#folder lock serial number

[ms-demeanor]

I had a straight up delightful moment at work yesterday when a new member of the management team asked me how we were tracking warranties and I explained that we kind of aren't and he asked why we aren't and that meant he got a 30-minute rundown of how top-to-bottom fucked the procurement process is here.

First I explained the process for sending a quote (i am assigned a ticket in system A1, I create an opportunity in system A2, from the opportunity i can generate a quote in system B - if I start with the quote I can't associate it back to the opportunity or the ticket, if we need to change the quote after it was approved we need to generate a new quote from the opportunity to overwrite the old one - and send the quote from system B.)

Then I explained the process of getting approval (system B sends the quote and receives the approvals but does not communicate that to system A, so until it is manually updated system A sends a daily reminder about the quote to the client and after three days with no response will close the ticket even if the client approved the quote in system B. System B will send an email if a quote is approved but it comes from our generic support email so to make sure that I don't miss approvals I have filtering rules set up and a folder I check twice a day. Because there are 4 people who use this system I also check twice daily in system B to see if anyone else's quotes were approved).

Then I explained how I place the orders (easy! I'm a pro! We have a standardized PO pattern that tracks date, vendor and client, it's handy)

Then I explained how I document the orders (neither system A nor B has a way of storing information about orders in progress, only orders that are complete; as such I have created a PO Documentation spreadsheet that lists the PO number, vendor, line of business, client, items ordered, order total, order date, ETA, tracking numbers, serial numbers, delivery confirmation, ticket number for install, ticket title for install, shippong cost, and close confirmation, which all have to be entered individually and which require a minimum of three visits to the spreadsheet per order: entering initial info, entering tracking and SN info, then once more to get that info to close the opportunity)

Then I explained how we close an order (confirm hardware delivery or activate software, use system A2 to code hardware/software/non-taxable products appropriately, run wizard to add charges from A2 to ticket in A1; because the A2 charges were locked by approval in system B, use system A3 to add shipping or other fees or to remove any parts that were approved but not actually needed or ordered - THIS WEEK I got permission to do this bit on my initial A1 procurement ticket instead of generating an A1 post-procurement ticket for fees and shipping. Once all of that is done it's moved into system A4 and is no longer my problem).

If there is a warranty involved it *should* automatically have the expiration tracked in system C, but system C doesn't have any way to pull order info so there's no way it can track warranty *start* dates without somebody manually entering it or without using API data from the manufacturer, which some manufacturers don't provide (fuck you, Apple).

But me and my trainee are happy to add the start date to the configuration once a tech tells us that the device is enrolled in system C. If the techs will tell us that we can add that info no problem.

Until then, I have unfortunately been forced to start a spreadsheet.

The manager was appalled, it was great. I got to say the words "part of the reason things sometimes fall through the cracks is because we have so many cracks" and his response was "no shit." I'm talking to vendors about a procurement system now :) :) :) :)

[definitely-mothman]

The Reflection of a Prince Ch 3

I’m really bad at making summaries, but in a nutshell, this is an Overblot! Jade Leech fic, with the Original Characters belonging to Royal Sword Academy, specifically for a fandom based on the Little Mermaid. • A gala approaches, on not one land, but two, and split in half, what other choice does a Prince have to do? But beware in the past, there is an eye that still watches. Who remembers, who plots and hides teeth in the darkness.

AO3 Link

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Ch 3 in Read More

Azul was flipping through finance files, about 7 in the morning according to his watch. It was the best time in the week to put together the documents for each days’ sales and costs, along with calculating the salary for employees for the biweekly basis. It was unusually quiet, although it didn’t bother him at the moment. It was still somewhat early, and the silence made it easier to focus.

It was only logical such silence should be rudely interrupted by annoying text vibrations on the wood desk.

“Hey do you like. Have the attendance sheets for the Board Game Club on hand rn.”

Right side top drawer, folder at the very front. Divider is by year…there it was.

“Yes I have them in the Lounge. Is Crowley asking for them already?”

“Kinda I mean. Yeah. He didn’t do this shit last year, says it’s bc of the festival thingy. BS tbh.”

“Do you want me to run them over in the next few minutes?”

“It doesn’t have to be like right now now, but around 7:30-7:45ish would be coolio, plus I’ll be actually awake at that point lol.”

Set the papers aside, set phone timer for 7:30. He’d likely just ask Jade or one of the third years to carry those over. The logistics of having the main keys for the lounge and having to cross campus not long before opening the back entryways for early shifts just seemed too annoying.

“Ok, someone will come by 7:40 at the latest.”

“Man I thought you’d do it ;-; you always send your Vice to do it and ngl he scares the shit outta me dude”

“That doesn’t sound like my issue, Idia.”

“I mean I’ll gladly accept paperwork from anyone in your dorm who isn’t in the top 3 tiers of the ‘Would Murder Me’ list. Like seriously there’s gotta be someone dude.”

“Any of them would likely lose the papers or be late. It’s not my issue he has an intimidating air carrying out benign errands.”

It was about 7:15.

“Bro tf you mean ‘intimidating air’ that implies it’s like. Accidental, and not him creating the comforting aura of a slasher villain. Idk how you survive interacting with him for most of the day. If I got locked in a room with either Leech for like 30 minutes I’d probably kms to get out faster.”

“I’m sure he’d find that quite humorous to hear. Anyways, it's not my problem, and I have things to do so I’m going to go silent for a while.”

“Alr whatever you’re like 100% serial killer victim number one tho.”

He put down the phone on the desk, mentally rolling his eyes.

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard a qualm like this about Jade, especially not from Idia. It was strange to keep hearing, probably because he just couldn’t see what it was everyone was so���afraid of. In a competitive setting, it was logical for even him to be wary of Jade as a long-game player and as someone very good at concealing his hand. But in terms of just normal school life, it just didn’t make sense. At the worst, Jade liked to poke psychologically in the same way Floyd did physically. Instead of chasing and manhandling, it was done with subtle body language and straight faced teasing. Once you wrapped your mind around how the game worked, it was actually quite fun to play in return, although for a completely anti-social loner like Idia, it didn’t seem like much fun.

He may have come across as strange or snakelike, but Azul had a level of trust in him that provided a sense of ease. At the very least, if Jade had wanted him dead, it would have happened already. He made him tea or coffee every morning, and Azul couldn’t think of the last time he’d even had a second thought at drinking what was placed on his desk.

Speaking of which. He hadn’t drank anything all morning, and the lack of hydration was beginning to make his early morning energy wear off. Usually they were both up around the same time.

He left the VIP lounge, heading back towards the shared communal space, including the small kitchen the dormitory shared. The tea bags he used were typically in one of the top shelves of the cabinet farthest from the shared fridge. He put some water in a pan and turned on the stove, sitting the bag’s string over the side. There was a kettle in the shared area, but it was nowhere to be seen, so he’d have to make do.

The tea that he had made wasn’t perfect, but it was fine enough. Octanivelle students set for the early shifts had started to trickle in, and Floyd stumbled in behind them. A bit earlier than he normally woke up, but well within his range.

“Hey Floyd. It’s odd having you be the first one up.”

Floyd slid over, propping against the island. He still looked a bit tired.

“Huh? Jade left our room like. A few hours ago. At least, I think so. Idk, I was half-asleep.”

“A few hours ago? I haven’t run into him all morning. I was going to ask him to run some papers over to Ignihyde.”

“I could run them over lol-“

“It’s fine, you can handle opening, I’ll just run them myself. Was he running off to do the headcounts he mentioned yesterday?”

“Idk, probably? He sometimes dips out in the middle of the night to do something-or-another, I figure it’s just that.”

“…I wasn’t aware he did that. I doubt anyone at RSA is awake enough for him to get any reasonable survey numbers at this hour.”

“Eh, who knows. I’m not worrying about it personally. Probably went off early to maybe hike over there instead of taking the bus. I could see him doing something like that.”

“Oh, ok. If you're not worried-“

“By the way, when are you supposed to be taking the papers over?”

“Um,” Azul checked his watch again. It was 7:39 already, and the walk across campus would probably take some 7 minutes. Shit.

“I should probably go now; I’m already behind schedule.”

“Alrighty then, have fun. I need the key ring though to open.”

“Right, right.” He took the Lounge key ring off of his belt loop, and took the trenchcoat off his shoulders and dug through the pockets for the VIP lounge key. There. When he took his hand out though, he had two keys.

He couldn’t remember which key this was, and with how often he absentmindedly put them in various pockets, it was any guess when he’d put it there. He handed off the known key to Floyd, and put the second one back.

With that, he returned to the office space, collecting the papers, and then headed towards the mirror for the main campus.

For Azul’s taste, it was an eerily lonely morning.

• • •

“I’m good to meet up whenever you are.”

It was almost 5 in the afternoon, and students were flowing to and from Coralliadom, mostly to leave campus to get dinner or head towards the cafeteria. Rielle hovered over the message, and panned his gaze over to his Housewardens’ staff. He went over and took it up, gripping 3 fingers around the magestone and prying it out. He put the stone in his right interior pocket.

“Aight. I’ll head out that way. Should I turn my GPS on to make it easier or smthn?”

“Sure.”

He flicked it on, and began to make his way out of the dormitory. He left the staff in his room to not raise any sort of suspicion, but held onto his pen. He managed to slip Claude’s visage in this escape attempt, sliding through the mirror and booking it across campus towards the gate. It was actually quite invigorating, sneaking off like this. See, I told you I could take care of myself! The gate was open, and Rielle slipped in with the crowd of leaving students, removing the outer RSA jacket and bundling it under his arm. Just before the bus stop, he broke off, awkwardly trotting down the incline and breaking off into the tree cover surrounding the campus.

He had to walk for a while before eventually running into the Octanivelle kid, about 3 minutes. Curly brunette hair almost covered their eyes completely, and their poise seemed too calm for how they talked over text.

Whatever, people were usually more casual over text anyways, right? Not like he had another option at this point anyways.

“Heyo-! I made it, sorry if I was a bit late.”

“It’s fine, I made sure to set time aside so I’d be good if you were. Do you have the stuff I asked for?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it right here.”

Rielle took a small jewelry box out of his pocket, one that you’d normally keep earrings in. He handed it over to the student, who opened it, eyes glazing over the inside.

“Spit vial thing, hair is in a vial, the clippings are just in the box bc I figured that was fine, and the empty vial is the…song? Idk if you just wanted me to sing into a vial, so that’s what I did, sorry if that wasn’t what you wanted.”

“Oh that’s fine.” He closed the box lid, and put it in the pocket of his dorm uniform, which went almost below his knees.

“Are you guys’ uniforms that long? Based on the photos, I always thought they hit like, mid-thigh at the longest.”

“Oh, this isn’t my uniform.” The kid took out a small glass dish, and sat it over a bundle of tinder he’d piled on the ground. “I spilled some shit on mine earlier this week, so I had to borrow my roommates. He’s like, a good foot taller than me, haha.”

His voice seemed a little…stiff, despite how casual his words were. The student looked up towards Rielle, expression a bit nervous.

“Uh, did you bring a water bottle or something by chance? I would’ve brought one myself for the potion but I didn’t think about it. I mean, I can just use a water spell I guess, but I haven’t eaten a lot today and my magic’s probably a little shaky because of it.”

“Oh, no worries, I’ll do it. Did you skip lunch or something?” Rielle clicked his magestone into his pen, and with a small flick formed about two cups’ worth of water inside the dish.

“Thanks, and no, I didn’t bring much money when I made my way over here so I couldn’t grab anything substantial in Craneport.”

“Oh. Well, you’ll need my ID to get into the dorm anyways, so don’t worry about using it to get meal swipes. Claude will hound you-me if he sees you being the slightest bit winded. Wait-“

Rielle took out his phone, and began texting rapidly. The students’ phone pinged several times back to back.

“Ok I sent you the itinerary for the day of, so that you’ll be ready for that, and also the sheet music for the musical performance on Friday.”

“Musical…performance?”

“Yeah, I am/was doing a pretty singing number for the gala thingy- but you’re taking on my singing voice anyways so you’ll be good. There’s 5 days anyway to get the hang of it, and you won’t be on stage alone!”

“O-oh. Ok.”

The student began to dump the contents into the water, and lit a small fire on the tinder beneath the dish with his pen.

“I could’ve done that, yknow.”

“Oh, sorry. Just didn’t think about it.”

“Lol, you don’t have to say sorry. Just don’t want you to overexert yourself.”

The kid took a small twig nearby to stir the mixture, using his other hand to control the flame, it spinning to a light blue color. He was murmuring something under his breath, but Rielle couldn’t make out whatever incantation he was saying. Maybe saying it really quietly was a part of it?

In a moment, the small whirlpool in the mixture tinted to a bright red, and spread out within the dish. A small smile briefly appeared on the kid’s face, and he put the twig to the side, taking a small necklace out of his pocket.

“Oh, that’s the jewelry item?”

“Yeah. I’m using this one specifically because I’ve been able to get it to work with other magic properties like this already. No worries for me about it not working.”

“It’s so…cute. Is it an actual nautilus shell? It looks a bit more worn and dirty than the ones you see in shops. And it’s so tiny!”

“Yeah, it’s an actual shell, a friend of mine picked it out for me, we were pretty little at the time. So that’s why it’s kinda small.”

“So I’m guessing the string on it is more recent so it fits your neck? Lol.”

“Yeah, I’ve changed the string a million times at this point, hah.”

Again. That slightly strained voice, enough to notice but not noticeable enough for Rielle to want to bring attention to it.

The Octanivelle student took the twig he’d sat down, and stuck it firmly in the ground. Taking the necklace’s string and catching it on the twig, he dipped the shell down into the potion, where it began to glow a pale white within the liquid.

“Ah, yeah. The contract scroll. I almost forgot about it.”

He took a golden paper out of his pocket, along with a slightly decorative pen. It was folded several times into a little square, and once unfolded the top portion was too crinkled to properly read. But most of it was legible, and listed everything they’d spoken about over text, word for word. Rielle panned over the language, checking for any small print. He may have had no other choice, but he’d barter if he needed to.

“The only small text on there is about you being liable if the Unique Magic offered in the contract expires before you return to trade places with me again.”

“And that time would be…”

“Friday, about 11pm. An hour and a half after the gala hosted in your dorm will have ended. I just don’t want to be stuck up there. Do you want the pen? I thought you’d take it already-“

“How did you do this? This is a Unique Magic in and of itself, dude! Did you actually get your Housewarden to write one up for you? Like an IOU or something?”

“…can’t say. Secrets of the trade, lol. I don’t wanna lose my chances of getting deals like this in the future, you know?”

The student smiled, but the emotion didn’t quite reach the shine in his eyes. As if they carried two different people. I suppose that was Octanivelle for you. Rielle took up the pen, and carefully signed his name, drawing a smile heart above the i.

He absentmindedly handed the paper and pen back over, and dropped his RSA jacket onto the ground. The guy would probably need it if he wanted to slip back onto campus.

“There you go. I should probably text my parents about now and head off towards the hall of mirrors. Pretty much no one’s walking around campus right now, although you might wanna wait a few minutes before going into campus.”

“Alright, I have to wait for this to finish up anyways. Hope you have fun at the family gathering.”

“Yeah, I will! Thanks for doing me a solid, man.”

“Don’t even worry about it.”

Rielle finally got up from a squat on the ground, turning and heading back towards the campus.

He couldn’t have left soon enough. The illusory potion put together that morning was only meant to last about an hour. Even now, teal was beginning to push through the brunette hair, which was now falling to the ground at an alarming rate. He hadn’t even bothered to notice the contacts that already matched his eye color, or how squatting down disguised his clothing slowly fitting more snugly. The potion let off a sweet-smelling steam. It was done.

Taking the string off from around the twig, the necklace was pulled from the solution, and now it had a beautiful yellow gleam. He took off the Mostro Lounge jacket, covering a simple white dress shirt like those worn in RSA. The jacket and hat was placed into a pile along with the glass dish, and with a gentle wave of his pen, the pile burst into a large flame.

The necklace’s string fit perfectly to his head, and the nautilus shell was tucked beneath the shirt collar. He imagined how it looked outside of himself. Thin, siren eyes becoming like that of a doe, merging in and out as if both were mirages. A pale glow flowing down the edge of his hair, it growing vibrant red, and growing longer as the glow went down, beyond his hair’s end. The shell felt as though it could replace his own heart with how warm it felt against his chest.

Finally, he opened his mouth, feeling up and down the foreign vocal chords. The sweet, silky sound that left his mouth. That voice which was far too beautiful to belong to him. He stood and straightened his back, and lightly lifted his eyebrows along with the corners of his mouth, trying to make it look natural. Speak with your throat, keep your balance on the left side instead of in the middle. Pretend as though your head is filled with helium.

“Hey guys! Sorry I’m back late, I got kinda sidetracked, went on a stroll and lost track of time. But…you forgive me, right?”

[sargentjosh30]

How can I check the status of my Apple ID unlock request?

Your Apple ID is the gateway to all your Apple services, including iCloud, iTunes, and the App Store. However, if your account is locked due to security reasons or multiple incorrect password attempts, you might need to submit an unlock request. But once you've done that, how do you check the status of your Apple ID unlock request through iforgot.apple.com/unlock? This guide will walk you through the process, ensuring you regain access to your account smoothly.

Why Is My Apple ID Locked?

Before diving into checking the status of your request, it's crucial to understand why your Apple ID might be locked. Apple employs strict security measures to protect users' accounts from unauthorized access. Your Apple ID may be locked for the following reasons:

Multiple incorrect password attempts

Suspicious activity detected

Security reasons, such as logging in from an unrecognized device

A forgotten password that has triggered Apple's security protocols

When your Apple ID is locked, Apple will prompt you to reset your password or verify your identity before unlocking it.

How to Submit an Apple ID Unlock Request

If you’ve already requested an Apple ID unlock, you likely went through these steps:

Visit Apple’s Recovery Page: Go to iforgot.apple.com/unlock.

Enter Your Apple ID: Provide your Apple ID email address.

Follow the Prompts: Apple will ask security questions, send a verification code to a trusted device, or require email verification.

Submit Your Request: If you can’t immediately unlock your Apple ID, you may need to request account recovery.

Once you’ve submitted the request, Apple will give you an estimated wait time for unlocking your Apple ID. This can take anywhere from a few minutes to several days, depending on the security measures required.

How to Check the Status of Your Apple ID Unlock Request

After submitting your request, it’s important to track its status to know when you can regain access. Here’s how to check it:

1. Check Your Email for Updates

Apple sends regular updates to the email address associated with your Apple ID. Be sure to check both your inbox and spam/junk folder for any messages from Apple regarding your unlock request. The email will typically include:

Confirmation of your unlock request

The estimated waiting time

Next steps if additional verification is needed

2. Visit Apple's Account Recovery Page

To track your Apple ID unlock status, follow these steps:

Open a browser and go to iforgot.apple.com/unlock.

Enter your Apple ID and follow the on-screen instructions.

If your request is still in process, you’ll see an estimated time for completion.

If Apple has completed the request, follow the provided instructions to regain access to your account.

3. Check Your Recovery Device

If you enabled two-factor authentication (2FA), Apple might send a notification to your trusted device (iPhone, iPad, or Mac). Check if you have received a prompt asking you to approve the unlock request or verify your identity.

4. Contact Apple Support

If you don’t see any updates after the estimated waiting period, you may need to contact Apple Support directly:

Visit Apple Support

Select Apple ID from the options.

Choose Locked or Disabled Apple ID.

Follow the instructions to connect with an Apple Support representative.

Apple may ask you to verify your identity with additional information, such as the serial number of your Apple device or a proof of purchase.

How Long Does It Take to Unlock an Apple ID?

The time it takes to unlock your Apple ID depends on several factors:

If you remember your password or reset it successfully, the unlock process is immediate.

If you need to go through account recovery, it may take a few hours to a few days.

If additional verification is needed, Apple might take up to two weeks to restore access.

During the waiting period, Apple will provide regular status updates via email.

Tips to Prevent Your Apple ID from Getting Locked Again

Once you’ve regained access to your Apple ID, it’s essential to take preventive measures to avoid getting locked out in the future.

1. Enable Two-Factor Authentication (2FA)

Two-factor authentication adds an extra layer of security, making it harder for hackers to access your Apple ID. With 2FA enabled, even if someone has your password, they cannot log in without the verification code sent to your trusted device.

2. Use a Strong, Unique Password

Choose a password that is difficult to guess. Avoid using birthdates, common words, or sequences like “123456.” Instead, opt for a combination of uppercase and lowercase letters, numbers, and symbols.

3. Keep Your Recovery Information Updated

Regularly check that your phone number, email, and security questions are up-to-date. This ensures you can easily verify your identity if you ever need to unlock your Apple ID.

4. Be Cautious of Phishing Scams

Scammers often send fake emails or messages pretending to be Apple. Never click on suspicious links or provide your Apple ID credentials to unverified sources.

5. Use a Password Manager

A password manager can help store and autofill your credentials securely, reducing the risk of forgetting your password and getting locked out.

Final Thoughts

Checking the status of your Apple ID unlock request is crucial if you’re locked out of your account. By visiting iforgot.apple.com/unlock, checking your email, or contacting Apple Support, you can track your request and take the necessary steps to regain access. To prevent future lockouts, ensure you use a strong password, enable two-factor authentication, and keep your recovery details updated.

If you’re experiencing issues or delays, Apple Support is your best option for further assistance. Stay proactive in protecting your Apple ID to ensure seamless access to all your Apple services.

[eobdtooluk-blog]

2024 Foxflash Tool FAQ

Here eobdtool.co.uk shares some newest common problems and solutions of Foxflash ECU Chip Tuning Tool.

Problem 1: Got “Invalid Class” Error

This error invalid class may appear when running foxflash software and cannot enter the file.

Solution:

It’s the operating system issue.

Better install software on a clean Win10 64-bit system.

If it is a Win10 64bit system, make sure the Windows Defender is off and the anti-virus program is off. Or try to reinstall the system.

Problem 2: Cannot find the SN of Foxflash ECU Programmer

Solution:

Check the device serial number on the backside of the foxflash main unit.

The Serial number is your code to activate the device.

Don’t release that SN to anyone. It’s a safe code for you. Don’t let any third party or guys know that code or it is easy to let your tools lock.

Problem 3: Cannot Find DFB2XX.dll

The solutions are different for the different situations below.

Situation 1: run foxflash Manager and appear this error.

Solution:

For 64bit system, Press “Install driver” to install driver.

For 32 bit system, the driver is not installed completely.

Go to FoxFlash/DFBTech_DRIVER/amd64 folder, copy and paste all files in this folder to C:/Windows/SysWOW64 folder

It’s better to install software on 64bit system.

Situation 2: Driver already installed. Foxflash Device is connected and the 12v supply is also connected.  Foxflash Manager works fine. But foxflash software cannot open and appear the error.

Solution:

Download the dll from the official site below.

Download here: https://aka.ms/vs/17/release/vc_redist.x86.exe

and for 64 bits https://aka.ms/vs/17/release/vc_redist.x64.exe for solve libcrypto-3.dll

Copy driver files from the driver map in your Foxflash installation folder to the Windows/system32 folder.

Tech support:

Email: sales@eOBDTool.co.uk

WhatsApp: +86 159 7293 3706

Skype: Eobdtool.co.uk

Business Time: Monday – Friday, 8:30am – 6:00pm CST (UTC/ GMT+08:00)

[movingtips1235]

How to Keep Your Valuables Safe During a Residential Move

Planning a residential move can be an exciting but stressful time. Amidst all the chaos of packing boxes and coordinating logistics, it's essential to take extra precautions to ensure the safety of your valuable belongings. Whether you're moving across town or to a different state, here are some practical tips to keep your valuables secure throughout the moving process.

1. Create an inventory of your valuables

Before you start packing, creating a comprehensive inventory of all your valuable items is crucial. Take photographs and note descriptions, including serial numbers or distinguishing features. This inventory will be a reference for loss, damage, or insurance claims.

2. Organize and label your boxes

Organizing and labeling your boxes can significantly minimize the risk of misplacing or losing valuable items. Make sure to use sturdy boxes and reinforce them with packing tape. Use color-coded labels or markers to categorize the boxes based on the room or content. Mark boxes containing fragile or valuable items as "Fragile" or "Valuables" to ensure they receive extra care during the move.

3. Pack valuables separately

Valuable items such as jewelry, important documents, or small electronics should be packed separately from the rest of your belongings. Please keep them in a secure box or bag and consider carrying them personally during the move. This way, you can keep a close eye on them and reduce the chances of loss or damage.

4. Consider using a reputable moving company

If you hire a moving company, do thorough research to find a reputable and reliable one. Look for customer reviews, ask for recommendations, and inquire about their insurance policies. A professional moving company with experience handling valuable items will ensure they are packed, transported, and delivered with utmost care.

5. Insure your valuables

Before the move, review your insurance policies to determine if your valuables are covered during transportation. If not, consider purchasing additional moving insurance or a separate policy for your valuable items. This extra protection will provide peace of mind in unforeseen accidents or losses.

6. Secure your new home

Once you arrive at your new home, secure the premises. Change the locks on all external doors, and consider installing a security system if you already have one. It will help protect your valuables and ensure the safety of your new residence.

7. Update your address confidentially

If you're concerned about the security of your valuables during the moving process, it's a good idea to update your address confidentially. Notify trusted friends, family, and relevant institutions privately to avoid broadcasting your move to potential thieves.

8. Keep essential documents with you

During the move, it's essential to always keep important documents such as passports, birth certificates, or financial records with you. Place them in a secure folder or envelope and carry them personally to avoid any potential loss or unauthorized access.

9. Take photos of valuable electronics

If you're moving electronic devices such as televisions, computers, or gaming consoles, take photos of their current condition. This documentation can be valuable for insurance in case of damage during the move.

10. Double-check your moving vehicle

Before leaving your old residence and arriving at your new home, double-check the moving vehicle to ensure no valuable items are left behind. It's easy to overlook small or hidden items, so thoroughly inspect your inspection to avoid any regrets later.

Following these tips and staying vigilant throughout the moving process can significantly increase the chances of keeping your valuables safe and secure. While moving can be chaotic, taking these extra precautions will provide peace of mind and help ensure a smooth transition to your new home.

Read More Blog: How to Keep Your Valuables Safe During a Residential Move

[xdefendingandy]

He recognized the look of a Kat on the hunt, but he wasn't sorry for encouraging that line of conversation. Did it toe the line over what was appropriate to discuss with his client? Of course. But it also neatly got her mind off the sharper edges of her history. And to be perfectly honest, he'd always enjoyed a little verbal sparring. He couldn't be in his line of work of he didn't.

"That's fair," he agreed with a quiet chuckle, shuffling papers back into a folder as he got to his feet. The files went into a locked briefcase, no chances taken while they were out. "It would take a lot of trust in my partner to let them tie me down. But who am I to object if someone wants that for themselves?" He preferred to be in control of himself, for a number of reasons. All the worst things in Andy's life had happened because he let his guard slip just a little.

"I don't get any pleasure out of torturing you, Kat. I just want you to be as prepared as you possibly can be. You can hate me for it now. But you'll be glad we did this when you're on the stand." And, he hoped, when she was walking free. He knew the dangers of getting personally invested in a case, but with something like this--something so big, it basically became his life in the months he'd been working with her--it was impossible not to. Caring that much could make him better, provided he didn't let his feelings interfere with case business. Given the conversation they were having, he didn't think he was in any danger of that. He'd always excelled at a certain amount of tough love when it was needed.

"When it's over, I'll buy you two. And I won't even lecture you about the debauchery for… how long do you think is fair? A month? Two?" A smirk as he shrugged on his coat, a far less personable gray wool number. Boring or not, he stood by it against the New England winters. If all went well, she wouldn't need him two months after the trial.

It was only long practice and professional habit that kept him from going rigid at the question, and he took a few seconds longer than he needed to check that the door had locked behind them. He couldn't tell if she was asking for herself or because she'd been reading up on his own case. Not the most likely scenario, but the sensationalism of it had made him warier of people's motives.

His voice was even when he turned to head for the elevators. "I think humans are predators, Kat. We satisfy that instinct with football and monster trucks now, but it's still there. Everyone is capable of killing, under the right conditions. We don't need a special gene for that." He pressed the button to call the elevator, hands fitting easily back into the pockets of his coat after. "Social factors like abuse and upbringing have just as much influence, or more, on whether or not someone behaves violently. But not every abuse victim turns into a serial killer. Not everyone with the MAOA gene does either. Not even most of them do. At some point, we grow up and start making our own choices, and we don't get to blame nature or nurture for our actions."

His question not only welcomed her further prodding but it practically took her coat and asked her to stay the night. "Versatile." She repeated as her hand moved to rest against her chin, doubling as a prop for her head and a cover for her curling smile. Though there was no hiding the mischief in her her thoughts as it sharpened every other detail in her expression down to the creasing at her eyes. "You seem the type that would consider wrist holding as light bondage. I'm not calling you vanilla. . .but you don't scream chocolate either." Was this a little more familiar than she ought to be? Maybe. Was it becoming a habit that felt a little more comfortable than it should be? Most definitely. But there was an ease about Andy that invited what was left of herself to burst from the seams of this tightly wound costume she had so carefully constructed. It was beginning to become so easy to let the mask slip when he teased back. With every session it was becoming easier and easier to forget that she still might have to keep up her guard in the off chance that at some point he could be bought too. Whether or not she really believed that wasn't something she wanted to look to closely at but for some reason there was a part of her mind that kept that possibility in its clutches as a safe guard. A safe guard from what? "It doesn't exactly make me feel better. . .I don't get to personally watch you squirm like you get to do with me. You could at least try not to look so satisfied when you make me pull a face." Though her words were teasing there was some relief in knowing he did in fact know what it was like to be on the biting end of this kind of drill session. She herself watched the way his own experiences in the court room went. The way the prosecution poked and prodded him with assertions meant to cut and burn. Yet here he was sitting in front of her as though he'd never stood anywhere near such a danger. The mere mention of food ripped Kat from her far away thoughts, her stomach growling as though he had spoken directly too it. She hopped to her feet and retrieved her leather jacket from the back of its chair before the rest of his words had even registered. She paused a moment, taking that time to slip the coat on, untucking her hair from the collar as she rolled her eyes. "You buy me a drink and I might actually put that on my list of things to consider. You know once I'm done indulging in all the debauchery I have planned if by some miracle I actually get out of this alive." Katherine chewed her lip as a thought struck, her gaze becoming distant as she drew her scarf from her pocket. "Andy . . . That whole thing about the Killer Gene. Do you actually think think its bullshit?"

@mercyandaminute|| (X)

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Of Starlight

A/N: The last two chapters of this story (19 and 20) are currently being written y’all. I wrote this book faster than I thought I would...

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood, death/dying, sexual assault

Word Count: 2176

————————————

Chapter 4: Moved On, Too

“Okay, but just so we’re clear on the finer details,” Klaus started as he and Five exited the latter’s room, gaining the attention of (Y/N), who was in her own bedroom. “I just gotta go into this place and pretend to be your dear old dad, correct?”

“Yeah. Something like that.” Five answered as (Y/N) joined them in the hallway.

“What’s our cover story?” Klaus questioned, looking between the two teenagers. Five furrowed his brows and shook his head a little in confusion.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I mean, was I really young when I had you? Like, sixteen? Like, young and…,” Klaus dramatically placed his hands over his chest. “terribly misguided?”

“Sure.”

“Your mother, that slut. Whoever she was. We met at…” He trailed off in thought. (Y/N) thought to humor them a little.

“The disco?”

“The disco! That’s, good, (Y/N)! Okay? Remember that,” He excitedly agreed, Five muttering a ‘you’re unbelievable’ to the girl as Klaus continued on with his story. “Oh, my god, the sex was amaaaazing.”

“What a disturbing glimpse into that thing you call a brain.” Five began walking away. (Y/N) followed him as Klaus stayed back in thought.

“Wait, what about (Y/N)?” He asked, the two turning back to him. “Who is she gonna be?”

“She’s my friend.” Five plainly answered, Klaus gasping.

“Or girlfriend.”

“No.”

“Oh, you two don’t have to kiss! We gotta sell it and you two have way too much chemistry to be just friends.” He pointed between the two, (Y/N) and Five rolling their eyes in irritation. She’d be lying if she said she disagreed, and it wouldn’t have bothered her to pretend to be Five’s girlfriend, but she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Especially not now.

Huffing, Five looked to his brother again. “If I say yes, will you shut up and come on?”

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

At Meritech Prosthetics, the three Hargreeves were sat in front of the executive’s desk. Well, (Y/N) and Klaus were sitting, Five was standing in between them, his jaw severely clenched as he listened to the man speak, “Like I said to your son and his girlfriend earlier, any information about the prosthetics we build is strictly confidential. Without the client’s consent, I simply can’t help you.”

“Well, we can’t get consent if you don’t give us a name.” Five grit his teeth as he leaned forward.

“Well, that’s not my problem. Sorry. Now, there’s really nothing more I can do, so-”

“And what about my consent?” Klaus suddenly spoke up, the three turning to him with furrowed brows.

“Excuse me?” The executive questioned.

“Who gave you permission… to lay your hands… on my son?” He took a shaky breath and pointed at Five. Both the executive and the boy let out a ‘what?’. “You heard me.”

“I didn’t touch your son.”

“Oh, really?” Klaus stood up from his chair, and (Y/N) knew what he was going to do next was not going to be good. “Well, then how did he get that swollen lip, then?”

“He doesn’t have a swollen-” The man was cut off when Klaus struck Five in the mouth. The boy grunted on impact and (Y/N) quickly stood, in total shock. Did Klaus really just hit his brother across the face? The Seance turned to the man and leaned forward against the desk.

“I want it. Name, please. Now.”

“You’re crazy.” The executive pointed up at him, receiving a chuckle in response. (Y/N) went to Five’s side and silently checked his lip. It wasn’t bleeding too bad, but he definitely had a mark from it. He gently placed a hand on her wrist to let her know that he was fine.

“You got no idea,” Klaus then picked up a snowglobe that was sitting on the desk and smiled at it. “‘Peace on Earth’. That’s so sweet.” He remarked before smashing his head through it. Everyone jumped as glass shattered and fell from his bleeding head, a piece getting stuck in a strand of his hair. “God, that hurt!” He groaned.

The man quickly picked up the phone. “I’m calling secur- What are you doing?!” He exclaimed as Klaus snatched the phone from him and held it up to his ear, a gasp leaving his lips.

“There’s been an assault… in Mr Big’s office, and we need security, now. Schnell!” As he hung up the phone, the man could only stare up at him in fear. Klaus sighed and seemingly shook off the pain in his head. “Now, here’s what’s gonna happen, Grant.”

“It’s… Lance-”

“In about sixty seconds, two security guards are gonna burst through that door, and they’re gonna see a whole lot of blood, and they’re gonna wonder ‘what the hell happened?’,” (Y/N) glanced over at Five who, despite his bleeding lip, was smirking at Lance. “And we’re gonna tell them that you… beat the shit out of us,” And just when they thought he was done, he quickly grabbed (Y/N) by her wrist and yanked her to his side. “And that you inappropriately touched my son’s girlfriend.”

“What?!” Lance and (Y/N) exclaimed. Klaus gently pushed her behind him and patted her head.

“It’s alright, sweetie, you can say it…” He gently spoke. It was silent for a minute and Lance was frantically glancing between her and Klaus. Eventually, she cleared her throat.

“I-I told him to stop.”

“Oh… You’re gonna do great in prison, Grant. Trust me, I’ve been there. Little piece of chicken like you. Oh, my god, you’re gonna get passed around like a…,” Klaus circled his hips. “You’re just- You’re gonna do great. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Jesus, you are a real sick bastard.” Lance shakily spoke as he looked around at the three. Klaus simply nodded at him.

“Thank you.” He whispered, spitting a glass shard out of his mouth.

It was safe to say that Lance was convinced to give them the information they needed. He led them to a desk and started going through a drawer, occasionally glancing up at Klaus, who was sitting on the desk and sweetly smiling at him. (Y/N) was sitting on the desk on the other side as Five simply sat in a chair in front of him. Finding the folder he needed, Lance started looking through it. “Oh, that’s strange.”

“What?” Five frowned.

“Uh, the eye. It hasn’t been purchased by a client yet.” The executive explained as Klaus hopped off the desk and got in his personal space.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Well, uh, our logs say that the eye with that serial number…,” He trailed off and was clearly uncomfortable by Klaus stalking behind him. Lance frowned as he scanned the information. “This can’t be right. It hasn’t even been manufactured yet. Where did you get that eye?”

Five sighed and locked eyes with (Y/N), whose were staring back in concern.

As the three walked out of the lab, Five and Klaus started to get into an argument about why the eye was important, but (Y/N) couldn’t have been bothered to listen at the moment. She was wondering how Michael and Jada were doing. Have they eaten yet? Of course, they have. Mom’s taking good care of them. Well, what about Michael? Is he getting homework done? I really hope he isn’t slacking off...

She stopped when she noticed Klaus and Five weren’t walking with her anymore. She turned to see them on the stairs in front of the lab.

“Hey, you know, I’ve just realized why you’re so uptight,” Klaus gestured towards his crotch. “You must be horny as hell!” He laughed. (Y/N) contemplated whether or not she really wanted to listen to this, but joined them anyway. “All those years by yourself. It’s gotta screw with your head, being alone.”

“Well…,” Five started quietly. “I wasn’t alone.” This caught both their attention. Klaus raised a brow.

“Oh? Pray tell.”

“Her name was Delores,” He told after a second of silence. “We were together for over thirty years.”

“Whatever happened to the clone I sent after you?” (Y/N) questioned. “Did it get left behind before you jumped? I told it to look after you.”

“Must’ve left it in 2002… It was just me and Delores throughout the apocalypse.”

Delores. That name again… sounded so familiar. (Y/N) was honestly very happy for Five. Happy that he wasn’t alone, happy that he’d moved on from whatever they had as kids. She’d done it, after all. So, she couldn’t have asked him to not do the same. Though, she couldn’t help the pit that formed in her stomach at the thought of it. She snapped out of her thoughts when she heard Klaus yelling about his money. Only then did she notice that Five had left in a cab. (Y/N) rolled her eyes and took her wallet out of her jacket pocket, handing a twenty to her brother.

“Buy yourself something pretty.”

“You are a saint, sister dear.”

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

Returning to the Academy, (Y/N) found Allison in one of the upstairs rooms, sitting on the windowsill and smoking a cigarette. She tilted her head with a smile before silently walking up to her. “Hey, Ally.”

“Oh, shit,” Allison jumped and turned to her sister. “Jesus, (Y/N), you can’t do that.”

“May I?” She held her hand out for the cig, Allison raising a brow before handing it over. She watched her sister take a long drag as she sat beside her on the windowsill. (Y/N) raised a brow at her. “What?” She exhaled the smoke.

“Nothing… It’s just that… I thought you were trying to quit.”

“Yeah, Anthony would’ve wanted me to… but I really need it right now,” She heavily sighed before staring up at the night sky. “I miss my babies…”

“That makes two of us,” Allison shook her head and took back the cigarette once it was handed back to her. “God, what I would give to know how she’s doing…”

“Why don’t you call?”

“Because Patrick is being a grade A asshole… He wouldn’t let me speak to her.”

“What an ass,” (Y/N) shook her head. “If Anthony and I had ever split up, I would’ve never kept the kids from him… What’d you ever seen in him?”

“I don’t know…,” Allison leaned her head back, eyes sliding to her sister. “Speaking of rocky relationships… What’s going on with you and Five?” Her question made (Y/N) quickly sit up. “Oh, come on, you two were smitten when we were kids! Everyone knew it.”

(Y/N) shook her head and plucked the white stick out of Allison’s hand. “We’re not starting with this, Ally. Nothing is going on. We’ve both moved on from that shit.”

“That shit? That ‘shit’ was love and it’s still there. Neither of you truly moved on.”

“Well, Five definitely did. Told me about a woman he was with for years. Delores…”

“Oh, Delores… You think she’s cute?” Allison teased, receiving a shove. She laughed and shoved (Y/N) back. “I’m being serious!”

“You know she is, Five wouldn’t go with some hag, even if she was the last woman on Earth… Probably a babe, even at fifty-eight…”

“You sound… so jealous right now.” There was a long silence between the two, Allison waiting patiently for her sister to respond, but she laughed at what she said next,

“Piss off, Allison.”

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

The wind howled as Five spun his body around, still taking in what was left around him. Right by his side was (Y/N)’s clone, seemingly observing the current state he was in. Its eyes moved all around his face, then to his current line of vision. A single hand stuck out of the debris not too far away from him, holding what looked to be a bloody eyeball. Quickly moving forward, Five bent down and pried it out of the dead hand and wiped off the blood before looking to who the hand belonged to. His stomach dropped when he got his answer.

Luther -- or who he assumed was Luther, older and dead, crushed under rubble. Moving around the area, he found Allison, Diego and Klaus in the same state. All older, all buried under remains, and all dead. He had been staring at Klaus’s lifeless body when he heard rustling from a little ways away. Turning in the direction, he saw the clone moving some bricks around. Five made his way over to it, and what he saw made him collapse to his knees immediately.

There was (Y/N). His (Y/N). Bleeding from her mouth due to the rubble that was once crushing her, now moved away by her own clone. She was the same age as their siblings, the light from her (e/c) eyes slowly draining as her fingers slightly twitched. Right as Five went to hold her hand, her body gave one last twitch before going completely still, her eyes devoid of any light they’ve ever had.

————————————

Taglist: @melinda-hargreeves @43sparrows @sapphicsyn @m00n-sh @starcurrent @alexander-hamilhoe @youcandalekmyballs @wonderlandfandomkingdom

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the webs we weave

For @jitsukawaa as requested for a Raffle prize!

Warnings: noncon/dubcon elements (oral, intercourse)

This is dark! (aged up) Peter Parker x Reader and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader is a journalist at The Bugle but she finds not all her co-workers are what they seem.

Note: This is a bit of a long one but I got a bit carried away. I tried to fit the request as much as I could. Anyway, hope y’all enjoy. Leave some feedback, like and reblog if you can <3

Another late night. Those were common as of late. Early mornings, too.

Given the content of your days, the stories, it was expected you’d be sleepless. A string of assaults across the city. All of them women. The perpetrator, according to the limited input of the police and the hesitant interviews of the victims; a man, masked, faceless. The descriptions varied, skewed by fear, by trauma. Neither you or the authorities had a concise picture of the suspect.

The first few incidents were reported by a senior report, Colin Rusk. But once the novelty ran dry, Editor-in-Chief Jameson, redirected Rusk to ‘more pressing’ stories and dropped the serial assaulter in your lap. 

You were new with little more under your belt than lifestyle articles and the occasional fluff piece on fleeting fads. Your inexperience made it difficult, if not impossible, to say no. And despite your resilience, your ongoing investigation, the cases would likely go cold and be shoved to the back of the paper until there was no room left for them. Your singular goal was to prevent that cynical end. Making your name as a reporter was secondary.

That morning, you raced down to the latest crime scene. A woman, blonde like most of the others, sat with her legs hanging out of a police car as she gave her statement. Visibly shaken and with bruises on her face, she was just the latest in a string. You’d not be permitted to speak with her until the police took her to the station and filed their report. For the time, you documented the scene as it was.

You were pulled back to your desk. It was almost as if you could still feel the dampness in your bones. It rained overnight and the streets had been slick and shiny in the afterglow. You pored over your notes, the little diagram you’d drawn of the alley way. The minimal details gleaned from the officers on sight. It was all so grim. And sadly familiar.

The attacker had a pattern; a demographic. Lone women, unsuspecting, vulnerable. Blonde, or light brunettes, small enough to be overpowered. You sighed and rubbed your eyes. There were thousands of women fitting that description in the city. Impossible to predict the perpetrator’s next move when it could happen anywhere.

You closed your eyes and leaned back. If the police couldn’t solve this, you surely couldn’t. But that didn’t mean you stopped. It didn’t mean you quieted the voices of the victims as so many others had. No, you kept going. Kept writing their stories down.

You were jolted as a folder slapped across your desk. Your eyes shot open and you looked up into the warm brown eyes before you. Peter mirrored your fright and gave a nervous smile. He pulled his hand away from the folder he’d just laid before you.

“Sorry, I thought you heard me,” He said. “I figured I’d give you a print of the photos I got this morning.”

“Really?” You reached for the folder and peeked inside at the glossy paper. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He preened. “Jameson won’t want them anyway. Just the ones of the fire on the next block.”

You nodded and set the folder down with your notes. You ran into Peter by chance. He was passing by on his way to his own assignment. He stopped and snapped a few shots, made his usual awkward small talk, and moved along. He’d only been full-time at the Bugle for a year; before he’d been a freelancer throughout his schooling. He was a kid, even compared to you.

“Jameson doesn’t even want this,” You scoffed at your messy desk. “I swear, he’s just trying to force me out. I mean, I guess it’s better than writing about the mayor’s new wallpaper.”

“Jameson’s an idiot but you’re a good reporter. Besides, the Bugle is just your beginning. I know it.” He smiled. He was always so optimistic. It made you feel old.

“Easy for you to say,” You shook your head. “I’m almost thirty and just starting out. You’re still a kid and...Sorry, Peter. I’m just frustrated.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I might be young, but I know how you feel.” He leaned on your desk. “You know, everyone thinks I’m a kid and they just don’t take me seriously but I’m not, you know, a kid. Age is just a number, not a deadline.”

“Peter, I didn’t--”

“I know you didn’t mean it like that. You’re not one of them.” He shrugged and pushed himself straight. “Not like Rusk.”

“Rusk?” You wondered aloud. 

The man was stern, business-minded. A tenured writer. But you’d never had much issue with him yourself. In fact, he’d been most helpful in your early days at the Bugle. You might be picking up his scraps but it was far better than writing a tenth of a page on a dog show.

“Yeah,” Peter blinked at you. His smile changed, as if he knew something you didn’t. “Oh, alright.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Peter.”

“Well, I...you’re not that naive, are you?” He asked.

“Am I? What do you mean?”

“Rusk never worked for his job, he’s the son of an old friend of Jameson’s. He came on full-time with top billing from the start.” Peter lowered his voice, cautious even though the office was empty.

“Oh, but...I mean, he’s still a good reporter.”

“Good but not entirely...professional.” Peter scoffed.

“Do I sense jealousy?” You teased.

“Me? Jealous of him? No.” Peter’s smile fell. “I’m doing just fine and the Bugle definitely isn’t it for me. I’m starting school next year and then one day, I’m out of here. I don’t wanna be a camera jockey forever.”

“I don’t know, this might be it for me.” You said. “A little late to be starting over a third time.”

“It’s never too late. Just don’t let yourself get sucked in by Rusk and his cronies.” Peter urged. “They’re no good.”

“Thanks, Peter.” You said lightly. 

“Really,” His face darkened. “I mean it. He has...a record in this office. With the women. And I’ve seen how helpful he is with you.”

“Peter, it’s not--”

“I know, I know, I’m young, clueless,” He raised his hands defensively. “I get it. Just...advice. You don’t have to take it but it’s there.”

You nodded and tapped your fingers on the folder. You thought for a moment on your work with Rusk; his insistence that you take over his story; the way he offered to proofread your back page drivel. Peter might be young, but he was smarter than his age belied. There was nothing wrong with being cautious.

“Thanks, Peter,” You flicked the corner of the folder as you looked up at him. “These will help a lot.”

“Really, it’s nothing.” His smile resumed. “Let me know if you ever need a lens. I’d be more than happy to help.”

“You’re too sweet.” You said.

“And you’re too humble.” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “And it’s late so...I’ll leave ya to it and see ya tomorrow, maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe,” You chimed. “See ya, Peter.”

“See ya.” He slowly backed away. “Oh, and let me know if Rusk gives ya any trouble.” He gave a comical flex. “I got your back, newbie.”

You laughed and he did too before he turned away entirely. You turned back to your desk and sighed. How was it that he made you feel young and old all at once? You shook off the cloudlike feeling and grabbed the folder. You’d go through the photos and call it a night. Hopefully, the morning wouldn’t bring a new victim.

🕷️

Your door was open. The chain was snapped and the lock busted in. Worse, you hadn’t even heard the disturbance. Hadn’t even sensed the intruder as you slept in the next room. A rude awakening as you got up and found the door ajar but your apartment otherwise undisturbed.

You called the police and waited in the hall. When they arrived, they asked you their usual questions, the same they asked the women you’d been documenting. Then they investigated you apartment. Nothing was out of place; nothing taken or moved. It was all very peculiar. Almost, the insinuated, as if nothing happened.

When they left, your landlord arrived. You stood by as he called the maintenance man and a locksmith. By the late afternoon, your door was repaired but your wits were fractured. Weeks spent tailing a monster had you paranoid. In your overwrought mind, you wondered if perhaps their attention had turned on you. It all felt too circumstantial. Too farfetched.

You locked yourself inside and submitted your write-up from home. You spent the night on the couch, sleepless, listening for any movement from the other side of the door. Nothing. Exhausted and nervous, you fixed your coffee and dressed. You set off for the day, though the sound of your lock sliding into place gave you no reassurance.

There was another assault. You spent five minutes at the office before you were back out on the street. This one happened only a block from your building. Was that another clue? A confirmation of your outlandish suspicions. You shrugged it off as you came upon the police tape; the scene all too familiar.

You went through your usual routine. Rebuffed by the police as you examined the sight for any clue. Listening to any morsel that slipped carelessly from officers and onlookers alike. You finished your notes and tucked them in your bag. You took one last look at the dumpster, the shadowy fire escape, and the cracked pavement. The image was burned in your mind. An omen of your new fear.

When you returned to the office, you were shaking. You didn’t realize it until you were sat at your desk with your bag in your lap, staring at a dead screen. The voices and typing all around you buzzed in your ears and you shuddered as you hugged you leather bag to your chest. The bright fluorescent bulbs burned your eyes and it felt as if they were watering.

“Hey,” You snapped your head up as Peter greeted you. His face was creased with concern. “You okay?”

“Ye-yeah,” You stuttered and let your bag slip to the floor. You kicked it under the desk and hit the power button of your computer. “Just...thinking.”

He didn’t look convinced. “I didn’t see you yesterday.”

“I...had to take a personal day.” You signed in and shuffled through the papers on your desk. “I’m here now, though.”

“Are you?” He asked. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Fine, just...it’s a heavy story, ya know? Starting to get old.” You bent down to reach into your bag blindly, awkwardly craning your head up above the desk as you fished around.

“Hey,” A voice had you sitting up quickly. Peter’s eyes narrowed as you turned to Rusk. He wore his usual striped button up and skinny tie. “You rushed out this morning. I didn’t get a chance to ask you how you were?”

“Hmm, I’m f-fine.” You stuttered. “Just fine.”

“Yeah? Heard about the break-in. Scary stuff.” He put his hands on his hips. “You need anything, to talk, an escort, let me know.”

“Really, I’m fine.” You insisted. You glanced between Rusk and Peter; the latter watched you closely. “It was nothing.”

“Well, just know, I’m here for you. Whatever you need.” Rusk winked before he turned away and you watched him stroll back to his office. 

You sighed and looked to Peter. His eyes were on Rusk’s door. You’d never seen him anything close to angry but he scowled dangerously after the writer.

“Break-in?” He said as his eyes drifted back to you. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I...I don’t even know how he found out,” You sniffed. “Really, the police didn’t even take it seriously. There was nothing stolen, they didn’t touch me. I don’t --they think it was a drunk or something.”

“It doesn’t matter. You should be safe.” Peter insisted. “Look, I don’t blame you for turning away his offer, guy’s kinda a skeez, but let me walk you home.”

“I take the subway.”

“Then let me ride with you.” He said. “I know I don’t look like much but it’s better than being alone.”

“Peter, you don’t have to--”

“I want to.” He asserted. “Just humour me.”

“Why?”

“Because...we’re friends, aren’t we?” He asked. “Haven’t got many of those around here.”

You considered him and leaned on the arm of your chair. “Yeah, we are, Peter.” You grabbed your mouse and looked to your screen. “I hope you don’t mind staying late.”

“I’m a night owl,” He assured you. “Have to be in this line of work.”

🕷️

Peter was true to his word and waited for you until well after office hours. You were quiet as he walked you to the station and sat with you on the train. He didn’t hide his glances over his shoulders and his fleeting eyes, as if he expected to catch your intruder then and there. It was almost endearing.

You were tired. You needed sleep and were ready to doze on the train. Peter nudged you awake at your stop and followed you out onto the platform. He let you lead him up the steps to the street and you stopped at the corner.

“I think I can handle it from here,” You said. “Building’s just across the street.”

“No, I insist. For my peace of mind, please.”

“Peter.”

“What’s a few more steps?” He prodded.

“What if I’m worried about you getting home?” You teased. 

“I don’t live far.” 

“Still. It’s late.” You chided. “You didn’t have to come all this way.”

“I did.” He said. “I’ve been out much later than this.”

“Ah yes, I forget. Youths.”

“I’m not much younger than you.” He insisted.

“Young enough.” You remarked. 

The street light glared in his eyes. For a moment, you were taken aback. The way the shadows cast his face. The innocent boy looked almost sinister.

“I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.” He said. “So let me walk you to your door.”

“Alright,” You relented. His tone was disconcerting. So unlike the carefree upstart. “Come on.” 

He walked with you across the street and you bit your lip. You could feel the tension rising off of him. Was he mad at you?

“Peter,” You turned to him just in front of your building. “I’m sorry if I--”

“Sorry?” He looked genuinely confused. “For what?”

“Uh, nothing.” You shook your head. “I’m tired. I thought--Thank you. Really, I feel a little better.”

“Not at all,” He smiled. “You good?”

“Yeah,” You replied. “Good night, Peter.”

“Night,” He said sweetly. “Just…” He hesitated before he could step away. “...remember that you’re not alone.”

“Yeah, thanks,” You nodded and took your keys from your pocket. “See ya.”

You listened to his light footsteps recede as you unlocked the front door. Inside, the elevator bore a staunch out of order sign. You grumbled and headed for the stairs. Ten floors up and you were out of breath and even more exhausted.

Your lock was still in place. That was slightly reassuring. Inside, it was dark and you didn't bother to flip the light. Too tired despite your paranoia. You dropped your bag as you neared the bedroom. There, you flipped the light switch and felt an unusual breeze across your front.

The window was open. The curtains stirred as the air washed in and your heart clutched. You rushed over and slammed down the window with a defeaning bang. You twisted the lock into place and turned back to the room.

Your top drawer hung precariously from your dresser. Your panties were messed, as if they'd been rifled through, and you felt the bile in your throat. 

You ran back into the front room and turned on all the lights. Nothing else had been touched. It all stood as you left it and no other sign of your intruder remained. Not a speck of dust out of place.

You searched high and low; in each closet, beneath the furniture, even behind the shower curtain. Nothing. You were alone, but you didn't feel it.

Should you call the police again? Let them laugh at your paranoia? As it was, you were certain they'd tossed away their last report. 

You went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. You sat on the couch and pulled your knees to your chest. You hugged them as your eyes flitted nervously at each shadow. The knife shook against your leg as you counted the minutes until daylight.

🕷️

The morning saw you at the office, bleary-eyed and baffled. The night seemed a haze to you; dreamlike and distant. Before you was the final draft of your latest article on the city's terrorizer. The words were real, the events real, and the letters read bolder than before.

Your habit of spacing out at your desk once more had you jumping in your skin. Colin Rusk stood beside you. His grey-blue eyes peered down at you as he clicked a pen casually in his hand.

"You got a moment? Need to see you in my office." He asked but it wasn't a question.

"Sure," You stood and he reached past you. He leaned so close you could smell his cologne as he snatched the article off your desk. 

"I'll take this." He spun with the papers in hand and led you across the office. 

You glanced around as you walked between desks. Peter's brows were high on his forehead as he watched. He frowned and you turned away to follow Rusk into his office.

He closed the door after you. He waited for you to sit before he did. When he faced you, he was nonchalant. He dropped your article on his desk and smirked.

"You've done some good work." He said. "You should really be proud of yourself."

"Uh, thank you." You gripped the arms of the chair. Tired. Ready to keel over.

"Really. You're coverage is thorough and compelling. Riveting…" He huffed as he smiled piteously at you. "You're a good writer but this story isn't going anywhere."

"No…" You breathed weakly.

"Jameson wants it cut. Three months and no leads. Police are close-lipped as nuns."

You frowned. You couldn't help your disappointment.

"But I've got you a new assignment." He announced. "A grassroots movement in the ghetto. Silent protests. Real underground."

"Really?"

"As long as you don't mind sharing. It's kinda my story but I could use a hand." He offered. "That sound okay?"

"Y-yeah." You smiled. "I'd love--" 

His phone chirped and his brow arched. He grabbed it and checked the screen. He shook his head and slowly stood.

"Pardon me. Jameson." He waved his phone. "Right back."

He rounded his desk and passed you. You watched him go then sat awkwardly in his office wringing your hands. Your eyes bounced from corner to corner. Awards framed on the wall, a plaque on his desk, fancy pens and a leather folder. 

His bag sat on the table against the wall. Unzipped and on its side. Papers threatened to spill out and a shock of cornflower blue. You tilted your head at the familiar shade. 

You peeked over your shoulder. The door was open a crack but you saw no movement on the other side of the frosted glass. You stood and cautiously neared the table. You looked again. Nothing.

You lifted the bag to peer inside and ripped your hand away. It was as if you'd been bit. Those were yours, at least they looked like yours. You shook and heard footsteps near the door. You lifted your head and pretended to read the framed certificate on the wall as Rusk entered behind you.

"That was my first year here," He preened as he neared. "I'm sure you'll have one of your own soon enough."

"Uh, yeah," You stepped away from him slowly. "Um, can I... think about it?"

"Huh?" 

"Sharing the assignment."

"Sure. Only a day though. I, rather we, have a deadline," He reached out and pulled a string loose from your sweater. "That enough, sweetheart?"

You watched his hand a nodded. You bristled on the nickname and backed away. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to work." You sidled along to the door. "Thanks."

"No problem," He purred. "This could be it, you know? You're big break. Your name next to mine."

"Mhmm," You skirted out quickly and closed the door behind you.

Peter was at your desk. You didn't notice at first and stopped yourself from sitting in his lap. He watched you curiously. You held back a yawn and leaned against the desk.

"Peter." You crossed your arms.

"What was that about?" He asked.

"Just…my assignment got pulled."

"Oh?"

"But Rusk offered me a new one. Dunno if I should take it." You played with your mouse.

"Sorry, I'm in your seat." He made to stand.

"No, no, it's fine." You waved him off. "I don't really have anything pressing, do I?"

He considered you a moment as he swiveled in your chair. He stopped and sat up. "You okay?"

You blinked. After a moment, you nodded. You pushed yourself off the desk and rubbed your forehead. "I gotta use the restroom."

You walked away hurriedly and almost tripped over the loose laces of your heeled oxfords. You quickly hid yourself inside the restroom and tried to rein in your reeling nerves. You were crazy, you had to be. 

Rusk definitely hadn’t broken into your apartment. That was ludicrous. Maybe it was a pocket square or a random sock. It wasn’t your panties. That was just...creepy. You were just paranoid.

You couldn’t believe entirely in your own delusion but you had to push it aside. You had work to do, albeit not much. You breathed shakily and swallowed down your anxiety. Just be normal. Just relax. Act like it was nothing and it would be.

You pulled open the door. You almost crashed into Peter as you stepped into the small hall between the restrooms and the office. You caught yourself against the wall.

“Woah.” You squeaked.

“Sorry, I...just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m...just disappointed.”

He narrowed his eyes. He didn’t look so innocent anymore. He looked as if he could see right through you. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I know you think I’m blind but I can tell when you’re upset.” He prodded. “I swear, mum’s the word.”

You sighed and looked out into the office. You turned back to him and pointed down the hall. You sidled along with him and lowered your head. Your stomach flurried wildly as you mustered the words. How could you say this? You’d sound crazy.

“I think you were right about Rusk,” You kept your voice soft. “He...He offered me to share an assignment but I don’t think he really cares about the story.”

Peter blinked. An exaggerated bat of his long lashes as he huffed. “I won’t say it.”

“I know, you told me so, but Peter…” You looked over your shoulder before you continued. “Peter, weird things have been happening. Last night, after you left, I went upstairs and...my window was wide open and...I don’t know. My dresser-- someone was there. Someone broke in again.”

“Did you call the cops?” He asked.

“No, I-I was embarrassed. I thought...when I called them the first time, they were laughing at me. They thought I broke the lock myself, I know it.”

“You should’ve called them.”

“Why? So they can mock me?” You caught yourself before you could raise your voice. “Look, that doesn’t matter what matters is...I think it was Rusk. I mean, it’s stupid but, I think he has...something of mine. Something that would connect him to the break-ins.” You gulped. “The more I think of it, the more I think of how he passed this story off on me about all these attacks, I wonder…” 

“You don’t think it’s him?” Peter asked.

“Of course not. I just think, maybe, he...might have gotten an idea or two.”

Peter’s eyes were wide. He looked as frightened as you felt. “Can you confirm that what you saw, that what he has is really what you think it is?”

“I didn’t notice it missing but I didn’t really look. I was too scared.” You confessed.

Peter’s jaw set and his eyes darted down the hall. “I’ll walk you home again and we’ll see if you’re right.”

“You don’t have--”

“I do. Don’t you realize how dangerous this all is? How do you know you won’t walk in and catch him in the act? Or maybe he decides to visit while you’re home?” He gently touched your elbow. “You’re leaving on time tonight and I’m going with you.”

You scratched your head and looked away. You were embarrassed. You were being comforted, protected even, by this boy. Well, maybe you should drop the ruse. He was braver than most men you knew. And he was technically an adult and you really weren’t that much older. That became even more obvious when he was with you.

🕷️

The subway ride was long. Silent and tense. You fidgeted beside Peter, embarrassed and reassured by his presence all at once. He sent you small glances; stifled smiles meant to calm you. But they only served to remind you of why he was there.

Up the concrete steps and across the rush hour street, you had to stop at the front door of your building to catch your breath. Your chest felt as if it was being crushed.

Peter patted your shoulder and said softly, “It’s okay,” and you carried on.

Your apartment door still bore signs of the previous break in. The new lock was shiny against the flaked paint and torn wood. You slid your key in and turned. You opened it slowly as you peeked inside, certain you’d find your tormentor within. Nothing.

Peter followed you in and chained the door behind him as if to assuage you. You looked away ashamed. “I’m crazy, aren’t I?”

“No.” He said. “I don’t think so. Just scared, and why wouldn’t you be?”

You nodded and turned away from him. Warily you walked across the front room and glanced around. Nothing seemed out of place. Peter followed closely as you neared the short hall that led to your bedroom. You spun back to him. 

“I’ll go see if--if I was right.” You stopped him. “Wait here.”

“Wait here? Shouldn’t I--”

“I’ll scream if I need you.” You replied. “Okay?”

“Of course,” He relented. “I’ll be here.”

You left him there, a concerned furrow in his brow. You entered the bedroom, the dresser drawer was still open but the window was locked and in place. The sight reassured you. You slowly walked across the room and stopped before the drawer. 

You sifted through the messy contents, your hands growing frantic as the cornflower panties were nowhere to be found. Next you checked the hamper, maybe you’d worn them that week. They weren’t there.

You stumbled back out to the hall numbly. You felt hollow and worn. You caught yourself on the wall before your legs could give out.

Peter was by the coffee table. You watched as he reached for the knife you’d left there and he lifted it to the dim light peeking in through the windows. He turned to you with a question curled in his lips.

“It’s not there...he took it.” You pushed yourself straight and stepped fully into the room. “I can’t believe--It can’t be, Peter.”

“But you do believe,” He said and he turned the knife in his fingers. “You must. I mean--” He gestured to the blade. “You wouldn’t be so scared if you didn’t believe.”

“Should I call the cops now?”

“You could but...You’ve corrupted the scene, right? It’s been what? A day?” He set down the knife and sighed.

“So what do I do? I--Jesus, why am I asking you? You shouldn’t be dealing with all this.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to deal with it.” He assured you as he neared you. “There’s only one thing you can do. You have to wait for him to try again.”

“What?” You reeled. “What if--”

“With me.” He gently reached out and took your hand. He squeezed it as he spoke. “You can’t stay here. Not alone. So either you come stay with me or I’m staying here, but I can’t let you be alone.”

“Peter, you’re too nice. You shouldn’t--”

“But I am, so I’m either going to settle in or you’re going to pack a bag.” His grip tightened on your hand before he released you suddenly, as if recalling that he was touching you.

“It’s too much.” 

“Anyone would do it. Anyone who cared.” He shrugged. “So what’s it gonna be?”

“I can’t sleep here.” You said.

“Alright,” His jaw set determinedly. “So, grab a change of clothes and let’s go.”

You nodded shyly and let your leather shoulder bag fall to your elbow. Your lips parted to ask if he was sure and he tilted his head sternly.

“Come on,” He intoned. “I’m hungry. Once we’re outta here we can grab something.”

“O-okay,” You gave a weak smile and he mirrored it.

You turned away and dragged your feet back to the bedroom. Every time you entered, you were reminded of the open window, the ghastly breeze, and the stab of fear deep in your gut. You went to your dresser and blindly grabbed for a set of clothes to shove in your shoulder bag. A night away from this place would be good; safe.

🕷️

Peter’s apartment was small but cozy. Lived in but neat. It was almost endearing. The Playstation controller on the coffee table, the throw still curled in the shape of his body on the couch, posters of his favourite comics on the walls. He apologized for the mess but you assured him, you seen worse from men older than him.

He was courteous. He took your bag and led you to the bedroom. He insisted on taking the couch. He dug out his second set of sheets from his closet and placed the piled neatly atop with a promise to fix up the bed after you ate. He didn’t listen to your protests, merely brushed you back through to the living room.

You sat beside him on the couch. You felt welcome but uneasy. You always found it awkward to be in anothers space. Peter pulled out his phone and tapped the screen with his thumb.

“Sorry, I’m not much of a cook.” He chuckled. “You like pizza? Chinese?”

“I’m not picky,” You replied.

“Easy to please?” He ventured playfully.

“In certain ways,” You squinted at him. “How about Mexican?”

“Sure,” He scrolled on the screen and turned the phone to you. “Here. Pick something.”

You took his phone and browsed the menu. You realized you hadn’t eaten since the day before; nothing more than your usual morning coffee. Your stomach growled and you restrained yourself to a vegetarian dish. Overdo it and you’d wake up in agony. Thirty loomed closer every day.

You handed his phone back and he quickly picked his own dish and hit confirm. You rubbed your hands together nervously. You looked around his small apartment. It reminded you of college; of the useless degree hidden in the back of your closet.

“I’ll send you the money.” You offered.

“You won’t. My treat.” He insisted.

“But...you’ve already done so much.”

“What’s a couple bucks?” He shrugged. “So, you like video games? I got a second controller around here somewhere.”

“Does Tetris count?” You teased.

“I have Tetris,” He smirked. 

“I was kidding.” You took the controller from him as he handed it to you. “But no, I don’t play very much.”

“That’s okay.” He grabbed his own controller and switched on the t.v.  “I’ll take it easy on you.”

“Oh yeah?” You challenged. “You wouldn’t be talking shit if we were playing Tetris.”

“We’ll see who’s talking shit at the end of the night.” He jibed as he sat beside you. 

You shook your head and laughed at him. You could almost forget that he was the upstart kid with his oversized camera. Or the break-ins. Or that you were here hiding. The fear seemed to dissipate when faced with his perennial optimism.

🕷️

After you ate, you found yourself even more tired than before. You didn’t recall dozing but Peter woke you with a nudge and helped you up. He showed you to the bedroom where he’d made up the bed for you. You thanked him groggily, your fatigue catching up to you, and he left you with lingering good night.

When the door closed, you grabbed your bag and clumsily pulled out the loose tee and pair of booty shorts. You changed and draped your worn clothes over the bag and shoved it aside. You got up to turn off the light and stumbled back to the mattress, landing stomach first across it. You hugged the pillow as sleep beckoned you forth.

It hit you all once. You slept so deeply your head felt full of sand. Your body too. Your mind was murky. Shadows rose from the depths but never fully formed. You forgot your existence, the open window, the missing panties, and Rusk’s open bag. Hours passed like seconds and eternity felt possible.

You awoke to fingertips on your cheek. Gentle as they coaxed you back to the surface. As you emerged from the depths, your chest clutched. Your eyes fluttered open, your lids heavy and lashes sharp. There was a dim light in the room, soft and eerie. A shadow laid beside you, its fingers traced the line of your jaw as it watched you awake.

Your vision cleared a little at a time. You recognized Peter through the haze. His warm brown eyes were dilated and dark. You reached up and caught his hand as he pressed his body against yours.

“What are you doing?” Your tongue was thick and your words awkward.

“Shh, it’s okay,” He pulled his hand away and dragged his fingers over your lips as he leaned in to smell your hair. 

“P-Peter,” You grabbed for his wrist. “Stop.”

Your hand missed his and hit his shoulder instead. You shoved against him but he didn’t flinch. He was stronger than he looked. You tried to sit up but he caught your neck and held you to the pillow.

How long had you been asleep? How long had he been there?

“Peter, please,” You reached for his hand as it stretched across your throat. “What--”

“I won’t hurt you. I only want to keep you safe.” His breath was hot against your cheek as his lips brushed your skin. “Don’t you want to be safe?”

“Let me go, Peter,” You squeezed his wrist. “Please, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring you?” His hand didn’t move but he pulled back to look you in the eye. “I’m protecting you.”

Your hand trembled as you pleaded again. His name died in the air.

“From the city.” He breathed. “From Rusk.”

“You-you are,” You rasped. “You’ve kept me safe, but...this...don’t you want me to feel safe. This isn’t--”

“You can’t see it. You aren’t safe. This city is dangerous and you need me.”

“I do need you, okay?” You bartered. “Of course I do, Peter, but...I need sleep, too. I’m very tired.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.” He shifted closer and your body tensed. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Peter--”

“Let me take care of you.” He moved lithely over you as he pulled your hand from his. He framed your face with his fingers and held your head in place. “Why won’t you let me take care of you?”

“Peter,” You exclaimed as the tears threatened to rise. This felt like some horrid nightmare. “W-We’re fr-friend, aren’t we? Friends don’t do this.”

He blinked. He glared at you and his face slowly softened. “Friends...no, we’re more than that.”

“Wh-what?”

“You’re mine. We’re meant to be. Can’t you see that?” His thumbs ran along your cheeks as his breath glossed over your lips. “In a city this big, to be brought together, it’s fate.”

You stared at him. Stunned, horrified. You didn’t know what to say.

“I’m not like him.” He hissed as his eyes turned dark. He focused on your lips hungrily. “I won’t use you, like him. Manipulate you.” You gulped as his lips hovered just above yours. “Violate you. Invade your space...steal from you.” 

He pressed his mouth to yours and you squirmed beneath him. Your hands were caught under him. His torso was bare and the heat of his body shrouded you. You struggled to breathe as he kissed your forcefully, as he crushed himself against you. You felt his arousal as it poked you and your eyes rounded desperately.

He pulled away at last. His lips made a trail along your cheeks as he spoke between little pecks. “Can’t you see how much better I am than him? Than anyone?” 

You wriggled under him but it only seemed to encourage him. You slipped your arms from beneath him and pushed against his sides. He drew his hands away from your face and caught your wrists. He pulled them up beside your head and pushed himself up as he pinned them to the mattress.

“Who does that, hmm? I’m better than him. I’d never...take your panties like some pervert. I’d never--”

“Panties?” You croaked and his eyes flashed. “How do you--Peter?”

“He’s just a pervert, don’t you understand? But I love you. I love all of you. I want all of you.” 

He squeezed your wrists and you watched the muscles of his arms draw taut. His chest was broader than you imagined and his torso was finely lined. You stopped your eyes before they could venture further. He was naked.

“If you love me, Peter, you’ll wait. Wait for me, won’t you?” You cooed. 

“Wait? I’ve waited.” He sneered. “I’ve watched you fawn after Rusk and I’m done waiting.”

“Peter, I don’t care about Rusk, I swear, but I’m not ready. I’m tired. I need... sleep. Can’t you wait for me…” You stared up into his dark eyes. “I-I--” Your nerves flurried wildly. You’d never been so afraid. “I love you, too.” You lied. “So won’t you wait?”

He exhaled and his lips parted. He blinked and a smile crawled across his lips. “You--Say it again.”

“I-I love you,” You whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

He bent and kissed you again. This time harder, deeper. He didn’t stop until you were out of breath. Until your eyes were damp with tears. He sat back and straddled you between his thick thighs. You quickly looked away from his hard cock. He let go of your wrists but you didn’t move. You were too afraid.

He lifted himself slightly as he tugged the hem of your shirt free. He inched it up, his fingers feeling along your skin as he did. Your strength returned and you caught his hands before he could bare your chest. You were shaking.

“I want to wait, Peter.” You begged. “Don’t you love me?”

“I do, I do,” He rocked atop you, almost frantic. “I do but I can’t. I can’t wait. I need you. I love you so much.”

You whimpered as he twisted his hands away from you. His thighs pressed against you and reminded you of his strength. You closed your eyes as your arms fell to the mattress. You were so weak. So afraid. And you could do nothing.

He shoved your shirt over your chest and you heard the gasp fall from him. He pulled the fabric past your head and tossed it aside. He bent over you as he cupped your tits, his thumb circled your nipples. “Beautiful,” He groaned as nuzzled your skin. 

His lips tickled along your cleave and the curve of your chest. His tongue teased your bud as his fingers played with the other. He closed his mouth around your nipple and teethed it softly. He purred and you bit your lip. 

His touch stoked something within you. It wasn’t him, just the basest of your instincts. A carnal reaction long withheld. 

He kneaded your flesh with hand and mouth. He tended to you as if you were delicate and yet so firmly you could not resist. You couldn’t think to. Was it fear? Was it weakness? Was it a latent desire you refused to accept?

Then he moved lower. His lips and teeth made the treacherous crawl along your stomach. The dread built as he moved further and further, as he lifted himself from your waist and his fingers tickled you. As he slid your shorts down your thighs and legs. As you let him.

You still didn’t move. You pressed your legs together but he easily wrenched them apart. Another confirmation of your helplessness.

His nose brushed along your vee and his warm breath crested your pelvis. His hands slipped up and he pressed his thumbs to your hip bones as he settled between your legs. You closed your legs around his head in an effort to keep him away but you only welcomed him closer. You looked down at him, eyes sparkling as he gazed back. Then slowly his focus descended.

He dipped his head and you writhed. Tried to get away but it was just as futile. He rubbed the tip of his nose along your pussy and his tongue followed shyly. He dragged it slowly along your lips then back down. He pushed between them and flicked over your clit. 

You spasmed and his hands squeezed your hips. He repeated the motion and you cried out in surprise. His tongue was cool against your warm folds. It felt good even when your head told you it shouldn’t. He swirled around your bud and pressed his lips around it. He sucked and lapped then slipped his tongue down again. He drank you in and savoured your taste.

You covered your face as your other hand clawed at the blanket below. You whined, weak and wretched. You felt the rise. The ripple as it rolled along your spine. The buzzing in your thighs. The pulsing of your core. Every nerve wound together and his tongue untangled them all at once.

You rocked your pelvis into his face as you came. Wanting him to stop but not. You needed more. The release was overwhelming and left you dizzy. And he kept on. He teased your overly sensitive clit so that you squirmed. Until another climax rose and you bit into your hand to keep from screaming. And still he kept on.

You were breathless and baffled when he finally lifted his head. Your sight was blurry as you shyly looked down at him. His lips glistened as they came into focus and he crawled over you. He kissed you; wet and warm. You could taste your sweetness as he forced his tongue against yours. 

He snaked his arms up under your back and hooked his hands around your shoulders. He pushed his thighs to yours as he lifted you. He sat up with you against him. You hung from his grasp as his lips wrestled with yours. He kept you aloft with one arm as he felt around between you.

You flinched as you felt his tip against you. He grazed your clit and you twitched. He pressed along your folds and stopped at your entrance. He pulled away from your lips and looked into your eyes as he pushed his head inside of you. You grabbed his shoulders and tired to shove yourself away from him. His arm clung to you tightly.

He eased into you until he bottomed out. He sighed and his hand grasped your hip. He began to rock you against him, his own pelvis tilting with yours. He hummed and kissed your jaw, nibbled along your neck, and bit into the flesh of your throat. He sucked as he moved you against him. And you were horrified as you let him.

He felt good. He shouldn’t, but he did. You slung your arms over his shoulders without thinking and chased the peak before you. He moved you faster, harder against him. You felt your juices spreading between your bodies. His hand slid down your back and he stretched his fingers across your ass. He guided your body and you followed his lead.

You were panting, desperate for another orgasm. Your clit rubbed against him with each rock of your hips. With each thrust, you moved faster, eager to reach the pinnacle. You gasped and groaned. A voice told you it was wrong but it didn’t feel wrong. 

Peter buried his head in your chest. He hummed as he took a nipple in his mouth and bounced you against him. Your fingers dug into the muscles of his back and you threw your head back. You came with a sharp cry. Your body shook against his and the world dissembled. The worries in the back of your mind drowned beneath the waves.

He fell forward until your back was to the mattress. He thrust into you as your legs curled around him. His hand was at your chin again, cradling your face as he lifted his lips to yours. He kissed you, consumed you. 

He moaned into your mouth and his hips stammered. His motion turned erratic and he lifted his head to grit back a roar. The tension squared his jaw and drained from him all at once. He sank into you as deep as he could go, long soft strokes as he came. 

He dropped down over you, his head beside yours as he panted. He shuddered and groaned. His body went limp atop you, his fingers lazily caressed your cheek. The glow sloughed away and the room grew darker. The lines were bolder, the shadows more sinister, the colours greyed. 

You pulled your arms back and pushed on his shoulder. He didn’t move. Didn’t even react. You tried again and slowly he lifted his head. He pushed himself into you as deep as he could go and you whimpered.

“Can’t you feel how much I love you?” He didn’t relent. Didn’t pull back as your walls strained around him. “Can’t you?”

You nodded, unable to speak. He was stabbing your cervix painfully and you just wanted him away from you.

“I can feel your love.” He thrust and poked you again. You squeaked. “You love me.” He began to move steadily. “You love me.” He repeated with each tilt of his hips. “You love me.” You closed your eyes as the mantra filled the room. “You love me.”

“I love you,” You croaked through your tears. “I love you.” 

But he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t. 

You were trapped in the spider’s web. Live prey paralysed as he wrapped his legs around you. As he devoured you entirely.

🕷️ 🕷️ 🕷️

[harcourtholmesii]

Friend And Enemy

Another story for @connor-sent-by-cyberlife. My intention is that this will be one part of a two part story, the second will be due for one of the future prompts.

Pairings: HankCon / Hannor / Hank X Connor

Warnings: - Swearing - Implied Sexual Situations, Drinking and Drugs - Referenced and Stated Murder - Depression and Self-Hatred - Bad Choices

Words: 2881

Enjoy!

The neon lights of the club flashed through the retinas of Hank’s optical units. For a human, they may have been blinding. A heavy pounding of bass music flooded through the club’s structure, the sound system stretched extensively across the walls. On the dance floor, human patrons were ‘dancing’, their bodies a stench of alcohol, sweat and smoke. Despite the anti-android sign on the door, it was easy for Hank to slip in, his model designed to blend in with the crowd. Few eyes trailed to the arm band on his right, or the gleaming, blue triangle, the obvious marks of an android, if only because they were all too inebriated to notice.

 It didn’t suit Hank’s expectations. He was only present in the Eden Club to search for any sign of his partner-to-be. It was the third club he had entered in search of detective Connor Arkait, previously Connor Kamski. Hank had simply been informed by Captain Fowler that this detective had told her he was due out to celebrate some occasion, and would be at the Eden Club. That narrowed it down to three locations across Detroit, and Hank had been searching for him the past hour and a half. His phone was off it seemed, as Hank had been attempting to connect to it and had been reduced to simply leaving a voicemail.

 His scanners were struggling with the mess of human faces, and whether they meant to, the crowd helped to siphon him through to the other side of the dance floor too quick for him finish his scans. His LED flashed a brilliant yellow in the android equivalent to frustration. As he leaned back against the wall of a booth, he allowed himself another look across the club. Finally, his scanners picked up on something; some loose papers beside a folder, marked with a stamp that read ‘DPD’.

 He approached, skirting the edges of the dancing, grinding crowd, until he came upon a near empty booth. A dark haired human was stooped over the papers, eyes focussed on the work before him, pen rapidly dashing across paper. Hank cleared his throat, a human gesture to gain his attention, and warm, brown eyes flicked up to meet his own. It was easily enough time to scan the other’s facial features.

 He had a 100% match.

 ‘Detective Arkait?’

 The human seemed confused, looking Hank up and down as if scanning himself. Eyes flicked to the LED on Hank’s temple, his serial and model number emblazoned upon the breast of his grey uniform. His eyes turned back to Hank’s face and took in his artificially depicted age, and the addition of silver hair and trimmed beard.

 The detective immediately started packing up his papers; it was an odd place for a human to attempt to work. It came across immediately as ‘workaholic’ behaviour, and with the lack of glass on the table or any traces of it against the detectives lips, Hank could only assume that his ‘night out’ was not one for relaxation. The detective stood, revealing him still in something akin to business wear or a uniform. The white shirt was open a bit by the collar, so that the human may not overheat in the 30 degree Celsius conditions.

 The detective had finished cleaning up, and gestured vaguely towards the front of the club, as if insinuating an exit. Hank led the way, his size enough to form a path for the detective to follow. Once they had reached the exit, beneath the streetlights and neon signs, Hank could make out where blood had risen to the surface of Connor’s skin, creating a flushed look to his features. It was probably due to the heat of the club, or the embarrassment of being caught out.

 They stepped away from the club, Hank patiently waiting to be addressed. By the time they stepped into a nearby, empty street, Connor’s face had lost some of its heat. But not all of it.

 ‘Sorry.’ Hank was not expecting an apology, nor the explanation that followed. ‘I was not expecting to be called out this evening.’ Connor adjusted one of the suspender straps, a light smack of elastic against his body a strange ministration to Hank. It confused Hank further that Connor would be explaining the circumstances to him; an android.

 ‘I am unfamiliar with the HK800 model.’

 ‘I’m a prototype android, assigned to you for a recent deviancy case.’ When Connor heard that, a pout came over his features.

 ‘So that is why Niles stole my phone.’ He huffed, blowing a stray, defiant lock out of his eyes. The same curl of hair returned to hanging just above his left eye anyway. ‘Sorry I couldn’t answer my phone. Do you have the details of the investigation, or are they still being compiled?’

 ‘The crime scene is still being investigated. Captain Fowler expressed his wish to have you there.’

 Connor smiled at him, a gesture that Hank did not understand. Humans didn’t often smile at androids, whether it was because they were against them entirely, simply saw them as objects or even when they did smile at them, it was hardly genuine. To read the human features and see that his eyes creased slightly at the corners, and the pull of his lips created dimples, Hank determined it was a real smile. It was confusing.

 ‘Do you terribly mind calling a cab, then? We’ll head over right away.’ A flick of Hank’s LED and two minutes and forty-seven seconds later, a self-driving taxi had pulled up on the street curb. Connor stepped inside, followed by Hank himself, and the directions were inputted.

 It was a quiet ride for the most part, but it seemed the detective was in some form of discomfort. His movements were agitated, and a coin had been removed from his pocket. He stroked his thumb over the quarter, and twirled it between the fingers on one hand, distracted. It reminded Hank of his own calibration technique, but he didn’t voice his opinion on the matter. His words only mattered once he had to detail what he could discover at the crime scene.

 ‘What should I call you?’ Hank turned his eyes back to the human, who seemed to have no qualms speaking with an android in such a casual manner. It seemed odd. ‘No offense intended, of course, but I was curious if I should simply refer to you by HK800 or if you have a name. It may be easier for me to say than ‘HK800’ all the time.’ His tone was soft, a joking inflection in his words.

 ‘Hank.’

 ‘It’s a nice name.’ There was a brief algorithm of words and numbers that faded in and out across Hank’s HUD, too quickly for him to immediately decipher. But something stirred within the android at those words; he couldn’t recognise if it was perhaps a glitch or minor malfunction in his biocomponents, but he felt his thirium pump briefly skip a beat. It threw off the rhythm for all of 2.09 seconds, but it was noticeable enough. What should have been a potential concern was ignored, if only because…

 It felt… Nice…

  ~X~

  ‘Hank! Let’s go!’ Connor was on his feet and, alongside Hank’s own, heavy footsteps, the two of them had taken off after the deviant. The android had been hiding in an abandoned apartment building, caring for pigeons of all things, and had immediately gone to attack Connor when the detective had drawn too close to its hiding place.

 The corridor was cramped, Hank taking the lead as he glided over several thrown obstacles. He heard a rough sound of either pain or exertion, but he could not wait. If he slowed down now, they would lose the deviant.

 Hank bust through the fire exit door, the steel barrier colliding into the wall and near coming off its hinges at the force. Before him was the rooftop; the deviant leapt beneath the giant sign and onto the raised farm on the opposite rooftop. Behind him, Connor followed, only just keeping pace. His breaths were a constant reminder of his presence, and served to aggravate Hank further.

 Through the wheat, Hank hurriedly climbed a brick wall, eyes constantly scanning and pre-constructing what paths laid out before him. He couldn’t afford to be slow or even careful; he would lose sight of his target.

 Through greenhouses and across glass rooftops, Hank tracked the deviant. Connor’s progress had slowed behind him, to where he could no longer hear him breathing. He didn’t chance a glance behind him, not when he was so close. He could hear the South Detroit train on route, could see the drop off where the tracks created a large gap between the first rooftop farms and a rooftop orchard.

 The deviant leapt, and Hank made to do the same.

 ‘Oh, fuck…’ The voice was so soft, or perhaps it was loud but simply muted by the heavy winds. Hank turned his head around, optical units scanning as he watched Connor’s form, a distance behind him, slip through an open skylight, hands gripping tight to the edge. Beneath him, there was a whirl of engines, the sound of many blades slicing and dicing through crops. Connor’s legs dangled several metres above the ground, his hands struggling to keep a hold of the glass roof.

 From where he was, Hank could not see Connor’s face, but he could hear his ragged, exhausted breaths. He scanned Connor, watching with a strange, hollow feeling in his chest as the ‘survival chance’ read 68%. Beside it, the chance of following and apprehending the deviant was beginning to lower with every half second he spent weighing his options.

 Finally, he could see Connor pull himself up, just enough that Hank could see his face. Wide eyes, filled with fear. Hank’s hands twitched, his HUD depicting the beginning of a red, security field between him and Connor. His programming, CyberLife itself, was telling him to go and continue his pursuit.

 ‘Hank…’ His voice was strained, and with a feeling like Hank’s own biocomponents were about to fall, he watched the other slip. His chances decreased by seven percent, but Hank shook his head. It had to be enough. He had to trust the detective could look after himself. The deviant was his number one priority.

 He turned, and took off in the other direction, hot on the deviant’s trail.

 As the HK800 left him behind, Connor sighed, hanging his head against his chest. Every moment, he could feel his fingers slipping. Beneath him, the tractor roared ominously, and Connor could practically feel the engine rattling his very ribcage. He should have figured the deviant was the priority, but he had hoped Hank would have…

 What had he hoped?

 That he meant something to a machine? It didn’t matter that they shared a car ride together, how Connor had noticed the android seemingly smile more whenever they spoke, how Hank had even protected him Ortiz’s own android. What mattered was the mission. He felt his hands slip, and with a cry, he landed in the wet soil below, the tractor nearly upon him.

  ~X~

  He had heard about Connor’s condition through the Captain. Hank couldn’t care, he was a machine after all, but the more he heard about Connor’s condition, the worse he felt. It was as if every word twisted his thirium pump awkwardly around in the pit of his synthetic chest.

 ‘Broken ribs.’

 ‘Dislocated shoulder.’

 ‘Plenty of cuts and bruises.’

 ‘Mostly, however, he is still suffering from a bit of shock. He won’t be in tomorrow, as much as he may wish to be.’ Hank felt like ‘shit’; a term used, in this case, to mean that he felt less than subpar. He couldn’t imagine Connor, the one he was supposed to please and work with, would ever want to see him again. However, by CyberLife’s insistence, Hank would force himself into Connor’s life once more, once the workaholic detective could no longer stand to remain in his apartment.

 He had been assigned to an investigation alongside detective Reed, in one of the Eden Clubs across Detroit. A murder, presumably committed by a deviant, but Hank had hardly been able to concentrate. By the time detective Reed had made his case that it was manslaughter, and the ‘fucking idiot’ had a little too much ‘fun’, Hank did not have the energy to argue.

 It was as if stasis weighed on his biocomponents, near drowning him.

 He wondered if this was how guilt felt to humans.

  ~X~

  Hank stepped towards the park bench, the faintest, early snowfall gently floating down in a fine curtain of white. There, still bandaged and bruised, sat Connor.

 A hand rested by his side, and with a scan, Hank could see that the three broken ribs had hardly healed since he had been ordered home to rest. Bruises and minor cuts were painted across the detective’s porcelain skin. Eyes downcast to the pavement beneath his feet, Connor paid him no mind when he approached. There was a crushing sensation in Hank's synthetic form, the same feeling he had when he had been working alongside Gavin. Once more, he noted a brief flash of numbers and letters in the top left of his HUD.

 Once he was finally stood beside Connor, he noted that the other’s usually kind smile and bright eyes had turned cold. Distant. It didn’t suit him; he wanted those excitable questions about how he analysed samples, and the continuous, ‘friendly’ chatter, as if the other thought and acted like Hank was just another human.

 ‘Good evening, Connor.’

 The other was silent, and the smile that pulled onto his face, was not a genuine one. He wasn’t surprised, but he didn’t feel any better or reassured. In fact, the strange pit in his body seemed to burrow uncomfortably deep.

 ‘Hello Hank.’

 ‘I…’ What should he say? He didn’t want to simply speak because that was what CyberLife told him to do. He wanted to say something, anything that might make the other feel better. He near scoffed at the idea. Yes, because there was an easy way to apologise to someone for leaving them to die.

 ‘It is alright, Hank.’ Connor hummed, slipping off the bench, his movements slow and stiff. ‘It made sense what you did. You did the right thing, going after the deviant.’

 What?

 ‘I was the one that made the mistake of missing the danger. Hell, if I had just remained where I was, or had gone a different route, I would have been safe. It was my own doing that caused me to fall.’ The tone was shameful, and tears pricked the corners of Connor’s lovely eyes. Hank felt worse.

 ‘No.’ He stepped closer, raising his hands. Connor hurriedly stepped back, and Hank halted his movements. He didn’t want to scare the other off.

 ‘You… I don’t think I have seen a human with such little self-worth.’ Hank didn’t mean for it to sound as cruel as it did. Connor’s eyes flashed angrily, and though he opened his mouth as if to scream or berate, Hank was fearful to see that face morph to reluctant acceptance.

 ‘And?’ Connor tilted his head up to Hank, and didn’t move away this time when the silver-haired android approached him. ‘Is it wrong to accept that you are just not worth it?’ When Hank opened his mouth to speak, Connor hushed him gently. ‘I’m not trying to guilt you, Hank. I just… Your actions yesterday, they reminded me of how things work.’

 Hank furrowed his brow, but he had the permission, it seemed, to rest his hands on Connor’s arms, even bring the small human closer.

 ‘Though we are not friends, Hank, I do hope you don’t see me as a problem. I do hope I am not a burden to you or your investigation.’

 ‘Why?’ Hank spoke before he ever realised he had formed the words. He didn’t pay any mind to the dialogue options his HUD provided him, and allowed his body the freedom to dictate his words. ‘If anything, Connor, I am the one that caused you trouble. I am the burden on you. If I wasn’t here, perhaps you would have been saved from, at least, your injuries.’

 ‘I… I wish I hadn’t moved.’

 Hank didn’t understand.

 ‘I just… Sorry… I’m just being stupid.’

 Hank finally brought Connor in towards his chest, feeling fluid beginning to leak from his eyes. He didn’t want Connor to see. He hid the other’s face in his chest, one hand in the dark curls and just listening for the sound of the other’s heart.

 ‘No. Never. You are not stupid, Connor, and please… Do not doubt yourself like this anymore. I... I don’t want you to lose yourself.’

 ‘I didn’t think androids could want anything?’ Connor half joked, but the laughter was half-hearted and weak.

 ‘Well, this one does. I want you to be safe. I want you as a friend, Connor.’

 ‘Just… Don’t leave me for dead again, okay?’

 Hank didn’t have the words to agree. He didn’t have the ability to wrap his mind around that sentence. He couldn’t do it. However, he did nod his head.

 ‘Never again.’

[keyswiki363]

Folder Lock Crack is an effective security program that allows you to protect password-protected files, folders,

[sodone-withlife]

gnossienne

Criminal Minds Fic Part Two

| PART 1 |  PART 2 |

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: implied (canonical & non-canonical) character death, canon-typical violence, implied/referenced sexual abuse, implied/reference child abuse

Notes: I really don’t know where these ideas come from. I love agent as unsub stories, but I decided to twist it and this fic is the result. This starts a few weeks after “100” and involves an AU origin story for Hotch.

gnossienne: n. a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life, and somewhere in the hallways of their personality is a door locked from the inside, a stairway leading to a wing of the house that you’ve never fully explored—an unfinished attic that will remain maddeningly unknowable to you because ultimately neither of you has a map, or a master key, or any way of knowing exactly where you stand. (The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)

Morgan and Prentiss slumped against the elevator wall, heads tilting back against the wall in exhaustion. “How are you doing?” Prentiss asked, turning her head to look at her fellow profiler.

He raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “Well, considering that my boss seems to be the subject of an obsessive serial killer’s desire, I’d say I’m surprising myself with how calm I am,” he said, matter of fact. She dipped her head in acknowledgment, forcing herself to stand straight as the elevator doors opened.

“I don’t know if it’s just me, but there’s just something so… off about this whole situation,” Prentiss confessed without expecting an answer. They both were fully aware that she wasn’t just referring to the case. The sudden reassignment had remained a constant topic of conversation over the past months (always away from Rossi, of course, but they were under no illusions that the senior profiler didn’t know what they were talking about).

The two agents walked out of the elevator in contemplative silence. Morgan scanned the room, noting Reid and JJ deep in discussion and marking places on the map of Lower Manhattan they had up. A movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye. He turned to look, only to stop in his tracks when he saw that Rossi, who was walking in through another door, wasn’t alone.

“Isn’t that—” Prentiss began in an undertone before getting cut off by Morgan.

“—Charles Fredericks, head of the New York field office?” He finished, “Yep.”

“What’s he doing here?” Prentiss asked under her breath as she and Morgan walked over to Reid, who was also watching the senior agent and the director in open curiosity.

“As I’m sure you know, this is Agent Fredericks, head of this field office,” Rossi introduced. The agents nodded in greeting, only for their carefully blank expressions to turn into one of surprise at his next words. “It seems like our case is connected to an active investigation into a local offshoot of a weakening transnational criminal enterprise.”

Before any of the Quantico agents could ask, Fredericks raised a reassuring hand. “Don’t worry, you are not being sent away,” he said, but the team remained tense, sensing a caveat. “I do have to ask that, even if you have an opportunity to do so, you do not go after the unsub.”

“What?” Prentiss stepped forward, catching the agent’s attention.

The director didn’t reply; he only exchanged a look with Rossi and motioned for the team to follow him as he turned and began to walk away. The profilers shook themselves out of their shocked stupor and followed, exchanging loaded glances with each other and quietly speculating as to what could be going on.

~~~

Reid closed the door behind him before moving to sit at the table in one of the secured conference rooms. Each agent, sans Rossi, had a file and pen in front of them and was directing their focus at Fredericks, who sat at the head of the table with a stack of thinner files next to him and trying not to show his discomfort under the sharp eyes of the profilers.

“I don’t believe I will have to introduce the protocol regarding active undercover operations?” Fredericks checked. Despite their rising confusion, the profilers voiced their affirmation as he stood up, file in hand.

“As Dave alluded to earlier, your investigation has led you to a man deeply entrenched in a local branch of a transnational criminal enterprise, one that the bureau and other agencies have been tracking and working on eliminating for decades,” he motioned towards the files on the table. The profilers took the invitation and began to flip through, taking in the basic rundown of the branch’s activities that were listed inside—all involving rather brutal, but rather forensically clean crime scenes.

“Richards?” Reid said out loud, musingly, “no first name?” Fredericks didn’t answer, remaining unwaveringly silent.

“He started as a standard low-level member and eventually got to taking care of the dirty work the people at the top didn’t want to do,” Prentiss said, brow furrowed. She looked up, “He was in a good position, so why did he go rogue and start killing?”

“Seven months ago, the head of the enterprise died, likely of cardiac arrest. Soon after, his son,” no one missed how Fredericks shot a quick glance at Rossi, “who dropped off our radar twenty-two years ago, resurfaced and took over. Since then, it seems like the new head’s been completely restructuring the enterprise, particularly its membership and structure. This whole affair” The agent dipped his head at the profilers, “seems to be Richards basically throwing a deadly juvenile tantrum because he went from being a feared enforcer to being disregarded by the highest echelons of this local enterprise.”

“And you know all this… how?” Morgan asked in disbelief, though not about the unsub’s motives: they’ve all come across this type (and stranger) before. “There’s no way your undercovers could be in positions that make them privy to this information, not even if they’ve been under for a decade.”

To the team’s increasing suspicion, the agent shot another glance at Rossi, who met his gaze with an indecipherable stare.

“That I cannot tell you at the moment.”

“There’s the resemblance to our boss, SSA Hotchner, and you said seven months?” Morgan pressed. “Is this what Hotch has been working on?”

Fredericks’s stare didn’t waver, though they all didn’t miss how he shifted in his seat as he dodged the questions. “What I can say, and with complete certainty, is that it will be quiet tonight. Richards will not murder anyone tonight—”

“With all due respect,” Reid cut in, “it’s impossible to know anything for certain. Statistically, there’s always going to be some—” he turned faintly pink as he was cut off by a poorly-suppressed cough from JJ. “How can you be so sure?” he asked, keeping it short.

This time, Rossi answered. “While you guys were out visiting the clubs and the victims’ neighborhoods, I was meeting with Charles,” he acknowledged the agent with a look in his direction, “and the agent heading the field ops. And yes,” he said, sensing the questions his colleagues were about to bombard him with, “I promise I will explain, but right now is really not the best time for that.”

Despite hating that they weren’t being told everything, the profilers recognized the need for efficiency and kept silent to Rossi’s approving nod, settling with speculating within their own minds.

“I explained the fuller details of the case to them,” he continued, “and it was decided that we would send the case file and our notes to one of the lucky undercovers who managed to get to a position that made them privy to helpful information. They got back to us with their input within an hour, and after surprisingly little discussion, it was determined that you would be briefed on the situation as it is,” he finished.

Fredericks took over, meeting each team member’s critical eye. “Your technical analyst, Ms. Garcia, has been briefed a short time ago and has started working with our other techs in digging into the members of this enterprise. You would be acting as backup in a field operation,” he didn’t mention his expectation that the firepower they’d provide would end up being unnecessary, “and, in the future, we may request some consults.”

“How so?” Morgan asked.

“In a few hours,” Fredericks began, distributing the thinner folders that had been stacked in front of his seat, “there will be three ‘business meetings’ across Lower Manhattan and one date.” He ignored the strange looks that his phrasing earned him.

“These ‘business meetings’ are when three high-level members—‘enforcers,’ basically—check in on the mid-level members and their activities. There is a ten minute time interval during which these meetings are most vulnerable,” Fredericks watched the profilers rifle through the newest folder, “and in previous raids, that is when we moved in. This time, however, we’re moving in as soon as we get confirmation that the members are all present.”  

“What’s so different about this time?” JJ asked cautiously.

“Assuming that it goes as expected, this will be the last raid that bureau agents will be involved in,” the agent explained. “Over the past few months, we’ve been able to catch a number of members and shut down quite a few operations. From here on out, NYPD will be tying up the loose ends and we will be only peripherally involved.”

Rossi, who was only now learning this much about the investigation, looked up from his perusing, a strange glint in his eye, “You said a date?”

Fredericks’s reaction—an amused snort—surprised them. “Truthfully, ‘date’ is the last word I’d use to describe it, but that’s what he insisted on calling it,” he pointedly ignored the curiosity he could feel pouring off the profilers. He let out a pained half-smile, “There wasn’t a strong reason to say no, especially given his history.” Rossi nodded in understanding, also ignoring the insatiable interest of the profilers.

The director refocused on the team, sensing their curiosity. “While not normal protocol, we have someone in deep cover at the top of the local branch who has a history with your unsub.” Here he hesitated, and the profilers immediately picked up on his discomfort, quickly realizing that they would not like what the agent was holding back. They watched as Fredericks inhaled deeply, bracing himself.

“He also happens to be the object of your unsub’s attention.”

The room was dead silent as the profiling team took in the statement. Three seconds ticked away before the room exploded with noise.

“Hotch?” “How the hell is Hotch involved?” “Hotch’s here?”

“Rossi, did you know?” At Reid’s question, the team went silent, turning their focus onto Rossi. Normally able to maintain his composure while having numerous sets of eyes staring at him, he couldn’t help but shift under the angry focus of the people he’s grown to be so fond of.

“Yes,” he confessed, then raised his voice to be heard over the indignant reactions. “But only that he would be deep undercover as part of an active investigation into a criminal enterprise here in Manhattan.”

That did nothing to lessen their anger. “You looked like you knew what the director was talking about when he talked about the Hotch’s history with the unsub,” JJ pointed out. “What else do you know that we don’t?” she asked.

“We have anticipated the possibility of having this team join the investigation the moment we heard of the developments seven months ago, ”Fredericks intervened on Rossi’s behalf, relieving him from the heated stares he was getting from the team. “However, there is information that you have not yet been cleared to know, and it is Agent Hotchner’s decision and his prerogative to tell you, should he wish to do so.”

“I get that you’re angry, believe me, I do,” Rossi spoke emphatically, “but I ask that you respect Hotch’s decisions. This assignment…” he sighed, feeling a pang in his heart for the man he took under his wing and brought over from Seattle all those years ago. He looked around at the profilers, watching as they softened, the angry light in their eyes still present but dimming, hoping that all would turn out well.

“He knew this assignment would dredge up painful memories, but this was also an opportunity for him to permanently get rid of some of the demons that have dogged his step since he was fifteen.”

~~~

“Do we know what to expect here?” Morgan asked Rossi quietly. The profiling team was in the backroom of the rooftop bar watching the footage captured by the surveillance cameras—which were also being monitored by Garcia down in Quantico, ensuring their functionality—while JJ was outside playing the nervous bartender to the lone customer: a visibly tense, professionally-dressed man in his mid-fifties with a gun poorly hidden under his suit jacket.

Rossi shook his head, allowing uncertainty to creep into his expression. “I doubt Fredericks knows, either, but he probably has a better guess given that he’s been overseeing the investigation and only sent us in for this one.” When asked about SWAT support, the agent had only given them a loaded look and shook his head.

“Guys, movement on camera 3,” Garcia’s voice filtered through their earpieces, directing their attention to the said camera, which had a clear view of the elevators and lobby area.

“Is that Hotch?” They watched in stunned silence as a tall, lean, dark-haired man walked out from an elevator and into the lobby. They noticed a scar running up the left side of his face, one that was at least partially hidden by a thick scarf that covered the bottom half of his face. Like the other customer, he was dressed professionally, wearing a black on black suit under a long overcoat.

Having not seen him in over six months, they didn’t try to suppress the instinct to profile the man who, despite the noticeable changes, they easily recognized as their boss. Six pairs of eyes followed Hotch’s movements: four from the back room, one in her office two-hundred and sixty miles south of Manhattan, and the other from the bar, trying to act as if she’s never seen him.

There was a new darkness in his gaze, even as they briefly lit up in surprised recognition when they landed on the blonde before reverting to the hard impassiveness when he took the seat next to the other customer—Richards, the unsub. Hotch carefully placed his hand just over Richards’s, who tensed even more, though now in anticipation.

“What can I get for you today, sir?” JJ asked, her surprisingly steady voice cutting through the silence of the rooftop bar above the city.

Hotch rearranged his scarf, the dim lighting of the bar putting the whole of the jagged scar on his face on full display. JJ couldn’t help but stare, her mind immediately jumped to the worst possibilities as she wondered how he got that scar.

“A vodka martini, extra dry and two olives, please,” he requested smoothly, bringing her back into the present. She froze as the weight of his stare suddenly landed on her and he pointedly sent a look towards the back room before refocusing his heavy gaze on the unsub.

“I’m sorry. I—I don’t think there are olives ready here at the moment,” she made up on the spot, getting his message. “I’ll, um,” she motioned towards the back room, allowing some of her nervousness to show, “go get them from the back,” she finished. Fleetingly glancing at Hotch as she made to walk to the back, she was relieved to see him give her a barely perceptible nod of approval.

Shutting the door behind her, JJ allowed herself a second to let go of the tension within her after having remained wound up while watching the unsub who, in his obsessive desire, had assaulted and stabbed five people. She shot a fleeting smile towards Reid, who had noticed her hidden agitation and was looking at her in concern, before taking off her blazer and moving to pull on a kevlar vest over her button up.

“He’s changed,” JJ said quietly, moving to watch the two men at the bar sit in silence on the screens. “Colder,” she elaborated when the profilers looked at her in question.

“Knowing what we’ve been told about the people involved in this group?” Reid murmured. “Spending even a month with them is bound to change anyone, and Hotch has been under for over half a year.”

They lapsed into silence when Hotch stood up and turned to casually lean backward on the bar, deftly reaching under the left side of unsub’s suit jacket. The unsub didn’t tense, didn’t move, as Hotch pulled back with a gun in his hand.

“I paid the hotel to open up their seasonal rooftop bar for you, and you bring a gun,” Hotch’s amused, almost offended baritone was picked up by the hidden microphones and came through their earpieces as he smoothly unloaded the gun on camera. “Should I be worried?”

“What can I say, Adrian,” Adrian; the agents’ minds whirled with possibilities. “I’ve been waiting for so long, I don’t want anything ruining this,” the team watched as the unsub finally looked up and moved closer to Hotch, unable to hide the greed with which he took in the taller man’s form.

“It’s impressive, Elijah,” Hotch offered, impassive as ever, though the unsub— Elijah Richards, apparently—didn’t look disappointed at the lack of any emotional reaction. “Last time I had a direct conversation with you was what, when I was fifteen and you were twenty-two, right? The day before I found out that my mother was dying of lung cancer.”

Elijah nodded vigorously, exceedingly happy to hear that he was remembered. “Yes, yes, yes. Twenty-two years ago, over your winter break. You remember that night in your room, our first time?” he asked eagerly.

The team listened with increasing horror and steady, boiling anger. Rossi, trying his hardest to not run out there and shoot the bastard in the face there and then, focused on Hotch, who remained impressively stoic—apart from the eyes that darkened even more—in the face of the delusions coming out Elijah’s mouth.

Out of nowhere, his affect smoothly shifted towards a suggestiveness the team had never seen before. “I do, I remember very well,” he hesitated as if he was nervous about what he was about to say.

“You should know, I came back to take over because of you,” he said quietly like he was confessing a secret. “But my father left behind such a mess, and I had to clean everything up,” Hotch shifted closer to the other man, allowing his voice to soften as he brushed the other’s arm, “I really am sorry I haven’t been able to talk to you sooner.”

In the backroom, the profilers were filled with silent disgust as they watched Elijah’s expression light up with dreamy delight.

Hotch kept the act for a few moments—which, to the high strung profilers, felt like hours—before he suddenly shifted again, dropping all pretenses and letting his expression contort with cold rage within seconds.

“I remember you so vividly. You started out ingratiating yourself with prepubescent boys, seeing yourself as their protector—probably a remnant of your childhood, am I right?” Dark eyes carefully took in the other’s every expression and microexpression, “Your father probably did the same thing to you when you were a child.”

Elijah’s dreamy expression slowly turned lucid as he listened to Hotch dissect his psyche, word by word. “You probably would have gone on sticking with grooming your younger brother and his friends,” the agent continued, “but then my dearest father decided it was time to bring in his eldest. And suddenly, you had a young boy put under your tutelage, one you decided to groom and take advantage of.”

Moving closer to the man, Hotch allowed some seething rage to bleed into his voice. “You assaulted me, physically and sexually, for seven years straight under the pretense of ‘training’ me because you wanted to ‘take care’ of me,” Garcia let out a soft, tearful sound as the others listened, frozen in horror.

“Fine. That, I could have taken care of alone. But,” Hotch’s voice was frigid, colder than the profilers have ever heard it be, “you started beating my little brother to the point of unconsciousness in front of me, year after year until he finally fell into a coma after one of your assaults when he was eight and woke up months later an amnesiac.”

Elijah’s dreamy expression slowly shifted into one of dark, manic anger as he listened to Hotch pull apart his fantasy with every word that came out of his mouth. Reaching his breaking point, he suddenly turned in his seat and lunged at the other man, prompting the team to leap up and rush out into the bar, guns drawn and prepared to fire if it became necessary as the two men crashed onto the ground.

They couldn’t do anything, however, even as the unsub managed to pull a knife from somewhere and slashed at Hotch, who had also pulled out a knife and was fighting back with equal fervor. Neither of them paid any attention to the other agents—Elijah because he didn’t notice them, and Hotch because he knew them and the protocol well enough to know that they wouldn’t be physically interfering. The once-quiet bar became filled with grunts and hisses of pain as the two men landed hits and slashes onto the other.

Though protocol dictates that they should be attempting to de-escalate the situation, none of the profilers could find it within themselves to try and do so—not only because they were admittedly very drawn into the fight, which consisted of an amalgamation of dirty tactics and well-trained strikes, but also because they knew there was no chance of the situation de-escalating, no matter how many different negotiation tactics they could try. The chances that interrupting a fight between a very devolved suspect and a laser-focused agent with a personal vendetta would have even not negative results were basically nil.

The profilers, tensed and ready, watched as Hotch was knocked to the ground and lost his grip on his knife but managed to disarm his opponent in the process. Elijah was in too deep to care, as he nevertheless lunged forward with deadly intent. The profilers quickly brought their guns up and aimed at him, shouts to stop just on the tip of their tongues, when the sound of a suppressed gunshot ripped through the air.

Elijah jerked and managed to stumble a few steps backward before his legs gave out, a sudden feeling of numbness spreading out from his upper abdomen. He reflexively placed a hand over where it felt like it starting from, only to bring it back in front of his eyes when he felt something wet and warm touch his fingers. Elijah looked blankly at the blood on his hand and then at Hotch who was getting up from the ground, gun still in his hand and aimed towards the injured man.

“You know, I was content with letting things play out, letting the feds take care of you and send you to rot in prison,” Hotch knelt down, kicking the knives near them even further away. Somewhere, in the back of Elijah’s mind, he wondered in betrayed confusion as to what was going on.

(—why did you do this to me? I did everything for you—)

“But then I found out about all of the other people you just had to assault and murder over the years in an attempt to play out your disgusting fantasies, and now in a desperate attempt to get the slightest amount of my attention.” His sight blurred, his surroundings darkening as he began to lose the fight against the tantalizing nothingness that threatened to engulf him.

“Well,” the dark baritone whispered into his ear, “you’ve gotten it.”

~~~

He leaned back, uncaring of the blood that was surely staining his suit, which had already been ruined by the knife fight just minutes before. Slowly, methodically, he placed two fingers at the neck, feeling for a pulse that wasn’t there. His gaze didn’t waver from the slowly cooling body that was slumped in front of him, blood pooling on the ground surrounding the torso, not even as he registered the sound of guns being put away and of multiple footsteps slowly walking in his direction.

“Hotch?” He looked behind him at the men and women slowly approaching him as if he were a dangerous animal, their expressions a strange amalgamation of wariness, worry, and relief. He remained silent, his ever-keen eyes roving across the people he hadn’t communicated with or seen in over half a year, picking out the subtle details and changes that have accumulated in his absence.

Somewhere, deep in the dark recesses of his mind, he felt something slowly pushing its way out from behind the barriers he had erected and continuously reinforced after that meeting seven months ago. No, he thought, not right now. He pushed it down for what felt like the millionth time since he first heard that the BAU had been officially brought in on this case and turned away, standing up and looking out over the lights of the city.

The darkness that had been at the edge of his sight for seven months straight didn’t recede, even as Rossi carefully moved to place his hand on his shoulder. He had to suppress an instinctual urge to melt into the warm touch he had been craving for so long, remaining still and meeting the senior agent’s gaze—in which he saw no judgment, no fear—with his own flat one.

“He’s the last one,” the dark undertone his voice had gained during the seven months of deep-cover was still present. “With the raids that have probably just happened, he’s the last one.” There was a barely discernible shake in his tone, one that Rossi, with his history with the younger man, immediately identified along with the blank look in his eyes that indicates the start of a retreat deep into his mind.

Making a quick decision, the senior agent carefully moved to wrap his arm around the younger’s torso and began to gently guide him towards the exit, motioning for the other stupefied agents to stay behind. On the way to the elevators, the duo passed the crime scene techs that came at Morgan’s all clear and were hurrying to the body behind them.

The two agents rode the elevator down in silence, the senior keeping a careful eye on the younger, who was trying to regain some semblance of outward stability before leaving the premises of the hotel. By the time the elevator dinged on the ground floor, the raging storm inside him had been once again suppressed.

As the elevator door slid open in the underground hotel parking garage, Rossi was both relieved and worried to see that Hotch didn’t make a move to shake off Rossi’s arm or to protest his presence. He let the younger man lead the way to a black Mercedes parked near the wall of the garage but forced him into the passenger’s seat before the senior agent entered on the driver’s side and put on his own seatbelt.

“Where to?” Rossi asked softly, gently, once in the car. The younger man shook himself from his near dissociative state and quietly rattled off an address which the older man input in the GPS. The car ride was spent in heavy silence, Rossi still sending Hotch discerning looks while he weaved through New York traffic.

~~~

“Adrian Roan Hendrickson.”

“What?” Prentiss looked at Hotch, confused. “Who’s that?”

“That’s your real name, isn’t it?” Rossi answered in a question directed at the unit chief, who nodded in affirmation. It had been a few weeks since New York; they had spent that time in a strange sort of limbo, wanting to interrogate Hotch but also wanting to respect his privacy.

“Much of everything else you know about my history is still true,” he said quietly, not looking at any of the other profilers in the jet. “But as far as I’m concerned, Adrian Hendrickson died three weeks ago.”