#I’ll draw him having less of an awful time later

[blackberry-s0da]

Day 16: decomposition

[luveline]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

When someone hurts you, you and Aaron both need time to get better, and to put things right. fem, 8k

cw canon typical violence, graphic scenes and imagery of assault/battery, recovery, mentions of being sick, issues eating. established relationship, lots of angst and comfort, hotch being vulnerable, jack being sweet 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

You lay backward over the luxurious stretch of the couch and sigh as your spine gives a sharp crick. Your head feels heavy after a long shower, your arms ache from a day at work, but the feeling of soft cotton on your legs deters any moping. 

I hope these are more comfortable, his note read, a white post it note stuck to a boutique bag. You wrap an arm around your waist remembering how Aaron’s message had made you feel: spoiled, and considered. 

You’d mentioned in passing that all your pyjamas are old and rough as a consequence, thought nothing of it, and promptly forgot about the conversation entirely. 

When Aaron finally comes home tonight, you’re going to give him a proper thank you. You can imagine his reaction to such a thing, his smile as he says it’s no problem, his eyes shuttering closed as you press a kiss to his cheek. You hadn’t realised how prevalent affection would become in your life after meeting him, but everything he does inspires love. Awful, soft, marshmallowy love where he looks at you and you want to sit in his lap. 

You slide your phone up your chest lazily and click the button on the side to light the display. Aaron hasn’t claimed to know when he’ll be home tonight. All he’d said was to let yourself in. 

It’s odd but not the worst thing in the world to be alone in his apartment. There’s less and less free space each time you visit as Jack begins to outgrow his and his fathers lodgings, but there’s never a stain or bad smell, the Hotchner apartment feels homey. You’re excited whenever you’re invited to spend the night with them. 

Maybe some time soon he’ll ask you to move in, or better, to marry him. You’re not a hundred percent sure how you feel about marriage, about being someone’s wife, but there’s a great well of pleasure to be found in the idea that Aaron would want to marry you. He makes you feel loved already in a hundred different ways but the ring might be nice, like a symbol to signify how much you mean to him. 

You rest your hand across your eyes. It’s silly to think of. Sillier to want so soon. You’ve been together for just under a year, and you have no false hopes about rushing into the future, but it’s certainly a future you want with him (and with Jack, too). He’s taking things slowly for a hundred different reasons but he loves you, and gifts like your new pyjamas cement that. He really listens to you. 

Your phone rings a moment later. 

You smile at the screen. It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves you too. 

“Hey,” Aaron says when you answer, his voice warm even through the phone, “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“How come?” You sit up with a little start. 

“It’s getting late, honey. I called Jess and Jack was already gone.” He doesn’t say anything further. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I wanted to hear your voice, I think.” 

“Well, where are you?” You struggle to envision him speaking saccharinely like this where his colleagues could hear him. He’s nice to you often, but he’s a reserved man. 

“I’m just,” —a crunching sound of metal, the trunk of his car closing— “about to get in the car. I’ll be home before ten. Can I have you until then?” 

“I don’t see any reason to say no. But do you think you could come home a little faster? I have a crick in my neck.” 

“And you want me to fix that?” 

“You always fix my neck.” 

“How have you done it?” There’s a sound you assume to be the car door closing, but you can’t hear anything beyond that. 

“I have bad posture.” 

“You have perfect posture.” 

“No, it’s quite bad.”

He laughs loudly. It took some time to draw the humour from him but he isn’t as stony as you’d think, and for a while he didn’t have much worth laughing for, anyways. Whenever you hear it, you try to prompt it twice. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, Aaron, it’s just like when you said my weird rash wasn’t weird.” 

He laughs again, to your pleasure. “It wasn’t weird, it was a heat rash, I promise. You act like you’ve never seen heat rash.” 

“One of us goes to hot cities all the time and one of us lives permanently in Virginia.” 

“What are you talking about? Virginia’s far from cold. You’re being argumentative, I can see your smile in my head. I’m never going to fix your crick if you keep acting like that.” 

“No, don’t be like that,” you laugh, tipping back into the cushions. “You’re always such a sore loser.” 

“What did I lose?” 

You can tell from his tone that you’ve promised yourself one of those hugs that borders on a straight jacket tightness, his face tucked into your neck as he asks you to repeat yourself. What did I lose? he’ll ask again, kissing your chin, the line of your jaw. Tell me clearly.  

“It hurts,” you say honestly, “please don’t be mad. I really need one.” 

“I’m not mad… I’m going under the overpass, my signal might cut out.” 

“Okie dokie. Hey, did you eat? I can make you something for when you get home. I got groceries.” 

“I’m not hungry, but you can make yourself hot cocoa, and I’ll drink it when I get there,” he says. 

“Or I could make us both some?” 

“It’s much more fun if I drink yours before you can, honey. You know that—”

You pause in the quiet, then hear a quick beeping. You pull your phone from your ear and find the call disconnected. 

Cruel overpass, you think. 

Sure he’ll call you back, you take your phone into his kitchen and set about finding all the things you’ll need for hot cocoa. One mug, because you should hate when he forces you to share, but you love the feeling of his fingers on yours as he takes it and the thankful kiss he dots on your cheek. 

The kettle is uncomplicated. You toy with the stovetop, set the kettle on the burner, and let the temperature rise. It begins whistling lightly a mere thirty seconds later. 

You click your phone on again. He’ll have passed through the tunnel now and will be calling you back any minute. You stare at the phone, hoping to summon him, slouched over the counter with the tin of cocoa powder by your fingers. The kettle whines with growing heat, but cool air kisses your back. 

Goosebumps rise. Up and down the lengths of your arms, the back of your neck—

A sudden chill. 

The lack of air comes before the hand, the pain a rush, a burst to be away from. Leather on your neck creaking without sympathy as a hand tightens and drags your body back against something hard. 

Not Aaron. Your scream comes strangled under cruel fingers as you fight to move forward again, straight for the burner, the kettle shoved across the burner grate and exploding with scalding water, heat of the burner kissing your chest— you scream, only it’s worse than a scream, sound from the deepest part of you forcing itself past the heat at your neck as you try to fling yourself away from the pain. 

You fall with a hard clout. “Stay still!” comes out enraged against the back of your neck. You drop to your knees, the pain lighting flaring up your chest, your gaze frantic as you search for a flame that isn’t there. You’re not on fire, you’re crawling and then scampering up into a standing position when the heavy weight drops itself on you again and smashes your face into the floor. 

All your fight leaves you. Your ears ring. Your panic wanes but the pain stays alert in your mouth. 

A hand grabs you by the back of the head and drives your face into the ground. It’s like light in your eyes and your nose, the brunt of it, the crack of your bone and the hot trickle of blood that swiftly follows. You gurgle in pain, spluttering and gagging against the linoleum, waiting for Aaron to turn you over and say sorry. It’s an accident.

Blood drains from your nose in spurts to match your racing pulse, so much blood you can see your eyes reflected in the dark stretch of it. Water drips down the front of the stove, your breath aches and begs, and your attacker takes a measured breath. 

He flips you over. You can’t slide away, there’s nothing left in you, your head a second body as he raises something. 

Your phone rings on the counter. 

“Please, don’t,” you plead with a sob.

You pass out as the pain connects. Just as quickly as it started, your body takes the reins. 

—

There’s a strange darkness waiting for you. Like waking before your alarm and stealing those last minutes, body aching, not wanting to get up and face the day. Aaron gets up early every morning, sometimes as early as four AM, and whenever you get up with him your eyes hurt for hours. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

Hey, hey, I think your boyfriend’s coming.

What will he make of my handiwork?

You didn’t stay awake long enough for that one, did you? But you’re waking up now.

The pain is enough to wake you up again, a hot drag down the side of you to your hip and in. You aren’t aware of the sounds you make, but you can hear them. Your panicked squealing as the heat presses further and further in. Your crying, and your whispering, “Stop, stop.” 

“There’s handsome,” the dark voice says. “I’ve gotta go hide somewhere, does he carry after hours? I think I’ll find out.” 

“Oh,” you say, feeling sickly. You attempt to curl into yourself, when did you turn onto your back? “No,” you mumble, lips wet with something hot. 

“Honey?” a voice asks. 

“Honey,” you repeat, woozy again, darkness falling in all over again, where it stays. 

Honey, are you in here?

—

The window behind Aaron’s shoulder is cold. Rain patters fast like floods, thunder occasionally chewing through clouds, and Jack Hotchner cries sluggish tears into his dad’s shoulder. 

Aaron has his eyes closed. They’ve been at this for a while. “Shh, shh shh, buddy,” he says softly, patting the bottom of Jack’s back. He’d sway him back and forth if his arms weren’t about to fall off. 

Jack squirms closer, no room left between them. 

“I know it’s scary,” Aaron says. 

Jack just cries. This approach of quiet support isn’t working; Jack isn’t a baby that needs to be put to sleep, he’s a panicking little kid, and Aaron needs to change gears. He ushers him away from his chest and crosses his arm behind Jack’s back. Careful, he shifts Jack’s weight to free his other arm and brings his fingers up to the silky brown hair dropping onto Jack’s forehead. 

“She’s okay,” Aaron says, stroking Jack’s hair. His little forehead is clammy. “She’s not hurting. I know it looks scary, honey, but… she’s just resting.” 

Jack looks him in the eyes. “Her face.” 

“I know.” He nods emphatically. “It’s hard to see. Blood isn’t nice. You don’t have to see her again today, not if it’s too scary.” 

Jack lifts a hand to Aaron’s face. Clumsy but with clear attempts to be careful, he wipes at the skin under Aaron’s eye. Aaron bites back a smile. 

“I look tired,” he says. 

“Yeah.” Jack brings his hand back to wipe his eyes. He sobs as he does it. Aaron can’t describe the ache it gives him to see it. 

“Buddy, I’ll do it. Let me wipe your face. I can do it.” 

Jack drops his hands. Aaron turns his hand and wipes the smudge of Jack’s tears from hot cheeks, testing the waters with a little smile. 

“I couldn’t see you under all those tears.” 

Jack does a little smile back. “Yes you can.” 

“I couldn’t! But now I’ve wiped all your face I can see you again. You’re handsome, did we know that?” 

Jack giggles. He sniffles, and he presses his palm to Aaron’s neck. “I don’t want her to be sad, dad.” 

“She’s going to be sad, because something scary happened, but it’s okay. I’m gonna take care of her.” 

Aaron would offer to take him home, but they can’t go home. They may not go home for a long time —the team is still trying to work out how someone made it into the apartment without alerting the building’s security or Aaron’s internal system. And then escaped again without Aaron’s notice. Until then, Aaron has to make a decision about a safe house, for himself, Jack, and Jess, though she's extremely unreceptive to the idea. 

Aaron has to look after Jack, and he needs to take care of you. 

“What do you think, bud?” he asks, cupping Jack’s head in his hand. “Do you want to go home?” 

“You said I can give her a hug.” 

“If it’s too scary, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to get upset again.” 

“I’m not scared. I want to give her the hug,” he says. 

Aaron pulls him in for a hug of his own. “Okay, buddy. Just try to think of it like this. She’s where she needs to be to get better. Everybody here is looking after her. She’ll be okay soon.” 

Aaron looks over Jack’s head down the hospital hallway. It’s a quiet ward, and here between the main ward doors and the hallway that leads down to the individual rooms there’s complete silence. Night is approaching quickly again, and with it comes Aaron’s panic. Your head turned into a puddle, your face lax of expression in the dark. He can’t stop finding the women he loves bloody and on their backs. 

“Ready?” he murmurs. “Can you walk with me? My arms are tired.”

“Yeah.” 

Aaron puts Jack down gently onto his feet. He neatens his hair, chucking him under the chin as he goes to see his smile. He’s so pretty, like Haley was, with shiny eyes. He’s a beautiful kid. Aaron takes his hand and together they make their way down the hallway to your room. 

You’re sleeping. 

Aaron herds Jack through the door and to the plastic covered chair by your side, where he lifts him up and sits him down. He stays between you both. Jack isn’t scared of you, just the blood, but he wants to show Jack that he’s going to protect him from anything he needs protecting from. He also desperately wants to touch you, and reassure himself that you’re still breathing. 

He looks for your hand. Your pinky finger is splinted, but he can take it with care, give the palm of it a squeeze. 

The blood matted in your hair has finally been washed away after a turbulent day, as well as the staining that marred your face. Your nose is broken, and looks it, the bruises so fierce your eyes have turned puffy and your top lip has inflamed. There are second degree burns in multiple places but most affectedly on your chest. There’s a stab wound at your hip, allegedly done with a small blade. It nicked your small intestine. The bandages laid over you are a lump under your hospital gown. 

Aaron looks at you, and he feels a passionate disdain for himself. He wishes he could… be someone else. Someone who doesn’t have such a deep connection to a job that hurts the people around him, over and over. Haley used to say he was obsessed with being the hero, but this doesn’t feel heroic. 

“Do you wanna give her your cuddle?” he asks softly. 

Jack stays sitting. 

He’ll have to give it to you himself. Careful, Aaron leans down over your prone body and presses a half kiss to your ear, the only place that won’t hurt. 

You have an IV drip going into your arm, painkillers, an ECG monitor to the left. The room is white but busy, you’re a burst of colour against it all, your cuts and bruises, the evidence of violence he can’t remove. Aaron’s tired. He perches on the gap of bed by your leg and holds your hand, turning to Jack, who watches with a frown. 

“She’s sleeping,” Aaron says. 

“When can she come home?” 

“In a few days.” He feels the pad of your hand, terrified of your broken finger but needing to hold a part of you. 

“Why is she sleeping all day?” 

Traumatic experiences are exhausting. “I think she might want to be alone, so she sleeps.” 

“Should we go?” 

Aaron shakes his head. “I think we should stay. When she wakes up again she’ll be happy to see us, because we’re not strangers.” 

“We’re family,” Jack says. He’d liked that, when the nurse asked you how Aaron was related to you. Family only.

“We’re her family,” Aaron agrees. 

If he somehow miraculously fell out of love with you, you’d still be family to them. You’ve given so much of your heart since you met them. Aaron wants everything you have to give. 

You wake in a slow, slow upheaval. It takes effort on your part, the opening of sore eyes, the dreary decision to face your pain. Your hand jumps in his but relaxes when he shushes you, your slimmer fingers stilling under his rubbing thumb. For a split second, you keep your gaze half-lidded, jaw soft, like you’ve been indulging in a stolen nap. 

Then your breath catches and you screw your eyes tightly. 

“You’re okay,” he says, quietly, and not as lightly as he means to, “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” in quick succession. 

“Hurts,” you say, and gasp, a whine stuck in your throat. 

He doesn’t know what to do. Jack shouldn’t watch this but he can’t leave you alone. “It’s okay,” he says, holding your wrist to stop it climbing up your bruised face. 

You were worse the first time you woke up. Catatonic, then sobbing. You mumble and whimper now, pain threading goosebumps down your arms. 

“It hurts too much,” you say. A sob falls out of you like you’ve been ripped open. 

Aaron doesn’t think, but an instinct sparks. The pain, to hit you right out of the gate like this, to make you say something like that when you’ve always always made your problems small, must be torture. It must feel new and sudden all over again. 

Aaron checks that Jack is alright and leaves the room. He looks down one hallway and then the other, but there’s no nurse around —he races to the reception desk and begs the two nurses there for help with you, “She’s in intense pain,” he says, grasping the desk. 

The nurse he’s more familiar with clears her throat. “Mr. Hotchner, she’s already had enough motrin for two people at your request, she really shouldn’t need–”

“Pain is just as important to treat as the injury.” 

A second nurse puts her salad down with raised brows. “Do you want to overdose her?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Aaron has always seen himself as a gentleman, but the argument that ensues is tricky to navigate while remaining respectful, and he’s no closer to better treatment for you by the end of it. He gives each nurse a disapproving glower and takes his phone from his pocket, turning on the spot, ready to call whoever it is he needs to call for a second opinion. He’s not gonna listen to you cry when there’s no need. 

He pushes the door open with the phone still clutched in his other hand. Jack’s climbed onto your bed. He cuddles your face, sitting by your pillows and bent over you protectively. 

Aaron lets out a breath. 

“It’s okay,” he says, his arm behind your head and his arm on your shoulder. “W’gonna take care of you.” 

“I know,” you say, crying without sound, shaking under his arms.

His cheek smushes against your forehead. Your eyes are closed and your face braced for contact Jack doesn’t make, careful not to hurt you as he rubs his cheek into your skin. Your blankets are falling off of you from the squirming and your bruises shine with tears in the light, but Jack has calmed you down some. 

Aaron shouldn’t have left Jack with you. He’s been so scatterbrained since he found you when he should be the opposite, but Jack is doing better than Aaron managed alone. 

“I’m sorry for crying,” you say slowly. “I’m hurting, but it’s not bad. I’m okay.” 

“That’s good. You have a big scratch on your face, and bruises.” 

“I know.” 

“Dad says you have a bruise on your tummy too.” 

“I got lots of bruises, but it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” You bring your hand up injured and uncaring to rub his leg. “You’re being a really brave boy, thank you.” 

A tear rolls down your cheek. 

“It’s teamwork,” Jack says. “I hug you and you hug me.” 

“Is that what you want? You want a hug?” 

“I want to go home,” he says, hugging you harder. 

You grasp his arm loosely where it’s just under your chin. “Jack, can you move your arm?” you whisper. 

Your breath comes quickly, but Jack moves his arm away from your bruised neck and you try to calm yourself down. 

Aaron jolts himself back into action. “Sweetheart,” he says, rushing to sit Jack back and give you more space. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

He watches. Not sure what to say. Not sure saying anything is wise. You squint at him through your lashes, eyes opening slowly, your mouth a line pressed hard to stop from crying. 

“I think it's time for Jack to go home,” he suggests gently. 

“Yeah,” you say, eyes swimming with tears. 

“No.” Jack squeezes your head again, to your panic. 

“Jack, buddy, please don’t touch her neck,” Aaron says, grabbing Jack from your pillow. 

He erupts into tears again. Frantic and vying for you, Aaron tries to calm him and he kicks against his chest, tears turning to disgruntled sobs at not getting what he wants. You wince, pressing your face completely into the pillow. 

Aaron carries Jack from your room, phone in hand. 

—

Is she breathing? Can she talk? 

I don’t– I don’t know, I don’t– She’s breathing. Honey, can you hear me? I don’t know what to stop. I don’t know where it’s all coming from. 

Where’s the worst of the blood? 

It’s everywhere. 

Abdominal? Chest? 

I can’t tell. I can’t tell. 

Mr. Hotchner, you can’t panic. Does she have a chest wound?

Yes. Yes, but– 

Is she conscious? How’s her pulse? Be ready to start chest compressions. 

Honey, can you hear me? 

Your name said clearly. 

“Hey, can you hear me?” 

“Yes,” you murmur. 

“If you need a minute, that’s okay.” 

You cover your mouth with your hand. Emily Prentiss has a soft voice like your boyfriend’s when she wants to have it. She’s never spoken to you like this, none of his colleagues have, but since the incident, everybody treats you like you’re made of glass. 

Cognitive interviews are meant to happen immediately after an accident, but you weren’t up for company. Aaron promised this would be on your terms, that Emily is the most practised, and that she’s reaped the most information from them than the rest of the team. So far, it’s worked to drag bad memories to the surface. 

“Maybe we should start from the beginning.” 

There isn’t a beginning. There’s just conversation. Aaron’s hand on your heart and his shaky voice, so unlike him.

“Okay.” 

Emily reaches for your hand. She smiles, and her nice features get nicer. That’s another thing they all share, good looks. “Okay. What did you notice, in the kitchen? It’ll help if you close your eyes,” she reminds you. 

You close your eyes. 

“What stuck out?” 

“Nothing,” you murmur. “I’ve been in there lots of times, and nothing ever changes.” 

“Nothing? Not even the drawings on the fridge?” 

“Jack’s particular about his best work, even if I think they should all be on display.” 

Emily’s voice turns to a shard of itself. “What did you do? Can you take me through it step by step? Make yourself a cup of hot chocolate.” 

“I never got that far.”

“What did you do?” 

“I filled the kettle.” 

“What kettle?” 

You don’t understand the need for specificity, but you answer. “Aaron got it for me, when he… he told me he loved me, and when we got home he’d bought me a kettle and a bunch of stuff to make my being there easier. The kettle, because… he said something about superheated water. How the microwave can be dangerous, and this would be easier than a pan.” 

“Alright. Okay, and what did you do after that?” 

“I put the kettle on the stove.” You lit the burner, and heat kissed your palm, and suddenly the room had felt cold. “I got goosebumps.” 

“When?” 

“The kettle started to whistle, and it was cold.”

“And then–”

“Then he grabbed me.” 

“Yeah,” Emily says softly. 

You touch your nose. “I tried… He didn’t feel like a person. He didn’t feel like someone I was fighting, it was just painful.” 

“Like he was quick on his feet?” 

“He was silent. I didn’t hear him until I made him fall.” 

“How big did he feel?” 

Your stomach churns. Big. He’d felt big. 

Where’s the worst of the blood?

“He said he was going to hide,” you remember. 

“He said that? He said ‘hide’?

“Yeah. And he asked me if Aaron carries after hours.” 

“When was this?” 

It’s a headache. You try to remember more, because that’s what they need right now. If you ever want to go home, if you want Jack to go home, you need to remember more. The BAU are good, but nobody can make a map out of slivers. 

“That was at the end,” you say. 

“After he stabbed you?” 

You wince. “Yes. After.” 

“You’re doing so good,” she praises, “I just want to fill in the gaps.” 

“I can’t remember. I was unconscious.” 

“When Hotch found you?” 

“No, before.”

“Before?” she asks. 

You’re sick of sitting there with your eyes closed. Sick of your hands shaking with nowhere to hide them, and sick of feeling sick, your nausea as present as the stinging pain of your burned wrist against your sleeve each time you move. 

You open your eyes and look around the conference room for something interesting. How nice would it be to think of something else for a few minutes?

“He called it handiwork when he cut me. Asked if I thought Aaron would like it,” you say, bordering monotonous as your gaze fizzles, unfocused, across the room. 

“Okay, Y/N. Okay. I know you’re tired.” She reaches for your hands to squeeze at the same time. “You did really well. Any details at all are details we can use to find him.” 

You’re not in the mood for talking anymore. Tears burn your eyes, waiting for a blink to set them loose. 

“I want to see Aaron,” you confess quietly. 

“I’ll find him for you.” Emily stands but bends, the dark of her hair a contrast to her pale face. She’s lovely, and her hand is gentle on yours. “Are you okay? Can I get you something to eat?” 

So Aaron’s not keeping that to himself. “I want to see him, please.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

This is a horrible room. It’s not their fault, but the big white board is tacked with bad photos of grisly cases —currently your own. You stare at a photograph of your blood in the kitchen and don’t know what to do. Should you look away? You hadn’t realised you bled so much. 

You turn your chair toward the door. Emily looks back as she leaves and smiles at you softly, but your eyes are already moving to the smaller dry erase board by the doorway. It’s ‘Hotch’s turn to clean up on Thursdays. How strange that they make the boss clean the conference room. 

You can picture him picking up coffee cups and wiping down the table. You can always picture Aaron. 

You can see him hovering over you, his hand pressed to the bloody mess of your hip to stop the blood. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper to yourself, wanting to break from the memory, following Aaron’s example. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” You repeat it into your hands, head tilting down. You sink until your knuckles touch your knees. 

That’s all he says when you panic. He’ll say it over and over again until you can breathe right. I have you, I have you, you’re okay. 

He’s much quieter this time. You hear his footsteps, his familiar gait, your head pounding too hard to move. Aaron makes a sound between a sigh and a hum, like he’s saying a sorry hello as he kneels in front of you. His hand takes your face, rubs softly over your ear. 

“My head’s just hurting,” you murmur. 

He doesn’t respond. You sit together for some time as your mind races with bad memories, your fear a rush of goosebumps down the lengths of your arms and thighs. It’s hard not to think about what happened, mostly because you’re still a walking bruise, your stitches sting when you move, the blisters on your chest ache, all of it inescapable. But it’s your anxiety that plagues you most. You’re in a constant state of dread. 

You had no idea someone could hurt you as badly as they had until it happened, and now you’re desperate not to be hurt again. 

“You have to look after me,” you say eventually, throat sore with how awful it feels to say. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Please don’t let me get hurt again.” 

Total silence. You sniffle at his lack of an answer, only slightly comforted by his hands at your wrists now, pulling them from your face. “Let’s sit up,” he says, standing himself. “Come on, let’s sit up. You shouldn’t be putting so much pressure on your abdomen.” 

You lean back and everything aches like a stretch after a long run or a bad night’s sleep. 

Aaron pulls a chair next to yours. When he sits, your knees are pressed in between one another’s thighs, so close he could hug you. You might need one.  He’s given you a ridiculous amount of them each day, some for him and some for you. 

He has with him a takeout box and a bottle of water. 

“Here,” he says, popping the seal of the drink. “Three sips.” 

You feel like crying, but you drink. He opens the takeout box to reveal a normal looking sandwich already cut into two halves, but he takes a plastic knife from his pocket, peels away the wrapping, and cuts the sandwich again into quarters. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” you say. 

“No, you’re not. You won’t be.” He presses the sandwich flat with his hands and holds it to you until you take it. “Please, Y/N. You only have to eat what you can.” 

“I don’t want it.” 

“Please.” 

“Did Emily tell you about my interview?” 

He reaches for your thigh. Mildly unlike him when you aren’t at home. You assume it to be a tether for your sake. “No. Is there something you think I should know?” 

“I don’t want to say it again.” 

“Then you don’t have to. Someone will tell me when I get back.” 

You pinch the fluffy bread in your hands, eyeing wearily at the wet insides. “Can I come with you?” 

“You’re having trouble in the cognitive interviews, you won’t want to hear what we have to say.” 

You split the sandwich in half again, watching as salad and mayonnaise ooze from the bread. 

“If you don’t eat, you won’t get better,” he says, a touch stern. 

“I can’t eat when you won’t let me come with you.” 

“I’m not the only person capable of protecting you. I…” He circles your wrist before you can make a mess. “Can you please eat it?” 

You take a bite to appease him, your stomach roiling, food wet and cold on your tongue. You eat the whole quarter queasily, a lump at the back of your throat begging you to stop. 

Aaron takes an empty hand and rubs it tenderly. “Thank you,” he says, that rubbing turned more forceful, his hand journeying to your elbow and back again. 

It’s sweet how attuned he is to your needing his touch, but mortifying. This entire experience had been embarrassing from start to end. Couldn’t defend yourself, can’t get to grips with it, and can’t keep anything down. Aaron looks at you and your bruises and you wonder if he’s seeing you with blood matted in your hair, or hearing you beg for him to get you something stronger. All you’d wanted was a sedative. 

“I’m far from the only person capable of protecting you,” he says. 

“You saved me,” you say. You mean it in every sense of the world. 

“…This is my fault.” 

“I want to be with you,” you say honestly. “I don’t feel okay by myself right now, I just need you, or I feel so sick I wish that I died.” The anxiety is marrow deep. 

Aaron looks gutted. “Don’t say that.” His hand goes back to yours, back to tenderness. “I know you're scared.” 

“Then why won’t you listen?” you ask weakly. 

“I’m listening to you,” he says, his tone a dulcet, pleasing softness you’ve never ever heard before, “I need you to be safe, and I need Jack to be safe, and I can’t do that while he’s still out there.” His brows pinch together, agonised. “I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t protect you. But I won’t let anything happen to you again.

“I love you. Please believe that I’m doing what’s best for you right now.” 

You turn your head away. He cups your cheek regardless. 

“I love you,” he says again. 

“I know.” 

“No, I love you.” 

He’s saying sorry.

“I love you,” you mumble back. 

“How are you feeling? Is anything hurting more? Weeping?” 

Your eyes are heavy at his touch. “You only looked at me a couple of hours ago.” 

“Alright. Can I kiss you? I need to go.” 

You don’t answer. Aaron kisses your chin, your jawline, the type of roving, teasing kisses he’d give as he squeezed your sides, only he doesn’t squeeze you, he can’t without hurting you. His hand hesitates just above your deepest wound. 

His bright kiss works to spark a modicum of life back into you. Not a lot, but enough. It was likely his intention, some quick prodding kisses to remind you of something happy between you both. 

You curl your fingers over his hand and turn your face for a chaste peck. He smiles, the curve of his lips evident and relieving against yours. 

“Someone will take you back to the safe house, okay? Give Jack a kiss for me,” he says. 

You nod. Aaron strokes your cheek. 

—

Your assailant could have killed you while you were vulnerable, but he didn’t. “He assumes he’ll have another chance,” Emily surmises. 

“That’s cocky,” JJ mutters. 

“It’s telling,” Aaron says. “But he won’t.” 

The coaching has been extensive. You, sick, a breath from tears and hurting, your shoulders in his hands and his grip too tight. If someone tells you I’m dead, you wait. If Morgan tells you I’m dead, you ask Rossi. If he says I’m dead, you ask Emily. You can’t believe the first thing someone says. No one is going to move you from this safe house to another without seeing me first. If I do get hurt, you and Jack will be moved separately. You will always get my confirmation before you’re moved. 

I’m not gullible, you’d said, wincing at his sharp tone. 

It’s not about that. People will lie, and they will lie well. They will talk their way into the house if you let them. You can’t let them. 

I won’t. 

He’s racing against a countdown, because no matter what he says, what you know, or how many agents wait outside your house, sometimes it’s a force of will. 

Foyet didn’t need much more than that. 

He admittedly feels on surer footing knowing where you are. The decision to guard you without putting you in WITSEC is aching and scary but better, too. He knows where you are. He can be there in ten minutes. No guessing games, but no hiding for you either. 

Your dread is taking over everything you do. Today’s the first day since you came home almost two weeks ago that you could function without a live-in nurse or Jess there to look after Jack, and already he’s worried, because he’d convinced you total honesty was what’s best for the both of you, and so your texts are candid. 

One an hour for his sake, more if you're up to it.

Threw up my beta blockers. Jack misses you, he wants to make you a Lego boat and fishing rod, but I’m not sure how to do it. Please make sure you eat dinner. 

Your next message makes him smile, thankfully. I’m kidding about the dinner thing. Ha. I had one of those gels you got for me, and Jack wants fries, so I’m making waffle fries. 

He texts back quickly. Eat dinner. Please tell Jack I miss him too, and don’t worry about the boat, he’ll work it out. Then, feeling awful, he adds, I love you

Aaron should go home. He’d feel better if he knew he was there to help you keep your medication down, but if he leaves… He knows his team will give you everything they have, but he has more. He can fix this. 

He can’t fix this, god, his head hurts badly. You’re covered in cuts and bruises and burns and he thinks he can make up for that? You’ve been brutalised. Aaron can’t believe this is happening again. 

He rubs his brow. 

“You okay?” Emily asks. 

When he looks up, JJ is gone. 

“I’m fine.” 

“It’s okay if you’re not.” 

He’s not fine, but he knows what she’s asking. “I’m okay enough to do this,” he says. 

It’s hard not to confuse you with memory, your hurting similar to his own, your situation one that he’s already lived. Haley will haunt him for life. It doesn’t usually feel as punishing as he fears he deserves: he gets to remember the best parts of her everyday. He sees her in Jack all the time. He sees her in you, occasionally —you’ll touch his hair or rub his arm like she would’ve done, and it doesn’t make him miss her any more than he does, he’s not in the business of wishing you weren’t yourself, he loves you, but he remembers her. Aaron remembers how he failed her every day. 

He can’t fail you, too. 

“Is it ever easy?” Emily asks. 

Aaron looks around for a bottle of water. “Is what?” 

“Being in love.” 

He thinks about it. “I must make it look hard.” 

She laughs softly. “Sometimes, yeah.” 

Maybe that’s not fair, then, to you. For him to make it seem difficult to love you. To fail to correct Emily when she asks. 

He chooses his words carefully. “Loving her is the easiest thing in the world. But… I continue to work a job I know makes me hard to love in return.” And that puts you in danger. 

It doesn’t feel wrong to be sincere. Perhaps it’s easier with Emily. She saw so much of him during Foyet, and she’s family, truly. He can tell her how intense it’s felt. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem hard for her,” Emily says. 

He shakes his head. 

She continues regardless, “Even during her cognitive, she mentioned the first time you told her you loved her. When it was over she wanted to see you over anything else.” 

But I put her here, he wants to say. Or doesn’t want to say at all, but instead knows with surety. 

“She can’t eat if I’m not home,” he says. What a thing to do to someone. “It’s my fault.” 

Emily smiles, hair slipping off of her shoulder as her expression turns to playfulness. “I think you’re seeing it all wrong. Something bad happened to her, and you’re so safe to her that you make it better when you’re with her. That’s not fault, Hotch. Just love.” 

He turns his attention back to the board without another word. 

—

When the day comes, when they find the man who hurt you, you’re sitting at home with Jack Hotchner in your lap. You’re laughing at his laughing, cartoon fish on the TV, and Aaron’s got a gun in his hand fifty miles away. You both giggle, nearly in hysterics as the safe house living room glows pink and red, Jack’s favourite character swimming hurriedly across the screen, as Aaron negotiates the arrest. 

Usually capable of mediation, Aaron finds his patience completely unravelled. He offers the UnSub two choices: he surrenders now, immediately, and he keeps his life, or he deliberates and Aaron kills him. 

He has reason to believe the UnSub will try again, of course. Will keep hurting you until it sticks. 

He goes home satisfied.

“Dad’s home!” you say excitedly, your movie long finished, your thighs numb and stitches stinging where Jack has leaned against you. You encourage him off of you as the front door closes, the cold air from outside rushing in. 

“Honey?” Aaron calls. 

“Yeah!” You stumble into a standing position, sure you look about as disgusting as you have since the situation began, promptly sitting back down as head rush hits. 

Jack races for the door, meeting Aaron in the hallway with a whoosh. “Hey!” 

“Hi, buddy, what are you doing?” 

“We watched Finding Nemo,” Jack says, “and now I’m hugging you, duh.” 

“Duh. Well, I need to talk to Y/N for five minutes. Can you wash your hands for dinner?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“I’m fine.”

You hear the sound of a light kiss, and then Jack rockets across the hallway and up the stairs. Aaron walks into the doorway, tie still knotted but with no suit jacket, and you know what he’s going to say before he says it. He wears a strange expression.

“You got him?” you ask. 

He puts a white bag on the coffee table, looking down at you fondly. “I got him.” 

“How did you find him?” 

He crouches down in front of you. He’s so careful to be harmless to you now, so tentative. “You’re not the only woman he hurt. We dealt with him in the past. From the information you gave Emily during your interview, and the information he left behind, we found him… If you weren’t as brave as you are, I couldn’t have kept you and Jack safe.” He holds your knee. “Thank you.” 

You stare at him. Staring, wondering what he means. “Brave?” 

“Brave.” 

“I’m a coward.” 

He shakes his head. “No. You’re not.” 

All you've done for days is cry and throw up and bleed, literally. You’ve ruined clothes and sheets, thrown up in his lap, terrified and aching. Each time was met with the same gentleness. A kiss on the cheek, or a hand rubbing your back. Is that bravery? You feel like a baby. 

Aaron’s brow is relaxed. He takes your two legs into his hands, and he looks at you with a reverence that leaves you breathless. 

“You’re hurt forever because of me,” he says quietly, you strain to hear him, “because of who I am, and what I choose to be.” 

“How can you say that? It’s not your fault.” 

“It wouldn’t have happened to you if I hadn’t missed his MO the first time.” 

“You’re not putting the knife in anyone’s hand,” you argue. 

“But it keeps happening.” 

His hair shines dark and wet. It must be raining outside, the safe house walls are thick, the windows shuttered permanently, you haven’t heard a peep. You stroke it back from his forehead. 

“Remember… when we first got together, and you told me you were sorry for how hard being with you could be. And I said it was okay, that it wasn’t hard, and you said it would be?” 

“I remember,” he says, practically mouths. 

“I was so afraid when...” You swallow roughly. “I still am. But not– not of you. Not of what you can do. When you told me it was going to be hard, I thought, well, it’s worth it, because I really liked you then and I love you now.” Tears collect in your eyes. Safe. I’m safe. “And you look after me, so– so–” 

You stop as your voice turns to glass, worried you’ll make a fool of yourself and cry in his hands. 

“I didn’t want this for you,” he says. 

“Nobody wants this. Bad things happen to everyone, but who has someone like you to look after them?” 

He breathes out heavily. “Please… don’t cry.” 

You wipe your cheeks, taking a lengthy pause before you say, “I’m okay now.” 

He looks at you in silence. 

“Come and sit with me,” you say, scrubbing your cheeks, hot tears cooling on the backs of your hands. “Your knees.” 

He actually smiles. It changes his entire face. “What about my knees?” 

Aaron sits on the couch next to you atop Jack’s blanket, a bag of pretzels tipping between your leg and his. You attempt to rake his damp hair into submission as his fingers run against your thighs, fishing for pretzels to put back into the bag. 

You’d like for him to grab you and kiss you harshly, give you one of his straight jacket hugs, some roughhousing, but you won’t get that from him until you're better, and even then, it’s up in the air. So much has changed. 

But not everything. 

“I love you,” you murmur, fingertips scratching down behind his ear to the back of his head. 

He turns to you, sagging with relief and exhaustion. “Kiss?” he asks quietly. 

You nod. He holds your cheek, and you close your eyes at the same time for a kiss. It’s not a lot, but you have time. He can give you another one when you’re both better recovered. 

He pulls away. You open your eyes, finding his closed, his face downturned. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Was Jack good?” 

“Jack’s always good.” 

“Did the nurse have anything to say about your chest?” 

“She said it’s healing okay. That I need to use, uh, scar patches when they start to scab.” 

“I can get those.” 

“I know, I knew you would.” 

He gathers you up for a hug. For a moment, you think he’ll move on, that the end of your nightmare will kill his remorse, but he breathes in, nose wedged against your cheek. 

“Do you think that tonight, we could pretend it didn’t happen?” You’d like to just sit with him, press your hand to his chest and doze. It’s the first night in a while that you’ll feel completely. 

“Yeah. I can do that.” He hugs you rather tightly. “Do you want to see your present?” he asks, relaxing his grip. 

“My present?” 

He grabs the bag on the coffee table and places it in your lap. “I’m worried it’ll remind you of bad memories, but I wanted you to have nice things then, and I still do.” 

In the bag, there’s a pair of pyjamas. Very different to the ones you’d been wearing when you were attacked, they were girly and sweet, soft in your hands, these are sturdy. Still soft, but thick. The shirt is short-sleeved and the pants cuffed at the ankles, a hoodie tucked underneath them, and a packet of minky socks. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

Thanks for everything, for saving you twice, for taking care of you at your worst, and for wanting you to have something comfortable to wear at the end of it. To have experienced an abjectly cruel battering will leave its marks in your forever, but you meant what you told him. He looks after you, and you love him. 

He kisses your shoulder. “You don't need to say that.” 

He doesn’t add anything else, his nose pressed to your shoulder, his hand on your hip. Whatever goes unsaid can be felt in the other’s touch. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank u for reading!! it’s been a long time since I wrote a fic for hotch and it’s hard to write him being vulnerable but I hope this is alright anyways and that you enjoyed :D please consider reblogging if you did enjoy it (cos that way my fics get shown to more people <3) ❤️

[melliemell]

Pairing: Chuuya x f!reader

Contents: NSFW, penetration (reader receiving), Chuuya-levels of cursing, don't say he's cute, he'd get grumpy about it and fuck you stupid to prove a point, incessant flirting, Approx 1.1k words

It really started off as a joke.

An off-hand comment you made. You didn’t intend on paying more attention to it… were it not Chuuya’s reaction; an eyebrow raised as he leaned into his seat, that god-awful grin of his spreading wide as he regarded you.

Your date was going well, all things considered. A nice restaurant, your own secluded corner to settle in at and relax, a gift of overly extravagant flowers–always the charmer that one, Chuuya even pulled the chair for you–it was perfect. A sense of being with the right person doing the right thing.

Finally having the time for each other.

And doing normal, romantic things was part of this evening’s plans.

Except it was Chuuya you were speaking of. Nothing that simple ever happened around him.

“So you think I’m boring?” he asked, playing the amused card to the tenth. There was none of his usual bark, only the teasing tone you had grown accustomed to.

“Misleading–” you began, leaning into his personal space to poke at his chest. “–is what I was referring to. This grand, scary mafioso… that also happens to spend half an hour choosing which shoes go best with which vest. You portray the part of barking dog really well but you’re actually a cutie.” And you winked, just to nail it down.

Chuuya clicked his tongue. He didn’t like it when you babied him, you knew that. But his reactions were too good to miss out on. 

“Hah? That the type of man ya take me for?” he grumbled, not quite masking the slight annoyance this time around. 

You hummed, trailing a finger down his chest. “Devastated, are you?”

Chuuya grabbed your hand, raising it to plant a kiss to your wrist. His eyes didn’t leave yours as he said, “Damn right I am. Calling me ‘cute’ out here like ya don’t know any better.”

You cocked your head, eyebrow raised in feigned confusion. “What? You gonna do something about it?” You knew perfectly well where this was going.

A whispered “fuck” left Chuuya’s lips, audible only for you to hear. And it was then it got settled– you weren’t suited for the romance part. Not the innocent, charming one at least. You needed a bit… more.

It became even clearer when less than an hour later your hands fumbled for your keys, Chuuya glued to your back as he trailed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. 

“I really hoped we’d be doing the ‘sweet date and movie night combo’, you know? Have you snuggled up against me and all,” you said, wasting no time as you both stumbled through the entrance, your hands finding their way around Chuuya’s neck. He kicked the door shut before trapping you against the nearby wall, lips seeking yours. 

“I’ll snuggle you up all night long, doll.” You could taste the wine on his tongue, the hurried way he kissed you leaving no space for distraction. Demanding your full attention was a staple mark of Chuuya’s, you couldn’t deny it.

“You seem preoccupied with other things, though,” you said, unbuttoning his vest.

Chuuya’s hands were already on your bra, unclasping the hooks before you felt a hand cup your breast, the barely-there caress of a thumb over your stiffened bud sending tingles of pleasure down your body in seconds. “How about you just ask me nicely, hm?” 

“Ah, you want me to beg now?” you asked, a finger trailing the outline of his lower lip, and you savored the way his breath trembled. Teasing like this would be wise only for now, you doubted he’d let you off the hook as easily soon enough. Not when you could feel his cock through the fabric of his trousers, hard against your thigh and probably leaking. 

Chuuya kissed your finger before biting it lightly, and you chuckled. “Don’t wanna leave me guessing what you want, do you? I might end up biting somewhere ya don’t want me to, sweets.”

You arched your hips forward, drawing a low groan from Chuuya. “We’ll have to wait and see then. I’m very open-minded, you know.”

“And stubborn,” Chuuya grinned, rocking against you. “Fu-uck, this feels good. I forgot what my point was, damnit.”

“Ha, loser.”

“Fuck off, bigger loser.” 

You were about to make fun of him again, seeing as he lost brain cells faster the hornier he got, but… you felt him pinch your nipple this time, rolling your bud between his skilled fingers as he dived for your neck again. The throbbing between your legs distracted you, intensifying even more as Chuuya’s tongue trailed along your pulse, leaving damp skin to prickle against the cold air. 

Rough wall against your back turned into soft sheets in a flurry of fragmented moments. Only Chuuya’s presence remained firm beside you. He settled between your legs, hands hurriedly discarding any remaining garments as fast as you both could, all the while without letting go of each other. Not once.

You barely had your underwear down before Chuuya was rocking forward, cock settling between your pussy lips as he rubbed against you. Your wetness spread over his tip only to draw a low moan from his parted lips. 

“Impatient,” you said, hooking your ankles around his hips. 

“You wanted the real deal tonight,” he grinned at you. “Going around calling me boring and cute all evening. Like hell I’ll leave it at that.”

“You gonna change my mind, fancy hat boy?”

“Ooh, you betcha,” Chuuya said, and slowly sank into the heat of your throbbing cunt.

You knew Chuuya was a talker; never shutting up even when you really would rather just hold him, hand clasped over his mouth as he fucked you in peace.

But not this time. It was quick and rough, him bottoming out in you with every slick thrust. He barely gave you time to take your bearings, his hand finding your clit only to start rubbing mercilessly in sync with his movements. Trying to stifle your moans was proving near impossible. Only Chuuya’s lips served as help, swallowing your every sound as he kissed you stupid. 

“Oh, fuck…” you panted, pulling away. 

“Nuh-huh, where ya going, sweets?” Chuuya ground his hips against yours, drawing another pained moan from your throat. “I’m doing you good, yeah? Come on, keep up with me.”

Your nails dug into his back even as your body trembled all over. “A bit too good there.”

“Yeah?” Chuuya trailed kisses down your jawline, his pace slowed. For now, at least. “Wanna ask me nicely about it?” he whispered.

Fuck. “I’m in for it, aren’t I?” you asked, knowing full well the answer. 

Chuuya only grinned.

Yeah, it was about to be a long night.

[lushaletta]

the lamb and her wolf / tom riddle

pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader

content: muggleborn!reader, tom is goin a lil mad

summary: have you fallen into the dark lord’s trap, or has he fallen into yours?

a/n: i wrote this at 4 in the morning so enjoy this stream of consciousness grumpy x sunshine esque tom riddle fanfiction or something.

⋆ ࣪.  ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

Tom is in a frenzy of sorts, he’s concluded.

Perhaps it is the sleepless nights and stressful days that cloud his weeks that are causing the weird feeling in his chest. Insomnia-induced hysteria.

There’s a flurry of thoughts swirling around his head recently. All with a common theme; you. The space in his brain that he typically reserved for Ancient Runes or Arithmancy was now composed of you, you, and only you.

It makes him sick to his stomach.

He’s unfocused. And he can’t be, because he’s supposed to be working on the secret that Salazar Slytherin hid in the deep crevices of Hogwarts some years ago.

His fingers tap on the book that he can’t seem to pay attention to as he tries to make sense of this. The disgusting, awful, pleasant fondness he feels for you. For a Muggleborn girl no less.

The only solution to his problem is to kill you. It wouldn’t be hard, he thinks. You’re small and meek and all too trusting of him. Like a lamb to the slaughter.

You are a symbol of everything he despises. Joy. Innocence. You are of the same kind as his worthless father. So why is it that he can’t bring himself to end you? To end your time together? He’s done it before. He’s done it plenty of times and without a second thought.

“Tom!” your horrible, beautiful voice cheers, snapping him out of his thoughts. Oh, great, he thinks. You plague his mind and now you bedevil his reality.

“Hello,” he says after a beat.

You ignore his bothered expression and smile. “I’ve brought snacks! You do like mince pie, don’t you?” He nods weakly. “Good, because my mam’s had some sent. She’s trying out a new recipe. Secret ingredient or something like that. I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet, with your inane study habits, I mean, do you ever have breaks?” You ramble on and he listens with fascination. How could you be talking to him so casually? So endearingly?

You’re far from done. “It doesn’t matter, though. You’ll have a break now. Go on, put your book away, would you?” He does as told. He’s not sure why. You take a seat at his table, fumbling with the paper bag you’ve brought. “Aha! Mince pie! One for each of us. Tell me if you like it, I’ll have Mam send some more. She’d be delighted.”

It’s at this point, where he’s chewing on warm minced pie and watching you do the same, nodding contentedly, that he wonders which life decisions he’d made led up to this. He’s the Dark Lord. A name that the world will soon fear. If all goes to plan, you’ll be reading in terror of all the vile things he’s done in the paper. You’ll be afraid of him, and he can’t help dread it. He dreads the thought of your heartbroken eyes as you realise what a wicked person you’d extended your kindness to.

It’s the frenzy again. What is he even thinking? He dreaded nothing. He looked at his plans with excitement.

“Tom? Hellooo,” you say, singsongingly. He didn’t even realise you’d been speaking. He glances up at you and imagines what you’d think of him once the truth comes out.

“Yes?”

“What do you think? About the pie, I mean.”

He clears his throat, fingers gripping the armrest of his seat. “Good. It’s good.” That draws another pretty smile out of you and he really hates the way it made him feel. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! Also, Tommy,” He quirks his brow. The nickname was a slip of the tongue. You’d never used it and it made you nervous, but he didn’t seem to mind so much. “Are you busy later? I need some help with Transfiguration.”

He’s always busy. Well, he should be. He’s been slacking recently, too preoccupied with your freshly baked desserts and strawberry-smelling hair.

“I could make time for that,” he says decidedly.

Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

You’re immediately on your feet, giddy like how he’d imagine a child to be upon receiving candy. “Thank you! Oh, you’re a lifesaver, truly!” you say, and suddenly a kiss is planted on his cheek.

A full stop. His world pauses and spins on its axis. Your lips felt good. Bad.

What an evil, evil wolf he was.

[obeymeshallwedateaddict]

heyyy!! HEAR ME OUT 🆘🆘 yk how kids spell santa wrong sometimes and they write satan. since christmas is coming wouldnt it be funny if satan got letters from human children??

Hiii. I'm absolutely obsessed over your request and I guess we're starting off the Christmas season in November? Anyway. I hope you enjoy this one.

Summary: Satan receiving letters addressed to him instead of Santa and dealing with them.

There isn't an MC in this story. (Forgot to add them) So we'll pretend this was before the exchange program

Masterlist

Santa-Satan?

Satan was having a peaceful afternoon in the living room, a rare moment of tranquility in the House of Lamentation. He sipped his tea and flipped a page of his latest novel when suddenly, with a poof, a small mountain of envelopes materialized on the coffee table.

Satan stared at the pile. "What is this? Who dares disrupt my reading?" He picked up one of the letters and squinted at the messy handwriting on the front:

"Dear Satan..."

His brow twitched. "Oh, no. Not again."

Lucifer strolled into the room, holding a cup of coffee. He took one look at the stack of letters and smirked. "Ah, the annual Santa-Satan debacle. Always a highlight of the season."

Satan slammed the letter on the desk. "This isn't funny, Lucifer! Why are human children incapable of spelling? Or using spell-check!" He held up an envelope. "This one just says, 'Dear Satan, I want a pony. Love, Jessica.' Do I look like someone who hands out ponies?!"

Lucifer arched a brow. "Well, you do have a soft spot for cats. Ponies aren’t much of a stretch."

Mammon burst in, munching on a cookie. "Oi, what's all the yellin' about? Ohhh, are those Christmas letters?!" He grabbed a random letter and read it aloud:

"Dear Satan, I've been VERY good this year. Can you please bring me a PS5 and a puppy? Thank you!"

Mammon snorted. "Heh, maybe you should deliver a PS5, Satan. It’d make you less cranky."

Satan glared. "Oh sure, Mammon. Let me just conjure a PlayStation out of thin air and hand-deliver it to this... Timmy." He sighed dramatically. "As if my reputation isn't tarnished enough, now children think I'm a knock-off Santa."

Leviathan poked his head into the room. "Wait, is this about the time you accidentally sent a hellhound to a kid instead of a golden retriever? That was classic!"

Satan groaned. "How was I supposed to know the summoning circle would work on a child’s drawing?!"

---

The letters soon became a family affair. Asmodeus had gathered a few to read, giggling over the cute handwriting. "Aw, this one says, 'Dear Satan, I want my big brother to stop being mean to me.' Isn’t that just precious?"

Mammon: "I think pretty much all of us want that don't we?"

Lucifer, giving Mammon the death stare while sipping from his cup: "What did you say, Mammon?"

Mammon mumbling: "Nothin"

Beelzebub, halfway through a pie, mumbled, "If they ask for food, I can help."

Belphegor yawned. "Why don’t you just ignore them? They’ll figure it out eventually."

Satan stormed in, clutching another letter. "This one asked me to make it snow on Christmas! Do they think I’m some sort of weather deity?! AND WHY IS THERE GLITTER IN THESE ENVELOPES?" He shook his hand, scattering sparkles everywhere.

---

Eventually, the brothers decided to "help" Satan deal with the letters.

Mammon: "I’ll handle the gifts. These kids want money, right? I can chuck some Grimm at them."

Satan: "They’re human children. They don’t use Grimm!"

Leviathan: "What if we send them anime merch? Everyone loves anime!"

Asmodeus: "Or beauty kits! They’ll thank you later."

Satan pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is a disaster."

Lucifer finally intervened, adjusting his gloves with a sigh. "Enough. Clearly, Satan can’t handle this alone. I’ll take care of the mix-up, like always."

Satan glared. "Excuse me, I can handle it. I just don’t want to."

Lucifer smirked. "Of course you don’t."

---

By the end of the week, Satan managed to write curt but polite replies:

"Dear Jessica, I don’t do ponies. Try spelling ‘Santa’ correctly next time. Best, Satan."

Meanwhile, Lucifer, dressed in a suspiciously festive red coat, handled the logistics of redirecting the letters.

As the chaos died down, Satan finally returned to his book—only for another poof of letters to appear.

Satan: "...I’m moving to the Celestial Realm."

[hmshermitcraft]

When Mumbo joined Hermitcraft, he brought with him a large collection of flavoured teas. Peppermint, ginger, baked apple, you name it, he probably had it. Most were tea bags but some were loose leaf, the kind that could only be brewed with the utmost care and consideration.

“Well, you must like your tea then, Mumbo.” Someone says, and he responds with,

“I only take chamomile or breakfast tea.” He answers with a simple smile, proceeding to close the cupboard to his collection and not offer anyone any.

Eventually, as he and the other hermits get closer and as more join, he slowly begins to share his teas with others. Never the loose leaf, mind you, but the flavoured tea bags were often offered to hermits who visited or on the coldest nights of winter to any member who needed it.

Then the news of Evo reached Hermitcraft, and it stopped. His tea cupboard was locked and sealed with redstone. Anyone who requested tea was refused as Mumbo began hiding himself away entirely. Until he hears that Xisuma is going to leave with other admins to fight the watchers.

When he finds him, this is the first time they’d seen each other in a while. “Xisuma! X! Wait!” He grips onto the armoured man, “If you find Grian, bring him here! Please!” He isn’t crying, but his eyes look bloodshot from stress and his heart is beating so hard Xisuma is sure he can hear it in his own ears.

“Well- um- Alright.” Xisuma had no clue how else to respond, but Mumbo quickly calmed down and wished him goodluck, before rushing off home again.

While the hermits waited for their admin to return, many camped out at spawn awaiting his arrival. The more days passed, the less hope they had of seeing him again.

Slowly, the other hermits began packing up their bases. Hermitcraft 6 would be starting soon, Xisuma had set it up before leaving. Everyone stopped camping at spawn except for Mumbo.

One day, a bright beam of purple appears in spawn, drawing the hermits toward it. They all watch with bated breath as two bodies step out.

The rest of the server crowds around their admin, wanting to make sure he was ok. Over their chatter, Mumbo hears Xisuma begin to introduce someone, but shouts over top.

“Everyone, this is,”

“Grian!” Mumbo shouted, darting between hermits to see his best friend.

The man, who had remained somewhere between vacant and stoic since arriving, beamed at sight of Mumbo, shouting his name in response despite his hoarse voice.

Their pair shared a tight embrace and a kiss, the redstoner picking his friend and spinning him off the ground. When they finally let go, Mumbo began to pet Grian’s hair and hold his face before rambling on asking if he was injred, what had happened, did he need anything.

“I’ll tell you later.” Grian said with a mischievous tone, but there was a something sad behind his eyes that Mumbo recognised.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Oh, I’d love some… do you still have that baked apple?”

“Ofcourse I do! It’s your favourite.”

“You spoon.” Grian teased, pressing a kiss to Mumbo’s cheek before gripping his hand.

And now the tea made sense to the hermits. It wasn’t that Mumbo liked collecting it, or that he hid them from the hermits because they’d upset him. He had been keeping them for his boyfriend (fiancé they later learnt) if he ever came to visit. And he had locked them away after news of Evo (Grian’s server) falling reached Hermitcraft.

Now that Grian has joined them for Hermitcraft 6, the hermits get to see just how cute (and mischievous) the pair can be. They often have breakfast together, and the smell of fruity teas fills Mumbo’s base for the rest of the day.

-🌻

It took so long for the pair to finally come back together, they deserve all the peace and happiness they're experiencing. Or, at least, happiness. Peace doesn't seem to be in Grian's vocabulary, a funny contrast to the somewhat secluded Mumbo.

Grian is a lot more open about the tea than Mumbo is. He'll force his mug into people's hands, making them try it. Sometimes it'll be awful on purpose. Grian's like that.

At least the pair are a very easy couple to buy gifts for.

[runningfrom2am]

i am a god

summary: after a fatal bar fire leaves the whole city distraught, your best friend can’t help but notice that you couldn’t care less.

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

wc: 3.9k

tags/warnings: possession, violence, blood, gore, s/h elements, death, all that fun stuff. also reader is a psycho. semi-platonic jj x reader, SOME jjiara (i couldnt resist- sorry kie girl ily), implications of a non-straight reader, manipulation.

a/n: this is for day one of obx week!! day one: au with jj maybank! if you couldn’t tell by now, i went with a jennifer’s body au. don’t ask why, it honestly just came to me in a raven simone style vision and i honestly hate the final product. but i thought it was so perfect getting into the spooky season :)

i hope you enjoy and i’ll see you again tomorrow for my first ever john b fic!!

disclaimer!! : please be mindful of the warnings on this one! there are references to assault and violence and self-harm so if any of this is disturbing for you please do not read this! come back tomorrow for some fluff :)

masterlists // nav

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join my taglist here

"JJ, it's literally not that deep. Don't be a baby. It'll be fun." You scoff, throwing your bag over your shoulder as you get up off his bed.

"For you, maybe. I don't get why I have to come." JJ sighs, following you down his hallway anyways as you sway your hips in the cocky way you always do.

"Because we're best friends. Duh."

"Okay, sure, but what am I meant to do when you ditch me to go hook up with the lead singer like you're insisting you will?"

"His name is Rafe Cameron, and he's an absolute rocket." You giggle. "You're not gonna join us?" You tease, turning to him and tilting your head.

"No, Y/N. I'd really rather not." JJ pushes your hands away as you reach out to fix his shirt.

"You're so boring, J." You pout, huffing and walking out the door. As usual, JJ follows like a lost puppy.

At school the next day, all anyone can talk about is how the bar you had been in got burnt down. All JJ can think about is that awful dream he had after he saw you off in the bands van, leaving him behind to go have sex with Rafe Cameron. The dream that you'd come back to his house, eaten all his food, and puked this awful black liquid all over his floor before trying to attack him, hesitating, and then running out- he even dreamt that he cleaned it all up. The uneasy feeling in his gut the only tangible evidence of the event.

"JJ, would you believe it if I told you he genuinely believed I was a virgin?" You whisper in the boys ear, coming seemingly out of nowhere and draping your arm over his shoulder in the school hallway.

"Honestly? No, I wouldn't." JJ replies, slamming his locker shut. "He must have been dumber than I imagined."

You giggle, taking a step back from him to lean against the lockers. "Even so, the sex was subpar at best. It was really upsetting. Almost traumatic, even." You sigh dramatically.

"Can't you have the slightest bit of empathy? People died last night, Y/N." JJ whispers, hoping you're not drawing too much attention to them in the quieter than normal hallway.

You roll your eyes. "Loosen up, Jayj. It's literally not that deep."

"It is, actually!" JJ replies, shocked as you start to walk away.

"Love ya! Catch you later." You blow him a kiss and strut off, leaving him to shake his head in embarrassment. You've always been a force to reckon with, and truly no one understood why the two of you were friends, but even this was out of character for you.

Later that day, Topper Thornton had turned up dead in the forest behind your school. You had paid no mind. It had been a month since then, and JJ saw you in person less and less, despite how close you always had been. You called him frequently though, hushed voices crackling over the landline late at night to make up for missed time.

He took the opportunity of you not incessantly calling him to invite over his girlfriend. Kie had always put up with your friendship, but she wasn't your biggest fan- the way you walked all over him never rubbing her the right way. Why would it? Regardless, she was thankful to spend some time with him one on one without you there to ruin her mood.

It's when JJ freezes on top of her, muttering about how something is wrong and he needs to find you, that Kie snapped. Internally, that is. That was the final straw. She would go to the upcoming formal with him, and then they were done. She just couldn't take it anymore. JJ didn't really care that when both of them fled his house to their separate cars, Kie had left in a huff with a slam of her door. He was only really worried about you.

The panic rose in his chest as he got on his bike, revving up the engine and taking off. He didn't know where he was driving, just that he was driving to you. He took a right onto a dead street he hardly ever drove down, scanning the dark street based only on his gut feeling that you were close. What he didn't expect, was seeing you stumble out of the woods, if that even was the word, covered in blood as the red fluid dropped down your chin.

He screams, swerving out of the way as you stop right in his path, almost rolling his bike in an attempt to not hit you. He screeches to a stop at the side of the street, looking around frantically with his chest heaving. You were gone. JJ thinks he's going crazy- did he see what he thought he saw? There's no way, right?

As he shakes his head to knock some sense into himself, he looks forward and sees you standing right in front of him again. "Hi, J." You smile. Did you always have fangs?

JJ screams again, hammering the reverse and flying back on the bike, frantically turning around and speeding off. Whatever that was was not you. That was not his best friend.

In his panic and fear, he made it home and screamed for his father who JJ, for the first time ever, wished was home. Of course he wasn't. He sighs and wipes away his fearful tears, running upstairs to his room and crawled into bed in the dark. He lets out a sigh of relief- finally, he should be able to sleep, hellbent on admitting himself to a psych ward first thing in the morning. He must be losing his mind.

"Hi." He jolts up when he hears you speak, cheery as ever and feels you shift beside him to sit up.

"Oh my god!" He screams, leaping out of bed and smacking the light on.

"God, JJ- enough with the screaming! You're such a pussy." You say, kneeling on his bed in nothing but one of his t-shirts and your underwear.

"Get out!" JJ shouts in response, cutting you off and pointing to the door.

You pout, placing your hands on your lap. "But we always share your bed when we have slumber parties." JJ takes in your appearance. You were clean, head to toe; not a hair out of place or a drop of blood to be seen.

He doesn't say anything, breathing heavily as he stares at you in partial relief. He may be crazy, but at least you're not trying to kill him. You sit up on your knees and move to the edge of his bed, reaching out to him with a small smile on your face. "I'm not gonna bite you..." You smile, placing your hands on his shoulders, gently rubbing them.

"I'm afraid you might." JJ mutters, uncertain as he feels you play with the hair at the back of his neck.

Your smile grows slightly and you pull your lower lip between your teeth. "Only if you want me to." You shrug, suddenly leaning in. Closer, closer, until your lips are almost touching.

JJ is horrified, frozen as you brush your thumb over his bottom lip before ever so gently pushing your lips together. He can't even bring himself to close his eyes while you kiss him, but something draws him into the temptation to kiss you back. Eventually, as you lay back on the bed, he lays over you and kisses you again, in some sort of trance as you hook your leg up over his hip.

"Wait- what the fuck is happening?" He quickly pushes himself off of you and sits up.

"My god, J bug, what's gotten into you?" You chuckle, sitting up again and tilting your head at him in a way he's all too familiar with.

"I saw you! I saw- I saw you in the street covered in blood and now you're just here like nothing happened and we're kissing and I have a girlfriend and you know that and I-" JJ rambles on in a panic, trying desperately to figure out what is going on with him.

"Blah, blah, blah-" You cut him off. "Slow down, tardy slip. You sound like a sped."

"I'm gonna call the police." JJ nods, settling on what he has to do, even if he doesn't know how they'll help.

"Uh, okay, why don't you narc me out? I have the cops in my back pocket. I'm fucking a cadet, remember?" You say smugly, crossing your legs and leaning back.

"What do you want from me?" JJ sighs. He knows you're right, and he's crazy anyways- so what would calling the cops even do?

"I just want to explain some things to you." You admit. "Besides, best friends don't keep secrets. Right?"

JJ just nods, waiting for you to continue.

"'Kay, so remember the night of the fire? I got really messed up. And those guys from Low Shoulder, Rafe's band, are like totally evil. They're basically like agents of Satan with really awesome haircuts." You explain the whole ideal- how you insisted you were a virgin and they should find someone with more experience if their plan was assault. True fear like none other completely enveloped you, up until you passed out from blood loss and pain from their masochistic ritual- all in an attempt to get famous. From the second you left JJ's side at the burning dive bar you knew something wasn't right. Fear was the last emotion you felt, but you left that, and the fact that you were screaming for him in what should have been your final moments, out of the story.

"They killed you..." JJ mutters, a tear dropping quickly from his eye and staining his shirt.

"Well I'm still here, aren't I?" You scoff, seemingly unfazed now by the horrific events. "I mean, they did go all Benihana on my ass with that knife and it should have killed me, but for some reason it didn't."

JJ shifts uncomfortably. "Maybe it did."

"Anyway," You quickly brush off his comment, avoiding his eyes as you pick at your nails. "I don't really remember what happened after that. I just know that I woke up and I found my way back to you."

"I remember." JJ nods. He wasn't dreaming- it was real. It was all real, and he curses himself for not checking his trash to see if he really had cleaned up your mess that night.

"I couldn't bring myself to hurt you." You smile softly at him, leaning now on your elbow. "I mean, I'm a really good friend, but I was just so hungry. And ever since then, I just knew what I had to do to be strong."

JJ goes to speak, trying to understand but he has so many questions, when you just continue anyways. "And when I'm full, like I am right now, I'm like, unkillable." You say, a smug tone to your voice. "Like, I can do shit like this. Watch."

You grab a pen from beside the bed, and before JJ can even get a word out you're plunging the tip into your forearm and dragging it down towards your wrist. His eyes widen in horror, reaching out for you as you remove the metal from your arm. "It's really cool! Just watch, look." You stop him, the lighthearted tone of your voice settling him only slightly as he watches the blood drip down your skin. Within moments, all of the blood retreats the way it came, back into your body as the deep cut seals back up.

You smile and make a sucking noise, mimicking the one your skin made as the cut completely disappeared. "It's like some X-Men shit, right?"

JJ watches in awe and confusion, staring at the place on your arm where your skin should still be broken. "What do you mean, 'when you're full'?" He asks after a moment, eyes returning to yours again. "Why were you covered in blood?"

Your smile fades quickly as you look back at him, unsure how to explain. Or if you want to.

"You didn't even look human." JJ adds, genuine fear and worry behind his eyes.

"You know, J-Bug, maybe you should talk to somebody about these disturbing thoughts that you're having..." You shake your head at him as you speak. "We're all really concerned. Especially Kie."

JJ shakes his head and stands up. He didn't expect you to gaslight him, especially when you just showed him to his face that you're invincible now, and now that he knows what really happened to you the night of the fire. "I think she may be having second thoughts about you." You continue, and he's fed up. He points to the door dejectedly.

"Leave." He tells you firmly.

"Come on, JJ, let me stay the night." You plead. "We can play boyfriend-girlfriend like we used to." It sounds like you're offering it to him, like it should be something tempting, but it isn't to him. Or at least he thinks it shouldn't be- but in reality he would love nothing more than to let you stay.

He sighs, looking away from you. He knows he wouldn't be able to say no. You nod almost sadly to yourself and get up, pulling your pyjama pants on before climbing up to the window.

"What are you doing?" He asks as he turns, seeing you go to the window instead of the door as you climb up onto the ledge.

"Uhm, you said to leave. See you at school." You reply snarkily, and before he says anything else, you're gone.

After attending another funeral for a boy JJ hardly knew and then one for a girl he also hardly knew, with new information knowing that his best friend was the one doing this, he couldn't just sit on it. He had to do something, he had to figure out what was wrong with you. He started with something he never did; reading.

He concluded after weeks of reading, that you're possessed. More specifically, by a succubus; and he's going to have to kill you. A blade to the heart when you're at your weakest. Even though he hasn't spoken to you since you left his room that night, he doesn't know if he can do it. But he certainly can't sit and watch while you kill every boy or girl in your school and eat them for brunch.

His breakup with Kie was hard- but she didn't believe him. He could see it in her eyes when he tried to explain that she thought he was crazy- that he needed help. To Kie, of course he would ditch their plans to go to the dance together just to "watch" you. She should have known that he was always going to choose you.

As she walks to the spring formal all alone, her lavender dress swaying in the breeze, she's startled by the sound of a bird flapping its wings not far away. When she turns back around, she's faced with you. "Kie, didn't you hear me calling your name?" You ask, ignoring how startled she already seems.

"You weren't." Kie looks you over. Under your makeup your eyes are sunken, you look tired and thin- despite any attempts made to cover it up.

"Yes I was." You insist.

"I-I couldn't hear it." She stutters, uneasy with the interaction already.

"Listen, I need to talk to you about you-know-who." You say, wringing your hands in front of you as if you're nervous. "Our little J-Bug."

Kie nods a little. While she's never been your biggest fan, it seems that you do have his best interest at heart. You're worried about him too. You grab her hand and lead her off towards the old pool building so you can talk somewhere more private.

"He's been... acting a little off." Kie says as you head up towards a wooded area.

You sigh, stopping and turning to face her. "Look, I think I know what's wrong with him."

"What? What is it?"

"You know how JJ has been really upset since Sophie Mally died?" You say, dropping her hand. Kie nods, looking confused. "Well, it's not just because she was like, brutally murdered and stuff." You hesitate, bringing a hand up to your head. "I don't want to say this, I-"

"Just say it." Kie insists, already battling with what she knew you were about to say.

"JJ and Sophie were intimate." You say, suddenly showing no hesitation. "And by that, I mean they were porking on a semi-regular basis." Any empathy in your tone and face was long gone, Kie could see that, but it looked like you were trying.

She just shakes her head a little, avoiding looking at you. It's not entirely beyond the realm of possibility that he was cheating, and hearing someone you're close with get murdered could cause a mental break like the one he was clearly having. She just expected that if he was ever to cheat, that it would have been with you. She didn't want to believe it, though.

"Trust me, they were doing things you've never even heard of. Total varsity moves." You add when she doesn't reply.

"Okay, Y/N! I get it!" She snaps, surprisingly making you smile.

"I just, you know- I can't believe he would mess with you like that. I told him it was wrong, that he shouldn't do that to you but I was totally caught in the middle. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner... I was just scared, I guess." You explain, smile faltering towards the end. "I didn't want to hurt him, but I see now how it could hurt you more. I didn't want anyone to get hurt. Truly. I care about you both so deeply."

Kie chews on her lip as she listens. If you were in her shoes, it would be really hard. She understands why you wouldn't tell her, even if she needed to know.

"I care about you so much, Kie." You add, grasping her hand again. "More than I have ever had the guts to admit."

You step closer, running your hand up her arm now. "JJ didn't deserve a girl like you."

As JJ stands inside the gym, basking in the sickening irony of Low Shoulder agreeing to play at their formal, he faces the nerves that he hasn't seen you yet. Thankfully, he also hasn't seen Kie, who he begged not to come. She was stubborn, like you, so he expected his ex to show up anyways just to spite him.

As he lifts the plastic cup of punch up to his lips, he gets a shiver that reverberates through all his bones like he just jumped in a frozen lake. Kie. Your voice echoes in his mind, and suddenly it's no wonder he hadn't seen either of you there.

He rushes out of the building following only his gut instinct- like when he got on his bike all those weeks ago. His intuition will take him to you.

By the time he runs away from the school, through the forested area and up to the pool house, he can hear Kie screaming for help. He rushes in through a window, stumbling over the overgrown vines and his eyes land on you and Kie in the dirty pool. "Kie!" He shouts, making only brief eye contact with her before you turn from where you had your back to him. Your jaw looked almost unhinged- and there were those fangs again, this time covered in the blood of his ex girlfriend while the colour drains from her skin.

He dives in without another thought, attempting to pull you off of her, shoving you away as quickly as he can. Under the water you see the two of them- JJ between Kie and you. You can't hurt him. You just can't.  They scramble to get out of the water and you find yourself levitating out instead- it's more graceful, that way. Kie should be embarrassed, you think- suppressing the urge to laugh at her as they struggle.

"She can fly?" Kie coughs out, blood pouring from the puncture wounds in her neck now.

"I guess!" JJ replies, just as your feet land on the ground. "Y/N- this is insane! You can't keep killing people!"

"God, you just don't get it." You scoff, crossing your arms.

"No, I do. I do, I know what's going on with you." He insists, still standing between you and Kie.

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at him. "God, J-Bug, don't you care about me at all? If you know everything about me like you say you do, you should know I have to do this."

"You don't! If you were the Y/N I knew you would have killed yourself to avoid this." JJ says, and the air gets thick. "You were never a good friend to me! When we were little you broke my toys, poured juice in my shoes, not to mention all the weed you never paid me a dime for, but you would never do this."

"And now I'm eating your girlfriend." You scowl. "See? At least I'm consistent."

"Why do you need her?" He asks, dirty water dripping from his hair and down his face and neck. "You could have anybody that you want, Y/N. So... why Kie?"

"Ugh, god. Boys are so dumb sometimes." You chuckle to yourself. "You know why."

JJ's chest is heaving as he takes in your appearance. You look nothing like you used to.

"You're actually gonna make me say it?" You laugh, Kie jumping a little where she's sitting on the ground behind him, startled by the loud noise. "Because you're my boyfriend. I have loved you for years in a way no one else ever has. A way no one else ever will."

"Do you mean that?" JJ mutters.

"JJ!" Kie gasps, shocked that he would even consider believing this crap.

"Every word, babe." You smile softly, nodding as you step closer to him.

"JJ, come on! You can't be buying this!" Kie cries out.

"I mean it, I swear." You say again, attempting to drown her out as you place a hand on his cheek. He flinches only slightly before leaning into your touch. "I pinky promise."

For the first time in months, you were being real- you had the energy to be yourself, despite the fact that you were starving. You couldn't live a life like this without him, and you wouldn't leave him behind.

"Come with me." You whisper, leaning closer. "We can be perfect together, J."

He glanced briefly down at Kie, who no longer has the energy to protest.

"Don't you love me?" You ask, jutting your lip out in a familiar pout and you tilt your head.

"I.. I do, yeah." He nods, his voice barely above a whisper.

"This will only be a pinch, J-Bug." You smirk, kissing him briefly, softly, before moving quickly down to his shoulder and biting down on his soft skin. He cries out until you pull away, a small smile forming on your blood stained lips.

You've never looked more beautiful to him.

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[serickswrites]

Make Me Your Villain IX

Master list here (links to chapters, summary, and character bios)

Warnings: violence, threat of violence, abduction, threat of drowning, hypothermia, water inhalation, lacerations, exhaustion, power exhaustion, fire, threat of death

Nova’s first mission was very successful. She kept herself concealed in the shadows that Liam had cloaked her with. She didn’t interfere and merely watched as Liam confronted a serial home invader. She watched as Liam quickly disarmed the man. And she watched as he didn’t kill, didn’t even hurt, the man. He merely restrained him with shadows until the family he had saved came out.

“Call the police, get them to come out here. I’ll make sure he can’t get away until they arrive,” Liam told the father, an middle aged man with a shock of red hair. He held his wife and crying child.

“You saved us,” the man said in awe. “When I saw you I thought we were going to die. You saved us.”

“Thank you!” The woman threw her arms around Liam’s neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

Liam awkwardly patted her back. “It’s ok, don’t mention it.”

“But you aren’t evil. We should tell everyone Jude has been lying to us,” the man said.

Liam shook his head. “Don’t draw attention to yourselves. Just know that one day, I will stop Jude. And maybe then you can tell your story.”

Liam teleported Nova and himself out of there before the couple could say much else.

“You should let them tell the world how good you are, Liam.” Nova said as she stepped out into the Haven. She still wasn’t used to traveling by teleportation, but it wasn’t as bad as the first couple of times.

“Too risky. Thanks for listening to me today.” And before Nova could say anything else, he teleported away.

Nova tried to not take it personally. She would have liked to have spent more time with him. She rededicated herself to training over the next several weeks. The stronger she could get, the faster Liam would be to let her handle herself on missions.

Liam took Nova on another mission a month later. He had set the same conditions. This one was less successful. By the time the two of them had arrived at the apartment in the middle of town, it was empty.

“Jude took her,” Liam said solemnly after checking the apartment twice for any sign of life.

“Do you think he killed her?” Nova tried to not let herself think of how close she had to being that person.

Liam frowned. “Not yet. I think he may want to keep this one around for a while. See if her power is worth having in himself.”

“What could she do?”

“Influence the emotions of others. She can change how you feel. Heighten feelings.” Liam sighed. “Could be a useful power. Getting a whole group of people to support you even when there is evidence that they shouldn’t.��

The next mission Nova went on, she could be helpful. A boat had sunk off the coast of Hiraethian and Liam teleported people out of the water one at a time. Nova healed each survivor of the minor injuries—mild hypothermia, water inhalation, and one facial laceration. She was glowing with pride by the time Liam teleported them home hours later.

“You did really great today,” Liam said, his face haggard with exhaustion.

Nova didn’t want to ask him how bad it was, how close he had come to burning out again. The last time she had, he’d brushed her off and was gone for a couple of days. “Thank you,” she took her bubblegum pink hair out of the bun she had put it in when she was in the midst of healing the boat passengers. She gave a big yawn. “Tiring to heal that many people though.”

“You should rest.”

“You, too, Liam.”

She got into the rhythm of going on a couple of missions a month, and with each subsequent mission, Liam let her do more and more. First it was healing at the very end, then it was helping heal in the middle, until he gave her free reign, no shadows concealing her from whatever they faced.

And so when the building they were evacuating went up in flames around them, Nova was ready to do whatever Liam told her to do. She knew Jude had started the fire, no doubt hiding his tracks of trying to abduct someone from the building—a mind reader. She was scared, how could she not be, but she was ready to pull the remaining civilians out and heal whoever needed healing.

“What do you want me to do?” Nova shouted over the roar of the flames.

Liam looked at her for a moment before grabbing her wrist. “I want you to be safe.” And Nova felt the in between close around her. She started to turn to yell at Liam, but realized he wasn’t with her.

“Liam?” Nova called as she stepped out into the Haven. How had she teleported without him?

“Where’s Liam?” Henry said. Liam had teleported her directly into the library.

“I don’t…oh God!” Nova’s mouth went dry as she realized Liam was still in the fire. “Turn on the news,” she ordered Henry.

Henry turned to Hiraethian’s local news station and the two of them watched the coverage of the apartment complex fire. The fiery inferno was huge. But there was no word of Liam being caught. Or that Jude was on the scene.

“Do you think he got stuck?” Henry said, not tearing his eyes from the screen. “How did he teleport you without coming, too?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Nova said a silent prayer that Liam would be safe. “NO!” She shouted as the building collapsed on the screen.

“Got out of there just in time then,” Liam said as he stepped out of the in between next to Nova.

“You’re ok! You’re ok!” Nova said as she grabbed Liam’s face and pulled it to hers and kissed him.

Liam initially froze the moment her lips touched his. But after a breath, he softened, opening to her. He kissed her back passionately. Henry cleared his throat. Nova pulled back, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She had totally forgotten about Henry.

“Now that you two have finally, FINALLY, gotten over that, can we talk about what you just did?” Henry looked at the two of them, his look of smug satisfaction telling Nova that she had not been subtle in her pining for Liam.

And perhaps Liam hadn’t been subtle either. He ducked his head sheepishly, “Sorry, Henry.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “I don’t care about that. Maybe now the tension in this house will fade. You have no idea how insufferable the two of you were to live with this past year. No, I want to talk about how you teleported Nova out of there and didn’t come with her.”

Liam thought about it for a moment. “I just knew I had to get you out of there. So when I grabbed you, I just visualized you going through the in between and ending up here. And you did.”

“You teleported her without knowing if it would work?” Henry frowned.

Liam shook his head. “No, I knew it would work. I….I just knew. It was like a secret I always suspected and then suddenly I knew. I had to get you to safety, Nova.”

“Next time, you come, too. I need you safe, too, Liam.” Nova leaned into Liam’s arms, savoring his touch. “Always remember I need you safe, too.”

Tags: @dutifullykrispyland@jesssmolfur@parad0xical2@st0rmm@keeper-of-all-the-random-things@pigeonwhumps@gala1981@allylovessweets

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

Stepping Stones: Chapter 9

Vee walks into school on her first morning the same way she returned to the Isles: with Camila’s hand in one of hers and Luz’s in the other, the three of them shoulder-to-shoulder as they trudge through the snow to the enormous green doors.

“It looks bigger up close,” Vee whispers, and Luz squeezes her hand. 

“Make yourself taller,” she suggests, and Vee laughs a little, stretching out the legs of her human form until she’s as tall as Camila. It does make it less scary when Camila opens the door.

There’s a man waiting for them on the other side— taller than Vee and Camila both, with dark skin and bushy gray hair— and Vee quickly shrinks back to Luz’s height, praying he didn’t notice anything. It doesn’t seem like he did; he smiles when his eyes land on Vee, and he offers her his hand.

“You must be Vee. I’m Principal Hal. Welcome to Gravesfield High.”

Slowly, tentatively, Vee lets go of Luz’s hand to shake his. “Thanks.”

“We’ve enrolled you in all the same classes as Luz to make your transition easier. As long as there are no… disruptions, I think you’ll enjoy your time here.”

Principal Hal rubs a faint scar on his chin. Vee casts Luz a questioning look, and she mouths, tell you later.

Realizing the principal is waiting for an answer, Vee thanks him again, and he nods. “We’ve moved things around to give you a locker next to your sister’s, to make your adjustment easier. She can show you there so that you can put your things away before first bell, and then you two can head to your first class.”

Luz beams at the word sister, and even though Vee has had two sisters all her life, the word feels magical to her too. Sister meaning Luz. It’s sort of incredible.

“Thanks,” she says a third time. She feels a bit foolish repeating herself, but it seems to be what the principal wants to hear, because he gives her a nod. 

“Good to see you, Mrs. Noceda,” he adds to Camila, and disappears into a room marked Principal’s Office.

Camila turns to Vee, placing her hands on her shoulders. “I’ll have my phone on all day. Don’t hesitate to call if you need me, okay?”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” Camila pulls her in for a hug, kissing her head. “I love you. I’m so proud of you.”

Vee leans into the embrace, holding her tightly for a long moment. “I love you too, Mom.”

Even after two months, the word, more powerful even than sister, fills her with sparks of warmth. It took a few weeks after the adoption papers were finalized for her to stop stammering over it, and even though it comes out smoothly now, it still fills her with awe. That awe makes her brave enough to step back, squeezing Camila’s hands and giving her a smile.

She smiles back, then embraces Luz and heads for the door. “See you after school,” she calls, waving at them both.

They wave back, and then Luz turns to Vee. “All right, follow my lead. The crowds in these hallways can be dangerous, so you have to navigate carefully.”

“Got it,” Vee says, matching her solemn tone. Luz links her arm through Vee’s, leading her through a sea of kids, all of them laughing and shrieking, the sheer number of voices making Vee want to slam her hands over her ears. Thankfully, Luz leads them to a hallway that’s far less packed than some of the others, and she only has to nudge one person aside to get to her locker. 

She nods at the one beside it, the only cubicle without a lock already hanging from it. “That must be yours.”

She pulls her own locker open at the same time Vee does, and Vee’s stomach sinks a little as she glances between the two. Luz’s locker is crammed with books and crafts, photos and drawings, and Vee’s is an empty wall of gray.

Luz follows her gaze and smiles, reaching into her backpack. “I asked Willow to make copies of these in case you wanted to put them up,” she says, handing Vee an envelope, “and then I added a few more.”

They’re photos from Willow’s scrapbook: Vee, Luz, Willow, and Amity squinting at the TV during a late-night movie; Vee tickling a sleeping Willow’s forehead with a leaf as Luz and Amity muffle their laughter; Vee and Camila making empanadas; Vee making bunny ears over Luz’s head as Amity kisses her cheek and Hunter, Willow, and Gus beam at the camera; the whole group of them clinging to a raft, their faces ranging from excitement to terror; Vee, Willow, Gus, and Amity grinning in front of the map at the Gravesfield Historical Society. Below those are a few more recent pictures: Vee, Luz, and Hunter clutching gaming consoles and yelling incoherently; Vee and the gang from Cabin 7 sitting on the Nocedas’ porch and laughing at something on Masha’s phone; Vee arm-in-arm with her basilisk siblings on the day they all decided to try human form. Just looking at all those images, all the people she can now call family, makes the corners of Vee’s mouth turn up, and by the time she’s taped them all to the door and walls of her locker, she’s beaming.

“Looking good!” Luz says approvingly. “I can draw you some stuff later, if you want to—”

The bell cuts her off with an earsplitting ring. They exchange a look of horror and slam their lockers shut simultaneously, shoving their locks closed and running for the main hallway. It’s empty— they must have missed the warning bell entirely.

“It’s okay!” Luz gasps. “It’s not far!”

She sprints to the end of the hall with Vee on her heels, the two of them stopping in front of a door on the left. Luz pauses, glancing back at Vee.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Luz nods and pulls the door open and Vee follows her inside the room. And now there are twenty human children and a full human adult, all staring at her with unblinking eyes, and she’s positive she has just made an enormous mistake. 

The adult— the teacher, he must be— recovers first. “Everyone,” he says, “this is Vee Noceda. She’s new to our class this semester.”

A wave of whispers like the hissing of a nest of snakes rises up from the assembled students. Vee swallows hard, nearly choking on her own dry tongue, and only Luz’s hand in hers keeps her from fleeing the scene. 

The teacher looks at her with pitying eyes. “Would you like to say anything more to introduce yourself?”

The only justification Vee can come up with for what she says is that the introduction played well with Camila. Camila’s face had warmed, and she’d spoken with a laugh in her voice, and that’s the reaction Vee wants from these kids— so she opens her mouth and says, “hello, fellow humans. Skin’s sure weird.”

The whispers die within a split second.

“There’s two of them,” a blonde girl in the front groans, and the class dissolves into laughter. Vee isn’t sure whether she should feel relieved or even worse, but at least they’re not looking at her like she’s as much of an outsider. 

One laugh in particular, more dry and knowing, gets her attention, and she follows it to find Masha cackling to themself in a desk at the back of the room. There’s two of them, Vee repeats in her head, and gives a snort of laughter of her own. If only that girl knew. 

The two desks next to Masha are empty, so Vee takes a seat in the one beside them, and Luz comes to sit on her other side. She glances at the teacher for approval, and he gives her a nod.

“All right,” he says, blissfully taking the focus off of her. “Before we get into the course outline, I’m going to give you all a test to see how much you remember.” The class groans, and he holds up a hand. “It’s nothing new, all stuff you learned last year, and multiple choice. You’ll survive.”

He starts passing out booklets and scantrons, and Vee’s heart rate picks up. She’s spent every spare moment of the last two months studying Human Realm curriculum— but while she was fascinated by the literature and history, math always tripped her up. There’s just so much of it, and so many ways of doing it, and there was no way to cram all that into her head. She studied what Luz said she’d need to know for grade ten and barely managed that much— how is she supposed to know everything these kids learned in grade nine?

The teacher lays the papers on her desk, and she flips through the booklet, nausea rising. This is it. They’ll wonder why she doesn’t remember any of this, and discover she’s an imposter, and put her in a zoo, or—

Tap. Taptaptap.

The sound is quiet, but it interrupts Vee’s spiral nonetheless. She glances at the desk to her right to see Masha, their eyes trained on their booklet, one manicured black nail tapping against their desk.

Tap. Taptaptap.

And suddenly Vee’s mind isn’t in the classroom but back in Cabin 7, lying on her bunk above Masha’s in the darkness after lights-out, tapping messages back and forth on the walls. It took exactly one week of camp lectures for Masha to decide they were dead boring, and another week of everyone in Cabin 7 gathering around their phone under a blanket and memorizing the dots and dashes on the screen to become fluent in a language they could converse in without any of the speakers getting them in trouble. Vee hasn’t used it in months, but that doesn’t mean she’s forgotten. 

Tap. Taptaptap.

Dash. Dot, dot, dot.

B.

Vee fills in the circle and taps out t-h-a-n-k-s. She glances over at Masha to find a smile on their lips.

They tap out the next answer, and Vee fills it in. It only takes half the class, but the teacher spends the other half droning on about everything they’re going to be learning, so she doesn’t get to actually talk with Masha until the bell rings and they can disappear into the stream of students heading for their next classes.

“Call me crazy,” Luz says, once they’re out of the teacher’s earshot, “but were you two talking using morse code?”

“I know, I know, cheating is wrong,” Masha says, waving a hand, “but I felt like these were special circumstances.”

“Are you kidding? That’s so cool!”

“Thanks,” Vee adds, glancing at Masha. “I really owe you one.”

“Why yes, you do, and I know exactly what I want.”

“Wait— no—“

“Come on, Vee! You have to show me at some point!”

Luz glances between them. “Show you what?”

Masha lowers their voice. “Her true form.”

“She hasn’t shown you yet?”

“She has shown you? Do you have any pictures?”

“Okay, okay!” Vee cries, throwing up her hands. “If you come over after school, I’ll show you.”

“Finally!” Masha bounces up and down, clapping their hands gleefully. “Okay, I should really get to Bio, but I’ll see you at lunch. Luz can show you where we eat.”

They press a kiss to Vee’s cheek and darts for the stairs. A wave of heat floods her face, and she trips, almost plowing into a line of students before Luz grabs the back of her shirt and pulls her into a blessedly empty bathroom. Vee catches her eye, expecting to see the excitement dancing in her stomach reflected in her face, but instead, Luz’s expression is carefully gentle. It calms the flush in Vee’s cheeks, leadens her limbs, and she leans against a wall.

“I know, I know. I should have shown them a while ago.”

“Vee, they clearly like you, and they really don’t seem like the type to be weirded out by much.”

“I know. It’s just… when you grow up surrounded either by people who are like you or afraid of you, when every teacher in every school teaches every kid that you’re a monster, when you can count every member of your kind on one hand because the rest were all hunted down— part of you always expects that you’ll make people afraid. I know Masha’s probably not like that, but there are so many other voices in my head, and they’re all louder than mine.”

Luz wraps her arms around Vee, leaning her head on hers. “That’s really tough, Vee. I know there’s nothing I can say to make it better, but for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing.” She steps back, squeezing Vee’s hands. “The only way to quiet those other voices down is to let other people talk back to them. Masha will. I know it.”

…

Camila drives them all home after school, but when they get to the house, Luz convinces her to go get pizza for dinner. She rolls down the window of the passenger seat just to give Vee an exaggerated wink as she and Masha get out of the back, and Vee shoves her head back into the car with the palm of her hand. The car drives away, and she unlocks the house with shaking hands. 

She follows Masha into the entryway. Closes the door behind her. What now? Does she offer them food first, or try to give some kind of disclaimer or—

If you don’t do it now, a voice in her head warns, sounding suspiciously like Luz, you never will.

And she changes. Just like that. 

Ta-da, she opens her mouth to say, or here I am, or I’m ready, but nothing comes out, and so Masha turns around and sees her without any warning, her mouth open with an explanation that’s never going to come. 

They don’t scream. That’s something.

But Vee can’t bear to see their expression shift, and her eyes dart to the floor, her heart slamming against her chest.

“Hey, Vee.”

Masha sounds casual, but they sounded casual when that slime-covered rat waddled into Cabin 7 in the middle of the night. Brace yourself, Vee—

“Do you want to go out with me?”

Surprise makes her nearly snap her neck with how fast she looks up. She expects them to be laughing, but their expression is bright, if a little nervous.

“What?”

“I mean, like, on a date.”

“No, no, I got that part. But— why?”

“Vee, you’re cool! In any form, you’re cool! I couldn’t care less what you look like. I like you because you’re you. Because you get flustered talking to people but will pick up spiders with your bare hands, because you’re so happy when you learn things it can make me enjoy learning about taxes, because you have enough power to drain the magic out of an evil emperor but have never once threatened someone who didn’t deserve it. That’s what I care about. And if you want me to care about you as my friend— great. We can just be that. But I feel, like, a lot for you, and I want you to know that, too.”

Vee’s chest is tight again, but for the first time all day, she’s not terrified— she’s so happy she feels like she could burst just by inhaling. She’s grinning so hard her face hurts, and yes, part of her wonders if Masha is creeped out by that expression on a basilisk’s face. But they’re beaming too, and Luz is right; that doubtful voice gets quieter and quieter under the onslaught of their attention.

“I’d like that,” Vee says quietly. “I really would.” Glancing over to the clock at the end of the hall, she adds, “we’ve got like an hour until dinner, and I’m sure Luz will stall our mom until then. We could go now, on a walk or something? I know that’s not the most romantic, but—“

“Anything with you will be romantic.” Masha nudges her, and Vee flushes, burying her head in her hands as Masha laughs.

“Is this okay?” They ask, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Vee wraps an arm around their waist, beaming into their shoulder. “It’s perfect.”

She returns to her human form, Masha’s hold on her easy no matter what shape she takes. Her hands are steady, this time, as she opens the door, and as they walk out hand-in-hand into the winter sun, she can’t recall why she was ever so afraid. 

[beaker1636]

Single Lyrics Chapter 7 - Ryan Sitkowski

AN: They finally make up.... mostly, but we are not over yet :) Also I have kind of hinted at who I envisioned her father to be throughout this story, curious if anyone has put two and two together!

“I’ll be by soon for this, I just wanted to get Violet in bed for the night first if that is okay?” Ryan messaged you, reminding you of the impending doom that is coming with this conversation.  

You don’t want to have it, to have to discuss one of the hardest things you have been through.  It’s scary, what if his reasoning was good? Or what if it was awful and ruins everything all over again… not that things are exactly good right now anyways but what if?

“Stop overthinking shit,” you see on your phone and almost laugh when you see it is from Vinny.

“I swear to god you are a mind reader sometimes… thank you,” you respond back with a smile, feeling a little better.

About 20 minutes later there is a knock on your hotel door and you let out a sigh before getting up and opening it, better get this done and over with right?

Or maybe you’ll just die inside and be let out of your contract?

At this point either option seems reasonable if you had to say so yourself.

“Hey, you can sit wherever,” you say softly, moving to settle back in your chair by the window so that you can look at it and not at the guitarist.  You know that is a dick move but you just can’t bring yourself to look at him right now, Justin tried telling you that he is sorry for the fight but you are still hurt and you don’t want to see that he is sorry on his face.

“I want you to ask me anything, seriously anything that you want to know and I will be honest y/n.  I realized that we have been avoiding talking about it and that isn’t the way that we move past things.   But first I want to apologize for kissing you yesterday how I did, I just thought that you were saying that is what you wanted and I have been wanting it… I shouldn’t have cornered you and just went for it.  I realized after that I was wrong,” he says, talking soft and you are pretty sure it is just to try and keep things from exploding like yesterday.

“Why were you so upset when I wanted to resign yesterday? I offered to find someone else who would be great and would be less of a problem and you seemed genuinely upset,” you ask softly, glancing over at him long enough that you could see he looked like shit, like he was upset.  

And now you are even more confused, why is he upset about any of this? All he should care about is that Violet is being taken care of, so why does he care that you are wanting to go? Especially when you said you would find help, you are nothing that special in the grand scheme of things.

“Violet loves you, you are amazing with her and more than what you need to be.  Even yesterday when you were upset and wanted to get away from me you took time to hug her and reassure her that nothing was wrong when she wanted one from you.  There are times I am with her and she asks for you.  She seems a lot happier than she was before and I know it is because of how much love you share with her, because you know what it is like to lose parents and you know how to approach that with her and still make her feel loved.” He pauses for a second, before continuing.

“I feel like we need you, not just her but both of us.  You have helped me learn so many things with how to take care of a little child that I didn’t know.  You have shown me countless moments of forgiveness and compassion.  I know you don’t see it but it’s starting to feel like you are a part of this family I have with her, that you are needed.  I’m not ready to see you go, I don’t want it to be someone else here helping me take care of her.  I want it to be you.”

This is when you now take the time to turn and look at him, in shock.  You didn’t expect anything genuinely serious from him, or this emotional.  This is why you didn’t want to do this, you knew that his answers would draw you in and make you want him more and that is the problem, you want him but can’t have him.

“But I-I’m not part of your family with her Ryan, I’m just her nanny,” you say softly, looking at him and hoping your shock isn’t written on your face at his words.  But it probably is, because you can already feel the tears welling up in your eyes.

“You have been her family for awhile now, the night she was sick and you sang your dads song to her I knew that you were.  You always said that if you had a child that would be what you would sing to them when they needed comfort and then you did it with her, that night I sat there listening to you longer than I probably should have but it made me start thinking things differently… made me realize how much we both need you, not just her.  Listen, I know I fucked up but I have been trying to figure out how to fix it, I have been trying to show you that you mean a lot to me but apparently I have done it wrong.” He admits, letting out a sigh of his own. “I want you to ask me what you actually want to, why I suddenly ghosted you and said what I did to Miranda back then.  Please, let me explain.”

“Ryan,” you turn to look at him this time, wanting him to know that you are serious about this.

“I’m scared to know, I am scared to know because what if it hurts me all over again? Or worse, what if it's something that you meant well and I then hate myself for resenting you for so long? I want to know but I don’t want to decide myself if I do or not, taking that power back and asking myself….” you cut yourself off, feeling a couple of the stray tears starting to hit your cheeks now that you finally can’t hold them back anymore.

“Ask me, let me tell you.  Please?” He begs, meeting your eyes with an intensity behind them. “If you hate me then you hate me after, but I want to tell you, please?”

You think about it for a minute, both of you sitting there in awkward silence while you decide if you actually want to know or not.  You can’t outweigh the thoughts that want to know, know why he chose to do that to you, especially when you swear things we’re going so well.  

“Okay, why, why did you?” You can’t even bring yourself to fully voice it, still hurt just thinking about what happened, how you lost multiple friends in the process of it all.  

“Your sister Taylor begged me to leave you, said she didn’t want to see you hurt while I was gone because it was going to happen.  That she watched how much your dad hurt her mother, hurt your mother with cheating, drinking, and all of it on the road,” he pauses, letting out a sigh. 

“She said that she would tell you I was caught with someone else, make you think that I betrayed you like that if I didn’t leave you first.  The sad part is she had me convinced that I was going to do it to you, that I would eventually fuck things up so I just gave up on us because I thought you deserved that.  I swear I tried to reach out when I heard a couple days later your father died but everyone talked me out of it, said there was no way to explain anything to you without hurting you more when you already were hurting so bad.  I shouldn’t have listened to anyone, but I did and I let it fuck things up.  But to be fair no matter what I did I wouldn’t have won, you never would have believed your sister was lying. It was easier to try and tell you that I wanted someone better, to make you think that I was an asshole and to make you hate me than it would have been to let you think I cheated, I can’t explain it but we all were protecting you in our own fucked up ways during an awful time of your life. I know that was all she was doing, and by me going along with it and just up and leaving you, it was my way of trying to protect you because I felt that you would be hurt more if you thought I cheated over if you thought I decided you weren't enough. I’m sorry, I wanted to be there for you.  If you look at photos from those first couple weeks after you can even see that I was a fucking wreck but I did what I felt I had to and I regret it all the fucking time.”

By this point you can see the sincerity on his face, in fact he looks as distraught as you feel.  Both of you are silent as you try to read what the other one is thinking, because neither of you know how this is going to go now that the truth is out there.  How this will change things, Ryan feels a little relief getting it all out there, and you do feel a little closure now that it is out there.

“I’m so fucking sorry, and I know I have said that a lot but I can never say it enough.  And I get if you don’t believe me, or if you can’t forgive me because when you needed me I wasn’t there for you,” he continues to ramble now, just trying to fill the silence because it is making him anxious while he thinks about it. “I know you were extremely close to him and….”

“Ryan, shut the fuck up and give me a moment please.  I fucking believe you, I can tell how genuine you are being but it is changing the way I think of a lot of things and I don’t know how I want to take that.  Especially when I never actually fell out of love with you, and now… do you still?” you ask, without straight up asking… almost scared to do so.

“Do I want this with you? Do I love and care about you? The answer to everything is yes, and I have been trying to show you this.  Why do you think that when you were sick I made sure to leave soup and medicine outside of your hotel room? Who do you think left you flowers in your bunk while you were gone on the anniversary of when your father died? Actually I have sent you some every year. I just never signed the card… who do you think is the one who buys you coffee half the time when you wake up and there is one on the counter?  You may not realize it is me, but it has been.  I just didn’t have the guts to say it was me.”

“That was you who sent them every year? I never fucking knew that, Ryan… that is so sweet, all of it is.”  By this point you are no longer fighting tears, they are streaming steadily down your face, as you accept everything.

Both of you sit there quietly for a moment, you now watching out the window again as you try to process everything.  You don’t notice that he moved until one of his hands rests on your face, using his thumb to brush the tears away as they fall.  Both of you are silent as you take in the moment, take in the fact that both of you never got over what happened between you.  You never realized that it still hurt him, and he never realized that you never fell out of love with him.

“I want you in my life, I want you in Violet’s.  I fucking love you, more so every day when I watch you with her.  Please, can we try things again?” he asks, turning your head so that you meet his eyes.

“If I say yes I have rules, I don’t want her to see things between us at first.  That way if it doesn’t work she isn’t hurt…. And we both have to start being honest about things,” you say softly, trying not to come across soft.

“Whatever you want, and if you don’t want this I can live with that… I deserve that honestly.” He says, suddenly aware of how close the two of you are.

Neither of you move, suddenly aware that the two of you are next to each other, touching.  Both of you are vulnerable, unsure what to do but wanting to do something.  You finally move, wrapping your arms around him, catching him completely off guard and after hesitating he wraps his arms tightly around you as well, pulling you into his chest as you both relax in the embrace.  

Neither of you are sure of what exactly is happening, but it sure feels right.

….. But then your moment is interrupted.

“Dude, fucking kiss her already!” you hear through the door, followed by an Owww.  You are assuming that whoever is next to Vinny, listening in to everything, just smacked him after he called out to the two of you. 

“You just got us caught dumbass,” you hear Ricky groan.

“Even if we kissed you wouldn’t know for sure…. Wait, who is watching violet if you are all listening through the door in the hallway?” Ryan asks, laughing.

“She’s sleeping, we have the baby monitor, it’s all good. Now kiss dumbass,” Chris yells this time, taking Vinny’s side and agreeing that is just what you need to do. “ Kiss and make up, get it over with.  Everyone has been waiting for it, the two of you have been waiting for it.”

“Wait, are literally all of you out there?” You ask, now curious if everyone is waiting out there for the two of you to make up, and slightly embarrassed.

“.... no,” Justin answers softly, before you hear a bunch of footsteps running away down the hallway making you laugh.  Of course everyone was listening in on this, why does it not shock you that those nosey jerks were.  You can’t help but smile though, knowing that everyone is supporting the two of you, even if their way of showing it sucks.

“So can I?” Ryan asks, glancing down at you from where you are still hugging him, wanting to feel him close to you.

“I mean we better give the fanclub what they want before they all kill us in our sleep,” you joke with a smile, trying to ease the tension that is building between the two of you at the moment.

Both of you lock eyes for a few moments before he finally does, leaving a soft, gentle, breathtaking kiss on your lips that leaves both of you silent afterwards as you sit there processing everything.

Suddenly both of your phones ding, and you look down seeing a message from Justin in a group chat he made.

“I’ve got Violet tonight, enjoy your time together,” you both read and then smile before slowly making your way over to the bed.  Many soft kisses and cuddles shared that night as you bask in the afterglow of finally fixing things between both of you, not letting yourselves worry about where things are going yet.  That sounds like tomorrow's problem… and it will be, you have plans to call your sister in the morning.

[fckinwild-kiwi]

Dec. 16th: Islands in the Stream

Day 16: Cute Aggression/Spontaneous Dancing

It’s time for day 16 of @comp-lady’s Domestic December writing challenge! Day 15 was a free day and I used it to travel for Christmas so there will be no fic on the 15th. :) The next ten days of stories will be shorter than I have been writing…this is because I’ll be with family and I’ll have less time for writing each day. Forgive me! <3

Warnings: Swearing, *Slight* Allusions to Smut (This is an 18+ blog, minors dni)  Word Counts: 0.7k+ Words Pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader

You had seen a TikTok earlier today of something called the “Beckham Test.” In this video, the woman began playing “Islands in the Stream” by Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers. As the song began to play, she began to dance and you quickly realize that if the man randomly began dancing with her, regardless of his moves, he ‘passed’ the test. You thought about how funny it would be to see Eddie’s reaction to hearing this song, a song that is very clearly not in his wheelhouse. So you set out to try the challenge discreetly, even if he didn’t dance, the challenge was so ridiculous anyway that it would give you both something to laugh about later.

With your mom and Macy still at your grandparents' until dinner, you had music playing all day as to not draw suspicion from Eddie. In preparation, you set your phone up on the window sill above the kitchen sink. As the music started playing, you started to hum and sing along as best as you could after only hearing the song a handful of times on TikTok. 

“What are you doing in here, baby?” Eddie questioned as he came into the kitchen causing you to turn and look at him. 

“Doing dishes and listening to some music,” You answered, as you turned back towards the sink to put your dishes down. This is the moment, you thought to yourself as you turned back to face Eddie while swaying your hips a little to the beat.

In the background you hear, Islands in the stream, that is what you are, there’s no in-between... and Eddie, your ever-confident and lovable boyfriend, grabs your hips and begins to sway with you. You giggled, knowing this reaction would be the one you’d receive but as you both began to lightly sing the lyrics to each other, your eyes grew misty. 

“You passed,” You whispered, breaking the moment as Eddie looked down at you with a soft smile. A second later he noticed your eyes full to tears and his happy expression faded into one of confusion. 

“What, sweetheart?” He questioned, his hands coming up to your face, thumbs swiping underneath your eyes to catch the tears that were beginning to bubble over your waterline. 

“I saw something this weekend on TikTok about knowing the person you’re with is your person based on how they participate in this test,” You began mumbling, looking up into Eddie’s eyes. “I expected you to dance with me but it just made my heart all mushy.”

“Aw, did my girl get too overwhelmed with looooove,” He said, extending the word love in a way that he knew would make you smile and (hopefully) giggle.

“Shut up,” You said, pushing at his chest with no effort as a smile lit up your face.

“I’m glad I passed the test I didn’t know I was taking,” Eddie said, releasing you from his grasp and doing a ballerina spin toward the sink where your phone was sitting. “How about we get this party started, huh?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, stepping towards him as he began typing into your phone. 

“I mean,” Eddie started as you heard the opening chords to the Black Sabbath song, ‘Paranoid.’ “We’re gonna dance, baby, but it is gonna be metal when we do it.”

Giggling, you began to headband while jumping up and down as Eddie pretended to shred on the guitar. Together, you started screaming the lyrics, your bodies jumping up and down with limbs flailing in all directions. You were so distracted that you didn’t hear the front door open and an excited Macy ran into the room.

“Metal dance party,” She screamed, causing you and Eddie to both stop your dancing, startled by the intrusion. 

“Macy Macy, you’re back!” Eddie shouted, grabbing the little girl and swinging her around. 

“Did you guys miss me?” She asked in between squeals.

“So much, sweet girl,” You said, ruffling her hair before walking over to your mom to greet her.

“What’s going on in here, my sweeties?” She questioned, as you pulled away from the hug. 

“Your daughter was afraid I wasn’t actually her person, so we had a dance party and then a metal dance party to prove it,” Eddie said shrugging, Macy still giggling.

“He’s ridiculous,” You argued, rolling your eyes with a smile on your face. Your annoyance was not believable in the slightest.

“Well?” Your mom said, nudging your hip with hers as you both watched the other two dance around. “Did he prove himself as your person?”

“He sure did.”

[girlinlotsoffandoms]

day twenty - can't breathe

notes: shoutout to each and every one of you for sticking with me as febwhump has turned into marwhump? Is that a thing? I don't know but I'm going to make it a thing.

read on AO3 or below

It was a mixture of pure adrenaline and decades of firefighter training that drove Kelly up the stairs and into the smoke box without a second thought. The moment a red flag had been raised about the oxygen tanks, Kelly put together what happened and sprang into action.

The smoke box was created to simulate the elements of a real structural fire, down to real smoke. It was dangerous to be in there without a mask, and Kelly’s eyes and lungs burned, but he had to find his last recruit. Martinez had already made it out, but Carr was still inside somewhere.

It didn’t take long for Kelly to find him but any time in the smoke box without proper equipment was dangerous. Kelly got Carr outside, got his SCBA off, and got him awake and breathing by the time the paramedics arrived. He made sure the paramedics checked on the two recruits first before they even attempted to check on him, even though Kelly was coughing and struggling to draw in a breath.

The fresh air helped but Kelly’s chest was still tight. He continued to cough and practically collapsed onto the stairs next to his recruits. Both were receiving oxygen and seemed much more with it than they had been just a few minutes ago and with Carr and Martinez doing better, the paramedics were ready to turn their focus onto Kelly.

Before they could, however, Chief Tiberg arrived and he wanted answers.

Part of Kelly felt bad for Mercer and the ass-chewing he received (on top of getting the boot from the academy) but the other part of him, the part who’s lungs were still burning, knew it was for the best.

There was another part of Kelly that was angry, not just at the situation but at himself. He looked at Carr, Martinez, Wiegan, and the other recruits, young future firefighters who trusted him to teach and prepare them, and he let them down. Kelly let them down and put them in danger by allowing Mercer to stay in the Academy. Kelly put their lives in danger because he didn’t want to make a hard decision.

Chief Tiberg made sure Carr and Martinez were okay to be released by the paramedics before releasing all the cadets for the day. Once they were gone, Kelly turned to face Chief Tiberg.

“This is my fault, Chief.” Kelly started. “I’ve had doubts about Mercer since the beginning and I should’ve booted him a long time ago.”

“You gave him a chance, Kelly. No one wants to see a legacy firefighter wash out of the Academy.” Chief Tiberg stated, clapping a hand on Kelly’s back. “Go home. I know you have a shift tomorrow. If Chief Mercer reaches out to you let me know. I’ll handle it.”

Kelly nodded and headed to his car. His lungs felt better after some breaths of fresh air but there was a familiar lingering tightness in his chest. His cough persisted as well, though it had lessened a bit as well. After all these years, Kelly could spot the signs of smoke inhalation easily. He knew that no matter how deep of a breath he took before entering the smoke box or how long he was in there, smoke was still going to invade his lungs, especially without an SCBA or other equipment. It was nothing new for Kelly and the fact that the symptoms were already lessening told him it wasn’t anything major–one less thing about this awful day to worry about.

He wouldn’t realize how wrong he was until hours later.

… … …

Stella had been concerned when Kelly came home smelling of smoke and still coughing slightly. When he told her the story of what happened, of Mercer’s involvement, and his trip into the smoke box, that worry only grew.

“You got checked out by the paramedics, right?” Stella asked.

Kelly shook his head. “I was more concerned about Carr and Martinez getting the help they needed. Besides, I wasn’t in there long.”

Stella leveled him with a disapproving look. “You and I both know it doesn’t take long.”

“I know, but I feel fine now. The coughing has stopped, my chest no longer hurts, and I’m breathing perfectly fine.” Kelly reasoned. “If I feel off at all tomorrow I’ll have Brett check me out at the station.”

“You better.” Stella scolded but if she was being honest, she’d have done the same thing as Kelly and she couldn’t necessarily be mad at him for that.

The rest of their day was filled with their normal day-off activities, but Stella kept a close eye on Kelly. She knew him like the back of her hand and could read him like a book—Kelly was fine.

That was until Kelly went to take a shower. He turned the faucet on and left the bathroom while the water warmed up. Steam had filled the room and when he stepped back inside the bathroom, Kelly’s chest tightened up and it was like he was back in the smoke box. He started coughing but those coughs quickly turned to gasping breaths as he struggled to breathe.

Luckily for Kelly, Stella had plans to join her boyfriend in the shower that night. She had been looking forward to a spicy make out session in the shower. Instead, what she found when she walked in the bathroom was her boyfriend fighting for air and his lips turning blue.

“Kelly!”

Stella quickly turned the water off, moved Kelly into the bedroom, and closed the bathroom door so the steam couldn’t reach them any longer. Stella quickly made her way back to Kelly who had precariously sat himself on the edge of their bed.

Stella dropped to her knees in front of him. “Kelly? Hey, look at me.”

“Can’t br-breathe,” Kelly gasped. This was worse than being in the smoke box or any real fire. This was his lungs and his body revolting against him, slowly suffocating him.

“I know, just stay with me, okay?” Stella begged as she grabbed her phone and dialed 911.

It didn’t take long for the ambulance to arrive. The paramedics weren’t impressed with Kelly’s oxygen stats when they first arrived and even after fifteen minutes of high-flow oxygen, his pulse ox stats were barely hitting the upper 80s.

Kelly was breathing better and contemplated denying the ambo ride to Med for a check up but a glare from Stella had him biting his tongue.

… … …

After oxygen, a chest X-ray, and four hours in the ED, Kelly and Stella arrived back at the loft. Ethan told him he was to avoid smoke and steam and he was by no means allowed to do anything but light duty for the next shift while his lungs healed. The stern lecture he’d gotten from April about not letting the paramedics on scene check him out was still ringing in his ears and he could see that Stella was upset; he had no intentions of upsetting her further.

They ate a quick dinner, silently, before moving into the bedroom to get ready for bed. Kelly stopped her before she could climb in bed.

“I’m sorry, for tonight,” Kelly said softly. “I really thought I was okay.”

Stella sighed softly and cupped Kelly’s cheeks. “I know you did. I just….I love you so much. I don’t want to lose you.”

“It’s going to take more than a little smoke to take me away from you.” Kelly promised.

[buggy-samaaa]

S/I Part 7

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

The next morning, breakfast was tense. Tense because I knew that Buggy was going to try and ask me out, and tense because he didn’t know that I knew that already and I didn’t want him to know that I knew. You know?

Both of us awkwardly eat our food.

Buggy: Weather.

Me: Huh?

Buggy: Weather is. Good. It’s a good weather today.

Me: Y-Yeah… *eats*

Buggy: *curses under his breath, eats some more*

Me: Food is nice.

Buggy: Huh?

Me: This food. It’s decent food. *picks up slop in my spoon*

Buggy: Oh, y…yeah. *eats*

Me: *has an idea to make this less weird, perks up a bit* You know, with the… weather… it may be a good day to do another trade?

Buggy: *perks up too* Another trade? For… for a drawing, right?

Me: Mhm. We could do something fun today. And I’ll draw you something later to make up for it.

Buggy: Yeah… Yeah! Okay! Uh… I, well. I have something in mind already. B-Because I had thought of trading again, too. I didn’t just want to spend time with you or anything. *looks away*

Me: *smiles*

—

I quickly finished my daily duties in order to get ready for the “not-date” which was actually a date in disguise. Since it’s a not-not-date, I decide to dress more nicely than I had before. I put on a fitted sweater and a pencil skirt with lace-up boots. I wear a little bit of makeup, too. It’s much more femme than I usually dress, so I hope he sees it as me putting in effort to be fancy.

I leave the room to meet Buggy near the mast for our outing. He’s wearing a button-down shirt printed with large polka dots. The sleeves are rolled up and it’s untucked. He’s wearing capris with long socks and boots. We are definitely dressed for different activities.

Buggy: Why are you all fancy?

Me: *miffed because here I thought he’d find it attractive* Well you never told me what we’re doing, so it’s your fault!

Buggy: MY fault?! Nuh-uh! You should have asked what to wear!

Me: What, and have you dress me??

Buggy: N-No! *exaggerated disgust* Bleck! Yuck! I wouldn’t want that!

Me: *sighs* Should I go change, then?

Buggy: Yes, at least get out of the skirt, it’s too tight, anyway.

Me: >:( *starts to remove my skirt*

Buggy: GAH!!! STOP DOING THAT!! *turns away*

Me: THEN DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO

Buggy: I OBVIOUSLY MEANT DO IT IN THE CREW’S QUARTERS

Me: I know, I just wanted to mess with you ‘cause you’RE PISSING ME OFF

Buggy: DO YOU EVEN WANT TO GO ON THE D— OUTING?!

Me: YES, DAMNIT!! … ‘Kay, be right back.

Buggy: ‘Kay

—

I change my skirt into some cute shorts and come back out.

Me: Better?

Buggy: Yeah. Okay, follow me!

That’s when I notice Buggy has a package of sorts with him. He picks it up and lugs it as we walk off the ship to the dock.

Me: Do you want help carrying that?

Buggy: *struggling* No

Me: C’mon, just let me help. Its handle is big enough for both of us to hold.

Buggy: It’s not heavy! It’s just … it’s unwieldy

Me: It’d be more wieldy if I helped.

Buggy: NO

Me: *grabs the handle*

Buggy: *yanks it away, almost dropping it*

Me: Be careful! What’s in there, anyway?

Buggy: It’s a surprise so stOP TOUCHING IT!

Me: Okay, damn.

Buggy: *huffs* … Alright this is actually really heavy can you help

Me: *chuckles and holds it with him*

—

We get to a certain spot on the island, on the beach. Near the water is a little alcove framed by some palm trees.

Me: Hey, wow, this is neat. *we sit down on the sand*

Buggy: Right? It’s like a tiny bit of paradise. There are even coconuts on the palm trees! 

He makes a hand float up to the coconut and pops it off the palm. He brings it back down and smacks it with a knife to split off the top, making a cup. He hands it to me, then does the same to a second coconut.

Buggy: Don’t drink it yet. I brought some booze to mix with the coconut milk.

He turns to the package and lifts open the top, pulling out some rum, which he pours into the coconuts.

Me: Aw hell yeah! *mixes it around and drinks it* Yum, thank you!

Buggy: *swirls his own and drinks it* No problem. *sips some more, a bit awkwardly*

Me: *notices his awkwardness, which makes me feel awkward, too*

Buggy: Um, so… I was thinking we could walk around on the beach… look for sand dollars… and then eat some food. *he points to the package* It’s picnic food.

Me: That sounds like fun to me!

Buggy: *was worried I’d find it lame* Really?

Me: Yeah! :D

Buggy: :D! … >_> Tch, well. I knew it would… *pulls out two little buckets from the package* I brought these to carry our sand dollars in.

Me: *thinking: so fucking cute omg*

Buggy: *grins* Shall we?

Me: Yes, let’s!

We finish our drinks and start walking along the beach, combing for sand dollars. Buggy is trying to psych himself up to hold my hand, but he keeps chickening out. I’m too nervous to initiate, so I just hope that he’ll do it himself. We’re hopeless.

Me: What do you want me to draw you later?

Buggy: I, um… well, I was thinking a caricature of both of us, together?

Me: *blushes a bit, because usually those are done of couples* *does he want it as just friends? or more?*

Buggy: Sorry, that’s weird. *rubs his arm and looks away*

Me: It’s not weird. I think it’s nice. *still blushing*

Buggy: *smiles a bit, still looking away* Oh, a sand dollar! *he picks it up and puts it in his bucket* I got the first one! Ha!

Me: Haha! Everything is a contest with you. Hey, I have an idea. Whoever finds the biggest sand dollar wins.

Buggy: Okay! What am I gonna win?

Me: Don’t assume you’ll win!! Um… I don’t know. How about a favor? To be redeemed at any time.

Buggy: That’s a good idea. Yeah! Let’s do it. *we shake hands*

—

We’ve been walking for about 10 minutes and each of us have found decent-sized sand dollars. One extra rule is, if it’s broken it doesn’t count anymore, so of course Buggy keeps trying to detach his hands and put them into my bucket to snap mine. I end up having to hide my bucket under my sweater so he doesn’t reach in anymore, which he finds grossly unfair. I argue that he’s the one being unfair, which makes him pout because I’m right. Another 10 minutes of walking and we decide to turn around and head back, as we are getting hungry.

When we get back to the picnic basket, each of us dump out our sand dollars because Buggy is so insistent on checking the sizes right away. And, lo and behold, Buggy actually did find the biggest sand dollar. He has a shit-eating grin.

Me: Don’t look so damn proud… just tell me the favor so I can get it over with.

Buggy: Ah-ah-ah, you said “to be redeemed at any time.” I’ll tell you when I’m good and ready.

Me: I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?

Buggy: Hey, I can be a nice guy! Is it so hard to believe that the favor may be mutually beneficial?

Me: When is a favor ever mutual?? It wouldn’t be a favor, otherwise! It’d be a compromise!

Buggy: *realizes I have a point* Can I redeem a compromise instead?

Me: No! Then there’d be no reason to win in the first place!

Buggy: *realizes I have a point again* Let’s just eat…

We take out the food Buggy packed and sit on the sand to eat.

Me: These sandwiches look great. Did Yoya make them?

Buggy: No. *bites into sandwich*

Me: Huh? Well… where’d you get them?

Buggy: *I* made them, duh

Me: What! You made these yourself??

Buggy: Th-They’re just sandwiches! Don’t sound so impressed!

Me: And you cut all the fruit, too?

Buggy: *flustered* Who cares??

Me: Wow… thank you, this is so nice. Seriously.

Buggy: IT’S JUST FOOD

Me: Mmm, it’s the best sandwich I’ve ever had~

Buggy: *very flustered* SHUT UP ALREADY

—

We finish eating and just look out at the ocean.

Me: …Can I ask you something?

Buggy: *sighs* Is it about the ocean?

Me: Yeah

Buggy: I miss it sometimes. Swimming in the sea. And I miss being able to walk along the shore with the waves hitting my feet. I can still go in a lake or a swimming pool, but it’s just not the same. *gives me a half-smile*

Me: … I’m sorry.

Buggy: *hugs his knees to his chest* I’m used to it by now.

Me: *looks him over, then back to the ocean*

Buggy: If you’re trying to think of a way to get me to touch the water, just know, it’s not gonna happen.

Me: I-I’m not… …Okay, yeah, I was thinking that.

Buggy: *small chuckle*

Me: We should go swimming sometime.

Buggy: Heh. I don’t even own a swimsuit.

Me: Skinny-dip.

Buggy: WHAT—

Me: Hehe, kidding. Buy a suit, then. I want to swim with you.

Buggy: Hmph… Don’t scare me like that! *puts his chin on his knees as he thinks* … *smiles at me* Alright.

Me: :D! Awesome! Next time we come across one, we’ll swim. *I put out my pinky*

Buggy: Seriously? A pinky promise?

Me: Yeah, why not?

Buggy: I’m a man! I’m not making a pinky promise!

Me: Pinky promises are macho as hell.

Buggy: Says who?!

Me: Says me!

Buggy: FINE! *pinky promises* THERE

Me: Now you gotta seal it.

Buggy: Oh, my God NO

Me: It’s even manlier if you seal it. *kisses my thumb*

Buggy: Rrrr… *kisses his thumb* *we put our thumbs together as our pinkies are hooked* Sealed.

Me: And now we do a funny dance

Buggy: Okay you’re making shit up now.

[wizisbored]

⭐️

10 paces time! theres a lil chunk of the last chapter thats basically me setting up the exact way that things are going to go downhill for lydia, so lets have a lil look at that shall we

“Why’d you think he gave me treats, Mama?” she asks the air. It’s been a day, and she’s still pondering. “He didn’t use food the first time he looked at my hands. He hit me.”

lydia canonically talking out loud to her mum is pretty convenient sometimes to show where shes at without having to more or less narrate her train of thought. i use it a fair bit in 10 paces because at this point it's been about 3 and a half weeks since she last had someone to talk to, and the isolation is getting to her.

but anyway, about what she's actually saying. she doesnt understand yet that the main goal was gentling, and checking her hands was mostly done out of convenience. she'll realise that soon enough, but it doesn't click straight away. she doesnt really know that taming her could be a goal.

She uses the end of her bone to smudge out her mud-doodles, then flips it to draw again with the splintered break. A round-faced figure with stripes on his jacket. “I think… Either he’s stupid, or he thinks I’m stupid.

both lydia and beetlejuice wonder wether the other is just stupid, but beetlejuice is the only one who draws a correct conclusion from it. lydia later concludes that both are correct, that he thinks she's stupid because he's stupid himself, but thats not quite right. sure, he thinks she's dumber than she actually is due to not fully understanding centaurs, but he knows she's acting out of anger rather than stupidity. he understands lydia far better than she thinks he does. his experience lies more in breaking and training than taming or dealing with foals, but hes still been working with taurs for a while and knows they can be worn down.

"It’s like with the grooming, I’m not gonna forget he’s locked me up and beat me just because he does something relatively nice.” She carefully scratches claws into her drawing. “But I guess… if I’m careful, I can just take the food, right? Bribing me to like him isn’t going to work, but there’s no reason not to take the food. Grain and hay and whatever that mash is gets really boring. So it’s understandable to take stuff from him.”

this is the crux of the issue thats going to be causing big problems down the road - essentially, lydia thinks she's immune to propoganda. she thinks that because she's figured out he's trying to get her more comfortable around him, it won't work. she's very self-confident, she's convinced she's too smart to be tricked and she's going to be able to game the system. and sure, maybe her knowing his intention will make her a little harder to wear down, but she's still an emotionally vulnerable teenager who's just gone through a series of traumas and lost both her parents in different ways. she's a herd animal forcibly seperated from her family and locked in a small pen she can't see out of. she's a smart, creative kid with absolutely no stimulation. she's simultaneously bored out of her mind and terrified and suffering from isolation and homesick. and of course she knows she feels awful, but she's less aware of the fact that all this makes her incredibly vulnerable to manipulation. if someone comes into her pen and gives her interaction and mental stimulation and actually enjoyable food, then of course she'll soften towards them. even if she knows he's dangerous, she can't put up perfect mental defences in order to get the benifit of the food without any of the manipulation. if she interacts with him and takes the food, he's winning. and since she thinks she's immune to all that, she's not going to realise.

deep down, she knows it's not really smart to take food from him. she justifies it to herself because she's desperate.

A fly lands on her thigh. Reflexively she goes to swat at it with her tail, but that’s still tied up, so she shifts her leg to disturb it. “I’ll be careful, Mama. Promise.”

i could say that her being unable to swat the fly because he's tied up her tail is a sign that she's already suffering from his seemingly 'nice' gestures - he tied up her tail during the grooming to keep it from getting tangled, only so that it's less work for him. in reality though, i just liked the image.

she's been saying all this out loud to her mother because she really wants her guidance, but of course she can't get that and has to think it through alone. she kinda knows that her mother probably wouldn't want her taking food from him even if she thinks she can avoid the mainipulation, but isn't able to figure out exactly why. best she can do about it is promise to be careful.

[lilac-gold]

Day 4- Omori AU Whumptober 2023

AI-less Whumptober Day 4- ALT Prompt Drowning

@ailesswhumptober

Fandom: OMORI Rating: Teen Word Count: 2283 Summary: Rococo cannot swim. Unfortunately, there is a lake at Camp Headspace, and he’s just been pushed into it. AU: Summer Camp AO3 LINK See this post for a summary/explanation of the AU

Rococo had just finished his latest piece of art, and in his expert opinion, it was his finest creation yet. Over the course of the summer, he'd developed his skill significantly, going from crayons to pencils to biros, from sketching to painting to everything.

He’d been working on his realism as of late, so his most recent picture was a portrait. It depicted Spaceboy, donned in full space pirate attire. He’d even added a cape and eyepatch! It was bright and colourful, just like Spaceboy was, and the background was covered in shiny, silver, stuck-on stars. Rococo could hardly wait to show it to everyone.

The first person he found was Spaceboy, who was overjoyed, saying that he looked like ‘a real space pirate'. Rococo grinned proudly at that. The next was Kim, who was in a rush but offered a quick 'good job, kid' nonetheless. Then it was Jawsum, who (as Rococo expected), offered to buy it. They agreed to organise commissions at a later date, Rococo planning to give the painting to Spaceboy that evening.

Then, he spotted Marina.

“Hi, Marina!” He waved, forcing down his apprehension at her stormy face. Marina was unpredictable at the best of times, and right now, she did not look happy. Rococo was reminded uncannily of her expression a few days prior, when she dissected a bunny she found in the forest. “Wanna see my picture?”

"No," She replied shortly, snippily. Rococo's eyes widened pleasingly. 

"Please?" Rococo begged, following her as she began to stomp away.

“Go away, Rococo,” She glared at him huffily, folding her arms. Rococo wilted a little. “I’m not in the mood for your stupid art.”

“It’s not stupid!” Rococo cried out defensively. “Art is le magnificent! It is–”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the idea,” She rolled her eyes. Thinly veiled curiosity sparkling in them, she asked, “What’d ya’ draw?”

He brightened up again, displaying his beautiful portrait to her. “Spaceboy.”

“Lame,” Marina sighed. “He’s boring. Why didn’t you draw me instead?”

“Oh– well, I– um…” Rococo stuttered, then shook his head a little. “I will be sure to draw you next time, Marina. I just… Enjoy making pictures of Spaceboy, too!”

“Never mind, I don’t want you to,” she said dismissively, peering down at a bug she’d spotted on the ground.

“What? Why not?” Rococo asked, rather put-out.

“I don’t like your art,” Marina shrugged, crushing the bug with her boot. “Not my thing. Too flashy. Not enough blood.”

“Not enough blood?!” Rococo echoed, incredulous and indignant to the highest degree.

Marina nodded sagely. “You can never have too much blood in your pictures. Yours don’t have any, so they suck.”

“Le gasp!” Rococo gasped Frenchly, holding a hand to his heart. “Well, your experiments suck more!”

“At least I’m not a failing artist,” she shot back angrily.

“How dare you?! I’m not failing! Jawsum’s going to commission me later!” Rococo stuck his chin out.

“Who would buy that?” Marina snorted derisively. “I’m no artist, but neither are you, Rococo.”

“Hmph! I’ll show you,” Rococo crossed his arms, saying petulantly, “It’s hardly like you’re a proper scientist. You just cut up poor, innocent little animals and claim that it’s for the sake of research. It’s concerning.”

“Hey!” She growled, fists clenching. “I am a scientist!”

“Nobody’s going to listen to your findings unless you portray them well,” Rococo told her derisively, having perfected his condescending tone by the time he was eight. Sweetheart was a great example, and he was exposed to hers constantly.. “And you are awful at talking to people. You need to be charming and charismatic, Marina! Like Hero. And like me. You’re just scary.”

“Scary?!” Marina glared daggers at him. “I’ll show you scary–”

“What’s going on over here?” Aubrey walked over to them, twirling her bat casually in her hand, and Rococo couldn’t help but stare at it. He knew Aubrey wouldn’t harm them, but her bat sure did look like it could do some damage.

“Rococo said I’m scary,” Marina blurted out, folding her arms tighter.

“Marina insulted my art!” Rococo added on grumpily.

“Just stay away from each other for a while,” Aubrey told them, sighing. “Why can’t you campers get along? You’re as bad as Kel and I were at your age.”

“You mean as bad as you are now,” Marina muttered unpleasantly.

But Aubrey just huffed a laugh and ushered them in opposite directions. Rococo sulked for a while, musing over his latest piece. Maybe it wasn’t quite as magnificent as he’d first thought. Now that he looked at it properly, the proportions were a little off, and the colours not quite as bright as he’d like. Spaceeboy’s smile was lopsided, the sky was darker in some places than others, and the fineliner marks were too thick around Spaceboy’s ear accessories (Rococo had initially forgotten to add them so had to draw over the ears.

There was always room for improvement! His next masterpiece would simply have to be even more breathtaking. Marina’s feedback was actually helpful, if he squinted very, very hard. He did tend to avoid reds, and they could probably make some of his pictures more stark. Blood grossed him out a bit, but it wouldn’t hurt to try drawing some, he supposed…

“–was actually thinking the lake,” he heard a voice say from nearby. Marina. In his gloomy walk around camp, he’d wound up on the other side of it, near the girls’ cabin.

“Really, Marina?” He heard her older sister, Molly, exclaim in surprise. Rococo had always been curious, so couldn’t help but listen in. “That’s not typically your style, darling.”

“I know,” he heard Marin a reply. “Still. I figured it would be a good idea after what he said.”

“If you’re certain, Marina,” Medusa, the youngest and most terrifying of the sisters– how someone so small could have such an intense death stare, Rococo didn’t know– replied. “Then I say you ought to go for it. Such hostility towards you cannot be permitted.”

“I’ll leave him a letter, telling him to meet at the lake. Then, I’ll show him what I really meant to say.”

Rococo, entirely missing the sinister undertone to her voice, raised his eyebrows in pleasant surprise. It seemed that Marina wanted to reconcile, putting their differences behind them. Besides, the lake would be an amazing place for him to paint! He had just gotten a new set of watercolours, after all…

He feigned confusion when Spaceboy gave him the letter, seemingly sent as the sisters’ errand boy. Its contents were exactly what he expected, requesting he meet Marina at the lake, but Rococo was an excellent actor, so Spaceboy was none the wiser when he expressed his apparent befuddlement. He always did have a flair for the dramatics…

“Le gasp!” He lifted his hands to either side of his face, clearly shocked. “It appears that Marina wants to apologise to me. As she should, that little fillet mignon!”

“Good luck making up with her! I know how tricky Marina can be to handle,” Spaceboy smiled widely at him. “I’d be happy to help if you wanted any!”

“Really? You would do that?” Rococo asked, beginning to beam himself before faltering a little. “Alas… This is something I must do alone. I would not want to upset her by dragging you into our feud, and thus… I must go alone.”

“Okay,” Spaceboy agreed, clearly trying to hide his devastation at being denied. That smile had to be a facade! Anyone would pay millions to accompany him for even a second upon realising his talent, and Spaceboy had witnessed it firsthand! “Bye, Rococo!”

And so, Rococo began his epic journey. In the woods, he battled spiders, rocks, thorns; the terrain was treacherous, but it was nothing the great artiste Rococo couldn’t handle! At one point, he battled with a tree, his hair tugged by its sharp and twisting branches as he struggled to get free. He won that battle, as he did every fight. Eventually, he made his way to the lake, scanning the area for Marina.

There was no sight of her.

“Marina?” He called out cautiously. “Marina?!”

No reply. It appeared that he had been tricked. 

Sighing, Rococo took a step towards the lake. His tussle with the forest had left him a little disorderly, so he gazed into his reflection closely, picking out pieces of twigs and leaves from his glorious locks. Rococo was not made for the woods. Perhaps he ought to have tied his hair up before setting out into it alone.

The water was perfectly tranquil, and as Rococo looked over it, he realised just how stunning it actually was. The sun was starting to set a little, shades of pink and orange dancing across the sky, a warm gradient running across it that was reflected in the lake before him. Rococo’s mouth dropped a little in wonder, forming a round ‘o’ shape. He’d never quite noticed just how pretty it could look before.

He considered sitting down for a while to continue surveying the wonderful view. He would lounge across the healthy green grass, watch the sun slowly go down as the water glittered. See the beautiful pinks and reds of the sky gradually darkening into a cool shade of cerulean, breathe in the lovely forest air. Enjoy the peace and quiet, rest for a while away from the chaos of camp. Rococo breathed in deeply, marvelling at the lake before him–

And gasped in shock as he was unceremoniously shoved into its waters.

His arms flailed, time seeming to slow down for a second as Rococo stared, wide-eyed, at the rapidly approaching azure below him. It no longer sparkled, overcast by his shadow, the blue seeming vast and all-encompassing.

Rococo was powerless to stop himself from crashing in, the seconds unfreezing themselves and seeming to pass twice as quickly to compensate. His gasp was cut short by a sudden flood of water, Rococo choking on the liquid as it slid uncomfortably down his throat. His lungs quickly tried to expel the unwanted fluid, Rococo coughing painfully and desperately trying to kick towards the surface. The water was freezing, far colder than he’d expected, shocking his system and forcing his eyes wide open in panic even as they stung from the lake water. He tried peering through the darkness, but all he could see was black.

Every sound was muffled, Rococo’s ears popping disconcertingly as his nose filled with water too, feeling strange and out-of-place. His skin numbed with the cold enclosing him, Rococo shuddering as it seemed to seep into his bones. He forced his coughs to stop, focusing on kicking upwards fruitlessly, his heavy clothes weighing him down. The watercolours in his pocket would be ruined by this point. That seemed like a silly thing to worry about just then, but Rococo still felt a spike of disappointment rise in him all the same.

This whole thing wouldn’t be such a problem if he knew how to swim, but in his neighbourhood, there were no pools whatsoever. So Rococo was left throwing his arms and legs about without a clue of what he was supposed to do, desperately trying to hold in the remaining oxygen he had. His head spun with the burning need to breathe out, colourful spots beginning to pierce the black all around him. Rococo was suddenly hit with the realisation that he was going to die.

He didn’t want to die. He had so much left to do! He had to harness his skill and be the best man at Sweetheart’s wedding and fund Spaceboy’s trip to the stars with his commission money! Rococo couldn’t die, not yet, he refused to.

But no matter how much he protested the notion, Rococo’s lungs expelled what little air they had left eventually, and all that was left to breathe in was water. He choked and spluttered, only causing more of the blasted liquid to flood into his system. Inside of his lungs, there was a sensation that seemed tearing and burning all at once, far too different from the unforgiving cold all around him. Panic engulfed him in waves, the hot tears budding in his eyes a stark contrast to the omnipresent cold surrounding him. Rococo was going to die. He was going to die alone, in a lake, surrounded by the pressure of hundreds of gallons of water.

Marina must have pushed him, Rococo registered distantly, remembering the sharp shove against his shoulderblades. She’d wanted this to happen. And for what? To prove she was stronger than him? For all he knew, this was just another of her experiments. He was simply unfortunate enough to be selected as the test subject.

He was going to miss Sweetheart when he died. Sweetheart and his grandma and his friends at Camp Headspace. Rococo wished he had at least said goodbye to her before setting off towards the lake. He was so stupid.

His chest spluttered weakly, Rococo spotting what looked like a huge set of teeth before his eyes slid shut. It was almost… Peaceful, floating within its depths, once the frantic hacking of his lungs subsided. They still felt like they were being crushed, but the feeling was far away, distant. Like it was happening to someone else. His mind was blurry with alarm and something else, but Rococo wasn’t too worried. The only thing that really bothered him by that point was the cold. The biting iciness that enveloped him was unwelcoming and cruel, wrapping him in an unwelcome, inescapable embrace. He was going to die. There was nothing he could do.

Sinking slowly down, Rococo finally succumbed to the darkness.

[the-kipsabian]

So. What I think about you. It’ll take some telling to get there. Might get a bit sappy but here goes nothing.

So I’m a pretty new fan of wrestling, less than a year of proper watching still. It was a bit of a spontaneous thing, a friend made watching another sport would post things, and eventually I decided to take a peek and see what all the fuss was about. And in the end, I really enjoyed what I saw. I could get into that, but it’s not exactly important to where I’m going with this.

I don’t remember exactly when I first saw Kip. It was after his feud with OC, but still close to new years. And I thought, geez this guy is neat. Had no idea what was going on with any of his past work, I just liked the way he moved, I guess. So I thought, let me dig a little deeper into this. Eventually I ended up at your blog, and let me tell you, you were a hell of a resource to this baby fan. I’ve always been a bit nervous about following new people (had some bad experiences in the past I’m not eager to repeat) so I think I sort of lurked a while before I actually hit that follow, probably by accident honestly.

So then was Kip and Penny’s trip to Japan, and this is where I got introduced to Chris Brookes, who I’m not sure I even have words for how fond I am of him now. So I very much attribute that to you, and I’m pretty thankful for the introduction to an absolute bastard giraffe man who I adore.

Eventually I got a bit more settled into my new interest, started posting a bit on tumblr, reblogging gifs and the like. And then, just like how I got into wrestling, another fairly distant mutual joked about being interested in what they were seeing. So we talked a bit, I recommended some of what got me interested, and I think in the end that got me a new friend. In a way, I can wrap that back around to you, too.

I see that you struggle a lot. Sometimes it’s with writing, or art. You still make cool things, and I’m pretty awed by that. I’m looking forward to what you’ll make next. I doodled a rabbit on the back of a shopping list today, for the first time in months. It felt like a little victory. I wonder sometimes if your writing, your art, feels like that too. I’ll still celebrate it as if it is.

I’m not really sure how to end this. I guess I just want to say, we aren’t exactly friends, or at least, I don’t feel I can claim that we are right now. But I do think about you, and root for you. And in myriad little ways, you’ve changed my life. That feels a little strange to write, but it’s not untrue. I suppose no one can really know what impact we have on anyone else. At any rate, I hope you’re doing well, I saw you were sick this week.

-🐓

first of all: CHICKEN ANON YOURE BACK HELLO!! its been a while i hope youre doing well! 💜

legit when i read this first thing in the morning, i fucking cried. just.. theres a lot to unpack here, i try not to ramble but this. something like this is literally why ive been keeping on posting everything i do despite occasionally feeling like theres no point to sharing anything. ive always been telling myself that i first do it for myself, and then share it in case theres someone somewhere down the line that might be looking for this content later

and to hear that there is even one (1) person literally like this out there, using my blog and the content i put out to familiarize themselves with my blorbo, im... like oh my god 💜💜

im really glad it has helped you make friends too 💜 and while i dont know who you are, i would consider us friends no matter what tho, especially after hearing this. so glad things like this have helped you to get more into the community, thats amazing! and to touch up on the art thing, yeah its hard at times to pick things up again after a long while of not doing anything - i literally wrote a drabble last night after not writing anything for a week and i havent even seen my drawing tablet in like two months now lmao - but im so happy to hear about your grocery list rabbit!! little doodles here and there are definitely better than nothing, especially if you enjoy doing them!

youre so precious anon, i hope youre having a good day. im still slightly sick, getting better now thankfully so i should be fully operational the next few days and oooooh when that happens its all over you fuckers when i get back to writing (this is affectionate i swear LMAO)

thank you, i love you 💜