwani would want to provide for you. A man who had everything he could want – at least in a material sense – wasn't going to be concerned with silly little things like cost. Or frequency, for that matter.

Suwani: Then I won't hold back.

Suwani: I will be by at 1pm. You needn't worry about dressing for dinner. I hope you can forgive me for not being subtle, if only for today.

The second text came before you could think of any reply to the first.

Your head tilted and your face went a bit pink. You weren't sure what he was implying by saying you didn't need to dress for dinner.

You: ... Are you requesting I greet you naked at the door? Or are you telling me to dress casually?

There was a long pause before a text finally came through.

Suwani: Today is a gift for you, Miss Wednesday, not me. Dress casually.

"I mean, it would be a gift for me too," you muse, even as your face goes hot. You had been looking forward to having a full and actual date today, so you kept your musings to yourself.

You: I will be ready and casually dressed by 1.

You decide on a light lunch and get ready for the day. You wear loose slacks and a nice short sleeved shirt, and some decent shoes that could almost pass for dress shoes except the soles were more like sneakers than anything else. You're full of nervous energy and find that you're grateful you had slept in. Imagining sitting around like this since 7am instead of 10am was enough to almost knot your stomach.

When the doorbell rings you almost jump and have to swallow your heart before you open the door.

Sir Crocodile stands in the doorway and he is dressed to the nines. He's in a dark suit with a deep red ascot, and a white scarf hanging from his shoulders. His hair is slicked back save for one errant lock, and frankly you think it looks better a little messy than completely brushed back.

"I thought you said casual," you question despite the smile on your face. You're caught a bit off guard, but not displeased at all by the view.

"You'll be dressed to match, shortly." He assures you with a small smile. His hand that you hadn't even noticed was behind his back, comes into view with a bouquet of a dozen red roses. "A full and proper date begins with flowers."

"I... wow. I suppose it does." You take the bouquet carefully.

"Put them in your fridge for now, and they'll keep until you can put them into water. Or my secretary recommends hanging them upside down and letting them dry."

"The fridge for now, I guess." You murmur softly, leaning in and enjoying the scent of fresh roses. "Uh, give me a moment and I'll be ready to leave."

You place the roses into the fridge carefully, and gather your wallet, keys, and phone before stepping outside. Crocodile offers his arm, and you slip your own through it.

"Escorted from my door? The closet I had to something like this was prom, and there were six of us," you admit sheepishly.

"It's a shame to hear, but it's good to know such an honor is mine alone." He says smoothly, bringing your hand up to his lips for a soft kiss, and making your cheeks go red.

When you reach the ground floor and step outside you finally understand what he had meant when he had asked to be forgiven for not being subtle. An older classic car, complete with a chauffeur, was waiting at the end of the walkway. The tall, severe faced man, had a scar across his eye and muscles enough to probably lift the car and simply walk about town with it if he so desired.

"Miss (Y/N), please meet the punctual Mr. One."

The tall man's gaze shifts down to you and he bows ever so slightly. "It is a pleasure, Miss."

The interaction was enough for you to finally realize that, for the Warlord's people at least, you were the boss' girlfriend. Unlike someone like Doflamingo, who seemed to naturally have a different lady on his arm for each public appearance, Crocodile hadn't been seen in public with anyone on his arm. Until, perhaps, tonight.

"Ah, um, for me as well, Mr. One." You manage, the weight of several things kind of sinking into you all at once.

"Are you okay?" Crocodile asks, leaning down and squeezing your hand a little.

You smile. "Yes, I think there's just uh, an understanding dawning on me, is all."

"Oh?" He prompts, opening the door for you.

"I... I'm going on a date with a government-sanctioned gangster, and I don't even have a speeding ticket. It's a little surreal."

"Miss (Y/N), I hope that isn't how you think of me." There's a small look of concern on his face as you sit down in the back of the car.

"If it was, Suwani, I would've walked away at the café." You assure him.

He leans in with a smile, tilting your chin up and stealing a kiss before closing the door and walking around to the other side. Crocodile was seated behind the driver's seat, and you could feel the soft smile from the corner of your gaze. You couldn't look at him right now, despite all that you had done, you hadn't done anything publicly. Not that you think the stone-faced Mr. One qualified as the public, as he sat in the driver's seat managing to be both attentive to your needs - should you have any - and completely ignorant of your actions - should you want privacy.

You reach out with your left hand and slide your fingers across Crocodile's. The shift of his hand as he quietly twines his warm fingers with yours makes you blush harder, even if no one was looking. It was moments like these that made it difficult to see him as some crime-lord Warlord, or even as CEO/Owner of Rain Dinners.

You were, as the car pulled into a boutique that was so high end that it had a valet service, glad that you had chosen to eat a light lunch. Mr. One opened the door for Crocodile first, and then for you, though it was Crocodile who took your hand as you stepped out.

"I've never felt underdressed for a store before." You whisper, as you fold your arm in his.

"Soon you won't be underdressed for anything." He assures you.

It took everything you had not to hide behind Sir Crocodile as you entered the store. You were greeted by an employee who was dressed in a business suit, and that was probably the most casual item available in the whole store.

"Ah, Sir Crocodile, it is a pleasure to see you today." The employee greets him smoothly. "How may we serve you?"

"My companion and I have reservations at Baratie's this evening, and I wish to gift her a complete outfit to match." Crocodile says. "I believe preparations have been made?"

"Ah, yes! Mrs. Carter has been setting things up since yesterday. There are three young ladies in the back to assist, as we assumed it would be more comfortable that way." The employee says, smiling politely at you.

"More... comfortable?"

"They may need to assist you with getting dressed, but you will have privacy." Crocodile explains. "We have a few hours available in case there are tailoring adjustments to be made."

"It is our full service, Miss." The employee adds. "Your hair, nails, makeup, dress, shoes, and accessories will be provided. There are several options for you to choose from so you can select your preferences while still matching with Sir Crocodile."

You open and close your mouth a few times, unsure of what to say or how to act.

"Do you need a moment?" Crocodile asks softly.

"I... it's a bit much." You admit.

"It's hardly enough." He responds, a frown pulling at his lips.

"Is this restrained?"

"Barely, but yes. I had considered buying the shop."

"... Oh, please tell me you are joking." You lean against him, feigning feeling faint.

"Perhaps, a little." He says a small smile on his lips. "I could, but I knew such an act would be almost cruel. I considered simply buying you a dress and such, but this way you can choose what you like. To me, that was worth risking overwhelming you a little."

His words give your brain a chance to process what's going on and you can feel your face go pink. It was a huge gesture, from your perspective, but a compromise from his perspective. A compromise made specifically to benefit you, since he could have simply chosen for you.

"I... thank you." You say after a moment. "I feel like it falls short in the face of all this to simply say thank you, but... I, um... I accept it."

Crocodile leans down and kisses the top of your head. "Then it is I who will thank you. Try to relax and enjoy it."

"Will you be... uh, where will you be?"

"My plan was to wait in the cigar room, but if you prefer I join you-." His expression is part teasing, part legitimate offer.

"Ah, no, no. It's - that's fine." You interject. "I'll be back as soon as I can." You promise, unsure of just how much control you were actually going to have over how long the whole process would take.

A/N - Crocodile's car - I didn't get into the details of it in the story cause the reader in this story isn't into cars, so she doesn't know what it is. But you can know it's a (1959 or 1961) Rolls Royce Silver Cloud II

[quinloki]

Quicksand

Fem Reader x Sir Crocodile

CW: Language, violence, blood, moral ambiguity, murder, sexual themes and situations, yandere, angst with a happy ending, a referenced instance of physical abuse. 18+ only

Chapter 1 - Table of Consent -

Chapter 10: Smile

Fire and Ice. Heaven and Hell. A rock and a hard place. You were certain that you'd be more comfortable in any of those situations compared to how you felt right now.

You had gotten things moving first thing in the morning. A second shower had helped wake you up, after your deliberately light sleep last night, and coffee was keeping you fueled for the day so far. Things had gone relatively smooth at the beginning of the day - you hadn't been able to avoid sharing breakfast with Doflamingo, since the casino itself wasn't open yet you couldn't use the excuse of work.

The mild discomfort of breakfast was nothing compared to the tension in the air when Crocodile arrived.

You had expected the tension between them to be akin to rival gang members, or a couple Mafia bosses trying to keep the peace between their families in the middle of a wedding. Something out of a movie that was oddly debonair and impressively smooth.

You had not expected that Doflamingo would flirt with Crocodile.

Doflamingo had met you in the morning with more flair than the day before, and you could see why Buggy got along with him. He was easily someone who was plenty flashy. His clothes were more casual, and he had been sporting the biggest, fluffiest, pinkest feather coat to possibly exist. You could hardly believe that this was the same person who had kept himself in check the day before. It was easy enough to ignore during breakfast, as he had kept his demeanor from the day before intact, but when he had greeted Sir Crocodile you had seen a complete shift in his behavior.

"Croco-baby!" Doflamingo's entire space had brightened.

You're sure your face had looked completely horrified, but you didn't see Crocodile even twitch. The distraction had given you a chance to compose yourself, at least and you did your best to keep your professional face intact.

"I'm delighted you agreed to this. I was surprised I didn't have the pleasure of your company when I arrived yesterday." Doflamingo was, as far as you can tell, laying it on thick specifically to get a rise out of your boss.

"I'm over-seeing several Rain Dinners branches, Doflamingo." Crocodile says in an impressively even and apathetic tone. "I hardly cared to make time to arrive today."

"Aww, you made time for me, I'm flattered. You have such capable people working for you Croco, you should let them shoulder more for you so you can relax properly. I can lend you the bed in my room to help you destress. Young Miss (Y/N) could run the auction in my place."

Doflamingo runs his tongue across his upper lip when he finishes speaking, making his implication clear. You're caught between not wanting to share Suwani, and the realization that you found the scenario hot and may you never accidentally admit as much.

"You're here to run the auction as the CEO of Smile, you can't pawn that off on my employees." Crocodile replies flatly.

The sarcasm, irritation, and random hints of innuendo were going to give you gray hairs. Salt in Buggy's coffee wasn't going to be enough to make up for all of this. Your job was, at its core, to keep people happy. The more important the guest, the more you provided to make sure their stay was as pleasant as possible. However, there was no way you could interject between the two of them right now. Never mind the fact that Crocodile was your boss' boss' boss, and the idea of him being defended by someone in your position was laughable, but also you were sure there were years of back history between these two. You simply didn't know enough to effectively intervene.

Doflamingo's arm drapes across your back and his hand lands on your shoulder so suddenly you flinch. It wasn't him or the action itself, it was the fact that you had expected to continue to be ignored, not practically yanked into the conversation.

"Tell him, Miss (Y/N), we've gone over the details of the auction enough you could handle it."

"Capable as I may be, Mr. Donquixote," you reply, recovering from your surprise quickly. "I'm not paid to do more than one job. I decline."

"Fufufu," the tone of his laugh wasn't something you had heard from him before, and there was a strange shift in air. A new weight settled on you, and you realize he's finally, truly, paying attention to you. "If it's a matter of compensation, Miss (Y/N)-."

"Hardly," you interject quickly, there's no way you're going to find out if he means to compensate you with his money or his time. "Being unofficially compensated is illegal, Mr. Donquixote. I decline."

There's a second of silence and then Doflamingo laughs. It's an impressive sound, but you're not thrilled to be hearing it, and from the flash of emotion on Crocodile's face, neither is he.

Doflamingo straightens up and removes his hand from your shoulder. You feel your body relax, even though you hadn't realized that you were tense to begin with. You curse inwardly, you're getting pulled around by a VIP instead of keeping him in line. Not that Doflamingo was your typical VIP, but you had years of experience at this job.

You pull your phone from your pocket to check the time as Doflamingo returns to bantering – or badgering - Crocodile. Despite the Warlord's words, you're not sure if he wants to sleep with Crocodile, so much as he wants to get into a fight with him. Though maybe for the Warlord there wasn't much difference between the two.

"My apologies for interrupting, but the Auction begins in an hour." You report when there's a breath of silence in which to do so. "Mr. Donquixote, you should head to the venue to finalize the item order and deal with any last-minute issues to ensure a smooth start."

"Capable indeed," Donquixote muses, and his tone sends a shiver up your spine that you're barely able to suppress. "Very well, let's get this amusement going, shall we Croco-baby?"

Crocodile grunts at Doflamingo, before turning toward you. "Miss (Y/N), send Buggy to the Auction Venue, and enjoy the rest of the day off."

You bow. "Yes, Sir Crocodile."

After you turn and leave you hear Doflamingo. "I'm still going to be here after the auction, why are you sending my little pet away? I was just starting to like her."

"I don't need you sending my capable employees running for the hills, you feathery bastard."

Crocodile's tone was steady, but the words still made you smile.

. . . . .

You enjoyed your time off Wednesday, and you informed Buggy before you had sent him to the auction venue that you were taking Thursday as well, and it was his fault. Doflamingo was too flashy and if Buggy didn't want salted coffee for the rest of his days, he wasn't going to argue with you.

Unsurprisingly you didn't hear anything from Crocodile on Wednesday. You expected that he had his hands full with Doflamingo, and afterward he probably wanted – and needed – nothing more than to sleep. You had only dealt with the muted version of the man for the most part, and exhaustion had sunk into your bones from it.

You woke up Thursday to a single text.

Suwani: I would like to treat you to more than just dinner, if you would permit me the honor of buying you a gift.

You: I'm texting you on a gift.

"You need only offer yourself, (Y/N), as you are, and I will grant your desires even if they are numerous as the sands."

The memory bubbled up, and for a moment you could feel his warmth wrapped around you, the low voice filled with desire and need sinking into your skin.

You: But... since my desires aren't as numerous as the sands, then I will do my best to accept yours.

It felt a bit like playing with fire to send such a text, but you were already well aware that you weren't going to be able to stem the tide of gifts that Suwani would want to provide for you. A man who had everything he could want – at least in a material sense – wasn't going to be concerned with silly little things like cost. Or frequency, for that matter.

Suwani: Then I won't hold back.

Suwani: I will be by at 1pm. You needn't worry about dressing for dinner. I hope you can forgive me for not being subtle, if only for today.

The second text came before you could think of any reply to the first.

Your head tilted and your face went a bit pink. You weren't sure what he was implying by saying you didn't need to dress for dinner.

You: ... Are you requesting I greet you naked at the door? Or are you telling me to dress casually?

There was a long pause before a text finally came through.

Suwani: Today is a gift for you, Miss Wednesday, not me. Dress casually.

"I mean, it would be a gift for me too," you muse, even as your face goes hot. You had been looking forward to having a full and actual date today, so you kept your musings to yourself.

You: I will be ready and casually dressed by 1.

You decide on a light lunch and get ready for the day. You wear loose slacks and a nice short sleeved shirt, and some decent shoes that could almost pass for dress shoes except the soles were more like sneakers than anything else. You're full of nervous energy and find that you're grateful you had slept in. Imagining sitting around like this since 7am instead of 10am was enough to almost knot your stomach.

When the doorbell rings you almost jump and have to swallow your heart before you open the door.

Sir Crocodile stands in the doorway and he is dressed to the nines. He's in a dark suit with a deep red ascot, and a white scarf hanging from his shoulders. His hair is slicked back save for one errant lock, and frankly you think it looks better a little messy than completely brushed back.

"I thought you said casual," you question despite the smile on your face. You're caught a bit off guard, but not displeased at all by the view.

"You'll be dressed to match, shortly." He assures you with a small smile. His hand that you hadn't even noticed was behind his back, comes into view with a bouquet of a dozen red roses. "A full and proper date begins with flowers."

"I... wow. I suppose it does." You take the bouquet carefully.

"Put them in your fridge for now, and they'll keep until you can put them into water. Or my secretary recommends hanging them upside down and letting them dry."

"The fridge for now, I guess." You murmur softly, leaning in and enjoying the scent of fresh roses. "Uh, give me a moment and I'll be ready to leave."

You place the roses into the fridge carefully, and gather your wallet, keys, and phone before stepping outside. Crocodile offers his arm, and you slip your own through it.

"Escorted from my door? The closet I had to something like this was prom, and there were six of us," you admit sheepishly.

"It's a shame to hear, but it's good to know such an honor is mine alone." He says smoothly, bringing your hand up to his lips for a soft kiss, and making your cheeks go red.

When you reach the ground floor and step outside you finally understand what he had meant when he had asked to be forgiven for not being subtle. An older classic car, complete with a chauffeur, was waiting at the end of the walkway. The tall, severe faced man, had a scar across his eye and muscles enough to probably lift the car and simply walk about town with it if he so desired.

"Miss (Y/N), please meet the punctual Mr. One."

The tall man's gaze shifts down to you and he bows ever so slightly. "It is a pleasure, Miss."

The interaction was enough for you to finally realize that, for the Warlord's people at least, you were the boss' girlfriend. Unlike someone like Doflamingo, who seemed to naturally have a different lady on his arm for each public appearance, Crocodile hadn't been seen in public with anyone on his arm. Until, perhaps, tonight.

"Ah, um, for me as well, Mr. One." You manage, the weight of several things kind of sinking into you all at once.

"Are you okay?" Crocodile asks, leaning down and squeezing your hand a little.

You smile. "Yes, I think there's just uh, an understanding dawning on me, is all."

"Oh?" He prompts, opening the door for you.

"I... I'm going on a date with a government-sanctioned gangster, and I don't even have a speeding ticket. It's a little surreal."

"Miss (Y/N), I hope that isn't how you think of me." There's a small look of concern on his face as you sit down in the back of the car.

"If it was, Suwani, I would've walked away at the café." You assure him.

He leans in with a smile, tilting your chin up and stealing a kiss before closing the door and walking around to the other side. Crocodile was seated behind the driver's seat, and you could feel the soft smile from the corner of your gaze. You couldn't look at him right now, despite all that you had done, you hadn't done anything publicly. Not that you think the stone-faced Mr. One qualified as the public, as he sat in the driver's seat managing to be both attentive to your needs - should you have any - and completely ignorant of your actions - should you want privacy.

You reach out with your left hand and slide your fingers across Crocodile's. The shift of his hand as he quietly twines his warm fingers with yours makes you blush harder, even if no one was looking. It was moments like these that made it difficult to see him as some crime-lord Warlord, or even as CEO/Owner of Rain Dinners.

You were, as the car pulled into a boutique that was so high end that it had a valet service, glad that you had chosen to eat a light lunch. Mr. One opened the door for Crocodile first, and then for you, though it was Crocodile who took your hand as you stepped out.

"I've never felt underdressed for a store before." You whisper, as you fold your arm in his.

"Soon you won't be underdressed for anything." He assures you.

It took everything you had not to hide behind Sir Crocodile as you entered the store. You were greeted by an employee who was dressed in a business suit, and that was probably the most casual item available in the whole store.

"Ah, Sir Crocodile, it is a pleasure to see you today." The employee greets him smoothly. "How may we serve you?"

"My companion and I have reservations at Baratie's this evening, and I wish to gift her a complete outfit to match." Crocodile says. "I believe preparations have been made?"

"Ah, yes! Mrs. Carter has been setting things up since yesterday. There are three young ladies in the back to assist, as we assumed it would be more comfortable that way." The employee says, smiling politely at you.

"More... comfortable?"

"They may need to assist you with getting dressed, but you will have privacy." Crocodile explains. "We have a few hours available in case there are tailoring adjustments to be made."

"It is our full service, Miss." The employee adds. "Your hair, nails, makeup, dress, shoes, and accessories will be provided. There are several options for you to choose from so you can select your preferences while still matching with Sir Crocodile."

You open and close your mouth a few times, unsure of what to say or how to act.

"Do you need a moment?" Crocodile asks softly.

"I... it's a bit much." You admit.

"It's hardly enough." He responds, a frown pulling at his lips.

"Is this restrained?"

"Barely, but yes. I had considered buying the shop."

"... Oh, please tell me you are joking." You lean against him, feigning feeling faint.

"Perhaps, a little." He says a small smile on his lips. "I could, but I knew such an act would be almost cruel. I considered simply buying you a dress and such, but this way you can choose what you like. To me, that was worth risking overwhelming you a little."

His words give your brain a chance to process what's going on and you can feel your face go pink. It was a huge gesture, from your perspective, but a compromise from his perspective. A compromise made specifically to benefit you, since he could have simply chosen for you.

"I... thank you." You say after a moment. "I feel like it falls short in the face of all this to simply say thank you, but... I, um... I accept it."

Crocodile leans down and kisses the top of your head. "Then it is I who will thank you. Try to relax and enjoy it."

"Will you be... uh, where will you be?"

"My plan was to wait in the cigar room, but if you prefer I join you-." His expression is part teasing, part legitimate offer.

"Ah, no, no. It's - that's fine." You interject. "I'll be back as soon as I can." You promise, unsure of just how much control you were actually going to have over how long the whole process would take.

A/N - Crocodile's car - I didn't get into the details of it in the story cause the reader in this story isn't into cars, so she doesn't know what it is. But you can know it's a (1959 or 1961) Rolls Royce Silver Cloud II

[dreamtillmorning]

you, Dream’s younger Endless sibling, the embodiment of Defiance (rebellion, opposition, revolt), defend him from Morningstar’s question: “What power do dreams have in Hell?”, and face the consequence.

blood tw near the end

“Power?” you mused.

      And all heads turned to you, the barest sneers on Lucifer’s smile. They had not noticed you, not in a long while. Dream, your brother, was glaring at you. You did not have to look at him to sense what he was warning.

      Truth be told, it was not in your embodiment’s nature to hold back yourself, let alone falling into a line.

      You began a stride to be as close to them as Dream was. “Then let me ask you this, Morningstar: What is power to a rebel? To the defiant who refuse to partake in its maintenance and perpetuity? To the masses who hope to overthrow the powerful few? Even as you have power, it will not remain still as a brick wall with defiance and oppositions. Even as my brother has none, I do. And he is leaving.”

       Their sneer, in return, did not wane. Their voice, however, became exceedingly lighter than the grilling question aimed toward Dream earlier. “Are you certain about that?”

      You quickly did a double take of your peripheral vision, noting Mazikeen’s and Dream’s positions. “I very much am.”

      “Very well. You may have your wish.” Louder they responded to you all, Matthew included, “Morpheus, you may leave, but your sibling must stay.”

      Dream looked slightly alarmed. “I will not forget your generosity, Morningstar, but is there any conditions that allow them to be released?”

They answered, “This must be hard on you, but we’re afraid that our decision is final.”

      “I understand.” Then he walked fast then close to you, put a hand on your shoulder. His voice was low, but you were not sure if it was enough to keep Lucifer out of earshot, “You’re on your own now. Do not let anything here get into your head, and remember the reason we won.”

You nodded, before a black mass hopped by you. It was Matthew. “Hey, just remember: you’re not alone, okay? You’ll always be in our thoughts.”

“Thank you, Matthew.” You sent him a smile, not as big as you hoped.

      But when they were gone, you were alone. Without giving you another moment to think, Lucifer ordered, “Come.”

      And you did.

      They walked in front of you while Mazikeen walked behind you, until both stopped as Lucifer opened a door. It was a bedroom big in its own right, but no more than a master bedroom. When they stood aside, a silent order for you to come in, you noted it was fully furnished, with a large bed and decently ornated cabinets, a large mirror opposite the bed, and another transparent door as an access to a wide balcony. It was far too luxurious than a prison.

      Why were you brought here?

      As you hesitated, you heard Mazikeen took a step forward, and without another thought you stepped in, hearing Lucifer behind declaring her free of duties. The door shut behind you, and now you were alone with them in the gilded room.

      They circled around you, as intent as when Dream introduced you in the beginning. “Defiance, is it?”

      “Yes.”

      They stopped and smiled as if they were senile. “Very good. Let me get this clear. You are a fellow Endless of Dream’s, embodying rebellion, opposition, from the childlike and teenage rebellion to revolutions, to the human urge to overcome any confines placed upon them.”

      “What are you getting at?”

      They stopped smiling. Their stare became colder, and yours did not stray from it.

      “What you are about to learn is that things will no longer go your way here. Such as interrupting your host. But to be very clear…” Your left arm was grabbed, and before you knew it their other hand forced up your sleeve, followed by piercing nails dug into your flesh. You grunted from the pain but that soon turned into a cry — Those nails are too sharp, dug too deep. This can’t be happening to you it can’t — “… henceforth, you are not to speak unless spoken to. You are not to leave the room unless we explicitly ordered you to. You are to answer and be present immediately after requested to be summoned. Only we are absent from the entire floor when necessary, not you. If you break any of these rules, we will know, and will make sure you will receive the proper punishments, equal to or above all rings of Hell.”

      You knew, fixated on the finger by your skin, that they were carving a bloody symbol, something geometrical cut across by a line. It should have been faded but it did not. Something kept it at bay, from disappearing. You could not think straight. You could have stopped them, but they were taller than you, no doubt stronger. Dream is older than you and did not even attempt a fight except the battle of wits. You could fight them, but before you could, their hand came up and cupped your palm, thumb smearing the blood and tracing over the mark, their grip hurting even more as you flinched from the dull pain turned piercing. “This seals the pact.”

      A pact. It is a pact. Before you thought on it further they pulled you closer, a lurch that briefly had you stumbling. Their tone became sweeter and more delicate; it was the same poison honey when speaking with Dream. “You do not have to make this hard, Defiance. In fact, you are as intriguing as the King of Dreams.” Their hand raised your chin, so your eyes met their face, pristine for all the poison beneath it. “If you integrate yourself well with our domain … you could even be my favourite. Or you can choose not to…” Then it was as cold as their voice. “… and be punished as the rest out here, as you wish.”

[dracowars]

Hello! i was wondering if u could do a draco imagine where the reader & draco are prefects and they started to have feelings for each other and they both love to tease each other!! im bad at explaing things but i hope that made sense :) love ur writing btw <3

perfect prefect | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x reader

word count: 1,8k

summary: where y/n and draco love to tease each other

a/n: i hope you like this and that it lives up to your expectations <3

warnings: none

universe: harry potter

Like a shadow you move as quietly as possible through the dark corridors of the big School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, always careful not to be seen by anyone or to not directly walk into someone. You work your way through Hogwarts and its millions of angled hallways, walking close to the brick walls until you finally reach the stairs leading down to the dungeons and you carefully stride them down.

Just before you get downstairs, you suddenly hear a loud meow in the distance and hurriedly run up the stairs again and hide behind the closest corner, pressing your body firmly against the cold wall, holding your breath.

Carefully looking around the corner with your head, you can see the mean caretaker Filch walking up the stairs with his cat Mrs. Norris in the dark. Filch suspiciously looks in your direction through the straight and long corridor, holding up his dim lantern. Immediately, you pull your head back with a jerk, but thankfully hear his loud footsteps vanish in the distance as he goes away from your current position.

Just when you are about to breathe a sigh of relief and step out of your cover, it meows right in front of your feet, causing you to take a step back in shock.

Mrs. Norris is sitting right in front of you and angrily glares at you through her yellowish eyes while she meows louder and louder to draw her owner's attention to herself. The footsteps that had become quieter a short time before are now getting louder and closer by each second that passes.

Just before Filch is about to turn the corner and you are already preparing yourself for the worst, out of nowhere a hand covers your mouth from behind and pulls you back. Everything blurs in front of your eyes for a moment and when you have a clear view again, you are no longer in the corridor, but in an empty classroom.

Startled, you turn around, ready to fight your attacker, when you realize that the person is only your beloved friend, Draco Malfoy.

"Bloody hell, Draco! You scared me to death!", you sigh out loud, your hand on top of your heart which is pounding hard against your chest.

"But I saved you from Filch and his filthy animal", he proudly exclaims. "Without my help you would probably be on your way to Dumbledore by now."

"I am a prefect. He would probably have thought that I was doing my nightly rounds around Hogwarts and not that I was on my way to meet a certain someone", you defend yourself since you do not want to admit that he actually saved you from expulsion.

"Is this certain someone coincidentally incredibly good looking and does that certain someone have eyes in which you can lose yourself and see the star- Ouch!", he cries out loudly as you loosely slap his upper arm, walking past him to the door of the classroom to get out of there.

"That description does not apply to him at all. I am afraid I have to destroy your dreams", you tease him, a playful smile playing around your lips while you straighten the skirt of your uniform.

"Well, if so, then good luck strutting through the corridors on your own without getting caught", Draco shrugs nonchalantly and gives you a look you cannot quite interpret as he is now the one to walk past you, reaching the door before you can. Turning around to look over your shoulder from behind, you feel his hot breath against your neck.

"But when you have reached your desired destination, you will unfortunately not meet this certain someone, because this certain someone currently has to continue patrolling the hallways", he whispers in your ear, but cannot stop himself from giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. "See you."

Quickly, you turn around and grab his wrist as he was just about to open the door, preventing him from leaving. With a devious grin he looks at you, silently waiting for you to say something.

"Stop it, you dumbass", you roll your eyes in playful annoyance and gently pull him closer to you, your faces now only inches apart. Draco's gaze switches between your beautiful, shimmering eyes to your full lips as he suddenly leans in and you close your eyes automatically.

You already feel Draco's breath against your lips when all of a sudden the door to the classroom is opened and Draco jumps away, quickly hiding you behind him, protecting you from the person that is now stepping into the room at this moment.

"Draco?"

"Blaise?"

"What are you doing in here? Shouldn't you be checking the corridors?", Blaise asks him reproachfully and does not seem to have noticed you until you peek over Draco's shoulder and his eyes widen as he spots you.

"Oh, I see. So that is what you are doing in here. Gross", he says, disgusted, and grimaces accordingly. "Then I will not bother you two any longer-"

"Stop, Blaise! It is not like that!", you interrupt him and come out from behind Draco's back, pretending that there wasn't always something between you and Draco that everyone already knew about before you did yourself.

Blaise nods understandingly, but something on his face tells you that he does not believe a single word you just told him. Nevertheless, he says goodbye and leaves the room again, leaving Draco and you in an uncomfortable silence.

"That was close", Draco breathes out heavily and gently takes your smaller hand in his own. "Let us get out of here as well. I will take you back to your dormitory."

Turning around and wanting to pull you with him, he goes to the door but you do not move, which is why he looks back at you irritated, a big question mark over his head as to why you are not following him.

"I do not want to go", you say, barely audible, and look straight into his gray eyes. "We do not see each other very much lately and now that we have finally made it, you quickly want to get rid of me again. If you do not want to spend time with me anymore, then why don't you just tell me, Draco?"

"What are you even talking about, Y/N? You know that it is not true", Draco assures you, putting his hand on your temple, pulling your head towards him to place a kiss on your forehead. "I like you. Like a lot. I like you more than you know. How about we walk around together and you tell me about your week?"

Your face overflowing with joy, you nod in agreement and a happy smile forms on both of your faces. Draco takes your hand back in his and leads the way out of the empty classroom and into the corridor, but not without checking first that Filch or his cat are not coming around the corner at any moment.

You walk next to each other in silence for a few minutes until Draco finally speaks up as you walk down the stairs to the first floor, your hands still intertwined.

"Actually, you know, I should have deducted house points from you for your naughty nightly excursion", he tells you, looking straight ahead, but you can clearly see the grin on his lips regardless. Offended, you hit his upper arm again, this time a little bit harder than before.

"Very funny, you wag", you giggle softly. "If it wasn't for you, I would not have gotten out of my cozy and warm bed in the first place."

"So you are saying that you are doing all of this just for me?"

"Of course, Draco."

"How do I deserve this?", he abruptly stops you as you have reached the bottom of the stairs and wraps his hands around your waist. Your arms sneak around his neck by themselves and you do your best to fake a real looking thoughtful face.

"Because you are such an incredibly great and responsible prefect", you explain with a smile, but he just shakes his head in disappointment, probably expecting you to say something else, and breaks the eye contact, focusing his gaze to the ground.

"Have you ever doubted that? Who else should become head boy in our seventh year if not me?", he covers up his disappointment, questioningly raising one of his eyebrows at you.

"You?", you snort and move away from him, covering your mouth with your hand to prevent yourself from laughing too loud. Draco give you a extremely offended look while you are busy with keeping your laughing fit as quiet as possible.

"What is so funny!?"

"Oh, it is just.. Who is the one here that is always so extraordinary friendly to the first years? Like the one time last year when-"

"Okay, okay!", he interrupts your ramblings by putting his hand over your mouth. However, he is still not able to stop your giggling. "Can you please shut up?"

"I am in favor of Blaise becoming the head boy anyway. He is really good at what he does", you continue to tease the poor platinum haired boy and he rolls his eyes, this time literally, annoyed and continues on his patrol without you.

"Wait! Hold up! Where are you going?", you call after him before you catch up with him again. Because his facial expression, or rather his pout, already gives it away, you do not even have to ask what is wrong.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy. Are you jealous?"

"You wish."

"So you are", you whisper, more to yourself than to him, and stop in your tracks as he keeps walking.

"Hey, do not walk away like this!", you command and put your hand on his shoulder so that he actually comes to a stop. "You did not really take my words seriously, did you?"

Draco sighs dejectedly and lowers his head, but you are quick to put your hand under his chin and guide it up to make him look at you.

"Come on, Draco. You know I did not mean it. I actually think you are a great prefect and that you will become an even better head boy", you smile at him while you fix his green tie with your other hand, your cheeks a little bit red from being so close to him. "I always stand behind you."

Shyly making eye contact with him again, you notice the small smile on his lips and in the next moment you suddenly feel his tender lips pressed against your. He puts so much emotion into the kiss and your heart is about to jump out of your chest as he abruptly stops.

"I love you", he whispers against your lips after breaking the kiss. "I always did."

"I love you too", you smile blissfully happy, although he himself had known for a long time already. "My perfect prefect."

[chocolate-parfait]

I've never sent an ask before so I apologize if I'm doing something wrong, but could I maybe request some more Gen Z mc headcanons? I just love the idea of mc having a platonic younger/older sibling dynamic especially with Napoleon and Jean 🥺👉👈

dw, dw! here it is✨

Gen Z!MC (pt. 2) - ikevamp headcanons (Napoleon & Jean)

Napoleon

You and Napoleon get along amazingly from the start. Sure, there is a generational gap and many of the things you do or laugh at cannot be explained, but believe me when I say that his charisma and open mindedness make up for it, a lot.

Being the naturally caring person he is, he immediately takes you under his wing (he basically adopts you, like he did with Jean and Isaac). No one is allowed to lay a hand on you for the whole month, else they'd have to catch his hands and sword. Related to this, no matter how much you tell him that you can fight on your own, he will NOT let you. First, he will have you join on his sparring sessions with Jean and teach you the basics, maybe even tell you a thing or two on how to throw a punch, but he'd rather have you safe and sound than covered in bruises and bloody scars.

This may paint him in a slightly overprotective light, but you probably won't even notice it unless you're throwing yourself headfirst into danger. A creep is harassing a woman in the street? Napoleon will deal with it before you can move another step. He was a soldier and an emperor, he has fought for a future of peace and equality, and you, the fruit of his hard work, should avoid any kind of bloodshed.

On the other hand, if the fight is verbal, he will 100% support you and cheer you on. He absolutely adores it whenever he sees the eloquence and unwavering confidence with which you defend your ideals, and he wonders whether a father would be feeling the same way.

Another thing he appreciates about you, is your humor. Although sometimes it kinda upsets him and makes him think about the type of society you must be coming from (self deprecating jokes, mostly), he cannot help but get a good laugh or two whenever he sees you laughing at the most nonsensical things.

One day, he, you and Arthur were talking about your life in the 21st century, when you happened to mention a friend of yours. "..oh yeah! This actually reminds me of my friend, Joe. Though it's too bad that he died of ligma" "I'm so sorry to heart that... what's... what's ligma though? A new illness?" "🕴 L I G M A B A L L S 🕴" im sorry this joke is overused but its 1AM and i saw it on a jujutsu kaisen tiktok pls beare with me

(+ you and Arthur falling to the ground, tears in your eyes and the most horrible whale noises filling up the whole room)

Other times you come up with the most original and unusual phrases that don't match your usual speech at all. "MC, what were you doing before coming here?" "I had sworn an oath of solitude 'till the blight was purged from mine lands" "What..?" "I was in quarantine because of a global pandemic" Oh.

When the time comes for you to say goodbye, he will, of course, feel a heavy dagger in his heart, but he'll gladly let you return to your peaceful time, the place where you belong to the most. Knowing you, you'll surely be fine, after all.

Jean

He's confused at first. You're young, somewhere near his age back when he was alive, and according to what you told the others you come from a """relatively""" peaceful time. without considering police brutality, discriminations, wars in certain countries, and a pandemic. Let's just say that many of us can lead a life without going to war and such But why, why are you so cursed?

Saying that he's taken aback would be an understatement. He simply cannot get more than half of what you talk about, he's not a social butterfly and he struggles with being open with others; you, however, don't seem to mind it too much. You approach him, fearlessly and with genuinely good intentions only. He resists and tries putting distance between you, but there's something, something that makes him want to talk to you, laugh with you and understand you more.

Your arrival shows him that which he could not be. A simple teenager. An innocent person who peacefully lives without having to worry about traitors, incoming battles and the sight of dead comrades in a puddle of their down blood. You look so carefree in whatever you do, even when nervous and hesitant, and yet you do not lack depth. He has seen you defending your principles, the fire in your eyes and spirit wholly concentrated on your interlocutors. Could he have been like that, too, if he had been given the chance?

Ever since meeting you, he's become more and more determined to learn the basics which he had completely missed during a time of war. Reading and writing, for example. He's not as naive as to completely let go of all his sins, but the untainted side of him, which had survived so many years of slaughter and had tied the adjectives "saint" and "pure" to his name, pushed him to work hard for those simple yet rewarding goals.

He's utterly at a loss for words when you propose to help him out though, and even more when he sees the lack of judgmental sneer in your eyes. Could you really be so innocent? Or perhaps it's a sign of your maturity and benevolence? Maybe you two are not so different, after all. Sure, you may be one hell of an oddball, but he surely isn't that normal, either

Whether he likes it or not, Jean subconsciously starts considering you as a younger sibling, and he feels the need to protect you by sacrificing himself; he's the only one with stained hands, you should remain the way you are. Pure and childlike, like he used to be. This will bring you to butt heads every now and then, because yours is not a kindness that stems from ignorance, but from open mindedness and awareness. In the end, you're both mutually taking care of each other, and it's so wholesome that someone's younger brother might feel a bit jealous of your bond.

Teach him some modern songs and some slangs (Jean to the other residents: wassup, my fellow homies!), tell him about popular blockbusters and bestseller stories, do some popular challenges with him, like the chubby bunny one but using macarons instead. Jean will naturally develop a smile, and his usual dark aura will slowly dissipate, like a clear sky after a thunderstorm.

After the month passes by, he gets more and more nervous as the day of your departure gets closer. He's used to saying goodbyes before heading into battle, prepared not to come back alive anymore, but to do it with someone who will be alive, even if years and years after your present time? That's definitely a first for him. Nevertheless, knowing the time where you'll be going back to, he feels reassured, and is finally able, perhaps for the first time in his turbulent life, to say "goodbye" with a smile on his face

[hezuart]

Okay so 3 things

1) I deadass am so bad at reading things that when I saw you say "73 page chapter" I read 73 chapters and immediately went "OH NO", but I'm right there with you on that feeling of dread honestly

2) if Kubo is trying so damn hard to push Ichika/Kazui why didn't he just....yknow....make IchiRuki the endgame— (I'll always be salty about it to, I'm a filthy OC x Canon shipper with a certain glasses clad boy who was done dirty, but I still think he should've been the one to end up with Hime)

3) I'm right there with you on Chad and Hime being basically useless, which, as a latina who loved anime so much growing up, I was so happy to see hispanic representation in a time where people weren't actively pushing for it, like, wow!! He's just there just because!!! But then he was somehow more useless than Ichigo's siblings which hurt me deeply! Chad deserved better and the fullbring arc should've actually MEANT SOMETHING

1.) i MEAN.... LOOK MAN ITS APPARENTLY A NEW ARC SO AS FAR AS WE KNOW THIS VERY WELL COULD BE ANOTHER 73 CHAPTERS

Kubo has a very hard time getting to the point, he tends to drag things along and add more characters that clutter up the plot.

2.) Yeah Ichika / Kazui don't really have chemistry to me, though we really have only seen them interact like once? like I said before, it's like a Renji x Orihime, and I do not see it working out at all, (those two don't even know each other, nor are they friends. )

Of course, Kazui and Ichika have slightly differing personalities from their parents, but they're kids, and Kazui is a demon while Ichika is somewhat normal (ironically) So I think this ship is a really bad idea.

I can definitely see Kubo doing this Ichika x Kazui thing as some weird form of damage control, which is really only going to upset people more.

what is most infuriating is that Ichika and Kazui seem to sneak off to both SS and the living world however much they want to see each other (or other people from the other sides), meanwhile Rukia didn't visit Ichigo for like... YEARS when he was struggling and failing to adjust to his human life after he lost his powers and i'm like??? Excuse me what is that about?

Rukia had a death wish, everyone in SS (Ukitake and Kaien are exceptions) wanted to kill her / ignored her/ didn't care about her, (Including Renji and Byakuya)

Ichigo had the same welcoming personality of the man she was in love with, Rukia never actually knew what it meant to be human... I mean Rukia Kuchiki's entire arc was supposed to be about Death learning how to live and love. She learned what family is. She learned what friends are. She learned what faith is. She learned about new tech and kindness and juice and...... She was given the world, and yet she chose death. That will never make sense to me. That's when BLEACH officially lost sight of what it was meant to be.

and yeah having Orihime get with Ichigo instead of Uryu hurt already, but Kubo made it worse by taking Uryu off the team. That whole speech about how he's doing this "for his friends" and yet in the end they're not even friends? He's not even in the final cover page. Uryu should have just joined Yhwach and killed 'em all for a single world. Would have shockingly made more sense than all this.

~~~

3. Yeah the FULLBRING arc was completely useless. I've seen people attempt to defend it, but literally, nothing happens. Ichigo just gets his powers back. None of the fullbringers really matter, we never learn who Ginjo and Tsukishima are and their pasts and how Xcution came to really be... it's legit a repeat of the Vizard recruitment mixed with Kokuto's Hell betrayal plot lines. Riruka was the only character I cared about. Everyone else was just "meh". Orihime and Chad are fullbringers yet we didn't explore their powers nor gain independence realizing their powers are their own and not gained from Ichigo like they originally thought in the first arc, etc.. (also wtf Orihime's brother was sent to soul society and she never seeks him out / finds him????? What's that about? And how is Keigo more powerful than Tatsuki? How has Tatsuki not become a fullbringer? That's bullshit)

But yeah Chad and Orihime became the most useless characters in BLEACH. Orihime is hated more because she hogs (and wastes) the most screen time by not developing or helping, while Chad is just off-screen. I could make a 40 min / hour long video about how Orihime and Chad are failed characters. Arc 1 they're golden. After that, they're just goners.

~~

[silkylious]

Limbo (Bakugo Katsuki x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: bakugo katsuki x female reader warnings: heavy angst, eventual tiny bit of fluff at the end

omf this request is so nice i feel so bad that my writing is literally garbage in this, but thank you sm for requesting this!! <3 and im so sorry if i didn’t do your request justice (i legit hate my writing here :’))

To say the state of your relationship was unbearable would be the euphemism of the century.

Your thoughts often ran amuck, always hopelessly crawling back to that one despaired curiosity; wondering if he shared the same sentiment about your wishy-washy “friends” status as you did. He probably didn’t. That’s the seemingly unshakable brick wall that would inevitably dead-end your lovesick daydreams, each and every time. Though when his roughed-up hands linger on your skin a millisecond too long, when his steeled stare melts, hard rubies morphing into blazing lava pits, threatening to mar your very heart and soul with their scorching intensity –you’re not exactly certain you’d mind that– that’s when a flicker of something ignites within you. Hope, longing, doubt. Whatever it is, it terrifies you. Because you’re agonizingly aware of what that entails. He’s got you hook, line and sinker, but torturously he refuses to do anything with that. Almost like pulling someone in for a hug then abruptly and without explanation stopping midway, he keeps you at arm’s length. Not too far, not too close. And how that cycle destroyed you.

Katsuki was the type to jump into action and ask questions later. Except a lot of the times when these questions pertain to his own emotions, he didn’t even try to answer them, opting to shove them to the corners of his psyche, collecting dust, steadily accumulating until they become too much to ignore and he (sometimes quite literally) explodes. It’s a vicious loop that he could never break away from, he’d even come to find a sordid comfort in it. His coping mechanism was by no means healthy, far from it, but he’d grown familiar to the toxicity.

Katsuki couldn’t make heads nor tails of his feelings for you. Whenever he impulsively threw himself into the lion’s den that was your affection, caught in the moment, in the glimmer of genuine adoration in your eyes, he never came back the same. A piece of his heart would irreversibly split off and reside in the palm of your hand, he was scared that nothing would be left of it, that he wouldn’t be able to regain his bearings until it was too late. You so effortlessly juggled with his feelings, all with a single smile, it scared him that you had so much power over the fluttery sensation in his chest and yet, in the moment, it felt good. It felt so good to indulge in whatever fucky feeling was messing with his head, to let you hold him in the depths of obscurity with all prying eyes shut and what little words exchanged hushed. It felt so alleviating to feel skin on his own (for once not in battle), gentle, comforting but not coddling. It was unspoken between you that you were both more than friends. You knew it, he knew it. Neither of you ever mentioned it. What neither of you knew, however, was how far the other’s feelings ran.

But as high as your silent love made him feel, he crashed back down into the concrete when he was left to his own devices. Without your intoxicating scent, distracting touches fogging his rationality, Katsuki had all the time in the world to overthink. And overthink he did. His pride picked apart the delicate flowering in his heart, ripping it petal by petal until nothing was left but a garden of beautifully withered leaves, a condemnation to what he considered a weakness.

Katsuki was a taker by every sense of the word. Basking in your wispy adoration, only to brush you aside in favor of focusing on academics once he’d had his fill of your love. It was sickening.

Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t outright confessed to him, maybe that’s what soothed the overbearing guilt that crawled up his throat whenever he saw that dejected face of yours, the one you made because of him. If your feelings for him ran deep, surely you would have said something by now, at least that’s what he thought. Or more precisely, that’s the excuse his mind conjured up in hopes of easing his conscious, trying to convince himself that self that yes, he was hurting you, but at least he wasn’t hurting you that bad. He was infinitely aware that this doesn’t put him in any sort of moral high ground, nor does it justify his actions, but, again, it was a last-ditch effort to relieve his anguish if just by a little bit, even if he knew that excuse was bullshit.    

Surely he knew, there’s no way in hell someone as hawk-eyed as him didn’t notice the tyranny he held over the porcelain pitter-pattering of your heart, didn’t notice the fleeting, love-filled glances you sent his way. This was getting ridiculous, you were starting to believe he was taking some twisted sense of pleasure from your heartache, but he wouldn’t do that, right? He didn’t derive some sick kick out of having you indefinitely under his thumb, at his beck and call… right? A few months ago, you would have answered those uncertainties with a resounding “No!” defending his cruel behavior till the bitter end. But now…

Now you weren’t so sure.

And yet you still found yourself in his dorm, on his bed. It was supposed to be another study gathering, but one thing was glaringly missing. Y’know… the gathering. Kirishima was out training and he hadn’t bothered to invite the rest of his brain-dead, self-proclaimed squad. And that’s how you found yourself alone. With your best friend and secret crush. Just dandy.

Your hands were restless. Pulling at the seams of his blanket, cracking your own fingers, picking up your pencil for a brief moment of concentration, answering one or two questions only to drop it back on the mattress again and fidget some more. Katsuki wasn’t fucking blind, and your unease was ticking him off. Though he surprisingly hadn’t said a thing about it just yet, he was clearly nearing his wit’s end. His silence didn’t prevail for much longer, the meek sigh and not so subtle glance you chanced his way being his tipping point.

“What.” It came out as a statement, a demand rather than a question. What was he demanding? He hadn’t thought of that yet, his temperamental limbs already taking the wheel and pressing on the gas without a destination in mind, just being short fused for the sake of it. Was it even his place to be making demands in this situation? Katsuki knew the answer to this one like the back of his hand, a solid no.

“What…?” You really had no idea what Bakugo was expecting with a question like that. He still had the audacity to roll his eyes.

“The hell’s got you so jumpy?”

“It’s nothing…” It was a lot more than nothing, that’s for sure.

“Don’t lie to me, (name). What the fuck is up with you?” Ah, there it is again. That look. His words were as cut-throat as ever, and his mouth was still pulled into that seemingly permanent scowl. But his eyes conveyed something that was whole worlds asunder from his harsh tone. Golden brows furrowed as they usually were, though unusually upturned just the slightest bit. You despised that look. It ensured that you’ll forever be caught in his grasp, forever there for him when he never spared you the time of day.

Your lungs constricted by a force of gorgeously wretched agony. Katsuki wasn’t fair when he bared his soul to you like this, it filled you with such fervent euphoria that torrefied its way through your being, singeing your veins with luminous infatuation. And it hurt. Because you knew he’d cage himself right up as soon as the moment of vulnerability perished.

A crystalline sheen permeated your vision. This wasn’t going to end well.  

“I said it’s nothing,” Your voice raised. You hadn’t meant for the words to be as frosty as they came out, but it seemed like your subconscious was utterly done with the tedium of heartbreak he keeps putting you through.

“What is fucking wrong with you? I was literally just asking why you were being so goddamn obnoxious today and then you go and make a big fuckin’ deal out of nothing!”

“Well, maybe I’m just fucking tired of giving you everything I have and getting nothing in return, Katsuki!”

Your chest rose and fell with each scalding breath that entered your lungs. The blood through your veins was pumping. Never had you been confrontational, and your sudden outburst wasn’t exactly welcome to your system. You wanted to vomit. This was not how you wanted things to turn out, you absolutely needed to leave, distance yourself from the emotional strain he was inflicting on you.  

Without taking notice of the panicked glint in the cherry red of his irises, you bolted out of the suddenly claustrophobic room, leaving Katsuki to stare at his agape door before flickering his unfocused attention to your supplies still laying on his bed.

Katsuki erupted time and time again, with you being as patient as a receiving end could ever be. It’s specifically because of your godly patience that he never considered what he would do once you erupted.

With your back sliding down your dorm room door, and little friction stopping your descent, you wondered and maybe even wished he’d call after you, come banging on your door with bristling apologies on the tip of his tongue. However, the jarring reality was very clear to you. You’d decided on that day, with your head buried in your tear-stained pillow, that these were the last tears you’d ever shed on him, that you were going to put him through the same wringing hell he’d put you through.

You were going to ignore Bakugo Katsuki’s existence just like he’d periodically ignored yours.

The following week had been bleak at best and excruciatingly bitter at its worst for the both of you. It was so strange having to adjust to the absence of the other, even if your company more often than not had been a quiet one, it was company nevertheless. The most grueling part though, was your shared friend group. They’d noticed that something was obviously awry, but since neither of you said a thing about it, they decided it would be best if they didn’t either. The awkward dead silences during lunch were still purgatory to behold. But after a few more slow paced days, the sun seemed to shine bright again. For you, that is.

You didn’t realize how much of your schedule revolved around Bakugo until he was completely out of it. How much time you spent with him, dreading him, thinking about him… him, him, him. He’d consumed your thoughts from the first sparks of dawn till the hallows of dusk. You had so much free time now that he was out of the picture, it was crazy. The more time you spent on yourself, on your hobbies, getting to know other classmates outside of your immediate friend circle, the duller the ache in your chest. Until it was but a static buzz. Yet you couldn’t deny that, with time, your fury had mellowed out, leaving behind a cold loneliness you couldn’t elude whenever your aimless stare landed on him, almost like it was drawn to him by muscle memory.

He was the exact opposite.

You’d think the throbbing within him whenever you finally gazed his way then instantaneously looked in the opposite direction would knock come modicum of sense into his stubborn head. But nope. And seeing you thrive without him only cemented what he already knew. He really was no good for you. So much so that it barely took anytime for you to readjust to the lack of him in your life, and not only did you adjust, you were the best he’s ever seen you both mentally and academically. In the first week of you ditching him completely, his bruised ego kept him for reaching out to you, but now, seeing that elated grin on your face –the one that had been gradually dwindling over the past few months– he didn’t want to take your newfound happiness away, he’d figured he’d done you more than enough harm already.

Heart heavy with reluctance, Katsuki made the decision to give up on your relationship. Deciding to wordlessly cheer you on from the sidelines and watch you bloom, flourishing into the person he robbed you of being for a chunk of your life, though whenever your spring hit, it would be without him. Until some day in the future where his pride wasn’t as suffocating, where he could genuinely, wholeheartedly repent his grievances and only hope for your forgiveness.

Kirishima never took Bakugo for a quitter, hell would freeze over before he even thought such a thing. So this was certainly a shock. What was even more shocking ­– and overwhelmingly concerning– was the fact that Katsuki had willingly, on his own accord confided in him, and he’d, in his own roundabout way, taken accountability for being a gigantic douche to you. As much as the redhead respected his friend’s decision to stay clear of you, he couldn’t help but wish you’d just talk to one another for once. Kirishima really was a saint, having to listen to two idiots ramble about how much they miss the other.

“Listen, man. I know you feel bad and all that, but maybe you should just talk to her? I’m sure she’d like some closure on this just as you do, even if that doesn’t mean things will go back to the way they were.” Eijirou tried to reason, praying to whatever higher being out there that Katsuki would just get the fuck over himself and communicate with you.

“Fuck no. That’s not fucking happening, shitty hair,” Kirishima rolled his eyes at the oh so affectionate nickname, thoroughly done with his best friend’s melodrama. Welp, I guess there’s only one thing left to try. He heaved internally, mentally and physically preparing himself for Bakugo’s tantrum.

“Well, you know that if you won’t talk to her, others will, right? I heard some guys saying they’re gonna ask her ou–”

“Shut the fuck up! I don’t give a rat’s ass who asks her out!” He definitely did. Eijirou hid his smile. Checkmate.

“Whatever you say, dude.”

Later that day, three distinctly powerful knocks woke you up. Needless to say, you didn’t think that night would end up with you and Katsuki staring each other down, seated on your bed at one in the morning. Words got stuck in his throat, so he just… noiselessly watched your face, as if trying to telepathically ram his constipated emotions into you, in hopes that you’d make sense of them. Obviously, that didn’t work.

“Did you come banging on my door at one in the morning just to stare at me, Bakugo? I mean I know I’m pretty but still–”

“Shuddup.” Not really the best thing to say to you after weeks of radio silence. You were about to make another salty remark, but he opened his mouth first.

“I fucked up,” The fact that he was acknowledging he was at fault was… something. But that wasn’t nearly enough to pay off the debt off turmoil he’d caused you.

“No shit.” You replied without missing a beat. The ice that tinged your words caught him off guard, but he really shouldn’t have been surprised. He sighed, knowing he’d have to strip himself of everything, including his pride (especially his pride) down to his very core, to have a go at a second chance.

And so, he did.

He poured his everything out for you to observe, without an ego film distorting his words. Syllables reeked of muted agony, he really had rid himself of anything and everything that wasn’t his deepest soul. He finally offered you himself just as you had done countless times before. Katsuki swore that his heart would –and always has been– explicitly yours, he’d roar that fact at the constellations above if you so wished him to. And while it would take a while to heal from coruscating blisters he’d inflicted, you were more than content mending and welting your heart with his.  

[damn-stark]

A good father

Diego Hargreeves x reader

Requested by anon “do you think you could do an imagine with Diego hargreeves x reader when they find out they’re having a baby girl and Diego with her when she’s a little bit older?”

A/N- hope you all like it :) also you can’t tell me Diego wouldn’t be a good father :)

Warning- fluff, talks of pregnancy, angst.

———-

“Check it...” Diego’s words trailed off as he threw the test stick to the counter almost as if he were afraid of it, or the small thin thing was burning his hand.

“Careful,” you warn as you pick up the test and tear your eyes away from his back. “This is the last one I can take for a few hours because it’s not like you can pee on it.”

He looks over shoulder and shrugs, as usual nervously flipping his knife in his hand. “I’m sorry, I’m just nervous.”

You sigh, “I understand, I am too,” you turn the test around, but keep the final revelation that could change your lives titled down. “But can you turn to check with me.”

Diego hesitantly turns around with his eyes downcasted to the ground, exhaling deeply before letting his eyes flicker to you and then the test in your hand. Waiting to hear the final answer nervously.

When you turn the test you draw in a slow breath, “it’s,” you pause and look to Diego with a baffled expression. “...positive.”

Neither of you say a word, Diego just stands there frozen in his spot, his eyes stuck on the two lines and his face seemed to lose all color. You wanted to say something, but still didn’t seem to find the words. You were just as frozen as him. Unable to grasp the idea no matter how many times you read the test. All you could really think of was how big this was, how this would change everything and hopefully change Diego and not make him run. You hoped he wouldn’t, considering his own past with his own father.

But one could never be certain.

“It’s-it’s,” he began to stutter, walking back and looking back to you, “y-you’re…..pr-pr-pregnant?”

Still unable to understand the concept yourself you nod however. “Yes. That’s what the test says.”

Diego walks to the room and sits on the edge of the bed, putting his knife away and hiding his face in his hands. You sit beside him and leave the test on the end table, letting him sit in silence and to his own thoughts for a moment. All until you couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Look if you don’t want—”

“No,” he cuts you off as his head turns to face you, “it’s not that, it’s just hard to wrap my head around the idea,” he pauses to swallow thickly, slowly reaching to take your hand in his. “I know I should be happy and deep down I know I am, but,” he sighs, “I-I just can’t stop thinking of what if I end up cold and distant like my own father? What if I can’t be any different from him?”

You blink and hold his hand tighter. “Do you want to be like your father?”

“No,” he bluntly answers, “hell no. But what if I am?”

“I don’t think you will,” you admit and also assure him, “you’ve always complained about him, about how he was with you and your siblings. And I’ve seen how you are, and I know I didn’t meet him, but you aren’t anything like him. You do good, I mean you fight crime because you want to do good for the people, you’re kind,” you smile, “even if you try to show that you aren’t, you are. You care. You’re funny and you’re strong. You don’t give up easily,” your eyes fall to his hand interlaced with yours and your voice goes soft, “you’re a good person, Diego. I don’t want you to give up on me...on us. I need you.”

Tears roll down the curve of his cheeks as he pulls you in for an embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around your shoulders and letting the silence go on for a comfortable moment where you could only hear each other’s sniffling.

Diego strokes your back and presses a kiss on the top of your head, pulling away once he couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “I’ll try my best, I won’t leave you that I can promise you, but you’re just going to have to be patient, okay?”

A small smile reappears on your lips and you press a kiss on his lips, resting your forehead on his once you pull away. “I understand but just know I think you’ll be the best father.”

“You too.”

You chuckle and part away to meet his gaze, “what? I’ll be the best father?”

Diego shoots you a pointed gaze and he shakes his head, smiling shyly. “You know what I mean.”

You shrug nonchalantly and smirk, “I know I was just teasing.”

“I’m still nervous.” Diego admits. “And scared.”

“Me too.”

——

*a couple years later*

“Diego! Diego!” You storm down the hall, turning on every light as you walk through every dark corridor. “Oh I swear if you’re not here I’ll—” your words cut off as you run into a small lump on the ground covered by a large once white blanket.

“Ow,” the lump winces. You crouch down and try to peek under it, but as soon as you try to lift it, it’s tugged back down. Scolding words following suit, “go hide somewhere else and turn off the lights.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff. “Gracie, you’re supposed to be in bed.”

“Shh!” She shushes you sharply.

Your mouth is left agape and you stand to your given height baffled for a few seconds until Diego rounds the corner with a grin on his face that he hides as soon as he sees you. Albeit its a quick frown because as soon as he spots who’s hiding behind you, he grins and moves past you to rip the blanket off his child. “Ha I found you!”

The little girl pouts and crosses her arms over her chest, her eyebrows furrowing and her body fully slumping defiantly to the ground. “It’s mommy’s fault she gave me away!”

Diego smirks, “no excuses kid, you just need to hide somewhere better.”

“Diego,” you call him, “she’s supposed to be sleeping. It’s past her bedtime, you had enough time playing today.”

Said man shrugs, “she couldn’t sleep, she wanted to—”

“Surprise!” The little dark haired girl shouts, throwing a small knife that Diego easily just directs to hit a wall.

“Ha! I saw that coming!” Diego shouts proudly as he picks the little girl off the ground and throws her over his shoulder. “You need to be quieter, next time don’t announce…'' His words trail off as his eyes blink to you, smiling nervously and finishing his sentence in a low whisper by the little girl's ear. “I’ll tell you later. Someone’s mad.”

You add a feigned tight smile and just shrug, “who?”

“You.” Gracie points out bluntly as she shifts her little body in Diego’s arms to face you. “Daddy says—”

“Shh, not right now.” Diego tells her, “look babe, we were just playing until she got exhausted, okay? And she already is, right Gracie?”

Her eyes that matched his glance to him and back to you, nodding hesitantly and obviously lying just like he would.

“Okay,” you chuckle in annoyance, walking back to walk back to your room, hearing Diego follow suit. Just like you planned. “But a knife Diego? I’ve told you already that it’s dangerous, she could cut herself.”

“It’s plastic,” he defended himself, “and I’m here, she’s good. Plus it’s practice for her own powers, you know I wouldn’t let her get hurt.”

Maybe it would’ve been good if he was still scared to even hold her out of fear he’d drop her. You loved their bond, but it was too chaotic at times. Most of the time.

And it was a good chaotic, not to get that mistaken, but he just never wanted to ever get her in trouble when she did something wrong. Because he said that if he did, she’d hate him. That would never be the case, she loved him to death, but his own fears from his past got in the way. He let her have all the freedom he never had when he was a kid.

You sigh, “I know that Diego, but I just wish you'd respect her bedtime and respect the one rule I have.”

Diego falls by your side and wraps one arm around your shoulders, kissing your cheek and pressing your closer to him as he begins to walk you to the living room. “I know, I know I try but I don’t want to say no to her,”

“I know why,” you interject, “but you’ll never be like him, five years of being a good father proves that. But being a little strict is good, just for some stuff. She’ll never hate you, isn’t that right, Gracie?”

“Never!” She exclaims as she wraps her arms around her dad.

Diego chuckles and then sighs once his attention goes to you, “fine, I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.”

“Diego.” you warn.

Said man chuckles and finally gives in. Kind of. “Fine. I’ll try.”

[whump-town]

Scratch

Here is the Scratch fic. I sincerely love the beginning but the ending makes me want to scream in frustration. However, I simply can not stand to look or think about it any longer so cherish this fic for the first 800 words and pretend the last 400 don’t exist because... it’s just miserable writing and I can’t fix it 

There used to be a point in time when Derek Morgan despised some of the additional duties of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Aaron had been the barrier of that bad news, physically bringing him the sign-up sheet and explaining the general ins and outs of each option. Hotch always does the hostage negotiation class and it’s where he fits best. He was there when Dave, Jason, and Max started the book they teach out of. Being a hot-headed thirty-something Derek wanted to go to bars and hang out with friends in his spare time and he wanted nothing to do with the academy. If anything, he’d like to stay out of that hell-hole as best he can and away from the little savor complex having adrenaline mongers that it holds within its walls. But he’d grown… and more than that he saw things that he can’t forget. Fallacies and stumbles happen when agents aren’t taught by people who know what they’re doing. He’s watched them happen to his family and, suddenly, it didn’t matter all that much if he had to spend his Friday morning with cadets. 

While Aaron works in the lecture halls, Derek spends a lot of time teaching the hand-to-hand combat class down in the academy’s basement. Every few months, when the class sizes diminish as the season dies down and the cadets graduate, Derek hassles them all down there to his thrown of rubber gym mats and the stench of sweat. He’s always met with hesitation and outright dismissals but he gets every last one of them down. Reid laughs him off, anxiously trying to provide every reason under the sun as to why he doesn’t need to be down there. “Hotch doesn’t even put me in the field that much!” and “why do I need that? Why can’t you protect me?” They all present him with similar points. Garcia doesn’t actually ever go in the field, the best taste she gets is going to local precincts. Hotch nods and listens but ultimately promises to get some time in someplace else, running maybe. In Derek’s experience, the only running Hotch does is into fires so that’s obviously not helping too much. 

Derek has wrangled them all down. JJ goes without complaint, she enjoys rough-housing down there with him. He teaches her to protect her left flank, which she has an awful habit of leaving open. Emily will make her way down and raise hell but she’ll listen when he tells her to drop her shoulder more or to shift her weight a certain way. Derek’s trouble comes in Reid and Garcia and, though it’s both surprising yet not, Hotch. He’ll bait the other two down with snacks and the promise of lunch or a dinner date and they’re satisfied if not just putting up with him. Hotch… well, he has to catch him at the end of a seminar and ask him, in front of the students, to do it otherwise Hotch will just glare at him. Which is what he’ll do when Derek asks him in front of the cadets but Hotch has a dash of anxiety and wedged between Derek Morgan standing in his way stopping him from being able to go lock himself in his office and a hoard of cadets, he always cracks. 

He doesn’t do it to torture them (no matter what Reid and Garica think). He does it because...

He remembers the feeling of the cold November breeze drying his sweat to his skin when he heard Hotch’s shout sound through the woods. To find Reid digging his own grave in a dark cemetery hardly able to stand and collapsing right into their arms. The way that Garcia had whimpered and held his hand a little tighter when they walked past the dark stain of her blood sitting right there on her front steps. For the vomit that had crawled up his throat as he ripped the carpet in Hotch’s apartment. Jerking too hard and feeling the blood soaking into his clothes. For the ache of his knees when she cradled Emily on that floor, begging her to stay with him. Her fingers are already cold. For having to listen to JJ’s screams months after she was taken. Finding her in the closed-off rooms sobbing and being reminded all over again what had happened that day and what would have happened if Emily and Hotch hadn’t found her.

He’s just… he’s so tired of seeing them get hurt. 

“Hotch’s going there now.” 

Derek sits up, eyes darting around the car as he realizes if they’re all here Hotch is entirely alone. “Without back-up?” he asks. “That’s crazy. He can’t go in alone like that.” 

Dave shrugs, “well, I’d love to talk him out of it but he’s made his mind up. There’s no stopping him.” Dave meets his eyes through the mirror, face twisted in his own frustration with Aaron’s course of actions, but leaving them unspoken. “We’re right behind him, Morgan. He’ll be fine.” 

Derek averts his gaze to the window, clenching his jaw to ride out the tide of anger boiling over within him. Sometimes he finds that he can’t stand working on this unit. Not with Dave and people like Aaron and Emily. All the hiding and the faking, it’s too much. It’s exhausting. Derek loves Emily, he does but he can’t stand the tiptoeing. The way they have to play every new hand dealt like everything is going to be fine. Like Hotch isn’t going to put himself in danger. Like Reid isn’t too young to be doing the things they ask of him. Like being a family somehow saves the day.

“Be careful,” Dave advises. They don’t know what they’re walking into. Their only way to see insides hasn’t answered their calls. Not Garcia’s and not the three Dave tried to get through. “One of ours is in there,” Dave adds as if they can forget. As if the most pressing thing on any of their minds is finding Hotch. Afraid of what they’ll find but the need to find him regardless of what waits on the other side of that door is stronger. 

Derek goes in first. Reid presses in close, buzzing with his anxiety. The kid can never really get his mind clear but it’s worse when the danger is as clear as it is now. As they stand outside of the door knowing that whatever waits on the other side is entirely out of their control. And that can mean anything. “Ready?” Derek asks, but he’s not waiting for an answer.

The door opens without him needing to force it in but the house is bathed in darkness. Derek’s eyes dart to the only source of light, to his left a desk lamp, but he’s got to clear what’s in front of him. Leave someone else to assess that. He steps into the hall and throws up an arm as something sharp slices through the flesh of his forearm, his only warning the moan of an old floorboard. There’s a tangle of arms, their sight stolen by the way the walls of the hall consume the meager light from the desk.

Derek’s hand throbs as he punches blindly at ribs, finding no resistance, just bone. The other man puffs, caving in as Derek steals the breath from his lungs. The knife glints in the light, as the man turns his wrist but Derek sees it and he smacks it away with the flat of his palm meeting the man’s wrist hard. It’s over just as soon as it started. Reid gets a clear shot from the mouth of the hallway and Derek shoves the other man off and away from him. Staggering quickly to kick the knife further away.

His arm stings as he leans against the wall, moving his gun to throw the beam of his flashlight at his attacker. Finds the blood attached to the white dress-shirt. To the sharp jaw and the worry lines that he knows all too well. “Oh, God.” Derek falls to his knees, arm suddenly forgotten, as he defends himself from what’s left of Hotch’s fight. Slipping in his blood as Hotch tries to force him away, terrified. “Hotch--” the older man lands a solid blow to Derek’s sternum and all Derek sees is red as his vision dances and he struggles to pull in a breath.

It’s just enough time. Too much.

Pulling himself on rapidly numbing arms, Hotch slips in his blood. His adrenaline is working against him as his arms quake beneath him but there is still a threat and he has to eliminate it. Has to stop it from hurting the team. Peter is going to kill them. He knows. He knows it and he’s the only chance they have. His fingers curl around the knife but he can not force his legs to work. Can’t bend his knees. 

“Hotch! Man, it’s me. It’s--”

No. Tears sting his eyes as he thinks about the real Derek Morgan. His friends, his family. About the son, he’s left at home again. Waiting for him to come home. He’s not sure he’s coming back this time but that’s beyond his control. He can save the others. He needs them to live. Crying out as his arm gives out from beneath him, chin hitting the floor hard as his body gives out from beneath him, Hotch knows this is it. He’s got no time left but he won’t let Peter Lewis hurt his team.

The second bullet rips through the air and he feels it lodge itself in his chest. 

Peter is right there.

He doesn’t feel the third.

Derek cries out, his shout ripping his throat as he puts himself between everyone else and Hotch. Pulling the knife from Hotch’s cold limp fingers and throwing it down the hall as far as he can. “Hotch,” he cries, shaking the older man. “Hotch, man, look at me.” He grabs Hotch’s jaw, shaking his head. Trying to draw something sort of reaction out of him but only getting choked, strangled breathes. The wet sound of the blood hitting the back of his throat before it pools in his mouth. Gushing past his lips, trailing down his cheeks like a tear.

“Fucking help me!” Derek cries at the officers loitering-- all caught in the web of confusion. They’d just watched the downed man attack the special agent. They watched him go for the knife again, try to end it. It’d been their bullets that stopped him. They stopped him… “Move!” Derek screams at them. “Move! Do something! I-- I need help!” 

JJ drops down on Hotch’s other side, her hand swiping through the blood on Hotch’s face quickly. Her thumb cleaning it away as quickly as it appears, her other hand coming to cup the side of his head, shushing him gently as she strokes his temple. “It’s okay,” she soothes, calmly. “You’re okay, Aaron. We got Peter Lewis. We got him. You’re okay.”

He fights against them, struggling but ultimately too weak, to pull away from JJ’s warm palm and the hand Derek uses to keep both his arms down. He can’t go anywhere forced to look at them and he’s torn between the way his eyes deceive him. JJ’s hands are cold, they’re always cold. Peter Lewis wouldn’t know that. He wouldn’t know how softly his name rolls off her tongue, quick to slip in Aaron when he doesn’t even know he needs it. How she says it and he can feel his humanity slip right back into place. 

Peter Lewis couldn’t produce that panicked crack in Derek’s voice. The way Derek throws his words like punches. 

He’s not sure what’s real. 

“No, no, no!” Derek pushes at him, sending bolts of pain along his chest but Hotch can’t do it any longer. Each breath pulls more weight across his chest. The cold spreads down his arms, fingers hardened by its bite. He’s done. The confusion-- his vision fading in and out-- but he knows that when he closes his eyes the hands touching him are Derek and JJ. When he opens them again… he doesn’t know what is real.

“Stay with me,” Derek commands but he’s slipping there’s nothing. His hands are covered in blood and he’s torn between leaning into JJ’s palm and being convinced that maybe the voice in his head is right. This is all a trap. But he’s dying and he’d rather do it here with the fictive parts of them in his mind than with whatever is real.  

JJ squeezes his hand, worrying his knuckles with her fingers until he squeezes back. “Just hold my hand,” she encourages. “Just squeeze my hand.” He’s there but he knows his brain will lie if he opens his eyes. She's right there, he tells himself. Right there. “Hotch!” JJ shouts, feeling his hand start to release. She folds her own over his, forcing the grip. “Hotch! Hotch, answer me!”

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 46 - Salve

Title: Irreverent Pt. 46 - Salve Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~10K

A/N: Flashback Chapter set between Chapter 14: Superheroes and Chapter 15: Foyet. 

Irreverent Series Masterlist

The bar was thrumming with activity and the energy that accompanies people who've all had a long, hard day at work and would like to do nothing besides forget. The team had gotten back from a case in the evening, and with only Friday separating them and the weekend, had all decided to head out for a night of drinking.

You look around, your hands wrapped around a glass of scotch - Derek, Penelope, and Emily were dancing in the makeshift dancing area, JJ was playing darts with some guys, Spencer was cheating people out of their money at a game of pool, and Rossi had long ago excused himself to go sit by some woman at the bar. You'd be dancing too, but the unsub had gotten the jump on you during the takedown and you'd been nursing a sprained ankle ever since. Hotch had stayed with you - whether it was simply to keep you company or because none of the other activities appealed to him, you're unsure. Likely the former - he was pretty good at darts too.

He's sitting across from you in the booth, a glass of scotch in his hand as well. He doesn't make a face when he drinks it, which you have to admire - it was such a man thing. You only drank liquor to get drunk and had been surprised with the drink by Rossi, who had insisted that you needed to drink something stronger than a glass of wine after the day you'd had. You take another hesitant sip from your glass, trying hard not to give away how little you like it. He could've ordered you a mixed drink - something sweet so you didn't taste just pure alcohol.

"What've you got going on this weekend?" you ask Hotch. The case had been miserable all around and you wanted to talk about anything but that.

He looks up at you, the faint hint of a smile on his face. "Haley and I worked it out so that I can have Jack the entire weekend. I'll have to think of something to keep him occupied."

You knew that Hotch would be content to do nothing as long as it was with Jack, but he liked to make the most of their time together and did his best to plan things out that Jack would like. "I saw a poster that said the Air and Space Museum has some special exhibit on this month. It looked interesting." You knew Jack would enjoy that - his latest toy was a rocketship that went everywhere with him.

"Saturday?" he asks, eyebrow quirked up in question.

"Make it 11, and you've got a deal," you tell him, with a small smile. "I am no longer entertaining plans at 9am."

He lets out a slight huff. "If you just went to bed at a normal hour it wouldn't be that hard to wake up in the morning."

This was an old argument with the two of you. Hotch insisted on always being the first in line to any ticketed event. He hated waiting - he'd start to fidget and get annoyed and keep leaving the line to walk to the front and see what was taking so long.

"Take it or leave it." You were sticking your ground. He could use the lie in too, he'd just never admit it.

"We'll pick you up," he says, bringing his glass to his mouth and taking another sip, eyes meeting yours from above the rim.

It was interesting how you and Hotch had settled into this routine of constantly doing things with Jack. You reckon he likes having another adult around when he's out with Jack - it definitely made things easier to keep a little kid entertained. You'd once mentioned to Emily that you were having dinner with him and Jack and she'd looked at you a little oddly, saying that she'd been on the team forever and had never once had dinner with her boss and his kid. You'd responded by telling her that she probably wouldn't enjoy it all too much - Emily liked kids just fine, but her and Hotch tend to get on one another's nerves a bit after a while. They were far too different even if they did work well together. Hotch would try and fail at limiting her to two glasses of wine with dinner and she'd annoy him by just putting the dishes straight into the dishwasher without caring how she did it.

"Someone sent this over for you." You turn to see the waitress place a drink at your table, and indicate towards a man in a wrinkled suit, seated at the bar, who waves at you.

You can feel your face turn into a grimace as the waitress looks at you expectantly. You avoid looking at Hotch across the way. You didn't need to see his reaction. "Would you mind telling him thanks, but, no thanks for me?" you ask her apologetically.

She nods understandingly, taking the drink back and walking towards the bar.

You turn to look at Hotch, completely exasperated. It was nice. It was a nice gesture - sending a girl a drink. Friendly. Yet, you're just a little at your wit's end lately when it comes to men. It all just feels superficial.

Hotch can read you pretty well by now, so he asks if you're alright.

You look at his concerned face. You know why - usually you don't mind this sort of thing. Hell, you pretty much encourage it with the way you act, flirting with nearly everyone simply because you can. It's like a sport to you.

"Are you asking as my boss or as my friend?" you ask him, eyes cast down towards your drink, following patterns in the wood of the table.

"Friend," he says, adjusting to lean in a bit more towards you.

Sighing, you shift a bit, dropping your leg from where you'd been keeping it elevated next to him. "Lately, I just feel like I can't get guys to see me. Like every guy I meet, they either want to date me or kill me," you tell him, referring to your job. "But beyond that, it's like I don't even matter."

Hotch nods understandingly at your frustration, his face a grimace at your explanation. He's unable to deny that that is very much the case when it comes to women quite often - especially in your line of work. You're all far too aware of the horrors of dating, being called in on numerous cases on dating gone wrong. "Aren't you still seeing that guy - Kensington?" he asks with a slight uptick of his jaw.

"Well, if you can call seeing someone six times over the course of about an equal number of months, then yes I suppose so," you scoff lightly. "Twice we got called in on cases halfway, once he got interrupted by a work emergency, and then most recently I accompanied him to an event at which most of the other dates were the kind that demand a retainer in exchange for services rendered," you say, alluding to the super model types you'd kept company at Cedric's business event a couple of weeks back. You could fit into his world quite easily, but you didn't want to. You'd left that behind for a reason.

Hotch chuckles slightly at that, amused at your tone and manner in which you referred to women who were essentially either escorts or sugar babies. You didn't really fit that mold - of that he was quite certain. For one, you definitely didn't need the money.

"Don't get me wrong, I actually do like him. We get one another and our background and upbringing is similar enough. He makes me laugh. However our schedules - both of ours - are highly unconducive to dating and in his line of business he needs a girlfriend who can leave everything at the drop of a hat to stand by his side."

"So unless you leave your job or he leaves his, it won't work out," Hotch finishes your thought for you, a resigned expression on his face in commiseration.

"Exactly. Which is a shame because he's actually one of the good ones. He's rich but not pompous, educated and intelligent without being condescending about it, and actually shows genuine interest in me and my job. Believe it or not, as basic as those things might seem, they are actually difficult to find all in one man."

He hums. "I can imagine," he says, taking another sip of his drink, a slightly amused expression on his face. You rarely talked to him about your dating life so he was actually very interested in this insight. He wonders briefly if there's any significance to you having listed the fact that Kensington was wealthy before any of his other qualities. From what he knows of you, he doubts you'd truly care if your partner had money or not. More than likely it merely helped establish a commonality, nothing more. However, from what he does know of the men you've dated recently, they all appear to be quite well off nonetheless.

"Anyways, all that is to say that I'm not exactly looking to entertain complete strangers in bars at the moment. I don't trust my luck."

"Probably for the best, anyways," Hotch comments, appraising the crowd at the bar. There really didn't appear to be anyone worth talking to - especially none of your caliber, per his judgement.

"What about you? How's the post divorce dating scene?" you question, feeling a little bolder than you usually might, since the two of you are already discussing the matter. Turnabout was fair play.

He's a little surprised at your forwardness. You tend to do your best to not meddle in his personal business, despite the amount of time you two spend together. He believes it's your way of maintaining some modicum of professionalism to your outings. Your conversations tend to revolve around cases, your classes from college, an article in the newspaper, or the ever present game the two of you like to play of profiling complete strangers walking by. He says its to hone your skills, but really he just enjoys how invested you get - how competitive and passionate, color rising in your cheeks as you defend your assessment, annoyance tinging your tone as you disagree with him, admiration when he notes something you hadn't, and pride when he praises your observations, your cheeks flushed a prettier pink and your eyes sparkling with satisfaction.

"I wouldn't know," he discloses, a slight flush in his cheeks. He hadn't dated at all since the divorce. He hadn't had the time and he hadn't really had interest in anyone. Not when you exist, so overtly present in his day to day life. He knows he's - in some capacity - using the outings with you and Jack as the closest thing he's got to dating again. Not to say that it was that - dating. However the fact that his weekends were typically filled by you and his son made it so he wasn't exactly left wanting.

Your eyes widen a little in surprise. Their divorce had been a while back now - you knew for a fact that Haley was dating, having ran into her with some man when you'd offered to drop Jack off for Hotch when you all got called in on a case last minute. You hadn't mentioned it to him, but you're sure he knew as well. "You're joking. Really? No one?"

"You might recall, I got divorced because I didn't have the time for my existing relationship. A new one requires quite a bit more attention than that," he says dryly, self deprecation dripping from every word.

You hum, narrowing your eyes at him as you stir your drink with the toothpick it came with, spearing the cherry inside and popping it into your mouth.

"You should just go for it next time we're in some whatever town. Every female detective we've encountered constantly gets all moony eyed around you," you inform him matter-of-factly. They're all so obvious too, eyes always drawn to his ring finger in search of a wedding band, and upon finding it empty, hanging onto his every word. Flicking their hair and fluttering their lashes at him, keen on proving themselves to be competent by sticking their noses into the profile.

"That's hardly true," he contradicts, shaking his head, the color in his cheeks having creeped down his neck.

You chuckle at that. "Maybe you're not as good of a profiler as you think you are."

He glares at you, however the lightheartedness remains in his eyes so you know you're in the clear for your jab.

"Anyways, all I'm saying is, whenever you decide to get back on that proverbial horse, I think you won't find a shortage of options," you tell him kindly. After all, Hotch worked harder than any of you. He deserved to find happiness again.

He rolls his eyes at your statement ever so slightly. His right hand was a much less complicated and demanding lover for the time being - he was making do just fine.

"So, on to the next for you then?" he asks, attempting to divert attention back to you and your existent dating life rather than him and his non-existent one.

You shake your head, a humorless smile appearing on your face as you start to feel just slightly light headed from the alcohol. Maybe accepting random pain killers from Emily hadn't been quite the right move. "Nah," you mumble into your drink. "Cedric can stay, if only because I don't have an actual good reason to end it yet. Besides him, the other two on the back burner are quickly losing what little appeal they held to begin with. I might actually take a break."

Hotch smiles as if he doesn't quite believe you're capable of actually taking a break. Your reputation for never being without a date far preceded you.

Truth be told, at first it was simply easier to always be dating someone in the aftermath of the John wreckage. If you could constantly keep yourself occupied and distracted in that area, while you actually gave turning straight a fair shot, then maybe you'd make it through instead of going crawling back to his bed. Maybe you'd stop seeing his broken face when you told him you couldn't be with him. Maybe the memory of leaving him standing alone in front of that tattoo parlor in the Village wouldn't cause your heart to ache and rebel against your own actions. Maybe. Just maybe.

Now, the pain of Julian's death and the subsequent fallout with your family was merely hurtful when you chose to think of it or were reminded of it inadvertently It was no longer ever present. That seemed like progress. Like somehow despite everything - the pain and torture you'd inflicted upon both you and John had somehow been worth it if it meant you could go to sleep without thinking of Julian. Wake up without your father's face looming ever present in your mind.

You and Hotch look up when you see the rest of the team approaching the table one by one as the night drew to a close. It was last call and about time to head home so you could all have a hope of making an appearance at the office the next day.

"You want a ride home?" Hotch asks you, noticing your slight struggle to get out of the booth.

"It's totally out of your way," you protest, yanking your coat on and fishing for your keys in your pocket.

"I insist, come on. You can't drive properly with that sprain right now. He walks towards you and placing his hand at your lower back, guides you out of the bar behind the rest of the team. "Your car should be fine and we can grab it in the morning."

You know he's right, so you allow yourself to lean against him ever so much more, letting him help you out to his car. Hotch helps you in and closes the door behind you, before walking around to the driver's side. You take control of the music, plugging in your phone, intent on introducing him to more modern music. The two of you made it through seven Top 50 songs on the drive to your place, Hotch complaining throughout and not finding anything redeemable in any of the songs you'd chosen.

Aaron looked over at you as he neared your house, your head moving along to the music and your fingers dancing across your thighs to the tune, a large grin plastered on your voice as you tried to convince him that this this one he surely had to enjoy. He actually didn't mind most of the music you picked out to introduce him to - you didn't just pick anything, you always did your best to pick something you thought he'd truly enjoy. However, he worried that if he started to openly like any of them, you might stop trying so hard.

He pulled into your driveway and walked around to help you out of the car, lending you a hand along the path and up the steps to your door. He stands on the lower step as you unlock the door, before you turn around to tell him goodbye. When you turn, you're almost at his height due to the different steps you two are stood upon and you're not quite sure what compels you, but you reach for him and lean in to a hug, tucking your head onto his shoulder. If he's surprised he doesn't react as such, wrapping his arms around you as well briefly.

"Thanks Hotch."

"I'll pick you up at 8:30AM tomorrow. Is that alright?"

"Sounds good. I'll be the one standing right here, holding the cups of coffee."

He smiles, rolling his eyes just slightly, before turning around and walking away.

*------------*

He first becomes aware of only pain. A piercing, stabbing pain that he can feel everywhere, centered around the abdominal area. He can't move, everything feels heavy. Opening his eyes is a struggle and he manages to only open his eyes a fraction, before being forced to close them tight again. It was bright. White and too bright for his sensitive eyes.

He's slowly starting to realize where he is - becoming increasingly aware of the pain and the bandages, the needle connecting an I.V. to his arm - he's in a hospital. He tries to remember what happened - he'd dropped you off, waited until you made it inside and waved him off, before leaving. He'd gotten back to his apartment. It had been quiet. Eerily quiet. Then Foyet was there. After that all he recalls is pain and Foyet's voice - over and over and over.

Do I seem impotent now?

You should've made the deal.

This will never be over.

Aaron finds it too difficult to keep his eyes open and closes them once again, slipping under.

The next time he wakes, a technician was present and the girl quickly hurried out when she noticed him move.

Once the nurses became aware that he was conscious, it had been a flurry of activity - doctors and technicians in and out to ensure he was alright and to up the pain medication. Some talk about internal bleeding and nine stab wounds to which he'd simply nodded along. He tried to ask for Dave - someone who could make sense of all of this. They told him no visitors yet, but that family had been informed.

Once Dave enters, that's when he finds out everything. Foyet had dumped him outside the hospital. After he hadn't shown up to pick you up that morning, you'd raised the alarm and Garcia had tracked him down. Nothing was missing from his apartment from what they could tell, despite the mess. The only thing left out was his address book. Dave had it with him and Aaron looks through it, going immediately to the one page that mattered. It wasn't there.

Haley Brooks.

Rossi had sent you to go get Haley since the Marshalls were getting ready for her. You'd left Jack with JJ, assuring him that you'd be right back. He'd already seen his father and you'd watched from a distance as Hotch had adjusted to sit up, insistent on not letting his son see him as anything but alright, even in the context of a hospital bed. Haley had been with them and you watched as her eyes flitted from Hotch to Jack - fear for her son and what he might have to go through, due to his father's job, her main concern. She was worried for Hotch too, of course. She must be. However, their initial interaction that you'd witnessed hadn't been quite how you'd expect a wife to react to her husband being in a hospital. Though, you suppose, she wasn't really his wife anymore. Not that it mattered to him - you're pretty sure in his eyes, she might as well still be.

You approach, and you can hear Hotch and Haley in conversation about what's going to happen next. Foyet had taken only the page in his address book with her name on it, so his intentions were perfectly clear. Haley and Jack were being targeted by a serial killer. That meant they needed to be protected, and you knew that Hotch would have to break it to her.

"Do you know where they're taking us?" Haley asks. You can hear the uncertainty in her voice. You wait outside, trying not to eavesdrop but it was impossible not to overhear.

"No I don't. And that's the point. I can't know where you're going. If you have any contact with anyone, then he could track you."

"Jack has school, Aaron. He has friends. I have a job now." Her voice is accusing and you want to tell her that none of that matters right now. The only thing that matters is the two of them being safe.

"I know. And I'm sorry. We will catch him. And you'll come back, and I promise that I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you." Hotch's voice comes out low and you can hear the anguish caught in his throat as he speaks to the mother of his child - telling her to take their son and go. Breaking his own heart in the process by keeping Jack away from him. Knowing that that is exactly what Foyet wants. Wants him to suffer.

"Are you sure that we're in danger?" she asks, her voice suggesting that maybe he was overreacting. You feel a surge of anger course through you at that. For her to even suggest that he was overreacting when he was laid up in a hospital bed with multiple stab wounds was simply…you didn't have the words. He wouldn't make her go through this over nothing!

"Yes."

You decide to intervene then. Before she can question it further and agitate him more. He needed to rest. You knock quickly, alerting them both to your presence. "Haley, the Marshalls are ready for you."

She nods and grabs Hotch's hand. You avert your eyes to give them their privacy as Hotch tells her to be brave and strong. He'll see her and Jack after she's met with them.

Haley walks towards you and you point her to the tall female agent standing at the end of the ICU doors, wearing non-descript clothing in order to not garner too much attention. She nods and looks at you, and you see a hint of something pass through her eyes, like she wants to speak, but then seems to think better of it and walks towards the direction you'd pointed her in.  

You watch her go, before turning to Hotch. His eyes followed her until she disappeared around the corner, and then he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. You hesitate for a second, before walking in. Your presence wouldn't be missed for a few minutes, you hope, so you walk towards the bed and take a seat in the chair to his left, waiting until he decides to look at you.

"How're you feeling?" His face is turned towards you as though he's partially surprised you're even there at all. You wonder if he would've preferred you have left him alone instead.

"They're got me some pretty strong meds," he tells you, indicating towards the I.V. drip connected to his arm.

You lean over and read the chart hanging from the side of the bed, eyes glancing over it. "They got you on all of the good stuff - Hydromorphone will get the job done for sure." You try to smile but you know it won't reach your eyes right now.

"How long did it take you to sound the alarm?"

You shift, tilting the chair to look at him better, your teeth worrying your bottom lip and eyes narrowed, trying to work out why he'd ask that. The smell of a hospital was starting to get to you a bit - that odd smell that feels like despair and cleaning supplies. "Ten minutes. At 8:35, I called your cell and you didn't pick up. I called again at 8:36 and 8:37 and 8:38. At 8:39 I told myself I was acting crazy and that the weird feeling I had wasn't anything really. I just needed some breakfast. At 8:40, I called Penelope and had her track you down." You remembered the ten minutes of pure panic you'd gone through when he hadn't been outside at exactly 8:30AM. With anyone else, it wouldn't be a cause for concern. With Hotch, you'd expected him to be there at 8:25AM and so you'd been ready to go by 8:15AM with a travel mug of coffee for the both of you in each hand. He also always texted you when he left his place to come to yours and you hadn't gotten an ETA text that morning. Maybe that's what had originally put you on edge.

He looks at you, an odd look on his face at your explanation as if he's trying to decide what to make of it - the entirely detailed and rambling explanation he got from you, likely catching him off guard a bit. Great, he thinks I'm insane.

A small smile makes its way to his face however, and you're glad he's still capable of that, despite everything. You haven't yet looked down at his bandages. Foyet had stabbed him nine times. You'd seen the notes that Rossi had taken - what Foyet had said to Hotch as he stabbed him. Talking about how Hotch has profiled him as being impotent. The mere act of stabbing Hotch while taunting him with that particular piece of the profile -it filled your stomach with churning acid. It was the closest to sexual assault that Foyet could inflict upon Hotch and you're trying hard not to think about the emotional and mental ramifications of it all for him. The physical was one thing - that's something that people can move past with time. The violation of one's home and one's body however - the toll that takes on ones being and sense of self - that's much more difficult to bury.

Just to even think that he was exaggerating - you're mad all over again at Haley. You shouldn't be. You know that isn't fair at all. She was having her whole life upended. And yet…he was the one in a hospital bed and you're having a hard time recalling her seeming at all concerned for him. She must've been, of course. But…he didn't deserve to be made to feel like shit because of it. It wasn't his fault. Knowing him, he really would spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

You avert your eyes to stare at the wheels at the bottom of the bed. They'd wheeled him, unconscious, past you when you'd first arrived at the hospital, not bothering to go into the office and instead arriving straight from your place via a cab. You'd been the first one there, having Garcia call the rest of the team. You'd called Rossi so that he could be the one to call Haley. He'd known her longer. You'd limped your way into the ICU, bypassing every single security check with a flash of your badge.

Pointless really. They wouldn't let you see him. Family first. You had to wait for Haley and Rossi to arrive - they were his emergency contacts. You briefly wondered if that was because he'd never bothered to update it after the divorce or if that was truly still the case - if she would be the person he'd want to have during an emergency.

"Can I say something?" Your voice comes out small and hesitant. He hadn't said anything in the wake of your explanation earlier.

He nods, looking at you curiously.

You wet your lips, clearing your throat a bit and sitting up straighter. It's not your place, and yet.. someone should say it. Someone should tell him.

"Sometimes, when we love people, we allow them to hurt us. We allow them to ignore our pain in favor of elevating their own. We allow them to bypass our feelings and our needs because we believe we aren't as worthy of having what we need acknowledged. I get why, of course. Especially right now, but.." You trail off, not knowing how to finish what you'd started in a way that didn't complete overstep the boundaries that you'd already crossed. He'd know you had heard. He didn't need to know that right now, you didn't exactly love his ex wife. You liked her just fine. But right then, you didn't appreciate how she'd treated him.

Hotch looks at you, breath caught by your words. He hadn't realized you'd overheard the conversation between him and Haley. There could be no other reason for you to be saying all of that. You'd said it all softly, hesitantly, knowing you were crossing some sort of line and yet you'd still said it because you felt he needed to hear it. We love.. We allow… We believe… You were speaking from some amount of personal experience. Your first question to him had been about how he was doing - unlike both Rossi and Prentiss who had asked him what happened. He's not sure why the distinction matters, yet it does.

Haley was right too, however. He can't be upset with her. This was all his fault. He hadn't made a deal with Foyet and now his family - his son - their lives were being upended. Haley had already put up with a lot during their marriage. The divorce should've meant that she no longer had to bear the consequences of his job. He can't help but feel guilty for that - for putting her in this situation. Especially when he's so overtly aware that he could've kept it from happening.

He watches as you sit in that chair, eyeing him apprehensively, chewing on your bottom lip. You care. He can tell you care. You care so overwhelmingly that it's hard to deny it. Sometimes he wishes you didn't. It would make things a lot easier on him if he could think that he felt something for someone that didn't even think about him - that he never crossed your mind even. However, there's far too much proof to the contrary. So instead he has to live with knowing that you care about him, that you think of him, that you likely - in some capacity - love him. The way one might love a friend or a mentor. Somehow that's worse because he has to then deal with you saying stuff like this. Things that make it seem like only you care.

He doesn't know what to say and he can feel tears forming that he's quick to blink away, hoping you hadn't noticed. He swallows and just nods, not trusting himself to say much of anything that didn't involve asking you to stay - possibly forever, because for the first time since he'd woken up in the hospital, he feels seen.

You try to smile and change the subject, fill him in on the Marshalls' plan with Haley and Jack. Offer to get him ice chips or some food that wasn't from the hospital cafeteria. He notices how at ease you seem in the hospital, and comes to the conclusion that maybe a family member had spent some time in one. You seem to know which nurses to talk to in order to get whatever you needed. You watch like a hawk when they come to do anything with his medications. He's pretty certain you would've slept there overnight had Rossi not asked you to help Morgan with something on the ongoing case.

He misses you as soon as you leave.

*------------*

You catch Jack and Haley on your way out. You know you won't be seeing Jack for a while. The Marshalls would be taking them today. Everything was going to change for them.

You nod at Agent Montgomery - the U.S. Marshall that's going to be on their case for the time being. She shifts, moving to the doorway to give you guys a moment.

Haley is seated at the table, her hands holding onto some paperwork. She meets your eyes briefly and nods before returning to the documents. There's a pen in her hands and you can't help but note that her fingers shake around it a bit.

Jack is seated at another table nearby, Agent Montgomery having cleared the breakroom for their meeting.

"Hey buddy." You kneel down to where Jack has been sitting, coloring a printout that one of the nurses must've provided. Jack turns to you, showing off his work. "That looks amazing, Jack!"

He beams with pride at your praise. "Thanks, Y/N."

"I have to head out, okay. I just wanted to say goodbye before I left."

Jack gets up and hugs you, wrapping his little pudgy arms tightly around your neck, allowing you to sweep him up entirely. You know this is the last time you'll get to hold him for quite a while, so you allow it to linger, hugging him back tight. "I love you, Jack." Whispered into his ear while you blink back tears.

You release him and stand, making sure he's settled back into his activity and occupied, before turning to Haley. She stands, walks with you a small distance away from Jack. It isn't fair, what's happening to her. You don't really hold anything against her. It's awful, entirely awful what's happening - her whole life was about to be uprooted because of your jobs. Because of all of your collective failure to catch Foyet the first time. It was your mistake and her and Jack were going to pay for it.

You look up at her and you can see how entirely scared she is of what's about to happen. To have to do this on your own was one thing. Doing it with a partner, another. To have to do it all alone while supporting a child - she wouldn't have anyone she knew to rely upon. All by herself and unable to trust anyone.

"We're going to find him. We're gonna catch him. I promise." You know words were of little solace but that's all you have to give right then.

She smiles, a watery smile to match the unshed tears in her eyes. There's a shaky nod before she moves forward, hugging you in much the same manner Jack had. She's a bit taller than you, so you try to stand straight, allowing her to lean against you. "Take care of him." Her voice is a whisper against your ear, as though she's entrusting you with something extremely precious. Which she is, you suppose. She's counting on you to make sure that Hotch would be alright. That Jack's father would be fine, awaiting his son's return.

"I will."

*------------*

It had been a week since Foyet had left Hotch outside the hospital. A week since Haley and Jack had been taken into WITSEC protective custody and given new identities in an unknown location. A week since Morgan had become the new acting Unit Chief of the BAU, taking over in Hotch's stead. To the public - to the outside world - and especially to Foyet, it had to seem like his attack on Hotch had left him completely alone and broken - no wife, no kid, no team to lead.

You hated it.

The team had been assigned a new case late Sunday evening after you'd all pretty much spent the past couple of days in the hospital. Hotch was discharged earlier in the day and was under strict orders to stay on bedrest for the time being. You'd all flown out early Monday morning and it was now Saturday evening, the case having stretched out the entire week due to the Unsub's kill schedule.

You got back home after submitting your report, grabbing a water and a pack of the little bunny crackers you keep on hand for Jack. You're pretty sure you won't be seeing Jack before those expire and someone should eat them. You shower and get dressed for bed, thinking about Hotch. You knew he was home and would be coming back to work next week, doing the absolute bare minimum bed rest that the doctor had mandated. You're fairly certain the doctor had been intimidated into it by Hotch's severe face, daring him to say anything longer than a week.

It's fairly late by the time you actually crawl into bed, plugging your phone into the charger by the nightstand and flickering off the lights, plunging the room into darkness save for the red glow of the alarm clock stating that it was now eleven o'clock. You wonder if anyone has checked in on him while the team has been away. Perhaps Jess, but she must also be out of her mind with worry about Haley and Jack.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you've grabbed your phone and scrolled to his name in your Favorites, pressing on it. You hold the phone up to your ear and listen as it rings, once, twice, thrice, until you hear the sound of it being picked up.

"Hotchner." His voice is low but doesn't sound sleepy, so you're at least confident that you hadn't woken him up. Having nothing to do but lay around must be messing with his carefully regulated sleep schedule.

You suppress a laugh at his formal no-nonsense greeting, even though he undoubtedly knows it's you. "Hey." Your voice comes out breathier than intended.

"Is everything alright?" There's a slight edge evident in his voice and you realize that maybe calling him at eleven at night when his wife - ex-wife - and kid are being kept away safe wasn't exactly the right move.

"Yeah, yeah. Everything's alright. I'm sorry. I just called to check in. How are you?"

There's a pause where you can hear the ambient sounds of your house settling in along with him shifting - the rustling of a bedsheet and the groan of the frame as he moves to adjust himself. So he had been in bed when you called.

Finally, you hear, "I'm alright. Thank you for dropping off the food."

"Yeah, yeah of course," you respond, your heartbeat picking up a bit for some reason. You figure it's because you're unsure of the call itself still and knowing that Hotch was in bed and you'd likely disturbed him in some sense at least, makes you feel a little uneasy.

For his part, Aaron had been going stircrazy, sitting at home with nothing whatsoever to do. The Marshalls had taken Haley and Jack the very same day. Dave had taken him from the hospital and back to his apartment and Garcia and JJ had dropped by the same day with some groceries and a couple of ready to eat meals for him.

He spent most of Sunday sleeping, the strong painkillers making him drowsy. Monday morning, he awoke to his doorbell and his nurse, Eric, from the hospital was there to help him with the dressage. He didn't think that was covered by his insurance - he could only imagine how much home visits from a medical professional cost - and had told Eric there was some sort of mistake. However, Eric had insisted that someone at the hospital had already worked it out and insurance wasn't an issue - this was a covered service apparently. Since Aaron already knew him, and he really could use the help, he'd let him in. Eric had entered holding a large box of food as well, that he said had been left at the door along with a note. After Eric left, Aaron had opened the box to reveal pre-portioned meals - all homemade, all different, all things he could throw in a microwave easily. The note was just signed with your name, telling him to call if he needed anything else.

He'd slept through most of the days, awakening only to let Eric in daily. He ate only because he had to in order to take his medications. Otherwise his mind was a haze of thoughts and worries - worrying about Jack and Haley, about Foyet being around the next corner, about the team managing without him, and somewhere at the farthest reaches of his mind your face danced around - worried and concerned for him, despite doing your very best to appear otherwise.

When your name flashed across his phone late at night, at first he felt the thrust of panic - that something had happened. And then there's your voice, calm and even, asking him how he's doing. No one else had called him. Dave and Prentiss had texted once or twice over the week, but with a case going on, everyone had been busy.

There's a brush of silence after he thanks you for the food and he can hear you take a breath and shift ever so much. He realizes that you're calling him while most likely lying in bed. It causes his heart to speed up and a tight coil to begin tightening in his stomach. It's utterly benign - he has no reason to feel that way, and yet, yet he does.

"How was the case?" he asks, desperate for someone to speak with, not wanting the phone call to end.

You're slightly surprised but you easily talk him through the details of the case, the profiling process and how the team had approached it. You find yourself babbling on for a while as he asks you questions about the evidence, how the local detectives had been, how the team was doing.

Aaron listens to you, taking it all in. You're good at this, providing all the details you know he'd want. You notice everything, all the little things. How the local detectives had responded to Morgan being in charge - how it had been easier for JJ to liaise with them more closely instead. How Reid was getting much more comfortable with having a weapon in the field. There's a soft, sleepy quality to you despite your obvious willingness to tell him everything. Your voice like a salve, doing more for him than any of the medications the doctors had prescribed.

He's not sure when or how, but the conversation has meandered from the case to something Prentiss had told you once, to a story he had of Dave and Gideon back when he first joined the team, and then to a professor of yours from college who had been particularly invested in the Bundy trials in a near obsessive manner. He finds himself laughing for the first time since that night at the bar with you.

When his eyes next catch the time, it is past 2AM. You'd been on the phone for the past three hours. Before this, the longest phone call he's ever had was fifteen minutes.

"It's late," he whispers, almost as though he doesn't want you hear him. "You should get some sleep."

You glance at your clock and find yourself shocked at how long the two of you had been on the phone together. Who knew Hotch was even capable. Though, you figure, you'd been doing the bulk of the talking, rambling on about something or the other. He must be utterly exhausted of listening to your voice.

"You should too," you murmur through a yawn, your eyes flickering under the weight of your lashes.

"Good night, Y/N." You can hear a smile in his voice and it's almost as though you can feel him - the way he feels when he hugs you, warm and strong, firm against you, surrounding you completely with his being.

"Night Hotch."

*------------*

Hotch had been back a couple of weeks and the team was adjusting. While Morgan was indeed the public face of the team, Hotch was very still involved and working far too much behind the scenes. You've kept an eye on him, looking for signs of him overexerting himself. He is, of course. He's burying himself in work, diving in head first because that's likely easier than focusing on everything else. So far, all you've done is give him looks that say Shouldn't you be going home? and Is this really what you want to spend a Wednesday at 9PM doing? He doesn't acknowledge them openly but you know that he knows that you see exactly what he's trying to do. He'll leave once he realizes that you're staying if he is.  

You're not quite sure how to check on him during the weekends. Before, you used to have Jack as the reason why you saw him. Now, without Jack, you're not quite sure how to go about seeing Hotch and making sure he's alright, without it somehow being seen as overstepping. You nudge Rossi to go check on him one of the days and then another, you invited the entire team over for dinner so that you know he ate. You know he won't let you cook for him if he's no longer on bedrest, even though the way he holds his gun and the sharp inhale he takes anytime he has to put the Kevlar on is extremely telling.

JJ wants everyone in the conference room on the other side of the floor since your regular one is taken and she calls you to inform everyone of the change in venue for the scheduled meeting. You glance up from your desk after having told Derek and Emily of the location change, trusting them to tell Spencer when he returns. JJ isn't expecting everyone for another half hour, and Emily had caught Rossi as he was heading out to lunch, so he's also aware. Emily and Derek follow in his steps, asking if you're going to join them, but you wave them on ahead.

You take the steps up to Hotch's office swiftly, knocking and turning the knob in one motion, only to find him standing behind his desk, no jacket or tie, shirt unbuttoned, a patch of red visible on his skin from one of the stab wounds inflicted by Foyet. He looks up at you and you can feel the surprise in his eyes. It was your fault, you should've waited. That was stupid. Your eyes can't seem to look away from the blood spotting the otherwise white wrappings that sit in a pile on the desk.

"I - I'm sorry," you stutter out, blinking and trying to make sense of the sight in front of you. You notice that his shirt was also equally marred, the blood having seeped through. You'd obviously interrupted him.

He draws a breath, and you can see him try to put on a mask of being unbothered by your sudden appearance. "Did you need something?"

'Um, JJ had to move the briefing to the other conference room," you inform him, still unable to look away. You're staring. You know are. It's dawning upon you how entirely you'd fucked up. Hotch was such a private person. He'd hate having someone see him in such a state of vulnerability.

He nods. "Thank you. Could you close the door, please?"

You don't move from your spot in the doorway.

"Y/N?"

You're not sure what exactly has overcome you, except this overwhelming need to take care of him. Especially now, right then when he's hurting. Bleeding quite literally. Hotch takes care of everyone. Every single one of you. But no one takes care of him. Not the way he needs to be cared for.

You cross the threshold, shutting and locking the door behind you. He seems entirely taken aback as you approach him silently. There's a voice in your head telling you that this, right here, this was the definition of overstepping. Yet, there is a more insistent compulsion residing within you, urging you forward until you've reached him. He looks at you, confusion in his features.

"Let me." You reach for the alcohol wipes on the table, meant to disinfect the affected region.

He doesn't say anything, but he also doesn't move, making it difficult for you to actually reach him as he's standing flush to his desk. He only looks at you, brows scrunched together, the pronounced cleft of his lower lip set tightly.

"Let me." You repeat yourself, moving forward and forcing him to back up a little and make room for you. You deftly move to sit on his desk, facing him, and beckon him towards you without looking up. If you looked up, you might lose your nerve.

You part your legs and much to your surprise, he actually moves forward, coming to settle between them. You can feel the heat of his body radiating off of him. You're suddenly very aware of the friction between his dress pants and the material of your own fitted ones.

You take the alcohol wipe and tear open the packaging, unraveling the cloth before cautiously moving towards him and dabbing at the area that seemed to have opened up slightly. He releases a sharp hiss and suddenly, his hand is at your waist, gripping tightly. You pause, looking up at his face. His eyes are shut, lips pressed tightly together. After a second, he nods, indicating at you to continue. He doesn't make a sound again as you clean up the area, though he does tighten his grip ever so slightly a couple more times.

You look at the items on his desk and pick up the jar of salve that he must put on prior to the dressings. Carefully, you unscrew the lid, looking up at him with a question in your eyes. He nods again, barely looking at you.

You try to do it quickly. Fingers picking up some of the salve and gingerly spreading it over the region, brushing past raised skin, puckered up as it heals. Slowly. Not fast enough for him.

Aaron watches as your head is bent, teeth biting down on your lower lip in concentration as you gently span the entirely of his chest and stomach. Soft, dainty fingers quickly working so as to put him out of his misery faster.

Of all people, he didn't want you to see him this way. So vulnerable, so exposed, so scarred. You'd thrown him off balance when you hadn't quickly scampered away after you realized your error in barging in. Approached him with such purpose that he hadn't known how to turn you away.

You reach for the fresh roll of gauze next, swallowing as you look up at him once again. "This would be easier if you take the shirt off."

He shrugs it off at your words, placing it on the back of his chair. There's a fresh shirt on the seat of his chair. He'd been prepared, it would seem.

"This might put a dent in the line of women waiting to pounce." He indicates towards his chest, self deprecation dripping from his weak attempt at humor, in an effort to cut whatever imaginary tension he had made up in his head.

You look at his face, seeing the vulnerability and insecurity as plain as can be. He doesn't need to verbalize his thoughts in order for you to know exactly what he's thinking. What he's been thinking.

Who would want someone this grotesque?

Who would want a man as broken as this?

Who could possibly bear the sight of him - marred forever? His very flesh a perpetual reminder of the terror he wades through, the monsters he encounters, the horror that is his life.

"No."

Your answer is simple, straightforward. Yet nothing has ever confused him more as he watches you hold one end of the gauze to the front of his chest near the top of the scarring, and then bring the roll around his back, over it to hold it in place, your small hands ghosting over his skin with the utmost propriety, intent in making this as painless, as easy, as comfortable for him as possible.

"I'm not going to tell you some patronizing bullshit about scars being beautiful."

You control your breath in easy measured paces, forcing him to follow along. One breath in. Pause. Breath out. Repeat. You continue to wrap the dressing around his chest slowly, your eyes fixed on the task at hand to ensure that it was all straight and even, tight but not too tight.

"They do, however, speak to all that you've endured. All that you've conquered. Overcome. Anyone who loves you will see you just as you are. They would think you absolutely incredible. Regardless of anything. Because of it all."

Aaron focuses on your voice, soft and melodic and yet sure. So very sure. How could you possibly be so sure?

"Someone who loves you will see the scars," your fingers press ever so slightly against his chest, "and they will know. They will know all that you've undergone to become who are - how you survived despite the odds."

You take a sudden shuddered breath as you recall the sight of him unconscious in the hospital bed, being wheeled past you. You're quick to shake it away.

"They will be grateful. To have you, scars and all."

You finish, tucking in the end of the gauze firmly and ensuring it wouldn't come loose with just the slightest of motions.

You look up at him then, finally meeting his eyes properly. Beautiful, deep brown eyes with flecks of gold brought on by the late afternoon sunlight that was filtering through the windows.

Aaron can't help but look at you. He rarely gets to see you this up close. So very close. If he were to just bend down the smallest amount, there'd be no space at all. Your hair bundled back into a professional low bun, soft wisps framing your face. The cupid's bow lips - pouty, pink, perfect lips. The upturned nose and the slight babyface cheeks that accompanied it. He realizes his hand is still gripped onto your waist and he's reluctant to remove it. Not yet. In a bit. Not yet.

"Thank you." His eyes are closed as he says it so he misses it when you nod your acknowledgement.

You lean past him, one hand grabbing his forearm for balance while the other reaches for the shirt on the chair. You'd started the job. Might as well finish it. You unbutton the collar and he takes it from you, quickly slipping it on, and yet not moving away. His hand returns to your waist. Staying where you could easily reach up and start buttoning it for him. So you do.

Aaron knows you don't need a response to everything you'd said. He also is quite certain that you believe it. No matter the entirely shallow world you'd been a part of, he knows that you aren't like that. You might be a little vain - the nice clothes and makeup, the care you put into your own appearance. However, you're not vain like this.

Aaron breathes out a deep sigh that he'd been holding for some time as you dexterously work each button into its proper hole. He really could get used to this. To you.

"Why do you always sit on stuff?" His voice is soft and low, calmer.

You glance up, noting the slight humor dancing behind his eyes while he waits for your answer.

You can't help but smile, a breath of laughter escaping you just barely. "I suppose…because I'm short," you admit, shaking your head as you continue down the trail of buttons. "Makes it easier for me to be at eye level if I sit on higher surfaces."

He laughs. A near boisterous laugh. His chest rumbles underneath your hands, causing your fingers to tremble.

You can't help but laugh along with him, releasing a deep held breath as you do.

He would be alright. He would.