#and i don't know about you but i had seen a LOT about US sins and crimes over the years
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I usually don’t use this website to talk about the global issues, but I do want to remind people that the full-scale russian invasion in Ukraine is still happening. today is the 9 month anniversary. the war is ongoing. people are suffering. the russians are targeting infrastructure, electricity shortages are happening all the time. and it’s winter and the heating is of utmost importance. there are also regularly large missile strikes where the air defence just can’t stop all of the missiles, and some of them hit civilian buildings. a day ago a missile hit a maternity ward, a newborn baby died. there are so so many stories of innocent people dying, it has been 9 months of non-stop tragedy.
many of my friends left ukraine in march and are staying in different european countries. but we still have relatives and friends who stayed, and are trying to continue their lifes as much as they can, even though they had to move to the western part of the country. the sooner russia is defeated the sooner it will be over. please, do help ukraine as much as you can. please support us publicly, and with a donation, if you can afford it. but please do speak up for us. i know people got “tired of the war”, but ignoring it will not stop it.
we do not ask for NATO to send soldiers, but we ask for weapons and we ask for support. if russia wins, they will not stop here. same as they didn’t stop with crimea in 2014. even if you do not really want to think about ukraine or its people much, the war will come to the rest of europe, and in a way it has from the very beginning.
#ukraine#personal#i've also been quite disappointed with some of the left online circles over these 9 months#i think chomsky was one of the most obvious examples#just because US did bad things does not mean other countries are perfect and can never be imperialistic#the world is not black and white#russian empire has done terrible things and the soviet union has done and now the russian federation is doing it#we are talking about russia right now because it is the one waging a war#and i don't know about you but i had seen a LOT about US sins and crimes over the years#it is not a secret topic that nobody mentions people are aware about that!#we don't always have to do whataboutism#russia does it enough already#and the west is quite knowledgeable about all the bad things we attribute to US while seemingly having no idea about russia#sometimes you just really have to listen to local people first#you can not know everything in the world#nobody expects you to#but the correct things is to be open to new information and other people experiences#like ask the people from the baltic countries about their history with russia and how they got to be a part of the soviet union#it's not a nice story
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I hate that you can't see a tweet thread anymore if you're not logged into Twitter (as a gesture of disrespect I refuse to call it by its rebranded name). Here is a copypasta of a thread from Dan Olson, a Canadian documentary filmmaker, expanding upon camera quality, the guilt trips Somerton used to goose his Patreon subscriptions, and how the best tools will never make up for lack of dedication or patience. I have added clarifications in [[double brackets]] where I feel it is necessary.
START OF THREAD
Okay, so, back in April I snapped at James in reply to a tweet that was linking to this video (which James has since delisted but not deleted) and I want to talk about the full context of that but I don't want to make a video, put your beatdown memes away. [[The video has since been deleted. I can see the title of the video is "Maybe the end (not an April Fool's Day thing".]]
The first bit of context is that I initially got keyed into James to fact-check his claims about indie filmmaking in Canada. As a filmmaker the entire Telos venture was immediately obvious as a juvenile fantasy dreamed up by someone with no idea how to make a movie.
Just wild claims about their plans that weren't worth debunking because they bordered Not Even Wrong. But in watching one of these pitch videos I noticed that he had a $4000 current-gen camera in the background as a prop, and that seemed both pretentious and weird.
You don't use your best camera as a prop, you use your second best camera as a prop. So being an obsessive weirdo I needed to know, and I watched his BTS stuff until I spotted his main rig, a $6000 camera with about $1000 in accessories.
Now, these in isolation are unremarkable because his Patreon at the time was bringing in ~$8000 per month, his channel was a full on Business business, and so investing in some professional equipment of that level is maybe a bit indulgent but justifiable.
What was weird is that he doesn't shoot multi-cam, doesn't shoot outdoors, doesn't shoot on location, and in a studio the two cameras kinda really step on each others' toes. Basically if you already have one and don't need a B cam there's no reason to get the other.
Again, on its own, this says nothing, it's just indicative of poor financial decisions, maybe impulsive purchasing, Gear Acquisition Syndrome. Biblical sins, but not crimes.
Paired with the constantly inflating fantasy scope of the Telos films it was clearly an expression of a very, very common bad filmmaker habit of "if I just get the right gear then my movie will basically make itself" Buying stuff because it feels like progress.
At the end of February he tweets "I want to start shooting anamorphic" and then three weeks later in March he posts the worst, out of focus, under-exposed "I just got a new lens!" video I've ever seen, showing off his trash-covered bedroom.
Based on what's available for his cameras and the lead time, that's enough time to get a Laowa Nanomorph or Sirui Saturn from B&H but not enough time to get a Great Joy from the UK or a Vazen from China. And with the flaring blah blah blah, $1300 lens.
Again, [gear acquisition syndrome] is not a crime and these lenses are budget options. Bit of a pointless impulse purchase since he only used it for the Showgirls video. But this is what he was doing just a few weeks before that above video came out: effortlessly impulse purchasing lenses.
James has (had?) a habit of regularly, aggressively driving viewers to Patreon by claiming that videos were getting demonetized. While tacky, it is something a lot of queer YouTubers have dealt with, so there's precedent there. But people were noticing he did it a lot.
Mid-March he humble brags about needing to work so hard to make 6 videos in April because he has over-booked sponsorships.
Then March 29th James posts this whole incel screed on Twitter about how sex work should be "subsidized as a mental health service."
[two image descriptions.
1. "For the majority of people sex (and human contact) can be imperative to a healthy state of mind. A kind and talented sex worker can make someone feel wanted for the first time in their life. I know sex workers who have pulled people back from suicide just by being there for them."
2. "Not only should (sex work) be legal, but it should be subsidized as a mental health service."]
He spends several days getting absolutely *roasted* for this, just dragged across the pavement and read for filth, and doubles down in the replies the whole way.
So this is the context immediately surrounding James waking up on Friday, and posts the above video and the below tweet.
[image description: "We just got the lowest Patreon payout we've gotten in well over a year. Like, a "maybe we need to rethink things" kind of amount... NOT an April Fools Day thing btw. But I don't know if we'll be making videos much longer."]
Now, this unfolds in kinda two directions. The first is that I'm convinced he was just lying about this income shock in the first place.
There's a million theoretical edge cases about what maybe happened and if maybe he just misunderstood the data or saw a glitch and panicked, maybe one of those happened, I don't believe it, I think he just lied because he was salty about getting dragged and felt owed a win.
A big tell to me is that he doesn't blame Patreon. He says he doesn't know what happened, but let's be real, Patreon screws up all the time, they're the first people anyone blames if anything confusing happens, just as a reflex action, even if it's completely not their fault.
The only reason to not blame Patreon is if you already know that it's not their fault and that any investigation on their part might reveal embarrassing details.
Instead he indirectly blames his viewers for not watching enough, not sharing enough, and not turning on auto-renew.
So regardless of the unknowable truth, this segues into the second, far more offensive direction of the messaging itself. "I don't know if we'll be making videos much longer." "Maybe the end" He explicitly framed this as an immediate existential threat to his channel.
In the video he is vague about everything, leaves a ton of hazy room for plausible deniability on how long the channel can keep going, but the messaging is "I need more patrons right this minute or my YouTube channel is over."
He repeatedly evokes all the "fun stuff" they had planned that would never see the light of day if this didn't turn around right away.
And his audience received this message loud and clear. Tons of people making far, far, far less than him left very heartfelt messages about digging a little deeper to subscribe or up their pledge or unsubscribe from other channels to move their pledge to his.
1200 new patrons in one day.
Since I simply don't believe the income shock was real in the first place that would put his post-"Maybe the end" Patreon income at around $10,000 per month. US. Add YouTube income, he's spent the last seven months making around $18,000 per month.
I have seen creators scale back their capabilities to the bone purely to keep making videos for the love of just, like, making stuff even as their funding evaporated and they needed to go back to a desk job to cover their bills.
You'd have to be so outstandingly reckless with your finances as a channel that a one month spook leads immediately to "channel over, sorry about all the fun stuff we won't get to do with you, our patrons, specifically because you, our patrons, aren't giving us enough money"
And not a spook where you then spend a couple weeks crunching numbers. Oh no. A shock so violent where less than two hours later you're weeping on camera about the channel being over.
Three weeks later he brought a brand new Sony FX6v for $8000 CAD to add to his pile of cinema cameras despite the fact that he was, but scant moments earlier, in such a precarious position that a single bad month would kill his channel.
He stole your money, and for that I'm profoundly sad and angry. That's why I snapped at him in April. I'm sorry I couldn't give you the full context then, and I'm sorry if that anger upset you.
END OF THREAD
#james somerton#dan olson#hbomberguy#jesus christ tumblr#it won't let me format things the way i want#because this website is sometimes a piece of shit
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A/N: I am just starting to play Honkai so if there is anything wrong or that just doesn't make sense, please tell me!
A/N ²: This is me attempting to adopt and protect my babies, wrapping them in cotton and never leaving their side... And I got sleepy at the end, or else I would have written Aventurine and Dan Heng too :( If anyone has ideas for Honkai SAGAU, please do send some asks 👏🏻
Imagine... The Creator!Reader in Honkai verse. You were just idly passing by, to see what your children were doing after the Ones you left in charge... Pretty much usurped your throne.
Imagine the Creator!Reader seeing, witnessing all the deaths and sorrow IPC created...in the name of "economy". Such thing was absurd, why would they do that, slaving and using people for their benefit to make more and more when you gave all the humans and even the Aeons enough source to love in harmony?
Why would they destroy people, families, lives... Planets?
Imagine... Creator!Reader's disappointment as They slump back on their throne. They gave them life, opportunities to overcome their mind's limit and be someone to be remembered... They gave them life sources, water, air, planets to live on, souls to feel and think and passions to find a reason to be alive... And yet, there were some people, the people of your Aeon Qlipoth, who was usualy indifferent, deciding that they were the ones to destroy the harmony and balance you had settled for everyone.
They thought Yours wasn't the final saying, that your word wasn't the absolute
How many more times did they have to go through all of the syages of self-destruction before they finally used their mind and consciousness together? Before they realized your Balance was the most beneficial for everyone?
Imagine... Knowing what would happen, even though pain was a constant part of human life, They didn't want their creation to suffer such a fate. Loosing humanity, everything that made humans humans... Loosing your family and witnessing their deaths right before their eyes, only being seen as the sins someone that wasn't you did and being exiled, pushed aside and running away for not to be hunted and all the reasons for your disappointment... Creator!Reader decides to take the reigns.
First, they go to visit a certain father and daughter duo. They watch from the side as they spend time, caring for the horses, playing guitar and braiding each other's hair. They couldn't help the smile that slowly took over their face, watching with fondness at the innocence of that little toddler... Before their eyes met, and a spark erupted.
From now on, as much as Boothill was first skeptical about them, he accepted to have Them around since his daughter and siblings loved Them so much. The little girl often slept on Them while cuddling, her soul immediately knowing the presence of its creator... Of course They didn't tell them everything, that their lives would be over because of Their greedy creations... And of course, the fact that They were the Allmighty Creator they kept telling tales about.
They loved this little found family a lot, with the human body They crafted to blend in, and soon found Themselves attached. Soon, They found Themselves cooking and cleaning around, running after the children with a toddler attached to their hip as the silent affection between Them and Boothill grew with all the loving and fleeting touches, hugging and cuddling, stargazing at night but never leaving their eyes off of each other...
But an omnipresent being falling in love with their creations was...against the balance... Especially when the day of their death too, came closer, and They were the one who lied, although it was to protect them.
But please, they were the Creator, to Weaver of All Fates, were the measly humans really going to stop Them? Take what was rightfully theirs?
Don't think so.
Before the fall of the planet, when all the equipments of IPC broke and the Path of those who worked under it, alongside Qlipoth's, were taken away for some time... That was when Qlipoth understood that they initially fucked up and angered the Creator. Now, another Aeon who had a head over their shoulders, would probably go nuts with fear and cower at some kind of corner of the universe...
But greed? Greed was often stronger that rationality.
Did any of that shitty behaviour stop? No, not really.
So, it was up to you to save and protect all those traumatised kids... And also make sure that a whole race didn't get wiped out.
#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail x you#honkai star rail imagines#hsr x reader#hsr x you#hsr x y/n#hsr imagines#honkai star rail boothill#hsr boothill#honkai star rail boothill x reader#boothill x reader#boothill x you#boothill x y/n#boothill imagines#hsr boothill x reader#hsr boothill imagine#boothill angst#hsr boothill angst#hsr sagau#hinkai star rail sagau#honkai star rail creator au#hsr creator au#hsr aventurine angst#hsr aventurine#found family#fluff#angst#dan heng x reader#dan heng x you#hsr dan heng
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Vouyer [Abby A.]
||Men, minors, and ageless DNI
CW: 18+, wlw, a lot of porn - a pinch of plot if you squint and turn your head, subbottom!abby, domtop!reader, Abby getting caught, masturbation, voyeurism cus reader watches her for a hot minute, fingering(A!receiving), tribbing, perv!reader and perv!abby kinda, overstimulation, Abby cries a lil bit
AN: I feel like my brain fizzed out near the end idk. I think I'm cooked. Anyways, hope this doesn't suck ass as much as my brain is telling me it does!
Masterlist. Divider creds DON'T FORGET ABOUT PALESTINE
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ "Just like that- fuck" the words escape her lips, sounding strained and breathless. A thin layer of sweat coats her toned body as she fills herself up to the best of her ability, her thick fingers ramming in and out of her used, sloppy cunt as she chases her orgasm for the third time tonight.
This was not how she had planned for her night to go, but if you could have only seen just how pretty you'd looked; drenched in sweat from head to toe, clothes sticking to every curve of your bruised and bloodied body after such a close call on patrol earlier that day. She'd almost compromised herself just to get a glimpse of you looking like that. Her piercing blue eyes tracked your every movement, once the threat - a pack of infected that had attacked while you were both searching for supplies - was gone.
Or at least she'd thought they were at the time until she felt a pair of gnarled and decaying hands grab onto her shoulders. She killed the thing herself, of course, knocking the stalker off balance with one hard whack of a steel pipe before throwing it onto the ground, forcing the heel of her boot down onto its sprouting head with a splat. Not realizing that it was you she had been distracted by, you gave her a disapproving eye roll and she winced.
It was her own fault you weren't that fond of her, the blonde has ignored you since you first showed up at the WLF a few months back. Even when you became roommates, Abby's demeanor towards you was always cold and disinterested. It was stupid but she figured it was best. She was unable to even think about saying a word to you without her palms sweating. She just knew she'd fuck up and stumble over her words, making herself look weak in front of you and she couldn't have that.
When Abby learned that you were going to spend part of your night drinking with Manny, Owen, and Nora, she took the opportunity to lie.
" 'm tired. Think I'm gonna just go to bed" she had mumbled, feigning exhaustion, going so far as to force a yawn out before she walked back to the room. Alone.
The girl didn't make it five minutes without touching herself, getting comfortable in bed, and shoving her hand down her underwear. Dumbly, she figured that maybe if she just got off once, she could get the image of you out of her brain.
That was how she got where she is now. Naked, driving her middle and ring fingers as deep as she can get them, pumping them in and out of her cunt, her other hand joining as she rubs feverishly over her sensitive clit. The scene is downright pornographic, the sloshing sounds coming from Abby's body as she fucks herself stupid on her own fingers, her jaw slack, your name spilling from her soft lips in sinful prayer.
She wants it to be you so bad, it's almost pathetic.
She can't bring herself to stop - she just knows it'd feel so much better if your hands replaced her own and the rest of her body seems to agree with that thought. So much so that every time she tries to stop or give herself a break that ache comes back full force, a heartbeat forming between her thick thighs. It gets so bad that she considers walking to your side of the room and grabbing one of your t-shirts because at this point your scent could get her there.
"Jus' one more, one more, baby pleasepleaseplease - holy shit"
That third orgasm hits Abby like a truck, her begging eventually becoming a mess of incoherent babbling under her breath, her body twitching as she comes down from her high. Again. And again, it isn't enough. She can't take her mind off of just how fucking good you would look on top of her - god - the mere thought of having your pretty pussy slotted up against hers is enough to make her crave more.
Abby lets out a deep sigh and plops her head back down onto the pillow underneath her as she tries to catch her breath, thinking maybe she should just try to sleep it off. Despite her better judgement though, she finds herself with the pads of her fingers back on her puffy, pulsing clit, stroking herself in languid circular motions.
You stood in the entryway of your room, peeking your head in the door to watch as Abby fucking Anderson of all people split herself on her fingers, letting out the prettiest moans as she chases her release. You knew that you should probably just close the door and quietly sneak away. Go back to the mess hall with your group, maybe pretend you forgot something, and then conveniently "lose track of time" while you were there so that your roommate could finish her little "session".
You really were going to leave. As a matter of fact, you were halfway through closing the door when you heard something that made you stop in your tracks. It was Abby.
And she was moaning your name.
The sound was unmistakable as it was one of the only words you were able to fully recognize through her stupor of bated breaths and blissed-out whining. The frigid, unstoppable force of a soldier that had been ignoring your existence for months was actually begging for you, crying out your name over and over again as she fucked herself.
You found yourself biting your lip at the sound, and before you knew it, you were tip-toeing all the way into your shared room. You practically held your breath as you closed the door behind you, freezing completely once it clicked shut and lightly punching the air in silent celebration once you had confirmed you managed to sneak in undetected.
It was all so perverted, and yet you couldn't stop staring
You were leaning up against the wall beside the door, trying your best to be quiet and resist the urge to shove your hand down your own pants as you watched Abby's naked body convulse under her fingers when she came, eyes trailing over her body as she rode out her high.
It became clear pretty quickly that she'd been at this for a while, unable to satisfy herself completely. You watched as she began to start herself up again, her hand making its way back down between her thighs, her legs twitching still from her previous climax. From what you can see of her face, she seems a bit frustrated, her eyebrows knotted together in almost anger as she lazily works her fingers on her clit. She looks and sounds so precious that, before you can fully think it through, you speak.
"Still not finished?"
Abby nearly falls out of her bed with how quickly she shoots upward, covering herself with her blanket, a deep red blush fanning out along her freckled cheeks. It doesn't take much for her to realize that you heard her, your expression telling her everything she needed to know.
"I was, uh-..."
"Yeah, I heard...and saw" you interrupt, making your way over to the blonde's bed, unable to contain your amusement at the situation as your eyes trail over her.
" 'S this why you've been avoiding me, baby?"
She just stares at you, not fully knowing why she can't bring herself to do anything - to deny your suspicion, yell at you, or do something that would make her stop feeling so vulnerable right now. But she just looks up at you, mouth slightly agape.
"You could have just asked me for some help with that if you wanted it, y'know." you continue, gently gripping her under her chin to make her look at you.
Her jaw clenches, and for a moment, Abby considers pulling away from you. Getting mad and reasserting her dominance or something but you both know that isn't going to happen. You catch a glimpse of her fingers, glistening and wrinkly from how long she's been trying to get herself off, and your suspicions are confirmed which only emboldens you to go further. You lean down a bit closer, your face so close to hers that your noses nearly touch.
"You can't satisfy yourself no matter how hard you try, can you?"
Abby squirms a little but she shakes her head slightly in response, eyes breaking contact with yours but your hand never releases her jaw. You've never seen her look this exposed before - not only in terms of her nakedness but she just looked so vulnerable and small right now, despite her actual size.
You press a kiss to her lips, and she practically melts into you, allowing you to lay her back down on the mattress and crawl on top of her, your hand caught in her loosened braid. The other hand wanders down between her legs, eager to feel the sticky mess that shes turned herself into over the thought of you.
The sweet little whines she gives you as you circle your fingers along her clit are so unfamiliar coming from her but oh so welcome as opposed to her usual stoicism. You almost feel bad for the fact that shes had to wait for so long to finally get that release shes in desperate need of. A release that can only seem to be triggered by your hand.
If Abby wasn't already embarrassed for having been caught, she was sure as hell embarrassed with how quickly you got her to cum on your fingers. You've barely gotten the chance to get them inside of her before her irises roll back, head thrown onto the pillow beneath her as her body twitches in ecstasy.
"S-sorry, I-"
You see her begin to apologize but she's cut off completely at the sight of you sucking her essence off of your fingers, her words being yanked right from her mouth as her arousal comes back with a force. She knows she's way too sensitive to do anything else, but the thought of saying no to you right now doesnt even cross her mind as an option once you start pulling off your clothes.
It's all she can do to keep her hands to herself while you strip. Those vivid blue eyes are glued to your body, enamored by the perfection being uncovered in front of her. You place yourself back on top of her, hiking her leg up over your shoulder and lowering yourself until her cunt is pressed flush against your own. You let out a simultaneous groan at the feeling, grinding yourself down onto her with little regard for how sensitive she is.
"Hnmn- fuck" Abby's hips buck upward involuntarily, her body telling her that she's had enough, but it feels too good to stop.
She couldn't tell you it was too much if she wanted to anyway, every attempted word coming out of her mouth as incoherent whines and half-finished syllables. You watch her face intently as a few tears begin to make their way down her reddened cheeks and it only makes you pick up the pace, pressing wet kisses against the side of her calf as your clit perfectly ruts against hers with each thrust.
"You've wanted this so fuckin' bad, haven't you?" You tease her through gritted teeth, the words spilling out without much thought.
"Want me to fuck you till you cant fuckin breathe, hm?"
All that comes out of Abby in response are breathless "yes's" all jumbled into one word followed desperate little whines, her fingernails digging into the flesh of your hips as if she's afraid you'll stop if she lets go.
"G'na cu- ohmygod" she tries to warn but the poor girl can barely think. You hear her loud and clear though, making a point to apply a bit more pressure, the sloppy noises coming from your bodies moving against one another in tandem bringing you close as well.
The orgasm that results sends electricity through your body, pleasure that's only heightened by the uncontained scream that pulls from Abby's throat when she cums with you, drenching your inner thighs even more. She doesn't even seem to care if anyone hears her, too fucked out to even try to keep her mouth shut. Mercifully, you take the responsibility away from her, crashing your lips onto hers and muffling the sound in the hard, wet kiss.
The euphoria lingers even after you've slowed to a stop, heavy, labored breathing and Abby's soft whimpers the only sounds that occupy the room. A low chuckle escapes you as you pepper soft kisses along her cheeks, your thumb accompanying to wipe up her pretty tears.
AN: One thing I suck at doing is thinking of a way to fuckin close these
reblogs appreciated☆requests open
Almost forgot, taglist: @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery, @ikoinsblog
#lesbian#wlw#☆kennie's works#abby anderson#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson smut#abby anderson x female reader#abby the last of us#the last of us#abby tlou2#tlou2 smut#tlou2
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How plausible sentence generators are changing the bullshit wars
This Friday (September 8) at 10hPT/17hUK, I'm livestreaming "How To Dismantle the Internet" with Intelligence Squared.
On September 12 at 7pm, I'll be at Toronto's Another Story Bookshop with my new book The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation.
In my latest Locus Magazine column, "Plausible Sentence Generators," I describe how I unwittingly came to use – and even be impressed by – an AI chatbot – and what this means for a specialized, highly salient form of writing, namely, "bullshit":
https://locusmag.com/2023/09/commentary-by-cory-doctorow-plausible-sentence-generators/
Here's what happened: I got stranded at JFK due to heavy weather and an air-traffic control tower fire that locked down every westbound flight on the east coast. The American Airlines agent told me to try going standby the next morning, and advised that if I booked a hotel and saved my taxi receipts, I would get reimbursed when I got home to LA.
But when I got home, the airline's reps told me they would absolutely not reimburse me, that this was their policy, and they didn't care that their representative had promised they'd make me whole. This was so frustrating that I decided to take the airline to small claims court: I'm no lawyer, but I know that a contract takes place when an offer is made and accepted, and so I had a contract, and AA was violating it, and stiffing me for over $400.
The problem was that I didn't know anything about filing a small claim. I've been ripped off by lots of large American businesses, but none had pissed me off enough to sue – until American broke its contract with me.
So I googled it. I found a website that gave step-by-step instructions, starting with sending a "final demand" letter to the airline's business office. They offered to help me write the letter, and so I clicked and I typed and I wrote a pretty stern legal letter.
Now, I'm not a lawyer, but I have worked for a campaigning law-firm for over 20 years, and I've spent the same amount of time writing about the sins of the rich and powerful. I've seen a lot of threats, both those received by our clients and sent to me.
I've been threatened by everyone from Gwyneth Paltrow to Ralph Lauren to the Sacklers. I've been threatened by lawyers representing the billionaire who owned NSOG roup, the notoroious cyber arms-dealer. I even got a series of vicious, baseless threats from lawyers representing LAX's private terminal.
So I know a thing or two about writing a legal threat! I gave it a good effort and then submitted the form, and got a message asking me to wait for a minute or two. A couple minutes later, the form returned a new version of my letter, expanded and augmented. Now, my letter was a little scary – but this version was bowel-looseningly terrifying.
I had unwittingly used a chatbot. The website had fed my letter to a Large Language Model, likely ChatGPT, with a prompt like, "Make this into an aggressive, bullying legal threat." The chatbot obliged.
I don't think much of LLMs. After you get past the initial party trick of getting something like, "instructions for removing a grilled-cheese sandwich from a VCR in the style of the King James Bible," the novelty wears thin:
https://www.emergentmind.com/posts/write-a-biblical-verse-in-the-style-of-the-king-james
Yes, science fiction magazines are inundated with LLM-written short stories, but the problem there isn't merely the overwhelming quantity of machine-generated stories – it's also that they suck. They're bad stories:
https://www.npr.org/2023/02/24/1159286436/ai-chatbot-chatgpt-magazine-clarkesworld-artificial-intelligence
LLMs generate naturalistic prose. This is an impressive technical feat, and the details are genuinely fascinating. This series by Ben Levinstein is a must-read peek under the hood:
https://benlevinstein.substack.com/p/how-to-think-about-large-language
But "naturalistic prose" isn't necessarily good prose. A lot of naturalistic language is awful. In particular, legal documents are fucking terrible. Lawyers affect a stilted, stylized language that is both officious and obfuscated.
The LLM I accidentally used to rewrite my legal threat transmuted my own prose into something that reads like it was written by a $600/hour paralegal working for a $1500/hour partner at a white-show law-firm. As such, it sends a signal: "The person who commissioned this letter is so angry at you that they are willing to spend $600 to get you to cough up the $400 you owe them. Moreover, they are so well-resourced that they can afford to pursue this claim beyond any rational economic basis."
Let's be clear here: these kinds of lawyer letters aren't good writing; they're a highly specific form of bad writing. The point of this letter isn't to parse the text, it's to send a signal. If the letter was well-written, it wouldn't send the right signal. For the letter to work, it has to read like it was written by someone whose prose-sense was irreparably damaged by a legal education.
Here's the thing: the fact that an LLM can manufacture this once-expensive signal for free means that the signal's meaning will shortly change, forever. Once companies realize that this kind of letter can be generated on demand, it will cease to mean, "You are dealing with a furious, vindictive rich person." It will come to mean, "You are dealing with someone who knows how to type 'generate legal threat' into a search box."
Legal threat letters are in a class of language formally called "bullshit":
https://press.princeton.edu/books/hardcover/9780691122946/on-bullshit
LLMs may not be good at generating science fiction short stories, but they're excellent at generating bullshit. For example, a university prof friend of mine admits that they and all their colleagues are now writing grad student recommendation letters by feeding a few bullet points to an LLM, which inflates them with bullshit, adding puffery to swell those bullet points into lengthy paragraphs.
Naturally, the next stage is that profs on the receiving end of these recommendation letters will ask another LLM to summarize them by reducing them to a few bullet points. This is next-level bullshit: a few easily-grasped points are turned into a florid sheet of nonsense, which is then reconverted into a few bullet-points again, though these may only be tangentially related to the original.
What comes next? The reference letter becomes a useless signal. It goes from being a thing that a prof has to really believe in you to produce, whose mere existence is thus significant, to a thing that can be produced with the click of a button, and then it signifies nothing.
We've been through this before. It used to be that sending a letter to your legislative representative meant a lot. Then, automated internet forms produced by activists like me made it far easier to send those letters and lawmakers stopped taking them so seriously. So we created automatic dialers to let you phone your lawmakers, this being another once-powerful signal. Lowering the cost of making the phone call inevitably made the phone call mean less.
Today, we are in a war over signals. The actors and writers who've trudged through the heat-dome up and down the sidewalks in front of the studios in my neighborhood are sending a very powerful signal. The fact that they're fighting to prevent their industry from being enshittified by plausible sentence generators that can produce bullshit on demand makes their fight especially important.
Chatbots are the nuclear weapons of the bullshit wars. Want to generate 2,000 words of nonsense about "the first time I ate an egg," to run overtop of an omelet recipe you're hoping to make the number one Google result? ChatGPT has you covered. Want to generate fake complaints or fake positive reviews? The Stochastic Parrot will produce 'em all day long.
As I wrote for Locus: "None of this prose is good, none of it is really socially useful, but there’s demand for it. Ironically, the more bullshit there is, the more bullshit filters there are, and this requires still more bullshit to overcome it."
Meanwhile, AA still hasn't answered my letter, and to be honest, I'm so sick of bullshit I can't be bothered to sue them anymore. I suppose that's what they were counting on.
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/07/govern-yourself-accordingly/#robolawyers
Image:
Cryteria (modified)
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg
CC BY 3.0
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en
#pluralistic#chatbots#plausible sentence generators#robot lawyers#robolawyers#ai#ml#machine learning#artificial intelligence#stochastic parrots#bullshit#bullshit generators#the bullshit wars#llms#large language models#writing#Ben Levinstein
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Consider It Done
Tommy kidnaps his biggest enemy's daughter as payback. But, things aren't always what they seem.
Allusions of violence, mention of abuse, no smut.
You woke up in what looked like a dreary basement. Your throat was dry, and your head felt funny. All you remember is just walking down the street and having a wet rag being shoved over your face from behind. Assuming that it was chloroform, because you were knocked out immediately after that.
You hear a door being opened and someone walking down the stairs. For some reason, you dash into a dark corner, thinking that it was going to save you. An oil lamp is turned on, illuminating the space and the man before you. "There you are love, glad to see you up and alert." A cigarette is lit. "Would you like a smoke?" You ignore the question altogether and respond with one of your own. "Who are you? Where am I?"
"My name is Thomas shelby Love, but you can call me Tommy. I hate meeting like this. It's nothing personal, really, just business. Your father owes me money and isn't taking me seriously, so I did what I had to do."
Your eyes bug out at this information. Of course, your asshole father has made another enemy. And the feared Tommy shelby, the devil of small heath, at that. "And you think taking me will loosen him up? He'd rather die than give up anything of his. To him, people are replaceable, money not so much. I'm sorry that you put in so much work to get me, but honestly, he's probably glad I'm out of his hair."
"Is that right? What a shame that is." Tommy draws off his cigarette. "Such a pretty thing, kidnapped and taken to the devil's mansion, thrown in a basement never to be seen again. Surely he loves you more than that, dear."
"The man killed all of my pets when I refused to marry one of his gross friends. He has burned my clothes before, locked me out of the house. Trust me, Tommy, he doesn't care. He has never liked me and I don't know why."
"You are like a wild horse that can't be broken, and your father can't stand it. You won't bend to his will like most and from where I'm standing, it's like you are his enemy and not his daughter. I'd take it as a compliment. If he liked you, that would mean that you two are similar. I have no desire to harm you, I'll behave if you do. Give it a couple of days, and if he doesn't budge, you are free to go. I'll even give you money for a ticket anywhere you want to go."
You think for a moment. "So you don't want to hurt me? You'd rather help me out?"
Tommy nods, "I see a lot of myself in you. In fact, you promise to be good, I'll let you out of here and into the house. Take it as a mini vacation, time to think. If your father does pay up, you'll still get that ticket out if you'd like. Regardless of what he does or doesn't do, it won't affect you."
You reach for a cigarette, and Tommy obliges. "I can't just leave my mom alone with his ass. He's mean to her too, Tommy. He needs to pay for his sins sooner rather than later."
Tommy chuckles, "You'd make one hell of a peaky blinder. Fiesty and headstrong. Are you looking for a new job, perhaps?"
"Tommy, I'm serious," you reply, "I'd say my mom would give anything for him to be gone. If you took care if it, you'd get your money and then some. It would have to be discreet of course."
"Kidnap victim asking her kidnapper to put a hit out on her own father? That's a new one for me, love. It does sound tempting, I will say. Never had much use for an abusive wife beater."
You stand up with a new sense of purpose. "Either you do it, or when I get out, l will do it myself!"
Tommy comes towards you like he's going to grab you, but he stops himself from touching you. "No, I can't have that. There's no need for an innocent to have blood on her hands. If you aren't successful, he will kill you, love. He won't think twice about it."
Tommy finally reaches out and gently stokes your face, "I don't want the fire to go out of your pretty eyes. Killing a man does that to a person, and you don't deserve that. If you want it done, consider it done. Consider yourself a partner in this and not a helpless victim. My only wish is that once this is all over, I can see you again. With permission, this time, of course. Let me do things the right way. Dinner?"
"Kidnapper asking his victim to dinner once she is released? That's a new one for me Tommy."
You take the cigarette from his mouth, since yours is long gone, and take a drag as if to think about it.
"Consider it done."
#tommy shelby#cillian murphy#peaky blinders#tommy shelby fanfic#tommy shelby imagine#tommy shelby x reader
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Tommy x Joel x Reader: Sharing is Caring
Mature content ahead
Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, threesome, sub and dom (kinda), nipple play, blowjob, dirty talk, use of pet names, sexual content, description of sexual relations, cum eating, Oral(Female and Male receiving), creampie, penetration (p in v ), unprotected sex, swearing, fingering, cum eating, ass fucking...
Word count: 4,8K
You’d tagged along with Joel a couple years ago. It was meant to be temporary but it turned out to be a long lasting partnership. Ellie had been the last addition to the team. The glue that seemed to hold everything together. You’d grown used to the dinâmica. A little family of sorts. You knew about Joel’s past and he knew about yours. The outbreak had made you lose a lot of things but it had also given you Joel and you wouldn’t give him up for anything. It took a while for you two to realize your feelings for each other. The moment of realization had come a couple of months before Ellie had entered the equation. A bottle of whiskey and friendly banter had quickly turned into panicked groping and sloppy kisses. It took a week for the two of you to talk about what had happened. The talk consisted of sinful noises and whispered confessions that had led to your current agreement: no labels, just sex. And you were okay with that.
The agreement didn’t last a month.
Not entirely, anyway. You didn’t have a label so you kept up with that portion of the agreement but it wasn’t just sex. Sure, sex was a big part of it. But there was what happened before: the longing glances, worried words and hesitation. And there was what happened after: the cuddles, sweet whispers and sleeping in each other's arms. It wasn’t just sex it was something else but you didn’t really know what. Until you found Tommy.
Joel had been pleased to find his little brother alive which by consequence made you pleased. There was a small problem though. Tommy was an attractive man. Damn them Miller genetics. The longer the three of you stayed with Tommy the worse things got. You weren't trying to be greedy. You knew you were lucky to have Joel in your life and he satisfied you tremendously. Still, you couldn't help but let your thoughts drift to the younger Miller brother. To make matters worse Tommy seemed to always be around you. You'd often catch yourself glancing at him across the room, your eyes roaming his frame until they made their way to his face. Tommy had caught you looking at him once. You'd turned away abruptly which had caused him to laugh.
"Starin's rude you know?"
You cursed yourself for being so obvious. You could tell Tommy was behind you from the clearness of his voice so you took a breath and turned to face him. He was a lot closer than you had expected, causing your knee to bump into his leg when you spun your chair around. The small amount of contact had sent a spark down your spine.
"Who says I was staring Miller?'
You weren't fooling anybody. He'd caught you red handed but your pride told you to fake innocence. Tommy flashed you a smile. He had a pretty smile. Joel had a nice smile too but he didn't grace you with its presence as often as Tommy did. The younger Miller brother always seemed to be in a good mood while your partner was normally seen sulking in a corner. They contrasted with each other rather clearly and yet you found yourself desiring them both equally. Your eyes shifted from his eyes to his lips, leg bouncing lightly and hitting his thigh. He glanced down at your leg placing a hand on your thigh before leaning down to whisper in your ear.
"I don't mind. As long as I get to stare too."
He was so close you could feel his breath against your neck causing you to close your eyes. When you opened them again Tommy had already made his way to the door, his eyes catching yours as he went outside.
Later that day Joel returned from some mission. His body ached from walking so much and all he wanted was to see you. He'd made his way to the room you two shared only to find it empty. Joel placed his things on the floor, closing the door as he went back out to look for you. You were making your way back to your room when someone tugged you into an alley. You almost let out a scream for help but then you noticed who was in front of you. Your eyes widened with joy as you looked at Joel.
"You're here."
"Just got back. Went looking for you but you weren't home."
Home. You loved the fact that Joel called the small, dingy and dirty room you two shared home. He'd told you he didn't much like calling it a room, for some reason it sounded weird to him. Made it feel like he didn't belong. You'd told him to call it home instead and he liked the idea.
"I was chatting with some people. How was the mission?"
"Tiring, but let's talk about it another time."
Joel's hands wrapped around your waist pulling you closer to him.
"I missed you."
You smiled at him, hands going to play with his beard.
"Oh yeah? Prove it."
Joel gave you a wolfish grin before kissing you. You groan into the kiss allowing him to switch your position. Your back hit the makeshift wall behind you, the cold metal making you shiver. Joel's lips trailed down your neck sucking on the skin near your ear.
"Joel uh someone could-uhm-see."”
"Shh baby girl, just enjoy."
Joel's hand trailed down your body toying at the button of your pants. You leaned your head back staring at the sky as Joel reached his hand into your pants. Joel grinned as you moaned at the feeling of him toying with your folds.
"Wet already?"
"I missed you too."
"Was only gone a couple of hours, baby."
"Well i'm needy."”
"Yeah you are, my pretty girl always desperate for my attention, hum?."
"Always-uh- always. Joel please…"
"Tell me what you want."
"Touch me. Fuck me with your fingers."
"Jesus christ."
Joel's fingers entered your pussy causing your head to snap up as you moaned. You leaned your head against Joel's shoulder widening your legs for him as he fucked you. You opened your eyes expecting not to see anything other than the wall in front of you. Instead you were surprised to find eyes.
Tommy's eyes.
Your mouth opened to whisper to Joel but Tommy was faster. You watched him raise his finger and place it against his lips signaling for you to stay quiet. The right thing would have been to tell Joel but your orgasm was clouding your judgment and the idea of Tommy watching his brother get you off flipped something in your brain. You kept eye contact observing the way Tommy's eyes traveled down your body slowly. Your lips parted in a muted moan as Joel sped up his movements. Tommy's hands went to his crotch readjusting his member in his jeans. You gripped onto Joel's shoulder biting into your lip as your eyes rolled to the back of your head.
"That's it honey. Let go.”
"Fuck Joel.”
You orgasm washed over you body sagging in Joel's grip due to the amount of pleasure. Joel worked you through it, his arms keeping you upright as you recovered. Once you caught your breath and recovered the feeling in your legs you opened your eyes expecting to see a familiar pair of eyes though the crack in the wall.This time instead of finding Tommy's eyes gazing at you you were greeted by the view of wood boards. You felt slightly disappointed. Joel seemed to notice your lost gaze turning to see what you were staring at. His eyes found the gap in the makeshift wall, a curse leaving his lips.
"Gotta tell someone to fix that."
His gaze came back to you, hands going to move a piece of hair out of your face.
"Guess you were right about someone being able to see us. To bad we didn't have an audience they would have gotten quite the show."”
Sweet innocent Joel, if only he knew.
A couple of days had passed since your little performance for Tommy. A part of you wanted to tell Joel the truth but another part liked sharing a secret with Tommy. The two of you would catch each other's gaze from time to time. The air around you heavy with unspoken desire. Neither of you spoke with each other about it though. It was almost as if by talking about what had happened you'd be confessing to the whole town.
You'd started to wonder if Tommy's silence meant he regretted doing it. You didn't and in your mind you'd let that be really clear but considering you hadn't said any of this aloud to Tommy it was understandably that he was reluctant. You'd started thinking he was just going to act like it had never happened until he said something that surprised you. You were cleaning a glass in the bar minding your business as you watched the men play pool. You haven't been paying much attention to their conversation until you heard Tommy's voice, head snapping up to look for him.
"That's my drink Matt."
"Shit Tommy my bad."”
"It's alright. Around here we share."
Tommys eyes found yours across the room, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he grabbed his glass from one of the men and took a sip. Your lips involuntarily parted as you gazed at him. If it wasn't clear before it sure as hell was now. Tommy Miller wanted you just as much as you wanted him.
You went on with your day doing chores and helping people around town. To the outside world you seemed normal but inside your brain was working a mile and hour, the sound of Tommy's words playing on loop. Once you finished you made your way home, a small sigh leaving your lips as you closed the door.
"Hey honey."”
You froze at the sound of Joel's voice turning at your heels to look at him. He was leaning against the doorframe, his expression serious. Well shit. Joel only used that look with you on two occasions: when he was mad at you or when he was feeling extra dominating. You had no clue which was the case so you decided to go for a neutral approach.
"Hey baby. Been home long?"”
"Not too long. Actually i was having a really interesting conversation.”
You took off your coat hanging it on the coat rack.
"Oh who with?"
"Ah just Tommy"
You back stiffened hands patting your coat lightly before turning to look at Joel again. He'd moved to sit down on the edge of the bed but his expression remained the same.
"Oh what did-"
"We need to talk."
"Okay."
Joel patted the spot next to him silently asking you to come to him. You did as he asked, eyes stuck to the floor as you moved.
"Tommys been telling me some interesting stories and as much as I love my brother he's always had a bit of an imagination."
You took a shaky breath in, your eyes moving to look at Joel.
"So I want to hear it from you."
Joel grabbed your hand, his thumb caressing your palm lightly.
"I ain't gonna be mad. But I gotta know the truth. Okay honey?"
"O-okay."”
"You been flirting with Tommy?"
You nodded.
"Alright. That day, in the alley, when i fucked you with my fingers."
You cringed slightly at Joel's bluntness.
"Did you see Tommy watching and not tell me?"”
You closed your eyes and nodded again.
"Okay last one. And this is the most important one so tell the truth."
You braced yourself for the question, biting your lip nervously.
"Do you get of on the idea of Tommy fucking you."
You started to nod again when you heard a voice from somewhere in the room.
"Need verbal confirmation darlin'."
Your eye snapped in the direction of the sound, eyes finding Tommy's frame in the dark. You look back at Joel expecting him to be angry but once you looked into his eyes you realized there was a hunger hidden in them.
"It's alright honey. Answer Tommy."”
You looked back at the younger Miller as he rose from his position and made his way closer to you. Gosh he looked good. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned and his hat made him look intimidating. You breathed in a smile gracing your lips.
"Yeah i get off on the idea of you fucking me."
"Fucking hell."”
Tommy's hands moved to his crotch, adjusting himself in his jeans. You liked the effect you had on him. Your gaze returned to Joel whose eyes hadn't left your frame.
"I like the idea of you sharing me."
"Jesus honey."
Joel let out a chuckle at your confession. It was a desperate sort of laugh. The kind of laugh you'd let out when someone said something absurd and you agreed with them but didn't want to let them know that. The type of laugh you'd give when your friends told you your crush likes you back. A laugh of hope. Joel fucking Miller was into the idea of you getting turned on by the thought of him and his brother absolutely ruining you. You never felt more relief in your life.
Before you'd even realized what you were doing you made your way to Tommy, your hands reaching to grab his hat from his head and placing it on your own.
"So what do you say cowboy you gonna rock my world or what?"
Tommy's gaze snapped over to his brother, his eyes asking for permission. Joel looked at you, watching the way your body buzzed with desire before turning his gaze back to Tommy and nodding. A grin spread over Tommy at Joel's approval. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a smearing kiss. Your hands weaved around his neck as you deepened the kiss. Tommy grabbed your head for better support causing his hat to fall off. His hands made their way into your hair tugging lightly as he kissed down your neck. You moaned as Tommy sucked at your skin making him smile against you.
"Love the noises you make darlin'."
"Ah Tommy…"
You throw your head back, giving Tommy better access and allowing you to look over at Joel. Your jaw slacked as you moaned. Joel remained seated but his legs were slightly spread allowing you to see his hard on. You reached down to grope Tommy's dick through his pants causing him to hiss against your neck, his teeth scraping against your throat. Joel unzipped his pants, his hands reaching into his underwear. You watched as Joel's cock sprung out of his underwear groaning at the sight.
“Like what you see honey?”
“Yeah Joel.”
“Show Tommy how good you make me feel.”
“What about you?”
“Don’t worry about me, focus on him.”
You glanced at Tommy, your confidence skyrocketing at the lust in his eyes.
“Wanna fuck my mouth baby?”
“Yes ma'am.”
You smiled at Tommy, your fingers moving to unbutton his shit.
“You gonna be a good boy for me?”
Tommy nodded eagerly. You weren’t used to being in a dominant position Joel usually played that role. You’d be lying if you didn’t understand why he enjoyed it so much.
Once Tommy's shirt was completely unbuttoned you stepped back.
“Take your pants off.”
Tommy did as you asked, reaching to remove his belt as you made your way over to Joel.
“Hey honey.”
“Hey baby.”
You leaned down to give Joel a passionate kiss. Your hand made its way to where Joel's dick was, giving him a couple strokes.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
You hummed in confirmation hand moving in a steady pace.
“How about you?”
“I'm not used to not having you all to myself.”
You stopped stroking Joel, leaning back to look at his face.
“Are you sure you're okay with this? If it bothers you we can stop.”
Joel smiled at you. You were always putting others before you. It was something Joel had always admired about you.
“Don’t worry about me. If you're enjoying yourself then so am i. Even if it means sharing you with this fool.”
“Hey now.”
You laughed giving Joel one last stroke.
“I love you Joel.”
“Love you honey. Now get your butt over there.”
Joel gave your ass a slap as you made your way to Tommy. Your eyes traveled down to Tommy's unclothed dick. It was a bit thinner than Joels but about the same size so you knew you wouldn’t have a hard time giving him head. You placed your hands on Tommys shoulders, shoving his shirt off his body before placing a kiss to his chest. You licked a line down his body as you went to your knees. Tommy bundled your hair into a makeshift ponytail as you kissed his tip.
“Remember be a good boy and i'll reward you.”
“What type of- Jesus christ!”
You took Tommys dick into your mouth before he could finish speaking. His hips moved in their own accord, fucking your mouth in a steady rythm.
“Fuck darlin’.”
“Feels like heaven doesn't it Tommy?”
“You’re one lucky man Joel.”
You reached a hand into your pants rubbing your clit as you sucked Tommy off. You moaned at the stimulation making Tommy curse at the vibration. You relaxed your jaw as best as you could allowing Tommy to throat fuck you. Your eyes remain glued on his face as he moved, watching the pleasure in his features. His eyes were closed, brows furrowed in concentration. Tommy opened his eyes, glancing down to look at you. The sight of you almost choking on his cock caused him to groan as his pace quickened. He was close to cumming. You removed your hand from your underwear groping Tommy's balls as you gave him a hard suck.
“Ugh darlin-shit- i’m gonna cum.”
You removed your mouth from Tommy pulling your shirt off before stroking him again.
“Come on baby. Cum for me.”
“Ah fuck.”
Tommy's seed slipped out splattering against your bare chest as he came. You heard a groan from Joel's side of the room, eyes moving to look at him as you continued stoking Tommy through his orgasm. You watched Joel throw his head back as he came coating his hands with his juices. Tommy wrapped his hand around yours to stop you from moving it. You let go of his dick glancing up at him with a smile. He grinned down at you before kneeling down in front of you. His eyes went to your chest observing his cum run down the valley of your breasts. Tommy’s hands wrapped around your thigh tugging you into his lap before burying his face in your breasts. His tongue circled your nipple causing you to tug at his hair.
“Oh baby-ugh- so good for me.”
Tommys hips jerked up to meet your clothed cunt, the slight pleasure to your clit making you moan.
“Jesus Tommy give her a break.”
Tommy detached himself from your breasts at his brothers scolding.
“Sorry.”
You glared at Joel for making Tommy feel bad.
“It’s okay baby. I liked it. Joels just jealous cause’ he’s more of an ass man.”
Tommy turned to look at Joel
“Wait, you don’t give her breasts any love?”
You caressed Tommys hair as you waited for Joel to answer.
“She’s never asked.”
Tommy let out a scoff.
“Come on Joel. She shouldn’t have to.”
“How am i supposed to know what she likes if she doesn't tell me.”
Tommy wrapped his hands against your breasts squeezing them before playing with your nipples. You let out a moan grinding down onto Tommy.
“Because that's how she reacts.”
“Hum. Maybe you should listen to your brother more, baby.”
Joel noticed the bratty glimmer in your eyes. You were trying to toy with him on purpose. Fuck it it didn’t turn him on.
“I thought you said you wanted us to share you.”
“I do.”
“Then get your ass over here so I can get a taste of that pretty pussy of yours.”
Your thigh involuntary clenched at Joel's words making Tommy laugh.
“She liked that.”
You got off Tommy shimming out of your pants before making your way to Joel. Once you made it you leaned down to give him a kiss consequently giving Tommy a great view of your ass. He let out a low whistle as he made his way to the two of you. Joel tugged you onto his lap, his semi hard brushing against your cunt.
“Hum Joel.”
“What is it honey?”
“Need your mouth.”
“Yeah?”
“Please.”
“Okay. Where do you want Tommy to be?”
You glanced at the younger Miller reaching a hand out to him. He took your hand helping you up from his brother's lap. You pointed to the headboard.
“SIt down over there.”
“Yes ma'am.”
Tommy gave your ass a squeeze before doing what you’d asked. Joel got up from the bed allowing you to crawl to Tommy who opened his arms to you. You laid against Tommy, your back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, his hands resting against your breasts. You bent your knees, spreading your legs for Joel who stood at the edge of the bed. Joel licked his lips at the sight of you spread out for him.
“Come on big boy. Meal time.”
Joel crawled on the bed making his way to you like some sort of predator. You desperately wanted to rub your thighs together to release some pressure but kept your legs spread. Joel took his sweet time getting to you. He used the excuse that his knees weren’t the same as before but you knew better. He was teasing you. Tommy seemed to notice your impatience so he started kissing your neck. Joel kissed his way up your leg starting at your ankle and stopping at the inside of your thigh. He sucked on the skin there making you squirm. Joel held onto your legs raising his head to look at Tommy.
“Keep her steady will you.”
Tommy nodded, his arms tightening around you. The moment Joel delved into your pussy your body became puddy in his hands. You molded yourself into Tommy his hard on proding you in the ass as Joel ate you out. You closed your eyes enjoying the feeling of Joel's lips against your folds and Tommy's hands fondling your breasts. Joel's nose bumped against your clit making you latch your hands onto his curls tugging on them as he licked your slit. Tommy nibbled your earlobe whispering sweet nothings. His voice was soft compared to the roughness in which Joel ate you out. The contrast demonstrated well the difference between the two men. You loved it. Your hips started bucking up into Joel's face as your orgasm started to grow closer. Joel listened to your moans become more intense, lifting his head to look at your blissed out face as he added two fingers at once. You launched forwards at the feeling nails digging into Tommy's forearm as you moaned.
“Please Joel i'm so close-ugh- please….”
“I know honey, I know. Tommy?”
“Yeah?”
“Give her clit some attention, will you? My arm is starting to cramp.”
Joel often cursed his joints for hurting during sex. At the start of your agreement it was something he was very insecure about. He’d told you about it one day and you’d said that if he ever needed a break you’d gladly ride his face. It wasn’t the response he’d imagined but it had made him a lot less self-conscious. He couldn’t help but smile at the memory, his mind snapping back to reality when you moaned Tommys name.
“I know darlin. Let it happen.”
“Ah Joel faster!”
Your pussy clenched around Joel's fingers as he quickened his movements and leaned down to lick your pussy. Your eyes glossed over as you came, your juices counting Joel's beard. Tommy caresed your hair as your orgasm hit you leaving kisses on your forehead. Joel worked you through it, stopping his movements once you started closing your thighs, the overstimulation hitting you.
The three of you stayed quiet for a while. Tommy massaged your shoulders while you catched your breath. Joel laid down on your thigh, his hands caressing your legs fondly.
“You okay darlin?”
You looked at Tommy giving him a peck on the lips and massaging his scalp with your nails.
“Never better. Joel?”
“Yeah honey?”
“How’s your knee?”
“It’ll stop throbbing in a second.”
“So you’ll be okay for another round?”
You could still feel Tommys dick prodding your ass and you knew that Joel would be hard already from eating you out.
Were you being greedy? Maybe.
Did you give a shit? No, not really.
“Round two?”
Tommy's voice sounded so hopeful it was like a little kid being told he could have as many sweets as he wanted.
“Well you know what they say. Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.”
“Ah shit.”
Tommys hips bucked up at your words. Joel looked up at you.
“Where does that leave me?”
“You big boy get to fuck me in the ass.”
“So fucking good for us honey.”
“A proper angel.”
Joel got up from the bed moving to get the lube out of the corner you kept it in. Tommy let go of you allowing you to get up from the bed. You stretched your limbs for a moment as you waited for Joel to return. Once he was back and Tommy had settled into a comfortable position, you crawled back onto the bed. You straddled Tommy's hips slowly grinding against his dick before positioning it at your entrance. Tommy's hands found your hips guiding you onto him. Both of you moaned in unison at the feeling of each other.
“Ah Tommy.”
“Fuck darlin you’re so warm.”
“Ugh filling me up so good baby. So fucking good for me.”
Joel came up behind you, his hand resting against your back, forcing you to arch up for him. You let Joel move you as he wished to, his thumb circling your hole before going in to stretch you out. You clamped down on Tommy's dick at the feeling of Joel easing his finger into you. Joel placed some lube in his hand coating his dick in the liquid before guiding himself into you. You felt his dick against your ass spreading your legs slightly.
“Ready honey?”
“Uh Hum”
“Tommy?”
“Fucking stick it in already Joel!”
You laughed as Tommys impatience, the sound quickly transforming into moaning as Joel's dick entered you. You kissed Tommy as Joel started thrusting, the motion making Tommy's dick rub against your walls.
“Faster baby faster!”
“Fuck thats it.”
Joel started pistoling into your the pain he’d been feeling in his knee suddenly disappearing as he fucked into you. Tommy watched your boobs bounce up and down as his brother moved behind you, his own hips jerking up into your pussy in desperation. Your nails dig into Tommy's chest as you ground against him, the feeling of his and Joel's dick filling you up making your jaw slack.
“ I ain’t gonna last much longer.”
“Me neither.”
“I’m close to just-ugh Joel- I need um….”
“What-fuck- baby?”
“Boobs boobs please- ughh!”
Tommy fondled your breasts, his fingers moving against your nipples.
“Fuck Tommy.”
“Like that darlin’?”
“Yeah yeah i’m-i uhm-i’m gonna-”
“Me too baby me-ugh-me too.”
With one particular hard thrust has you cumming. Your orgasm caused you to clench around Tommy's dick which spiraled him into his own. Joel kept thrusting into you until his orgasm arrived making him fuck his seed into you. You fell limp against Tommy, his arms wrapping around your frame as the two of you catched your breath. Joel pulled out and laid down in the empty spot beside you two. After some time you got off of Tommy, both of you hissing as he pulled out. The younger Miller got up searching for something to clean up with. Joel tugged you into his chest placing a kiss on your temple as you hummed.
“Thank you.”
“You could have just asked honey. Didn’t need to keep it a secret.”
“I didn't wanna risk you thinking you can’t satisfy me. Because you do. I just…”
“Wanted to try something new?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s alright baby i get it. And I'm glad it was Tommy. I’d be worried about some other guy but I trust Tommy.”
“So you don’t mind?”
“Considering everything we’ve been through, this ain’t nothing.”
You two stayed quiet for a moment just listening to Tommy walk around the room.
“I can’t believe I didn't know about the boob thing.”
You let out a laugh.
“Please don’t make it a big deal.”
“I won’t. Guess I could still learn a thing or two from the younglings.”
“You bet old man.”
You smiled at the voices of the Millers bickering around you, your eyes growing heavy as sleep took over you.
#joel miller smut#joel fanfiction#joel x reader#joel the last of us#joel tlou#pedro pascal joel miller#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal x reader#the last of us smut#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us x reader#tommy miller#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fic#tommy miller smut#tommy x reader#tommy x reader smut#tommy miller tlou#tommy miller fic#tommy miller the last of us#tommy miller x joel miller x reader#gabriel luna#gabriel luna x reader#gabriel luna characters#gabriel luna smut#the last of us hbo
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lucky strike / CL16
Summary: Charles x American!female!reader - F1 comes to Sin City and you unexpectedly run into a certain someone.
Warnings: gambling, alcohol, cussing, use of pet names (A LOT), flirting, one moment of implied jealousy
Requested?: Sort of! Thank you to everyone who voted for Charles in the poll!
Author's Note: Charles won out in the poll, so here you go, everybody! (Of course I HAD to use The Charles Vegas Podium Picture). Also, I listened to Lucky Strike by Maroon 5 while writing.
one in a million ;
my lucky strike
Well, you thought the whole F1 thing was absolutely ridiculous. You couldn't care an ounce less about Formula 1, so you certainly weren't happy about all the complications of it coming to your city.
You would call yourself an all American girl, and you're proud of it. If any racing, NASCAR. Football is the sport with the brown ball you throw- NFL, not the white and black ball you kick. That's soccer. You have the greatest food, the greatest mix of cultures, the greatest weather. If you didn't know better, you'd say you have the greatest country, too.
You watched a Formula 1 race when you realized the whole Las Vegas Grand Prix thing was actual, and when you saw that (firstly) it was honestly pretty boring, and (secondly) the only American driver is basically the most sucky one, you decided it would be pretty hard to get into it.
You're a Vegas girl, and you're proud of it. You're actually from Los Angeles, California, but you moved to Vegas to chase your dreams and live the life you dreamed of a year ago with your boyfriend, and it was so worth it.
Now you identify yourself with Vegas even more than you do with the Los Angeles Rams, despite the fact that your boyfriend broke up with you seven months ago and left to go be a prodigal son in New York City.
You decided Vegas was perfect enough for your clever hand, and you'd continue to be a prodigal daughter right where you're at.
But now the Grand Prix is the newest thing, and you don't like it at all. All these people flooding in, like as if there's not already enough people. Just to watch some cars drive around in circles, closing up main roads? No, you're not into it.
Your girl friends all seem to think this is just the best thing, and you discuss it across the table with two of them. One says, "Honestly, the McLaren duo are the hottest."
"No way- Ferrari! Have you seen Charles Leclerc?" your other friend disagrees.
You snort in disbelief and say sarcastically, "How about neither? So you guys only care about this because the racers are hot? Give me a break."
"Well," one of your friends starts, crossing her arms across her chest, "They are hot. At first, I wasn't so sure, but, I mean, come on! Maybe we could get glimpses of them when they're in Vegas!"
"Or meet them!" your other friend pipes in.
You scoff. "Good luck with that. Aren't these guys self-focused millionaires with too much money for their own good? Probably all greedy idiots who hook up with every half-sexy girl who comes along. So if you're into that, sure, waste your time trying to meet some hot plutocrats, with the one percent chance you might get f*cked like crazy for a night before they forget about you and move back to their mansions across the world! F*ck, is race car driving even a real sport? It's f*cking driving cars. I could do that!"
Your friends don't really argue with you, because you're right. And clearly, they do only care about the hot racers, because you figure any real fan of the sport would argue with you.
Two days before the Strip is supposed to be closed up for the Grand Prix, you find yourself submerged in the vibrant energy of Wynn Las Vegas, the dazzling lights and sounds of the casino floor swirling around you. The scent of alcohol lingers in the air, a reminder of the drinks you've indulged in throughout the night.
You slip between two people to reach the roulette wheel, holding your newly bought chips, with money you've earned earlier in the night.
Bets are placed around the table over and over, as you earn more and more chips. You feel someone nudge your shoulder, and a cocky male voice comments next to you, "You're having a good night, huh?"
"Every night is a good night," you remark back, not even glancing up at the man talking with you. He seems to have some sort of accent that you can't place. Perhaps French?
Which means he's probably from Louisiana. Possibly Quebec.
Probably some rich idiot F1 fan who can afford to travel half way across the country for the Grand Prix.
You don't plan to even give him the light of day.
"Until it's not," he says as you watch the roulette wheel spin once more.
You smirk and feel his eyes on you as you collect more chips.
The game goes on, and you think he's gotten the message that you don't care to converse with him, because does shut up.
But now it's the last bet of the game. You take a sip from your glass and feel a stupid, risky streak in you.
Some idiot part of you that's drunk and wants to push her luck way too far.
You place a straight-up bet, all your chips on the number sixteen.
You can feel eyes on you, and the same man next to you from earlier says, "Are you stupid?"
You chuckle. "Possibly."
"You're going to lose all your-"
"No, I won't." You straighten your back, staring at the wheel. It's true, you've earned a lot of money throughout this game.
And honest, it is true that you're stupid.
But it's also true that for some reason, you're confident.
"So you're overconfident and risky? I like that," comments the guy next to you. "But you're going to lose all your money. All that good luck for nothing..."
"You'll see," you breathe, ignoring his little flirt. "It's going to land on sixteen."
"Sixteen, huh?" This man's hazel eyes sparkle, and something in you tells you that you've seen this guy's brown locks, bright dimples, and perfect stubble before.
You've seen him somewhere. Recently. Like some guy you could haven't been drunk with, but the memory is fuzzy.
But you weren't drunk with him.
Despite being sure you've seen this guy before, you're also sure you've never met him before, either.
"Yeah," you nod, looking away, staring as the roulette wheel begins spinning. "It's my lucky number."
You're not looking at him, but you can feel him grin next to you. "Your lucky number, huh? Just so happens, it's mine, too."
You snort, rolling your eyes. "Is that some lame attempt of a flirt?"
"No. It really is my lucky number." By his tone, you can tell that grin has downgraded to a smirk. "But if you'd like to see a lame attempt of a flirt, that's an option, too..." His voice lowers as you feel his arm snake around you, and his hand land on your waist.
You gently shove it off as the wheel begins to slow. You hold your breath, watching, this stupid French boy no longer even a fraction of your concerns. All focus is on your slight potential lucky strike.
And then the world stops as the wheel stops, too.
On sixteen.
And then it all comes flooding back. "Oh my God!" you squeal stupidly, covering your mouth as there's rounds of, "You've got to be kidding me," "No way," "It's impossible!" and "How lucky is this girl?"
You feel surges of shock and pride as you collect all your money. Once you've received it, after such luck, and earning a fortune, you decide you're going to have a drink. Or more than just one.
But when you turn, there's that guy again.
"What's up?" you ask, the grin on your face impossible to wipe off.
"How did you know it was going to stop on sixteen?" he questions, and he looks a little more handsome than he did before as this time he succeeds in taking your waist.
"Are you trying to pick my pocket?" you question warily, though, shoving his hand away.
"Not at all," he chuckles, "But you're a smart girl, aren't you? And I think I might be a lucky boy. Come on- I'll buy you a drink."
You snort. "No way, pretty boy! I can buy my own drink, after what just happened! How cocky are you?"
"Call me cocky, or call me rich, but either way, you're too sexy to have to pay for your own drink."
You scoff at this, but figure that you can't really let down an offer of free stuff. You'll be the first to admit you're greedy. Once of the biggest reasons why you gamble is because you want money- duh- and as much of it as you can get.
So soon, you're sitting at a table with this random guy, looking into his eyes, holding your drink in your hand. After barely a moment of hesitation, your curiosity finally gets to you, and you ask, "Who are you, anyway? I could have sworn I've seen you somewhere recently."
He gets a smug look on his face, which you don't like, before he says, "You really don't know?"
Your nose crinkles up in confusion, and for a second you feel ultra worried. Is this someone that I've met, that I should remember? Am I a terrible person for not knowing who this is...?
But then he says simply, "My first name is Charles. Charles Leclerc."
You stare at the taller individual, knowing you've heard that name, trying desperately to wrack your brain of it.
And then, suddenly, it hits you.
Loudly, in your head, in your friend's voice, in the exact tone she said it, 'No way- Ferrari! Have you seen Charles Leclerc?'
"Wait-!" you say in shock. You can see the satisfaction on the man's face, Charles, as you realize. "So, you're one of those F1 racers? Like, you race for the Ferrari team?"
He snorts and nods. "I'm surprised you didn't recognize me right away. Do you live here in Vegas?"
"Yeah," you say simply, taking a sip of your drink.
"So I take it you hate Formula 1, then? Because how else are you living in Vegas right now and don't know my name, or recognize my face?"
"You sound awfully prideful."
Suddenly, he smirks, and drags his finger across your jawline, pulling your face to look up at him in the process. "Maybe so. But clearly you're not so much better yourself, Miss Bet It All On Sixteen."
You cock an eyebrow at him and return his smirk with a challenging grin. "Sure, but I was right. I won what I wanted."
"Hmm... Well, what if I'm about to win what I want?"
"Oh, yeah? And what is it that you want?"
He leans in closer, so you can feel his hot breath tickle your ear as he utters simply, "You, baby."
You smirk. "We just met, buddy. I'm not that stupid."
"I think you're just playing hard to get."
"Or maybe it's just hard for you to get me," you counter.
"Well, I like your spunk. And your good luck. I think I might need a little bit more of that." He leans away a bit, and comments, "And I think I foresee a little bit more of luck in your future."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah," he smirks, leaning in closer. In barely any second, his lips meet yours, and though you know you should, there's no way you're pulling away now. He wraps his arm around you, urging you to lean into the kiss. You melt, letting him.
You don't know what it is.
But in this moment, you gently let your lips part, inviting his tongue to slip in between your lips, allowing yourself to, yes, make out with basically a stranger.
It wouldn't be the first time, but it also isn't something you do for fun whenever you feel.
When you finally force yourself to pull away, the first thing you breathe is, "How did you do that?"
He grins, and is clearly red in the face. But there's a look of shock on his face, too. As if his flirty cover was just confidence, and not because he gets tons of girls like this...?
Or maybe you're just reading too much into his expression.
Either way, he responds with, stroking your cheek, "No idea. Maybe I just have a way with you?"
You roll your eyes as you check your purse. No, he didn't pickpocket. He meant to kiss you. You stand up and say simply, "Well, I better get going n-"
"Sorry, what?" he suddenly snatches your arm back, pulling you back down to sit again with a surprised chuckle. "You just met a famous millionaire race car driver who bought you a drink after you won big money in roulette, let him make out with you, loved it, and now you're just going to casually walk off?"
You grin. "What? Do you think I was impressed by you? Think again, honey. Just because you drive cars fast and make ridiculous amounts of stupid money for it, and that you're insanely handsome- none of that means I'm any more impressed with you than I am with any other guys I meet on my night outs."
"Hm," he raises an eyebrow, and says, "What if you could get more from me, missy? Clearly, you're out for yourself and will do anything for a good deal. And you're f*cking sexy about it, too. So what if I had something else to offer you?"
You let yourself sit down at this, looking at him expectantly.
He smirks, clearly loving that he's 'won you over,' before saying simply, "Would like a free pass to the whole weekend, and a pass for the paddock?"
Your eyebrows scrunch together, and your eyes widen. "I- what?"
His smirk grows even bigger. "You heard me."
You inhale sharply, but cross your arms across your chest and come out sharply saying, "Unfortunately for you, I couldn't care less about Formula 1. In fact, I'm starting to dislike it a lot. But thanks for the offer."
His jaw drops, and his eyes practically pops out of his head, which gets a chuckle from you. For a moment, he's actually speechless, before he finally gets out, "Are you aware of the offer you just refused?"
You raise an eyebrow, not able to keep the cheeky grin off your face. "Probably not, but that's okay. Why, anyways, would you give a stranger such an opportunity in the first place? You probably have ulterior motives, and I think I can pretty much guess what they are, mister. You don't even know my name yet."
"Oh, God, you're right," he laughs, taking another sip of his drink. "Well, what's your name, princess?"
You roll your eyes, and tell him.
He grins. "It's been wonderful meeting you." He digs in the pocket of his light blue jeans, and pulls out a pen and a restaurant receipt. "I know you think you'll be able to forget me so easily, princess," he starts, scribbling something on the receipt, "but trust me- you'll be wanting this." He takes your hand and presses the receipt into it, before standing up just like that, and saying with a wave as he turns to walk off, "I'll talk to you later, angel."
You look down at the receipt to see a phone number scribbled on it in chicken scratch. But the numbers are clear. And though you walk out that night rolling your eyes at this Charles's boldness and cockiness, with an abundance of money you've earned that's a lot more worth the stupid grease-stained receipt, the moment you get back to your apartment, the first thing you intend to is putting that stupid number into your phone.
"This is stupid," you comment as you slide into the backseat, next to Charles.
He just rolls his eyes. "You won't be saying that by the end of this experience. Besides, you were the one who decided to text me, like I said you would. You were just playing hard to get."
You scoff. "Oh, shut up."
"You look lovely, by the way," he comments in a lower voice. "I like that skirt." You look down at yourself. You're wearing a matching crop top shirt and short skirt, your sunglasses holding your hair back away from your face, and brown sandals.
"Thanks," you snort, crossing your arms and looking out the window, turning your gaze away from the Monégasque driver. (Yes, you did, despite yourself, look him up last night, just to know who the heck this guy even is.)
(You also were sure to look up his salary.)
(Ridiculous.)
(But also intriguing.)
Soon enough, before you know it, you're walking alongside him, about to enter the 'paddock.'
Makes it sound like a bunch of horses racing.
But when you're there, surrounded by it, in the moment, you don't think rude comments like that.
You stop, taking in the high life atmosphere. The revving car noises, the lights of The Strip on the 'racetrack,' the crowds, the music, the richness, and the challenge.
Your breathing falters, and your heart beat quickens as your hand involuntarily finds Charles's wrist and grips it as you gasp, "It's... extraordinary."
You glance to Charles's face to see him softly grinning. His hand slips down to hold yours as he comments, "You seemed like the type of girl to love it."
Your smile widens. "I've been here so many times. On The Strip. But... it's not the same. How did they do it?"
He begins walking, pulling you along by your hand as you look around. "That's just Formula 1 for you. There's nothing in the world quite like it, Y/n."
He leads you by the hand toward the Ferrari garage. Once you're there, he says, "Want to meet my teammate, Carlos?"
"Don't know who Carlos is, but sure..." you say vaguely, taking in the large piece of machinery- the Formula 1 car- in front of you.
He chuckles. "You're f*cking adorable," he murmurs, before leading you away to see Carlos.
He's a well-built man with fluffy dark hair, tan skin, big brown cow eyes, and stubble. Pretty much looks like exactly how you'd imagine a Formula 1 driver to look.
He nods respectfully. "Hey, Charles," he says, and shakes your hand with a friendly wink. "This your new girlfriend?"
You look up to see Charles smirk. "Not yet."
One of Carlos's thick, dark eyebrows cocks up, and the suggestion of an amused smirk travels on his lips for a second. "Ah, I see."
"Charles!" you snap, your eyebrows scrunches together. "Not ever."
"Well, we'll see about that. So far, I've been the right one, now, princess, haven't I?"
"Pfft. I was right about sixteen, wasn't I?"
He rolls his eyes as Carlos says with a chuckle, "Well, it will sure be interesting to see how this plays out," before moving on with his life.
Charles takes the time to show you around, and halfway through the tour, you blurt suddenly, "So, this is all the Italian team and stuff. Isn't there an American team?"
"Hmmm," Charles snorts as his eyebrows travel farther up and he fights off a seemingly somewhat mocking smirk. "There is."
"Why don't you show me them? Don't they have an American driver? Like, Carlos is Italian, right? Isn't it protocol or somethin'? Anyway, isn't it called Williams, the American team, or something? Some guy named Logan something that's an American racer on there-"
At this, Charles can't seem to hold it together anymore, and doubles over laughing, essentially, at you.
"What?!" you demand indignantly.
"You really are clueless!"
"I-"
"Alright, alright, Y/n. Haas is the American team. They don't have an American driver- German and Danish. No, Carlos is not Italian; he's from Spain. Williams is British, and yes, Logan Sargeant races for Williams, and he is American. About the only thing you got right."
You roll your eyes with a shrug. "I told you I don't give a damn about this stupid sport."
"Whatever you say, Miss Starry Eyes."
So, first Charles takes you to Haas, where you learn, surprisingly, that not all the racers are young hotshots like Charles and Carlos at least seem to be. They're friendly enough there, but really don't care much to give you any of their time, so then Charles suggests to go to the Williams garage and see if there's Logan to bother. You agree to that, so soon, you're entering Williams.
As soon as you see Logan, you know he's the American. You can see it in his stance. You can see it in his golden blond slightly sweeped hair, gray blue eyes, and strong jawline. "That's Logan, isn't it?"
"How'd you know?"
You shrug, breaking off from Charles to Logan. "Hey! You're the only American 'round here?!" you ask with a friendly grin.
"Huh?" he asks, looking up, in the most United States of America way. "Oh, hi," he says in what you perceive as dumbly, with a friendly smile. Ah, that's more like it. None of these posh Monacan boys and hot Spanish men- this guy is just like home sweet home!
You can practically hear the eagles cawing over the Rocky Mountains!
"You're Logan Sargeant?"
He nods. "I am. And you are...?"
"Just some Vegas girl dragged here by Charles."
"Ah... so you know him?"
"Well, now, unfortunately, yes."
His eyebrows furrow, but he chuckles at the same time. Though this guy isn't nearly as handsome or charming as Charles, there's something about him you like a bit more-
Suddenly, a hand is on your waist, and hot breath says in your ear, "Got to be getting back to Ferrari now. Come on with me?"
You blush and nod. "Right, Charles."
You have no idea what to think of him.
"Podium?! Uh- is a podium good?!" you ask, eyes wide as Charles brings it home in second.
"Yeah, yeah, it's good!" some guy you don't know wearing red near you says.
"Oh- Alright, well- That's good, I suppose!" you respond a little manically.
As soon as Charles as the chance, he finds you. He still has champagne on his race suit and his face is glistening with sweat, and there's no way you can deny it- he's sexy. When he reaches you, he wraps his arms around you, and his stunning eyes seem to burn into you. He can't fight the grin off his face as he says lowly, "Get why my lucky number is sixteen, baby girl?"
"Ah, stop with that," you snap, your voice cracking. You don't know, but this seems- all this seems-
Way too important.
You reach up to touch the number sixteen on his hat, before taking it off his head and slipping it on your own, backwards, on impulse.
He grins. "You can keep it. Not like you'll need a keepsake. You won't forget me."
You bite your lip, giving a quick nod, still studying his handsome face. Your eyes linger on his light pink lips, which arch into a perfect cupid's bow, as you murmur absently, "You seem pretty confident about that, huh?"
"Of course I do. Looks like you might be my little good luck charm, hm? Can't be letting you run away from me, can I?"
"Hm. Well, we'll see about that."
"Still playing hard to get?"
"Not playing. I just am hard to get."
"Whatever you say, darling," he comments with a shrug, walking off.
The French accent is pretty sexy.
Your eyes flutter open, and the first thing you see are the big earnest eyes of Charles Leclerc, staring back into your eyes. "Morning sunsh-"
Your immediate reaction is to scream and promptly slap him across his pretty face.
He grunts as his hand flies to his cheek to cover it up, and he says, "Hey, hey, calm down!"
But your eyes scan the room. It's clearly a hotel room. There's only one bed: the one you and Charles are laying in right at this moment. You're wearing a large black T-shirt and big blue gym shorts very tightly tied to fit your waist. Charles is dressed in a grey hoodie and jeans with a white T-shirt underneath, his regular jewelry, and white sneakers. So clearly, he's already showered and gotten dressed. He smells like his rich cologne, and his hair is all washed and fluffy and clean. If you weren't in a slight panic right now, you'd have wondered if you could touch his hair and feel how soft it is.
But!
As you're about to gasp out questions, Charles sits up and gently sets his hand on top of yours. You become aware of the pounding in your head as you bite your lip nervously. Charles looks at you earnestly, and says calmly, "Hey, you don't have to worry. It's okay."
"What happened?" you exhale.
"Nothing," he soothes. "We went out. You got more drunk than any of us though you should. I didn't know where you lived, so I took you to my hotel room. Gave you clothes to change into, and we went to sleep. Nothing more."
You swallow an anxious lump in your throat. "How do I know I can trust you? Please, just be honest with me. I won't be mad. You didn't know any bet-"
"I didn't do anything. We didn't do anything. Okay?" he leans in closer, and reaches to cup your cheeks in his hands. "'Kay? Can you just trust me?"
You bite your lip, but slowly nod. "I suppose that's the only thing I can do."
Over six months later, you stand on the boat, staring out at the Mediterranean Sea, smelling the salty breeze in the air, feeling content, wearing a loose button down, light blue jean shorts with a brown belt, your slew of bracelets, white sneakers, and a headband holding back your hair.
Suddenly, Charles is up next to you. "Hey, princess." For months, you've had what you stubbornly call a 'situationship,' whilst Charles calls you his girlfriend.
Because you love Vegas more than you love Charles (or at least that's what you like to say), you refused to leave when Charles did. You like taking risks. Just not the 'travelling halfway across the world for a hot guy' kind of risks.
But you stayed in touch. Charles made sure of that.
Well, he meant it when he said he'd make sure you'll never forget him.
But then Formula 1 came back to the States, to Miami, and you knew you'd have to make the trip. The flirty comments and romantic tension thick enough to cut ensued as soon as you and Charles set eyes upon each other, like as if it hadn't been six months or so since you'd last seen each other last.
It just felt like-
Somehow fate is involved.
Well, when Charles invited you to the Monaco Grand Prix, that was an offer you felt you couldn't let down.
And, boy, was that the best descision of your life.
To see Charles win his home race like that, and to be there? Just thinking about it now gives you goosebumps. Charles had wrapped his arms around you after the race, his eyes a little damp, and you felt something more.
Like he really cared.
If you didn't know better, you'd say it was like he really loved.
Loved you.
But, no. Of course not. That can't be.
Can it?
Well, all night you partied. You were in on the fun. You also made sure to pay a visit to the Monte Carlo casino, as you obviously must.
You had amazing luck, once again.
On this thought, as you feel Charles approaching from behind you, you comment into the wind, "You know, I'm starting to think you're my lucky charm, honey."
He chuckles, coming up next to you. "Oh, yeah? That's what I said six months ago when I first met you, you know. I've been starting to think the same thing about you."
You snort. "Maybe so, Monaco race winner."
He smirks, and you can feel the pure joy radiating off him. He slips his hand into yours as he murmurs, "I was so lucky to meet you."
I smirk. "I am pretty awesome."
He rolls his eyes, but squeezes your hand. "So, do you like it here in Monaco?"
You nod vigorously. "Gosh, Charles, it's amazing."
"Better than Vegas?"
"Well- I don't know if anything is better than Vegas..."
He leans in closer and speaks lower. "Well, would Monaco be better if your good luck charm just so happens to reside here?"
"Hm..." you smirk, flushing a bit. "I'd have to think about that, prince."
"Yeah," he nod, his tone softer. "Why don't you."
There's some silence, as you watch the sun begin to set, reflecting off the sparkling water.
Charles leans even closer to you, his hands gliding around your waist, pulling you towards him. He leans down, gazing deeply into your eyes. Then that stupid flirty grin appears on his face again. "F*cking gorgeous you are, one in a million. I struck lucky with you. My lucky strike."
He closes the distance between you, his soft lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. The heat of his body against yours sends shivers down your spine, igniting a spark between you as your tongues dance together in a sensual embrace. Connected.
Maybe it's not fate.
But it is most certainly luck.
And in this moment, with the lips of the winner of Monaco sucking on yours, you feel like the one who struck it lucky.
#sports-on-sundays#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 imagines#f1 one shot#formula 1#formula one#formula1#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 x you#formula one x reader#formula 1 x reader#f1 fanfiction#f1 2023#f1 2024#f1 blurb#f1 drivers#f1 fandom#f1 fic#f1 fics#f1 fluff#f1 grid x reader#f1 racing#f1 scenario#f1 scenarios#forza ferrari#ferrari#f1 oneshot#f1 oneshots
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Hey, if you don't mind, can I request some Hazbin Hotel Yandere Head cannons please, if you don't wanna do it, you can skip this ask 🥰
Hell yeah.
PART 2
Charlie🌈🔑
Honestly, Charlie enjoys the pretty things in life. And you are that pretty thing.
You most likely were a sinner
Or she followed in her father's footsteps and tempted you to get you to sin. which is not her thing.
To her, you're her hope, and the only person who she does not want to leave to go to heaven as she wants you to stay with her in hell.
She is really respectful of you and your privacy, but you still have to stick to her rules, like, for instance, her forced affection. It seems innocent at first, but when you look into it, she probably very sweetly and passive aggressively threatened you.
In the bed, she is more of a "let me pleasure you" person, not because she can't feel any sexual pleasure, she just like to makes sure you are taken care of
Singing, lots of singing.
~HELLS PRINCESS~
🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑
Vaggie😇👿
Vaggie is an angel that got left in hell. Like babe, she was used to the peace, but now she is stuck in chaos. She found her peace when she found you.
She is very protective and feels as if it's her job to be up your ass every two seconds, you can't leave without her, you can't eat without her. Let's be real. You can't PISS without her.
She is obviously a dominant bitch. She may seem unsure on the outside, but she, for real, knows what's she is doing.
When you two are in the hotel lobby, she is always looking at you. She is participating, yes, but she is still burning a hole in your head.
~The Fallen Angel~
👿😇👿😇👿😇👿😇👿😇👿😇👿😇👿😇👿😇
Alastor📻🐾
You. Spoiled. Ass. Bitch.
Alastor more than likely fell in love with you when he came to you with a deal, but you did not know that part of that deal was to be his doe.
Now, alastor ain't scared to use pure intimidation on you when he needs you to listen. He has you on a schedule for your whole day.
It corresponds with his, of course.
He chooses your clothes, diet, and almost everything else you do. Remember, he owns your soul. Don't do anything too stupid now...
I know that he is asexual and honestly, I feel as if he won't mind pleasuring you, but you and touch him and he won't touch himself, you get what you want when u do good tho.
All you have to do is ask and day please and it's all yours.
You might be his favorite plaything. Radio is life. Radio is love, but if u begging hard enough, he might get a tv.
~The Radio Demon~
🐾📻🐾📻🐾📻🐾📻🐾📻🐾📻🐾📻🐾📻🐾📻
Husk🃏🥃
Probably the calmest out of all, he plays his gambles fair when be is with you and even teaches you how to hold your own without him.
When you two are alone, he makes you drink with him, and it would be cute if he did not FORCE you to get drunk with him.
In public, you both look like a normal couple...that's how you are supposed to play the game anyway. If you do anything that does not like to play in his favor, and by the end, he can do whatever he feels like with you.
In the bed, he surprisingly ly is softer on you, as he can be a little awkward himself and actually is always looking forward to giving u aftercare so honestly....
Yolo🤸♀️🤸♀️
~The Bartender~
🥃🃏🥃🃏🥃🃏🥃🃏🥃🃏🥃🃏🥃🃏🥃🃏🥃🃏
Angel Dust💋🕷
When you are in public, he is his usual flirty self. Making jokes and sexual remarks about your body, when you are alone it's diffrent.
You have seen him go into depressive fits of rage and see him take many drugs to ease his pain. You are one of those drugs. Holding you helps him cal down, but he still drowns in his thoughts.
When it comes to intimacy, if he had an awful day with Valentino, he takes out his stress on you, not in an abusive way, tho. If his day was great, he was more considerate of your pleasure than his. If he had to have a long shoot and take jobs from his boss all day, he refused to think about sex. It would just make him upset, and when he gets upset, he ingors you a little, just to make sure he says nothing he doesn't mean.
He forces you to go to bars with him and watch him slip away into his sins. But he tries not to be an awful person.
~The Porn Star~
🕷💋🕷💋🕷💋🕷💋🕷💋🕷💋🕷💋🕷💋🕷💋
Sir Pentious🐍🥚
He is hella dramatic. You could run away and get caught, and he'd be like, "How could you leave me like that? You could have fallen in a puddle and drowned".
He is hella unexspirianced when it comes to sex, so he has to bottom. He is a Hella soft yandrre and just wants you to love him.
He makes his eggboi's wait on your hand and foot. He makes sure all your demands have been met.
If you are a newer sinner he is gonna want you to teach him the ways of the you people...don't
He walks around like "What's the tea sssisss"
~The Egg Lord~
🥚🐍🥚🐍🥚🐍🥚🐍🥚🐍🥚🐍🥚🐍🥚🐍🥚🐍
Lucifer🎪🍎
YOU.SPOILD.ASS.BITCH
ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IT BREAT AROUND SOMETHING YOU LIKE AND ITS YOURS
He worships the ground you walk on, and feels rainbows in your presents.
You are his antidepressant.
Hella Clingy and delulu, he sticks to your side and even bathes with you. He chooses your clothes and takes you for nights on the town.
We already know how he probably is in bed...he bacicly told us....bro stole both of Adam's bitches sooo...have fun with his godly stamina
He marries you immediately and is trying to force you to take the title of Queen of Hell, but you just keep refusing him, he won't give up tho.
You are never leaving, so just let him super glue that crown to your head.
~The King Of Hell~
🎪🍎🎪🍎🎪🍎🎪🍎🎪🍎🎪🍎🎪🍎🎪🍎🎪🍎
Ahhhhh, my first post in a while. If you are wondering why I did not do nifty, well I was not really comfortable with it, I know she's an adult, but she is just built like a kid, and I refuse, I still love her character tho.
Request: Open
#hazbin hotel#yandere#yandere hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel lucifer#lucifer morningstar#alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#angel dust#hazbin hotel husk#nifty hazbin hotel
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I'm gonna be blunt and say that I really don't think a lot of people kinda get these two characters. Sure, yeah, there'll be people like "Psshh no?? Me?? I know exactly who these guys are" and like, yeah maybe you do. Maybe you'll read this while nodding your head and whatnot. Maybe you won't.
Either way, I think there's a decent amount of people who don't...get Qibli and Winter. I mainly see it in shipping stuff. I know it's kinda idiotic to go looking for character stuff in shipping-- you know what?? No. I think it's perfectly sound logic to try and look for meaningful character writing in ship stuff, especially with fanfics. I've got that aroace mindset where I can only comprehend a ship if it has a clear and exact thematical and character-driven purpose.
Anywho, I think there's something to be craved with how Qinter is talked about in the fandom. I think there's something in general to be desired when discussing Qibli and Winter in general (or, hell, most of the characters) or other ships they're in, but I want to discuss Qinter mainly as a means to view them through the lens of a relationship. Some sort of duo and pair. Two young dragonets trying to survive.
Winter and Qibli come from incredibly similar backgrounds. That sounds ridiculous at a first glance, but when you think about it, they do. They both were raised with terrible parents who held them to an unrealistic standard that neither really wanted to be.
Winter was forced to become a child soldier and be the best of the best, despite his best rightfully not being absolutely perfect and having a ton of heart and soul in him. Ironically enough, his sheer loyalty to his friends that he displays later would be commended in the IceWing army, but is only looked down upon because he's showing anything other than pure apathy at existence and disgust when confronted with the other tribes. Winter is a kind soul who was shaped and twisted into becoming somebody far meaner to fit the idea of what his parents wanted him to be. It's a mask he wears to fit in. To be at least be tolerated by the dragons he only wants the approval from.
Qibli was raised in the slums of Scorpion Den. The back alleys and dark, seedy streets that are avoided. He had to fit the build of a thief. A petty pickpocket that lurks around like his family, doing nothing more than swiping whatever goods they could get their hands on. Qibli was kind and sweet, which obviously was a terrible sin in the eyes of his family. Like Winter, this planted a seed of wanting to be loved, although to a significantly larger extent than Winter felt. Qibli became obsessed with the idea of being loved as he hated being seen as nothing. He wanted nothing more than to be praised and admired because of just how neglected he was. So, he pretends to be somebody likable. Somebody who others care about. A mask to conceal the dragon he feels can never be loved.
Because of their backgrounds, they feel at odds when they're introduced to one another. Qibli is the laid-back jokester type while Winter is snarly and angry. Thanks to Moon's powers though, we get a look into them even before their book.
We see that Qibli is paranoid and his brain is constantly trying to predict others. He's always in a state of stress and fear, putting on a performance to try and be liked and see which dragons are the biggest threats to him. He's never gotten used to living outside of the crime-filled Scorpion Den, and the memories of childhood where he had to lay awake thinking that some dragon who his mother stole from will murder them all in their sleep remain. He's scared and afraid.
Winter managed to convince himself that he is this mean and nasty dragon, but really he's not. There's moments of hesitancy in MR from him. He's also just. generally not really that much in the wrong in the book. Sorry my Winter Apologist side is coming out but y'all hate too much on a character who was just kinda mean for some random dragon he only knew for a couple days at most by then doing stuff that was very suspicious. Yeah obviously Moon is the protagonist and we like her and know the full context, but Winter?? He doesn't know anything!
I digress however. They're in. not the best of states. Sure, yeah, Qibli had ran from Vulture and Cobra and was now Thorn's adoptive son of sorts, but he was obsessed with Thorn to the point of almost blind worship. He hailed her as some grand dragon because he had never been loved before. Being loved by somebody felt incomprehensible. He wants to repay it since he feels like he doesn't deserve it.
Winter on the other hand has just gotten away from a terrible situation, where his family more or less just hates him. They hate him so much it's not even funny. Winter had gotten Hailstorm, somebody who Winter loved and admired, was stolen away by the SkyWings and presumed dead for years because of him. He blames himself. He constantly thinks that he should've been the one taken away instead. He doesn't see himself worthy to live, especially not compared to Hailstorm. Hailstorm is charming, smart, strong, and better in every capacity to Winter. How could he ever live up to that?
Their shared flaw is that they feel inadequate. They feel as though there's something inherently flawed with themselves, something that they need to hide away. It was shaped because of their similar backstories, where they were neglected and abused and put down because of them never being able to meet the unreasonable expectations placed on them. Because of this trauma, their personalities in the present are shaped to try and fit in.
It's only by being with the Jade Winglet do they begin to unlearn those habits. I would imagine that, in moments where they chat with each other for the first real time (not fighting or anything), they...notice how alike they are. Like holding up a mirror to themselves. Despite how differing their personalities are, they feel one in the same. The other side of the coin.
It's why I think Qinter really works as something more than a cheap means for comedic relief. They bounce off each other really well and in an interesting way, which makes for their interactions feeling a lot more meaningful when they put away the act and show and are genuine. I honestly think that they would want to help each other out. They see themselves in the other and don't want them to feel like they have to do this, but they can't even save themselves.
It's only with time however. Healing is a process. It's sure as hell hard to do it all alone. It's why I love a lot the themes of friendship and togetherness in arc 2 especially. All of the POVs learn how to be more confident and sure of themselves through their friends. I just wish that Qinter was talked about in a more intellectually stimulating way than "yellow boy laughs at blue boy for being angsty teen"
#I wrote this mostly for the Wiki to see since I'm about ready to start tearing flesh from people's necks with my teeth#over the sheer amount of Qibli hate that ultimately amounts to “he's annoying and an overthinker :/”#You guys don't unNnnNNDERRRRSTANNNDDDD#sp-rambles#wof#wings of fire#qibli wof#winter wof#qinter
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Make You Wish Chapter Five -- The Conversation
Pairing: Alastor x Reader
Warnings: None that I can think of but please correct me if I am wrong.
Word Count: 1,324
Previous Part: Chapter Four -- Vox
Master Lists:
Master Lists
Hazbin Hotel Master List
Make You Wish Master List
A/N I promise I will get to the rest of the requests soon, I've just had a lot of people asking for part five of this series.
The shadows released Alastor and Y/n in his old studio. They melted into the ground around them as Y/n smiled brightly, her eyes traversing the familiar space.
"Happy to be back?" Alastor asked, watching her excitment fondly and Y/n nodded.
"I most certainly am. This is the most fun I've had in ages."
"More fun than murder?"
"Fucking with Vox like that? Definitely more fun than murder. That was the funniest thing I've seen in a long time."
"That's why you're lucky to have me around."
"Hey, you're the one who left, not me. You don't need to convince me I like spending time with you. Rather, you are in a need to be proving your care for me I should think."
"Am I, my dear?" Alastor crooned, leaning in slightly with his hands behind his back.
"Yes, you are."
He laughed.
"Well, I will have to get on that."
As Alastor approached the desk, his horns sprouting in shadows from his head, she made her way over to the corner of the space covered in of pillows and blankets. Hitting the pillows, they released a cloud of dust. Y/n shrugged slightly, waving the dust away from her nose before sitting down.
Alastor held his microphone to his mouth, recommencing his recording.
"Lets begin." Alastor announced as he sat down in his chair and began fiddling with the knobs on the table, "I'm gonna make you wish that I'd stayed gone, tune on in."
Y/n spotted her old crocheting project she'd started seven years before and smiled. Taking it in her hands, she began to continue her previous work.
"When I'm done, your status quo will know its race is run." Alastor continued, his demon form becoming even wilder and sharp at its edges.
"This will be fun." Y/n mused, watching him carefully.
Alastor turned to her, his smile sickeningly wide.
"Yes, it will be."
It was just like the old days. Alastor broadcasted his show while Y/n watched, working on whatever craft project was nearest to keep her hands busy. There was a deep seated comfort rising in her soul, a sense of belonging she hadn't felt in years.
Every once in a while over the course of his show, Alastor would turn his head back towards her. Y/n wasn't sure if he was checking in or making sure she hadn't left. Either way, she didn't care. After about three hours, Alastor at last signed off.
As soon as he hit the button that stopped his broadcast, Y/n placed her crocheting to the side. Getting to her feet, she walked over to him and took a seat on the desk, smiling brightly.
"What did you think, my dear?" Alastor asked, leaning back in his chair as he looked up at her.
"Amazing as always, Al. I swear, your voice was made for the air waves."
Alastor laughed lightly at this comment.
"I missed it. I missed you."
"I found myself missing you too, my dear. I had become so used to your constant presence, it was an odd thing to suddenly be alone."
"You like me!" Y/n teased in a singsong voice and Alastor smiled back at her, "Admit it!"
"Perchance. So, seven years." Alastor sighed.
"Seven years." Y/n confirmed.
"You work for an imp now? Seems an odd turn of events."
Y/n shrugged, turning her head to look out the window at the street far below.
"Blitzo is a friend. He helped me out a lot when you first left."
"So you joined his little team? How sinful, breaking the law and going to the living world to reap souls for paying customers."
Y/n turned back to him.
"I didn't realize you knew that much about what we did."
"I have my sources."
"Husk? Are your sources Husk? He's the only one that knows what it is I do now from the old crowd."
Alastor didn't reply.
"It's for sure Husk. How is he doing?"
"Y/n." Alastor warned, "Answer the question."
She sighed, kicking her legs slightly.
"I mean, nothing we do is technically legal." she admitted, "None of them have human disguises and our way to the human world is a book Blitzo stole from a fucking Goetia."
"You don't say." Alastor mused, "That would happen to have anything to do with this contract you're under."
Y/n's eyes locked with Alastor in silence. They glared sharply at one another in a battle of will. At last, Y/n relented.
"Yeah. It does."
"So, what is it? Why does a member of the Goetia family own your soul. Why is it that you have fallen so far."
"You really aren't gonna let this one go."
Alastor shook his head.
"Blitzo... well he was friends with the guy. Stolas, one of the Goetia princes in charge of the heavens or some shit. It's... Basically, I made a deal that if Stolas stays away from Blitzo and let us use the book, I would give him my soul."
"How altruistic. Though not unexpected from you, I suppose."
"It was only a few months after you left, Al. I couldn't take him on. Hell, you can't even take him on. He's a fucking Goetia. I did... I couldn't think of anything else. I did what I had to do to keep my friend safe."
"And why did he deserve your protection? He dug his grave and instead of lying in it, put you in."
"It's not his fault. Stolas got all weird with stuff and Blitzo was uncomfortable. There's this big threat of him tattling on us he hangs over our heads at all times. I... Blitzo did so much for me, Al. He helped me pick up the pieces of my life when it was clear you weren't coming back. I've become better now, stronger but back then, it was all I could do for him."
Alastor opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Y/n's phone buzzing.
"Sorry, gimme a second."
Alastor eyed the device in irritation as she pulled it from her pocket. Whatever was on the screen dampened her mood even further than their conversation had. She jumped down off the table, hurriedly typing something out on her phone.
"Shit, Al. I have to go, I'm sorry."
"Work?"
"Sorta."
"Ah. Your deal. Why does he not just pull you to him like a normal demon would."
"Well," Y/n began, sliding her phone back into the pocket of her dress, "first off, he's a hellborn not a demon. And second off he has this weird thing about being wanted? Well, not weird. Everyone wants to be wanted just like, he doesn't want to force me to come. At the same time, he knows if he asks for me, I have to. It's... he's complicated, Alastor. It's complicated."
"I could kill him for you. Make it a whole lot less complicated."
Y/n laughed.
"Thanks hun but I don't think even you could manage that one."
"You could make a deal with me, that would most likley cancel it out."
"And have you own my soul? No, I've seen how that pans out for people. I think I'll pass."
"Just a suggestion, my dear."
"Is it? You've been trying to make a deal with me since I first met you, Al. I feel like you shoulda caught the hint by now."
"It was worth a try." he shrugged.
"Uh-huh. Sure. Why is it you want my soul so badly anyways?"
"No reason. No reason at all."
"Yeah. I totally believe that."
Y/n's phone dinged again and she pulled it once more from her pocket. At the sight of the words on the screen she sighed, her brow furrowing in irritation.
"Pushy pushy." she hummed, "Look, I gotta go. I'll be back later."
And with those parting words, Y/n disappeared through the studio's door.
----
Next Part -> Chapter Six -- Stolas
#x reader#hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbin alastor#x reader fics#alastor the radio demon#hazbin hotel alastor#fic writer#x reader writer#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor fanfiction#alastor x reader#alastor x you#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin#hazbin hotel fanfiction#multi chap fic#multi chapter#make you wish#the radio demon#radio demon#alastor hazbin#radio demon x reader#radio demon x you#x you#x reader fanfiction#x reader fanfic
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There Is More When You Let Go | s2
pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader
summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.
word count: 18.8k
warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, death of a spouse, kidnapping, torture, drug use, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 2x01, 2x05, 2x06, 2x13, 2x14, 2x15, 2x16, 2x18, 2x23
a/n: here's season 2 of the anchor series! I had a lot of fun writing this one (hence why it got so long lmao), and I included a lot more direct show content in this part, so I hope you like it. Also more flashbacks:) Title is from Benediction by Luke Sital-Singh
series masterlist
A gunshot. That's the last thing you hear before Elle's front door flies open, almost throwing you back onto the stairs. The shock of seeing the Fisher King standing right in front of you almost makes you miss the puddle of blood that has started seeping across the floor to your feet.
"Elle," you gasp, your moment of distraction enough time for the man to push you behind him and make a break for it. You fall forward with the force of his shove, but he's much slower than you are. If you ran after him now, you could almost certainly catch up to him, but the sight of Elle bleeding out in front of you makes you immobile.
Making the split second decision to abandon the chase, you throw yourself forward and press your hands against her wound to control the blood flow.
"You're gonna be okay," you tell her, even as her blood trickles out from below your palm. "I need to call for help."
Pressing one hand down harder, you try to ignore the sounds of her gasping in pain as you reach behind you for her house phone. After dialing 911, you hold the phone between your ear and shoulder and bring your hand back to apply more pressure.
The paramedics arrive within five minutes, and they pry you off of her as they pull out a defibrillator. You had been so focused on stopping her from bleeding out that you hadn't even noticed she had stopped breathing. How could you have missed that?
"Charging to 200."
You lean back against her couch as tears leak from the corners of your eyes.
"Clear!"
***
"They took her into surgery," you say when Hotch meets you at the hospital. Your eyes keep darting around, like you're looking for something, but you don't know what.
"What happened?" he asks, placing his hands on your shoulders to regain your focus. The pressure calms you down.
"I think he was waiting for her," you whisper, your throat tightening. "He had to have been. It all happened so fast."
His eyes stay on yours, as though trying to predict your next movement. "I'm glad you're okay."
More agents filter into the hospital and he begins to turn away to talk to them, but then you stiffen under his hands. "I had him, Hotch."
"What?" he frowns, looking at you again. "What are you talking about?"
You lift your hands to your face to brush away a strand of hair, barely noticing the stains all over your skin. "He was right there. The unsub. I could've grabbed him...but I didn't."
Anderson walks over with a question, but Hotch doesn't take his eyes off you. "You went to Elle. It's okay, you made the right choice."
"But the girl he took," you protest, shaking his hands off, "this could have lead us to her, but she's still-"
"You did the right thing," he cuts you off, waving Anderson away to speak with someone else. "It's not your fault."
You grit your teeth, your voice still tinged with guilt. "How do you know?"
"Because," he sighs, running a hand through his hair, "it's mine. I sent her home."
You open your mouth to tell him how unfair that is, but he cuts you off with an order to go wash up before he leaves to explain the situation to the other agents.
The only bathroom on that floor of the hospital is at the end of the patient ward, so you trudge down the hallway and into the single family restroom, trying to avoid the worried glances from all around.
You haven't seen your reflection since before leaving with Elle, and you know it can't be a pretty sight, but the face staring back at you in the mirror is still a shock.
The bottom of your shirt is matted to your skin, and your hands are covered in now-dried blood that looks flaky and dark. When you look up, you see a streak of blood smeared over your nose from when you swiped at your face earlier.
Grabbing a fistful of paper towels, you run them under the faucet before scrubbing at your face and peeling your button down off to rid them of any trace of Elle's blood. When you're sure there isn't anything left, you turn the faucet back on and stretch your hands forward, watching the warm water turn a muddy red color as it swirls around the drain.
Eventually, the water runs clear, but you can still see the blood in your mind. You are suddenly ambushed by a memory you thought you had pushed down long ago. Red blood, cold skin.
How was there so much blood in the human body?
Your department-mandated therapist told you at the time that you would be in denial for the first few weeks, but you weren't denying anything. You had seen his body, seen the blood pooling around him as the coroner snapped photographs for the crime scene report. You knew he was dead. You just couldn't get that question out of your mind.
The memory shifts and suddenly you're seventeen again. You're seventeen and you are reaching for your first aid kit for the second time this month as Hotch sits on your bed with what feels like a permanent wince fused to his lips.
"Hold still," you whisper as you pour rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad and press it into the cut on his hand. There's also blood under his nose and in his teeth, but he doesn't seem to notice.
He hisses as the alcohol makes contact, but he doesn't pull away. He's used to this routine now. You both are.
"I'm sorry I came by so late," he whispers through gritted teeth as he watches your fingers peel open a bandage. You want to berate him for apologizing, for feeling so much guilt all the time, but it's fruitless. It's like he was born with it inside of him, always clawing its way out at the slightest inconvenience.
"Don't be." You shoot him a look that he knows to mean 'be quiet and let me finish this'. He heeds your unspoken order, but after a few minutes, it's you who breaks it. "How did this one happen?"
He looks down and you immediately want to take it back. "You don't have to answer."
He's quiet for a beat. "He was drunk and I cleared his bottle away before he was finished with it."
Your lips thin and you press your hand to his knee, desperately needing to connect yourself to him in some manner.
"I tried to keep him in the kitchen, so Sean wouldn't hear, but I guess the noise woke him up." He takes a deep breath, and you can almost feel the determination entering his body as he sits up straighter. "I couldn't let him get to Sean, so I finally did it. I fought back."
He looks down at his bandaged hand then, and you can see pride accompanying the blood etched into the lines of his face. "I finally fought back."
Your eyes refocus and when you look at yourself in the mirror again, there's no trace of Elle's blood on your body anymore.
***
When Elle is discharged from the hospital, you spend the rest of the break helping her move out of her house and into a new apartment. When you drove her back home, the blood had been cleaned off of her floors, but you could see in her expression that it wasn't enough. This place would always be a reminder of what had happened to her.
The apartment search was quick, only a week between finding a place she liked and signing the new lease, but she saved the actual move out for the last few days of your break, instead hopping between sleeping in your guest room and a motel in town.
That's why you find yourself in Elle's old bedroom on the final Saturday before you're due back at work, packing some of her clothes into a suitcase while she works on clearing her bathroom. She tossed out almost everything she didn't absolutely need, only packing up her basic clothing and a few other sentimental keepsakes from her past.
"What about these?" you ask, holding up a pair of dark wash jeans that you remember her wearing to the bars with you a few months ago. God, has it really only been a few months?
She peeks out of the bathroom for barely a second. "I told you, I don't care. Keep it, toss it, your choice."
You don't know how you feel about being in charge of her future wardrobe, especially since you tend to live in loose jeans and old tee shirts when you're not at work, but you can understand where she's coming from. The instinct to hand off every decision to someone else.
You remember how hard it was for you to even decide what to eat for dinner after Jeff died. You also remember Hotch slipping pre-packed meals into your fridge whenever he came over to keep you company.
It takes you a couple of hours to clear out her house, and another hour to drop her and her stuff off at the new place, with promises to visit whenever you can over the next months of her leave.
You don't realize how exhausted you are until your front door shuts behind you and you collapse onto your couch, still in your dirty clothes. The summer sun is completely below the horizon as you lean back into your throw pillows and grab the tv remote. You haven't used your tv in months, and you figure that a vacation from work is the perfect opportunity to dust it off.
The screen comes to life on a local news channel, where a young reporter with teased-up hair is announcing a recall on a vacuum cleaner brand you've never heard of. She finishes her spiel before handing the mic off to an older woman who starts reporting the details of a car accident that took place in a neighborhood a few miles from yours.
These reports don't usually get under your skin - you have seen enough to know that it happens everyday - but suddenly, you can't stand to look at the crime scene tape flashing on your screen. You don't wait long enough to see what caused the accident. Whether it was a simple mistake, or if it was a drunk dri-
Grabbing the remote, you turn the television off and stand up, shaking your limbs out in an effort to rid yourself of the anxious feeling that's been growing inside of you.
You make yourself a quick microwave dinner and wolf it down in a few minutes, before trudging upstairs and hopping in the shower. You take your time washing the dust off of your body, and only emerge when the hot water runs out.
Even after cleaning yourself off and climbing into a fresh set of sheets, sleep doesn't come easily. The minutes tick by slowly as you stare at the ceiling, and before you can overthink it, you grab your phone off your nightstand and hit the first number on your speed dial.
It rings twice before the line connects. "Is everything okay?"
"What happened to 'hello'?" you ask, huffing out a laugh as you sit up in your bed.
Hotch grunts quietly. "Hello." You can hear the tiredness in his voice, but he sounds alert. You didn't wake him up. "What can I do for you?"
"So I have to need something to call you?"
"Y/N."
"Sorry for wanting to talk to my friend-"
He sighs so loudly, you can practically see his eyes rolling. "Are you going to tell me why you called or not."
"I helped Elle move out today."
That gets his attention. "How is she doing?"
You shrug, even though he can't see you. "As good as can be expected. We threw out almost all of her stuff, you know. She ended up with just a suitcase and three boxes at the end."
"That's just her way of coping, I guess."
"When we got to her house, it was..." You pause for a beat. You don't know the correct way to bring this up. "Well, it was clean. The blood was gone."
He doesn't say anything, and you know you were right. "Hotch, it was you, wasn't it."
He exhales quietly, as though he's trying to control his volume. Shit, maybe Haley's sleeping next to him. This is why you don't call someone after midnight.
"She didn't need to see a crime scene in her own home."
You wonder if he knows how he sounds right now. How caring and compassionate he can be when he doesn't try to tamp down that side of himself.
"You're a good unit chief," you say, leaning your head back against your wooden headboard. "I don't know why you keep things like this hidden."
You do know why, but that isn't what's important right now. There's a small creaking sound over the receiver and you imagine he's getting out of bed and crossing the room. Then the click of a door closing. "All that matters is that it's done."
You can't control the exasperated sigh that leaves your body. "Who are you trying to kid, Hotch? This is me you're talking to. I know how you worry that you aren't setting a good example for the team, but it's things like this that go a long way. It really wouldn't hurt for the team to see you showing some emotion."
"That's what they have you for," he says, his voice tightening the slightest bit. "They don't need that from me. When my emotions get in the way, I can't do my job properly."
You scoff. "And what job is that, exactly?"
"Keeping you safe."
He doesn't need to raise his voice to make you feel his anger. "If I had kept my emotion out of it, I wouldn't have sent her home. I wouldn't have let you accompany her, and I wouldn't have put both of you in danger."
Your hand comes up, rubbing circles into the skin above your chest. "Aaron...that wasn't on you." You can sense his protests coming, so you try a different tactic. "It wasn't on me either. No one but Garner deserves any blame for what happened."
The line is silent for a few moments, and you take the little victory. "I'm sorry I called you so late."
"Oh, it's alright," he chuckles. "You know I was up anyway."
***
She came back too quickly. You can't get the thought out of your head as you watch Elle restlessly tap her foot on the ground as she waits for the final word on whether she will be acting as bait for the serial rapist.
You don't think she's ready, and you've made your opinion known to the team, but Gideon made up his mind quickly.
"You think Elle's ready for it?"
"We'll be there for her."
You watch her vigilantly from Hotch's SUV as she enters the house and drops her keys on the table by the window. She's wired, which is a small relief, but Gideon's instruction not to have her gun on her has you more anxious than you'd like.
"Why isn't she leaving?" Hotch says from next to you, echoing your thoughts.
A car driven by a man fitting the profile pulls up on the opposite side of the street and you hear Morgan dialing Garcia. After a few seconds, he's back on the line. "William Lee. It's him."
"Bingo," Gideon's voice exclaims through your earpiece. "She's on the move."
You turn away from the car and see Elle exiting the front of the house. She glances at the man on her way to her car in the driveway, and it's only then that you notice the gun stuffed in her waistband.
"Her gun's out," you whisper, mostly to yourself. "What's she doing?"
"She's panicking."
"We've got no reason to bring him in."
"Don't blow it, don't blow it."
A chorus of yells echo through your earpiece as Elle stomps down the drive and points her gun at the unsub. "FBI, put your hands where I can see them!"
You throw open the car door and run over to apprehend the man as he fervently denies all of her accusations. "I was just stopping to look at my map."
The police put him into an interrogation room back at the station, where Hotch and Gideon try to get him to confess by showing empathy for this motive. It seems to be going well until his lawyer shows up, putting an end to the conversation.
She's been tense all day, so you're not surprised when Elle blows up. "You're letting him walk?"
Gideon is the first to step in. "Back off, Elle."
"You don't know what he's done," she yells, as though trying to reason with the police. The pain in her voice is palpable, but you can't deny the truth, even if you aren't able to voice it to her.
Hotch doesn't face the same issue. "The only reason he's walking is because you panicked."
"I'm supposed to believe that you've got my back?" she fires back, her anger redirecting to fly in his direction.
"What are you saying to me?"
"The last time you sent me home, Hotch, it got me shot."
All of the air leaves the room. You grab Elle's arm and pull her back, expecting more resistance than you get. "Walk with me."
She follows you across the hall and into a little meeting room that's scattered with evidence bags and files from the case. You let the door click shut behind her before you start speaking. "You need to take a breath. I know you, Elle. I know exactly what you're capable of. You just need to give yourself time to heal."
The fury in her eyes hasn't abated since you apprehended Lee a few hours earlier. You're not sure it will in this environment. "Take a walk. Get some air, and then come back."
She doesn't meet your eye as she pushes past you and storms out of the station.
***
"There's no reason for us to stick around anymore, is there?"
Gideon shakes his head and you purse your lips, glancing at the doors behind you. You haven't been able to shake the feeling that something terrible is going to happen, but you suppose that's a common notion on this team.
"Wheels up at noon tomorrow."
You're walking out to the parking lot with the team when the feeling hits you again. The last time you felt this level of dread was right before you got the call from organized crime just over two years ago.
Your fears are confirmed when Hotch's phone rings with a call from the local PD that they have Elle at Lee's address. The drive over is silent, and even though you're always the first to call Hotch out on his guilt spirals, you can't get the thought out of your head that this is all your fault. You knew she had come back too quickly. Never mind that it wasn't your call. You should've fought it harder.
Lee's bullet-riddled body is like a beacon of your guilt as Elle insists it was cut-and-dry self defense. "I was having a conversation with him and he drew his weapon and I fired."
The police don't let any of you talk to her as they load her into the back of their cruiser, but you know what you have to do if you want to be able to sleep tonight.
"I'm going to the station," you tell Hotch before flagging down another one of the officers on the scene. He moves to stop you, but you sidestep him and level him with a glare that high school you would have been proud of. "I have to do this."
The station doesn't finish processing her until halfway through the night, but you couldn't fall asleep even if you wanted to. When they finally remove her cuffs and bring her out, you stand up from the plastic chair you spent the last four hours in and stretch out your legs.
She doesn't spot you immediately, but when she does, her body almost deflates. "I'm fine, L/N. You didn't have to come here."
She stops in front of you, her jacket hanging over her arm as she stuffs her badge back into her pocket. If you didn't know her so well, you would be surprised by how relaxed she looks. You wouldn't recognize the front she has had up since she stepped off the plane.
"What happened, Elle?"
That catches her attention, and you watch as the mask slips by a hair. "You don't believe me?"
You don't want to accuse her of something you have no evidence of, but you also can't ignore all of the signs in front of you. "Can you really look me in the eye and say you didn't go there hoping Lee would provoke you?"
She just looks at you, and you watch in real time as the mask slides back into place. Without another word, she turns around and walks out of the station.
***
The next case doesn't come until a few days later. Elle gets cleared by the bureau's internal investigation, but you can't imagine Hotch won't tack on a psych eval just to be safe.
"Nicholas Faye of Ozona, Texas, was beaten to death roughly 13 hours ago."
JJ clicks her remote and the screen in the conference room changes, displaying the crime scene photos.
"God," you curse, averting your eyes for a moment. "He's just a child."
"Blunt force trauma to the head," she continues with a forlorn sigh. "He's the second young boy in Ozona to die the same death in the last 2 months. Local hunter found his body in the woods."
Morgan looks down at the case file. "First victim's name: Robbie Davis. Are these boys connected somehow?"
JJ shrugs. "Ozona's population's roughly 2, 500. Everyone has some kind of connection."
"Well if they weren't linked before, they most certainly are now."
Hotch and Gideon's absences from the conference room don't escape your notice, so you keep an eye out for them upon leaving the briefing.
You spot them discussing something in hushed whispers by the coffee station, and you wait for them to finish before you approach Hotch.
"You missed the briefing."
His eyes pinch, and you notice that the lines in his forehead are more prominent than usual. "What is it?"
"Elle missed her evaluation."
Your breath releases like a sigh. "I can check her apartment."
"No," he says matter-of-factly, with a shake of his head. "Gideon wants all of you in Texas for this one. I'll go look for her."
You would normally argue, but the horrific images from the briefing are still imprinted on the backs of your eyelids. "Okay. I'll see you soon."
He leaves you with a nod, and you grab your go-bag before following the rest of the team to the jet.
"You guys see Elle's cleared?" Reid pipes up as soon as the plane takes off.
Derek nods, his lips thinning. "Self defense."
"So it was a good shot."
"She hit what she was aiming for."
Reid frowns. "That's not what I meant."
"I know."
"If they cleared her how come she's not here with us?" You glance up and realize Reid is looking at you. "Or Hotch?"
You don't want to reveal more than is necessary, especially when the situation is this precarious and personal, but you're saved from responding when Gideon turns around and yells, "Focus on the case!"
JJ turns the conversation back to the unsub's motivations, and you all discuss a possible profile until a new female victim emerges that strays from the previous victimology.
Gideon doesn't waste any time delegating tasks. "When we land, Morgan and Reid, go to the new crime scene. The little girl."
He turns to you. "We'll look at the scene where Nicholas Faye was found."
The murder site is so far into the woods, that you can't help but imagine what it would've been like to be the little boy who was brought all the way out here with no hope of return. You can't believe that a young child would come this far out of their way unless they trusted the person they were following. "I think the victims knew their killer."
Gideon seems to be on the same train of thought. "They followed him to this spot."
"What makes you think that?" the local officer asks.
Gideon looks at you expectantly, and you take the invitation with a grateful nod. "Well I guess they went this deep into the woods because they trusted him. He probably stashed his weapon here beforehand. This means we're looking for someone intelligent, methodical."
The police officer accompanying you doesn't look sure of your assessment. "He bashed the kid's head in, it looks like a moment of rage to me!"
"I agree," Gideon muses, turning away and looking further into the woods. "It doesn't make any sense."
After informing the town's parents of the five PM curfew, and the children of the new buddy system in place, you excuse yourself to go call Hotch for an update.
"Anything new?" you ask when he answers the phone.
"I went to her appartment to talk to her," he explains, "but she was leaving with an overnight bag."
Your heart collapses in your chest. "She's running."
"I don't know, I hope not." He pauses for a beat. "I'm following her."
"All right," you sigh, wishing there was more you could do from here, "I really hope I'm wrong about this."
He's silent for a second, and you realize your slip up. "I just mean, I don't want to- I mean, fuck."
"I know," Hotch whispers. You can hear his car starting in the background. "But Gideon's right. She's innocent until proven guilty."
He ends the call with a promise to keep you updated, and you head back to the station, where another child has been reported missing. The missing boy's little brother draws your attention to a local legend that leads you to a Mr. Fennigan's so-called "haunted" house up in the hills.
***
"Garcia," you say into your phone before putting it on speaker and setting it down at the table you're sitting at. After establishing that Finnegan's house was empty, you and team have been searching the property for any indications that he's the unsub. "You got anything for me?"
"Only that Fennigan's house on the hill is like the Bates Motel of Ozona, Texas."
You roll your eyes, even though she can't see you. "We heard the legend from that counselor, Charles I think."
"Be careful, though," she says, her voice going lower as though she's telling a campfire story. "People that go into that house supposedly never come out."
"Garcia."
"But then there is that matter of his missing wife."
Deciding to humor her, you clear your throat and whisper, "Do you think she's still on the premises?"
"I got two words for you, my friend: 'rear window'. That guy probably chopped that lady up into delicious bitesize pieces."
You suppress a laugh. "Pen, do you really think that's gonna scare me?"
She huffs and you grin, tugging open one of the drawers next to you and peeking inside.
"You're no fun. Reid was scared shitless."
"He's just afraid of the dark," you smile, before your eyes catch on something bright under the table beside you. "Garcia, I gotta go. And cut Reid some slack."
"No promises, Mama."
You tuck your phone away and reach below the table, where you find a small pink backpack with the last victim's name scrawled on top in Sharpie. "Guys! I found something."
The clues from Finnegan's house lead you back to Charles, the town's guidance counselor, and then to his son, who the police are able to catch in the act of luring away Tracey Belle, another young girl. You don't relax until she's back with her parents, and even then, there's still a tension in your shoulders.
Cases involving children never get easier, but you can't help the kinship you feel to little Tracey Belle, who had the same look in her eyes that you recognized in yourself when you were ten years old. You don't remember your mom's funeral much, mostly because you were so young, but also because the whole day was a blur. The few flashes that come back here and there are your father's eyes, red from crying, and the cold gray of the headstone that you visited with him every year on the anniversary until you graduated.
The plane ride back is morose, and no one looks up from their reading material until it's time to disembark. Hotch isn't at the office when you drop off your case file, so you rub the exhaustion from your eyes and drive home.
There's a figure sitting on your porch when you pull into your driveway, and you're a moment from panicking when her face comes into the light.
"I turned in my badge," Elle says after you lock your car and walk up the steps.
Something twists in your gut, but the one emotion you aren't feeling is surprise. "Do you want to come inside? How long have you been waiting?"
She shakes her head, and you give her some time to formulate her thoughts. After a minute, she meets your eye again. "You were kind to me."
You don't know what to say, but you can see the change in her since just last week. She already looks lighter, and you can't help but think about how heavy the job can be. It's a weight on each of your lives that never seems to let up, and while you're going to be sad to see her go, you understand. It's the right choice.
Elle presses her lips together before curving them into a small smile. "You supported me after...after Garner. I'm gonna miss you."
You smile at her, even as your heart fills with sadness. "i'm going to miss you too."
Her body shifts like she's making to leave but then she turns back one last time. "You're too good for him, you know."
You get the sense that you know what she's referring to, but it's not something you can acknowledge without sending a flare shooting up your spine. She nods once, like that's all she wanted to say, and turns away into the night. You blink your eyes closed, squeezing them tightly as though it will somehow make the last few months a nightmare you can wake up from. But that's not how this works.
You give yourself a minute to pretend, but when you open your eyes again, she's gone.
***
The case that takes you to Golconda, Nevada feels almost unique to Gideon, as he takes each of the unsub's decisions personally in a way you haven't seen before.
Once you give the profile to the local police, the sheriff, Georgia Davis, leads you to a woman with a story to match the previous victimology.
"Jane," she says softly as she walks into the holding area at the back of the station. "These people are from the FBI. I'd like you to tell them your story."
Her story takes you through a tale of alien abductions and young love, but the kernel of truth underneath sounds awfully similar to the unsub's M.O. Her eyes still shine with a childlike tenacity that you don't usually see in other victims of such prolific and disturbing killers.
"Her subconscious mind has created a delusion that she was abducted by an alien," Gideon sighs after Sheriff George sends you all out of the room to let Jane rest. "She didn't show him the fear he wanted, so he let her go."
When it becomes clear that he is still in town, you disperse around the local R.V. park in search of his vehicle.
Hotch pairs you with Emily Prentiss, the new agent who joined the team after Elle left, and you welcome the opportunity to speak with her more than you've gotten the chance to since she arrived.
"How have you been settling in?" you ask her as you both stroll along the edge of the R.V. park.
"The team has been very welcoming," she says as she continues to scan the vehicles around you. "I'm just glad to be joining such an accomplished unit."
"That's kind of you," you smile, noting the extreme focus in her eyes. Her intelligence and intense concentration on each of the cases you've worked made much more sense when you learned about her history. Her background must have sparked more than a few nepotism claims over the years, so you don't mind letting her overcompensate, if it means she will prove to herself that she deserves to be here. "Everyone seems to like having you around. I certainly don't mind."
She shoots you a smile that you return by patting her forearm comfortingly. You were worried it would be hard for another agent to settle into the space Elle left on the team, but Prentiss has made easy work of it. She has the same humor as Derek and Penelope, and you've seen how well she gets along with you and JJ. Even Reid has welcomed her with open arms.
"This team is kind of famous," she says after a moment, piquing your interest.
"Oh?"
She shrugs, turning into another row of vehicles. "You've all been through so much, but it just seems to have made you more of a family."
When you first joined the team, that was all you wanted. You were by yourself, completely alone, and the team had become your family in the blink of an eye. It was exactly what you needed. These days, you're not so sure anymore. More family just means more people to lose.
"Can I ask you a question?"
You look at her with a nod. "Yeah, of course."
"It's about Agent Hotchner."
You should've figured. Every new agent tries to vie for his approval, until they realize it's not something you can force. "Yeah?"
She sighs, and you can tell this isn't something she wants to be talking about. "I don't know if I understand him. You're the only person who seems to have his ear. I guess I'm just wondering how I can do the same."
"I got his attention and respect through decades of friendship," you say, watching her eyes widen as you speak. "But he's not the enigma you may think he is. Showing off won't help your cause, but working hard and doing your job well is all you can really do."
She nods, taking in your words. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."
You smile, bumping her shoulder to lighten the mood. "Don't worry about him. He knows your worth, I can tell."
Prentiss leans against you for a moment before shaking out her legs and turning back to the lot. "I don't think the unsub is here. We should meet up with the rest of the team."
Once Gideon puts it together that the unsub is hiding out somewhere in town, Hotch suggests that you all turn in for the night, but the older man doesn't want to listen.
"We could wait till first light, Gideon," he stresses, turning his body to stand between him and the officers. "It's gonna be dark soon."
"Do what you like," Jason grunts, shoving past him. "I'm gonna find him."
Hotch starts to go after him, but you step forward and put your hand on his shoulder. "Let him go. Maybe the walk back to the station will help clear his head."
He sighs heavily, and you know it's all the agreement you're going to get right now. "Let's head over there too. He needs our help if he wants to crack this before morning."
The stress lines on his forehead are almost as noticeable as they were the day Elle left the bureau, and you grab his wrist as he tries to turn away. You raise your eyebrows, knowing he'll be able to read the question written in the ridges of your face. How are you holding up?
Hotch rolls his neck to the side, stretching it out after what has been a very long day. When he looks back at you, you wait for a nod that comes after a moment. Alright. Been better, but alright.
Back at the station, the work is slow going, and you don't feel like anyone is helping with how uptight Gideon is acting. The air inside the small building has started to feel suffocating, and you finally get your chance to escape when Sheriff George grabs her car keys.
"I'm gonna take Jane home," she tells you when you approach her at her desk. "It's been a long night, and she needs to sleep in her own bed."
"You need to rest too," you say, noticing the droop of her eyes from sheer exhaustion. "Go home, Sheriff. I'll take her back. I remember her address from earlier."
She doesn't look convinced, so you lean in with a smile. "It's getting really stuffy in here. I need some air too."
That's all it takes to satisfy her, and she pats your arm with a nod before handing you the keys to the cruiser and walking to the exit.
You only see Morgan as you pick Jane up from the holding area, so you tell him you'll be back in a half hour and head out to the back lot.
"How long have you been living in this town?" you ask Jane as you make the short drive to her house.
"Since I was a teenager," she says dreamily, her eyes gazing out the window.
"You never wanted to live anywhere else?"
She shakes her head profusely. "Why would I? This is where I can be found."
You frown at her words, but it's not the oddest thing she has said today. When you arrive at her house, you park the cruiser out front and lead her up the porch steps, where she slowly unlocks the front door. "Do you want to come inside?"
You figure it wouldn't hurt to scope out the place, so you accept her invitation and follow her inside. "This is a beautiful home, Jane." Trinkets are scattered everywhere, and rudimentary sketches cover the walls.
"Thank you," she responds from another room. "You're very nice." You follow the sound of her voice to her kitchen, where she is struggling to lift a pitcher of juice from her fridge.
"Here, let me help you," you say, taking it from her and setting it down on the little breakfast table in front of her stove. "Do you have any cups?"
She walks over to a cupboard across from you, and you unclip your side-holster and set it on the table until the sound of a footstep behind you makes you spin on your heels.
You're assaulted by the sight of a tall, white man, who you immediately recognize from Gideon's profile earlier that day.
"Jane!" you yell, inching toward the table where your gun is. "I need you to run."
"Come with me, Jane," the man says, ignoring you completely. You use the moment of distraction to reach for your gun, but he's quicker than you. A sharp pinprick of pain shoots down your neck as your hand knocks over the pitcher of juice and your limbs suddenly feel like they weigh a million pounds.
"Jane, he's a murderer," you yell, hoping your voice doesn't sound as quiet as it does in your head. Your vision is already blurry, and you wish Reid was here to distract you by spouting off a list of fast-acting drugs from memory. "Jane, run!"
The last thing you hear before you black out is the sound of hurried footsteps receding into the background.
***
None of this makes sense. As each minute ticks by, he can't shake the feeling that they are missing something that's right under their noses.
"JJ just called," Morgan says, walking back into the station with his phone waving in his hand. "Apparently an anonymous caller called the tip line and claimed they saw an R.V. driven by a man who fits the description we gave to the media."
Hotch frowns. "Claimed?"
"Well, not a single R.V. or trailer has passed through any of the roadblocks."
Morgan's words click in his brain, and he instinctively glances beside him as an idea forms, but you aren't there. Now that he thinks of it, he hasn't seen you in over an hour.
"Who does the number belong to?" he asks, shifting his focus back.
Morgan is about to respond when Deputy Silo runs into the office, shoving past the other cops in his way. "We got a call from outside Jane's house. I think it was from the unsub."
Hotch stands up immediately, grabbing his jacket and gun, but next to him, Morgan stills, his face going slack.
"We need to head over there now," Hotch says, listing off a few instructions to the deputies nearby. Where are you?
"Hotch."
"And have some of your guys check in town," he continues, "in case he took her with him."
"Hotch."
He turns around. "What is it?"
"L/N drove Jane home."
His heart drops.
***
Just stay for a few more minutes, Jeff implores, his fingers dancing over your arm as you try to sit up.
You laugh as he tries to pull you back into the bed. I can't, I have to go into work.
Just five minutes, I promise. He pouts as you slide your legs out from under the covers. Three. One. One minute, please. I miss you.
I miss you too, you sigh, pressing a kiss to his lips. I'll see you tonight.
His hands reach up to caress your face, like he always does in the mornings. Cupping your cheek with his palm and running his fingers through your hair.
You settle into the feeling, wishing you had more time to just lay in bed with him. But you don't. Because Jeff's not here anymore.
Your eyes snap open right as the unsub tapes your mouth closed.
***
His hands grip the steering wheel as his SUV barrels up the small country road leading to Jane's house. He can't seem to press the gas pedal hard enough, and Reid's incessant foot-tapping in the backseat is driving him crazy, even though he understands the anxiety coursing through his body.
He beats Deputy Silo to the house, and flies out of the car without waiting for the other agents to open their doors. He's not sure what he's expecting to see inside as he pulls his gun from his waist holster, but he doesn't give himself a chance to think about it before kicking the door in.
"What the hell are you doing?" Morgan yells from behind him as he checks around the door and makes his way through the small hallway. The house is silent, aside from the footsteps of the agents behind him, but the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears is almost deafening.
"Clear," he shouts after checking each room up to the kitchen. When he steps inside, there's juice all over the floor, and he spots the pitcher on its side beside the fridge. Juice, not blood.
His eyes flash to the table and his breath catches in his throat. He would recognize your holster anywhere, especially since he was with you when you bought it.
What do you think? It's not too bold, is it?
I definitely wouldn't mess with you.
"Why didn't she reach for her gun?" he wonders out loud.
"Because she couldn't." He turns around to see Reid holding up a large, empty syringe he found under the table.
He can't take his eyes off the juice on the floor, splattered everywhere as though someone had knocked it off the counter. The image of Elle's blood spilled all over her living room is still fresh in his mind, and he can't get over how easily the dark red cranberry juice seeping into the floorboards could have been yours.
Growing up, it was a common occurrence for you to patch him up and wash the blood off his skin, but there was only one time when he had to return the favor.
He still remembers the proud glint in your eyes after you had literally head-butted a man who had grabbed you in a college bar by Georgetown. Already a year into law school, he would've thought you'd have more forethought than to injure yourself in the hopes of getting back at the jackass, but once he saw your bloody grin, his annoyance had fizzled away.
"What on earth were you thinking?" he had asked as you stuck a scrap of napkin up your nostrils to control the flow after the head-butt broke a few blood vessels in your nose. He hadn't seen you much throughout undergrad, but he was glad that you hadn't changed too much, even if it meant you were just as wild as before. "I'm getting you ice."
A few minutes of angry haggling later, he returned to your side with a small bag of ice that he held to the bridge of your nose. Nothing he said could have ruined your mood that night, especially since the man had been kicked out of the bar and banned for life.
"Did you see the look on his face?" you had asked, your eyes twinkling behind the quickly melting ice.
"I did," he sighs, before breaking into a grin. "I'm just glad that your future law degree will give you another method of retaliation against scumbags like him."
You had laughed then, causing a few drops of blood to spray out of your nose, but all he could think about as he jerked back to avoid the mess was how happy he was that you were back in his life again.
Hotch flies back to the conversation happening around him, his brain refusing to let him imagine the worst case scenario.
"Those footprints," Morgan is saying as he starts listening again, "they got to be Jane's."
Reid nods, following along. "They go to the back."
"She escapes. The unsub knows the ketamine's gonna wear off, so he's got to act."
"No," one of the deputies says. "He hasn't got what he came here for."
His voice returns to him all at once. "So he took Y/N for leverage."
"He thinks we have Jane. Which means he wants a trade."
"Whatever he wants, we need to find Jane and your agent fast."
His agent. He feels sick at the thought of whatever that man is doing to you. "Garcia can track the phone number from the anonymous caller. You go to town, we'll find Jane."
***
Your eyes are blurry as you try to clear the fogginess in your head from whatever he injected you with. You can see the shape of the unsub moving around the room, and you squint your eyes to get a better look at the anatomical posters and drawings on the walls.
When your vision begins to focus again, the man comes toward you with a smile. "You're awake." He reaches forward to check the tape on your wrists and you try to jerk away from him, but your body is still flowing with the drug. You can't move as he brushes your hair behind your ear and smiles down at you, a sinister lack of emotion in his eyes. You stop trying to move, realizing it's no use. He's been doing this for years. Mutilating women. Cutting them to pieces.
You can feel your heart rate increasing, and you try not to look at the knives and saws littering the tables around you in an effort to keep yourself calm. Your team is looking for you. Derek knows where you went.
When he grabs your arms and starts lifting you off the makeshift operating table you were lying on, you try to scream, but the tape just pulls at your lips, tearing at the thin skin underneath.
Your eyes widen as he drops you into a metal coffin-like box, but he just looks at you with a shake of his head. "No need for that," he tsks before closing the lid over you, enveloping you in eery darkness.
***
Reid and Prentiss help him inspect Jane's house further for clues as to where the unsub could've taken you. The wind chimes of rib bone blowing in the breeze on the front porch catch his attention almost immediately.
His chest feels tight and he clears his throat. "He's obviously been here before and left these gifts for her."
"How romantic," Prentiss grimaces.
"Well, his version of romance."
Prentiss frowns. "What, are you trying to say you think he keeps coming back here because he's in love with her?"
"That's impossible," Reid interjects. "A sexual sadist can't feel love."
"Well," he says, "define love." He doesn't know if he can. He knows he loves Haley and Jack. He likes to think he always wants to be with them, but when a particularly excruciating case arrives on his desk, his desire to catch the bad guy trumps everything else in his mind. He knows he will always try to protect them from anyone or anything that wants to do them harm, but is that love?
It must be, because he feels the same instinct to protect you, but it manifests in him differently.
"Chemically, it involves surging brain elements called monoamines, dopamines, norepinephrine, and serotonin."
Of course that would be Reid's answer.
He continues rattling off a list of foods that contain these chemicals, and Hotch tunes him out, turning back to the house. They're missing something, they have to be. It's not until they spot a small trailer out back that it clicks.
***
You don't know how much time passes until the effects of the drug finally wear off enough for you to rub your wrists together to loosen the tape around them. The noises outside the coffin stopped a while ago, and you assume the man has left, likely to resume his search for Jane.
When the tape finally breaks, you let out a relieved gasp and let your arms rest for a few moments, before you begin slamming your fists into the bottom of the lid. It doesn't budge, no matter how hard you pound at it, so you change tactics, instead clawing your fingers at the seams in search of a hinge or screw you can loosen.
You're still trying to pry open the lid when you hear a muffled voice speaking outside the coffin. Despite your determination to stay calm, your heart squeezes in your chest as you bring your hands up to fight back in case he opens the lid. You feel someone slide your box across the floor, before opening the top and flooding your eyes with light.
When you adjust to the brightness, you see the familiar faces of Hotch, Reid, and Prentiss standing above you, and you almost cry with relief. Hotch reaches down with a small "thank god" and pulls you up and out of the coffin. Prentiss carefully peels the tape off your mouth, wincing as some of the skin of your lips comes away with it.
When you're standing up again, your legs give out as the fear leaves you, and you collapse into Hotch.
He catches you easily, holding you against him tightly as you shake from the sheer relief of being found before something irreversible happened. You're acutely aware of your teammates watching you hang onto your unit chief as though your life depends on it, but you can't bring yourself to let go.
It's only after your hands stop shaking that he finally pulls away.
***
When you return from Texas, most of the team heads straight home, but Gideon hangs back, calling you into his office.
"How are you doing after today?" he asks as you shut the door behind you and take a seat in front of his desk.
"Fine," you say simply, looking him straight in the eye. You're not sure exactly what you're feeling, but it definitely isn't fine. The few times your eyes fell closed on the flight back, you could still feel Frank's fingers pressing the tape onto your face.
Gideon scrutinizes you for a moment, his brow crinkling as he waits for you to elaborate. You can appreciate his intention, but you really don't feel like talking about it right now. Not when the memory of the cold metal on your skin is still fresh.
"Okay," he concedes after a minute of silence. It's not really a concession - you can already hear him recommending you for a psych evaluation - but it's enough for the moment. "You don't have to do it right away, but you need to eventually fill out an incident report. I can get you the paperwork now, but I mean it, take your time."
He reaches into his accordion file folder and pulls out a sheet of paper that's mostly blank, except for a few lines at the top. "Just hand it in to me or Hotch when you're done."
You accept the paper and leave his office, with a promise to head home soon. You heard his suggestion to finish it in your own time, but you can't imagine coming back to this at a later date.
Dropping into your chair, you lay the paper down on your desk and read over the form. The first section is the same as every other form you've had to fill out at the bureau: name, date, badge number.
The second half is just one line of instruction before a vast sea of white space. Describe the incident in detail.
Images from Frank's workshop flash in your mind. A roll of silver duct tape. A bloody washcloth. A rusted scalpel. Nothing you can effectively put onto paper.
The words don't come, even as the lights in the hallway automatically turn off, and the hushed voices from the nearby offices go silent. You eventually stand up to shake out your legs and get another coffee, not because you need it to stay awake, but because it feels like the normal thing to do. The idea of sleeping just takes you back to the darkness of the coffin, and a shudder runs through you as you pour yourself a cup and dump the muddy remains of the pot in the sink.
You're about to head back to your desk to fruitlessly stare at the form for a little while longer, when your eye catches on a small lamplight from Hotch's office at the top of the stairs. Gulping back a mouthful of stale coffee, you toss the rest in the trash and grab your report before hiking up the stairs.
"You're still here?" he asks when you knock on his door and push it open. "I thought you left hours ago."
The same question Gideon asked you earlier is etched into his face, but you know he won't voice it just yet. He was always good about knowing your boundaries (and when to push them).
"I could ask you the same thing," you smile with a shrug, before flopping down into the chair by his desk. "You really need to replace this chair, by the way. It's horribly uncomfortable."
He snorts quietly. "It's a perfectly fine chair."
You laugh, the sound quickly turning into a yawn.
"Go home," he stresses, dropping his pen and fixing you with a pointed stare.
"You first."
"I have work to do."
"So do I."
He looks down at the paper in your hands. "Gideon gave you the form already? I was going to give it you in a few days."
"I'm glad he gave it to me today," you say, before dropping your eyes with a sigh. "I've just been having some trouble finding the words to describe what happened."
"You don't have to do it now..." he starts, but you cut him off.
"I do. I don't want to come back to this later. I need to finish it now, while I still can."
"Okay," he accepts after a moment. "Then take your time. I'll be here."
You fall into a comfortable silence as you bring your pen back down and start writing.
***
He doesn't finish his own paperwork until well after midnight. When he looks up from his reports, you're asleep, your head resting on your crossed arms over his desk.
He would normally wake you and tell you to head home, but you look so peaceful for the first time in too long. Haley and Jack would have gone to bed hours ago, so he figures it won't hurt to stay with you for at least a little while as you get some much needed rest. He can't imagine that sleep has been coming easy - he saw you shaking yourself awake each time you closed your eyes on the plane - so he lets you slumber.
He still hasn't gotten the image of you with your hands and mouth taped out of his head, and he doesn't know if he ever will. When your legs had given out, his arms had instinctively shot forward to grab you before his brain could catch up. He can barely look at the bandages on your wrist now, where the tape rubbed your skin raw.
Standing up from his chair, he slides his suit jacket down his arms and steps around his desk. Being extra careful not to wake you, he drapes it over your shoulders and lets you sleep.
***
Hotch gives you the next week off, but the quiet solitude of your house is too much to bear with all of the memories swirling through your brain. You know he would have called you if there was a case out of town, so a few evenings later, you find yourself in your car, driving over to the Virginia field office.
When you walk into the bullpen, it's empty aside from Reid at his desk and Prentiss at the coffee station. It's late, and you assume Reid is just taking some notes down from the last case, but you aren't sure why Emily is still here.
"Hey," she says when she sees you sit at your desk. "Don't you have the week off?"
She looks exhausted, but you understand where she's coming from. The urge to overcompensate for being new. For not being the agent you're replacing. You felt it with Gideon when you were transferred here. She likely feels it with Elle.
"I needed to get out of the house," you explain, adjusting your seat and settling back.
"I hear that," she says, before putting a lid on her coffee cup and grabbing her bag. "I should actually go home for once, but I'll see you in a few days."
Spencer doesn't look up from his notepad until the sound of the door closing behind Emily jerks him from his stupor.
"You're here," he states, as though he's not sure if he is supposed to be asking a question or not. "What are you doing here?"
You shrug, smiling at him. For a genius, he can be kind of clueless sometimes. "I wanted to see you guys."
"Oh," he says, placing his pen on his desk, "well, it's just me here."
You grin. "Works for me."
That makes him smile slightly, but it falls in an instant. "I'm glad you're okay."
Your heart leaps into your throat. "Thanks, Spence, me too."
You expect him to return to his notes, but he just looks down and back up again. "Are you? Okay?"
You frown, more out of a lack of understanding, but he starts backtracking immediately. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't press-"
"It's fine," you reassure, pressing your lips together. "It's what everyone's thinking anyway."
He doesn't say anything for a moment, so you continue to fill the silence. "You just can't let the stares get to you."
"How, though?" he says after a beat. You're not sure what he's asking, but the confusion you're feeling must be mirrored in your expression, because he elaborates. "Ever since my mom came here for the Garner case, I feel like everyone has been looking at me, with all this...pity."
Your chest squeezes as you think about all of the lingering stares that followed him around in the week after Garner killed himself. Even Morgan couldn't hide his shock when Mrs. Reid showed up at the field office. "Have I?"
He shakes his head, and your chest relaxes with relief. Spencer glances up at you, and he looks so young for a second. "You're one of the few who hasn't."
"I guess I just understand the stares better than anyone," you sigh, feeling the familiar ache as your memories return to you in flashes.
You hear him suck in a breath as the realization dawns on him. "Agent Adler..."
You nod and Reid gives you a second to take a breath before he continues. "He was my instructor once, you know. At the academy."
You smile as your eyes shine with unshed tears. "Yeah, I know."
There's this kid in my hand-to-hand combat seminar.
Kid?
He can't be more than 20, maybe 21 years old. But the kid has guts.
You remember those nights before Jeff joined organized crime so fondly these days. The calm before the storm.
"He never treated me differently."
You look up with a sad smile, the memory receding as Spencer shares his own. "Hotch made me take a few physical training classes at the academy after I joined. All the other instructors acted like I was a joke, or a prank being pulled on them...but he never did."
That doesn't surprise you. Jeff was so nurturing and kind, much better than you ever were before you met him.
"I really miss him sometimes," he whispers softly.
You reach forward and press your hand on top of his. He doesn't pull back. "Me too, kid."
***
You can't remember the last time the team went out together. There was one night, what feels like years ago, when you all got dinner together after an especially cut-and-dry case that ended within the first day you arrived on scene. When the cases are long and hard-fought, it's not the same; everyone bolts the minute the jet hits the tarmac.
Tonight, something feels different. There hasn't been a new case in a couple of weeks, and everyone seems lighter.
"I'm back," Haley smiles, carefully setting two drinks down on the little high top table you are crowded around. "Spicy marg for Emily, and mojito for me."
You're still nursing the old fashioned you ordered a half hour ago, and Hotch is only halfway through his pint of Guinness.
"How are they treating you at the BAU, Emily?" Haley asks, before putting the straw in her mouth and taking a large sip.
"She means is he being nice to you," you grin, cocking your head at Hotch as he shoots you a look of mock-offense. You know I'm right.
He flashes his eyes. And?
"Everyone has been incredibly nice," she says with a smile as a waitress approaches you with a drink in her hand.
She sets it on the table in front of you and glances behind her. "That man over there bought this for you."
Haley starts hooting before the waitress has a chance to leave the vicinity. She's definitely starting to feel her mojito, but you would never judge her on her one night away from the baby.
"That was weird," you say, hoping you don't look as awkward as you feel.
Haley leans forward and grabs your hand, an earnest smile on her face. "You should go talk to him! Only if you want to, of course."
"Yeah, it's your night off," Emily agrees, shooting you a smirk over the rim of her margarita.
"I don't know, guys," you say, sliding the drink to the center of the table.
You can tell Haley isn't done encouraging you to have a wild night, so you brace yourself for the pounce, but thankfully, Hotch stands up just as she's opening her mouth, and takes her hand. "Come on, honey, let's go show them how it's done."
"Oh!" she smiles, her face lighting up as she follows him onto the dance floor. "You ladies don't have too much fun without me."
"Wouldn't dream of it," you grin, before downing the last of your original drink.
Emily watches them shimmy into the crowd, her chin resting on her palm. "They are so sweet."
"They've been that way forever," you agree, glancing back over at them as they dance lazily in the center of the dance floor. Haley's movements are a bit looser as she slides through his arms, but he keeps a firm grasp on her hand, keeping her upright even when it looks like she may fall.
He still looks at her the same way he did in high school, when he saw her at that first rehearsal for Pirates of Penzance. There's so much wonder in his eyes, like he's seeing her for the first time, every time.
***
You should be happier right now. You're done with high school, sitting in a sea of green caps and gowns with all of your friends, but all you can think about is how soon he's going to be gone.
You're going to be at different schools next year. Him at Harvard, you at UCLA, opposite ends of the country, for four years. The gravity of what that means didn't sink in until this very moment, the worst possible timing, because you're supposed to be happy right now.
"High school couldn't end fast enough," the girl next to you grins, her cap decorated with the glittery letters of the school she will be attending next year. "I'm so ready for all of this to be over."
You're not. You force your lips into a smile and let yourself glance a few rows up, just for a moment. When it's just the back of his head, you aren't confronted by the confusing emotions that have been swirling around your brain for the last few months. Of course you would realize you're in love with your best friend a semester before school ends. But that isn't the only reason your timing couldn't be worse.
You wave at your dad in the crowd, you is wearing more school colors than even you are, and he waves back enthusiastically. It distracts you for a moment, but then you face the front again, and your eyes are drawn back to the same place.
He turns back then, with a grin meant just for you, and your heart flutters like it's in a butterfly enclosure. You smile back, more genuine this time, but his attention shifts behind you after a quick nod. You don't have to turn back to know who he's looking at in the stands.
You shouldn't be surprised they got along so well, you practically set them up. After their first date, he seemed lighter than air, giddy with the impatient brush strokes of a first love. The look in his eyes now is the same as it was that day.
How did it go?
I'm gonna marry that girl one day.
You don't know why you had just assumed he was joking around. Hotch never joked about things like this.
Eventually, he turns back around in his seat, and you stare at your hands as you clasp and unclasp them over and over and over again until you no longer feel the cavity in your chest where your best friend used to be.
***
The next case comes in as you're working on your second drink. JJ corrals everyone at the bar into taxis, and sends you all off to the airport where the jet is already fueled and waiting.
"You missed a fun night," you note as Gideon climbs into the plane, a few minutes after the rest of you arrived.
"I had a good time," he says simply, before sitting by himself a few rows over. He hasn't spoken to you since he gave you the incident report, but you know it's not about you. Being forced to let Frank get away was hard on him, but you don't know how to assuage his guilt about your kidnapping if he won't even look at you.
Derek flips open his case file and huffs out a breath. "Well, good time's definitely over."
"The Kyles," JJ says, beginning the briefing as the plane takes off, "Dennis and Lacy were murdered an hour ago in their suburban Atlanta home."
You look up, assuming you heard her wrong. "Only an hour ago?"
"Police were on scene unusually fast," she nods.
Derek frowns. "Why?"
"One of the unsubs called them and told them that the other was about to murder the victims."
Prentiss lets out a humorless laugh from across from you. "You're kidding."
"From inside the house."
JJ scans the file again. "According to the dispatcher, the first male sounded terrified and begged them to get there before the other, who they both identified as Raphael, was about to kill the sinners that lived there."
Gideon enters the conversation with a confused frown. "Sinners?"
"Also, when they arrived, the police found this displayed prominently on the bed." She holds up a photo of a page that looks torn out of a book.
"Revelations, chapter 6, verse 8."
Gideon sighs. "They're on a mission. And mission-based killers will not stop killing."
***
Gideon was right, as he usually is. The killings don't stop, and videos of the murders are posted online, spreading the killers' message for them.
"JJ, why don't you and Reid go out there, see if you can find Mr. Hankel and see if he remembers something."
"On it."
Garcia calls almost immediately after they leave. "There's a new video from our psycho."
Hotch stills. "Get it on the monitor here as soon as you can."
The police officer you met at the first crime scene joins you, Hotch, and Morgan in front of the computer as the video appears on the screen. The first thing you see is the dirty mattress. Then come the dogs.
You avert your eyes as the woman's screams for help fill the room.
"Jezebel's death," Hotch whispers, almost to himself.
"My god," Morgan grimaces. "You can turn it off."
The officer suddenly leans forward. "Oh, wait."
"You haven't seen enough?" Morgan asks, disgust coloring his tone. He has two sisters, both of whom he protects fiercely. You can't imagine what he's thinking about as he watches the screen.
"Those dogs," he says, his voice growing in strength as he speaks. "Those three dogs attacked someone a couple of months ago. I would have had them impounded, but the victim knew the owner."
"You have the owner's name?"
He checks his notepad, flipping through it rapidly. "Hankel."
Your blood runs cold. "Hankel?"
"Tobias Hankel."
You're on your feet before he can finish saying his name.
***
The drive to the Hankel farmhouse is filled with hand wringing and nervous leg bouncing. You keep catching Hotch glancing over at you, but you don't care. You just need him to drive faster.
When he pulls up in front of the house, you and Emily throw your doors open before he can come to a complete stop. Hotch and Gideon head toward the house, so you lead Prentiss and Morgan over to the barn, where you can hear the faint sound of panicked breathing.
Lifting your gun and flashlight, you push open the barn door and are greeted by the sight of JJ pointing her gun at you. "JJ, it's L/N, Prentiss, and Morgan. You're okay."
She looks frenzied, her hair and clothes covered in a layer of sweat and grime. When her flashlight comes down, you notice the dead dogs on the ground.
"Tobias Hankel is the unsub," she gasps, stumbling over to you.
"We know, honey," you whisper, taking her arm and leading her outside, before glancing at Emily behind you. "Call an ambulance."
She nods and rushes over to the clearing in search of better cell signal as Derek steps forward, his face still twisted into a worried frown. "JJ, where's Reid?"
"They just completely tore her apart," she babbles, her eyes still frantic even as you put your hands on her shoulders to steady her. "There's nothing even left-"
"JJ, look at me."
Her eyes snap over to Morgan, and he brings his voice down again. "Where's Reid?"
"We split up," she says, her voice still tight, but slightly calmer. "He said he was going to go in the back."
"House is clear," Hotch calls from behind you, making you spin around, your mouth twisting with dread.
"So where is he?"
JJ's eyes glance back at the cornfield behind the house, and suddenly you're running. You can hear someone calling your name, but all you can think about is Spencer with an unsub who's idea of torture is biblical and cruel.
There are two sets of footprints in the dirt by the edge of the field, but after a few feet, they turn to drag marks. Oh no, oh god no.
***
The whole team - except for Reid, your brain keeps reminding you - sets up in Hankel's house, with even Garcia joining you on the scene to limit communication time.
You can't sleep as you alternate between reading Hankel's journals and hovering over Penelope's shoulder as she pores through his downloaded images and videos. Even as exhaustion pulls at your eyes, you periodically splash your face with water from the bathroom to keep yourself up. If anyone can understand how terrifying it is to be taken by a psychotic killer, it's you. Succumbing to sleep feels like a defeat, like you've given up on him.
You don't find anything useful until after Emily and JJ return from meeting with Tobias's N.A. sponsor, but in the sixth hour of scouring his journal, your brain clicks with a realization. "Guys, some parts of this journal match his father's handwriting. But they were written after he died."
"The bedrooms upstairs..." Gideon mutters, his eyes shifting up like they do when he's thinking. "One of Tobias's personalities may be his father."
Your brow furrows and you look down at the journal in front of you even as your eyes burn with fatigue. "Then who is Raphael?"
"My guess," Gideon sighs, "a mediator between the two."
Hotch looks at you, and you can see the concern etched into his face. "We need to start profiling Tobias's father. He may be the one who chose where to take Reid."
Morgan nods. "I'll get Garcia on it."
He leaves the room and Hotch comes over to the table, where you're still staring down at one of the journals. Your hands are covered in pink half-moon indentations where your nails were pressed, and he fights the urge to take you away from here, to save you from this hurt. "You should get some rest."
"I'm fine, Hotch," you whisper through gritted teeth. He can hear the worry in every word that leaves your mouth. The terror at the prospect of losing the team's youngest profiler.
"You didn't sleep at all last night," he points out gently.
"Neither did you."
You're not wrong. He didn't get a chance to shut his eyes either, but he's used to the sleepless nights. He supposes you are, too.
Your focus returns to the journal, and you don't notice as he slips out of the room and finds Gideon by the front of the house.
"Reid's brilliant," the older man sighs when he notices Hotch, almost like he's trying to convince himself. "He'll make it."
"I take advantage of Reid for his brain," he says softly, "but I never teach him how to handle things emotionally."
Jason shrugs. "Lead by example."
"What kind of example is that?"
For a bunch of criminal psychologists, you all still have no idea how to truly deal with losing people. Maybe that's just how life works. He thinks about the weeks after Jeff's death, when he wasn't sure if you would ever be okay again. Even as he held you while you cried, and promised that you would feel okay someday, he's not sure if he ever actually believed it.
But then one day, your eyes stopped shining at the mention of his name, and you no longer fell apart after each time you had to question a victim's widow.
Even after your mother's death, you were stoic. He remembers holding your hand at the funeral, but your grip was almost stronger than his, like you were holding him up with your sheer willpower to stay upright.
Seeing you now, he's not sure what will happen if Reid doesn't come back. He just knows he doesn't plan on finding out.
He and Gideon rush back inside when Garcia's voice frantically calls for everyone to look at Hankel's monitors. His eyes squint inadvertently as the video feed of Reid tied to a chair lights up the screens in front of them, almost like his brain is trying to block out the image.
Your hand flies to your mouth, but not before a small anguished sound escapes. "He's been beaten."
"This is for us," Garcia whispers, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He knows we're here."
"I'm gonna put this guy's head on a stick," Morgan spits out, before turning around and slamming his fist into the room's wooden door.
Gideon leans closer to the screens, clearly trying to take in any detail he can from the scene. "Why can't you locate him?"
"He's rerouting to a different I.P. address every 30 seconds," Garcia explains, her voice thick through the tears. "I can't track him."
***
The screens shut off and the video feed of Spencer is gone. Penelope starts frantically typing away at the keyboard, likely in an effort to regain the signal, but it doesn't seem to be working.
Your body feels heavy, like there are weights on all of your limbs. Realistically, you know it's mostly the stress and exhaustion, but you can't stop thinking about the frightened look on Reid's face and how he must be feeling.
When you walk back through the house, the sound of a hushed argument in the kitchen catches your attention.
"JJ, what do you want from me?"
You recognize Morgan's voice, and you almost turn away to give them some privacy, but something in JJ's voice as she responds keeps you at the door.
"I just...I want someone to tell me the truth."
"The truth is one of you is here, and one of you isn't. You gotta figure the rest out for yourself."
You're walking inside before you can stop yourself. "Morgan, go help Penelope with the video file."
He looks surprised when he sees you, but he doesn't argue before leaving the room.
JJ rakes a hand through her hair as you approach her slowly. She doesn't shy away as you stand next to her, so you reach out and squeeze her forearm once before pulling back. "I was terrified when Frank took me in Texas."
She looks up with a shocked expression, her eyes finally meeting yours for the first time all day.
"I was terrified," you repeat, "but I never lost hope, because I knew you guys would come for me, no matter what."
Her eyes crinkle with sorrow and you pat her arm again, almost as much for you as for her. "I didn't blame anyone for what happened to me, JJ. Reid isn't blaming you either."
Her lip trembles, and you pull her into a hug as the tears finally come.
***
"Your team members...choose one to die."
Spencer gasps on the grainy computer monitor. "Kill me."
"Tell me who dies."
"No."
The back and forth continues as Hankel stalks toward him and lines his revolver up with Reid's forehead. "Choose."
"I-I choose Aaron Hotchner."
The room stills.
"He's a classic narcissist. He thinks he's better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23:4. 'Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense. In emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense.'"
Reid's words sink in and you unconsciously reach towards Hotch, but he's already walking out of the room. You follow him into the other room, the rest of the team on your heels.
"I'm not a narcissist," he says, his voice lighter than you're expecting. He grabs a Bible from the table and quickly flips through it, landing on the verse Reid mentioned.
"Come on, look," Gideon urges. "You can't think anything from that. He's not in his right mind, Hotch."
He waves away everyone's concern. "No. Stop. Stop. All right, everybody right now- what's my worst quality?"
No one says anything. You can feel Morgan revving up, so you jump in to start things off. "You're a workaholic."
Your mind flashes back to your hometown's library, all the late nights where you would fall asleep in your chair as he worked away into the early hours of the morning. His home was a trigger after his father died, and you could see the guilt eating away at him as he realized he didn't miss his dad as much as he was supposed to. As much as Sean did. The guilt that wore him down as he struggled to figure out how to be there for his brother, when he couldn't understand his pain.
He nods at you then, and there's nothing but determination behind his eyes.
"You're a bully," JJ chimes in.
Morgan adds, "You can be a drill sergeant sometimes."
Hotch is still nodding. "Right."
"You don't trust women as much as men," Emily says, her voice wavering slightly.
"Ok, good," he says, tapping the page with his finger. "I'm all these things, but none of you said that I ever put myself above the team, because I don't, ever."
"Hotch, what's your point," you whisper, chewing your lip as you anxiously glance back at the screen.
He shushes you with a wave of his hand. "Reid and I argued about the definition of classic narcissism, and he knew that I would remember that, and he also quoted Genesis, chapter 23, verse 4. Read it."
You lean forward, taking the book from him. "'I am a stranger and a sojourner with you. Give me property, forbear a place among you that I may bury my dead out of my sight.'"
"He wouldn't get it wrong unless it was on purpose."
"Bury my dead," Morgan repeats, his eyes widening. "He's in a cemetery."
***
Hotch heads to the nearest cemetery with Morgan and Gideon, while you follow closely behind, with JJ in the seat next to you and Emily in the back. The drive is short, and you all throw yourselves out of the SUV when you park, as everyone spreads out to search the cemetery.
"Come with me," you tell JJ when you see her eyes flit around the darkness, a slightly panicked expression on her face. "We'll find him."
The wet mulch of the graveyard sinks under your quick footsteps, and you keep your eyes peeled as his name choruses around you, from all of the officers milling around.
The search ends with the sound of a gunshot, and when you get to the source, you nearly collapse with the relief of seeing Hankel on the ground as Reid kneels beside him.
"Spencer," you gasp as the other agents examine Hankel's body. He looks up at the sound of your voice and his face contorts for a second as you kneel in front of him.
A small sound leaves his mouth and suddenly your arms are crushing him to you, your panic ebbing away with the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "You're okay. You're okay."
Hotch reaches out when you break apart and helps him up before Reid pulls him into a tight hug that surprises everyone. "I knew you'd understand."
Hotch tightens his arms for a moment, before they both pull back and JJ throws her arms around Reid. "I'm so sorry."
He pats her back, and for a split second, you can almost imagine he's comforting her, instead of the other way around. "It's all right. It wasn't your fault."
She steps away from him and he asks for a moment alone, so you all move back a few paces, allowing him the time to come to terms with the death of the man who somehow both tortured and saved him. You use the second of space to catch your breath as you will yourself not to let the tears of relief fall.
When Spencer finally stands up, you grab onto his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you, and you help him over to the ambulance that is waiting by the edge of the cemetery.
"Thank you," you gasp as he sits on the edge of the vehicle, suddenly unable to help yourself.
He frowns, his hair hanging in sweaty pieces in front of his face. "For what?"
"For staying alive."
***
The next case takes you to New York, where you find yourself hyper-vigilant as you watch Spencer try to acclimate to the job again. You can't help but notice the small changes in his demeanor, including the snappiness in his tone as he responds to everyone's questions, but you attribute it to the shock of his kidnapping.
After returning from the city, you decide to take some time to complete the paperwork you've been letting slide. Hotch managed to head home at a decent hour for once, and JJ and Prentiss are no where to be seen, but you spot Morgan twiddling his thumbs at his desk, his eyes darting over to peer at Reid almost as often as yours do.
An hour into scribbling out a case report, you head over to the coffee station to refill your mug. It has cooled down since you made it a couple of hours ago, but it still tastes just how you like it.
Burnt, Hotch's voice grumbles in your head. Even when he's gone, he won't leave you alone.
Topping off your mug, you turn around to get back to work and end up bumping into Reid, who looks worse for wear than he did on the jet.
"Shit, sorry," you smile, trying to get him to meet your eye. "I didn't see you there."
"Watch where you're going," he snaps, before stepping around you.
You don't let him get away that easily. Grabbing his arm, you hold him in place as he tries to wriggle away. "Spencer, don't do that. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"
"I'm fine," he says simply, his expression almost emotionless as he glances back at you over his shoulder.
"I'm serious," you say, putting extra emphasis on your words. "I know what you're feeling. I can help."
His expression shifts into one of animosity and something else you can't place. "You don't know anything about what I'm feeling."
His words are like a slap to the face, and he uses your break in focus to tug himself out of your grip and stalk over to the bathroom around the corner.
You press your lips together, willing yourself not to take it personally. He's just been through a horrifying ordeal. No one can expect him to continue on like normal, at least for a little while.
"Something is up with him," Morgan says from his desk, before spinning in his chair to look at the spot where Reid walked away. "He's acting...hostile."
"He's just adjusting," you say quickly, your protective instinct coming out in full force. You close your eyes for a moment to calm your voice down. "This is a normal reaction for what he went through."
Derek doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't press the issue. You don't even know if you're convincing yourself, because you know why this kind of hostility and irritation manifests: when you're hiding something.
You weren't a particularly crazy teenager, so you didn't have much to hide from your parents, but there was one secret you held until you left for college that manifested in your daily interactions. One secret that changed how you acted around your best friend, how you spoke to him, how you even looked at him.
You push the thought away before turning to stare at the bathroom door as it falls shut behind Reid. You know Morgan's right. You just don't know what to do.
***
"Hey, Reid," Derek says, looking at him with a small smile. "What's going on up there?"
He shrugs. "Just thinking of this old friend of mine from Las Vegas, Ethan. Pretty sure he lives in New Orleans now."
JJ called you at home a few hours ago with the briefing and an instruction to pack for warm weather. Wanting to pack light, you threw on the tank top you planned to wear, and a button-down for the flight. A few cursory glances around the jet tell you that almost everyone else had the same idea. Of course, Hotch is still in his suit, and Reid has on a sweater vest that you're sure he won't take off, even if the temperature skyrockets.
"Really?" Derek asks. "You going to give him a call?"
Reid shrugs again, and you absentmindedly wonder if his shoulders hurt from the number of times he has used that motion over the past week. "We grew up competing against each other in absolutely everything. Spelling bees, science fairs. We also both had our hearts set on joining the Bureau but first day at Quantico he backed out."
Emily, who is sitting next to you, looks up with a grin. "He probably just couldn't take the heat."
"It's not really for us to judge, is it?" Reid states, and her face falls immediately.
"Right. My bad."
He hasn't been as irritable in recent days, but sometimes a random response will rub him the wrong way. You find Emily's hand on the armrest and squeeze it once. She looks down at her hand and then at you, a grateful smile on her face.
JJ directs everyone back to the images that were recovered as you approach Louisiana.
"A slaughter like this takes time," you note as you examine the depth and shape of the wounds on the dead man in the photos before you.
"Andrei Chikatilo fantasized that the men he killed were his captives," Reid adds, chiming in from across the cabin, "and that torturing and mutilating them somehow made him a hero."
Gideon nods, looking up from his file. "This city's barely back to life. Something like this could cripple its psyche."
"So," you say, looking at JJ. "Where do we start?"
She sighs. "All of the records were washed away in Katrina."
"With no case files, there's only one place we can start," Hotch says, drawing your attention. "Square one."
The plane lands soon after, and you disembark into the midday heat, heading to the latest crime scene immediately after dropping your bags off at the station.
Instead of a body, there's a very alive man waiting for you all at the scene.
"You must be BAU," he says, reaching out to shake JJ's hand. "Will Lamontagne."
She smiles at him, accepting the handshake. "Hi, Jennifer Jareau,
we spoke on the phone."
The detective is looking at her so intently, you almost feel like you're interrupting something by bring here. "Okay, then. I pictured you different."
You glance over at Emily, who is already looking at you, a smirk on her face.
"These are Agents Gideon, Morgan, Prentiss, and L/N," she introduces. "This is Detective William Lamontagne Jr."
He nods at you. "Appreciate you guys being here."
"Of course," you say, trying to keep the smile off your face as you shake his hand. Beside you, JJ has turned a light shade of mauve that you presently allow her to pretend is just from the heat.
***
"Morgan called," Hotch mentions when you finally meet him back at the station. He hasn't seen you since you got off the plane. "He and Prentiss think the unsub is a woman."
You ponder the idea, your eyes lighting up as the gaps in the profile get filled. "All straight male victims, killed while on a night out at the bars. Always in groups of other men, drinking. A woman would be able to lure them away. That makes sense."
He nods, turning back to the letters from the unsub. He's about to call the rest of the team back in when he notices your forehead crinkle out of the corner of his eye. You look up at him. "Wait, you said Prentiss and Morgan think it's a woman. What about Reid? Didn't he fly out with them?"
He sighs, mentally kicking himself for letting that slip. He doesn't want you worrying about Reid any more than you already have been, but he knows there isn't anything he can do to stop you. "Apparently he missed the flight. They couldn't get ahold of him."
"What?" Your brow furrows with concern, and he quickly interjects to keep you from spiraling. "They will be back from Texas any minute now, and Gideon said he spotted Reid heading over here a few minutes before you arrived. Nothing has happened to him."
"What are you talking about?" you exclaim, before bringing your voice down. "The worst thing happened to him. He's hurting more than any of us can possibly imagine. I just don't know how to help him get through it."
He doesn't correct you. He doesn't say that almost every single member of this team can at least somewhat relate to what Reid may be feeling, including you. Instead, he puts his hand on your arm and says, "You're doing all you can."
You sigh. "And what's that?"
"You're promising to be there when he's ready for your help." He sees the tension visibly leave your shoulders, and he pulls his hand back. "That's all any of us can do."
***
When another body is found in the French Quarter, the plan changes. Everyone disperses in pairs to cover the streets in the hopes of catching the unsub in action.
Even as night falls, the temperature doesn't, and you strip off your over-shirt, leaving you in a pale pink tank top. When you emerge from the bathroom, Hotch is the only one waiting for you outside, with all of the other pairs already patrolling Bourbon Street.
He gives you a funny look when he sees you tying your button-down around your waist, and you bump your shoulder against his with a laugh. "What are you looking at?"
He exhales in a quick burst, before meeting your eye. "You look different."
"That doesn't sound good."
"No," he shakes his head, his eyes blinking shut as he clearly regrets his choice of words, "no, it's good...uh, you look good."
Your stomach flips and you turn your face down to hide the smile that's threatening to appear. "Thanks, Hotch."
He huffs out a laugh before leading you up to the bars, where tourists are bustling around in large groups. The sounds of buskers playing their accordions at the street corners loosens a memory from your brain, and you turn to him with a bright smile. "Remember your first performance of Pirates of Penzance?"
He frowns. "I remember it being my first and last foray into the world of theater."
"No," you giggle, glancing around you periodically even as you continue the story. "I mean, do you remember how that one accordion player tripped and almost fell into the orchestra pit like ten minutes into opening night?"
His eyes light up at the memory and he laughs. "I thought it was hilarious, but Haley was so stressed out the whole performance. To this day, I've never seen that vein in her forehead get so big."
"You were pirate number four," you chastise him with a grin. "She was one of the leads. I hardly think you can compare experiences."
He shrugs, his eyes still scanning the vicinity. He looks like he wants to say something, but then you both notice Morgan and Reid rushing towards one of the side streets and your conversation halts. "Let's go."
***
With help from Detective Lamontagne and his late father, the team is able to catch the unsub right before she kills another man. Once she's in custody, you wait outside by the ambulances, watching from afar as JJ and Will talk by his car.
After a few minutes, she hands him something and walks back over to where you're standing. "I can't believe I just did that."
"What did you do?" you ask, trying not to laugh at how freaked out she looks.
She puts her face in her hands for a second, before looking at you with a sigh. "I gave him my number."
"That's good!" you smile, squeezing her arm. "That's good, right?"
"I don't know," she says softly, her eyes squinting as she looks at you. "He seems really sweet. And he's clearly great at his job. I think the distance just worries me."
"You can take it slow," you tell her earnestly. "This doesn't have to be any more serious than you want it to be."
"What if I want it to be serious? Eventually, I mean."
You can't help but smile at the look on her face. You recognize it on yourself from when you first met Jeff: the excitement of possibility. "Then that's up to you too."
She nods, and you let out a smile. "Let loose, JJ. He seems like a good one, and you definitely deserve something good."
JJ glances over at the police cars, where Will is talking to one of the paramedics. "I hope so."
***
You sit by yourself on the flight home, giving yourself a bit of time to unwind from the case. You don't encounter female unsubs often, but the ones that arise always have a tendency to get under your skin. Maybe it's because their motivations seem so different from the others. Or maybe you just feel bad for them.
You're so zoned out that you don't realize Spencer is sitting next to you until he taps your arm. "Hey."
"Hey, Spence," you smile, trying to keep your tone light so he doesn't think you expect too much. "What's up?"
He looks down for a beat before meeting your eyes. "I'm sorry."
Your heart twists and you press your lips together to keep from speaking too quickly. "You never have to apologize to me."
"I do," he says, shaking his head. "Please just let me."
He looks so strong all of a sudden. You haven't seen him look so steady in months, and it makes your chest feel lighter. "Okay. I forgive you, Spencer."
He nods, making a move to get up, but you don't let him get away just yet. "Just promise me something."
He purses his lips, like he's unsure of how to respond, but eventually he dips his chin into another nod.
"Promise me that next time you feel this way, you'll come to me."
He looks at you with an expression you can't decipher, but it quickly falls into contrition. "I promise."
***
"What are you thinking about?" Hotch's shoulder bumps yours as he sits down on the edge of the desk next to you.
"Nothing," you say quickly. He's not sure why you're lying. He can sniff out your dishonesty from a mile away.
"I thought you and Reid got a chance to talk on the plane last week," he frowns, following your line of sight.
You sigh, turning your gaze away from the younger agent. "We did. I just keep thinking about what he said about the unsub at the last scene."
He's like a drug addict.
It would be almost impossible for him to quit without help.
"All of us knew," he says softly, his eyes turning up, searching for something he can't see. "To some extent, we knew. But he's doing a lot better now. We just have to give him time to trust us with the truth."
Your eyes find his. "How did you know you could trust me? When we were kids, I mean?"
Your question takes him aback. He wants to say something profound, to mention a specific moment when he realized that he could share the worst parts of his life with you without the fear that the world would end, but it wasn't that poetic. All he knows is that you were a kid, and he was too, and the first time you saw the splotches of black and blue painting his skin, you didn't turn away. You looked at him, not with pity or sorrow, but with a strength that he still draws from to this day. "I think I just knew you would always be there."
You ponder his words, your eyes traveling back to Reid, who is flipping through a book he brought with him. He knows there are a lot of ways you could take what he said, but he believes you'll take what you need, because he was telling the truth.
You really were always there for him. Even when you weren't - either because of physical distance or because you were in a fight - he never doubted that you would be there if he needed you.
"Come on," he says after a beat. "Let's head back."
You nod, your mind still a million miles away. "Okay."
***
Friday nights used to be your date night. Jeff would promise to be home by seven, usually with a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers, and you would cook something special together before watching a movie or falling into bed.
After he died, Friday nights became your least favorite time of the week, serving as a constant reminder of what you should have, and no longer do.
Today, for the first time in over two years, you think you might be ready to remember those nights you used to love. Grabbing a bottle of cabernet from your pantry, you pull out a thin-stemmed glass and pour yourself some wine. Your heart thuds heavily as you swirl the wine around, and you are willing yourself to bring the glass to your lips when your pager goes off. You feel a shameful sense of relief as you set your glass down and reach for your purse.
181 Arthur Street. Why does that look familiar?
You wrack your brain for a second before it clicks. It takes you less than a minute to toss your wine into the sink and grab your coat.
***
"Where's Gideon?" you ask when you spot Hotch and the team standing in his kitchen.
"He's not here," he replied. "It seems he left in a hurry."
Morgan looks at him with an urgency you recognize in yourself. "PD thinks he did this?"
"They have six witnesses who saw him running down the street covered in blood, wielding a gun."
"Okay, he was probably chasing the son of a bitch who did do this."
Hotch shrugs, and you can feel the momentary helplessness in the motion. "Either way, we're under strict orders not to get in the way
of the investigation."
"Gideon's a suspect," Emily nods, "we're his colleagues."
"Conflict of interest," JJ agrees. "There's no way they'll ask for our help."
"Which he needs badly right now."
You turn into the bedroom to look at the crime scene for the first time. The mutilation of the victim's body brings a familiar nausea to your stomach that you swallow down. "Do we know who she is?"
Hotch comes in behind you. "An old school friend." He turns back to spout off a list of instructions to JJ, but you can't take your eyes off of the woman.
Evisceration of the torso. Removal of various organs. No defensive wounds.
Something in her hand catches your attention and your eyes flicker down to see what she's clutching. Using one of your gloved hands, you pry open her fist and reveal a broken piece of bone. A rib bone.
"Frank," you whisper, almost to yourself. "It's Frank."
"What did you say?" Morgan asks, stepping up next to you. You unfurl your hand to reveal the bone, and he swears under his breath. He turns around to address the rest of the team. "Frank's back."
After JJ snaps a dozen photos of the crime scene on her phone, you all head out into the night air to regroup and formulate a game plan. You hang behind the team on the walk out, your mind spinning with memories of hands and voices you still see sometimes when you're trying to fall asleep.
"Y/N." Your eyes snap up to Emily's as she strolls alongside you. "You okay?"
She looks sincere, and you find yourself wanting to talk all of a sudden. You nod, heaving out a sigh. "Yeah, it just feels very fresh all over again."
"I can imagine." She takes your hand and gives it a small squeeze. "You can come to me if you need a break from all of it."
She leaves you with an earnest smile, and you realize, not for the first time, how glad you are that she's on the team.
***
You aren't able to save Rebecca Garner this time. Frank kills her, and you once again feel that familiar bitterness of nausea rising in your throat as you see her mutilated body.
When you realize he's going to go after children again, you join Hotch and Morgan as they go to Tracey Belle's house.
"We need a crime scene team," Hotch barks into his comm when the home comes up empty, no trace of anyone inside.
"That's my house!"
You turn around and see Tracey's parents running up to the entrance, panic reflected in their eyes.
Hotch steps forward to block them. "Mr. Belle..."
"You have to let us in. My daughter's in there."
He turns to the mother. "Ma'am, you can't go in right now."
"Where's Tracy? Where is she?"
You can see the interaction pulling him down, like a ship anchored to the sea floor.
"What's important to know right now is Tracy is alive, okay? Your daughter's alive."
S.W.A.T. takes the parents aside to explain the situation to them in more detail, and you go to Hotch's side as a pained expression crosses his face. More than anything, you want to comfort him. To tell him that Tracey isn't Jack, that this won't happen to him...but how can you?
Gideon's girlfriend was murdered tonight. Jeff was killed while undercover. Your mother was killed by a drunk driver. No one is ever really safe.
Your eyes flash back over to Mr. and Mrs. Belle, and your chest tightens almost uncontrollably as you imagine how scared Tracey must be.
When Emily and JJ find Jane in a holding cell at the local precinct, her knowledge of Frank's backstory provides more clues about his whereabouts. You go with JJ and Reid to his mother's apartment in Manhattan, while the rest of the team heads to the train station to find Frank.
The idea of Tracey being all alone, frightened for her life, plagues your every thought as the three of you drive to the city. You try to clear your mind as you push through the front door and check for any sign of life. Instead, what you find is the dusty corpse of Frank's late mother.
"Guys, over here." Reid points to a latched door. Stepping around the bed, you immediately unlock the door and throw it open, revealing the tiny, shivering form of Tracey.
"Oh, sweetie," you gasp as sits up in fright, her posture only relaxing once she sees the FBI vests. "You're okay, honey."
You undo the ties on her wrists and she all but falls forward and into your arms. You pull her into a tight hug, making sure to be careful of any possible injuries she could have sustained. The feeling of her chest rising and falling against yours brings you a familiar comfort, and you squeeze her tighter, before finally letting go.
***
He finds himself in Strauss's office again as he explains what happened with the Frank case. How he killed himself and Jane, but he can't bring himself to take that as a failure, because he knows she never would've found the strength to leave him anyway. "Once again, the team has battled a monster and won."
"The future of the BAU is not in the balance here." Her eyes are brimming with scorn. "The residual impact as a result of the investigations into the crimes and criminals you pursue is. Every cause has its effect."
He almost scoffs. "You think I don't know that?"
"I believe you are no longer effective in your post."
There it is. He knows she never liked the way he handled his team. The next words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. "The modern furniture, strategically placed magazines, the framed diplomas, the art on the wall are all in conflict with your family photos."
Her eyes widen but he just continues, undeterred.
"You have three children, but you favor the middle one, your son."
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Of course you love all your children," he shrugs, "but not like your son."
Strauss twists her hand into a fist. "That's enough."
"The bonsai that you obsessively nurture is to compensate for feelings of failure as a mother..."
"Agent Hotchner," she says, her voice bordering on rage. "I said that is enough. My position is not in question here. As your superior I am questioning your ability to lead your team."
"My team?" he scoffs, unable to keep the malice from his tone. "Let me tell you about my team. Agent Morgan fought to protect his identity from the very people who could save him. Why? Because trust has to be earned and there are very few people he truly trusts.
"Reid's intellect is a shield which protects him from his emotions and at the moment his shield is under repair.
"Prentiss overcompensates because she doesn't yet feel she's a part of the team. She needn't worry.
"Every day, Agent Jareau fields dozens of requests for our team. And every night she goes home hoping she's made the right choices.
"Garcia fills her office with figurines and color to remind herself to smile as the horror fills her screens.
"Agent Gideon in many ways is damned by his profound knowledge of others, which is why he shares so little of himself. Yet he pours his heart into every case we handle.
"And Agent L/N," he pauses finally, taking a moment to find himself again, "she has taken the immense loss that life has handed to her and transformed it, not into cynicism, but into empathy, for her team, for the victims, for the world."
Strauss doesn't say anything, and he can't help the vindication that shines through his voice as he says, "I stand by my actions and I stand by my team. And if you think that you can find a better person for the job, good luck."
"Agent Hotchner," she emphasizes, making him look back at her one last time.
"How do I know you favor your son?"
She simply looks at him, a mixture of irritation and shame on her face.
"I'm good at my job."
***
"What's wrong?" Hotch looks up in surprise as you sidle up next to him. He was staring at the portrait of the FBI director, hanging in the hallway outside the bullpen, and he only does that when he's professionally stressed.
He looks like he wants to avoid the question, but you fix him with a glare that makes him sigh. "We're being evaluated."
"Doesn't that happen every year?" you ask, still not understanding.
"It's six months early."
You take a deep breath. This past year has been tough for everybody, but you think the team has come through the other side better people. "So they're assessing our unit. It'll be fine, we did great work this year."
"The only file they didn't request was mine."
That sends a spike of anxiety through your bloodstream, but he doesn't need your fear. "They could never fire you. You stepped up to the plate when Gideon left. You helped make this unit what it is."
You're the reason I joined at all, you want to say. You made this unit my family. I can't imagine being here without you.
But that isn't fair. He doesn't need to carry this with you. This burden of having no one else.
So instead you just smile at him, bump his shoulder with yours, and say, "You're going to be fine. This team wouldn't be the same without you."
TAGLIST: @citrusiove, @distortionbobble, @sanayikes
(message me to be added!)
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#hotch x reader#hotch x female!reader#aaron hotchner#hotch#criminal minds#penelope garcia#spencer reid#derek morgan#jennifer jareau#emily prentiss#jason gideon#elle greenaway#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner series#criminal minds series#criminal minds season two#hotch fic#criminal minds fanfiction#anchor series#anchor
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Happy Holidays! I hope yours are peaceful and joyous.
I would do dastardly things for more identity/porn/gender-is-a-side-dish WWX like the Lady MO story (omg or time travel!!!), but I also love love love your story about Zag and the Prince's court and him helping people 😍 (living blood?). And I also want to read more of FMA Ed in the desert evacuating people (?) and Roy expecting him to be a monster. Ugh and I was just going back through your masterlist and forgot about the series about Godric, but I can't find the name and don't want to run out of time!!! If the untamed still sparks joy, I would love to read a continuation of one of those stories!! If not... dealers choice? Thank you so much for sharing your writing with us!
a continuation of 1 2 3 4
Salazar hasn't had much interaction with the Ravenclaws. His father considers them to be old fashioned, which is the nicest way he's ever called someone poor. Salazar doesn't think the family is particularly poor, even for their status, except perhaps in relation to the level of wealth that marrying his mother gave his father access to.
Or it could be the way certain members of that family never seem to quite manage to give his mother the respect she deserves. Salazar isn't particularly inclined to judge the lot of them based on the actions of a few, but that's not a trait that he got from either of his parents.
Rowena could go either way, considering she's burst down their door and is looking to curse his best friend inside out for the great sin of giving in to his mother's desire to arrange his marriage.
As if he could have stopped her. Salazar wouldn't cross Lady Gryffindor for all the gold in his vault. Godric does it occasionally, as he is the favored son, but certainly not over something like his marriage.
He can tell by Helga's grin that she's far less wary of Rowena, but that's probably because she's delighted when someone manages to take Godric down in a fight. She's disinclined to do it herself unless he really irritates her - beating respect into him is apparently not sustainable.
Personally, Salazar has found it the quickest way to get Godric's head of his ass, but playing mediator between Godric and Helga just ends up with the both of them pissed at him. He's learned to leave them to it.
"Slytherin," Rowena says slowly and Salazar tenses, readying himself for a comment about his father and his choices, then she says, "You've been traveling with him. You know where he is then?"
If anything, Godric's been traveling with him. There are idiots looking to die on his friend's sword everywhere and the books he and Helga are hunting down are significantly harder to find.
"He's at the tournament now," Helga says. Salazar rolls his eyes. "You can probably petition to swap in for his next opponent if you have a personal grievance."
Rowena's eyes narrow. At him, for some reason, even though he hasn't even said anything. "I thought you were his second?"
"I am," he says, then waits for the comment about his scholarly reputation and lack of public duels.
"He's at the tournament," she says slowly, "and you're here."
Salazar tries to think of a way to put this delicately.
"Have you seen the idiots that live around here?" Helga scoffs. "He's not going to need a second. Frankly, he could win with only using his wand or his sword. Subjecting them to both almost seems cruel."
Ah, Helga. A lack of growing up among nobility has left her with all the subtlety of a curse between the eyes.
He wishes he didn't find it endearing, but he wouldn't get along so well with Godric or Helga otherwise.
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certain deangirls just frustrate me so bad. like. the ones who insist with their entire chest that dean loves sam more than sam loves him. even just talking early seasons. to see sam leaving for stanford as a betrayal to dean and proof that he loves him less is so. him leaving for college wasn't about dean. it was about wanting something better for himself than what hunting had to offer. him being able to want something more for himself than what he had with dean and john is not a betrayal. to claim that sams ability to endure misery is directly correlated with how much he loves someone is cruel and a terrible perspective to have on any relationship.
and in season 4, to claim that he chose a demon over his own brother while in the midst of having an active addiction problem, and to take that and make it about his loyalty to DEAN is so. that is so biased and evil. you should not see sams violation of his own autonomy as a betrayal to dean. i know the show likes to think they do in the later seasons but the choices sam makes do not all have to center around dean, and that still doesn't mean he loves him any less! viewing it through that type of lens will certainly make it look like he does, but that is objectively the wrong way to interpret any of sams arcs.
when it comes to season 8 i'll say a lot of the same stuff i said about sam leaving for stanford in the first place. while yes i do think him not looking for dean was slightly out of character, it is still unbelievably cruel to think of sams ability to endure pain and claim it marks the level of which he loves someone. especially when he takes on the trials this season, and the entire narrative thrown on sam is his newfound notion that pain purges sin. to have that level of misery thrown in your face (these trials are purifying me) and still insist that if sam is actively fighting against something that is making him miserable (staying in hunting) it's proof he never loved dean that much anyways is awful!!! and that whole "non-agreement" line in which bobby says that he and dean promising not to look for each other was just something that was said and it should've been obvious he was meant to look for dean. don't even get me started.
season 9 is the last season that i think people use as evidence for this. sams claim that he "wouldn't do the same thing for dean." and really. i guess i don't expect dean letting gadreel possess sam to be seen in any other light at this point. sam said he wouldn't have done the same thing for dean because he literally wouldn't have!!! there is nothing that can properly convey the absolute level of violation that that was, especially when sams entire storyline is about his struggle for autonomy. it was a selfish decision on deans end, as is most of the way that he loves sam. it is just so frustrating to see this arcs that revolve specifically around sam turned into evidence of how much he does or doesn't love dean, because that is literally the opposite of what they're about.
i could move onto later seasons as well and talk about how dean is outwardly abusive in them, but that would just be dean slander and that's not what i'm trying to do. the entire point of this post is that tying all of sams decisions to how much he loves dean is wrong and you fundamentally miss the entire point of sam as a character if you view the story through that lens.
sam's ability to endure misery is not directly correlated with his ability to love.
#sam winchester#spn#supernatural#dean critical#i don't even hate dean#i love his inability to break the cycle but i don't think some dean girls even like that about him#i hate when he gets boiled down to a blank slate stand in for whatever ship purpose he has to fill#but whatever#wrote this at 11 am right before leaving for work#i love sam winchester so much#and supernatural is just. better. when you see sam as his own character#yeah
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When it comes to Abigail Marston leaving John in 1907, a lot of people throw mean comments at her, say that she was unfair for doing so and a lot of other things, however I think that people fail to consider the time that this game is set. This is not our modern day woman, this is 1907, and it might sound like I am stating the obvious but by the hatred that she gets it I think it needs to be said again.
1907!
Do you know the rights that women had then? Or the lack of. Women were bound to their husbands, they weren't allowed to own close to anything and were only allowed to vote in about 4 different states, some women that is. Women were seen as a servant to her husband.
It was also hard for women to earn money, the average woman over 16 working in a factory (as the majority was) earned 5-6 or 6-7 dollars a week, a week! Eggs on average costed 29 cents by the doz, a pound of round steak cost 15 cents and half a gallon of milk costed 15 cents as well.
What about rent? New Austin, which Blackwater and the surrounding area is in, is based of Texas which in 1904 had a rent per room pr month of 28 dollars.
So why would Abigail ever go through all of that? Because of John, because of Jack. Abigail stuck around John for eight years, practically begging him to fix himself, to become better because she knew that she was pretty much dependant on him, because she needs his support to be able to live and she wants to give her boy a chance at a better life but she can't with John constantly picking fights and literally putting her and her son's lives at risk.
A lot of people make it seem like she just suddenly took that chocie, but she didn't, it was a choice that most likely took her years not just due to the financial burden but also the social burden that comes with being a single mom in a time where pre-material sex was seen as a death sin. She could very well be killed merely for being seen with Jack and without a husband.
And not just that, but it was probably also a hard choice because despite of everything she loves John, she really does, yes she screams at him for going out with Saide but who wouldn't. "She won't allow him freedom," no she is scared he is going to die, for us it is easy to say "he isn't going to" because he is a main character and we can just redo if we die taking on twenty skinner brothers or whatnot, but it isn't like that for her. I want you to imagine that your partner/friend/parent told you they were going to fight a gang of who knows how many, you are going to be scared no matter how skilled that friend is because you don't want to lose them. John himself admits it is dangerous work by saying "we always find a way to almost get killed, dont we?" Which Sadie agees to.
Abigail took the choice to leave, putting herself in a terrible situation, not for herself, but for her son. She gave up her one true love so that her son could have a chance at life, have a chance to be better than her and John. It was not easy and it is not something we should shame her for, if anything we should praise her for putting her son before herself.
I love John, I really do, but I think it shows just how shitty of a father he really was, and that Abigail leaving was exactly the push he needed to get himself together, it was the wake-up call he needed. He knew how shitty women had it, he would have to realize how terrible he must have been for her to prefer that over him.
Now am I saying Abigail did everything right? No, she did not. Although I understand her fustrations with him doing bounties she has to realize she is not in a place to be picky about jobs. She did ask John to take on a huge debt for the farm and John is right in one thing "it is legal work that I can handle," and while the farm is taking some time to get up and running it is the best form of income that they have access to.
Now to talk about her annoyance with John going after Micah, it is understandable as it could trigger a decline to their former life of crime or just lead to straight up death. It is unnecessary, revenge is unnecessary, meaning that John is risking their entire life for "nothing." He argues back with "I am doing it for Arthur" but again, yes Micah killed Arthur but killing Micah wont change that, killinh Micah will not bring Arthur back nor put him in a better situation, it is revenge, it is not nessesary, it doesn’t do any good.
If John had died she would not only have lost her husband but also the farm, as women could not own property. I am not that knowledgable on debt laws in 1907, but I would imagine that in some way or another the massive debt John got would end up with her or Jack either way, putting her in a terrible situation.
@heavenlymorals made a similar post back in may 11th where they also explore and explain Mary Linton and Abigail in 1899, it is really amazing and also puts some other light on it.
Sources:
Rent, page 369: https://fraser.stlouisfed.org/title/annual-report-commissioner-labor-6306/eighteenth-annual-report-commissioner-labor-608452?start_page=370
Food, page 233: https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=umn.31951000014585x&seq=233
Wages, page 15: https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=nnc1.cu56779232&seq=15
#rdr2#rdr2 community#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan#rdr2 arthur#john marston#rdr john#dutch van der linde#red dead redemption community#rdr2 john#john marston x abigail roberts#abigail roberts#rdr2 abigail#abigail marston#rdr2 micah#micah bell#rdr2 jack#jack marston#red dead fandom#red dead redemption two
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Chasing the Chicken
Helluva Boss
SFW Tickle fic
I haven't seen this done yet so I decided to do it
Lee!Asmodeus, Ler!Fizzy
Summary: Fizzarolli gets the Fizz-equivalent to zoomies and Asmodeus is his target.
"Fizzy, baby, calm down, just take some deep breaths, please-"
Out of context, it may have sounded like Asmodeus was trying to calm his partner down from a panic attack. However, with context, you'd see the Sin holding his hands up in defense, and Fizz inching closer to him with an almost feral look in his eyes. And Asmodeus knew this look very well unfortunately.
Fizz lunged, but Asmodeus was faster. He dodged, barely, and ran to the other side of the bedroom. Now they were in the same stand-off as before, just in different positions. This had been going on for about ten minutes at this point.
Fizz's "zoomies" didn't happen often, but when they did, he was a ball of absolute chaos. Most of the imps knew to either lock the office doors or to stay out of his way because once he got running, he could not be stopped, not even by Ozzie sometimes. Especially not when Ozzie was his target.
The jester grinned. "Cluck, cluck~"
Asmodeus frowned. "That is rude- AH!" He jumped back to avoid getting jumped on. This time, Fizz wasn't stopping. He continued to run after him on all fours, even using his limbs to essentially launch himself, while Asmodeus was desperately trying to run around furniture without tripping or losing his robe. When he found himself cornered, he just teleported himself across the room in a quick flash of flame.
"Cheating!" Fizz called after him, having turned around to chase him again. The Sin found himself grinning at this. "We're demons, babe, we don't exactly play by the rules!" He laughed, making it back to their bedroom, shutting the door. He initially was going to lock it but a part of him felt bad about locking Fizz out of the room. All of this disappeared when the door was unceremoniously thrown open, revealing a mischievous little imp. Nevermind. He should have locked the door.
"Fizzy, it's too early for all this, come on now-" He backed up, maintaining eye contact, too afraid to turn his back on the gremlin in front of him. Unfortunately, he wasn't looking where he was going and ended up tripping, falling back onto the bed. Fizzarolli wasted absolutely no time and jumped up onto him, startling Asmodeus into giving a short shriek.
Extending his arms, Fizz wrapped Ozzie up and started scritching at his sides, resulting in deep chuckles rumbling from deep within his chest. He could easily break free, but he didn't want to risk hurting his little Froggy, so he just gave up and endured it. Fizz knew this too, and used it to his advantage.
Metallic fingers scritched and scribbled over his sides and tummy. Chuckles turned to deep, rich laughter as Ozzie lay there, trying not to squirm too much. "*snort* pff- Ahahahahaha! Fizzy, cohohome ohohon! Okahahay, you cahaught mehehe!" He laughed, hoping that would be enough. But there was a slight evil look in his eyes. Ozzie didn't know what else he wanted until he felt his hands wander lower, toward his hips, causing a giddy, nervous panic to blossom in his stomach right then.
"Wahahait, wAHAIT- Fihihizzy! Nohohot thehere! I'm nohot gonna doho ihihit!" He turned his head away, knowing exactly what Fizzarolli wanted now.
Said imp only grinned. "We'll see about that, Ozzie~"
He drilled his thumbs into the Sin's hips, wincing a little when his laughter came booming out. But the sight he was gifted with was beautiful. Asmodeus had his head tossed back, the widest smile he'd ever seen, and a brilliant blue blush painted from cheek to cheek. He was squirming a lot more now, kicking his legs out, yet still managing to not hurt Fizz, who was holding on tighter now as to not get thrown off.
*CR-CROW*
Fizzarolli stopped and burst out laughing, pulling his arms back and releasing Ozzie, who covered his blushing face, catching his breath. "Ugh, why do you insist on making me make that sound?" He asked, his voice slightly muffled from his hands, yet there was no real hint at being genuinely upset. Fizz grinned, sitting on his chest. "Because it's cute, duh."
Asmodeus removed his hands and looked up at his grinning partner and couldn't help but smile himself. "Well are you finally satisfied enough to calm down?"' "For now." The rooster snorted. "Good enough."
#sfw tickling community#tickle community#tickle fic#lee!asmodeus#lee!ozzie#ler!fizzarolli#helluva boss tickles
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