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mrs-weasley-reid · 4 months

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TEN'S A GOOD NUMBER

Aaron Hotchner x psychiatrist!reader

Sypnosis: After Aaron's traumatizing encounter with Peter Lewis, he's sent to you, but who knew a profiler is the worst patient you'll ever have? Warning: enemies to lovers— ish(?) angst. a dash of fluff. light mentions of death and trauma. a few curses. went ballistic— it's lengthy, so pace yourself. A/N: loosely follows Mr. Scratch timeline for three seasons.

Monday, May 4, 8:34 AM

Aaron Hotchner sits across from you.

He studies you in every detail like he's about to take an exam, and you're the topic.

The weight of your scribbles—light, almost featherlike. Ink leaves a soft trail of words, a map of your thoughts, your perception of him.

The speed of your hand. Swift and elegant. Each movement portrays a scene in a movie. As if they're telling a quiet story, your story he is yet to unravel.

The way you deprive him of eye contact.

What are you hiding?

Why can't you look him in the eye?

The occasional nod to remind him that you're listening—not like anything's coming out from his end.

In conclusion, just about everything you do, really.

To Aaron, you're a cheat sheet. His way back to the field, to work—the part of his life that cannot be halted despite the need for a break.

"Your hand is heavier," Aaron vaguely goads.

You silently stare at him, waiting for the rest of his thoughts to spill out of his mouth.

"Usually, you write like you're afraid to puncture the paper, but just right now, your strikes are deeper. Your grip on your pen is also tighter. Am I annoying you?"

Creative.

You think to yourself as he rakes his eyes down the canvas of your face, blank and land of nothing but mirroring eyes.

Although you prefer Aaron's comment about your new lipstick and how it makes your skin glow—something about your prospect of finding a lover—fifteen minutes into your session. You didn't peg him as a man who knows his lipstick shades, but you stand corrected as he says coral with the utmost confidence for a man who wears his tie like a choker.

Aaron does it all the time. Every five minutes, he says one thing he's noticed about you and then proceeds to zip his mouth, denying you details about him like you're some hired criminal paid to torture the King's hidden fortune out of him.

And as per your entertainment, you'd do something out of your character to throw him off. If you can laugh at his gullibility, you would.

His goal is to intimidate you. Pressure you. Make you tick like every other serial killer he's encountered. Because he'd really rather be across an unsub than you. Aaron would rather be the one to ask questions and not you. In his eyes, you're no better than a small-town detective ignorantly interrogating a serial killer for a cheap gas station robbery, unaware of the skeletons in his closet.

At this moment, Aaron ponders why he agreed to meet with you once a week only to sit in almost absolute silence for about an hour, then go about his day like he hadn't just wasted minutes of his—and your—life.

It's always the same.

He arrives, flaunts his profiling skills for an accumulated total of twelve minutes, and then sits across you like a rock for the remaining forty minutes.

Aaron could've talked more, but...

He despises you.

Well, not you, per se. He despises the profession, and you just happen to choose it as your career. Nonetheless, Aaron generalizes and includes you on his list.

He finds it unnecessary and a waste of one's valuable time. Presenting a series of well-thought-out facts that he's sure Spencer Reid will enjoy. A list of reasons why talking to a psychiatrist isn't as helpful as people perceive it to be.

Aaron spits the words 'family' and 'friends' for the sake of ease and comfort as if he doesn't flinch at the words 'your father' and his face hasn't been frozen into a permanent stern. Because why talk to someone who doesn't know you when there are people who know you best? He lies through his teeth. He lies to himself.

Then, there's you.

You don't know him enough to trust his lies.

"Profiling me won't get you cleared," you state out of the blue. "This is our seventh session, and you haven't said anything." You add, finally lifting your gaze.

Aaron feels taken aback. He'd never encountered a shrink with such pride at their job—they managed to infuriate him. You infuriate him.

Now that you've granted him the wish—your eyes meeting his—it's having an effect on him instead. One that he wishes he didn't feel creep under his skin, stimulating the anxiety he's worked hard to ignore.

Still, Aaron squares his shoulder, "Nothing is wrong with me," He claims like he's not feeling the pit of his stomach churn with every word. "I'm only here for the formalities." He says.

"Ahh," You deadpan, pulling your eyes down on your clipboard. Hushed scribbles echo in the room. "Is that what you told, Dr. Briar? Or Dr. McCormick? Stiles doesn't seem to remember you at all—"

"They deemed me fit to go back to work, which you don't seem to realize." Aaron cuts you off. He doesn't notice the slight lilt of his voice. How a vein peeked on his forehead as he furrows his brows.

You have an effect on him, and Aaron's in strong denial.

"How?" You lean a bit, propping against your lap. It's the first time he's ever let himself tear out of his 'I don't break' shell. You consider it a crumb of a breakthrough and a laughable stain on your pride.

Challenging his stability—you raise your brows—makes him tick.

A faux frown draws on your face—patronizing, "Did you play a staring contest, and they lost against you?" You notice the little twitch of his eye masked as a blink.

It's a little unprofessional to provoke your patient, but you do, anyway.

This one's been particularly adamant about manipulating you into permitting him back to work like you were born yesterday. You think it hilarious how smug he's been for the past six sessions. It is as if you didn't spend almost half of your life devoted to the study of behavior. Like you hadn't figured out his plans from the get-go.

Profilers. They catch a criminal out of idea of sorts, and they think they can read everyone. It makes you want to laugh while pointing at him.

Aaron stares at you with his usual stoic expression, intimidating eyes filled with unforeseen horrors, and a straight mouth that's no use in your four walls.

He decides then that he hates you with a passion.

You feel a vibration on your wrist, "Would you look at that? Your time's up, Hotchner." You withdraw, straightening your back as you scribble yet another word Aaron is curious to know.

If he only knew you're not really writing anything new about the nature of his mental state or anything legible at all, you imagine Aaron exploding like a stack of case files blown by harsh wind.

But can he blame you when he's given you nothing to write?

"Agent Hotchner," He corrects with gritted teeth. Aaron's jaw clenches as he pierces his gaze through you. His hands intertwined with each other as if he's preventing himself from clawing at you.

You smile at him, "In this room, you're just Aaron Hotchner. A patient. A case." You know the specific word will piss him off, much less the motherly tone you paired it with.

A tactic. Unlike him, you don't need a team of agents to get a rise out of a culprit. The bare idea of you, a stranger who has access to his life on a piece of paper, is enough a stimuli to get an individual aiming at your neck.

"So, between you and me, I think you should start talking if you ever want to fly to wherever city your team wanders in. The longer you take, the less progress we make, and the less progress you make, the more possible that the bureau will assign a new psychiatrist for you." You say nonchalantly, letting his anger lead him right into your trap.

The words float like small fire specks of dust, both dazzling and dangerous to the eyes. Getting assigned to a new psychiatrist is like getting an easy case directly handed to Aaron. However, it also means he'll have to restart his psych evaluation process, and he knows firsthand how time-consuming that is.

"But, then again, who knows? Maybe the next fella will let you slide like the others did. Or you'll have to attend a series of sessions again for a lengthy psych evaluation. I've got friends too, you know? They might do me a favor and make your life more… difficult." You're bluffing. In no way, shape, or form will you jeopardize his health, even if Aaron's the most stubborn patient you have ever met in your lifetime.

His nose flares as he stands up. You know that he's done and murdered you in his mind at the way he's glaring at you with invisible daggers, but you play it well and act blameless.

Aaron marches out of your office with blazing hatred. You watch as he dulls every vicinity he's stepped into like death taking a stroll. A part of you is apologetic to his colleagues. They'll be having one hell of a day.

Retreating back inside your office, you plop on your chair behind your desk as a heavy sigh escapes your lips.

You stare at Aaron Hotchner's patient chart.

"What am I going to do with you?" You ask rhetorically in the air.

Aaron Hotchner is—for you at least—a special case. A case so intricate you had to be careful how you'd tread the water, wary of its fragile ripples.

When Aaron's chart landed on your desk, you immediately knew that he'd be toilsome. He'd make it his goal to skip the talk and jump back onto another case. The same routine he did with his old therapists and psychologist, anyone that was able to write a note and say he's fine when he's really not—never have been for a long time.

You already had enough patients on your plate, but you just couldn't say no to your favorite Italian patient; you only had one. You're the best bureau-mandated psychiatrist. His words, not yours.

Then, again, you never fail to mentally brag about how easily you read Aaron just from his chart, his image, and the first step he took to get inside your office. You read him like an open toddler's book, a piece of cake.

During the first session, you learn how badly Aaron's last case had affected him. The intonation of his voice. The way he'd shake his hand, your hand. His scorn. His fiddling fingers.

It's amazing how he's managed to divert his anger towards you instead of the man who traumatized him.

Melodic ringing snaps you out of your trance.

Aaron Hotchner might just get what he wants.

Sunday, May 10, 11:51 PM

A sniffle tickles your nose as you lay flat on the carpet floor of your apartment.

Your face stings from tear stains, and you muse how horrid you must look after your makeup runs dry. Your chunky heels were still on. In a minute or two, you expect one of your feet to cramp.

The day has been hostile towards you.

The mind, which used to be an oasis of positive thoughts, has gone draught. Sleep begins to blur your vision, and you don't hesitate to let it take over.

Until a bombarding knock jolts you up.

"I'm here! I'm here! Calm down!" You shout as you swing the door open. A familiar man stands in front of you with a dour face. Your eyebrows narrow tightly, "Mr. Hotchner—"

"What did you write?!" Aaron badgers as he storms inside your apartment like he owns the place. He pivots on the balls of his feet once he's reached your living room, glowering at you with scalding fury. "I was relieved to know that you released me from your care and looked forward to my clearance. So, tell me why a random therapist called me this morning to confirm an appointment I didn't even know I had. What did you write on my report that I have to go through this again for the second time? Is dealing with your sick games not enough? I'm fine. I know I'm fine. I'm straight in the head to go back in the field. I aced the psych evaluation questions. Your sessions are the problem. You're the problem." His ears, face, and neck are burning red. If he's a cartoon character, you imagine he'd be steaming with smoke by now.

Quite surprised; you're standing speechless. You're watching Aaron like he's a crazy old hag yapping about the Revolutionary War and how she hates not having the power to shoot every redcoat for the sake of rage.

You head towards your sofa, taking a seat.

Aaron examines you in confusion, furrowing his brows.

After a moment, you look at him expectantly. "Don't be shy, Mr. Hotchner. By any means—" you nod towards the armchair across you, glancing back and forth between him and the empty space "—continue with your thoughts. You already started. Might as well let it all out."

He only clenches his hands inside his pockets as he bores holes into your head.

What a sad little man.

You scoff in your mind.

You lean against the back of the sofa, tilting your head to meet dagger-like brown eyes aiming at you. "No? Suit yourself, then." You shrug, feeling the soft cushions under your palms.

"Let me remind you that I'm a federal agent, and I can make your life a living hell if I want to." He threatens, glaring at you as if the twitch of his eye is enough to make you combust into thin air.

But all you see is a child on a tantrum, deprived of getting what he wants.

"Answer my question. What. Did. You. Write?" He growls.

Silence coats the two of you.

His heavy breathing fills the deafening air. Your nonchalance fuels his hatred more than ever and the sentiment is beginning to emit from both ends. It takes a lot out of you to think of multiple ways to sprinkle some salty sense onto him without stinging his wounds.

One thing you learned well enough in time is how good Aaron is when pushing someone's buttons. A perk of his prosecutor days and seasoned by his bureau career.

He's just troubled.

He's just in denial of his own pain.

You chant the words in your head—uncertain of its purpose. Detachment ironically detaches from your senses like old velcro.

"You're not the first agent in my office, Mr. Hotchner. And frankly, you should be thanking me for taking you in. Unlike your old therapists, I actually read through your chart and took the time to understand you to the best of my ability. I cared—" Shocked as he is, your eyes subtly widen.

Before you can continue Aaron speaks over you, "I do not care about your pity. What I wanted was for you to do your damn job and clear me back to work. But that's just little to no pay for a shrink, isn't it? You need messed up people to stay messed up so they can continue knocking on your door." A clear hint of a demeaning smirk flashes across his face.

The sheer irreverence makes you dizzy. The calm snaps, banishing kindness and composure out the window. And rage knocks on your door.

"That's the problem. You don't care. You don't care about yourself." Your tone is sharp—stern.

You knew. You knew from the moment his file thudded on your wooden desk. The moment SSA David Rossi charmed his way to get your favor. You know that Aaron Hotchner does what he believes is right. Not because the unit chief title has gotten in his head. No. Not the slightest. But because he only cares about his values and people.

And you're neither.

It's not you to hold grudges. So, you had it down and set before you accepted Rossi's request. You had it tattooed in your mind that no matter how sharp-tongued and insensitive the man before you might be, he's still just a man under the weight of the world's greatest horrors.

You cannot break. You're not allowed to break.

Pieces of you shatter at the realization that some patients under your care inevitably slip away from your fingers. How your promised oath to do no harm did nothing—not enough to stop the monsters that haunt the world. Not enough to stop you, Aaron's psychiatrist, from dumping your own frustration onto him the same way he's currently doing to you.

But you're not Aaron's psychiatrist today. You're not anything today. You're not on the clock. And no one except Aaron—to your demise—will ever witness such an ugly sight. If ever he shuts up about his dilemma, that is.

"I did my job exactly as I should." You declare, licking the bottom of your lips. Damned the Hippocratic Oath. You wonder if the healing gods will forgive you.

You really shouldn't say the words that are about to leave your mouth, but you've been taking whatever hostility he's got for the last two months; the capacity has reached its limit. A little bit of harshness wouldn't hurt, would it?

"When are you going to admit that the reason you can't sleep at night is not because of all the serial killers you claim I prevent you from catching?" You finally stand. You are a few inches shorter, yet you have never felt taller than you do right now.

You grit your teeth as you move closer to Aaron, almost a breath away, tiptoeing. "When will you admit that the mighty SSA Aaron Hotchner, unit chief, doesn't blink, not once, because he's afraid he'd become the very thing he promised to put away." You raise your brows, challenging him.

Aaron's face morphs into bewilderment and perturbation. His brows are sewn shut. His jawline pops out as he grinds his teeth.

Resentment. Fury. Vexation. Chagrin.

All Aaron felt was anger.

Antagonized.

A walking tower of pure acrimony, finger-pointing towards the innocent.

"Don't you dare compare me to those— I'm anything but." He towers over you, losing his words through the stream of lividity flooding all over his senses.

"Do you really believe that?"

Aaron studies your face. It's different. It's raw and maimed. A squeeze of guilt whispers, but he shoves it quickly.

"What did you write?" He asks once more, earning a scoff out of you.

You step back, staring straight into his glare. Crossed arms tight against your chest. Brows rest over your deadpan eyes.

"While SSA Aaron Hotchner is proficient at his skills and rather placid in physically and mentally challenging situations, I strongly recommend further evaluation in psychotherapy as his emotional capacity is at its limits. The stress accumulated from the job itself has given him little to no time to allow himself the indulgence to properly process certain impacts of the stimulus he encounters on the job. Will update after further observation. Is what I wrote… so far."

You pause.

"Aaron Hotchner is an insufferable, pompous idiot who's afraid of nothing but himself. He is incapable of stepping off his pedestal and refuses to cooperate while complaining about the consequences he himself caused. He has been through enormous trauma. It will be torture to try and help him cope properly. I do not want him in my care as he is a danger to his own progress, and I don't want any part of it. Is what I wanted to write."

Silence.

For him to reflect.

For you to breathe.

Aaron's frozen before you. A pale statue bleached under the moon's harsh reality. Words that used to be superficial insecurities float in the wind of truth, forming into a cage he's sentenced for life.

Your fuse still runs—a long time coming from two months of his deliberate disrespect. The silence annoys you, so you break it. "Excuse my hostility. No one's invaded my privacy and barged into my household at such an unreasonable hour before." The impassive smile on your lips can haunt anyone.

Maybe you've gone too far.

Maybe it's evil to say such blunt things to someone fragile.

But Aaron started the countdown. He lit the fuse. Now, you're exploding right before his eyes, reaping what he sowed. And he's forced to eat up all the debris.

His eyes twitch, scanning your face for any sign of bluff, any sign of fallacy. Any sign that he successfully pissed you off and your words were nothing but overwhelmed impulse.

"I—" he closes his mouth, then agape. Any sign. Aaron will take anything besides the forthright expression on your face. He inhales, "I'm sorry." The sound dies before it can roll off his tongue.

It's like watching a bully shrink into the tiniest man who's ever lived.

Okay, maybe you were a little bit brutal.

You gulp as guilt creeps along your veins, wishing that someone out there would just do you both a favor and snipe you out before the embarrassment settles.

Drawing in a gentle breath, you take another step back from Aaron with a delicate voice, "You're not starting a new evaluation, but you're not done either. I transferred you under someone else's care because of personal reasons. My life doesn't revolve around you, Mr. Hotchner. So, if you have nothing else to say, go home." Your eyes drift to the vast selection of objects in your living room to diffuse the growing pity you can't help but harbor.

Only then does Aaron discern his impulsivity. Internally arguing with himself as he allows himself to look at you. One thing he's never done since the moment he met you with screwed brows and unwavering bias. His gaze instantly softens like a thick fog around him finally dissipates. Like he's achieved a clearer vision.

The first thing he notices is the state of your face. The dry mascara that drew faded stripes down your cheeks. Your puffy eyes are now faint pink, but he recalls them being red when he arrived.

Then Aaron brings his attention to your black dress. It's a simple formal, mesh midi dress, but he admits how it elegantly fits you. But he doesn't say it aloud because there's only one reason why you'd wear such an article of depressing clothing.

As if your words and his own realizations aren't enough, he gets a glimpse of the clock on your wall that reads 12:03 AM.

His blood suddenly stops flowing—skin clammy and pale. Aaron's lightheaded from guilt and penitence.

Without another word, you lead him towards the door, swinging it open. The past 24 hours already drained you, and Aaron just about made it fifty times worse. All you wanted was to get a shuteye.

Aaron swallows the shame and makes his way out. Before he leaves, though, he turns to face you once more. Genuine curiosity pinches his brows.

"Why didn't you just clear me out like the others did if I was such a difficult case?" The word tastes bitter in his mouth. What used to be a desired flavor turned rotten on his palette.

He asks with utter softness, leaving you skeptical to respond.

"Same reason why you kept attending my sessions even though you clearly hated it." You slightly close the door, only leaving enough space for the two of you to see each other.

He looks at you like the answer's all over your face but written in some foreign language he's not familiar with. Aaron barely opens his mouth when you answer the question in his mind.

"You needed a place where you can just be."

The door shuts.

Friday, June 19, 11:02 PM

"I didn't know where to go."

You pore at Aaron Hotchner with nothing but a flimsy robe to prevent his imagination from going rampant—and dirty.

It's eleven in the evening. It's been one month since you last saw him. It's been a month since he barged into your apartment like an entitled brat. It's been a month since you let your emotions take over. It's been a month since the two of you revealed parts of yourselves either of you don't dare think of.

A month and no contact.

You didn't wonder; just hoped and prayed that Aaron finally finds it in him to let go of the emotional turmoil that's torturing the soul out of his body.

Sighing, you step aside and let him in, closing the door behind you like it's normal to stop by one's ex-psychiatrist's apartment in the middle of the night without prior notice and, most importantly, without meter to run the minutes he's inconveniencing you.

Aaron walks in, and the heavy humidity of arousal immediately hits him.

Oh.

Well...

If he had something to say, Aaron kept his mouth shut. He is at fault for driving straight to your place like he's your bestest friend. So, he doesn't mention it, ignoring the fact that you're barely clothed.

Besides, after your last interaction with him, Aaron's certain he didn't have any prerogative in how you'd like to spend your Friday evening.

"Take a seat. I'll be with you in a minute." Your steps are light behind him—feet nimbly grazing the wooden floor.

He turns to face you but quickly averts his gaze to avoid the glistening sight of your thighs. "Thank you..." He does his best to sound normal, choking in between syllables.

Aaron begins to regret his decision. Though, not enough to leave your place.

You disappear in the corner of the hallway. Allowing Aaron to finally release the breath he didn't know he was holding.

With you out of sight, his mind deliberately wanders...

What were you doing?

Aaron shakes his head vigorously like a worm under a storm of salt. The thought is undiscovered—untouched territory, forbidden to be exact. Should he form such thoughts, he'll do it somewhere else or rather about someone else.

Just as he caters to the sudden dizziness caused by his action, a man, half-dressed, walks past him, cursing under his breath and buttoning his shirt. Aaron's eyes widen a little, keeping his stoic face.

Oh, that's what you were doing.

Ick—as Aaron would like to call your visitor—had brown and curly, unruly hair. He was tall and definitely had a face, which, Aaron assumes, is nothing like the one he envisioned you're attracted to.

Somehow not a pleasant discovery compared to what he attempted to imagine—you, alone.

Ick looks at Aaron with a scoff echoing out of his throat, "Oh, what a surprise! She's a slut." He states smugly.

"Or she just wants someone better." The words spill out without hesitation, fired on sight. Aaron doesn't know where the boldness came from as he leans against the seat with a cocky smirk on his face. Definitely no more perplexed than the uncertainty of anger boiling inside of him. He glares at the man either way.

The man scoffs again before leaving with a couple more insults that Aaron thinks he's lucky to whisper, or your visitor would've left your apartment in an ambulance.

Ick slams the door, shaking the vase on the accent chest by the entrance.

Where did that come from?

He's questionably not as big of a hater as he was before, but Aaron can't determine the motivation that made him act the way he just did with a person who has business with you, which he should have no interest in.

Moments later, you come back, fully clothed, in an oversized hoodie and a pair of wide-leg linen pants. Comfy and a 180 contrast on how you dress at work, plus the garments you had on minutes ago.

You make a beeline to your kitchen, "Water or scotch?" You holler out, opening cabinets with a creek on their hinges.

The question is rhetorical. You place a glass with brown liquid glinting under the warm ambient light on the coffee table in front of Aaron, then plop on the armchair across from him, catering your own glass.

He stares between you and the glass while you kiss yours, never breaking your gaze. You hum in delight, making a popping sound with your lips.

Aaron opens his mouth and then closes it, falling into a cycle like a fish underwater. How should he explain himself? How does one explain why they're bothering their ex-psychiatrist past working hours? After making a scene a month ago? He swallows the thick void in his throat.

"Don't talk, just drink. Sit here for an hour. Then, go home." You say, opening up a book that's been sitting on the table since he arrived.

Aaron feels a surge of relief. He reaches for the drink and lets the smoky taste trail down his throat without hesitation. He wouldn't have guessed you as a fan of scotch—or anything not clear or fruity. This is the first he's seen you without some sort of filter he can't read through, and the observation prints you under a new light.

The silence comforts him. The occasional scrape of paper against paper with each flip of a page provides him reassurance. The company he finds within your presence gives him solace.

You let him be. Asked no questions, reading in peace like he was just any other friend who needed company.

He does as you said. Indulging in the hour of tranquility and stillness. His nerves tame. And he forgets why he went to you in the first place.

Why did he go to you?

Of all people. Of all the friends he brags about. The family he cherishes. His feet dragged—drove him to you.

The onerous unit chief chose to wander to your front door, sipping scotch as he enjoyed the silence and absence of others' guilting worry and constant craving to make him feel better when all he wanted was peace and letting the ache pass in gradual acceptance.

By the end of the hour, you call him a cab with the instructions for him to pick up his car the next day.

Aaron slept effortlessly that night.

Saturday, October 24, 9:24 PM

Aaron expected some sort of rejection or for you to slam the door close, or worse, ignore him as soon as you see his face through the peephole.

One can only tolerate a couple of unannounced visits from an insufferable ex-patient, right? He's surprised you haven't called the cops on him.

He skims your face for any sign of irritation or annoyance as soon as you reveal yourself behind your door, standing next to it to give him way. Aaron saw nothing but impatience.

You knit your brows, slightly tilting your head at his frozen build outside the frame of your door. "Well? Are you stuck or something? Get in, Hotchner—" You turn before you can even finish talking, disappearing down the small entryway.

He turns deaf for a moment. Your voice rings in his ears as if a bomb had just popped the only working drum he had left.

Hotchner.

Agent.

Mister—

Just Hotchner.

One simple change, and the light above your head suddenly looks brighter.

Like he's found something good. Something he can say he knows. Something he can trust(?)

"Don't forget to take your shoes off and shut the door!" You holler from the living room—unfazed.

Aaron flinches, snapping out of his trance. He wonders where you'd gone to, furrowing his brows, and yet enters your apartment with the permission you'd given him. He closes the door, pivoting on the soles of his dress shoes as he tentatively takes them off per your instructions.

He emerges back in your peripheral while you stare at the screen on your laptop, blue-filtered glasses back on. Your fingers hammer on the keys, soft sighs slipping past your lips every once in a while.

You glance at Aaron when his figure stays at the corner of your eye, cupping a coffee mug between your hands. "There's fresh coffee if you'd like. Are you hungry? I don't usually eat dinner, so I have nothing ready to eat, but I can whip something up." You blow over the surface of caffeine, and steam wafts on the tip of your nose.

"No—" He shakes his head, scoffing in confusion, "I'm sorry—"

"Apology accepted," You muffle into the mug.

Aaron's brows connect tighter, and his forehead creases. He looks at you like he's under an illusion, a hypnotic dream he can't quite distinguish.

"Hold on," He hoists his hand up as if to pause a scene in the movie. "I'm very confused. What is going on? Why are you being… casual and nice?"

"You say it like I'm incapable of human decency." Your back makes contact with the cushion of your sofa, pulling your legs close to your chest while one hand holds the handle of your mug. You roll your eyes when Aaron only stares at you, "Are you uncomfortable? Do you want to leave?"

Aaron shakes his head.

"Problem solved, then?" Confusion is still fresh on his blank face. You mentally smack your forehead. "There are patients who lack temporal sense, but turning them away when they clearly need immediate tending to would be a form of negligence on my part. So, feel at home." You theatrically stretch your arms, offering every corner of your space as his own.

"But I'm not your patient anymore. I've been back on duty for weeks." Aaron informs. Although he finds a place for his go bag on your floor.

If you didn't know any better, you'd assume he's about to stay for a sleepover—coming to your apartment late at night.

You wrinkle your nose, "Okay?" You look around as if someone else is in the room with you two. "Is that why you went here? You wanted to brag?"

Three months.

Aaron's been back to his usual routine for the past three months. And it's been four since he drank scotch on the very couch you're comfortably in.

A chuckle.

The sound tickles your ears, filling you with unexpected pride.

"No," Aaron shakes his head as the chuckle resonates through his chest. "I… I don't really know why I came here, if I'm being honest." He swallows air.

You nod, setting your laptop back on your lap. "Like I said, you're free to feel at home. Scotch is in the third cupboard. Coffee's in the pot. I've got some stuff to take care of, so help yourself." Your eyes are already fixed on the screen, hands jumping from one key to the other.

With your permission, Aaron ventures into your kitchen. Neat. Clean. Cozy. He somehow imagines you cooking as a hobby.

He settles for coffee. Asking you from the kitchen island if you'd like a refill—which you took without a thought, hoisting your cup up—and taking out a couple of his files to get a head start on his paperwork. He wasn't allowed to bring them outside the bureau's building, but it didn't matter at the moment.

Your apartment becomes a haven.

Aaron, for the first time in years, feels comfortable to slouch. He had no collection of when and how, but turns out he'd changed into a quarter-zip and one of his pajamas tucked in his go bag through the hours.

The two of you silently took care of your own thing until 1 AM strikes, and a yawn pulls you back into the earth.

You turn your head towards the kitchen to find Aaron scribbling over your kitchen island. He's sipping coffee—a fresh batch he made not long ago.

Stretching, you make your way past him. After placing the mug into the sink, you lean against it, crossing your arms as you stare at him. "Ten."

"What's that?" Aaron halts on his seat, lifting his head to look at you.

"I'm granting you ten visits," You announce.

"And that means?.."

Your face deadpans, and he does well at stifling a smile. "You can come here whenever you want—need, but only for ten free visits. It doesn't matter if it's late, too early, or unreasonable. I'm allowing you to knock on my door whenever you need. Any more than that, you have to attend my sessions in my office, where I get paid."

"What's the catch?" Aaron entwines his eyebrows, straightening his back as he props on the edge of the counter.

"No catch. Just one condition," You shift your weight on your other leg, "Don't come empty-handed. Food, drink, things, a person, anything. Bring something." Your brows hang on your forehead, anticipating any type of response.

Aaron weighs his choices. Calculated every possible outcome and benefit. He meets your eyes again. Index and thumb rubbing the growing stubble on his chin.

"Ten's a good number," He says as he nods.

Wednesday, March 2, 7:31 PM

Eleven months pass by in the blink of an eye.

It's the seventh time Aaron showed up without warning, and by this point in whatever acquaintance you two had, you aren't fazed or surprised anymore.

The fourth time he knocked on your door, he was carrying a hefty price of whiskey. An odd reason for a psychiatrist and a former patient to bond with, but you had no qualms about sipping neat whiskey that night.

At first, he stayed for an hour. Then, an hour turned into three. One time, a case hit too deep, and three became seven, but that only happened once—all you remember was a Wednesday night.

"Are you okay?"

Gentle sighs escape shivering lips. Tears pooling deep inside sockets.

One sharp sniff breaks it all.

You sob under Aaron's worried eyes as your grip on the knob almost snaps it off the door.

His brows twists and he reflexively yanks you by the back of your head into his chest, bringing you out of your apartment and into the complex's hallway.

"What happened?" He carefully inquires while he rests his chin atop your head.

You're a mess in his arms. Uncontrollable whimpers muffled in his soaked chest.

Aaron suggested that you two step inside for more privacy and heat, but he didn't complain when you two stayed frozen in the end of winter evening.

When it stops. The suffocating ache. You lightly push yourself off him, wiping the leftover tears off your cheeks—half of it already dampened his shirt.

Fifty-three minutes and seventeen seconds.

You cried to the point of dehydration.

"Sorry," you mutter, eyes down. "We should go inside if we don't want to catch hypothermia." You sniffle.

"Oh, we don't want that," Aaron attempts to joke, closely observing whether you'd react to it.

You didn't.

He closes the door behind him, following your figure as you practically drag yourself to your unofficial designated spot on the sofa.

"I know I'm the last person you'd want to hear this from, but would you like to talk about it?" He bites his inner cheek.

Nothing.

You only mold yourself into a ball.

Aaron hesitates whether to stay or leave you alone. It's true that you said he's welcome anytime, but you're definitely in no condition to entertain his own problems when you can't even look him in the eye the way you would, no matter how insufferable he is.

But he can't just leave you by yourself either. Nothing is stopping him, but he's not cold-blooded enough.

"It's not easy," Aaron fractures out of his trance at the sound of your small voice. You look at him with a tight-lipped smile. "This job, I mean."

You inhale a sharp breath, tucking your lower lip between your teeth. "I can be hopeful, positive, supportive… Everything to prove that a better life is possible, but at the end of the day, it's not my choice." You wryly chuckle. "It's the patient's. It's your decision to want to feel better. To want to change. To want to live—" You choke, and the tears flow once more.

"It's not about me, but I can't help feeling like a failure." Sobs spill off your lips, gasping for air. "I was supposed to make everything better. I was supposed to heal everyone and save everyone from whatever monster was hurting them. She said she's never felt so much better. She said it's the first time she felt so peaceful for years, Hotchner. She said she was looking forward to our next session. But she just… I didn't—" You gulp—struggling. "I didn't catch it. I didn't catch her lie. And hours later, I get a call from her mother telling me she— she died." Your hands shakily clasp your mouth to push the sobs back, but you fail.

Aaron doesn't know what to say.

But he knows what to feel.

He knows it well.

The guilt. The shame of never living up to your own promise. The pain of losing someone you swore to keep safe.

Then, it hits him like a wrecking ball.

How difficult of a patient was he before?

Has he ever made you cry before?

It's a stretch that you'd ever shed a tear over his stubbornness, but Aaron hopes you never did.

Because he's never seen anyone care so much despite getting all the hate. Despite taking all the blame. You stood your ground and became other people's foundation. You became their comfort.

You became the only thing that gave him serenity.

With the little time he's known you—a total of 43 genuine friendly hours—Aaron can testify in heaven that they had mistakenly dropped you into the earth. And he's never felt blessed to have someone like you. Never felt lucky enough to find someone with who he could feel broken as much as he could but never needed to save face.

So, he's heartbroken for you. And guilty that more than half of the time you'd known him, he made your passion a miserable experience.

And also guilty of developing feelings for you.

Saturday, August 13, 4:16 PM

"I'm not playing favorites, but your tech analyst definitely deserves better than being cooped up in the bureau's building." You say, plopping on the sofa with a soft bounce and a squeak from the coil spring.

Aaron hands you a glass of bourbon while sipping his own. Eyes fixated on the board on your coffee table. "I have no other choice. It's the only way to keep her safe. Unless you're willing to adopt her, I don't want to hear it." He chuckles, connecting his brows at the sight of your winning streak.

You two are playing Scrabble. It was Monopoly twenty minutes ago, but along the lines, you learned how butt-hurt a six-foot and two-inch man can get. Not an enlightening experience. It would have been two stars if you had to rate it.

So, you switched to Scrabble.

And Aaron is losing again.

Boy, were you so entertained.

He just came back from a fairly short case from Los Angeles. The case is not heavy or mentally draining—according to Aaron, but Jack's at a two-day sleepover, and Aaron has no idea how to spend the rest of his day—turning down Derek Morgan's and David Rossi's invitation to grab a drink at O'Keefe's with you in mind.

Aaron leans on the back of his seat. You don't know when your reclining armchair became his designated seat, but you noticed how lax he is in it and didn't question it further.

Months and months of relaxing stillness in your home—only ever full of bizarre surprises and irresistible joy whenever Aaron knocks at your door. With no means of communication or ever seeing each other at either workplace, Aaron's visits are welcomed but never fully anticipated. Thrilling.

Spelling the word 'loser' on the board with triple points, you bite the tissue inside your lower lip. "Maybe you can play Scrabble with her. Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky and win." You grin smugly at him.

Aaron gapes at you with a mixture of disbelief and merriment. He looks down on the flat entertainment, then back to you as he blinks. "You're cheating." He declares, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

A hearty laugh Aaron's never heard before roars out of you, and it's melodic to his ears. The meringue light spills through the forgotten open blinds of your window, painting your face with a dreamy filter. Aaron feels dizzy at the sight.

Your smile is contagious, and out of nowhere, his heart starts to pick up as if he'd caught whatever illness your radiant lips had by only staring at it. The loose hair over your forehead frames your face differently—different good. Like you'd been glowing, and the watts in your core mysteriously increased, so you're as bright as the sun and as warm as its light.

"You're just a sore loser. Suck it up, Hotchner." You shake with mirth, casually running dainty fingers along the curve of your ear.

"Aaron," He blurts too fast, too soon—too late to take back.

With a nonchalant shrug, you rephrase, "Suck. It. Up. Aaron." Much more emphasis and friskiness.

You tease him more about his lack of greatness in board games compared to his undeniable talent in every case the BAU encountered. But Aaron's already dazed by your lips calling his name.

Without either of you realizing it, 4 PM became AM.

Talk about abusing one's privileges. Aaron's moderately good at that. You conclude he's simply a strutting opportunist.

After the longest winning streak you've ever had in your life, you and Aaron decided to take a much-needed break and fell into silent reading—or, in your case, grooming your schedule for the next five months.

Midnight strikes along the grumble of Aaron's stomach. You two were too quiet. It echoed all over your apartment. Both of you fell into an obstreperous fit of laughter for another hour, stopping for a minute in between only to laugh some more as soon as you met each other's eyes.

Now, it's four in the morning. You're busy munching on Chinese takeout from a 24-hour restaurant Aaron called in. He claims he has handsome privilege courtesy of the owner, which you mockingly laughed at, to his dismay.

"I'm still terrified." He blurts.

The case must've been very difficult, then. He lied yesterday. However, at this point in your friendship, you expect him to do so, even if it's obvious.

You'd long given up on coaxing Aaron to talk about the case that brought him to your office. Or any other cases that got him knocking on your door at the most unreasonable hour. You thought that the best you could offer him was the comfort that no matter how beaten up he looked, you'd ask no questions and let him sort his boggled mind until he was ready to talk about it.

Looks like tonight's the moment. It only took more than a year, so it is not a big deal—to either of you, at least.

He looks at you when you remain quiet, silently asking for your permission. You nod, and he continues, "What Peter Lewis did to me was terrorizing. I always wonder whether I'm making the right decision or sending my agents straight to their deaths. I second guess. I'm scared that a part of him is still in my head, driving me to make a fatal mistake." Aaron starts playing with his food, poking an orange chicken with his chopsticks.

The memory brings a tangy taste to his tongue, and Aaron can't help but cringe. It's the first time he's ever talked about Peter Lewis. Granted, Aaron spoke about the event numerous times but never about how it made him feel. Never how it broke him.

Is it weird to say you're a little proud of Aaron?

Of course, you don't tell him that. Not out loud. You know he knows you're proud of him. And that's enough said.

With a few audible chews—caused by a carrot bit stuck between your teeth—that somehow doesn't piss Aaron off, you swallow the food and draw your lips into a thin line. You place the chopsticks on the side, wiping the rim of your mouth.

You know he's watching you. Anticipatingly waiting for a response for anything other than the silence he's accustomed to.

"Breathe," You gently instruct, clear enough for him to hear but not too loud for Aaron to jump in shock.

And he does.

His shoulder blades rise and fall into a soft rhythm. Aaron was holding his breath, and you knew. Of course, you knew.

"Do you know the purpose of defense mechanisms?" You quiz him, earning a nod from Aaron, and yet no following answer. "You were already mad at me even before we met. And for what? Nothing concrete, I'm sure."

Aaron was about to object, but you raised your hand to stop him, "I'm not trying to attack you. All I'm saying is that rather than being in denial, you displaced your frustration on someone else less threatening—me."

Silence.

"I'm sorry—"

"I'm not done, shush!" You close your fist to mute him, cutting him off.

Aaron subtly rolls his eyes. He started doing so on his fifth visit when Aaron brought Jack and a few video games.

He told you that Jack's heard about your interest in a couple of games and wanted to play with you, but you know damn well Aaron bought the game for himself. Nonetheless, you entertained them by teaming up with Jack and obliterating Aaron. He vowed never to play against you ever again, at least not to your face.

"I would never know the pain and suffering that you went through. And somehow, even with that fact, a part of your life was in the palm of my hand. You had no control, but I did. So, instead of understanding the why, you hated the wrong who. And it's okay."

You take a sip from your straw, and a bubbly sensation fills you. Your tongue glides over your lips as you lean against the counter. "In short, for a man who's been through a lot, you know how to cope." A shrug ends your sentence, grabbing another bite of chow mein on your plate.

"Yeah, right," Aaron scoffs. The sincerity in your voice sparks something in him. It's giddy and tempting. But he can't possibly show the smile that's itching to spread his lips.

But his nonchalance may have triggered something in you because Aaron doesn't expect your next move. His neck felt like a snapped glow stick after you manually turned his head to face you—grabbing him by the space between his neck and chin. Aaron widens his eyes in the process.

"Listen here, you stubborn poopy head." You start, forehead creasing.

Aaron badly wanted to poke fun at your poor, intimidating skills, but he realized you didn't need any pointers just by the glare in your eyes.

"Peter Lewis got to your head, but that doesn't mean you were weak to let him. Yes, you fought through the influence of the drug heroically. Yes, you saved your agents and, most importantly, yourself. But it's still okay to be scared. It's okay that you feel broken. Who says broken things aren't great?"

It might be the sleep deprivation that's hitting Aaron, but he's very much enjoying your little fuse. How your words meant nothing like how you sound.

"That silver watch of yours—" you glance at his wrist "—has been broken for years, but I bet if you pawn it, it'll be more valuable than me. Antiques are expensive because they have unique histories. They survived beaten up, scratched, damaged, but still as beautiful as ever."

You're rambling, explaining more than you need to. Felt obligated to drill in his mind that despite the bad things, Aaron remains good. You're uncertain—clueless—as to why you felt the need to prove his praiseworthy, almost as if you're trying to convince yourself rather than him.

"From my observation, you're a sharper profiler despite all the things you went through. A part of you suffered and died in that house and many houses before. Of course, you'll be broken. You're a human being, Aaron. Act like one for Pete's sake!"

"I don't know whether you're being nice or mean." He chuckles with a mischievous grin, marveling at the way your eyes narrow as you look at him.

"I liked you better when you didn't talk." You tut, rolling your eyes.

For a moment, your senses heighten, and the simple brush of his hand against the skin over your wrist, as he takes your hold off him, sends billions of electricity throughout your body.

Aaron smiles—genuinely. "Thank you," He says softly, clearing his throat. His hand is still tight around your wrist. "You simply could've slammed the door the first time I knocked, but you always let me in. I appreciate you tolerating me."

You laugh, retracting your hands off his skin before you melt in his grasp. "I did not let you in the first time. You barged in like I'm some fugitive." You fix your posture on the stool beneath you, looking away.

His chuckle wakes the butterflies in your stomach, and you shove them right back down by stuffing your mouth with food.

Your eyes catch a glimpse of the time, "Y-you better go home and change before your son wonders why his father smells like Chinese food for Sunday brunch. Jack's a big fan of good 'ole syrupy pancakes, there's a good one by the bureau's building. Better hurry up and pick him up." It's amazing how much you almost choked and stuttered as you spoke, hoping that Aaron wouldn't question the way your demeanor changed.

Aaron takes one last bite before towering next to you, "Let me clean up. It's the least I can do for imposing half of your weekend." He insists, swiping the styrofoam off your hands.

"Glad you got manners," You nod approvingly, earning another chuckle from him, making sure you gave him enough space to move around without brushing any part of your body, or you wouldn't know what the brewing feeling in your chest would make you do.

You mindlessly peer at Aaron's broad shoulders and dark hair that looks so soft you wonder if it'll melt with your touch. You blink, catching yourself mid-swoon.

After a few minutes, Aaron bids you goodbye and you wish him well, asking to relay a short message to Jack.

"I think you're only nice to me because of Jack," He jokes, pivoting on the heel of his shoes to get one last glimpse of you.

You give him a tight smile, raising your brows as you shrug.

One visit left.

Thursday, May 5, 12:51 PM

The news said Mr. Scratch escaped prison. Peter Lewis is out and about, no doubt, planning serious harm against Aaron. You turn the TV off. The image shrinks into a small diamond spark 'til it leaves a dark screen.

Ninety-eight beats per minute are your normal, but you surmise it's about a hundred and twelve at the moment as your mind anxiously ruminates your not-so-favorite-unofficial patient's well-being.

You glance at your phone, debating whether to give him a call, but even if you gain the guts to do so, you don't have his number. Who knew that refusing personal contacts would backfire? Aaron can knock anytime, you said. It doesn't matter whether he texts or calls before, you said.

Now, you have no means of contacting him, and you refuse to resort to his ways—going through his file like he went through yours.

It's a shitty feeling.

You keep your fingers as far away from your mouth as possible, afraid you'll bite your nails to its quick. If Aaron was with you, he'd say something annoyingly witty about how your anxiety's too easy to read, and you'd be bantering back a remark about his tells that not many notice but sure slightly pisses him off that you know him like the back of your hand.

Eyes dart in the direction of your entryway, waiting for any distinctive sound only Aaron makes whenever he closes the door like a teenager coming home past curfew.

"This is driving me crazy!" You ruffle your own hair, rubbing your face in frustration.

Tempted to wait outside your door for Aaron to arrive, in need of a company. A once-in-a-lifetime bone-crushing hug, given by yours truly. Or open up the 1997 Old Forester bourbon on top of your shelf that Aaron's been eyeing for a year.

You need to know if he's okay. You need to see that he's okay. Physically, mentally, and emotionally okay.

No one ever knocked.

Friday, November 18, 2:33 PM

"Aren't you curious?"

You look at Rossi, "About?" Your eyebrows pinch together. You backtrack the entire session in your mind, trying to remember if there is anything you are supposed to be curious about.

There's none.

Rossi turns to face you, a hand emerging out of his pocket. "You're not curious where he's been? I've known him for years, and I've never been more curious about his whereabouts 'til now." The hand waves around as each syllable flows, and slices the air every emphasis he makes like a conductor of his emotions.

He usually talks with his hand whenever he's emotionally troubled, attempting to make a point to himself, justifying that his feelings are reasonable.

David Rossi has been your patient for years; you can write any and everything about him into a best-selling book.

"You said it yourself, Dave," You shrugged with your arms. "You've known him for years. He and I saw each other a couple of times during our physician-patient interaction. Any interaction we had after is just the two of us drowning in silence."

Aaron never knocked that day.

He hasn't redeemed his last visit for the past five months. While it isn't the longest time he's never stopped by, you're bitter about it.

You couldn't sleep for a week after Peter Lewis escaped prison. You were afraid that Aaron's name would flash across any type of screen or mark a headline on every article and newspaper. You had to take anxiety medication to stop your body from trembling whenever the thought of him crossed your mind.

It was hell.

The utter hopelessness and lack of courage teared you apart. The strangeness. The nonexistence. You don't reckon a conversation with Aaron that involves you and him. Only you or him or whatever depressing topic comes up. You're not even sure if you had actual conversations. Always wallowing in silence while sipping either scotch or coffee.

But you two had a deal. No catch. Not even feelings. Developing one for Aaron did not cross your mind when you granted him the power to bother you at any running time.

All of it is to say you wish you had known Aaron's last visit was, in fact, the last.

Rossi squints, "You're telling me the quietness you shared didn't matter? That his company didn't benefit you the same way it did for him?" He stands tall, pleased with his words.

It did.

Of course, it did.

And you loved every second of it.

Even if you realize it too late.

But you won't say that to Rossi. Or to anyone ever.

A sigh drops your shoulders. You give him a blank stare, letting his question hover for a moment. "What do you want me to say?" You continue packing up your things on your desk, breaking eye contact.

If you knew David Rossi like the back of your hand, David Rossi knew you like every family of the victims he managed to save.

Worried.

Heartbroken.

Hurt.

Aaron never told Rossi about any interactions with you after he was released from your care. It's information Rossi's only ever heard a confirmation from you. But he knew it from the moment Aaron came to work after his first session with you and couldn't seem to get the specific idea of you out of his head.

"We're doing everything we can to catch Peter Lewis. Aaron will be back, I promise."

Pause.

You fight your every single sense to remain composed. Hearing Aaron's name instantly made you crumble. The sound of it hitting your chest with such force you had to bite the tissue behind your closed lip. You badly wanted—needed to cry and throw a tantrum.

The inner ends of your brows lift up as you nod, "Good for you... and for him. I'll see you in two weeks, Dave." You dismiss, walking around your desk to push him out of your office.

"Wait, wait! Just listen!" You retract your hands off his back and let him face you. "He's okay. He and Jack are safe somewhere I, unfortunately, don't know." He tries to meet your gaze—successful. "But! But that's a good thing. Not knowing where he is while in protective custody is good. Safe. I just thought you'd want to know."

You nod, "Certainly a good information, Dave. But not really necessary." Your tongue subtly swipes the bottom of your lips. "Aa—Agent Hotchner was a patient. Anything outside of that is not my business." Liar.

Rossi tucks his mouth into a thin line, nodding. "See you in two weeks, kid."

Tuesday, March 27, 6:12 PM

It's a nice Spring.

Your hair dances like the breeze is music as you trudge back to your apartment against the rush hour sidewalk traffic.

A year and a half.

You moved to a different place since then.

Moved on— from something that never existed, but really, your old complex just ran out of business.

You couldn't possibly move on, even if you wanted to.

"Good evening, Mrs. Willows," You smile at the old lady as she steps on the base of the stairs.

Mrs. Willows was old, close to ninety. And she's the best landlady you've ever met.

She smiles back, "Oh, just in time!" She waddles towards you, scraping the soles of her flats against the creaky floorboards.

"Did you need anything, Mrs—"

The old lady doesn't let you finish when she yanks you back up the stairs. Confusion fills you, but if you are being honest, you're more amazed by her speed. You didn't know it was possible for her to have that much energy.

"There's this handsome boy knocking at your door earlier. So, I let him in."

You dig your feet on one of the steps, halting her. "Mrs. Willows, you let a stranger in my house?" Your brows knit.

She looks at you, "Well, I figured it's one of your patients." She shrugs.

"I wasn't expecting any home visit today." You announce, peeking at the top of the stairs. "And I would've been home if there was…"

You excuse yourself, cautiously walking towards your door. The floor plan is different from your old apartment. But everything still felt the same.

The anxiety of a random stranger going through your place left you rushing to the living room. You don't exactly let any random patient inside your home. It's usually the profilers that seem to have a liking to you that lucked the privilege to visit your home at any given time.

"I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to set an appointment at the clinic—" you abruptly stop, blinking.

Aaron Hotchner.

He's sat on the armchair, only lifting his gaze after he'd closed the book you were reading before you decided to step out to run some errands.

He is wearing a navy blue quarter zip sweater and a white shirt, peeking from under. It's paired with loose-fitting gray casual pants. Like his closet had an upset stomach and threw up all over him.

The bags under his eyes are almost invisible. It used to be a tint of greenish purple. A proof of his late nights and stressful days. He's caught up with sleep for a while now.

His hair, a little longer than you're accustomed to, somehow made him look young and boyish. Probably why Mrs. Willows referred to him as a boy.

It's quite an image. Not one you'd expect to see upon opening your front door, but you mentally admit liking it.

He looks refreshing and well-rested.

"I heard you started your own practice?" He didn't mean to form it as a question, tongue-tied by nervousness. He flashes an awkward, subtle smile, dipping his hands into his pockets.

Your lashes flutter like butterflies gliding through the soft wind of Spring, except you're struggling to go against the breeze, winded by the city pollution.

"H-have you eaten?" You ask, snapping out of your trance as you head to the kitchen. Great. A question for a question. You're as nervous as he is, and you don't feel the need to hide it, though you aren't inclined to admit it.

He chuckles, and it still makes you melt after a year of trying to remember how it sounds, "That's your first question? Not 'What are you doing here?' or 'How did you find me?'" He follows you to the kitchen, it's a lot smaller than the one at your old place but you had a dinner table now, which still feels like an upgrade.

You turn and face him, leaning against the counter, "I'll just charge the entire team on their next visit. But I have a feeling David's the culprit." You blurt, earning raised brows from Aaron. "Oh? They didn't tell you? Your team unofficially designated me as their psychiatrist. I guess they also kept an important information from you." You twist on your feet to focus on the produce you carefully picked in hopes someone would join you for dinner.

But you didn't expect Aaron to be that person.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No!" You almost stumble as you spin back to face him. "I'm in no position to be mad. If a patient doesn't need my services, then I have no say." You lick the lower of your lip, biting it as soon as your tongue glides past. Heat pooling in the back of your eyes.

Aaron steps closer, "I didn't mean to—"

"I told you I'm not mad."

"You're really going to lie to an FBI profiler?"

"Former," You correct him, sniffing as you fight the tears from rolling down your cheeks. Your head's tilted up, almost facing the ceiling. Anger and frustration hammer into your chest.

He rolls his eyes, trying to catch yours. "Former, right." He parrots with a little more sarcasm. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything... I needed to make sure Jack's safe." He softly speaks, making sure you understand every syllable.

It's your turn to roll your eyes, blinking and letting a tear fall in the process. "You don't have to apologize for protecting your son. I'm not evil, Hotchner. I'll do the same thing for my family. I'm completely indifferent about your disappearance, and i-it's allergy season. I'm fine." You wipe the tear stain off your face.

"I missed hearing you say my name like it's a foul word." Aaron smiles so brightly you thought you were dead and some divine was just using his image to guide you across.

"Seriously? That's what you took from it?" You shake your head, turning your back to him once more. "I feel bad for Jack now that you're a full-time father."

Aaron laughs, and by definition. "Oh, he's had enough of me." His eyebrows jump on his forehead, drifting his eyes aside as if he's replaying every instance Jack's complained to him.

You laugh, too. A full hearty laugh that seems to source from the casualty between the two of you despite the irritation you felt.

It's still the same. The ease. The effortless flow and connection despite anxious nerves. It felt like talking to an old friend you've known longer than you are alive.

You nibble on your lips, "So? You're off protective custody, or do I have to call you Brad?" You quiz airily, back still facing him to hide any form of amusement that's forming on your facial features.

"Brad?" He scoffs, crossing his arms and knitting his brows. He sounds about offended as if you'd disrespected his entire bloodline.

"Yeah, you look like a Brad to me." You remember a story from the women in the BAU. One that they happily shared one evening at Rossi's before they all begged to be added to your list of patients once you start your private practice.

Aaron lets out another scoff. "No, I'm just Aaron. Aaron to everyone. Aaron to you." He grumbles something under his breath that you don't hear, but a clear indication of his disapproval regarding the name.

You stifle a giggle, "Well, just Aaron. Consider yourself lucky that I got a free slot. I would've been with a patient by now." You state.

"Am I really just a patient to you?" Aaron inquires from behind you. He attentively observes for any subtle movement or expression in your voice. There's a longing look in his eyes that you aren't aware of. A frown drops his lips as he adds, "I at least thought we were friends."

"Mm," You hum a chuckle, "More like my stalker. But sure, we'll go with yours... friends—"

He spins you by the waist, and you're not sure if your initial thought of dreaming is ending anytime soon as your body tenses under his hold.

A small yelp squeaks out of you, hands flying behind you on the counter as if to hold yourself up from your wobbly feet. And you're certain both of you can hear the loud pulse on your carotid.

"Hotchner, what the hell?!" You chastise, pulling back, but to no avail. Caged and pinned by his strength, and you're too baffled to react accordingly.

"I'd like to redeem my tenth visit." Aaron smiles from ear to ear. You never thought it possible for a stern-faced man to ever grin this wide. To ever be this bright and bubbly.

Aaron keeps the two of you that way for a few minutes. His face is a few inches from yours. You can hear him calculating in his head.

Only the busy street outside and one of your neighbor's loud TV fills the silence.

"Your pupils are dilated." Aaron grins mischievously. He further scans your face, the same way he did when he used to be your patient, reading you like it's his job to know every micro-movement and expression you make.

Your eyes widen, "Stop—" Your voice barely comes out, breath hitching halfway through your throat. "—profiling me." The space between you and his body feels suffocatingly good. It's making you dizzy.

"Usually, you're composed, but you can barely look me in the eyes." His hands remain on your hips, and every twitch of it makes you stiff like a statue. "Am I making you nervous?" He quips wittily.

Like a switch, your heart rate steadies, and his image becomes clear.

It's Aaron Hotchner.

Just Aaron, he said.

Warmth surges through your veins. You stare at the grin on his face.

Your head tilts, and you blink excruciatingly slow. "Are you trying to ask me out, Hotchner?" You mirror the trail of his eyes like a map.

Aaron beams like he'd won the lottery. Sending you impulsive thoughts such as kissing the smile off his face.

It's tempting and nauseating.

And if he doesn't stop, you just might.

"Ten."

Your eyebrows merge in confusion, "What?"

"Ten dates," He breathes as he looks you in the eye. "Let me take you out on ten dates. Then you can decide if I'm just one of your many stubborn patients or if I can be more. Let me make it up to you in ten dates. Please." He implores, hopeful, or rather knowing that you'd say yes.

And he'd be right.

All you want at that moment is to say yes.

But teasing him won't hurt, at least not you.

"And what's in it for me?" You try your best not to smile as you taunt him.

Aaron rolls his eyes, but his grin tugs the corner of his lips up. "You get unlimited access to me?"

"Wow, that's... very compelling." And you burst out laughing, folding on your stomach as you lean against his chest. You inhale, "Sorry, I expected better negotiation. Uh, any catch?" You say between chuckles.

He shakes his head, "Just one condition," He's chuckling now, too. Not immune from your contagious giggles. "I spend most of my days with you. Even if it's just sitting in silence. I want it to be with you." He lets go of one of your hips and tucks a strand behind your ear.

The giggles die down a bit, gazing at him with reverie. You nod after a few seconds, squeezing his arms. You lift yourself, tiptoeing, closing the gap.

You leave a quick, soft peck on his lips, smiling as you get back on your feet.

Aaron smiles, and you're as ecstatic as he is.

Another nod fills your chest with utter joy as you breathe in euphoria.

"Ten's a good number."

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #ssa aaron hotchner #fem!reader #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner criminal minds #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch #cm #criminalminds #bau team

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apomaro-mellow · 1 year

Text

Wrong Number 1

Eddie kept up a texting chain with Steve while making himself a breakfast of coffee and cereal. He hadn't felt like this in a long time. Not since, well, when he thought of it when he was a teenager up all night in chat rooms and forums. When you found someone who you just clicked with.

[11:30] Any advice on how to fry an egg with a perfectly runny yolk?

(11:32) You like runny yolks??? 🤢 (11:33) It's scrambled or nothing for me (11:33) Cant help ya even if I wanted to

[11:35] I just want an egg on my avo toast

Normally Robin fried the eggs for breakfast. Her yolks were always perfect. But unlike Steve, she'd actually scored last night and was still with whoever she'd gone home with last night.

Eddie couldn't help but roll his eyes at the cliche. A guy who jogged and then came back home for some avocado toast with an egg on top? He just had to let his stance be known.

(11:35) Next ur gonna tell me bout your acai smoothie bowl rite? (11:36) Avo toast? Really???

Steve realized how he was coming off and had to quickly amend it.

[11:38] It's not what you think! We only got the avocados to make some guac the other day. There was one left and I wanted to use it before it went bad. And I'm all guac'd out. Hence the toast.

(11:39) At least you didn't use the avocado to make like ice cream or some shit

Finished with his own, normal, regular, average citizen breakfast, Eddie cleared his place and started to actually get ready for the day. His shift went from 2 to 10 tonight, so he needed to prepare for the long haul.

While brushing his teeth, getting dressed, and making something for his lunch later, he and Steve kept up the texts. Through their conversation he found out Steve's favorite ice cream (peanut butter), that he could cook eggs just about any way except sunny side up, and that he lived with a roommate named Robin.

Eddie got to his place of work and in a place like that you need to have some semblance of focus and attention, so he told Steve he had to get to work. He realized he was basically saying 'busy now, text you later?' to a stranger he'd only started talking to last night. Steve was completely in his rights to end the conversation there.

He could've ended it at any time really. What obligation did he have to keep on talking to him?

[2:01] Okay. Talk to you later

Steve stared at the message, already in the middle of agonizing over it when Robin finally came through the door of their apartment.

"Good afternoon. I wanna feel offended that I didn't get any texts or calls asking if I'm okay but I'm gonna choose to think it means you trust me and are a great judge of character."

For the first time in a while, Steve checked the time and actually realized how long it had been.

"Shit, Robs, I'm sorry." It had been over 12 hours and he hadn't checked in on her. All because he'd been texting a random number. "So you had a good time?"

Steve had been sitting on the couch and Robin plopped right down, laying her head in his lap.

"It was magical. Like something out of a movie."

"Aren't you glad I made you go and talk to her?", Steve smiled smug.

Robin smushed his face with her hands with a groan. "Don't look at me like that. You were right, okay? Me and her hit it off like, like uh, one of your sports metaphors."

"Robin you were in a soccer league just last year, stop acting like you don't know sports."

"Anyway, something grand must've kept your attention off me. Things go well with that girl you were talking to?"

"Umm, yeah."

Robin sat up, eyes narrowing. "And you came back here with her? Gross! Steve! Did you do it on the couch?!" She shot up immediately.

"I didn't", Steve rolled his eyes.

It was one of their main rules. No sex in the common areas of the apartment. Steve wasn't gonna tell her about the wrong number given to him. And he especially wasn't going to tell her he kept talking to it. The following lecture would have been unbearable.

"She gave me her number and we've just been texting back and forth."

Robin slowly sat back down on the couch. "Just texting? That's all you did?"

"That's all."

"Wow. You usually move faster than that."

"Well, I want something a little more this time. But enough about my snail pace romance. Let's talk about you and that girl, what was her name?"

He and Robin sat a long while, talking about her night, eventually going out for lunch together too. Not-Misty had said they were at work, but Steve couldn't help himself when he saw that Robin had ordered a burger with avocado on it and Steve had gotten a taco salad that came with, you guessed it, avocado.

[3:14] image.jpeg [314] Okay me and Robin might have a problem. But I swear it's not on purpose!

"Did you just send a picture of our lunch to someone?", Robin asked.

"Yeah to uh, to Misty. We were talking about avocados earlier and I figured she'd get a kick out of it."

Robin smiled through her chewing. She teased but she was glad that her friend had made a connection last night.

Meanwhile, Eddie saw the message, but didn't have a chance to reply, even on his lunch break. Through all the texting, he had forgotten to charge his phone, so it was on the plug and he was leaving it alone for now while he talked to his co-worker, Grant. He went through the rest of his shift, thinking about Steve.

What did he look like? How old was he? Where did he live?

He got off and made his way back home, stopping off somewhere to get dinner. It was a sandwich shop and he honestly contemplated getting avocado on his just to see Steve's reaction but he resisted.

'I can't be that down bad that I'm overthinking food now', he thought to himself.

When he got back home, he turned the tv on and took out his phone to reply to Steve right away.

(10:31) Back at home now (10:32) Work was crazy (10:34) And the 1st step to recovery is admitting u have a problem (10:36) But thru hard work we can get you addicted to a sensible veggie (10:37) Like broccoli

He thought since he kept Steve waiting for so long it might take some time for a reply to come, but his phone pinged almost immediately.

[10:39] First of all, avocado is a fruit. Second, I eat plenty of other vegetables. And third, what happened at work?

(10:41) It may be a fruit but I dont want it in my smoothie (10:42) And some guy came in and started throwing axes at the wall

Sunday evenings were usually more relaxed. It was why Eddie typically didn't work Friday or Saturday nights unless he needed some extra cash or they needed someone on deck.

[10:44] Hold the duck up someone was throwing axes!! [10:44] *duck [10:45] *FUCK

Eddie snickered through his eating and had to take a moment to swallow before something came up. He always enjoyed telling people what he did for a living.

(10:46) Cool your jets man (10:47) I work at an axe throwing range (10:48) The problem with this dude was he didn't have an appointment (10:48) Just came in and started throwing an axe at the wall

[10:50] Are you okay? That sounds dangerous

(10:50) My uncle handled it (10:51) Eventually the dude left

[10:52] Oh wow. Well I'm glad you're okay. Axe throwing tho. What an interesting job for someone of your age? 🤷

Steve was lying in bed and he buried his face into his pillow as he sent it with the shrug emoji. It was so transparent, he knew it. But he needed to have a better idea of who he was talking to. That way when Robin did eventually find out, he'd be able to tell her something, anything.

(10:53) Smooth (10:53) I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours

Eddie knew now was the time to be cautious. But he was also curious as to how much Steve would tell him and just what he wanted to know. He wasn't disappointed.

[10:54] Male, 23, 5'11

It was like the bare minimum of information and yet Eddie was already aggressively tamping down any hope that he might have a chance. Without his permission, hope bubbled up anyway

(10:55) Male, 24 going on 25, also 5'11

Steve stared at the text with the mystery person, mystery man's information. It seemed like so little and yet so much. He still hadn't an idea of what he looked like. But now he could at least get a general silhouette.

(10:56) Ur not one of those guys who lies about his height are you?

[10:57] Robin says my hair gives me two inches but she has no idea what she's talking about.

Eddie was thinking about how Steve must wear his hair. It could be in a sizeable pompadour, or maybe a nice afro. Maybe it was in a bun all the time? That was not what he typed out however.

(10:59) You know what they say (10:59) It's not the size but what u do with it

Okay this was it. This was where Steve stopped texting him. You can't just say that to guys you don't know-ping!

Eddie bit his lip and only had one eye open as he looked at Steve reply, preparing for the worst.

[11:01] Oh I know how to use my inches

Eddie dropped his phone onto the table and had to get up and pace, touch his face, his hair, throwing his hands in the air. Was this flirting? This felt like flirting. He wished he knew for sure. Maybe it was the lack of emoji. Had Steve put a winking face, he'd know for certain. Eddie leaned against his fridge, staring at his phone, sitting innocently on the table.

On the other side, Steve was burying his face into his pillow, pretending he didn't just say that. Would it come off as playful? As flirty? As casual? Should he have sent a wink? The seconds ticked and it felt too late. Like coughing after saying something awkward.

God, he was so desperate. Why was he even still texting? He had work in the morning. He should start preparing for bed so he had any hope of getting up on time. Steve pushed off the bed and went to his closet when he heard the notification sound and instantly returned.

(11:05) Let's get out the measuring tape (11:05) image.jpeg

Steve felt his heart skip a beat. The picture attached was of the very top of mystery man's head. He was holding up a lock of long, curly hair into the air. Steve studied the picture like he was getting paid to do it. He couldn't see any lower than the bangs on his forehead but there was still plenty to see.

The rings on his fingers for one, how his curls went this way and that. Steve quickly saved it and then replied with a similar pose, holding some hair by the fingers as far as it would go above his head.

[11:07] image.jpeg [11:08] I think you have me beat

They texted for about an hour more before Steve finally decided to be an adult and put himself to sleep, bidding mystery man good night.

Part 3

Fun fact, years ago I worked at an axe throwing place and yes, what happened to Eddie did in fact happen to me! On like my first week too I think

Tag Team

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @estrellami-1 @newtstabber @omletlove @ifyoudonlysurrender @rehfan @morganski-19 @corvidcantina @dragonmama76 @just-ladyme @tinyplanet95 @lolawonsstuff @goodolefashionedloverboi @idoquitelikebread @kittydeadbones @manda-panda-monium @rhapsodyinalto @paintsplatteredandimperfect @keylime-green @ihavekidneys @samsoble @honorarybrit81 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @420-hun @aizawa-emma @deleataecount @thesuninyaface

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #i can honestly say i didn't expect the response to this #u cant predict the stocks! i guess LOL #fun fact this was nearly an abo fic as well #but i decided against it this time around #bc i have other aus that'll probably be abo

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baldval · 6 months

Note

Hey!

Do you have an Head Cannons on morning or night routines for the cast?

This stuff has been very fun to read :) keep making things! (No pressure ofc just fun to see people being creative)

MORNING ROUTINES W HAZBIN!₊˚⊹♡

characters: vox, husk, valentino, lucifer, adam

warnings: slightly ooc adam (lets be fr this man does NOT wash his face)

VOX:

☀︎ vox wakes up at 5 am

☀︎ he says he needs to "seize the day"

☀︎ he probably got that from the time you watched dead poets society together

☀︎ of course, he clearly took the movie differently

☀︎ you'll wake up some time after him, to find him already working

☀︎ "you know, you talk about 'seizing the day' yet i don't see you really enjoying it"

☀︎ "that's because you hadn't woken up yet" he walks towards you as he pulls you by your waist and kisses you

☀︎ leaving his coffee cup in a nearby table

☀︎ "how many already?" you ask, nudging towards the cup

☀︎ "only like- 3, i think?"

☀︎ that man is addicted to coffee it's crazy

☀︎ as the sun rises higher in the sky, you find yourself looking for vark's leash

☀︎ ready for your daily walk to the park

☀︎ hand in hand, you stroll as you chat about nothings

☀︎ sometimes you don't even have to talk

☀︎ you simply find his presence comfortable

☀︎ and he very much finds yours comfortbale as well

HUSK:

☀︎ genuinely, you and husk could spend hours laying together in bed

☀︎ secretely, husk is one of the clingiest people you'll ever meet

☀︎ he's just that good at hiding it

☀︎ and at that moment, both of you cuddling in the bed, he knows he doesn't have to hide it

☀︎ he honestly doesn’t care the position, he’ll big spoon, little spoon,

☀︎ really just likes to be able to see you

☀︎ and he loves when you play with his fur

☀︎ sometimes, he'll play with the fabric of his clothes ☀︎ “husk that tickles stop,” you says one night, between giggles, as he plays with the hem of your shirt

☀︎ but truly, you enjoy his touch above everyhting

☀︎ he looks so happy and adorable

☀︎ really, he’s just obsessed with you

☀︎ if you’re happy he’s happy.

VALENTINO:

☀︎ valentino is the type to drag you to keep sleeping

☀︎ especially if you have something else to do

☀︎ one morning, you and him are curled up together in bed

☀︎ he’s scratching at the nape of your neck, playing with your hair

☀︎ he has your favourite stuffed animal held to his chest in a vice grip with his other arm

☀︎ you kiss his chest, falling in and out of consciousness

☀︎ that day you had a very important work meeting and you were probably going to be late already

☀︎ "val, please. you know this is important"

☀︎ he groans as he shifts in your embrace

☀︎ "at least kiss me goodbye"

☀︎ the kiss is long, soft, loving

☀︎ he still presses a million kisses to your crown before you’re gone

☀︎ he texts you nonstop

☀︎ before you're already there, you have 14 texts from him

☀︎ i know this is morning routines but let's say you come back early enough to find him still laying in bed

☀︎ still hugging your stuffed animal

☀︎ "seems like you love that thing more than me"

☀︎ "you know, i can't seem to get out of bed whenever this thing is near me"

☀︎ referring to the stuffed animal

☀︎ “really? why not, val?”

☀︎ “i think it's 'cause it smells like you.”

LUCIFER:

☀︎ waking up besides him is always a surprise

☀︎ he's probably the biggest fan of cuddling

☀︎ it doesn't matter what position you fell asleep in

☀︎ you could've been meters apart in bed, backs turn against eachother

☀︎ you'd still wake up with him wrapped around you in some way

☀︎ "hey," you murmur

☀︎ he turns around to face you

☀︎ "morning," he mumbles

☀︎ a big smile on his face as he just looks lovingly into your eyes

☀︎ you nestle closer, comfortable in his warmth

☀︎ minutes pass in comfortable silence

☀︎ his breaths syncing with yours, creating a rhythm of their own

☀︎ before you know it, you're asleep again

☀︎ you won't realise how or when it happened but suddenly you are alone in bed

☀︎ lucifer already changed his clothes, brushed his teeth, did his hair...

☀︎ to this day you still don't know if it has to do with his powers or if he's just incredibly fast

☀︎ all you know is that, after you're done tidying yourself up, there's breakfast ready

☀︎ if there's something lucifer loves in this world, it's cooking breakfast

☀︎ especially if he's cooking breakfast for you

☀︎ you enter the kitchen to find him mixing something up that smells amazing

☀︎ you hug him from behind as his smile grows

☀︎ "look who's up"

☀︎ "this smells amazing"

☀︎ he turns around to meet your eyes, holding your face with his hands

☀︎ "you're amazing"

☀︎ you cringe a bit at his cheesiness but can't help blushing as he places a kiss on your nose

ADAM:

☀︎ adam is definitely a slow morning person

☀︎ and even more so when you are with him

☀︎ the alarm will go off and he will immediately roll over and take you in his arms and cuddle up with you

☀︎ "adam!"

☀︎ you'd giggle as he buries his head in your neck and mumbles

☀︎ "five more minutes"

☀︎ you'd run your hands through his hair as he'd press a couple kisses to your neck

☀︎ you'll stay like this for about ten minutes or so.

☀︎ and eventually you get into the habit of setting your alarm a little bit earlier, so you can make sure you have time for adam's morning cuddles.

☀︎ when you are finally able to drag yourself out of his arms, you get out of bed and he follows a few minutes later

☀︎ you brush your teeth and hair in tandem

☀︎ and he often likes to nudge your elbow, causing you to smear toothpaste on your cheek

☀︎ cue his familiar giggling

☀︎ you take turns washing your face and doing your morning skin care

☀︎ whoever does theirs first makes the coffee for the both of you

☀︎ after lounging on the couch together drinking your coffee, you make breakfast

☀︎ you do most of it while adam 'helps'

☀︎ his way of helping often includes his arms wrapped around your waist as he hugs you into his chest

☀︎ sometimes swinging you side to side

☀︎ or squeezing you to make you laugh

☀︎ he is a food thief as well

☀︎ he can't wait until it's done he has to eat it as soon as he see's it

☀︎ the two of you eat breakfast together, often with your feet intertwined under the table, or your leg's propped up on his lap

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harunayuuka2060 · 5 months

Text

Akihiko: It took you a long time to fulfill your promise.

Leal: *his trusted friend and husband* My apologies, Master Akihiko.

Akihiko: *smiles* You don't need to apologize.

Leal: Thank you—

Akihiko: However, I expect the utmost service from you.

Leal: Y-Yes!

Leal: *sigh*

Leal's sister: Did you get an earful from your wife—er, your husband?

Leal: Yes...

Leal's sister: It's not like I'm agreeing to him, but why did it take you so long?

Leal: ...

Leal: Master Akihiko and Lady Yuurin came from prestigious and affluent family. You must be exceptional to seek their hand in marriage.

Leal's sister: ...

Leal's sister: You're not that exceptional, brother.

Leal: I know. That's why Master Akihiko helped me to be one.

Leal's sister: Ah... That makes sense now.

Leal's sister: Though you could've just seek for his sister's hand—

Leal: You shouldn't say that!

Leal's sister: Huh? Why not—

Akihiko: Leal?

Leal: !!!

Leal: *slowly turns around* Y-Yes?

Akihiko: *smiles* Nothing. Please continue to enjoy your chat with your sister.

Leal and his sister: ...

Leal's sister: I'm going back to my room...

Sebek: WHAT CAN YOU SAY, HUMAN?! ISN'T DIASOMNIA THE BEST DORM YOU'VE EVER SEEN?!

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: No.

Sebek: WHAT?! HOW DARE YOU!

Yuurin: I consider Savanaclaw to be the best dorm simply because I'm a member of it, and Leona-senpai and the others treat me with kindness and respect.

Sebek: Now that you explained it like that...

Yuurin: Though I appreciate you sharing stories of your housewarden. No wonder you admire him a lot.

Sebek: ...

Sebek: Human... I CAN TELL YOU MORE ABOUT WAKA-SAMA IF YOU'LL ALLOW ME!

Yuurin: Sure.

*After chatting for hours*

Yuurin: If there is a Malleus-aficionado, it would be you.

Sebek: *exhales with pride*

Yuurin: Anyway, it's late. I have to head back to my dorm.

Sebek: What?! We will be having a sleepover! You can't just go yet!

Yuurin: I don't have pajamas with me.

Sebek: Wait here! *goes to rummage through his drawers*

Sebek: I've got a spare one!

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: *after Sebek gave her privacy to change into his pajamas*

Sebek: You don't look bad, human!

Yuurin: Thank you.

Sebek: Let's go! Lilia-sama and Waka-sama are already waiting in the lounge area!

*Malleus, Lilia, and Silver staring at Yuurin.*

Lilia: Ooh~ Sebek~ Are you best buddies now?

Sebek: N-No, Lilia-sama! Yuurin didn't bring any pajamas so I've decided to lend him mine!

Malleus and Silver: ...

Malleus: Well, Lilia and I have prepared activities we could do.

Silver: While I made sure to get the comfiest pillows we have in the dorm.

Lilia: Yes! Let's have fun for the rest of the night!

Leona: Yuurin! Why are you just arriving now?!

Yuurin: It was a sleepover.

Leona: *frowns* *then sighs*

Leona: Would it hurt you to send a single message?

Yuurin: I'm sorry.

Leona: ...

Leona: Tch. Here's a punishment for worrying your housewarden.

Leona: You'll only talk to me with your girl voice.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: Is that a punishm—

Leona: Girl voice.

Yuurin: *switches to her feminine voice* I don't see that as a punishment, Leona-senpai.

Leona: It is. Deal with it.

Akihiko: *chuckles* I agree with Yuurin. That is not a punishment, Leona.

Leona: Hmph. As if I could ever punish her.

Akihiko: True. *chuckles*

Leona: Oi, Aki.

Akihiko: Hm?

Leona: When are you going to tell Yuurin you got married, huh?

Akihiko: ...

Akihiko: I will tell her personally. Or she would get the wrong idea. *chuckles*

Leona: ...

Leona: You are in Sunset Savannah now.

Leona: Though, seriously? Leal?

Akihiko: Leal is trustworthy.

Akihiko: And he is scared of me.

Leona: ...

Leona: Yuurin mentioned to me that her brother is a gentle soul.

Leona: *smirks* I guess she's wrong about that?

Akihiko: *chuckles* No. Yuurin has always been a good judge of character.

Leona: ...

Leona: By the way, on Yuurin's debut, what's your plan?

Akihiko: ...

Akihiko: I want her to wear the prettiest gown.

Leona: Ha! We're thinking the same!

#twisted wonderland #twst yuurin #twst akihiko/akane #twst leona #twst sebek #twst malleus #twst lilia #twst silver #twst oc leal #twst unveil

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copdog1234 · 1 year

Text

Man, I was watching the movie and the entire time I was thinking "Wow. This would've been so much more satisfying in the show" because the show has earned it. The show's writing is far from perfect, it has many, many flaws, but my god is it far better than Miraculous Awakening will ever be. And I'll tell you why.

I will preface by saying, yes, an hour and a half movie has way less time than a TV show with several episodes to build up characters and relationships, so time constraints will make it so we may not get as much depth in the on-screen relationships.

You know what, though? The time they spent playing mediocre songs could've been used better to show us all the things the songs had to outright tell us. Cause that was the problem.

The movie sure liked telling us how the characters were feeling. It rarely showed it. Like could you tell me why movie Marinette liked Adrien? Because I couldn't. What did he do to earn her affection beside look pretty? Why did we only get a montage of them getting closer instead of actually seeing it? Or how we never really see much of Gabriel and Adrien's struggles with the loss of Emilie, we simply get glimpses. How am I supposed to feel anything when Gabriel stops being Hawk Moth when this movie showed us literally nothing of their strained relationship? And then there's Gabriel's claim that he did absolutely everything to get Emilie back. No he didn't. He did actually nothing. He freed a couple of criminals and then akumatized himself. That's it. That's all he did.

Could you tell me why Alya decided to befriend Marinette? Could you tell me why Adrien "who decided not to get close to anyone" was friends with Nino? Could you tell me why Chloe was so confident Adrien had any interest in her when they never actually interacted?

And then there wasnt enough explanation on how anything that we should've been told worked. Could anyone really tell me how these versions of the miraculous work? Or why Master Fu was in possession of them? Or why they really chose their holders? Could you tell me if the kwami had much personality and were necessary?

Like, I will say, there were funny moments, the animation was nice, and there were cool set pieces, but where was the substance?? It was nonexistent. If you don't watch the show, would you know or feel anything for what was going on in this movie?

Cause even for me, who does watch the show, I didn't.

Think about this. The show has even faked out multiple reveals to me and every time I was hyped and screaming, I have read fanfiction of these same to characters falling in love and confessing every which way and I've swooned, but we get reveals and love confessions that are real and permanent in this movie and I felt. Nothing.

It's okay if yall disagree with me, but I just needed to get this off my chest. I'm hard on this movie because I wanted it to be good because I love the characters and story from the show.

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evilkitten3 · 8 months

Text

ok so like i know the reason is just. sexism but one thing that really irks me about how the post-timeskip naruto manga handled which characters became medic nin bc it makes absolutely no sense to me

sakura's decision to train under tsunade makes sense, and i love that she got a super strength power up, so no notes there, but the other teams.... yeesh

so first off, team ten. we're told that ino decided to follow sakura into mednin land to keep being rivals with her... despite that at no point factoring into their rivalry at all beforehand. ino never showed any interest in that, nor was the yamanaka clan ever mentioned to have anything to do with healing as far as i can remember. it's like going to art school to stay with your bestie when your goal is to become a dentist. why are you there. find other ways to spend time together. it also kinda goes against her family's whole thing as. the guys who do the torture stuff. and it's barely ever relevant anyway

for team ten, i think the team medic should've been shikamaru, and i think this not just bc i think it makes more sense skill-wise (something about the way the nara clan's various shadow jutsu work just screams "you need good chakra control for this" to me), but also bc i think it would make asuma's death a thousand times more painful. bc shikamaru is a slacker. he's not learning medical ninjutsu bc he wants to, he's learning it bc someone on the team has to in order to stick together. they're all chuunin now; one of them has to be a medic. them's the rules. but he doesn't really care that much, even when he is trying to learn, and he's so used to being smart enough to not have to pay attention in lessons anyway that he's not prepared for classes that require his full focus. and then asuma dies and shikamaru is doomed to spend the rest of his fucking life wondering if he could've saved him by paying just a little more attention to those medical ninjutsu lessons (he could not have (but he'll never know for sure))

team eight makes some sense, since giving the girl who struggles with fighting the healing job isn't exactly out of nowhere, but i do feel it was the lazy choice. kiba already had a sister involved in the medical business, even if she deals more with animals, so he could've started learning from her and found that he liked it. plus kiba's goal is to be hokage, and the current hokage is a mednin, so it's not like it wouldn't support his goal. or shino could do it; would add another layer to his character. hinata works fine but. it's just not a very interesting development imo

but what really gets me is team gai. good freaking grief. out of every single team, team gai was the one with the most obvious choice. bc there was only one choice. lee can't do any kind of ninjutsu, and tenten's only real backstory is that her chakra control isn't good enough for her to be a medic nin. so it had to be neji. canon establishes that every team has to have a medic; this is a policy tsunade got passed even before she became hokage, so no way in hell is she going back on it now.

moreover, neji becoming a medical ninja - especially if hiashi encouraged it - would show some development for the hyuuga clan maybe starting to suck a bit less. bc as a medic, neji would be bound by oath to stay alive for as long as possible. imagine a world in which hizashi came back and hiashi was able to tell his brother that not only was their family starting to change, but his son had chosen a path that would prevent him from ever following in his father's footsteps. it would be the first step (of many) to show that the hyuuga clan was freeing itself from its own bullshit.

also it would've made sakura catching the zetsu pretending to be neji a thousand times funnier. like that's her coworker. they've shared shifts at the hospital together. she's seen neji drink vodka straight from a bottle and then crash on her couch after they got out of a twelve-hour surgery on the fucking dumbass chuunin who managed to step on his own boobytrap. she knows him.

#naruto #naruto shippuden #medical ninjutsu #iryou ninjutsu #haruno sakura #senju tsunade #yamanaka ino #nara shikamaru #hyuuga hinata #inuzuka kiba #hyuuga neji #white zetsu #hyuuga clan #neji should've been a mednin not hinata i will die on that hill

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david-talks-sw · 2 months

Text

The biggest problem in "The Acolyte"

I think I've given this show a fair shake. There are parts in it that I really like, and I think this sits in 3rd/4th place in my ranking of favourite Disney - Star Wars shows.

But here's the thing. It felt underwhelming. The only time I was genuinely excited was during the fight scenes, any of them.

But when I think about the events that take place in the show... they're not so bad! There's nothing really lore-breaking, I like flawed characters doing their best. It's okay!

So why was I almost always deadpan, while watching it?

Structure.

The show doesn't have the same issue as other Disney Plus series, wherein they treat it as a 10-hour movie and thus lose all momentum every time. Headland knows how to raise the stakes properly... but unfortunately, the result is the same!

Because this series was structured and marketed as if it was some kind of investigative thriller, a noir movie about Jedi being murdered and needing to find the killer. And when you look at the events, and at the story it's telling... it really isn't that.

So when you're trying to make these twists... they're all predictable.

How could Osha have killed Indara when she's working as a meknik-- she has a twin.

But who could the Sith in the mask possibly be-- iiiit's Qimir, y'know, the guy who's literally quoting the Sith code and is trying his hardest to seem harmless.

Why is Mae going around killing these Jedi-- they had it coming, they likely wronged her in a way that was unintended and now she's in pain because of it.

What's the mystery behind the twins-- they weren't conceived biologically, they were created using the Force. They're Anakin 1.0.

Were the witches really killed by the fire? What did we miss, why are the Jedi so guilt-ridden over it-- the other side of the story, showing the Jedi probably killing them all through some big well-intentioned-but-misled accident that could've been avoided, which the Jedi now feel guilty over and try to cover up.

Osha seems to be fine with the Jedi arresting her sister-- her heartlessness makes her the perfect Sith, by the end of the Season, she'll be an apprentice and Mae will be on the good side.

Who is Qimir's former teacher-- Vernestra. His scars look like they come from a lightsaber whip.

Is Qimir the Sith master-- probably not, just an apprentice, a self-proclaimed non-Bane-lineage Sith, or an acolyte himself.

Will Sol survive the show-- no, he's gonna die, because of course he is, by Episode I, the Sith have been thought to be extinct for a millenia.

If you're a casual viewer, maybe these wouldn't be as obvious. But if you're a fan, it's like it's written on a billboard. And like, clearly Leslye Headland knew that this would be the case:

"I think a good twist is not about hiding everything from the audience and then throwing it on them like, 'Hey, this is what you didn't see! We hid it so well that you didn't see this!'" says Headland. "I think a good twist is telegraphing what's going to happen, and then once it does, executing it without an ounce of pity or sentimentality."" - Leslye Headland, Entertainment Weekly, 2024

But here's the thing.

You can't make an audience feel as if the stakes have been raised, when we can tell where this is all going.

Because then we're not watching, we're waiting for what will inevitably happen to finally occur. If most of these "mysteries" had been structured as simple plot points in a more straight-forward story about...

Two sisters trying to get back to each other after an incident in their lives caused by the Jedi.

The Jedi Master coming to terms with the fact that his flawed decisions led to tragic consequences.

A Sith Lord trying to appropriate the sisters' powers for himself.

... then I think that I wouldn't feel as underwhelmed.

Instead it's a murder mystery, and we already know the murderer, what motivates said murderer, how said murderer was wronged, etc... and they're feeding us the information by the breadcrumb to build up to these twists, but we can basically guess what these twists are.

Don't treat obvious plot points like a secret. You can get away with it a couple of times, but not with every single one of them. C'mon.

ADDENDUM:

#the acolyte #the acolyte spoilers #star wars #meta #disney plus #leslye headland

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anangelwhodidntfall · 1 year

Text

Here In Your Arms: Charles LecLerc

Formula One Masterlist

word count: 700

prompts used: Tell me about your day baby, let me make it better + You're home early! featuring Character B shuffling into Character A's arms

a/n: had a stressful few days at work and wished that someone could've taken care of me :(

You were absolutely exhausted by the time you reached home, you were supposed to be let off nearly an hour and half ago but had to stay because some needed to go home more than you apparently. This was still early considering when you normally got off work but when you've been at work since 7 this morning and told that you were getting off at 4:30 only not to get off until 5:20, you would be exhausted and ready to climb into bed. You quietly grabbed your bags, and walked up to your house, where you opened the door and walked in dropping your bags by the door.

"Hey baby, you're home early!" Your boyfriend Charles said.

You didn't said anything but instead quietly made your way into his arms and let out a huge sigh as you felt him wrap his arms around you. He gently rocked you guys for a few minutes as he rubbed your back trying to help ease some of the stress off your body.

"Tell me about your day baby, let me make it better." He said.

"It was exhausting we were short staffed which isn't shocking, corporate came today, three kids got sick which reminds me I shouldn't even be touching you, and I got yelled at for sitting so my feet are killing me and let's not forget I was supposed to get off at 4:30 and didn't get off until 5:30 because apparently others needed to go home more than me." You said running a hand through your hair.

"I'm sorry that happened baby, why don't you take a seat on the couch while I draw up a bath for you to help relax your muscles? And once you are nice and relaxed we can order some takeout and watch a movie or something if you would like that?" He asked me.

"I would love that but first I need a kiss or two." I said looking at him with a smile.

"I can happily help with that." He said with a smile as he placed a few kisses on my lips and then all over my face making me giggle.

"There's that beautiful laugh. Take a seat on the couch and rest your feet while I draw you a baby, okay?" He asked as you nodded your head.

A few minutes later, he came back and picked you bridal style refusing to let you be on your feet any longer today and carried you to the bathroom. He set you gently on your feet, helping your undress and helping you into the tub.

"Take your time and relax baby, I'll be here when you are done." He said to you.

"Actually bubs, do you think you could stay here in with me and tell me about your day?" You asked looking up at him.

"Of course I can baby." He said taking a seat by the tub and telling you all about his day.

After about thirty minutes you were relaxed and ready to get and hungry as you and your boyfriend heard your stomach growling. He helped you out and dried you off before letting you get dressed before you guys made your way towards y'all's room.

"Baby you know what sounds good?" You asked him.

"What's that sweetheart?" He asked you.

"Pizza." You said with a smile as you two took a seat on your bed.

"I was hoping you say that." He said with a smile as a knock came to the front door.

You watched as he disappeared out of y'all's room and then a few minutes later he returns with food from y'all's favorite pizza place.

"I had a feeling that you might want pizza tonight. So while I was drawing your bath, I ordered our usual. I hope it's alright?" He asked taking a seat next to you on the bed and placing the food in front of you.

"I love how you can read my mind, this is perfect. Thank you." You said leaning over and pressing a kiss to his lips.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x female reader

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frownyalfred · 2 months

Note

Re: the homelander fic and Batman's and Superman's relationship being worse for it

so, I kind of disagree?? I'm sorry!! Like, 1000% see where you're coming from, and honestly, you're probably not wrong, but my take away was Clark better understanding why Bruce does what he does, and them both trusting each other more. For example, Clark's joke that he would be worse, after having looked Homelander in the eyes (finding the same loneliness and sense of separation from those (soft, breakable humans) around them) and see how it corrupted someone who could have been him in another life? It's true at its core. He could have been worse.

Clark has friends and family, but Bruce will always be the person he can trust most, not least because they keep each other in balance (and I know it could hurt their relationship, as you said, but I think they both watch each other not because they don't trust, but because they love each other deeply (platonically or otherwise), but because they can trust each other so much.

Like, sure Clark trusts Lois. He loves her deeply. But he couldn't (nor does he want to) trust her to kill him/stop him if the need ever arises. For Bruce, it's the same with Alfred. They both bear similar weights and trust the other to carry it.

(Sorry for rambling in your inbox, I just had feels I couldn't contain. I know writing homelander was hard for your mental health (which I totally get, I've had a writing experience like that) but it was genuinely such a wonderful fic and had me savoring every last word. I LOVED the dynamics between the characters you write and this fic really show cased your talent for it. It was just AMAZING and made me just utterly delighted to read! I'm honestly about to start my reread of it after I send this comment it was so good!!! Seriously, thank you ♡♡♡ you're just amazing and wonderful and a gift to the community for sharing your work with us ♡♡♡)

No, that's an excellent point. I think I'm leaning too far into Bruce's perspective after writing his POV. He fears that this will push them apart, but you're right -- Clark does seem to be grateful for Bruce's actions, his caution. That he can rely on someone like him if he ever came near to Homelander.

There's been a lot of debate in the comments section of that fic as to whether or not Clark would have actually been worse, or if he was just joking/being hyperbolic. I was thinking about if Clark had been subjected to Homelander's life (torture and experimentation from infancy onward, being reduced to an investment by the people around him, being valued only by his charisma and powers, etc) but I suppose the future is more open-ended than that. He could've been worse, if only because a part of Homelander still wants to be human, in a way. And a Clark who was raised to despise humanity would have very few ties to it, unlike Homelander (who's still technically, inconveniently human).

Thank you so much for reading and sharing your thoughts with me :) This was a fascinating thing to puzzle over this morning. I'm feeling much better about writing Homelander now that it's been a few hours, lol. He's just so gross and pathetic, you feel gross feeling bad for him. But I suppose that's the point, right?

#asks #anon #myfic #theresurrectionist #homelander #the boys #bruce wayne #batman #dc #clark kent #superman #tw torture #tw torture mention

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blu-ish · 8 months

Text

Sticks and Stones

LMAO MY FOOTS STILL BROKEN AND IM COPING OKAY-- *throws Sonadow fanfic*

When Sonic ends up with an injury that lands him partially bedridden, Shadow has to come to terms that he's maybe, just maybe, a little annoyed by the self-proclaimed hero's disappearance.

...

What was he doing?

Shadow stood frighteningly still on top of one of the hundreds of office buildings overlooking Station Square, he could've been easily mistaken for a statue if it wasn't for the nights cold breeze gently swaying his dark quills.

He supposed it was routine. Being released from G.U.Ns clutches at an ungaialy hour, drop off Rouge at her club which may or may not be directly connected to Team Darks apartment; unbeknownst to their landlord, and eventually take a walk that ends up with him on top of a steel structure.

So why did it feel so... off?

The hybrid tightly furrowed his brow, deep in thought.

That's why he came up here; to think, ponder, reflect. It felt, content enough in-between the noises of the city life below him. It reminded him of his first ever conscious moment's on the planet. Even if a little fuzzy, recalling how he could never quite stop looking at the vibrant hues.

But none we're in comparison to the beauty of the Earth itself.

The fauna, flora, each individual ecosystems fascinated him. The one's he and Maria would read about on the ARK didn't do it any justice. So much so that he would occasionally lose himself staring at a bird feeding their family, or the ripples of a nearby stream. It seemed forbidden, like a treasure he didn't deserve to see, but did anyways.

There we're always new places to discover, places Sonic would drag him too in the dead of night--

oh.

Sonic.

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

Sonic grumbled, lazily tossing his controller off to one side. Not even video games could entertain him anymore, all the character did was run around collecting things... it was like it was making fun of him.

It was late, but he couldn't sleep. How could he? He's been in his room for days. His left leg propped up on the pillow Tails got him, wrapped in itchy bandages that were taking all of his willpower not to rip off.

Bouncing his good leg up and down, Sonic felt so much pent up energy it nearly drove him mad. He needed to do something, anything besides just sitting laying here.

It's not like it hurt that bad anyways, he's been hit way harder than this--he figures. Besides, he had natural chaos energy running through his veins, he'd be back up and at it soon.

Not soon enough for him though...

....

He wouldn't admit it out loud, but any sort of injuries Sonic got delivered to his legs freaked him out. Maybe next to water but, everyone kinda knew that.. and tight spaces.

But this? This is different. It wasn't like he was being "contained" per say. He was physically unable to run. To escape. To just ENJOY the feeling, he felt...

vulnerable...

He shook his head, rubbing his temple. He really could use some fresh air, and to touch grass.

Sonic took a mental gamble in his head, figuring that if he was quick enough he could technically try going for a midnight walk, just for a bit.

Emerald eyes peered over to the foot of his racecar bed, where a boot made by a certain two Tailed fox laid. It was technically for waddling around the house with but he's sure it would function like a normal shoe--probably.

Doing the straps, and then redoing them again. He was satisfied, good enough he guessed. Gripping onto his sheets, he carefully set his foot down, trying to ignore the sudden pressure that shot up.

Sonic took a sharp breath.

He's fine... he's fine.

It was a long journey to the front door, he opted for that instead of his window escape due to a certain foot not cooperating with his master plan. Cringing at the loud creak the door made, he sighed, stepping outside.

His nose was greeted with the nights fresh breeze, instead of the cheeto puffs he's been smelling forever.

A smile escaped his lips, trying to suppress the urge to giggle too loud at how stupid of an idea this was. Too late to turn back now, and he wasn't looking back.

Besides it would probably take him until morning to waddle back to bed anyways. Night time adventure it is!

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

He must've really lost his mind now.

The agent couldn't tell you why he ended up skating into Green Hills, he wasn't too sure himself. But he supposed it was a nice change of scenery.

Shadow opted to sit next to a flower bed, examining each flower carefully, being sure not to crush any of them. There were so many different diverse species, they smelled lovely as well.

It must've been pretty shocking for any living organisms who observed the hedgehog from their nests or burrows, the Ultimate Life Form, stopping to smell the flowers.

His hand stopped near a blue orchid, it's bright blue petals curved behind it like a waterfall. While it's face pointed up towards the moon.

Shadow joined the flower, gazing up toward the heavenly rock.

"Did you know, they say the moon might have came from the very Earth?" He told the flower, that swayed in response.

"It reflects the light from our star, the sun, and watches over the Earth. ...Like it's shadow."

The flower might have lost interest, because it momentarily swayed away, Shadow huffed but without any real venom. "Well, excuse me."

"Are you talking to a flower?"

Shadows quills shot up, he quickly turned around to see a familiar blue hedgehog. Who was weirdly leaning his weight against a tree. Puzzled--and a bit embarrassed, Shadow stood up, dusting himself off. Trying to ignore the fact this is the first time he's seen Sonic in literal weeks.

"Sonic? what could you possibly want at this hour?" The hybrid crossed his arms, slowly regaining his usual composure, especially around Sonic of all people.

"To annoy you, obviously." Sonic winked, awkwardly shifting. Shadow tilted his head, gesturing to the other.

"Why are you doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Tch, do not play games with me, your practically laying on that poor tree." Shadow stepped closer, attempting to figure this out himself. He noticed Sonics eyes grow wide, hiding himself behind the tree further. What on mobius?

"aH, UH-- I just really love nature ya know? Just showing it some appreciation!" He patted the tree for safe measure, maneuvering his way out of Shadow's sight.

If there's one thing that frustrated the hybrid to no end, was not being told the truth, being deceived, he was not a fool.

He growled, but stepped back. Resorting to rolling his eyes instead. "You are singlehandedly the strangest--"

Sonic screamed.

Shadow dashed behind the tree to swiftly catch him by the waist.

Shadow met Sonics teary green eyes, Shadow followed them until he was met with Sonic foot. Dirty ripped bandages covered it, and what seemed to be left of a boot was limply hanging off in straps.

"Sonic what the hell?!"

Sonic grinned, or tried to at least. He wrapped his arms around Shadow for support. "It's kinda a.." he winced "..long story.."

"So instead of telling me your injured right away you hide behind a fucking tree?" Shadow hesitantly lifted Sonic, he didn't think much about it in the moment. But lifting Sonic into a bridal carry was relatively easy.

"Dude, I don't know.. I just--" he was cut off by a growl, he could feel it rumbling in the others chest. "Shads I--"

Shadow didn't understand why he was so upset, there were most likely a whole list of reasons, he didn't really care, he just needed to get this stupid ass hedgehog home.

"I don't want to hear it, not now at least, I'm taking you back to Miles."

Sonic groaned, "He's gonna kill me Shads.."

"Better him than me."

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

It wouldn't be morning for a few more hours, the hedgehogs came to an agreement that Shadow would help Sonic patch himself up before the fox woke up. But only if Sonic agreed to tell him what happened.

How could he refuse?

Being carried by Shadow wasn't so bad, in fact, it was kinda nice. He could feel the wind in his quills just as if he was the one running. Closing his eyes, he let out a soft sigh. Gaia he was tired.

He could feel Shadows head tilt down to look at him, Sonic opened his eyes slightly to look. The moon shined brightly on him, the soft rays glimmering on darker quills. Sonic couldn't help but stare, just a little.

When they arrived, Sonic leaned forward to unlock the door. The pair stepped in, Shadows heavy air-shoes clicking slightly against the wooden floor.

After directing him to his room, Sonic was gingerly laid down on his bed. He could momentarily see Shadows confusion when they first walked into his room, his racecar bed was pretty cool.

"Bandages?"

"Drawer."

The agent searched Sonics messy drawers, voicing a mumbled complaint about the others organization skills. He returned from the kitchen shortly after with a washcloth, handing it to Sonic.

"I draw the line at cleaning your foot."

Sonic snorted, trying so hard not to wheeze out loud. "Gee, remind me to rate this doctors visit one star."

Rolling his eyes, Shadow worked on undoing the dirty bandages for Sonic. His brow furrowing at the wound.

"You broke your foot..."

Sonic stayed silent, humming in agreement as he gently pressed the washcloth on his foot, cleaning any debris. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, only letting out a breath when it really hurt. Shadow's ears fell a bit in concern.

"When did it...?"

"Five-ish weeks ago.. I think?" The hero sighed, grumbling. "It's stupid.."

Shadow leaned forward, as a sign for Sonic to continue as he started to rewrap his foot.

"Got into a rough fight with some of Eggman's bots.." he started, playing with the fabric on his glove. "After I wasted them all--naturally," he added with a smirk, it was short lived due to Shadows unimpressed look. "A huge chunk of robo butt fell on my left foot, I tried to walk it off but.. it hurt, really bad."

The other hummed, making sure the bandages were nice and neat before looking back at Sonic.

"And that's why you we're here?"

The blue blur shrugged, nodding. "Pretty much."

Shadow held a piece of Sonics boot, raising a brow. "And this is?"

"The remains of my dear friend, boot brace, it shall be missed." he sighed dramatically, "Tails is not gonna let me hear the end of that.."

The agent didn't even want to try to comprehend how careless the hedgehogs been.

Shadow sat on the foot of the bed, "You still didn't tell me what you were doing out, especially if your supposed to be healing."

Before Sonic could open his mouth Shadow cut him off, "don't even think about saying you were coming to visit me--"

"But what if I was--"

"Sonic."

Sonic raised his peach arms in surrender, "Alright, alright, I was getting SUPER bored, like MEGA ULTRA bored, so I planned a grand escape and just wanted to go on a walk..." his voice got quieter with every word, turning a bit away from the other hedgehog. He then mumbled the last part, and even with his advanced hearing, Shadow couldn't understand.

"What?"

Grumbling even more Sonic raised his voice, "I fell, okay?!" Coming out a little louder than he meant, but he didn't care at the moment, all of his emotions he's been suppressing for the past few weeks were rising whether he liked it or not.

"I tripped! ON A STICK! A stick took out Sonic the Hedgehog, hero of Mobius!" Shadow blinked, failing to understand why something like that warranted an outburst.

"But how did the boot--?"

"Slipped off and fell down into some stones at a bottom of a cliff.."

He regret asking. Why is he not suprised.

Sonic groaned, holding his head in his hands. "I don't know what I was thinking.. I probably hurt my foot even more now and I'm never gonna run again."

Now this surprised Shadow, he knew it was late, he knew the hedgehog was tired, but he's never heard the hedgehog feel so.. defeated?

Sonic smiled through everything, even in the face of certain death at times. It frustrated Shadow to no end, but fascinated him at the same time. Sonic was a never ending wild force that could never contained, as gentle as a breeze or as fierce as a tornado.

He couldn't stand him acting like this, it, annoyed him.

"Sonic, you broke a bone. It happens, it's not the end of the world." He wasn't the best at this whole, comfort, thing. But he'd try, anything to get Sonic back on his literal "feet".

"You don't understand.." Sonic bit back a hiss. "If I can't run, I can't help anybody.. If I'm not there, who knows what could happen. Running is who I am, Shadow, I cant--" he stopped, taking a breath while holding back the hot tears that wanted to run down his face. Like a dam about to break.

"It scares me..."

He paused.

"That you'd lose your purpose?"

Sonic hugged his good leg into himself, burying his face away from his rival. He nods.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Shadow asks, now a bit closer to the blue hedgehog.

The other doesn't respond, so the hybrid continues.

"You don't need me to remind you Sonic, if fact, I'm probably the last person who should remind you." He hesitates putting his hand on the others shoulder, but he does anyways. Sonic looks up, ears still pinned to the back of his head. Shadow noticed how his quills fell back like waterfalls.

"You are a protector, a leader, a guardian, and.. a friend. To so many different people. You make connections even when they seem, impossible." He glances toward the window, the moon greeted him like an old friend, he couldn't help but smile. "Your speed is just an extension of that, it's something you enjoy, something you choose to use to help others."

Sonic uncurled himself, sniffling. He let himself fall into Shadows shoulder, holding his rival-- "friend", close. The darker hedgehog stiffened, but allowed it.

"I don't mind if we can't race or spar for a while, I will only compete against you at 100%. No less. Breaking your foot like a dumbass doesn't change that."

Sonic chuckled, "Your acting weirdly nice today Shads. You like me or something?"

Shadow grumbled, gently forcing the hedgehog off of him. "Goodnight."

"Wait," Sonic wheezed, "Aw dude, come on I'm teasing--"

Shadow stopped climbing outta the window half way, he scowled, looking back at the hedgehog on his stupid racecar bed.

Sonic smiled, a genuine one. "Thanks. For everything by the way."

Shadow felt a flush flood his face, but looked away and cleared his throat. "Of course, goodnight."

"Night."

Shadow, almost hesitated closing the window, he didn't know why. He peered through it once it was closed, to find a sleeping hedgehog on the other side. He smiled, and skated his way back to the city.

The moon, still high in the sky, continued to watch the Earth. And will always until the Earth is no more.

#blu-ish writes #sonadow #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonic fanfic #LMAO HELLO #fav #Had this idea in my head when I was laying down in bed with my foot up lol #its so late wtf #idk if this made sense but welp #HSKSHSJS ENJOY IG

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bookishdaze · 4 months

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Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes Review. More like Rambling and Word Vomiting.

I saw it last night. Finally. After so long!

I personally thought it was good, and a solid addition to the POTA franchise. I don't think it's better than Dawn or War, but I'm willing to bet that by the time the full trilogy is out, Kingdom is gonna be looked back upon as a good beginning to Noa and Mae's story, the same way Rise, despite being most people's least favorite of the Caesar trilogy, is still an amazing intro to Caesar's story.

Some nitpicks. Despite the movie being 2.5 hours long, I felt like the final act came too fast? Like, I understand what people meant with the pacing issue. Suddenly we were in the 3rd act and I was like "Wait, we're here? It's done?"

Now, onto the characters! Let the fangirling commence!

Noa

I loved seeing how his journey and character started and where he ends by the end of the movie.

Him going from "That is the law" to "That is the law. But the law is wrong" was so satisfying.

And him being able to call the eagles to him by the end was great to see. By the way, THE SINGING SCENE WITH THE EAGLES???? LIKE???? It could've been so corny but I LOVED IT???

I'm so glad this movie answered the question of whether apes can sing. Yeah, I know they are only humming, but I'LL TAKE IT. APES CAN SING. YESSSS!

He was just a really nice character to follow. I can't wait to see how he'll be like in the next movie after the events of this one transformed him.

I also think he is the kind of protagonist we need after Caesar. I love Caesar, but Noa is....hmm, I guess you could say softer? More naive? I'm sure he'll get tougher as the movies progress like Caesar did, but I like this change.

Mae

I am a Mae defender. Yes, she did betray Noa in the end. I expected her to tbh. And I understand why she did it. She was right in that Proximus getting his hands on those weapons would've been disastrous.

She has probably been taught all her life nothing but bad things about the apes. She was not going to switch sides just because she met Noa. We still got two whole movies after this. She probably won't have her "redemption" until the 3rd movie. I can honestly go on rambling about her, but I'd rather save that for another separate post.

Raka

I really like him. He's great and funny. I love seeing how he talks about humans and his hopes for humans and apes.

Right before he dies, he reminds Noa "Together, strong." His final words and his necklace as a gift to Noa serve as a reminder. A reminder of a hopeful future where apes and humans can coexist. (And then Noa passing along that same necklace to Mae? Bringing a reminder of that hope for peace into her world? Ugh. So good.)

Also, "He was my village." LIKE. DID HE LOSE HIS PARTNER? MY HEART.

Proximus

I thought he was cool. He gave my mother and I a jump scare at the dinner scene where he slams his fist. Also, the way he was just in awe of the gun after Lightning dies. He has his priorities.

Soona and Anaya

Those two were so cute, and I loved their friendship with Noa.

Anaya broke my heart. In the beginning at the tunnel scene, he's all like "Anaya is not scared." But at Proximus's kingdom, he looks terrified at the dinner scene, and before he goes on the mission to climb the wall, he goes "Anaya is scared" and didn't want to go. Poor guy. He pulled through in the end though.

Although *puts on tinfoil hat* this makes me wonder if this foreshadows how his fear will lead him to make a big mistake in the future movies. Similar to what happened with Winter.

Soona was so sweet. Although I'm disappointed we didn't get more of her with Noa. I saw an interview where Soona's actress described a moment where after they are reunited, they kind of make known their feelings for each other or something like that. But...it didn't happen?

Mae and Noa

Alrighty, I'm gonna briefly put on my shipping goggles on, bear with me, because one has to be a teensy bit delusional for this type of stuff, BUT....

I sensed a....vibe? Not a romantic vibe. They are nowhere close to that yet. But I felt like there were tropes and scenes between them that simply imply a romantic path is a possible direction for their relationship. I will make a separate post about them. I wanna wrap this up, lol.

The ending

I liked the ending. It has me so excited for the future of this trilogy. Now that the humans are able to communicate with others, what will this mean? How will Mae be torn between her people and the apes? Same with Noa? I need to know naooooo

8.5/10 stars (I ain't done rambling about this movie yet. But it's my birthday, and I gotta go out and have some dinner, hehe).

#kingdom of the planet of the apes #kingdom of the planet of the apes spoilers #planet of the apes #pota #kotpota #planetoftheapes #kingdomoftheplanetoftheapes #noa pota #mae pota #noa #mae #raka #proximus caesar #proximus

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esamastation · 11 months

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Shizuroth, part fifteen

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

Angeal has never been quite as aware of the exact dimensions of the Buster Sword as he is now, heading up to Lazard's office. Though the weight has become almost a part of him, a comforting presence on his back, it feels like… more.

He'd not quite resigned himself to possessing and carrying a sword he couldn't really use - it was just something that… was. It was a legacy of sorts, and there was nothing all that burdensome about it. But it still was a fact - the Buster Sword was one of a kind, and even studying the records of Sephiroth's masterful swordplay would never help him manage it. There was no one and nothing that could teach him how to use something that was, most likely, designed to be nigh unusable.

But apparently Sephiroth himself could.

"No," the man had said after half an hour of doing things with the sword Angeal never could've figured out on his own. "You can't fight with it like with a more reasonably-sized sword. But you can fight with it. Question is… do you want to?"

Does he want to, huh.

"Come in" Lazard calls at his knock, and Angeal steps into the man's office. "Angeal, good. Want to explain the rumours of Genesis' chasing Seconds out of floor 49?"

Angeal clears his throat, smiling a little. "Well. We didn't wreck the training room this time?" he offers, taking the chair in front of Lazard's desk and flipping it backward.

"You three were banned from using it for a reason," Lazard points out flatly.

"And yet we were asked to assess Sephiroth's capabilities. Hard thing to do, without fighting him," Angeal says and sits down, straddling the backrest between his knees and sighing. "Not that there was much of a fight."

Lazard's expression darkens. "So his abilities took a hit."

"Worse," Angeal admits. "He stopped holding back. At all."

"... He'd been holding back?"

"All his life, I expect," Angeal admits. "For… understandable reasons, considering his upbringing. Whatever personal reasons Sephiroth had to hide the full extent of his abilities, he's forgotten them."

"Hmm," Lazard hums, watching him closely. "And yet he didn't trash the training room, again?"

"No, just our confidence," Angeal laughs ruefully and shakes his head. "Sephiroth just spent two hours schooling us in the basics of swordsmanship. Literally - he gave us a tutoring session."

Lazard blinks and then leans back. "Well," he says, sounding surprised. "That's certainly…"

"Out of character?" Angeal asks with an arched brow. "You have no idea. When Genesis told me his memory had taken a hit, I was expecting him to show the usual signs. Confusion, reticiece, defensiveness, antisociality… and he did, to some extent. But nothing like I was expecting - and then we got to the training room, and it was like a switch was flicked."

"Memory recalled?" Lazard muses.

"Maybe. Mostly I think it was just that he found something he knew, really knew, in his bones," Angeal says. "He might've forgotten who knows how much about his life - but not how to fight. And since he's lost whatever motivation he had for holding back… it looks a lot like he just got a lot better."

Lazard hums. "And that might be a problem," he concluded darkly. "Should people take the wrong idea from it."

"Oh yeah," Angeal agrees.

"Where is Sephiroth now?"

"Genesis took him out of the building - they're going clothes shopping."

"... Genesis and Sephiroth?"

Angeal grins. "Sephiroth has become aware that his coat doesn't fit comfortably," he explains. "And Genesis knows the best tailor in the city, apparently."

"If it's the same one I use, he does," Lazard says, fiddling with his cuff and then leaning back. "Alright, so we don't have to worry about Sephiroth not being fit to fight. Just the… implications and rumours of his current status. Maybe a solo mission to get him started…"

Angeal grimaces. "I don't know if leaving him to his own devices is the right call here," he says.

"He's always been a solo fighter," Lazard comments.

"To no one's benefit. And he's lost a lot of memories."

Lazard concedes the point there with a sigh. "Well, you and Genesis have known him longer than I. I bow to your superior insight. How do you suggest we proceed?"

"A joint mission, something simple, monster extermination in the slums, maybe. There's never a shortage of that," Angeal says. "Sephiroth with Genesis or myself. Depending on how that goes… well, Genesis suggested throwing a bunch of Seconds at Sephiroth."

The director looks up. "... How do you mean?"

"Students, cadets, a squad. Whatever," Angeal explains, folding his arms. "Someone to teach. And I have to say I agree. Sephiroth seemed to really enjoy schooling us, and he seemed the most like himself when he was doing it."

Plus, Angeal knows from experience that teaching is the best way to learn, really. That's how he'd risen in ranks just ahead of Genesis - because the Thirds and the other Seconds kept asking him for pointers. Nothing quite like having someone relying on you to make you rise to the occasion, is there?

"He's never offered to lead a squad," Lazard points out.

"And there were probably reasons for that," Angeal agrees. "Whether he remembers those reasons anymore is a different question. It's worth consideration."

"But don't you think that will just make the rumours worse?" Lazard asks, leaning forward again and steepling his hands. "Making him interact with other members of SOLDIER?"

Angeal shrugs. "Sephiroth's different now," he says. "And with all due respect, I don't think that's something we can hide long term. Thankfully, not a lot of people know him that well," he mutters and then adds, "It would be a great thing for the SOLDIER program, if Sephiroth taught even one personal student. He is, after all, the best of us."

He's not quite as bitter about it as Genesis, but… seeing Sephiroth use the Buster Sword like he'd been doing it for years almost made him cry. So there's that.

Lazard draws a slow breath and then exhales. "I'll get you your monster extermination in the slums, after Sephiroth's leave ends," he says and turns to his computer. "We'll discuss the rest after."

"That works. Thank you, director," Angeal says and stands up.

Lazard nods and then asks, "How is he? What's your honest opinion?"

It's a little too soon to say, but there's only one answer, really. "He'll be fine," Angeal promises and turns to leave.

Sephiroth would be fine. They'd make sure of it.

#Fanfiction #ff7 #Ffvii #svsss #angeal hewley #lazard deusericus

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genuineapoptosis · 1 year

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Eyes on you (Sub! Obsessive! Miguel O'Hara)

Characters: Obsessive! Sub!Miguel O'Hara x Nb!Reader

Themes: sub/dom dynamic, stalking, masturbation, guilt

Lenght: ficlet

Could've made it more fucked up. Maybe part 2 idk

It's always the ones that portray themselves as superiors that end up being the most sick. Though, for the most part, they do not happen to be aware of it. Unfortunately for him, with Miguel O'Hara, this simply wasn't the case.

Perhaps it was because his descent was so gradual. That with every single step he took, he knew he was doing it willingly. He knew his actions were strange and he knew his behavior should never be shown to the world. So, for the longest time, he tried to rationalise it. Over and over and over again. And after he could do it no longer, he was too far gone not to accept it.

It started off slow. It always does. You had joined the spiders. He took interest in you. Workspace crushes are nothing new, after all. Wanting to spend more and more time in your vicinity was a normal action in such a state.

Of course, that lead to your promotion quite early upon your enrollment. But you were good at what you did. Ungodly good. So nobody would even think it was caused by ulterior motives, when you had yet to have an unsuccessful mission for the two months you had been with them.

Perhaps that was one of the first reasons he liked you. You worked hard and then fucked off. No lingering, no afterwork chats. You'd do what was required, and then simply disappear. An air of mystery around you.

It drove him mad.

Soon enough he started holding meetings. Standard thing in such a field of work. He'd go over the organization, schedules, tech updates, and the likes with you and other higher ranking individuals. For the most part a tedious, yet expected thing.

Not to him though. To him, those were the few rare occasions outside of missions where you'd actively engage with everybody. But most importantly, you'd actively engage with him. And he was so very thankful for that.

He very much loved the sound of your voice. They way you spoke had a certain ring to it that he couldn't get enough of. He'd run your words through his head on repeat when on his own. Every time you had used his name. Every time you laughed. Though none of it was as good as the real thing.

Slowly, the meetings became more frequent. With fewer and fewer members invited. Until it was just the two of you. Everyone had accepted the fact that you had simply become his right-hand man. And for the time being, they had yet to have a reason to think otherwise.

You'd gotten closer to him than you were expecting. Perhaps that was because he was one of the few people you worked with whom you didn't find bothersome. It was very apparent how exhausted he was menaging everything on his very own. The least you could do is provide your help. And besides, you did enjoy holding power over other people that you wouldn't have without his apparent devotion to you.

On his part, that same feeling was amplified. He was alone with you for hours on end. So close to you yet not enough. Everything you did made his heart speed up. The smell of your perfume. The look in your eyes when you were deep in thought. Oh, and how he loved it when you'd take care of anyone trying to interrupt. Having them end up looking like a small child as they leave the two of you alone once more. How that sort of state came so naturally to your being. As if you simply demanded control just by existing.

He needed to know more about you. About your history, about your interests. Though, that was a normal thing. After all, he wanted to be able to hold better conversations with you. What other way is there to it, than to try and know every last thing about your being?

He starting going into your files. What you had done in your universe. Why you were such a force of nature in combat. Oh but how it made his stomach turn when he had gotten to your past lovers.

God, they were all so revolting and useless. Nothing compared to you. You shouldn't date someone so below your league! You shouldn't date someone so worthless! You should date someone made for you. You should date someone like-!

He was surprised by his own resolve. He has yet to crack.

You were analyzing data from one of the more recent multiverse anomalies. Calling him over the give him the watch from a spider who had gone MIA. Looking at him with those gorgeous eyes of yours as you explained the situation. None of the actual words entering his mind, just the sound of your voice. Handing it to him, you had let your hands touch his.

Fuck...

He turned around immediately, trying to hide how disgustingly hard he was just from that single touch.

You were to be excused. Immediately.

Unaware of his current state, you had simply left the quarters. Knowing his usual temper, you had assumed he just had one of his episodes after they lost one of their men due to incompetence.

If only.

No. No, this was no good. Up until now, he could deny his feelings. But now he had such apparent evidence.

He should be better than this. He should act accordingly. Not get aroused by your mere touch.

But it was so gentle.

You were always so gentle with him. So helpful and patient. Yet you didn't want him. If you did, you wouldn't have left. If you did, you'd spend time with him outside of meetings. If you did, you'd see right through his facade.

He had to be satisfied with just your smell, your laugh, your distant presence. But it wasn't enough. How ever could it be enough?

When he wanted you to wrap those tender fingers around his throat. When he wanted you to tell him how you knew everything.

He began palming at himself through his suit. Thinking about you ridiculing him for being a stalker. For the way he isolated you from everyone just so he could have you for himself. He was pathetic. He wanted you to tell him that.

Just use him up any way you'd want. He wouldn't mind. He deserved it. Sink your teeth into his flesh, leave marks deep enough to bleed. Hurt him or humiliate him. It wouldn't matter. As long as he gets what he deserves.

He pictured the way you'd look while fucking him. Those same eyes focused on him, now filled with a different sort of spark. You'd tell him what the others would think if they were to see him like this. A pathetic mess unable to string words together. Getting railed until he can't function anymore.

He was close. He needed it so bad. Why won't you give it to him? Why won't you show pitty on him? Hasn't he earned it?

He'll do anything.

Just fuck him.

He came into his suit. Shame overflowing him as he did so.

He left immediately. And if he were any better, he'd act as if none of this ever happened.

But he wouldn't be able to. Not when it felt so good cumming to the thought of you.

He already had plans for tonight.

#my writing #sub!miguel o'hara #sub miguel o'hara #dom reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spider man: across the spider verse #atsp

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thatgayb1tchwhosimps4her · 1 year

Text

Request: Drunk Sam Carpenter that gets all soppy over her girlfriend and how pretty she is.

Whether it be head-cannons or a one shot, it's up to you, but I would love if you included some Spanish in it considering her and Tara are supposedly Latina's.

I loved how you wrote for Quinn so I know it'll be good.

Thank you so much for your kind words, I would love to write for Sam, and I'm so glad somebody else picked up on the possibility of her and Tara being Latina and I am so excited to share this fic.

Reader is mentioned to have blue eyes and be an animator. But feel free to change it in your minds however you want.

Also disclaimer, I used google translate for the translations so sorry if they're wrong.

*****

Never Too Drunk To Know I Love You

Sam Carpenter x Female Reader

Word Count: 2651.

*****

Both of you had decided against going to the Halloween party with the rest of the group, especially since Ghostface had come back, and you and some of the others had spent the last few weeks persuading Sam that Tara didn't need her older sister being her bodyguard all the time and didn't want to waste it by going with them.

Fortunately for Tara, Sam had a session with her counsellor and you needed to catch up on work for the project you were working on.

Although, somewhere through working on a new character, you had the inspired idea of having a date night with Sam once she came back from her session. Which she agreed would do you both some good since you never really got any alone time unless Sam went to yours (which was a rare occurrence since you basically lived with Sam and the others).

So you two pondered on what to do for a little while, until you decided on watching a movie. However, the two of you had ended up making out with Avengers Endgame playing in the background, neither of you really caring, since you were lucky if you were able to kiss with people around without Tara fake gagging in the background.

Which is how you'd ended up waking up in Sam's bed as you usually do, but instead of her waking you up by planting kisses all over your face to make sure she saw you before she went to work, you were woken up by the sound of your phone ringing. Once you'd sat up to pick up your phone, you noticed a note under it with Sam's handwriting on it, deciding to pick it up and read it.

'Gone to pick up some of the guys from the party.

Be back soon. Love you -Sam xxx'

"Hello?" You said, answering the call as you finished reading the note.

"Y/N, hey it's Tara. We need you to come pick us up." She asked on the other end of the phone.

"Wasn't Sam picking you up?" You questioned, thinking of what could've happened.

"Yeah she was, but now she's puking her guts up outside and I don't know," Tara said.

"Well is she okay? What happened?" You asked, slightly panicked, before putting your phone on speaker and placing it on the bed as you got up to but some trousers and socks on.

"I think so. She was late coming to get us, so I was gonna go hook up with this guy that was flirting with me, even though Mindy and Quinn and that said he was an asshole, but frankly I didn't care, and I don't know I think I fell and Chad punched the guy and then Sam appeared from nowhere and they were arguing and she tasered him, and then we all went outside and me and her were arguing and she was all like, 'if you want to go get shitfaced and hook up with a douchebag then be my guest' and then she just keeled over and started vomiting everywhere." She stated.

"Okay, we'll talk about it later. How late was she?" You said, zipping up the zipper on your trousers, before starting to make your way around the apartment to find your keys, shoes and jacket.

"I don't remember exactly, I mean most of tonight has been a blur of lights and alcohol and shouting. We were all chilling out on the couch and got bored so I texted her to come get us, and she replied saying that she's on her way, then I didn't see her for like half hour or so until she appeared out of nowhere." She answered.

"Okay, I'm on my way now. I'll be with you in like 10/15 minutes. Is everyone else okay and accounted for?" You asked, slipping your shoes on.

"Uh, yeah, Mindy and Anika went home about 10 minutes ago. But apart from them Ethan and Chad are trying to help Sam, Quinn's got her dad on standby and I'm calling you" She said.

"Okay, are you all good? You said earlier you fell." You reproached, chucking your jacket on and putting your keys in your pocket.

"I think so, I mean my head hurts and I feel a bit sick, but that could just be early onset hangover or from the music. Apart from that just scared." Tara said, trying to laugh it off.

"Okay, don't be scared I'm literally on my way now, I'll bring a bowl for you and Sam, and I'll check you both out when I get there." You stated, turning the all lights off except the hall one.

"Okay, that's a little reassuring." She stated.

"Okay, I'm coming now," You said, locking the front door, "Be there in 10." You added.

"Okay, see you then," Tara answered, "Bye."

"Bye." You said.

-----

While driving to go get them you kept trying to call Sam, her phone going to voicemail each time.

"Come on baby, pick up your phone." You mumbled to yourself, pressing the call button on her contact.

"Hey it's Sam, sorry I can't get to the phone, if your a friend, family or my girlfriend, let me know what you wanna tell me. If not feel free to leave your name and number after the beep and I'll see what I can do for you, bye BEEP."

"Son of a bitch, come on. Sam" You swore to yourself, running your fingers through your hair as you stopped at a red light.

Her phones probably dead, you thought to yourself and the light turned green again and you continued driving.

About 5 minutes later, you arrived outside the frat house where the party was taking place, to see a group of 3/4 girls shouting at Sam and the others.

"HEY! YEAH YOU MOTHER FUCKERS, HOW BOUT YOU LEAVE MY GIRL AND HER FRIENDS ALONE BEFORE YOU BECOME TOP OF MY KILL LIST!" You shouted at them, as you got out the car as they retreated down one of the many busy streets of New York. "YEAH YOU BETTER RUN, YOU BITCHES, BEFORE A REVITALISE YOUR FACES!" You added, before turning around to the group.

"Everyone okay?" You asked, walking over to Quinn and Ethan who were sat next to Tara on the steps of the house, handing her a bowl and rubbing her back a bit, before walking back over to Sam, who was leaned against the wall outside, and crouching next to her and Chad.

"Yeah we're all good, just some assholes trying to start shit with Sam." Tara answered.

"You should've been here a few minutes ago," Ethan stated, "The blonde one chucked a drink over Sam, Chad and Quinn were about to beat the shit out of them." He added.

"Not exactly beat the shit out of them on my part, but I was gonna speak some very choice words to them." Quinn stated.

"Well that explains why she reeks of booze, but thank you," You said. "Both of you." You added, turning to Chad.

"Right here's what's gonna happen," You spoke, "Chad, I need you to go to the trunk and pull one of the seats in the back up for Ethan, since he's the smallest., then help him into the back and get yourself in the middle seat to help me with Tara."

"Yes ma'am." Chad replied as Ethan followed, before you threw the car keys at him.

"Quinn, I need you to stay with Sam and make sure she's okay while I sort Tara out." You said.

"Got it." She answered, walking toward the two of you.

"I'll be right back." You stated to Sam.

"Ya shouldn't say that." Sam slurred, pointing at you.

"Yeah, I know, I'll be careful. Promise." You replied, blowing a kiss to her before walking over to Tara.

"How you feeling?" You asked her.

"Like shit." She answered, slurring a little bit.

"Yeah, that's to be expected," You said. "Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?" You questioned, putting up 8 fingers.

"Mhmmmm, 8." She answered.

"Good, how about now." You said, putting up 3.

"Oh easy 3," She stated , "Man I wish my college tests were this simple."

"Okay one more, how many now." You asked, putting up 2 fingers on each hand."

"4, 2 on each hand." Tara answered.

"Good job, you'll be fine. But make sure you drink lots of water when we get back and have some pain killers." You stated.

"Okay." She replied.

"Can you get up?" You asked.

"Yep," She said, standing up with ease, stumbling slightly.

"Yeah okay, be careful," You replied, putting your right arm under hers, "Let's get you in the car." You added, leading her around the back of the car and opening the door, getting her strapped in on the left side of Chad, before shutting the door and walking back over to Sam.

"How are we getting on?" You questioned.

"Allllll gooddddd." Sam slurred, putting her thumbs up.

"She's fine," Quinn stated, "I mean she's stopped throwing up as much." The red head added.

"Okay," You replied, "Let's get you in the car." You said to Sam.

"Mkayy." Sam answered.

"C'mon then you." You said, slipping your arm around her, getting her to stand up, "Can you get the door for me?" You asked Quinn.

"Yeah got it." She said, walking over to open the car door facing the pavement.

"Alguna vez te he dicho lo hermosos que son tus ojos?" (Have I ever told you how beautiful your eyes are?) Sam stated in Spanish.

"Babe, I love you, I have no idea what you're saying." You replied to her.

"Tus ojos me recuerdan al océano, y son más hermosas que cualquier cosa que haya visto." (Your eyes remind me of the ocean, and are more beautiful than anything I've seen.) Sam added.

"Seriously Sam, I have no idea what the fuck you're saying." You laughed off.

"I fucking love you, you little shit." Sam slurred.

"Now that I understood, come on babe, let's get you in the car so we can go home." You said, walking to the car and getting into her into the car before shutting the door.

You got into the driver's seat, with Quinn sat next to you, and were about to start driving before you felt someone tug on your jacket. It was Sam trying to find your hand since it had disappeared in your sleeve. You pulled it out of it and let her do what she was doing. Once she'd found your hand, she held onto it as you started driving to your apartment, your heart melted slightly over how you'd never really seen this side of her, and secretly hoped you'd get to see it more often, without having her puke her guts up first.

You drove back to the apartment and made sure everyone got in safely, and got Tara into bed with a big glass of water and Chad to make sure she was okay, then gave Ethan a couple of pillows and a blanket along with some clothes Chad had lended him so he could sleep on the couch. After that, you helped Sam wash the alcohol smell off of her and get changed so Quinn could sort herself out and Sam could lay in bed for a bit and try to sleep.

After sorting everyone out, you went to the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice, before Quinn came out of her room and the two of you started talking.

"Sorry to put this all on you," You apologised to her, "I would've asked Tara but she's asleep so I'm just trying to understand what happened so everything can be sorted tomorrow"

"It's okay," She chuckled, "I think it's a blur for all of us. I saw Sam come into the party on the other end of the house when I went to find non-alcoholic drinks for us while we were waiting, and I gave her a nod which she acknowledged. Then I went to back to the group and she wasn't there so I thought I saw someone else, then Tara went off with this guy while the rest of us were trying to talk sense into her and then once Chad had punched the guy me, Mindy and Anika were making sure Tara was okay, and then we heard the man groan and we turned round and saw Sam standing over him with her taser in hand, so we put two and two together, and then everything else happened that Tara told you about." The red head explained.

"So basically everything that happened, except where she was is included in the story, and then she starts vomiting out of nowhere." You said.

"Pretty much." Quinn stated.

"Okay, I'm gonna see if Sam's awake, see what she remembers, if she doesn't remember a lot then I'll ask her tomorrow. You get to sleep too." You replied.

"Yeah that's a good idea," The girl said, yawning, "Night Y/N." She added, turning to go to her room.

You put your cup in the sink and turned the lights out in the kitchen and walked over to yours and Sam's room. Upon entry, you saw Sam sat up in bed with the lamp on, scrolling on her phone.

"You should be asleep." You said to her.

"Mhmmm, couldn't sleep without you, plus the video of you having a go at those girls is going around everywhere." Sam replied, showing you her phone.

"Yeah, I don't care. I told my lawyer about it and she's on it, so it's all good," You answered, "Wanna tell me what happened?" You asked her.

"I went to go get them, and then walked in and was roped into playing beer pong and then next thing I know, its 5 games later and I see Chad punch that guy and I go over and see Tara at the bottom of the stairs, so I put the pieces together and tasered the bastard." She explained.

"So you've probably got alcohol poisoning?" You stated.

"Yep." She said, "But hey, at least I don't smell like booze anymore." She added.

"That is true." You agreed. "You okay, apart from the vomiting thing?" You added.

"Uh pretty crappy actually. I just, I can't help but want to look out for Tara and protect her when I think she needs it, but it just sucks when she can't see that and gets angry for me doing that and not letting her live her life. I don't know it just sucks her not being able to trust me, or maybe it's me. Maybe I need to let her make her own mistakes and come to me for help rather then me jumping in to save her all the time." Sam stated.

"Well it's up to you to judge that. Sometimes you need to intervein to save her, sometimes it's just your gut saying you do." You advised.

"If I were you, I would wait to talk to her about it tomorrow. Make sure she's okay, make your point even if she interrupts, however if she does then take note of what she's saying, and then let her make her point. If you do that and discuss how you both feel and how you felt, you should be fine." You added.

"Thanks," Sam said, "I needed that." She added.

"Anytime." You replied, slipping into bed next to her.

"I love you," She slurred, kissing you deeply.

"Your drunk, but I love you too." You answered.

"I'm never too drunk to know I love you." She stated.

"Night darling." You said to her, kissing her forehead and wrapping a hand around her waist.

"Night babe." Sam replied, reaching up and turning the lamp off before settling down and falling asleep in your arms, just as you'd done earlier that night.

*****

This was a long one but I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it, let me know what other things you would like me to write, and yeah feel free to request for the characters on my pinned post.

See you in the next one.

-Harlow

#Harlow (Lottie's Version)#original content #mine not yours #sam carpenter x reader #samantha carpenter x reader #melissa barrera #sam carpenter #samantha carpenter #scream 5 #scream v #scream 6 #scream vi

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