#his whole thing was about trying to take down corrupt cops but really he himself was not a very good cop either

[brainfullofbees]

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[xstarkillerx]

Rail

TW: Drug usage

Drabble based on this ask.

Dom toretto x fem!reader x Brian O'Conner

hop hop 🐇

Long, fat, red at the tip, Dom Toretto's cock is hot in your hands. The heady scent of musk, of body, of a long day working the garage and even longer night putting that RX-7 to work fills your lungs as you rail the line he so graciously laid for you on it. He's got one of his massive hands on your head, heavy, warm, thumb stroking your head affectionately while your swipe your nostrils, eyes squeezed shut at the momentary discomfort. On the other couch is Brian, eyes furrowed, keeping cautious, never really able to drop the cop in him that's ready to jump in if he needs to. He's got a half-smoked blunt burning away in his hand that has him too high to not be laced with something. Despite himself, despite the bizarre circumstance, Brian's fucking hard too.

"That good?" Dom asks, and with powder still on your nose. You look up at him with those pretty eyes like that line wasn't enough and you can squeeze more outta him if you're sweet enough about it. He gives a fond half-smile, his little fucking junkie. Dom swipes at your nose, collecting the powder with his thumb like a father with a snotty child. He does the same with the residue on his cock before invading your lips with the large digit and spreading it on your gums. Your tongue chases it, already feeling the way it makes the thin skin tingle. He watches your pupils change, watches the coke kick in and, fuck, that's the part that always gets him, makes his dick twitch. Corruption. Corruption and pretty young girls who just just can't help but look up to him, trust him, let him lead them astray. He remembers Letty, the way she watched him down the street her whole life, wanted nothing more than to get Dom's attention until she learned this was what you need to do to get it. She had that same look in her eye that first time, wild, hungry fucking ready to go. He's a sucker for it.

Your skin is hot, your heart is racing, you feel like you can fly. You shove Dom's cock in your mouth and almost too eagerly and swallow him down your throat, earning a hiss from Dom through gritted teeth. You can't see it but Dom's looking at Brian and suddenly you're a prop, a toy, like all the other pretty things he uses to get his rocks off. The air is thick between them, scored by the wet gagging sounds of your throat. Tears well up in your eyes when Dom starts fucking your face, hips moving off the couch to shove it deeper down your throat and back out again, you grasp at his thighs for purchase. Brian and Dom are locked in eye contact, Brian is breathing heavy, fingers twitching to to free his cock from his boxers but his limbs feel heavy and sluggish.

Gasping and drenched in your own spit, Dom pulls you off his cock before he cums and uses what saliva you left on it to jerk himself off. "Where'd you want it?" His voice is low, slurred with lust and his own cocktail of chemicals in his system. He doesn't normally ask you this, you know he likes coating your face, likes the mess it makes, the way your features skew when you try to keep it out of your eyes. The question wasn't for you. He isn't even looking at you.

Brian blinks slowly, his head tingles with every movement and his eyes are heavy. "Tits." he says simply through his laboured breathing. Dom complies, and Brian's hips twitch at the sight of your pretty chest coated in his cum.

Desperate to take back the attention of the room you stand from where you were kneeling and lean in and capture Dom's lips in a sloppy kiss, the spit on your face smearing against his skin. You can't help but whine at the feeling of his warm tongue against your own. His fingers find your cunt and he isn't gentle about it; rough and thick he spreads your wetness before shoving them inside. You whine and are forced onto your tip-toes for a moment. Dom breaks the kiss.

"Look at him." he says, directing your gaze over at Brian who can't take his eyes off of you. He's since pulled the waist of his boxers down below his cock and is stroking it, slow, easy, shiny with the spit he shot into his own hand to slick it. "Go on." Your attention is brought back to Dom. "This pussy's greedy, I can feel it. You wanna get fucked? Go on." He slides his fingers out and sticks them in your mouth before sending you across the room to Brian who sits up out of his slouched posture to make more room for you on the couch. You straddle him, knees on either side of his waist and wait for him to guide his cock into position before you sink down on it, and christ, it's almost too much. The coke has your nerves on fire, the entrance alone was enough to get you moaning, but his voice, god his voice, the sound he makes when you get your pussy on him is what heaven must sound like.

"Fuck." he breathes, head spinning, every limb in his body tingling and sensitive, for someone who was so quiet before, he can't seem to shut up now, groaning and whining with every movement you make. It's a slow and easy fuck, too lost in the feeling of your pussy being filled to wanna rush it. Brian fills you up just right, hitting a spot inside you that makes you double over and grab the backrest behind him just to stay upright, it puts your cum-coated tits in his face which he happily sucks on until they're clean, sore and purple. Your orgasm rolls in slow, with the promise of hitting like a giant wave, full body, and it makes you go faster to chase it. Brian is barely containing himself, hands at your waist, staring up at your pretty face while he does everything he can to hold onto his orgasm until you find yours. It's the way you clench when you're close that sends him over, he cums just before you do, enough to where you get the pleasure of hearing his ragged voice cry out while you fuck down on his now sensitive cock. His body is limp, like all life has left it, shot into your body with the cum that's oozing out of your cunt.

Sweaty, placid, hoping for another line you look behind you at Dom who's already making his way over to the couch you share with Brian. He sits down and pulls you in for another dirty kiss, right there, while Brian's still got his cock in you, and with the guidance of Dom's hand, Brian forms a half-tight fist on Dom's cock to stroke it until he cums again. You clean it off of his fingers when he does.

🐇 hop hop

[artmelody]

Ice Corruption AU: Part Two

Part 1 here

I’ve been working on this for a bit and I’m so excited to finally post it. To anyone who reads this, enjoy :)

“Jake, come over here and help!” Finn exclaimed. He used his sword to break bits of the ice off, doing his best without accidentally shattering Princess Bubblegum into a million pieces.

“This whole thing is pretty strange….” Jake muttered to himself as he paced back and forth. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the Ice King was behind all of this.”

He pointed accusingly at Simon, who flinched in response. 

Really, Simon didn’t even want to be here. That’s why the moment he woke up that terrible morning, he fled the room, horrified by what he saw. He had no idea what to do, so he just got himself dressed in his comfortable suit and tried to calm himself down. Finn and Jake later arrived on the scene and brought him along with them.

“Come on, man. Simon’s not that old wizard anymore, and he’d never hurt the princess,” Finn said.

Simon’s head dropped, and he sank further into the wall he was leaning against. He wanted to believe Finn was right, but he couldn’t be sure about anything about last night. All he remembered was feeling cold all of a sudden….and then he blacked out and later regained consciousness in the morning, with Princess Bubblegum trapped in a block of ice in front of him, her hand outstretched in terror and face frozen in fear.

How could it be that he hurt yet another person? 

“Relax, Simon,” Jake said when he noticed how apprehensive the older human seemed to be getting.

Finn managed to break part of PB’s arm free from the ice. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “You sure you don’t remember anything?” he asked.

“Certain,” Simon replied. It wasn’t exactly the absolute truth, but he didn’t know what else to say.

 “My gut tells me you’re hiding something.” Jake narrowed his eyes. He stared deeply into Simon’s nervous face, studying his reaction carefully.

Finn frowned. He tried to talk Jake out of his ‘bad cop mode’, but it was to no avail.

“Everyone knows that the gut is the most trustworthy part of the body,” Jake added to what he was saying to Simon.

“I don’t remember much,” Simon murmured. The cold feeling was slowly returning, and he didn’t like it at all. He could also feel his anger boiling within.

“But you know something, don’t you?”

He couldn’t take it anymore.

“I said I don’t remember!” Simon snapped, his eyes glowing a bright blue for a few seconds. The corner he was sitting at began to frost over with ice. The lights went out, leaving the trio in unsettling darkness.

“That’s not good,” Finn commented, glancing up at the powered down ceiling lights. Even though he didn’t know Simon very well, he could just tell that yelling like that wasn’t like him at all. Something was wrong.

Simon covered his mouth in shame. He had no idea what had come over him. He didn’t mean to explode like that.

Finn put his hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Jake, I know it’s hard trusting someone who used to kidnap princesses, but Simon’s different now. Maybe try to have some sympathy?”

“Sympathy? Did you not see his eyes glowing? He’s definitely behind all of this,” Jake said.

“Maybe, but you gotta give him a chance. He’s the only other human we know, and that’s kind of a big deal for me.” Finn sighed.

Jake’s face softened. “Alright, bro. Why don’t we go check out what happened to the lights?”

“Totally,” Finn said with a smile. “You coming, Simon?”

“Why not?” Simon mumbled as he got up.

All three of them wandered the hallways of the rest of the castle. It was dim and gloomy, unlike how the place usually felt. Eventually after a few minutes they made their way into the princess’s lab.

Inside there was the Crown in some sort of vessel. It looked incredibly different from the last time Finn and Jake had seen it. It now had three large cracks. One of the red jewels was especially damaged. If you looked closely, you could see shards crumbling from the edges. 

“Holy shmow, dude! That thing is beyond busted,” Finn remarked.

“Ain’t nothing that can fix that,” Jake affirmed.

“What’s the princess even doing with this?” Finn questioned, tapping the glass.

“She’s been keeping it for research,” Simon explained with an air of disapproval. He’d rather have the cursed object as far away from him as possible, not right where he could see it.

“Its magic still somewhat works, despite its condition. If it didn’t, I wouldn’t be here now,” Simon continued. He couldn’t stand looking at it for any longer. All it brought him was the reminder of his past mistakes. Of all the horrible acts he committed while under its influence. The reminder that he and nothing else would ever be normal again. 

“Check it out!” Jake exclaimed. The jewels (or better, what was left of them) were glowing, and the crown was emitting an energy that caused the lights to suddenly zap back on. 

Simon shivered. The cold feeling was back. 

Taking one glance at Simon, Finn realized he wasn’t okay at all. “Hey man, calm down. Everything’s fine,” he tried to assure.

“No no no! The Crown obviously still has ties to me. I hurt Betty, and I was probably the one who froze Princess Bubblegum in ice! I don’t want to hurt anybody else!” Simon cried.

“Uh oh….” Jake muttered. The Crown was becoming more reactive, and not in a good way.

Simon dropped to the floor and buried himself in his arms.

Finn’s eyes lit up as he felt a strong surge of empathy.

“Listen man, I know it must be so tough to be you right now. There’s no way I could possibly understand, but I’m willing to try. I wanna help you out, dude. We haven’t really officially met, so let’s be friends,” Finn said, trying to offer support.

Simon took a deep breath.

He focused his gaze back towards Finn and forced a small smile, but for some reason it felt a little more natural than he expected. It was nice. 

“Thank you, Finn. That….means a lot.”

…

Ahhh I checked over this a million times. Hopefully there’s no errors. You’re welcome to ask any questions about this AU, and as always, be ready for more soon!

[satancopilotsmytardis]

What about a Pro-hero AU, but only for one of them?

Because I think there's so many ways you could run with it, like corruption, forbidden love, redemption/rehabilitation, yandere/stalker, etc.

So I actually did do this with the UA AU, where Shig becomes a pro-hero and Dabi becomes an investigative journalist! But if you mean one is a hero and one is a villain:

Shigaraki is the hero and Dabi is the villain. Shigaraki got 'saved' after killing his family by the HPSC and ended up as an assassin for them, since he literally just needs to touch someone and the problem disappears. He makes a public name for himself as a support hero.

Dabi, while trying to find a way to get to his dad, ends up unearthing other unethical hero shit, including the training program that Shigaraki and Hawks are in, and he starts stalking Shigaraki because he doesn't have like sonar feathers that can hear fucking every whoosh of air in and out of his lungs. Eventually one day, he confronts him, saying he knows what the HPSC has him do, and Shigaraki is just like. Yeah, cool. What do you want???

Dabi wants more information, he wants to take the heroes down, he want to burn all-- Shigaraki is writing down the number to his secret burner phone before he's done monologuing. He's utterly disillusioned with heroes after spending so much time as a weapon, and he is absolutely disgusted that in some ways, he killed his father and his whole family, just to prove him right that heroes are the worst kind of people in the world and he never should have been one in the first place.

The two of them start sneaking information back and forth and Dabi is slowly but surely putting together resources to destabilize the hero community entirely, and Shigaraki absolutely thinks that there is some romantic/sexual tension between them and is blunt about asking after that too. Dabi had really been trying to focus on work first, but cannot back down when presented with a challenge and finds out the difference between fucking like a villain and fucking like a hero (which is mainly that Shig has money to buy good lube and a place he can take his time ruining Dabi because the cops aren't gonna burst in at any second)

Things come to a head when the HPSC catches wind of their scheme and Hawks is sent after Dabi to kill him, forcing Shigaraki to act and take out the Chairwoman, and then rush to save Dabi, though his flames keep him safe enough from Hawks' feathers and Shigdabi run away together to be villains and destroy this broken system.

[wrathofrats]

(Note it’s 3am I’m jumbled) As per your tags he’s so pretty and so perfect dressed as a cute maid and Zephyr would probably be wild about that alone coupled with being so possessive. And I think it may be ✨neat✨ if Ifrit played along and acted really shy, no there’s not a filthy thought in his mind about the whole ordeal. He’s just their good girl, oh so helpful and good at her job but she just sits on their lap and Zephyr gets really wild about it and gets a corruption kink over it.

RAH I see the vision

I’m glad we are considering fucked up zephyr because no one ever lets them be really fucked up and weird???

But I think ifrit does it just to tease them. Acts like he has no clue what he’s doing, he’s just trying to clean!! God, and if he calls himself their good girl? Zephyrs going to explode.

Beckons him over to stand so proudly in front of them, just a little shy, keeps trying to pull down his skirt and god Zeph can see his fucking bulge even going he’s soft.

“God- do you know how sinful you look in this thing?” Zephyr rubs their hands over his hips, subtly lifting his skirt just to try and get a peek at those pretty panties while ifrit just pulls the flimsy fabric down again

“Just want to clean for you, trying to be a good girl”

And zephyr easily pulls him into their lap, while ifrit gasps and braces himself on their shoulders

“Wanna be good for me? Wanna flip up that skirt and show me how pretty you are?”

And ifrit protests because, he’s not supposed to do that! He’s trying to work! Would be unprofessional of him to act like such a slut. And ifrit is blushing so hard, trying to pull the fabric in a way that makes him look semi decent while zephyr eyes him like a piece of meat.

“Good girls do what their owners say don’t they? And you’re my good girl aren’t you?”

While zeph continues to try and take the stupid little dress off of him, only makes it worse how fucking shy ifrit acts about the whole thing, makes Zeph feel fucking filthy, like a pervert for trying to cop a feel of his sweet little maid. Especially when ifrit starts to get hard and whiny, like he might actually enjoy being treated like this when he’s really not supposed to ):

[lunarriviera]

why Du Cheng can't hold a grudge: a little  猎罪图鉴 | Under the Skin meta

When Shen Yi first joins the Beijiang City precinct, Du Cheng can't stand him. Not only is he still pissed off about Tragic Backstory, but he doesn't believe a sketch artist can hold any real value, especially not in our era of policing via surveillance. In another drama, he might have continued to nurse his animosity for the duration of the season. But there's one moment very early on which expresses Du Cheng's whole character so succinctly that you know he'll very soon give it up, and quite quickly succumb to Shen Yi's charms usefulness.

First, though, he stomps into Bureau Chief Zhang's office pitching a fit about Shen Yi, of all people, occupying the late Captain Lei's office. But Zhang-ju is not a woman to be messed with. She promptly calls his bluff.

Du Cheng, still hacked off, doubles down. He throws his badge on her desk. Fine! Fuck being a cop! He'll deliver pizzas! Anything, not to have to work with THAT VERY PRETTY GUY.

But then Jiang Feng comes to the door to announce that a body's dropped. Try to sound a little less thrilled, please, Jiang Feng.

A murder you say??? This is Du Cheng catnip. Can he hold out?

Look at his big dumb head swiveling around helplessly, like someone's just announced there's free cake in the break room.

Zhang-ju is canny as fuck, though. She looks down at his badge and idly wonders aloud who's going to catch this one. No idea really. Who could it possibly be.

At this point, Du Cheng has managed not to be a police officer for a whole fifteen seconds.

UGH FINE GIVE ME MY BADGE BACK YOU WIN. But Zhang-ju has not finished winning.

(This woman is a mother of four or I will eat my laptop.)

Du Cheng has to pretend to think about this for another whole three seconds or so.

UGH FINE JUST GIVE IT BACK I'LL TAKE HIM WITH ME OKAY? OKAY???

(And then they proceed to drive off without him anyway, so that our little hero must ride to the crime scene alone on his bicycle. But the ways in which Shen Yi returns everyone's cold shoulder with this kind of serene tai-chi-like nonresistance is another meta entirely.)

All of this underscores two things: 1) Du Cheng's compulsive need to clear cases himself, and 2) his imminent practicality about so doing. When it turns out that Shen Yi is actually incredibly useful, Du Cheng stows his shit with remarkable rapidity and they do an enemies-to-friends speedrun in like three episodes, because nothing else matters to Du Cheng like solving crimes. It's truly the way to his heart. And when Shen Yi gets captured by Cai Dong in episode 3, what does Du Cheng say? "He's got one of our own." It's not just blind loyalty to the force; Shen Yi has already proven to Du Cheng that he really is a cop.

(And, ACAB; and China suffers from massive police corruption. So this procedural, like all the others, isn't reality, isn't a valorization of police work, but is probably some secret third thing.)

[brsb4hls]

Story time, pov second person (you're a woman, that is important here):

You live a quiet, happy life with your family. One day cops show up and tell you you've been wanted for murder. The penalty for that is death.

Continued under the cut, long post

The cops shoot your family and take you with them. You manage to escape them, before they can send you to prison and now you spend your life on the run.

You find out you've been framed by the chief of police, who has all your files and forces everyone to hunt you down.

So your only shot at freedom is getting rid of the chief.

You track him for years, while still being on the run.

One day, a cop gets really close to you.

He abducts you with a car and drives the both of you to the desert.

The car battery dies. You find out you accidentially landed in a nuclear testing side.

The area is too vast to run. You have to start up the car, so both of you try to find a power source. Together, since you both don't wanna die.

You find out that the cop, L., is not really a cop.

L. comes from the same neighbourhood as you, you have a lot in common.

L. also was framed and given the choice to get either executed or hunt you down.

Now that he met you, he's not so sure anymore. You bond.

And you find a power source. Before you can start up the car again, you fall asleep from exhaustion. When you wake up, L. has gotten drunk and poured sugar into the tank.

You are definetly going to die now.

L. did get drunk, because he was deeply stressed himself and you decide to forgive him in your last moments together.

The two of you talk and try to comfort each other.

Suddenly cops show up, because L. unknowingly wore a tracker, and get both of you out of the testing site and send you to prison.

L. and you manage to escape. L. promises to help you track down the chief and get rid of him.

You fear L. will betray you, since he's been unreliable before, but L. promises you he wont. L. even suggests you might start a life together.

He obviously developed feelings for you.

You've never been in love, due to your life on the run, but start to develop cautious feelings for L., you are still unsure though.

But you decide to trust L.

L.'s superior shows up. He found out the system is corrupt and wants to fight it from the inside. He leaves to burn his precinct down. You feel relieved and happy about that.

L. and you find the chief of police. He is smarmy and smug and offers both of you positions of power. He claims if he were removed, his brothers, who are more violent and brutal than him, would avenge him and tear your whole neighbourhood down.

But you know everyone is suffering under the chief's rule anyways, innocents are being framed and executed daily, so you attack him to get your revenge and set everyone free.

L. suddenly steps in and stops you. You don't understand, he was on your side, but seems to have been influenced by the chief now.

You manage to lock L. in a storage room, kill the chief and escape.

Month pass. You're not on the run anymore. You built a life, made friends.

Suddenly L. shows up, now in full cop uniform, his superior, who wanted to burn the precinct, is with him, and a prisoner.

You don't know which side L. is on. You are scared, but you put on a brave face and talk to him.

L. wants to rebuilt the precinct. He says the corrupt cops can be good cops, if they're not forced anymore.

The precinct still has torture rooms and cells and prisoners they keep, so you argue it would be better to tear that horrible facility down, and start new.

L. refuses.

In the end the precinct gets remodelled, but L. has to stay there to keep things in check.

You go back to your life and write book about your experiences.

When the book gets published, there is a giant shitstorm on social media.

People are calling you a horrible person, a heartless bitch, someone who doesn't take responsibility.

They claim you mistreated and abused L., that you should have been kinder to him, even when he stranded you in that testing side. You were rude for no reason, an absolute bitch.

Some people fantasize about L. spitting in your face, or calling you names.

Some people want you dead.

Some at least just say you should have smiled more during your horrible experinces, be softer, don't speak so harshly. Women don't do that. They have to be soft to men at all times.

How do you feel?

[localmacguffin]

Lenore Plays Cyno's Story Quest

Unfortunately the entire time I could not get over how Cyno is a cop. In the Archon Quest we literally just established that the Akademiya is corrupt and uses its police force to harass citizens who don't conform, and also established that Aaru Village is suffering because of racist oppression from the Akademiya. Cyno, who left the Akademiya because of these facts, is now just going back to it like nothing ever changed? Yes I know the stock "good cop" is a thing and the Story Quest is about a moral issue (selling Canned Knowledge to pay for chronic illness vs. Canned Knowledge permanently messing with other people's brains), but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth, especially with the way the narrative resolves the issue. This isn't even going into the matra as a whole and how they are still used as a police force within the story (see: Taj)

Though, I admit the whole "the Akademiya should be rebuilt from the ground up" issue is a bit of a nitpick. Genshin would never go in-depth anyways because the writers don't have enough skill to pull it off (see: Inazuma and Ayato's Story Quests) and also because Genshin's not that kind of game. It's more lighthearted and surface level at least in regards to political drama, no matter how much the Hoyoverse writers want me to take their racism allegory seriously (and trust me, that's a whole other issue).

Anyhow, this quest also perpetually annoyed me because of how little we focus on Cyno as a character. We know he has upstanding morals re: the Archon Quest. Couldn't we have gotten information about his backstory? I literally found out more about him in Windblume than his own story quest, and this was through hidden dialogue with Lisa. This quest would make a good World Quest featuring Cyno, but if the subject is Cyno himself it's failed pretty hard at that. If anything this is Taj's story and Cyno is just a supporting role.

Also, why is it every time something evil/messed up happens (that's not the Aranara) it's always something to do with King Deshret? Why can't something weird/mysterious/otherworldly happen from Rukkhadevata's side? Yes I know there's Nahida/Alhaitham's Story Quests involving technology, but overwhelmingly whenever we need something ~mysterious~ we go to the desert. This may just be me being a hater, but surely you can do something horror themed around the Akademiya/Sumeru City itself? Especially with the cyberpunk-ish themes.

Granted this is also part of the larger pattern where the Archons can't be responsible for anything bad happening ever. It happened with Zhongli (Havria), it happened with Ei (Orobashi), and it's happening with Rukkhadevata/Nahida even down to the worldbuilding/approach to quests itself.

It's just especially insulting this time because again, we're never given the desert-people's opinions on it. Yes there are the small time smugglers at Aaru Village who are just trying to make a living, but what about the natives whose culture is being pillaged/destroyed because of the rainforest people having a cult-like obsession with it? This could have been an opportunity to get Cyno's opinion on it as someone who is both of the desert and of the forest, but we just get his usual spiel about justice. Actually, since he's a host to Hermanubis, a spirit of justice (and presumably related to Deshret), literally any of that would have been relevant too! This just ties back to the problem of not really being about Cyno.

[writing-biting]

Do you know what this world needs? More Undertale AUs!

Thanks to a particular way an anon wrote an ask that was sent to @undertale-writing-times , and my lack in brain cells, a prompt was formed:

"horrormafiaswap error"

@undertale-writing-times and I exchanged glances and decided to bring the creature into existence. Let's take this from the top, shall we?

(Note: I don't know at which part my brain turned into spaghetti, but that definitely happened. I really hope this is coherent. Also I don't know it I added enough swap juice, it's just swap isn't like a particular thing, it's just yknow. Frick)

This Alternate Universe takes place on the surface, in a world where the monster v human war never occurred. Despite this, the tensions between monsters and humans are, well, tense. The story of the AU takes place in a large and (naturally) corrupt city that is overrun with crime. Many small gangs ran amok, monster and human alike. But we focus on a large mafia that controls the East End of the city.

Admittedly, the line between mafia and 'a bunch of serial killers that help each other out' is a little blurry. Unlike most mafias, which prioritized money, control and finance, they prioritized body counts. They had some involvement in selling body parts on the black market, but many members struggled to keep the bodies in usable pieces which severely limited that route.

The head of the family is named Alphys and her right hand (and wife) is Dr. Undyne. Alphys is known for her careless displays of cruelty and her wisdom on when to implement it.

Dr. Undyne is known for her medicinal knowledge and her fascination with cutting people into small pieces. No one is sure if she actually has a doctorate and everyone knows better than to ask.

Among the members of the mafia are Ink and Error. Ink is known for his responsibility, efficiency and no nonsense attitude when it comes to the workings of the mafia. He takes no joy in hurting others, and gets his happiness from completing tasks and feeling purpose. He is easily angered and tends to be smug. His specialty was assassinations.

Error on the other hand was careless. He sported bright smiles that he barely felt and laughed with his whole body. He rarely got attached to things and focused on what was fun rather than what was important. The only thing he could possibly be considered careful with was his own life. There was one person that Error looked out for and it was himself, though he'd try to convince you that he was everything but. A big talker, ridiculously chill and a hopeless liar. Error rarely felt angry, or any emotions at all for that matter and thrived on bursts of adrenaline. Error enjoyed tearing living things apart with his bare hands, but was rarely able or allowed to.

Plot ramble/idea here:

(Blah blah blah Error gets captured and with a mixture of betrayal and bribery gets his name cleared and lands everyone in the mafia but Ink in prison. Obviously, Ink is pissed but what's he gonna do about it, cry? No! He breaks them out. Of course, this takes ten years (in which he goes a little bit crazy) and the prisons are inhumane and whatnot (they weren't executed on the grounds of there not being enough evidence to back up most/all of the murders and whatnot). Basically, the inhumane prison leaves them coming out severely weirder than before (and they were already freaking weird). After everyone escapes, they hunt Error down for some sweet sweet revenge. Our boi, Error, has been committing some murders on the side, for fun or whatever. Anyhow they beat him up and leave him barely alive. They smash a hole in his skull and say that he'll remember them by the pain, if he lives. And you guessed it, he totally lives. And his head has a hole in it. This makes him even more cheery, detached and senile. It finally hits Ink that Error didn't betray him to the cops or something and I guess they make up, idk)

Notes: pre-betrayal no one is insane just really evil, post betrayal everyone is severely brain chomped and just as evil as before.

[faarkas]

ohhh adrian river messy please 👀👀

rules: post the barebones plot of your wips and let people send you an ask with the title that intrigues them the most and then post a snippet/tell them something about it! post

HIIIIII LEVI THANK YOU ok so. right now all I got is the first wound. I need to work on this again tbh I think its actually not bad so far.

ig warnings for more reckless use of punctuation, injury, blood,, and sadness. it doesn't really let up bc I haven't written any relief yet :(

SO basically whats going on with them right now: Adrian is a former combat medic turned vigilante sniper type person. she largely goes after corrupt corporate types and anybody that kinda keeps the system as it is. That obviously pisses the wrong people off and since the cops are in their pockets poor Riv ends up being one of the detectives trying to figure out wtf is going on. they clash. and fall in love :) Or maybe shes a legitimate merc and gets framed for something but her fucked up drive for revenge and justice until she can heal is what gives her a lot of sauce so. Idk. I'm working it out.

Casting a glance around, trying to find any escape, she can’t see anything. Except for maybe the rusty, very broken ladder that’s about five feet above a dumpster. 

“NCPD, Halt!” Adrian hears a voice— No, maybe two, call out to her from the enforcer, slightly robotic and bouncing off the alley walls and the rain, and reflexively she turns to bolt the way she came. 

Which is all well and good until that huge fucking detective that has been causing so much shit for her rounds the corner with what she’s pretty certain is a big revolver in his hand…and it’s pointed at her now, and all she can distantly hear him say on the wind is “Stop running, this can be settled peacefully.” But she doesn’t want to answer, never wants to have to answer him, and knows damn well that she isn’t going to jail tonight.  

It’s foolish, she’s aware she’s thoroughly outnumbered and cornered, but she just keeps running, trying to zig and zag and move in ways he can’t predict as she spots the alley leading to her bike just past him. Escape is so close. 

Pop

And then there’s a searing pain in her side, and she’s impressed with his aim, but more angry that he had the nerve to actually fucking shoot at her than anything else as she runs harder than she has ever before, River moving to try to get in front of her and stop her now that he’s tagged her. 

Either he has a heavily inflated opinion of himself, or he’s underestimating her. Something she’ll teach him never to do as she grips a slick knife from her boot. When she's close enough she positions it, throwing it with one fluid motion. She hears a loud grunt of pain as it drives into somewhere around his hip that gives her just enough time to sprint by him, the warm blood gushing down her side soaking her dark pants starting to alarm her. 

Her bike is only around the corner, but she knows what she’s doing, and she knows that she probably doesn’t have that much time to get on it and home if the big idiot hit something major. But honestly, death is not the worst thing that could– or even has happened to her.  

She can hear more yelling behind her, a few shots ricocheting off the brick walls and making her flinch each time as she sprints, her whole body on fire as she pushes through and struggles to pull a full breath in.

Rounding the corner of the alley, Adrian spots the wet blue tarp her arch is under, tearing it off of it and leaving it in a heap as she rushes to swing her leg over it, a sharp moan of pain leaving her before she can hold it back with how the movement pulls at her wounded side. She reaches for a compartment in her bike, snagging a airhypo and stabbing it into her thigh quickly before she throws the empty container to the ground. 

Fortunately her bike starts as reliably as it always does, and it doesn’t take her long to outsmart her tails and get home, the airhypo giving her just enough clarity and boost to stagger into her apartment, the door sliding closed behind her just as blood starts to trickle down her leg and onto the floor. 

Adrian limps further into her apartment, slinging her soaked rifle bag into a chair across from the futon in her tiny ass living room, trying to ignore how her mind is starting to feel a little sluggish as she unzips and yanks her ruined jacket off. And fuck that’s not good, her gauzy white tanktop is soaked with blood, a clear entry point just under her ribs on her right side. 

Trying to move in the increasingly tight wet pants she’s wearing is a nightmare, so she unbuttons them and starts to yank them down, the unyielding faux leather fabric protesting and forcing her to use more force than she’s comfortable with, tears starting to fill her eyes at the frustration of the evening and the pain that cuts through the slowly dissipating airhypo. 

She doesn’t make much progress however, her pants getting stuck around her thighs, her pulling from before not helping as cold wet skin sticks to the tight wet leather.  

“Fuck.” Adrian sobs angrily, pausing her movements when the pain feels too great to lean against the wall with her shoulder and rest for a few seconds. Taking note of how laboured her breathing is becoming, and how much blood she’s lost, she tries again, pulling with a drawn out whine, almost overwhelmed with relief when the fabric finally comes unglued from her skin and she can just step out of it. 

[the-modernmary]

chess, not checkers || a. hotchner x f!reader

Summary: Cross-examining Agent Hotchner should have been a lot more simple than it had been. But when the questioning slips out of your control, you find yourself being profiled right there in the middle of the courtroom. Amazing how one stranger can know you better than anybody you've ever met.

Contains: SMUT! 18+ only, minors DNI. Fingering, (light) choking, semi-public sex, adultery, anger sex, enemies to lovers, edging, lawyer hotch <3

Word Count: 8k+

Comments: This is so heavily inspired by “charcoal grey” because we all know how hot he was in that scene. Thank you to @angelfxllcm for being an absolute godsend as I wrote this and being the most supportive friend ever. (If you haven’t read her work, you absolutely should!)

“Fucking FBI and their selfish ass schedules,” you grumbled as you hurried through the hallway of the courthouse, your intern Robin on on your heels. “Court gets pushed back for a week because Agent Hotchner just had to leave with them on a case instead of working remotely, and then expects us to drop everything to go to court the second he gets back to D.C. As if we don’t have jobs too. As if I don’t have six other cases sitting on my desk that now have to be pushed back because of him.”

 Robin scrambled behind you, nodding along to every word that left your mouth. “Does this happen with the, uh…”

  “BAU,” you supplied.

  “—BAU, right. Do court cases usually get pushed back for them?”

  You shook your head as you checked your watch. A glint caught the corner of your eye. Shit, your ring. You hadn’t expected to go to court, and completely forgot to leave it at home. You pulled it off and slipped it into the outside pocket of your bag, hoping nobody noticed.

“No. Most cases from the BAU never go to court,” you explained. “There’s enough evidence against the people they arrest that it’s almost always a plea.”

  The Bankers Box in Robin’s hands almost slipped as you placed another file precariously on top of it. “Then why is this case going to court?”

  Your step faltered as you processed her question, and you couldn’t hide the disbelief on your face. “You did read the brief for this case, right?” you asked, unsure if you really wanted the answer, except her embarrassed blush and averted gaze gave you enough of one. “Seriously? Okay, well, first of all, because of that, you won’t be sitting at the attorney’s table with us. Instead you’ll be in the public seating. I won’t weaken my case because you decided to be unprepared. If this happens again, you won’t be welcome to join me in court at all, am I clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good.” Deciding to take pity on the poor intern, you sighed as you started your explanation. “Our client claims that his arrest was unlawful and therefore none of the evidence they found should be usable. I’m inclined to agree with him, so we’re fighting all of the charges that were made with evidence found after the arrest.”

  “So you don’t think he’s guilty?”

  “I don’t ask that question. I’m not God and I’m not his priest, I don’t need to hear his confession. I just need to get him out of unjust and illegal charges.”

  Robin’s eyebrows furrowed. “So he’s going to walk free? Even after everything he did? How do you sleep at night?”

  Fucking Christ, how did this girl even get into law school? You rolled your eyes, suddenly regretting your decision to take on an intern. “No, he’s not going to walk free. He’s going to get a lesser charge, because everything else was obtained illegally. And I sleep very well, actually, because my job isn’t some episode of Law & Order. Less than 10% of my cases ever go to trial. I’m not here to suddenly convince juries that the evidence is wrong. My job is making sure that everybody is given their constitutional rights, that the police are doing their jobs correctly, and that the State isn’t over-punishing. Any cop knows that, and if you ever come across one that doesn’t, you know that you should look into those cases even further. You have to realize, criminal defense lawyers—”

  “— are the last line of protection against a corrupt system.” You turned to see your assistant, Marcus, making his way towards you, briefcase and your spare blazer that you keep in the office in hand. “I see you’re giving her your famous anti-prosecutor lecture.”

  Marcus helped you slip on your blazer over your satin button up, his hands lingering on your skin for just a little too long to be considered professional, and it made you shiver in anticipation. “God knows she needs it. Thank you, Marcus, for bringing these so quickly. Were you able to get the physical copies of Agent Hotchner’s files?”

  Marcus held up his briefcase. “All right here. Although I have to say, I’m a little lost as to why you need his service records.”

  The three of you turned the corner to enter the courtroom, your heels clicking on the tiled floor. Robin obediently took her seat in the public viewing area while you and Marcus pushed through the swinging door to settle at your table. “I’ve heard stories of Agent Hotchner’s testimonies. He used to be a prosecutor, so he’s not easily tricked, but he is prideful and will defend his work. I’m going to use that to my advantage. It’s like I always say, practicing law means always playing chess, never checkers.”

  Marcus took the seat next to you, making sure to sit close enough that his knee brushed yours the whole time. “You know, I was thinking, this case is complicated,” he whispered, “And we haven’t combed through everything yet… It could take more time than we planned.”

  You smirked, knowing exactly what he was insinuating. “Agreed. I’ll tell Tony I have to stay late at the office tonight.”

  Before Marcus could continue his flirting, you were distracted by the door to the judge’s chamber opening, revealing the back of a man in a black suit. “Thank you again, your honor, for the continuance,” came the deep timbre of the man, and oh. You certainly weren’t expecting that. “A young girl was able to be reunited with her family this week because of it.”

  The man in the doorway turned, and your breath caught in your throat. He was tall and buff and expensive-looking and absolutely gorgeous. His suit was tailored to fit him perfectly, the sleeves of his blazer straining against his biceps. He carried himself with an aura of confidence, like he belonged in the courtroom, and he was making his way directly towards you. Unconsciously, you separated from Marcus, putting as much distance between you and your assistant as possible without raising suspicion.

  The man said something to the prosecution before turning to you, hand outstretched. He said your name as a greeting, and your name had never sounded so good. “I’m Aaron Hotchner.”

  When you stood up to shake his hand, you tried to ignore the way his eyes raked down your body, or the way the two of you held on just a moment too long to be considered proper. It felt as if he was looking right through you, learning all of your secrets as though they were written on your body. No, you knew that look. He was studying you. “Agent Hotchner, it’s a pleasure.”

  “Likewise, Counselor. Please, call me Aaron.”

  You raised your eyebrows in Aaron’s direction, still shaking his hand, and it made your skin burn. You dropped his hand. “I’m just glad we’re able to get this case done and over with. Hopefully with no more delays.”

  His eyebrows quirked upwards in what could only be described as shock. “I see your reputation precedes you,” was his only reply before going to his respective seat, and if he noticed you watching his every move, he made no indication of it. That being said, you definitely felt his gaze on the back of your head as the judge entered the room and the session began.

  As the proceedings dragged on, you and Marcus continued to talk strategy, his hand finding its way to your thigh ever so often. You also continued negotiating with the prosecutor, both of you flashing Post-It notes of potential plea deals that you would be willing to accept, always careful to keep it out of the eyes of the judge and jury. By the time Aaron had been called to the stand, the offer given to you still wasn’t low enough. Fine, if the prosecution wanted to make a fool of themselves, so be it.

  You listened to Aaron’s testimony with the prosecution, completely enraptured. There was something about the way he spoke, so full of authority and confidence, that made the entire room drawn to him. He was incredibly intelligent, that much was clear, and despite the many years since he had actually practiced law, that prosecutor candor hadn’t left him. Staying focused on the case had proven to be more difficult than previously expected. You found yourself staring at his lips, and it didn’t take long for your mind to conjure up some obscene and explicit situations starring the man in front of you. 

  Eventually, his eyes caught yours, and he watched you, his lips — god, those lips — quirked up in a smirk. Aaron watched you expectantly, and in the light of the courtroom, his eyes were almost the color of whiskey, and you wanted nothing more than to drink it all in.

  A sharp “Counselor” broke you out of your trance. In the corner of your eye, you could see Marcus looking at you in concern, but he was the furthest thing from your mind now, especially as Aaron let out an amused huff of air.

  “Counselor, does the prosecution wish to cross-examine the witness?” the judge asked with barely hidden annoyance, making you think that it probably wasn’t the first time she had asked the question.

  You stood up quickly, smoothing down your pencil skirt as you did. “Yes, your honor. Thank you,” you said, trying your best to keep your voice steady as you noticed Aaron’s eyes trailing down your bare legs.

  The cross-examination started normally, and Aaron answered all of your questions with careful precision that only a lawyer could pull off. He seemed to know exactly where you were trying to go with your questions, and easily sidestepped any unflattering implication you were trying to make. Long, biased questions were met with short, clipped answers, not giving you anything to work with. Whatever move you made, Aaron was right there, two steps ahead with you. Never in your life had you met somebody who could follow you so easily or could match your wit without so much breaking a sweat.

  It was exhilarating.

  “Agent Hotchner,” you started, hands clasped behind your back. “Could you please explain to the court how profiles are used when finding and apprehending suspects?”

  Aaron sat up a little taller in the witness box. “Using behavioral research and past case studies, we’re able to construct what we call a profile of the perpetrator, or unsub. Anything they do can give us insights as to who they are — their victims, what weapons they use, even how they dispose of the bodies. Once we have a profile of who we believe is committing these crimes, we have our technical analyst run the parameters through her system. From there, narrowing down our search is easy.”

  You nodded slowly, pretending to mull over what he was saying. “For clarification’s sake, in layman’s terms, you build your profile off of assumed psychology, and not concrete evidence, is that correct?”

  The muscles in Aaron’s jaw flexed, a sure sign he was gritting his teeth. “Behavior analysis is a tool, just like any other—”

  “It’s a yes or no question, Agent,” you interrupted, and oh, he was not happy about that.

  His tongue darted out from between his lips. “The research we use for behavior is—”

  “Yes. Or no.”

  Aaron hesitated, his frustration building up to palpable tension that settled in the courtroom like a thick fog. You weren’t giving him a chance to explain or show off anymore, didn’t allow him to be seen as the smartest person in the room anymore, and that was getting to him.

  “Yes,” he conceded, grimacing as if admitting that was physically painful for him.

  “Thank you,” you replied, and he caught the unspoken that wasn’t so hard now, was it? even if the rest of the room did not. You walked back over to your table, snatching up a piece of paper and holding it in the air. “Your honor, the defense would like to submit Exhibit Seven into evidence.”

  Once the judge gave her express permission, you placed the form in front of Aaron with your left hand, perfectly manicured fingers splayed out in front of his eyes. You almost missed the way his head tilted ever so slightly and his eyes narrowed, like he was staring at a puzzle half complete. “Agent, could you please tell us what’s laying in front of you now.”

  He leaned forward slightly, eyes scanning the paper before meeting back with yours. “This is a part of our official report of the case. Specifically, it has the profile that was used to lead us to the apprehension of Mr. Mckenna.”

  “Does it say on that paper who had the final sign off on the profile before it was circulated?”

  “Yes, that would be me. As Unit Chief, my job is to sign and finalize any reports.”

  “And could you please read the profile, verbatim, as written on that report?”

  Aaron’s face remained neutral, with the exception of his eyebrows scrunching together. Slowly, he had started to piece together your strategy, and he didn’t like it. “The unsub is a white male, between 32 and 40 years old. He’ll most likely be unemployed and driving a van or truck — anything that would let him easily transport his equipment and victims. We believe that he’s also had run-ins with the law before, likely as a juvenile. He’ll come across as friendly, if not a little shy. We believe that this comes from a failed relationship in his past, one where he believes that he was manipulated and wronged, and now he’s going after surrogates for that woman. Killing these women is the only thing that gives him any sort of power. If we can figure out who this past relationship was, it will lead us directly to the killer.”

  You paced back and forth in front of the witness stand, your skirt tightening around your legs with every step you took. “Between 32 and 40 years old, unemployed, and killing surrogates… Except Mr. Mckenna is 22 and works part time as a bartender. How do you justify arresting my client with those inconsistencies?”

  “As I mentioned before,” Aaron started, his voice dangerously low, “A profile is just one tool we use of many. Not every single part of the profile will fit every single time. Which is why we also rely on outside evidence to ensure that we have the best chance at catching the unknown subject as quickly as possible.”

  “Except you had no concrete evidence, which you admit in your own report!” You took two steps closer to him, getting as in his face as possible without risking being held in contempt. With every word that left your mouth, your voice got more and more forceful, and you got more and more under Aaron’s skin.

  “All of it was circumstantial at best. You had a hunch, an inherent bias against my client due to his previous conviction record, and you were frustrated at your own inability to get a good lead. But you can’t arrest somebody on a hunch, or because you’re angry. You had no evidence and the man you arrested didn’t even match the profile that you came up with!”

  Your eyes locked with Aaron, his gaze heavy, and neither of you dared look away first. “Objection!” came from the prosecutor behind you. Exactly what you wanted. “Argumentative and foundation.” You flashed Aaron a predatory grin.

  Two moves to checkmate.

  “Sustained,” said the judge.

  “Withdrawn.” You tapped the witness bench, hoping to convey an air of aloofness and calm. Aaron scowled. “Agent Hotchner, before joining the FBI, you were a prosecutor, is that true?”

  Confusion flashed across his face for the briefest of moments, and it gave you a twisted sense of satisfaction to know that you had the upper hand. You knew the answer to every question you were about to ask, and he knew that. He just couldn’t figure out where you were going with this line of questioning, or what the relevance even was. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  You made a soft hum of approval. “Could you please walk us through your higher education?”

  “I attended George Washington University for both my undergraduate and law degree.”

  “What did you major in for your undergrad?”

  Aaron hesitated. “Political Science.”

  Check. “So all together, you’ve had about seven years in higher education. In that time, how many psychology classes did you take?”

  It was almost sadistic, the way you relished in the slight twitch of his face — the realization that he had been backed into a corner. The silence was deafening as Aaron’s scowl met your smug grin.

  “None,” Aaron said finally.

  “None,” you repeated, performative shock dripping from your words. “Do you have any academic background in psychology or human behavior, then?”

  Aaron’s jaw clenched, and as you made your way closer to the witness stand, you saw his thumb frantically moving back and forth over his fingertips. Clearly, you had struck a nerve. “The FBI has rigorous coursework in order to become a profiler, along with multiple exams and continued training as more research becomes available to us. The profiling classes are no easy feat and are written by experts in the field. Creating profiles has a long and respected history in detective work, and these profilers have caught some of the most prolific serial killers of all time.”

  You placed a hand over your chest in faux modesty. “My apologies, Agent Hotchner, I believe I wasn’t very clear. I’m not calling into question the validity and effectiveness of profiles. I’m calling into question the validity and effectiveness of you as a profiler.”

  You could practically see the cartoon fire spewing out of Aaron’s ears. He was so close to being in your trap, something he had to have known, too, yet he continued to toe dangerously close to that line.

  “A lack of formal education in profiling,” you continued, keeping your voice light, “and the blatant disregard for basic police and legal procedure as shown in this case with my client… I mean, how many other mistakes were made in your past cases? It’s hard to believe that you can read anybody, much less the hardened criminal that you have painted my client to be.”

  Checkmate.

  “Objection!” cried the prosecutor again. “Your Honor, this is —”

  He was cut off by the judge raising her hand. “Sustained. Counselor, I would advise you to tread lightly from here on out.”

  You raised your hands in mock surrender. “Withdrawn.” You turned around to make your way back to your table, ignoring Marcus’s look of complete disbelief. Baiting Aaron had been easy, and now all you had to do was wait.

  The courtroom was uncomfortably silent for one beat… two beats…

  “Not only can I read Mr. Mckenna,” echoed Aaron’s voice, “But I can also read you.”

  Once you got back to your desk, you turned around, hands resting on the cool wood of the table top, but you never sat down. Instead, you leaned forward, and arched your eyebrows in a silent challenge — one he was all too eager to pursue.

  “The red Harvard Law tag on your briefcase is a perfect match to your lipstick, and you wear the same one every time you go to court. Not because you’re superstitious the way most lawyers are, but because it’s your way of maintaining control in the courtroom, something you’re desperate to keep in every aspect of your life, personal and professional. I would guess that this need goes back to late high school, early college. But you’ve been worried about appearances and how you’re perceived for even longer than that.”

  You fought the urge to roll your eyes. So he thought you were Type A? Anybody could have guessed that by your anything. All they would have to do is look at your color coded case files or your daily schedule, planned down to the minute. You had only been trying to sway the jury when you insinuated that he wasn’t a good profiler, but maybe you were actually starting to believe it yourself.

  Except Aaron got a dangerous glint in his eye, causing your stomach to bubble with anxiety. Clearly, he was playing chess, too, and by the looks of it, he believed he was winning. 

  “In fact, you’re so worried about losing control, that despite your busy schedule, you refuse to hire a planner for your upcoming wedding.”

  That got your attention. The objection that you were about to call died on your lips, and all you could do was stare with poorly hidden shock. Next to you, Marcus turned pale as a ghost.

  Aaron, cocky bastard, continued his profile of you, with no clear signs of stopping anytime soon. “You have a tan where your ring usually is, and I know you’ve been wearing it recently as you subconsciously fiddle with where it would be whenever things in court aren’t going your way. Just like you’re doing now. You still have your maiden name, which you plan on giving up when you do get married because not taking his last name would arouse too many questions that you want to avoid. Just another way your concern of appearances is manifested. So you’re engaged.

  “I would say congratulations, but it’s not a happy relationship, not on your side, anyway. Younger female professionals will take their rings off in fear of not being taken seriously, but you’re an established and respected lawyer. You needn't worry about that. So if it’s not about you, it’s about the fiance. You don’t want to be associated with him.”

  You gripped the edge of the table, too angry to form words. Your nails dug into the varnish, and you were sure that your heavy breathing could be heard from across the room. This dick. This absolute, garbage, piece of shit dick. The worst part was how casual he sounded as he aired all of your dirty laundry for everybody to hear.

  “He’s holding you back, in all aspects of life, but mostly intellectually. He doesn’t have a sliver of your capabilities. The two of you are probably high school sweethearts, prom king and queen type, but while you grew up and matured, he never did. He can’t keep up with you. Still acts the same way he did in high school, only now with more access to alcohol and money. Career wise, he doesn’t have much going for him, probably some sports related pipe dream. But you stay with him because you know how to control him and how to use him to your advantage.”

  Aaron’s eyes zeroed in on Marcus, and all of the color drained from your face. The voice in the back of your mind was screaming at you to object, to get the judge involved, anything, before Aaron did any more damage, but you were frozen in your spot. For the first time in your life, you were completely and utterly speechless and spiraling out of control.

  “That need for control is also why you’re sleeping with your assistant. It’s casual for you, but not for him anymore. You should break that off. That’s nothing new for you, though. In fact, I would bet that if we looked back at all of your affairs since your engagement, we’d find a long string of men and women, all of whom are your subordinates or of lower status than you. It’s a win-win situation — they’re more than eager to have a chance with you, and you get to stay in control. Oh, you’ll stop when you actually get married, but you continue to push that date back, as well. So…”

  He leaned back in his chair, clearly feeling good about himself, and God, you could kill him. You could reach over the witness box and wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze until his whiskey colored eyes popped out of his smug, beautiful face.

  Aaron lifted his chin, eyebrows raised in your direction. “Do you believe in my abilities as a profiler now, Counselor?”

  That snapped you back into action. You cleared your throat and unnecessarily smoothed down your skirt in an attempt to regroup your thoughts. “Well, Agent Hotchner, thank you for that little show and tell. It’s clear that you are very passionate about your career. However, just like your profile of my client, you have no evidence for any of your unsubstantiated accusations.”

  It was a pathetic attempt at saving face, and Aaron knew it, but it had to be enough for you. You turned your back towards Aaron so that you could face the judge, who, to her credit, had a perfect poker face the whole time. “Your Honor, I move to strike Agent Hotchner’s outburst” — not an outburst, Aaron was too composed to ever have one of those, but he grimaced at the word all the same — “from the record, as no question stands before the witness at this time.”

  The judge looked at you dubiously, clearly debating her ruling. There shouldn’t have been any reason to worry, you were legally in the right, but there was always the chance that she wouldn’t be on your side. You noticed yourself fiddling with where your engagement ring would usually be, and you cursed yourself under your breath. How could Aaron have possibly known all of that?

  “Sustained,” she said finally, “I direct the jury to disregard the witness’s, uh, example when considering the evidence.”

  You let out a breath of relief. It wasn’t much of a win — everybody still heard what had happened, it was still in the back of their minds, like the ring of a bell echoing — but at least in regards to the case, you had the legal upper hand.

  The judge turned back to you. “Defense, the witness is still yours, if you have any further questions.”

  If you were a little more in your right mind, you would have cut your losses, but between your oath to defend your client to the best of your ability and that stupid self assured grin on Aaron’s face, you knew that you really had no choice.

  Deep breath in… Slow breath out… You’re at a stalemate now.

  “Agent Hotchner,” you said, causing him to perk him up in interest. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting you to continue. “Wouldn’t an ex-lawyer and an FBI agent be familiar with the rules of decorum in a courtroom?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I understand your question, Counselor.”

  “Let me rephrase, then. Would you say that you have a history of emotional outbursts and rule breaking in your line of work? And I’ll remind you that you are still under oath.”

  Aaron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No, I wouldn’t. Integrity is one of our core values, and we take that very seriously.”

  With shaking hands, Marcus handed you one of the files you’d had him print out on Aaron. “If that’s so, can you explain why, since your promotion to Unit Chief in 2005, you and your team have had seven disciplinary hearings, one of which being an internal investigation into the excessive force used by one of your agents, and another being a congressional hearing?”

  A sick sense of satisfaction passed over you when you saw him get visibly shocked, his poker face breaking for the first time that day. If he wanted to go for blood, you could fight back twice as hard. “I’m not at liberty to discuss either of those cases.”

  You shrugged nonchalantly. “Very well, Agent. So between the discrepancies in the profile, your inability to control your temper, and your history of breaking procedure, coupled with the fact that you arrested my client without any warrant by kicking in the door to an innocent civilian’s house, do you really believe that your arrest and the subsequent evidence that came from that arrest was obtained legally? Or do you just not care either way, as long as you’re able to prove that you’re right?”

  Right as he opened his mouth to speak, you turned your back on him and started to walk back to your table. Aaron wasn’t even able to get a peep out before you cut him off with a sharp “Question withdrawn. At this time, the defense rests.”

  “Our arrest was made on the grounds of—” Aaron tried, and you smirked to yourself. He must have been desperate if he was trying that move twice. You whipped around, gaze steeled.

  “I have no further questions, Agent Hotchner,” you repeated, only letting out the slightest hint of amusement. “But thank you for your cooperation with Lady Justice today.”

  Aaron’s eyes met yours, and a weight settled in the pit of your stomach. You should have hated him, but something about him had you completely and utterly entranced by him. Maybe it was the novelty of the case. Maybe it was the matching intellects and the fact that he was the only other person who could give you a challenge.

  Maybe you just liked the way you got to lose control with him.

  As he passed you, his arm brushed yours, and your whole body burned.

  “Very cute, Counselor,” he whispered, voice dripping with condescension. “How long did it take you to come up with that little switch up?”

  “Don’t patronize me,” you snapped. “I was playing chess, you were playing checkers, and that’s why you lost.”

  The rest of the session went on normally, if not a little tense. To your surprise, Aaron hadn’t left immediately after his testimony, and instead took a seat in the section for the public. Good. As soon as courtroom decorum wasn’t a factor, you were sure to give him a piece of your mind.

  Court adjourned for the day, and you couldn’t get out of there fast enough. You told Marcus to continue to push for a better plea option as you grabbed your briefcase and stormed out, pushing through the throngs of people until you could see the back of Aaron’s head.

  You sped up your steps until you were right behind him, and you grabbed his wrist to stop him in his tracks. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

  You pulled Aaron into an empty conference room, hoping to get some privacy before you completely blew your lid. You already had one public humiliation because of him, and you did not need another.

  “What is your problem?” you hissed, locking the door behind you. “You had no right to put my personal life on blast like that.”

  Aaron placed his hands on his hips, swooping the sides of his suit jacket back, and you had to make a very conscious effort to not stare. “You questioned my profiling abilities, and I proved them.”

  “You didn’t prove shit,” you argued, folding your arms across your chest. “Except for the fact that you’re an insufferable bastard.”

  “Are you saying that my profile was off? Because if you didn’t want to be caught committing adultery, then you shouldn’t have made it so obvious.”

  You gritted your teeth and took a step towards him in a futile attempt to come across as intimidating. Even in your heels, he still seemed to be towering over you. You’d have to level the playing field somehow. You gripped his tie and used it to pull him down so that he was closer to eye level with you. “I don’t need your judgment, Aaron.”

  Aaron moved closer to you, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body. His Adam's apple bobbed and it captivated you. “I couldn’t care less about what you do,” he said flippantly. “Matter of fact, I don’t think this fit of anger is even inherently about your little secret coming out. Do you want to know what I think it is?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I think,” he continued, completely ignoring your protest, “You’re angry because as much as you can dish it out, you can’t take it.”

  Your grip on his tie tightened at his words. “Trust me, I can take anything,” you said, voice low and breathy.

  Aaron’s eyes flickered to your lips — those kissable, red stained lips of yours. You hadn’t had to reapply your lipstick once throughout the day, and he idly wondered just exactly what it would take to muss up that perfect, pouty red lip. 

  “I also think that for the first time in a very long time, you didn’t have control, and you liked it.” He bent down a little bit more so that his lips brushed against your ear with every word and you could feel his breath run down your spine. “Aren’t you bored of sleeping with boys who are so far beneath you?”

  You’re not sure who initiated it, but the next thing you knew, your lips crashed against his, the two of you making out like it was the last kiss either of you were ever going to get. His hands felt impossibly everywhere all at once — gripping your hips, tugging at your hair, and even snaking under your work blouse to palm at your breast. His teeth nipped at the fibres of your lips. With every movement of his hands, little gasps escaped you, and you could feel the curve of his lips curling up into a smirk.

  His fingers trailed up the side of your body, past the curve of your neck, and tangled themselves in your hair before yanking it back, exposing the column of your throat. Immediately he attached his lips to your neck, nipping at your pulse point.

  “Aaron,” you whined, trying to regain the breath he stole from your lungs. You practically melted in his arms, going completely weak at the knees, especially as his tongue trailed across the underside of your jaw. You let his tie fall from your grip, instead bringing your hands up to cup his face to pull him in for another kiss. 

  His lips set a bruising pace, and it caused a fire to burn in the pit of your stomach. You had never once been kissed like this, never once felt so all-consumed by a person. Aaron’s cologne surrounded you, making your head spin. Bruises were sure to form from how harshly he was gripping your hips, but you didn’t care. He was addicting, and you wanted more.

  Hotch walked you backwards until you were pressed up against the wall, his thigh shoved in between your legs, forcing your skirt to ride up. The position made his arousal obvious as he pressed against you. The way he held you was possessive, primal even, Unconsciously, you ground down on his thigh, hoping for anything to help relieve the ache between your legs. 

  Unfortunately for you, Aaron caught on to what you were trying to do, and he chuckled against your lips before pulling away just far enough to speak. “Look at you,” he whispered, and the raspiness of his voice only served to turn you on even more. He hooked a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him, and his thumb traced your bottom lip, tugging at it ever so slightly. His other hand slowly trailed its way up your thigh, nails scratching at your skin. “Skirt hiked up around your waist, desperate to get off. Your little boyfriends aren’t doing it for you anymore?”

  He pressed his thigh further into you, ripping an involuntary moan from your throat. “Fuck,” you gasped, your hips still moving back and forth against him, not caring how needy it made you seem. “I need… I…”

  “What? Big, bad lawyer doesn’t have any more smart ass comments?” he cooed sarcastically, pushing your skirt up even higher. He replaced his thigh with his hand, and his fingers ghosted over your covered pussy, teasing you, not giving you nearly enough contact. “Fuck, you’re so wet already. Go ahead, needy girl, if you’re that desperate.” Aaron yanked down your panties in one fell swoop, and you blindly kicked them off to the side. “Be a good girl and show me how much you want this.”

  Without any more of a warning, one of his fingers entered you, and you let out a breathy moan that Aaron was sure to have on repeat in his mind for days to come. When the heel of his palm pressed against your clit, your brain completely short circuited. You threw your head back as far as you could despite being pressed against the wall as his name clumsily tumbled from your lips like a prayer.

  “You’re so fucking tight,” he grunted, pressing you further against the wall. “Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

  Electricity coursed through your veins as he added a second finger, easily finding that spot in you that made you see stars. You rocked your hips back and forth against his hand, eyes screwed shut in pleasure. His lips trailed from your jawline, down your neck, and to your collarbone. 

  “Look at me,” Aaron ordered, tightening his grip on your chin, and your eyes shot right back open. Instead of the whiskey colored irises you had gotten used to, Aaron’s pupils were so blown that they made his eyes completely black. “I want to see you lose control all over me. Gonna make sure you come harder for me than you have for any of your boy toys.”

  That wouldn’t be very difficult. Nobody had ever made you feel the way you did then, Aaron’s fingers buried deep in your cunt and lips exploring every inch of skin he could access. No part of this was for his pleasure — from the curl of his fingers to the slow circles on your clit, it was all expertly calculated to bring you to the edge with as much intensity as possible, and it was all devastatingly effective.

  “I’m so close,” you whimpered, and if it weren’t for the wall behind you, you would have completely lost your balance. “More, fuck, please.”

  “More?” he mumbled against the column of your throat. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

  Coherent sentences were not an option for you at the moment, not when you were so deliciously overwhelmed with pleasure and with Aaron. Besides, how could you tell him that you wanted him to completely and utterly ruin you? That you wanted him to bend you over the conference table and pound into you until you could barely speak. You wanted Aaron to mark you and send you home to your fiance with reminders of every little thing he did to you for the days to come. You wanted raw and untamed passion. You wanted to be consumed, for him to settle in your lungs like smoke, and haunt your dreams for the rest of your life. 

  You didn’t want nice and calculated the way every other man you’d been with had acted — you wanted Aaron Hotchner to take control.

  You couldn't say any of that, so instead, you grabbed his wrist, the one that was holding your chin in place and, without breaking eye contact with him, you guided his hand down until it rested on your throat. “More,” you choked out, giving him an animalistic grin.

  That was all it took. Using his grip on your neck, he pulled you in for another kiss, messy and desperate and swallowing all of your incoherent moans as his fingers moved harder, faster.

  You clung to him like a lifeline as you felt your whole body tense up, your orgasm fast approaching. You were so fucking close and he felt so fucking good and, God, if this is what losing control felt like, then you and Aaron could do this forever and —

  His fingers were gone from you, and you clenched around nothing. You cried out in protest, which only seemed to amuse him.

  “Oh? Prom queen isn’t used to not getting what she wants?” Keeping his hand on your throat and you pinned against the wall, he made slow, teasing work of his belt buckle.

  Your chest rose and fell in a desperate attempt to catch your breath. “What happened to watching me come undone all over you?” you shot, trying to even out your voice as much as possible. It didn’t work very well. “Did you lose your nerve?”

   A dark, humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “Don’t worry, Princess, that’s still the plan. I just never said where. I want to make sure you’re nice and wet and ready for me to turn you into a moaning mess on my cock.”

  In an attempt to regain some control of the situation, you rolled your eyes. “Yeah? And how do you expect to do that?”

  He smirked and released your throat. Wordlessly, he grabbed your wrist, and guided your hand down your body, further and further until you reached your throbbing pussy. He used his hands to press your fingers to your clit, and you whimpered softly. God, you were dripping, and the extra stimulation didn’t help your shaking legs.

  “By making you so needy and whiny that by the end of this, you're begging for me,” he hissed, lips brushing the shell of your ear with every word. He moved your fingers so that you were rubbing small, slow circles around your clit, although it wasn’t nearly enough to give any real relief. “Begging for me to come and fuck you over and over and over again. Because you know that your pathetic fiance and your string of affairs have never made you feel like this before.”

  Aaron yanked your hand away from your clit and you could sob. You wanted to cum so badly that you could barely put it into words. Still holding your wrist, Aaron brought your hand up to his face. He took a brief moment to admire the way your fingers glistened, covered in your arousal, before bringing them to his lips and sucking.

  Eyes wide, you made a choked noise as you committed the view of Aaron to memory. “Please, Aaron, fuck, I need you,” you whined, the start of a long string of incoherent begging. You needed him then and there, damn the consequences.

  He pulled your fingers out of his mouth slowly, and you moaned at the obscene wet noise it made. “So desperate,” he murmured as he began to unbutton his slacks. “All for me. All because I edged you once.”

  Aaron pulled down his pants just enough to pull out his dick, and you licked your lips involuntarily when you saw it, big and thick and leaking precum. Clearly, it gave Aaron a bit of an ego boost, because as he ran the head up and down your sensitive folds, he reminded you, “You did say you could take anything, Princess.”

  Your breathing came out shaking as you shivered, waiting for him to do something — anything. You were so empty and you needed him so badly. If you didn’t get his dick in you soon, you were pretty sure you would lose your mind completely.

  “Fuck me, Aaron,” you moaned, arching your back to press into him more.

  He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips in an almost intimate gesture. “Patience is a virtue,” he chastised.

  In your haze of arousal, you barely noticed him grabbing your briefcase and digging through the small pocket in the front. You especially didn’t notice his pause when his finger touched something small, round, and metal in the bottom of the bag. The only thing you cared about was him coming back to you, holding up a condom packet with a smirk.

  “I knew I’d find one somewhere in your briefcase.” You let the comment slide, the excitement at the prospect of sex with Aaron Hotchner outweighing any jackass comment he could make. Aaron made quick work of putting on the condom. The second he was done, one of his hands ran up your thigh, getting a good grip on it before pulling it up and around his waist.

  “Do you feel how wet you are for me? How willing you were to give up control? All for me? That—” Lips pressed to your ear, he pushed his cock into you, bottoming out with one thrust. You threw your head back in pleasure. “—Is playing chess, sweetheart.”

  Aaron dropped his forehead to the crook of your neck as he began pounding into you at a desperate pace. He had held off on his own pleasure for long enough, and now he was chasing his orgasm with a ruthless determination. One hand stayed gripping your thigh, the other one braced against the wall next to your head. Aaron nipped at your neck in between moans of praise for you.

  “I — oh, fuck — knew it,” he groaned, digging his fingers deeper into your thigh. “You wanted somebody to take control. Somebody who knows how to please you.”

  You wrapped your arms around his neck and tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you. You were an incoherent mess at this point, his name tumbling from your lips like it was the only thing you knew how to say. At that moment, it probably was. 

  “Finally, that bratty mouth of yours is good for something. You sound so pretty, moaning out my name. Say it again.” A particularly deep thrust caused you to tug at his hair. “Louder.”

  Never before had you met somebody like Aaron Hotchner, and you weren’t sure if you ever would again, so you screwed your eyes shut and let yourself get lost in the absolute pleasure he was providing. You memorized everything you could — the way the calluses on his hands felt against your skin, the way he moaned out your name, how deliciously full you felt, and how for the first time in your life you felt truly seen — so that you could suspend the moment in amber to preserve in the back of your mind.

  “Please,” you begged, scratching his scalp lightly with your nails. “I’m so close. Fuck, Aaron, you feel so good, please.”

  Aaron tore his lips from your throat, choosing instead to press his forehead against yours. His lips brushed yours with every word he spoke, so close that you were practically kissing him. “That’s it, princess,” he murmured. “Be a good girl. Be a good girl and come. All over my dick.”

  When you came, it was with a cry of his name as your whole body shuddered. You clung to him as he continued to fuck you. His thrusts began to stutter, and he took the opportunity to capture your lips in one last, scorching kiss, and you were all too happy to oblige.

  You think he moaned something as he came, but you couldn’t hear it over the sounds of skin slapping against skin. He fucked you through his orgasm, making sure that you felt every single inch of him. As if you could ever forget it. 

  The two of you stayed where you were for a few moments, relishing in the feeling of being full a little longer. Your walls fluttered around Aaron, which caused him to muffle his whimpers into your throat.

  “Aaron…” you whispered, not wanting to disturb the moment. “That was so—”

  “I know.”

  “We shouldn’t have done it.”

  “I know.” He pulled back just enough to leave a lingering kiss on your lips, and your whole body burned. “But I don’t regret it. Do you?”

  You shook your head. “Not at all.” The confession lingered in the hair for a tense second because both of you seemed to remember where you were.

  Aaron slowly pulled out of you, an act that looked almost painful for him when you let out an involuntary moan at the feeling. He could have spent all day in you, if given the chance.

  The two of you adjusted yourselves in silence, both of you hoping to be able to leave the room with some semblance of professionalism. At the very least, the goal was to not look like you had just had sex in a courthouse conference room. Shame and embarrassment flooded you — what had you been thinking?

  Once you felt that you were presentable enough, you grabbed your briefcase and tried to ignore Aaron burning a hole in the back of your head with his gaze.

  “Well, Aaron, this was fun.” You cleared your throat. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around at some point.”

  You were two steps away from the door when you heard his smug, courthouse voice come back in full swing.

  “Forgetting something?”

  You turned around in a huff, ready to go right back to arguing with him, but what you saw made your whole body heat up in embarrassment. There was Aaron with a self-satisfied grin and dangling off his finger was your panties.

  “These are cute,” he mused. “It’s a shame I didn’t get to fully appreciate them.”

  You rushed over there, fully prepared to snatch them out of his hand. “And you never will,” you shot, but even as you said it, you didn’t make much of an effort to take them out of his hands. You just stared at him and his swollen lips and mussed hair, all your doing.

  Ever the gentleman, Aaron started to hand your underwear back to you, but instead of taking it back like you knew you should have done, you covered his hand with yours, closing it in a fist around your panties.

  “Who says you can’t?” you whispered, guiding his pantie-filled hand down to his pockets. “This way… You can keep it as collateral. To make sure I’ll come and see you again.”

  His breath hitched in his throat as you guided him to put your panties into his suit pocket, and you were glad to be the one surprising him this time.

  “I don’t care about your fiance,” Aaron started, and you braced yourself for the worse. “But I’m not interested in being the ‘other man’ to your affairs with your assistants, too.”

  “Consider it ended,” you promised, not caring how desperate or easy it made you look. You wanted to keep Aaron around for a long, long time.

  Just until the wedding, you corrected yourself.

  You slung your briefcase over your shoulder, wincing as it dug into a bruise that Aaron had left. It would be there for a while — you’d have to find a way to hide it from Tony until it faded. The thought made you stupidly giddy. “I’ll see you around, Aaron.”

  He nodded in goodbye, and you slipped out of the conference room on shaking legs. As soon as the door closed behind you, you reached into your bag, and reluctantly slipped on your engagement ring.

[hawflake]

not to write an essay on naruto barely a week into 2022 but like...just imagine what the naruto manga could've been like if it had stuck to the grim cynicism it had going on early in the series, the unforgiving critical takes of the shinobi system and consequently what it means to be a ninja in that sort of society, and the nuanced characterization of the land of waves arc, and to a certain extent the chuunin exams in that they are openly acknowledged by hiruzen himself to be a proxy war between prosperous villages as a way to flaunt military prowess. the kind of story it could've been instead of trying to contain it strictly within narrow shounen manga parameters and if it hadn't been hampered by increasingly bad writing/editing decisions that i suspect were largely motivated by business decisions given its popularity and following in jump and the kind of audience the magazine caters to

like...early naruto shows kishi actually has the ability to tell a pretty decent story. i have no idea if what happened later on is solely due to kishi's shortcomings as a writer or if other industry/editor factors had corrupted the story into an ultimately disappointing mess by the end, but. imagine what we could've had if it'd stuck with sobering thought-provoking conversations like this

the waves arc ends on this somber realization of what the shinobi system is after naruto finishes his first big boy mission and his childlike arrogance/naivety is humbled by witnessing firsthand the sheer amount of devastation and trauma other people besides himself have had to deal with in a world that is utterly messed up in ways he couldn't even imagine. ending on this note sets up the expectation that the rest of the series will be devoted to exploring the question of what being a ninja really means and how naruto will fight to change the status quo, but...it's never really addressed again?

like there was even a big opportunity at the end of the pain arc when naruto and nagato are talking for naruto to really examine the shinobi world again and really consider what exactly he's been fighting for this whole time, but kishi does the most disappointing cop out by having naruto sidestep the question nagato is posing to him altogether and pulls out a FICTIONAL BOOK as proof of his commitment to change the world, essentially being like just trust me bro i was named after the guy in this after all and nagato is just like oh damn you're right. huh?????

since i only watched the show the first time around and read the manga this time, manga sasuke is actually so much more bearable than anime sasuke?? though i think his character motivations could've definitely been better conveyed. like.....i think i know the antihero vibe kishi was trying to go for when writing sasuke but.......he really wasn't very good at it lmao. but at least the critical questions sasuke asks are directly related to the question the early series poses at the end of the waves arc:

like kishi keeps doing this weird thing throughout the series where the storylines he writes inevitably end up criticizing konoha/the ninja world at large bc he literally set the world up this way on purpose when creating this series, but then he backs down when it comes to actually implicating konoha (perhaps bc such a prominent jump series can't go full on anti-establishment? 🙃). i think this is why sasuke's characterization suffers because on the one hand kishi wants you to sympathize him but at the same time wants you to think he's wrong for going against konoha despite everything he went through? and that's why it's so easy to write sasuke off as an asshole who refuses to listen to anyone bc kishi couldn't fucking make up his mind about the kind of character he wants sasuke to be and his ultimate role in the story?

the uchiha resentment that's literally embedded in the very fabric of konoha society since its establishment, the clan essentially being relegated into a ghettoed corner of the village and systematically kept from prominent roles of power stemming from tobirama's prejudice and the clear nepotism at play with the village's leadership, the true purpose of the uchihas' role as the village police force...sasuke is one of the few characters to actually make valid points and criticisms but since kishi desperately wanted to shoehorn the yin yang theme into as much of the story as possible partway through, he depicts the naruto/konoha view as morally superior and frames sasuke as merely blindsided by hatred who must be saved from his "darkness" by naruto. it feels like kishi wanted really bad to turn this into an easy good vs evil type of situation so he could wrap it up nicely and made sasuke decide on the childishly stupid goal to kill every konoha citizen that's out of character even for him, since when he was still with orochimaru and when he first formed team taka he pointedly refused to kill anyone who had nothing to do with him. it's like...kishi didn't even try to give sasuke a fighting chance in the story lmao

which is why the final naruto vs sasuke fight that was hyped up for the series' entirety lacks any emotional gravity and is so disappointing because even before they start you know how it's gonna end and sasuke's admittance of his loss to naruto acts narratively to dismiss sasuke's grievances and justified criticisms against the state that wronged him in every possible way as a fight he cannot win

and like?? the series never even gets close to questioning the reverence every konoha shinobi has for the will of fire? like maybe it didn't necessarily start out that way with hashirama when he first co-founded the village with madara in order to steer the world towards peace, but it's never criticized how it evolved to become a form of indoctrination and way of maintaining subservience to a military dictatorship, to the point you see even shikamaru equating it to some kind of pseudo-religion?

like it's held up to be this lofty code of conduct about protecting your comrades and a noble act of self-sacrifice, even your worth as a shinobi equated to how far you are willing to go to uphold this doctrine (and going against it is in many cases an act of treason). but there are so many instances in the story where the hypocrisy of this messaging shows, namely the village's collective treatment and abandonment of naruto, the uchiha massacre, the choices itachi had and what he was ultimately driven (manipulated) to do in order to maintain intra-village peace out of his loyalty to konoha (which overrode even his feelings for family and clan), the village leaving a 7? 8 year old sasuke to his own devices despite his fragile psychological state, the village ostracizing sakumo for putting his comrades above the mission and driving him to suicide...and yet there is not a single discussion about the dangers, shortcomings, and implications of this ideology, all the underhanded and atrocious things the village has swept under the rug in the name of the will of fire.

and the end of the series' answer to the question of what it means to be a ninja, to "endure," rings hollow when the last chapter shows nothing really changes, naruto continues to uphold the status quo as hokage, the five villages are i guess on friendlier terms with each other but the shinobi system is still going strong and 12 year olds are still being treated as soldiers/tools of the state once they graduate ninja school??

imagine if kishi had stuck with this kind of political intrigue and kept exploring the characters' roles and relationships to the society they live in and are conditioned to uphold? instead of doing whatever the hell that was in the war + kaguya arcs that destroyed any agency any naruto antagonist had by reducing the entire series and character decisions to a cheap "gotcha" since all of the shinobi world's grievances were orchestrated by some higher power who is literally an alien? like everyone was manipulated by obito who was manipulated by madara who was ultimately being manipulated by some alien moon goddess' armpit demon? is this even the same person who wrote the land of waves arc lmao

like early naruto was exploring some surprisingly complex and mature ethical, moral, and political themes for a series published in a magazine aimed at like 8-16 year old boys and perhaps that’s why the later manga is so different in tone and story direction as it gained more attention and popularity. like looking back now it’s clear kishi was already able to write like this so early in his career and despite how much i love dunking on him it makes me wonder how accurate his being a bad writer really is, or if it's more that he was prevented from writing what he wanted originally more than any personal writing failings on his part. which he has plenty of, but i wonder how many higher up decisions were made that effectively killed his original vision for this series. i mean naruto was def one of jump's biggest cash cows (and still is; just look at the fact boruto exists) and as a result they probably wanted to pander to a certain audience, effectively sacrificing a compelling story for a lucrative business decision based on what "sells" and keeps people reading without rocking the boat. like part 1 and part 2 naruto are two very different stories with different messages and maybe we'll never know the exact reasons or how much it really had to do with kishi's abilities as a writer. and yet i know the bitter sting of what could've been will eventually fade again and i'll just keep crawling back every few years because i love setting myself up for disappointment 😔

don't even get me started on how these writing shifts impacted the naruto girls...like it wasn't Great obviously but part 1 had nearly all the good character-growth moments for them and it's hard to believe the same person wrote the part 2 girls like that without some outside influence making certain decisions :/ the utter disrespect

[five-rivers]

Cold Case 5

“You’re part of this conspiracy, too?” asked McGee, backing up a few steps. He wasn’t quite ready to confront the whole ‘speaking to a dead person’ thing. Not yet.

“Well. Yeah. As far as a conspiracy exists anyway. You are standing on my grave.” A wisp of mist peeled off the ghost, and the edges of his form flickered.

“Your…” He resisted the urge to glance at the gravestone. All the offerings made more sense if people thought their hero’s body was there.

… Everything about this situation was insane, wasn’t it? He was here, talking to a ghost he’d thought was fictional five minutes ago and standing on his grave. Not that he hadn’t thought all ghosts were fictional up until a couple of hours ago.

“Yep, it’s mine. Which is why I came down here. I can tell when someone is making weird promises to my dead body. It is a school night, you know?”

“People keep saying that. Why does it even matterthat it’s a school night?

“Because I like going to school, and contrary to popular opinion, ghosts do need rest. We sleep when we’re dead and all that.”

“Was that a pun?” demanded McGee, incredulous.

“More like a play on a common figure of speech or a literal metaphor, but, sure, call it a pun. Why are you so focused on my death, anyway?”

“You, I, what, this,” babbled McGee, trying to get a handle on his thoughts. “You’re a pre-teen who was buried in the woods. I’m not heartless.”

“Rude. I’m not a pre-teen. And I was sort of the one to do the burying, so…” The ghost tilted his head, frowning slightly. “You’re not having a heart attack, are you?”

“No,” said McGee.

“It’s just, you’re really holding onto your chest, there. I could fly you to—”

“I am not having a heart attack,” said McGee. “Stop changing the subject! You-! You’re-!” McGee sat down abruptly, careless of the condensation on the grass.

“You know, it’s normal to have an existential crisis when confronted with your own mortality.”

“I’ve already confronted my mortality! I’m a police detective for goodness’ sake!”

“Okay, okay. Jeez.”

“And you- Your death. You said I already knew how you’d died. What’s that supposed to mean?”

Phantom shrugged. “It’s listed as an accident. And it was. I asked them not to put down the details. I like my living family to have privacy.”

“And the whole conspiracy?”

“Be honest,” said Phantom. “It isn’t really all that much of a conspiracy. The town gets most of its revenue from tourism. We’re actually pretty public about it.”

“But that’s not real.”

“Some of it is.” The ghost rubbed the back of his head. “We kind of all know you were sent to spy on us,” he said. “So, you’re probably wondering how to spin this.”

McGee felt his eye twitch. “Collins and Patterson told you?”

“Not really. It’s just obvious. But, like, outside of the GIW, no one is going to believe you that the reason for Amity being so messed up is ghosts. And you’ve seen the GIW.”

“They chased glowsticks around a park,” said McGee, dully. The action made more sense now that he knew about ghosts, but still.

Phantom laughed, a twinkling sound. “Yep. That was a good one. Anyway, I don’t know what your bosses are like, but I guess your options here are to either quit, or, well, if you can’t beat ‘em…”

“Is this a recruitment pitch? Are you, a ghost, trying to give me a recruitment pitch to join your vaguely illegal conspiracy town full of corruption and unsolved murders?”

“First off, to get unsolved murders here you have to go way back. Like I said, my death was an accident. Secondly. Is it working?”

McGee put his head in his hands.

“Welp. It isn’t like you have to decide right away. Your timeline’s determined by whoever your bosses are. No one here hates you, though, if that makes it easier. Collins and Patterson wouldn’t have shown you the Neon District, otherwise. They’d have waited ‘til you ran into a daylight battle, tried to scare you off. That kind of thing.”

“This is them not trying to scare me off?” asked McGee, humorlessly.

“Yeah, I know, it doesn’t seem like it, but it’s true.” Phantom paused. “Ah, that wasn’t exactly the thing to say to put you at ease, was it?”

“What,” said McGee, “is worse than this? What is worse than the dead coming back to like and those alien-looking green blobs coming through and the Fentons, oh my god, what is worse than what they were driving?”

“Oh, gee,” said Phantom, not meeting McGee’s questioning gaze. “Would you look at the time. I’ve got to go. School night and all.”

With that, the ghost disappeared.

Slowly, McGee dragged himself back to his car, turned it on, and just sat there, heater on full blast. This was… a lot to take in. A whole lot.

He rubbed his hand over his face.

Ghosts.

Real ghosts.

Who had opinions about investigations into their deaths.

Had he somehow been sucked into a demented supernatural buddy-cop drama? He was tempted to go searching for cameras.

He was tempted to invest himself fully into whatever this was, because didn’t everyone dream about being in a story like this? Being involved in something fantastic and meaningful? Being the hero of a story, no matter how short?

But this was really to much for someone his age. And he really had to come up with something to say to his bosses, because he really, really doubted that they’d accept him quitting to join the Amity Park Police Department as a non-spy.

He closed his eyes and let himself breathe. He didn’t have to decide how to handle this now. Maybe he’d take Collins and Patterson up on that day off. Think about it for a while.

But.

Ghosts.

Could he live with himself if he just left?

Ice glittered on the ground illuminated by his headlights, as if mocking him for his earlier ambitions about solving cold cases, for all the ignorant thoughts he’d had when first arriving. Could a case really be called cold when the victim was available to give an interview?

Well, yes, assaults went cold all the time, but, still…

Even if McGee didn’t know the details of his eventual decision, he knew, then, that even if he left, he’d never be able to forget Amity Park. It was too good of a mystery. And all other fantasies pushed aside, he’d become a detective to solve mysteries.

In short: he wasn’t leaving.

[iphoenixrising]

(6am/Prime Girl back to the super random chaos again haha) B A B E I serously caNNOT - I read your post about some AUs you’d like to get to and?? The Civillian CEO one literally spoke to my SOUL???? I’m just picturing Tim, fully aware of the Batfam’s identities (because he may have followed in his parents’ footsteps, but that didn’t stop him from his hobby when they were gone) starting to deal with some of this corruption, and then Dick and Jason are s o enraptured by Tim. Because this isn’t a Tim that is docile or subtle about anything.

As a CEO, Tim loses none of his sass or cleverness. When he sets his sights on someone, he does not hold back.

And his tech and detective skills would totally come into play, of course - after all, so much to dig up, so little time. (And those computer classes he took in Highschool and college? Absolutely paying off)

And Lucius would obviously stay with WE, but I can imagine Tam meeting Tim, this young, vigilant and untarnished CEO with so much to do and so many expectations, and rolling into the fray.

Tim, having grown up in these environments, knows how to wear his masks, to smile as he snatches information from tipsy gala-goers, to draw plans out of the elite of Gotham like it’s child’s play.

So maybe Dick and Jason see him at a gala one day. They’d known about him before, of course - but Tim Drake only became CEO about a month ago, so they were expecting the idealism to die sooner than later (like it does with most Gothamites)

However, they watch as he works the crowd, smile glinting in a way that verges on too-sweet and p, laughing as a mogul talks of some sort of Organisation they’ve set up involving the homeless, and -

The man is in prison the following week, charged with many counts of trafficking, and he’d miraculously ended up in a court that couldn’t be bribed -

Oh, yes, now they’re interested.

Anyways, so Tim starts running into Bruce’s wards a little more, of course. They try to be subtle about it, but Tim is very well aware of them and knows that he’s either being investigated or he’s some weird form of civilian city-cleanup entertainment (and wow, maybe he was flattering himself)

But they start wooing bit by bit, and our boys have maybe one combined subtle bone in their bodies, and Tim, here, has had so much practice with people that he realizes very quickly what their intentions are.

Instead of confronting them, though, which may lead to questions and turn them off from him (because they only wanted sweet but fierce normal CEO Tim - there’s no way they would want him as he is -) he decides that ‘hey, isn’t this an opportunity?’ And begins to help himself to their help.

Maybe it’s a file on some shady business dealer he’s left out ‘accidentally’ when they come over for coffee, or maybe it’s a hint here or there about a drug circulating on the down-low to a very specific group of people, or even notes on a cop he’d noticed a discrepancy with.

Dick and Jason are always so interested, after all, and Nightwing and Redhood are always so willing to help out a plain, ordinary CEO with his worries.

Everything could come to a head one day, however, when Tim might slip up somewhere due to lack of sleep and get caught in something. With little other choice he might call Dick or Jason and ask for help, and, well?

Wouldn’t they just find their little civilian detective so much more interesting?

(*coughcough* ANYWAYS - I hope you’re doing well!! Love love you and all your works, fren! I really hope I haven’t overstepped any bounds with this short thing inspired by your au, but I honestly just love your writing and this concept!! Many many hugs to you and kiddo!<333)

Prime Girl babe!

I was so happy when I saw your message in my fucking inbox and then, then, you bring this to my table? This buffet of clever, sassy, civilian Tim getting all kind of comfortable with hot vigilantes because he absolutely takes no shit when it comes to corporate bribery and corruption, is one of those CEOs that pretty much refuses a pay raise and puts it back into the company, that pushes for more than the standard 2% for his hard working employees, that makes sure they're donating to the right causes in Gotham, demands to see change whenever they support a cause? (The only reason the skate park keeps getting rebuilt after any number of shitty bad guys blows it up is because Tim can't stand the thought of a Gotham without one. Same for the several rec centers all over town.) And you, you, put this in front of me like an offering to the Gods of the Muse that Tim not only knows, but he takes perfect fucking advantage of it to use them strategically in bed and out to make sure the underground criminals, the blue collars, the corrupt politicians, cops, and judges, get their fucking due with minimal effort and no bodily harm in his future?

And like this idea isn't good enough by any stretch, but let's just have a nice CEO facing down one of Gotham's crime syndicates because he absolutely fucked up and he's done good things so this isn't a bad way to go–

When the skyline breaks in and a whole lot of pissed off vigilantes take the scene.

I'm not going to say the Red Hood isn't utterly vicious, or that one of his clips isn't rubber bullets. I'm not going to say Nightwing is banter-less once he sees how beat-up Tim is, the blood oozing from the cuts on his face, the deep bruising and swelling. I'm not going to say how merciless Robin is when he sees the usually clean cut CEO an utter exhausted mess.

Nor am I going to say how much they all coddle the fuck out of him for the next few weeks, stalk him in his office, his home, his commute to assure themselves he's okay, he's healing, he isn't in anyone else's hands–

except theirs.

[moregaythanyourealized]

The Mayors Daughter

Part 2

Friday morning you awoke with a smile and dance in your step. Dressing up nicer than usual you dawned a white blouse and a sage green skirt. Doing your daily routine you brushed your teeth, fed your cat, made your bed, and checked yourself out in the mirror. After some quick makeup you were out of the house and walking towards town hall. The air was filled with music as you paced down the street. It was a cloudy day, but beautiful nonetheless. You smiled at a man selling flowers on the side of the street and waved to a bus driver. People knew who you were. They all thought the same thing, What a nice young woman! They were all idiots.

The night before you had called a few old friends up. Chaos would ensue today and you wanted to make sure all of New York saw it, if not the whole world. It wasn’t enough for you to be rich and pretty, you wanted the power and control that came with being a political leader.

Town hall was already swarmed with people. News vans and everyday citizens surrounded the building. The police hadn’t arrived yet. You undid your top two buttons (for dramatic affect, you totally weren’t trying to look hot for anyone) Following the commotion you saw Otto clawed to the building and holding the mayor, swinging him around like a dog toy. You rushed to the empty spot in the crowd where no one dare step incase they would be scooped up by a giant claw. You noticed the cameras on you,

“Unhand him!” You pried off your high heel and chuck it at him. Knocking him in the face. He whirled around smiling wickedly,

“What are you going to do about it, dear? You’re powerless against me.” A familiar whir of machinery and a cold clamping feeling around your waist skyrocketed you into the air. This time you came prepared and wore shorts under your skirt. He drew you close to him, only a few inches away. His hand went up to grab your face but you weren’t gonna let that happen. You bit down on his skin harshly. He yelped in pain drawing his hand back seeing the blood and teeth marks. Looking your way astonished he murmured something about you being a madwoman. You just shrugged and continued to scream and panic as if the situation was real.

This act went on for about 2 minutes. He’d say something about the government, make a threatening gesture and you would scream. Your throat was getting tired,

“Do it now.” You whispered he held you higher in the air and yelled to the people below,

“For too long this city has been corrupted by lunatics and selfish pigs who call themselves our protectors.” He laughed heartily,

“The cops haven’t even bothered to arrive and witness this! They say that they keep us safe, does this look safe to you?!” The mayor hadn’t said a word this whole time, he only peered around like a lost child. It was pathetic. A robotic arm unleashed itself from the building and flew towards the mayor. People panicked as the claw clung to his face like a diseased rat. It squeezed tightly around his face. The mayors eyes almost popped out of his skull. A sickening noise that was a mix between a squish and crunch alerted you what had happened. Otto had crushed his head. The mayors body fell to the ground as people screamed and began to flee,

“Let this be a lesson to the future leaders of our city! My voice shall not be ignored!” The arm tightened around your waist and he pulled you back into his shadow. He carried you both back to the spot you were at on Wednesday, terrified people watching on. It was raining by the time you got there. The atmosphere was thick and uneasy. He set you down gently and you fell to your feet. There wasn’t much to say. You laughed and put a hand on your chest (which between the unbuttoning and the rain was quite revealing.) Mistaking your laughter for tears he quickly kneeled before you and kissed your forehead,

“Hey, it’s okay. The city is in better hands now.” You clung to his shirt and nuzzled into his chest,

“You have no idea do you?” He held his gaze on your figure. He realized you were laughing now but felt no relief. Something was wrong, very wrong. The sky darkened and thunder tumbled on in the distance. He couldn’t hear the sound of the helicopter until it was right behind them and the army of swat members and police racing to the rooftop. As well as a special friend,

“I really do have to thank you Otto.” Standing up and lifting him to his feet you cupped his face in your hands,

“I couldn’t have done this without you.” A weight pulled his mechanical limbs down...webbing? He suddenly knew what was happening. He stared at you in disbelief trying to break his extra arms free. Police surrounded him and began handcuffing him. Spider-man wrapped webbing around Otto tightly so he couldn’t move or break from his temporary confinement,

“You used me!” You bit your lip and smiled at his enraged features,

“You let me use you...I mean, would you have listened to me at all if I didn’t have long legs and a pair of tits?” He growled and looked away from you,

“That’s what I thought.” You chimed. The police began to drag him back to the helicopter,

“Wait!” He yelled. The rain made his hair stick to his forehead. He gazed at you with such intensity it made you uneasy. You stepped back,

“Y/n...why are you doing this?”

You faked a sad face before letting it fall into emptiness,

“Take him away please.”

He struggled for a bit before realizing there was no hope. He had let this happen to himself. He was desperate to feel needed again so he fell for the first woman who showed him any attention since his accident. How could he be so stupid? The last thing he saw before the door closed was you. Standing in the pouring rain, and asking spider-man for a ride home.

[maybebanks]

Special Treatment

JJ Maybank x Y/N

You and JJ get busted and are forced to spend the night in jail. Only Y/n gets some much resented special treatment. Leaving JJ jealous.

“I can’t believe we got caught. I’m gonna be in so much shit for this,” JJ muttered, raking a hand through his messy blonde hair.

You felt very guilty, if it wasn’t for you, JJ wouldn’t have gotten caught trespassing. He was a faster runner than you, and you had tripped, resulting in a pathetic injury.

“Hey, are you good? I know you have that ‘3 strikes’ thing going on with Peterkin..and - oh shit Y/n! Your leg is bleeding,” JJ said, moving you to sit down so he could get a better look.

“It’s fine,” you protested, “and don’t worry about me. You have your dad to worry about,” you mentioned.

JJ frowned, “don’t remind me,”

You were familiar with this cell, though it was way better when shared with JJ. You were here just yesterday, busted for shop lifting.

It was clear you were rebelling. And JJ wanted to know why.

He was intrigued.

“When we get outta here...can we go separately?” you said softly.

“Why? I was hoping we could grab food at the Wreck...please...” he trailed off, grabbing both of your hands and trapping them in his.

“No...I mean..you know I get scared of your dad. And besides, my mom wants me home,” you admitted.

JJ frowned, “yeah. I know. You get all..shakey,” he shrugs.

“I do not!” You blurted, pushing one of his shoulders.

“Yes you do, you’re hands are like this,” JJ told you, then put his hand out and started moving his wrist to shake his hand at a fast speed.

“Oh fuck you,” you groaned.

“Sure I’m down,” JJ joked.

“What?” You gave him a dirty look.

“You know,” he smirked, then he leaned over to you and started rubbing your shoulders, “you like that? Uhhh!” He moaned.

“Shut up!! You dumbass! They’re gonna hear!!” You scolded him, shoving him off of you.

“Yeah and what would they think? You more of a handjob or a blowjob kinda girl?” he joked.

“Oh my god...okay you need to..to chill with the horny boy act, got it? I know you’re just trying to get at me..but I’m not in the mood,” you sighed. Standing up and walking towards the edge of the bars.

“I see blushing,” JJ pointed out, pointing to his own cheeks.

You rolled your eyes, looking the other way.

JJ raised his hands in defense, “I didn’t mean to offend you. Just wanted to lighten the mood. Maybe get this tension under wraps,”

“There is no tension.” You stated.

“There is with you. You’re super tense,” JJ added.

“I just...I have a lot going on,” you shrugged.

“Wanna..” JJ paused, kicking his feet against the concrete, “..talk about it?”

“No thanks...” you sighed, returning to sit next to him again.

“Whatever it is,” JJ placed a comforting hand on your thigh, “I’m sure you can handle it.” He said. He knew you weren’t going to tell him, so he decided to give you confidence.

You stared at his large hand on your thigh, his rings shining from the light through the windows.

You smiled softly. And he returned it.

Before he could say some dirty one liner, the cell door opened.

You and JJ stood up.

“Y/n, let’s go.” The officer directed. He wasn’t the usual one who dealt with the jail people, he was a patrol officer. He has blonde, short hair he was tall, and looked about 30-40 years old.

“But..what about-“ You began.

“Just you.” He stated, looking into your eyes.

You looked back at JJ, he just shrugged.

So you followed the police officer out of the cell, and waved goodbye to JJ.

The officers hand met your lower back as you walked with him through the station. He nodded at a few cops at desks, no one seemed to question him as he walked you out the front door.

As an excuse to get him to stop touching you, you turned around, asking him a question, “excuse me. What’s..what’s going on?” You asked nervously.

“How about I give you a ride home,” he suggested, pointing to a small cop car.

“My friend...in there, I can’t just leave him,” you said.

“Maybank kid. Yeah I saw his record. For some reason, Peterkin always looks the other way, something to pity, I’d assume,” the Officer explains.

You sighed, knowing exactly what he was talking about, JJs dad.

“I can..um I can walk home, thanks,” you told him, walking around him.

He grabbed your wrist gently, “if I hadn’t done what I did, you’d be spending your night in that cell. Let me give you a ride home,” he almost ordered.

You bit the inside of your lip, but he was a cop, what was he gonna do? Kill you. Please. You shouldn’t be afraid of him.

You nodded, and he smiled, directing you to his car.

You attempted to get in the back seat, but he scolded you, and told you that you should sit in the front.

He drove you home, and parked in your driveway.

“I’ll walk you inside, make sure everything’s okay,” he said.

“Sir, I’m alright, it’s like 20 feet away,” you said, but he ignored you.

When you got to the front door, you knocked, him by your side.

Your mother answered, shocked, and quite unhappy at the sight.

“What did she do?” Your mother sighed, you looked at the floor.

“Ma’am, I’m officer Darren Wilden, we’ve met before, I was just escorting your daughter from the jail cell. Would’ve spent the night there, if I hadn’t got her out of there,” he told her.

You groaned.

Stepping up and heading inside, past your mom. She would have surly yelled at you, but she was now distracted by the officer.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing.

Retiring to your room was not a great as you thought, you could hear your mother laugh at Officer Wildens stupid jokes, she even made dinner for him. So you put in headphones, falling asleep to your favorite playlist.

You woke up at your usual time, to spend the Saturday with the pogues. Excited, you headed downstairs for breakfast, still in your pajamas. You missed dinner last night, and were craving a muffin or something.

You entered the kitchen in slow steps, hearing someone cooking bacon or something. Your mom never cooks.

“Mom?” You asked, but your question was quickly answered.

Wilden was standing in your kitchen, shirtless, a white towel wrapped around his waist.

“Oh my gosh,” you blinked in shock. What hell was this?

“Good morning. Want any eggs?” He said nonchalantly. Standing near the fridge.

You scoffed. Walking around him, “no thanks,”

A few seconds later, your mother walked in.

She studdered, “uh Darren, why don’t you head upstairs, I’ll take care of breakfast,”

He nodded, “yeah sure,” and left the kitchen.

“What does he live here now?” You said sarcastically to your mom.

“Give me a break, honey....” your mother sighed.

“Yeah..whatever. I’m going to John B’s,” you said bluntly, then hastily left the house.

Once joining the group, you were basically silent the whole time.

“So! Y/n, how was jail?” Kie asked, smiling.

“How..how did you know?” You asked, “JJ you literally suck at keeping ur mouth shut,”

“What?!” He laughed, “I used to be brag about corrupting the good girl. But now your a convict just like me,” JJ shrugged, implying that you shouldn’t care.

Truly you just didn’t want to be traced back to Wilden, you hated that connection you now had. Could it even turn into blackmail? It just made you sick.

“Did you know JJ was in that cell for 24 hours longer than y/n! That’s some sexism right there,” John B mentioned.

“Don’t joke about that, dude,” Pope scolded.

“What? It’s true.” He defended.

“Wait...JJ, your dad didn’t show up to-“ you were surprised he had spent the night in the cell.

“Yeah. They didn’t even call him. For some reason, you got special treatment,” JJ said, nudging your arm.

That’s when it hit you. Your mother probobly did this to keep you out of jail. You felt sick. Horrible of what you had to done to make your mother do what she did.

“Whoa...you okay Y/n/n?” JJ asks, nudging you again.

You flinched at his nudge, but tries crossing your arms to cover it up.

You didn’t answer.

“You got all pale,” Pope added.

“Y/n/n, are you okay?” JJ repeated.

“I need some air,” you blurted, then jumped up and walked away from the group out on the doc.

“But we are outside,” JJ grumbled.

“JJ go talk to her,” Kie suggested.

“Me? She doesn’t wanna talk to me,” JJ shut down.

“Yes, she does. Now talk to her,” Kie demanded.

JJ grumbled curses to himself, he didn’t like to go be forced into things. And he didn’t want you to see him as a guy who didn’t know what to say.

JJ took off his hat and fumbled with it, “I really don’t mind...the uh extra jail time. But if you were there...I could’ve asked you if your-“

“Jesus, JJ,” you sighed.

“What did I do?” JJ asked, sitting down text to you on the dock.

“It...it’s everything. Like...I don’t want you here, so leave,” you insulted. You really wanted him to stay, but not give him the opportunity to find out how dishonestly you got out of jail.

“Okay. Easy, done,” JJ stated. But instead of getting up and leaving you in the dust, he moved closer to you, his knee touching yours.

You started to cry, why did he care? The tears were falling so fast you missed a few falling down your cheek. One landing on JJ’s knee.

“She...I can’t..it’s just stupid. And I hate myself.” You stuttered. Between gasps.

JJ put his arm around you, “why?”

“Because... she,” you said quietly, “slept with him,”

JJ frowned, distancing you from him slightly, “the cop?! Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” you said disappointedly.

“God damn, Y/n.” He said shaking his head.

“Please don’t tell anyone, J. I don’t really know why I told you. I just I can trust you,” you sighed.

“Yeah...uh okay Y/n. I’m uh I’m gonna go,” he shrugged, then stood up.

“W-wait! I need you J, where do you have to go?” You asked innocently.

“Look, if you think I’m okay with this? I’m not. Sex with a cop? Are you fucking kidding? What about us? All summer!” JJ exclaimed.

“Hold on-“ you attempted to explain, because JJ thought it was you.

“No. You know what. I feel like shit for ever opening up to you. I need some space from you.” He said disgustedly.

You started balling again, “JJ. It wasn’t me! What’s wrong with you!” You said, deeply offended by that accusation. Both you and jj had slightly developed feelings for eachother, but denied them the whole summer.

No one ever acted on them.

“What’s wrong with me? You’re the slut!” JJ shouted.

“Excuse me?!” You screamed back, offended.

JJ sighed, he took off his red baseball hat and threw it on the ground.

“To me, Y/n, a slut sleeps with someone to get something out of it. And that’s what you fucking did,” JJ retaliated.

“Fuck you. It wasn’t even me,” you mumbled, walking past him and down the driveway.

You didn’t want to go home. You were planning on spending the night at John B’s, but JJ really hurt you.

JJ replayed the conversation in his head, trying to figure out what he missed.

He regretted shitting on you, name calling. That wasn’t him, and it certainly wasn’t you.

You never explicitly told him it was your mom, but JJ believed you, that it wasn’t you. Now you just needed to talk.

You arrived at your house after walking for nearly an hour. But you couldn’t go in, not when you saw a cop car parked outside.

This angered you. How could he be here again? How could your mother do this?

Suddenly, a car drove up behind you. You were afraid to look. In case it was another cop.

“Hey, Y/n,” you heard JJ’s voice call.

You were stubborn, so you didn’t turn around.

“I shouldn’t have called you that shit. And I shouldn’t have let you leave. Wanna...let me apologize with dinner? On me,” JJ beamed, pleading.

“That would be nice,” you fought a smile, hopping in the passenger seat next to him.

more JJ reads!