#but no all my energy goes to being upright at the office and then to not throwing up on the carpet at home
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i just want to feel able to do something after work other than lie limply on the couch!!!
#there are conference abstracts to write and papers to edit if only i could THINK#but no all my energy goes to being upright at the office and then to not throwing up on the carpet at home#I fucking hate this to be real with you guys#this illness decimated my spring and i feel like itâs about to take away my summer#and I donât want that. I really donât#rare pic of me in the wild
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Is Your Next Partner a Karmic, Twin Flame, or Soulmate?
Hi, Hexlings!
This pick-a-card reading is for my Patreon All Tiers. This pick-a-card reading is all if your next partner is a karmic, twin flame, or soulmate.
This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help.
Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you canât stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.
Extended Patreon Includes:
What can you do to avoid or bring this person in?
What will you learn from this relationship?
Extra Messages
MasterList
Patreon Link
Ko-Fi Donations
Pile l:Â
What label is your next relationship? Tarot: Knight of Swords, Queen of Swords, 7 of Cups, Queen of Wands, 8 of Pentacles (all Reversed), The Chariot (Upright)
KARMIC. Pile l your next relationship is showing up as a karmic relationship. Now before you start denouncing the devil back to his corner office, just know that karmic isn't always a bad thing just like everything in life has a polar opposite of good and bad karmic is the same...except when it comes to this person. I hate this energy for you. I pulled a few more cards from an oracle deck and this person will disguise themself as your soulmate I'm hearing Taylor Swift "I'm a nightmare dressed as a daydream." At first, you are going to believe that this person is the one and will be over the moon but slowly over time this person will start to do the "Breadcrumb method" on you. For those who don't know what the breadcrumb method is "when you give an individual just enough morsels of attention to keep them or hooked into the relationship (or situationship), without any intention of really committing." for those who want more in-depth here's a video from TikTok https://tinyurl.com/4688bus3 . This person just wants your attention as well as the idea of being with you but does not want to be with you for a long-term commitment that goes anywhere. The Song Keep Me Hanging On by Kim Wilde is this situation "Set me free why don't you baby..you don't want me. You just keep me hanging on." I see a few of your friends will point this out to you or some of you won't mention it to your friends because you know what they will say but your guides want you to reach out to your friends and let them help you see the light to get out of this situation. Patreon Post Link
Pile ll:
SOULMATE. I love the energy of your cards pile ll. It's very peaceful, calm, and healing about this energy. You're next relationship I don't know why but for a lot of you this is something that was a long time coming. Maybe you have been used to karmic after karmic, aka lesson after lesson and now life has seen your growth because the sun is coming out to shine a blessing over your next relationship. This next person coming in for your love life will be about healing what other people have broken in you. For some of you, your previous relationships may have broken your trust in specific genders or even the types of people you tend to go after. You can relax your head with this person coming in because that is all they want you to do is relax, trust in them, and heal what I am hearing your feminine energy. If you are the masculine reverse the role of your next partner all you want is for someone to relax and trust you without you having to apply to boot camp to even get a name out of them. Your heart chakra will be singing with nothing but pure love with this person. You may have trouble opening up at first but when you do you will look in the mirror not sure of who the person is in the mirror you're looking because this person is meant to transform your life, mentally, emotionally, and for a few of you financially. Patreon Post Link
Pile lll:
What label is your next relationship? Tarot: Â Â The Tower, The Hermit, 9 of Cups, 8 of Swords (reversed), The Chariot, 10 of Cups.Â
TWIN FLAME. Britney Spears - Chaotic popped in my head as I looked at your pile's cards. This energy is beautiful but also a bit intense in a way like most twin flame connections are. I just kind of hate how TikTok has made Twin Flames out to be. It's not this lovey dovey relationship, even though it can be but twin flames you are basically walking mirrors to each other. I am hearing this quote from Twilight movie: Eclipse (3rd movie) from Bella's mother when she meets Edward and she says
"Renee: The way he watches you. Itâs like heâs willing to leap in front of you to take a bullet or something. Bella: Is that a bad thing? Renee: Itâs an intense thing. Youâre different with him. He moves you move, like magnets. Bella: I donât know, weâre just⌠Renee: In love. I get it." Link to clip https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6bWmjbXpiwÂ
Twin Flames are chaotic. They show you parts of yourself that you didn't even know existed as well as the parts of yourself that you may hate about yourself because technically you are one split from the same soul. But don't let this scare you because this connection is actually beautiful overall you know this person is your 10 of cups, your fulfillment, your person, your "everything" It's going to feel as if there is no one else in the world who is meant for you and other days you are wanting space you will second guess things but not enough to where you think about breaking up for good maybe a small break but leaving each other alone isn't an option because this person is it. They are your Yang to your Meridith Grey from Grey's Anatomy. Patreon Post Link
Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.
Stay safe and be blessed
#spirituality#tarot reading#tarotcommunity#tarotblr#witchblr#pick a card#tarot cards#pac tarot#pick a pile#pac reading#pick a photo#pick a picture#pick an image#patreon
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sad macsummers hours where one of them gets sick and has to stay in hospital but will like recover becuz im watching my neighbour totoro where the mum is in hospital and idk it made me sad
I've been toying with the idea of the gang having some lingering complications from how they died so this is perfect.
Lenny suffers a spontaneous pneumothorax that is further complicated by post-surgical infection. Not only is Lenny being in hospital an ordeal on Sean in itself, but due to chest tubes, oxygen and other supportive medication Lenny can't talk to him.
This is a problem because 1. Sean is a nervous yapper and is slowly going insane not being able to have Lenny respond 2. Sean just doesn't understand the doctors. The staff are obviously geniuses and Lenny is getting the best care but they cannot explain what they are doing in a way Sean understands and Lenny can't talk to translate for him.
Sean feels as helpless as he would be in a different country to Lenny. He doesn't know what's happening, he doesn't know how to help, all he knows is that Lenny was meant to be going home after 6 days, and they were both smiling and laughing, and then Lenny was sick and struggling to breathe again and throwing up and feverish and sicker than he was when he first went in.
He does not leave Lenny's bedside, and the first thing Lenny says when he has the tubes removed for a second time and can talk again is 'I love you but you need a shower'.
Sean also holds Lenny's hand so tightly he almost breaks it.
Lenny tries his hardest to pretend everything is okay for Sean's sake because Sean is ruined seeing Lenny get sick, being afraid he's going to lose him because for Sean it's the first time he's gone through the grief of seeing Lenny so close to death, but eventually Lenny has to break too.
Sean, after weeks of feeling helpless, at least knows how to comfort his husband while Lenny goes through the terror of it sinking in that life is as fragile as it was in canon era.
--
Plus some canon era for a different flavor
Sean isn't okay when he is brought back to Horseshoe Overlook. Lenny helps him off Boaz and immediately knows it's not going to be bouncing back to normal Sean, despite the grin Sean has. He's running on the relief of being rescued and the adrenaline of being held upside down helpless during a shootout.
His arms are too thin. His skin is unnaturally warm to the touch. It takes every puppy-eyed boyfriend stare just to get Sean to sit down long enough to process the number of injuries. To notice the missing tooth and immediately force himself to stop staring at it. The healing black eye.
Second the adrenaline wears off, the pain sets in. The fever climbs. As much as horseback would be faster Lenny insists on the mercy of taking the wagon, with Sean laying in the back instead of trying to sit upright.
None of them are potentially fatal injuries. Sean is going to be okay, Lenny knows that. Sean knows that. But it's more than the gang can handle right now. Lenny is relieved to know Sean will be in the safety of a doctor's office.
Except Sean loathes doctors. And it doesn't help that the doctor in Valentine just seems like a shifty, nervous, feller. The number one thing Sean needs is rest and sleep, and Lenny knows Sean struggles enough sleeping without being in the creepy attic clinic of a doctor's office.
When he's asleep, Lenny lets it sink in how terrible Sean looks. If it wasn't for how thin he is, and how obvious the rise and fall of his chest is in his sleep, Sean would look like a corpse. He doesn't want waking up alone to be the final stress Sean can't cope with.
So begins weeks of battling Sean on Sean's behalf. Sean wants to be fine, he wants to be back with the gang and he does not want to be laying in bed all day being told to stay still so he can recover when the process seems heinously slow regardless.
That doesn't mean Sean has much fight. He puts so much energy into pretending to be fine, and arguing he's ready to go home to the gang and back to robbing, he sleeps 18 hours a day. Or sometimes he wakes up and admits his entire body hurts, and he's too nauseous to eat, and just looks out the dirty little window miserable.
Lenny stays as often as he can. Constantly, after catching Sean having snuck out and staggered to the bar before passing out on a stool. They play cards on goods days, Lenny reads to him on bad. The gang move on to Clemen's Point, but Lenny stays behind. Sean isn't ready.
Sean regains his strength on cute little dates walking around Valentine, getting excited over candy bars at the grocery store and beef stew at the saloon that they both think is better than Pearson's cooking. Sean's burned feet result in a bone infection, with the pain in his ankle lasting months. He uses a cane on bad days, and then realizes he quite likes using it as a weapon even on his good days.
By the time Sean is well enough to head back to camp, he actually dreads the lifestyle. He's gotten used to a physical bed, and the sheer concept of privacy. He likes having Lenny to himself too much - fake coughs and jokes he has an infection and needs to stay a few more nights. They both miss the gang too much to leave, but the thought crosses their minds.
Then - they get to Clemen's Point and there's no one there. No note. Just a quickly dug grave with no name. They realize they're on their own. They're alone, except for each other, no way to find the gang on their own. They're free. They're nobodies enough to slip through Tall Trees. They go back out West. They live happily ever after.
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Fragile Lines [Chapter Two] Charmer [Ignacio âNachoâ Varga]
Summary: Letting Chuckâs words eat at her, Ria goes to see Jimmy and has a brief run-in with a stranger wearing a button-down shirt.
Warning(s): family drama, tarot cards, heart-to-heart, and mentions of Wicca.
No Minorâs Allowed!!
Ria hated to be alone with her thoughts for too long. Sitting on her brother's words for nearly two weeks, she found that she could no longer ignore them. She hated to admit that Chuck was right, but a part of her wondered if Jimmy would go back to scamming considering his funds were now exhausted after paying off the hospital bills for the two young men he brought in. Seeing him become that person again â Slippin' Jimmy, a nickname that stuck after he used to slip and fall on purpose so he could get money from people â was not something she wanted. But she knew that if she expressed her concerns to him, then Jimmy would accuse her of taking Chuck's side.
Why must the two of them be so damn annoying?
Since when did it become the job of the youngest sibling to keep the family together? Sometimes Ria wished that she had stayed in Cicero with Benjamin. Then maybe she'd be happy andââ
Get it out of your head. It's too late to be thinking about what-ifs.
Fucking Chuck! He knew exactly what to say to tear her apart. Ria groaned in annoyance and sat up on her bed. She had the day off, but so far all she had done was sit in bed and think about the argument between her brothers. There was no way she could enjoy her afternoon until she knew that Jimmy wasn't starting shit. But again, she didn't want to flat-out ask him for fear that he would retaliate. He already wasn't answering her calls.
Had he been plotting a scam that inevitably got the two skateboarders injured? Why else did he pay their medical bills? Curiosity was eating her alive.
Ria leaned over to her bedside table and opened it, taking out a deck of tarot cards bound with a rubber band. She was in some need of guidance. Having changed her religion in residency over to Wicca after the death of her mother, she found the concept suited her better. Besides, she rather enjoyed tarot readings; answers came easier to her. Taking off the rubber band, she held the deck in her hand.
How should I deal with the issue regarding my brother Jimmy?
Ria thought hard about her question as she put her energy into the deck. Once she was ready, she shuffled them; a lone card fell onto the bed between her legs prompting her to raise a curious brow. Normally she would spread the deck and pick a card, but this one seemed to jump out at her for some reason. She sat the others down on the bedside table and lifted the fallen card, turning it over. It depicted a burning tower with people falling from it.
Ria chewed on her bottom lip in thought. The Tower card upright represented misery, calamity, and ruin. She also knew it meant sudden change and higher learning, but to who. The question she had asked didn't seem to correlate, but perhaps she was overthinking it. Tarot readings were not an exact science; they were meant to guide one, not make choices for them. Humming, she took out her phone from her pocket and checked the time. It wasn't too late in the afternoon, so Jimmy was most likely in his office at Day Spa and Nail.
It wouldn't hurt to check up on him.
Getting off the bed, Ria left her room and hurried into the bathroom, getting dressed in an outfit she had sitting out, a Cami top and jeans. Brushing her unkempt brown hair and painting her lips a vibrate coral pink, she sauntered out the door of her apartment on 4th Street and got into her vehicle.
It took her no more than 8 minutes on I-40 East to get to the nail salon. She was right about Jimmy being there; his pee-yellow Suzuki Esteem was in the lot, looking worse for wear. Ria parked next to a faded black and orange Chevy Van, then got out and went inside. For a moment she stood near the door, searching for the shop owner, Mrs. Nguyen, but when she didn't see her, she walked towards the back where the office was, having been in the salon multiple times before; she always assumed Mrs. Nguyen didn't mind her stopping by considering she never chided her each time she did, so long as she didn't drink the cucumber water that was meant for the customers.
Without knocking, Ria swung the door open and sauntered in, almost bumping into someone seated in front of Jimmy's desk. Her eyes grew wide in shock.
"Shit! I'm sorry."
The person, a Mexican-American man wearing a button-down striped shirt, narrowed his eyes at her, then averted them to her brother.
"Don't you know how to knock?" Jimmy asked in annoyance. "I'm with a client."
"Don't you know how to answer a phone?" Ria retorted with a snap.
The client grinned and sat back in his chair as if he were enjoying the show.
"I'll be with you in a minute, Aria. Go outside, please," Jimmy stated.
He almost sounded desperate, a tone that concerned Ria. Dismissing it as a precaution considering the client in the room, she grabbed the handle and shut it behind her, standing outside. She hoped that she didn't mess up his chance at an actual client. Things at the courthouse were looking grim and she knew the little bit of money he earned wasn't enough to live on.
He won't let me help him no matter how much I offer.
Ria sighed and leaned her head against the wall. She wanted the best for Jimmy and Chuck, even though the latter thought she was playing favorites. Hell, she lost a lot moving to Albuquerque, including her house. Or rather Benjamin's house. She just wished that her brothers could see what all she sacrificed for them.
Hearing the door open, Ria stood up straight and averted her eyes, watching the client come out. She felt bad for interrupting their conversation, hoping that he didn't hold it against Jimmy.
"Um... I'm extremely sorry for barging in. My brother honestly needs a secretary to keep people like me from interrupting."
The client glanced at her, narrowing his eyes, then walked toward the exit.
What a charmer, Ria thought, turning up her eyes. All the attractive guys are massive dicks.
Jimmy sauntered out next, watching the charmless man leave before he turned his attention to her.
"What do I owe the pleasure?"
"I just came to talk," Ria answered. "And no, I could not have waited. You've already been dodging my calls."
Jimmy hummed.
"Are you sure?"
Turning up her eyes, she pushed past him into the office and sat in the chair the client had been sitting in. Jimmy shut the door and sat behind his desk.
"So," Ria drew out. "Was he a client?"
"The brooder in the button-down? He could give Sean Penn a run for his money," Jimmy teased.
She snorted.
"He was cute. I hope he comes back."
"Your taste in men needs some work," Jimmy stated with a disgusted expression. "And you're out of luck because he isn't coming back. I couldn't help him. You know, it may have been because you barged in here nagging me. Some men are turned off by nagging women."
Ria raised a brow in disbelief and flipped him the bird.
"That was extremely immature."
"Says the pot calling the kettle black," Jimmy retorted.
TouchĂŠ.
Ria crossed her leg over the other and sighed. She didn't want to bring up the argument, but she figured that her brother had a right to know.
"This isn't a consolation, so I don't have to give you a dollar, but I expect you to keep your big mouth shut when I tell you this; it's strictly a family matter."
"My lips are sealed," Jimmy promised, raising his hands in defense.
Ria hoped so. She didn't want Jimmy to go back to Chuck and tell him that she cried to him about their fight.
"I went to see Chuck. He was upset after you left, something about not grounding yourself. But he asked me about the medical bill you paid for the skateboarders. Why didn't you tell me that it was going to set you back?"
Jimmy took an uneasy breath and tapped his fingers on the desk.
"Because it doesn't concern you or Chuck. He found the medical bill; I had no intention of telling him because I knew he'd get upset."
"He got more than upset. He's worried that you're 'slipping' again," Ria mentioned as she emphasized the word.
Narrowing his eyes, he tilted his head a bit.
"And you came here to ask if I am?"
Ria shook her head in disagreement. She wanted to, but changed her mind; the Tower card came to mind.
"All I ask is that you let me help you if ever you need it. I'm your sister, Jimmy and even if Chuck is trying this tough love approach, I want you to know that you can come to me."
"Okay, noted. But he said something else to you, didn't he?" Jimmy asked with a curious look.
Ria took a deep breath. It didn't necessarily matter, but she couldn't lie to him.
"He brought up Ben. Said I moved because you asked me to, but that's not true."
"It's been eating at you though, so maybe it's a little true," Jimmy mentioned.
How could he think that? Ria narrowed her eyes in sorrow.
"No Jimmy. It's never been about you," she claimed as she sat on the edge of the seat. "It was a decision I made to be closer to you both, and it cost me everything. Yes, I am still a mess about it, but I don't blame either of you."
She still loved Benjamin, but he made it clear her family meant nothing to him. It was ignorant on her part not to work around the issue; her brothers were all she ever had and to want to separate her from them made her bitter. Ria was stubborn as hell and change scared her; she was still getting used to her new life even after being in Albuquerque for a year and a half.
Warm tears filled her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away.
"Just promise me."
For a moment she was scared that Jimmy wasn't going to react, but he brought in his bottom lip and shook his head.
"If something comes up that I can't manage, I'll call you."
Ria was content. She leaned back in her seat and smiled. The least she could do was change the subject.
"How is Kim doing? Are you two an item yet?"
Jimmy snorted.
"I don't ask you about your personal life."
"You probably shouldn't," Ria teased. "I've done things that would make the internet blush."
Her brother curled his nose in disgust, standing.
"I'm gonna get some cucumber water before you make me throw up."
"That is for paying customers only," Ria brought up, laughing as he walked from the room.
She leaned her head back and sighed. At least she felt a little better, but her phone felt like it was burning a hole in her jean pocket, begging her to make the call to her ex.
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PLEEAASE đđ I'm begging you for some hurt/comfort resolution for the last karlnapity x reader and sleepy bois brothers!! I just want them all to be happyyy. If the 3 lives was implemented, or if reader came back like ghostbur and the hurt is raw for the loved ones, the fallout and fixing, the love and regret i- (I loved the fic, your karlnapity are my favorite!! keep up the awesome work!! <3)
sapnap x karl x quackity x reader + sleepy boys x silbing!reader
trigger warnings: mention character death (itâs you, your the dead one) yelling, swearing,
requested by the anon above, another anon: ângl after reading that angst fic I can picture y/n ( even tho I know y/n came back with knowing who the boys were ) coming back kinda like ghostbur knowing the boys voices but can't exactly place their names and who they are to them or something like that ?? idk my brain went think of more angst after that fic - also sorry this is just me rambling. love your work btw !!âÂ
as well as @tobiostfu @theprocrastinatingshipper @pastelvixenbeauty and probably some more folks I might have missed
premise: this is a part two to the other angst thing from the other day, so I recommend you read that for context, this is a resolve (ish) to thatÂ
(y/n/n)- your nickname
âblepâ- talking
��blepâ thinking
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You had drifted the lands of the SMP, and LâManburg for sometime trying to remember what had happened, and why everyone was always yelling.
Youâd try to talk to Karl, after Alex and Nick had left, but he just ignored you.
Now you were perched on the top of the stage, looking out âwhy are the walls gone?â, and then looking down, confused, at the strange, cage like structure built at the center.
You heard a sigh, and turned to see Eret looking up at the cage as well, you hopped down off the stage and concentrated, âEret?â
They jumped, looking around, âWhat the hell?â
You screwed your eyes shut âplease see me please see me please-â
â(y/n)?â
You opened your eyes to see Eret looking at you in shock, âEret! Iâm so glad to see you! Everyoneâs been ignoring me lately, and acting like Iâm not here, and I donât get it.â
â(y/n)?â His voice was shaking.
âYeah, Eret. Itâs me!â You giggled, âWhatâs going on here? Did I miss the festival?â
â(Y/n).â
You looked at her confused, âYeah. W- whats-â
â(y/n/n)?â A teary voice behind you called.
You grinned turning around, running to hug him, âKarl! I missed you! Why did you keep ignoring me?â
He began to cry as you sailed through him, â(y/n/n).â
âKarl? Karl love why are you crying? Eret whatâs going on?â
Karl all but fell to his kneeâs burring his head in his hands, muffling his sobs, â(y/n/n)!â
You sat beside him, continually trying to wrap your arms around him, but instead they just past through, over, and over, and over and over again, âWh- why canât I- whatâs- what- Eret whats?â
Tears similar to Karlâs began to roll down your cheeks, as you looked down at your hands, only now noticing how gray your skin looked, âWhatâs going on?â
â(y/n),â You could tell Eret was fighting to keep their voice from shaking, âDo you not remember?â
âRemember what? Whatâs going on?â
Karl sobbed louder, and Eret shook her head, â(y/n), I- theres a path, through the woods, behind- up behind the hill. I- I need you to go up there, as far as it goes, alright?â
You nodded, âWhy?â
âJust go. Iâm going to take Karl back home. Maybe- maybe donât come back to his house for a while.â
Eret gently helped Karl up, and led him away, his sobs still echoing in your head.
âwhat the hell is going on here?â
Slowly you drifted up towards the hill Eret had spoken of, âhey, pogtopia is this way! maybe Iâll go see Wil anâ Tommy anâ Techno! Theyâll know whatâs going on.â
You continued to drift up the path, humming quietly and wondering what Eret had sent you to look at, and why Karl had been crying.
You looked up and around at all the trees, trying to remember them. It was in bits and pieces, Tommy yelling about about freedom, Wilbur saying how proud Phil would be.
You remembered the forests burning, âwho had done that?â, hiding in the woods after- after something- tnt, blow- after Lâmanburg had been blown up.
You stopped moving, looking down confused at the stone you had come across, it as large, flat and upright, and you looked at the words confused.
â(Y/n) brave beyond words, hero of Lâmanburgâ there were various flowers scattered around, a sword stuck out of the ground, a flower chain wrapped around itâs hilt, there was a uniform jacket, one you vaguely recognized as your own and a bandana, also tied to the hilt of the sword.
Someone dropped something, a sword, â(y/n)?â
âTechno! I missed you! Everyone down in Lâmanburg is being wierd and when I finally got Karl to stop ignoring me he just started crying, and thereâs this weird thing up on the stage and the walls are gone, and Eret told me to come up here, and why is my name on this headstone?â
â(y/n/n) Iâm sorry,â Your brother fell to his knees, âIâm sorry! I didnât mean too! They made me!â
âWhat are you talkin about Tech?â
âHow are you back here? Iâm sorry! This is my fault I did this to you!â
You were surprised to see your brother crying, âWhatâs wrong Techno?â
âYou donât remember?â
â(Y/n)?â Another voice asked.
You turned, looking at Wilbur, âWilbur whatâs going on? No oneâs answering me again, and Iâm scared that they canât see me again! And Iâm really confused and I made Karl cry and I donât get it!â
â(y/n) your dead, you died, you- how are you?â Wilbur stuttered.
âWha- wh- d- dead? What do you mean?â You watched as Wilbur carefully placed himself between you and a still crying Techno.
âYou died, a few days ago. (y/n/n).â
You sank to the ground, fading away so that your brothers wouldnât see.
~~ âSo you donât remember anything?â The man with the rams horns asked.
You shook your head, âNot everything. Just a lot of things. Wilby says Iâm dead, which I guess makes sense now.â
Youâd continue drifting around Lâmanburg, for a while, trying to figure out what had happened on your own, and ended up sitting dejectedly outside the white house, you could remember making it with Tubbo.
âWell Iâm Shlatt.â He shuffled around in his desk, looking for something.
âShlatt?â You paused, trying to remember him, pretending not to notice to see the fear that flashed in his eyes, âYour.. you were here before Lâmanburg right?â
âYeah, uh, here.â He pulled out a book and quill, âUh, write down what you remember, that might help.â
You looked at him quizzically, âI canât touch things, uh- or manipulate objects in the normal world with out using huge amounts of energy.â
He frowned and quickly picked up the pen, âYou dictate then.â
You hummed, âWell, things I remember....â
~~
Alex woke with a start, sitting up from where he was hunched over his desk, blinking at the harsh afternoon light that was drifting through his office window.
He still hadnât been back to the house since the fight after the execution, and had been forcing himself into work to mask the grief.
âSo is there anything else? It doesnât seem like you remember much.â Shlattâs voice was muffled by the wall.
âWell itâs a bit foggy towards the end, and the beginning Ooo! I remember Alex and Nicky and Karl too! I could never forget them!â
Alex froze at the familiar giggle.
âYeah, you never used to shut up about your boyfriends.â Shlatt chuckled.
Alex was running down the hall and slamming the door to the presidents office open before he could register he was moving, âShlatt am I going insane or...â
He trailed off as your floating grayish form turned to him, âAlex! I couldnât find you! And I didnât know what was going on and everyone was ignoring me then I saw Wil and Techno and they told me I was dead. and then I found Shlatt! And heâs helping me write down what I remember! Have you met Shlatt? Heâs nice!â
âShlatt what the fuck is this?â He spoke through you as if you werenât even there.
âYour partner. Apparently no one around has been helping them sort things out,â The president stood up and moved around his desk, âGhosts tend to forget things of there past lives, and no one was helping them, so I am.â
âDid you tell them what happened? Why there fuckin- floating around instead of being here with us?â Alex spat.
Shlatt sighed, âQuackity listen this is a delicate thing. Right now itâs be better to help them remember than just tell them. So go find your stupid boyfriends and tell them the situation!â
âI cant Shlatt, we broke up. They donât want to see me.â
âIs that what you were yelling about?â You asked quietly.
Alex looked at you, shocked, âYou heard that?â
âYeah. You and Nick made Karl cry. And then I couldnât do anything about it,â you looked down at the floor, âw- is it my fault y- weâre broken up now?â
Alex remained silent so you continued, âIâm trying to remember what I did. And how I died. But if I did something stupid, or something to hurt you, Iâm sorry.â
You were crying again, and Shlatt glared at Alex, which somehow surprised you, âThis is why is trying to fucking handle this. Leave. Tell the others or not I donât care, theyâll find out eventually.â
âWh- Shlatt they- How-â
âI said get out,â Shlatt said firmly, âAt least let me try to fix things Iâve fucked up.â
Alex shook his head before turning and heading out of the office, only ducking into his own long enough to grab something before stalking out of the building.
Shlatt turned back to you, already starting to pick the pen back up, âSo what else do you remember about.. uh, your last few days. What do you remember right before the end?â
âDid they really break up because of me? If I did something I should go apologized.â
âHey, hey, no, it ainât your fault. Iâll go yell at them later. Tell me more about what you remember about the festival.â
~~ âWhy the fuck are we here Shlatt?â Tommy half yelled.
Tommy, Technoblade, Wilbur, Alex, Nick and Karl were all gathered in front of Shlatt in the holy land.
âSo, some of you may know, some of you may not, (Y/n) is back,â He looked over all the faces, Karl already looking like he was about to cry, and Nick frozen in shock, âFor the past week or so theyâve been wandering and apparently none of you have been doing anything to help them.â
âGhosts donât remember much from there past lives, so good job on all of you that knew, you left your partner or sibling lost and confused,â He dropped the book youâd written together on the table, âI did my best, they remember everything that's written down here. I couldnât tell them much about what they forgot, because itâs not my place.
âIf you guys want, I can keep talking to them, and doing my best, but incase you havenât noticed Iâm also the fucking president. I canât spend all my time helping educate a ghost. They disappeared yesterday, after saying something about Karl and how they saw you fools yelling, so, this is in your court now.â
Shlatt turned a walked away, heading back towards Manburg.
With shaking hands Tommy took the book, reading aloud,
âThings I remember: Home, fire, Phil finding me, Wilbur never having seen a child before, Techno swearing heâd protect me, fire, Tommy trying to spar with me before he could walk right, Techno teaching me to fight, finding the SMP lands, Lâmanburg, fighting for independence, fire,
âthe forests burning, seeing Nick for the first time, Babysitting Fundy, winning independence, Eret leaving, fire, destruction, Lâmanburg thriving, the sun, Tubbo and his bees, more people coming to the country, meeting Karl, finding Alex, when we got our act together and finally all started dating.
âWil threatening Nick and nick not being scared, Techno threatening all of them and making them terrified. Pogtopia, the cavern The festival, the dunk tank, Techno almost crying, my boys, fire.â
He looked up at his brothers, âYou knew they were back?â
âI was in shock,â Techno was staring at his boots, clearing his throat uncomfortably, âYâknow I swore Iâd protect âem, but- I- I killed âem.â
Nick grabbed the book from Tommy, âWe have to find them.â
~~
âFundy can you turn the page for me please?â
The fox nodded, âCourse (y/n).â
Most of the shock had worn off, and now he was mostly just happy to see you again, even going and finding an old photobook Wilbur had given him a while ago.
âOh I remember this!â You pointed to a photo, it was taken a year after Phil had found you, âThere was a big fire across the field, and while they were taking care of it I got scared and ran away, Techno found me in a tree.â
Fundy laughed, â3 year old you got in a tree by yourself?â
âYeah, furball, I was in a tree when Philza found me too.â You chuckled.
âHey Fundy, have you...â Niki burst in the door, tailing off as she saw you.
You waved âHey Niki.â
âUhh, Your brothers, and your partners are looking for you.â
You frowned, âAre they still my partners if Iâm dead?â
Niki gave you a sad look, âCome on. Sapnap hasnât seen you and heâs worried.â
âThey all fought because of me, Iâd rather stay here,â You looked out the door warily, âI donât want to make things worse than they already are.â
âThey need you (y/n), you brought them together.â
You drifted around Fundy and towards the door, âMaking things worse isnât something I want to do.â
You went through the door, past the group of people, making your form fade as much as possible so as not to be noticed, from there you wandered down to the docks, sitting on the edge to look over the channel.
âPhil sent a letter, said heâs devastated your gone, but overjoyed your still here.â
You looked up at Techno, âHowâd you know Iâd be down here?â Â
âYou always liked the water,â He chuckled, âSpecially if there was a fire goin on somewhere else.â
âI donât want to make things worse, if your here to take me back there.â
âIâm here to apologize. I know you donât remember, but in case you do, Iâm sorry, I had to do it.â
You laughed, âYour my big brother Tech, I doubt Iâd be mad at you if I remembered.â
He smiled sadly, sitting down next to you, âWhy do you think youâll make things worse?â
You sighed, âWell when I first came back, I thought everyone was ignoring me. And when I found Lâmanburg again Karl and Nick and Alex were fighting about something I did, and then when Eret finally saw me Karl started crying, and then when I found you and Wilby you started crying and I just- I didnât mean to hurt anyone.â
Techno looked at you, âIf anything itâs our fault. All of this.â
âTechno, can we talk to (y/n)?â
You froze at Nickâs voice, but your brother was already moving, and Your partners were taking his place.
â(y/n/n), weâre sorry-â
âStop,â You cut Alex off, âWhateverâs happening stop. You canât apologize to me for shit I did that I canât remember.â
â(y/n/n), we arenât apologizing for that, that's not even your fault. Weâre apologizing for fighting as soon as you were gone.â Nick said.
âPlease come back with us. Donât disappear,â Karlâs voice was barley a whisper, âWe can help you remember.â
You bit your lip, sobbing, âI donât want to make things hard on you guys. I didnât even want to come back like this! Before I woke up again, it was just darkness, and it was horrible. but somehow staying there for eternity seems better than this.â
All three sets of arms passed through you, all of your boyfriends forgetting they couldnât hold you, only making you cry harder.
~~
âI want to be resurrected.â
It had been a week and a half since the day at the docks. You hadnât gone back with them, though you had continued hanging around Manburg, talking mainly to Shlatt, and by now you just wanted to go back to the normal you remembered.
âResurrected?â Dream looked at you curiously.
âYeah. I want to go back. If I canât stay dead the normal way and Iâm stuck here then I want it to be normal. I want to hug my boyfriends, and ruffle my little brothers hair!â
The man behind the mask merely cocked his head, âSo why did you come to me?â
âYouâre essentially a god in these lands. I figured you might know someone or someway for me to be resurrected,â The mask shifted and you could almost here the plan formulating in his mind, âAnd if it ends up failing I donât want it to hurt anyone else.â
The man sighed, âIt would be a very complicated process. Itâs been what, three weeks since you died, what ever was left of your body is going to be- less than in good condition.â
âWhat was left?â You questioned.
âOh, (y/n), didnât they tell you?â Â Had the mask been gone you would have seen the gleam of wickedness in his eyes, âYou went off with a bang.â
~~
âYouâre planning what?â Shlatt yelled, incredulous.
Youâd told Shlatt about the plan for resurrections, seeing as he was one of the only one who really still talked to you, âI have to do it Shlatt! I canât stay like this! I want things to be normal! I want-â Your voice grew small, âI want to take back what you took from me.â
Fear flashed in the horned mans eyes, âHe told you.â
âEven you wouldnât,â You said dejectedly, âI thought you were my friend.â
âI- I was your friend, At some points at least.â
He watched as you floated away, âI suppose weâll see once Iâm back.â
As soon as you were gone Shlatt was hurrying out of his office, âQuackity! Quackity, some shit is about to hit the fan! You better call the idiots in Pogtopia!â
It didnât take long for him to assemble your brothers and partners, frantically telling them the situation, âDream is up to something with this people! He obviously is doing some manipulation shit!â
âWhy do you even care Shlatt?â Tommy asked, âYour the bitch who killed them, so why should you care if they come back?â
âSorry that the one time Iâm willing to look past shit you donât trust me?â He groaned, pulling a bottle from his coat and taking a swig, âSorry that Iâm trying to help.â
âHow would he even turn this against us?â Nick asked, âResurrections isnât something he can do, heâd put Bad in charge of that, and we all know that Bad wouldnât corrupt someone.â
âItâs possible that they wonât remember anything, at all, and people whoâve forgotten are the easiest to manipulate.â Shlatt sighed.
âWe have to help them.â Karl decided.
~~
Darkness, darkness, darkness.
You had finally found your way back to that dark abyss, though now it was filled with strange chanting.
It felt like you were bein dragged across the length of the universe, losing everything of your being along the way.
âstop! stop stop stop! I want- I want to rememberâ you begged the darkness.
The hell you found yourself in seemed to stretch, continuing for infinity, the darkness, called you, begging you to stay, to give up the last of your essence to it.
The chanting grew louder as you tried to scream, the sound lodged in a throat that no longer existed.
All at once you became nothing, and then you felt the weight of a thousand suns crushing you back down into a body.
~~ Your eyes flicked open, to a blinding white world.
âIt worked! There awake!â You heard Bad yell.
You started to smile as you heard Alex yell, âGet the fuck away from them Dream, you canât manipulate anyone else!â
You sat up, starting to look around, but still, you saw nothing but light, âAlex? Wh- It- why canât I see?â
âThey remember!â Â you heard Karl rejoice.
âWhy canât I see?â You asked again, raising your hands to your eyes.
â(y/n) what do you mean?â Nick asked.
âI canât see.â You said desperately, reaching out you felt your boyfriends wrapping there arms around you.
âI think I know how to fix it!â Bad yelled triumphantly.
Everything went black again.
~~
This time, your trip through hell was not as bad, though you seemed not to notice as your existence and identify was striped away again.
~~ Your eyes flicked open, the feeling returned to your body, and slowly you sat up, looking around at the odd group of people gathered around you, âWho are you?â
As soon as the world came out of your mouth a mousy haired man in a colorful sweater burst into tears, the man with the beanie next to him quickly pulling him into a hug.
âI- Who are you?â
âDo you not remember?â Â
You shook your head, âRemember what?â
you turned to the pink haired man, âI know you donât I? I swear- I- I know I know you. Why donât I remember you?â
A demonic looking man quickly closed a book, âYou guys should clear out. a third party might be better for this.â
~~ The man- Bad, had explained basics of things to you, who everyone whoâd been in the room before, and the said that you would have to stay at his house in the Badlands for a few days.
The next day was better.
âholy shit it worked!â you thought, looking down at your arms, âIâm backâ
Quietly you got out of the bed, rushing through the room and towards the stairs of Bad and Skeppyâs house, âGuys! Guys it worked! Iâm alive again!â
You turned another corner to see you brothers, looking at you shocked, â(y/n)? You remember?â
You grinned, quickly pulling your brother into a hug, âIt wasnât your fault Techno! You didnât mean to itâs okay!â
â(y/n/n)?â
You turned again, âKarl! Nicky! Alex!â
The next thing you knew you were in a pile on the ground, your boyfriends all hugging you tightly.
~~
They brought you home soon after, and from there you had good days and bad days.
There were days where you remembered it all, days where you found yourself lost and confused in an unknown house, and days where you could on recognize certain things around you.
Still, you were back with Nick and Karl and Alex, and you would make it through, together.
#mcyt x reader#mcyt imagines#sapnap x reader#karl jacobs x reader#quackity x reader#sapnap x karl x quackity x reader#angst#sleepy boys x reader
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Marco and Ace poly or just Marco and their gn/male partner decorating Marcos office for Xmas please xxx love you xx
đa/n: Franky!! Iâm glad I get to write something for you for this event, Iâm always happy doing things for friends! I had fun writing this one and I hope that youâll have fun reading it too <3 I hope your day is good and happy holidaysÂ
đincludes: Marco & Ace (w/ a m!reader)
đsummary: Marcoâs office tends to be boring, but heâs not against decorating. on the other hand, Ace is excited to drag you into helping him decorate for the holiday drawing close
âYour office is so boring.â Ace groans, leaning dangerously far back in the rolling chair. You snorted, just waiting for him to fall out like heâs done plenty of times before. He kicks his feet up on the desk, his clucky boots thumping against the hardwood and Marco swats him off.
âIf my office is so boring, why donât you decorate it?â Marco replies casually but sends you a small glance asking for help. Leaving Ace in charge of decorations was a disaster in itself. He has too much faith in himself to go all out and it never goes according to plan. You shrug and try to keep down a smile.
âItâs no fun on my own,â Ace hums and leans the slightest bit further in the back, making you hold your breath as it creaks loudly. Sitting upright in a flas, Ace swings around in the chair to face you with a grin you know all too well. âCome on y/n, wanna help me? Itâll be fun!â He smiles bright and you muffle a laugh.
You clamber to your feet and nod, shoving your hands into your pants pockets. âSounds good to me, you joining?â You ask Marco who is lost in organising his desk. He adjusts his glances and takes a moment to think, then nods with a smile.
âIf you both bring up all the decorations then I will.â He places a paper down on his desk. Ace pumps his fist in the air, proud of himself for âconvincingâ Marco into letting you two decorate his office, despite saying nothing. You roll your eyes and lightly tug on his shirt to pull him along to get the decorations.
âOf course he doesnât want to take the boxes up, what an old man.â Ace laughs and you lightly jab him in his arm. He gasps overdramatically and places his hand over the spot. âAnd I was going to offer to bring up all the boxes for you!â He jokes and pulls you down the last stair with him.
Despite his stubbornness, he still helps you bring up most of the boxes on his own, scooping them out of your arms even when you had it fine. You and Marco sometimes envied his never ending energy, but you didnât need it yourself as long as heâs around. You drop the last box down and Marco finally joins you both.
âLetâs get started yoi.â He crouches down to open the first box and starts passing the two of you all the newspaper stuffed inside of it. Carefully handing off the more delicate decorations to you, you stand up to go find spots while Ace helps him in opening the rest of them. You placed one down on his desk and you could hear him chuckle lightly.
Kneeling down beside him once again, you start digging through the box filled with ornaments. You smile fondly as you pull out a couple of ornaments, varying in quality. Youâd made them together a few years ago as a small present for each other. The one Ace made for Marco still thankfully had the tuft of yellow yarn at the top.
The ones youâd made for them were wrapped very carefully, both cherished dearly by your partners. One was for Ace, a medallion of a bullâs skull and the string was beaded with small red beads, mimicking the one he wore everywhere. The other was two birds, one youâd tried your best at painting blue to match Marcoâs favourite colour. Ace said the other bird looks like a pigeon. And you canât say heâs wrong. The little grey bird nestled in the wings of the other.
You felt someone behind you and before you could glance back at them, a hat was being placed on your head. You looked up to see Marco grinning down at you in the Santa hat heâd found. You picked a piece of fluff from it and returned the smile, trying not to laugh at Ace sneaking up behind him with an elf hat.
Marco didnât give a fight as Ace pulled it down on his head. You both dissolve into laughter over how awful the pointy hat looked on him, Ace nearly in tears and doubled over from how hard he was laughing. âThatâs literally the ugliest hat we couldâve bought.â You snicker and Marco nods in agreement after checking himself out in the mirror.
âYouâre annoying.â Marco mumbles and goes back to trying to place tinsel along the room. You go over and join him, helping him hold up the shimmering material as he finds spots to place it. Ace wanders over and throws his arms over your shoulders, tugging you both into a tight and warm hug.
âToo bad youâre both stuck with me. You both love me too much to do anything about it.â Ace kisses you both, nuzzling in close and almost making you drop everything you were holding.
Marco carefully pulls you over to help him, helping you stay steady as you climb up the little ladder to hang some decorations up. His hands gently hold onto you and you lean up to reach the little hook to place them on. âDonât fall because I donât have taking care of my injured boyfriend on my to-do list today.â He jokingly says and you laugh lightly.
âYouâre a doctor, isnât that your job?â You reply and step down from the ladder, still holding onto his hand. It always fits so perfectly with yours, making it feel impossible to let go.
âYeah, but also preventing injuries is part of it. So neither of you hurt yourselves for the love of god.â Ace replies with a quick âaye aye captainâ and you let your head fall against his shoulder. The room was half done but still looked lovely, admittedly less boring than before.
Marco motions Ace over and kisses him on the forehead, then turns around to do the same to you. âStill got decorations left, canât leave things half done. Maybe we can watch a movie later.â
tag list: @cjm-cookiethief @acesmarigold @sanjithesimp @cyborg-franky
#one piece#one piece x reader#one piece headcanons#holiday wishlist event#portgas d. ace#ace x reader#ace x you#marco one piece#marco the phoenix#marco x reader#marco x you
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Birthday Gift Part 2 (Yandere Overhaul x Reader)
Title: Birthday Gift (Part 2) (Yandere Overhaul x Reader)
Synopsis: You finally get up the nerve to ask your captor for a special gift--a birthday gift. Continuation of Birthday Gift Part 1.
Word Count: 3053
Notes: Yandere, emotional manipulation
âKai, thereâsâŚâ You struggle to find the words. You hadnât exactly felt confident about your request before, but faced with his deceptively impassive gaze, it is difficult to muster the courage to even ask.
He raises his eyebrows, and waits for you to collect yourself. Â
You take a deep breath and fold your hands neatly in your lap. You start to feel prim, goodâdeserving, even, of what youâre about to ask for.
âI wanted to ask about my birthdayâŚâ
His expression brightens--well, you think it does. You like to think that youâve gotten good at reading his face over the past few months, and itâs helped you navigate your more⌠difficult moments. Emboldened, you continue.
âI want to see my mom.â
The words come out fast and unsteady. You wish your tone had been stronger, but maybe heâll like that you donât seem too demanding.
âJust for a visit, I mean,â you continue, looking to the side. Youâre afraid to see his response. âNot forever or anything.â You scrape the bottom of your lip with your teeth, a quick and nervous gesture. âI just want her to know Iâm okay?â
You glance back at his face and see that he looks⌠contemplative. Not angry, which is a plus.
Then, he sighs--in resignation, you think. And the thought is enough to make your heart feel like itâs jumping as you practically chirp at him from across the table. âOh, thank you thank you! I promise it wonât be for very long, and, and maybe we could--I mean you could meet her, you know? If you want to?â You trip and stumble over your words, because you hadnât had time to rehearse any farther than your initial request. You never imagined youâd get his approval and--
âAbsolutely not.â
Your face falls and a knot develops instantly in your stomach. âOh.â Your teeth gnaw on your lip again. âI donât understand?â
You feel your cheeks heat up in humiliation and disappointment and suppressed anger as you watch his face go from impassive to--and youâre sure of it, this time--disappointment.
âI thought you had gotten past this, (Y/N). I really did.â
You swallow, thick and scratchy. âPast what?â
His eyes arenât cold, but stern. The look he usually gets when he wants to lecture you. You donât know if you can handle a lecture right now. âPast this silly desire to leave.â
The accusation stings, somehow. You didnât say you wanted to leave. âThatâs not--â you sit up straighter in your chair and force yourself to look him in the eyes. You want to be taken seriously, you want him to take you seriously. âI donât want to leave.â (But you do, you DO.) âI just--I want to visit my mom.â
Your eyes flick around his face, searching for a sign of something. Compassion, pity even. But he keeps his look as paternalistic as before. Like youâre some silly girl who doesnât know what she wants or what she needs, like you should know that asking for something like wanting to leave your captorâs fortress and visit your mom who thinks youâre missing or dead already rotting somewhere so she can stop worrying is ridiculous. You feel your carefully suppressed anger bubbling and you clench your fists until your neatly trimmed nails are pinching your skin.
âItâs out of the question,â he says. His voice turns softer. âItâs not safe for you out there. You know that.â
Your breath hitches. âBut if you come with me, Iâll be safe, right?â
He smiles. But you know it doesnât mean anything. âYouâre always safe with me, angel. But I canât risk losing you.â
You smile back, desperate, raising your shoulders up and leaning in across the table. âBut you wonât lose me! Youâll be in the car--or in the same room or, or whatever you want! Iâll, Iâll--â your eyes flick to the table, trying to think of things that might appease him, might appeal to him. âIâll stay by your side the whole time!â
Kaiâs smile quirks slightly. Itâs a mixture of pity and condescension now. Silly, silly (Y/N), it seems to say.
â(Y/N)⌠I gave you my answer. Please donât drag this out any further.â You move to reply, and he cuts you off. âYou can have something else for your birthday. New books. Some decorations. Something to start a new hobby, perhaps?â
You swallow again, but the look on his face and his tone tells you what you need to know: he wonât be moved, he wonât change his mind. You really are a silly, silly (Y/N), you think.
The tears that you didnât know had built up spill over your reddened cheeks, hot and bitter.
âI want my mom,â you say, softly, bitterly. âI want to see my mom on my birthday. Thatâs what I want for my birthday.â
You wipe away fat tears and stare at him to see his reaction. He doesnât answer you. He merely watches you, watches your breath hitching, watches the tears spill, silently. His mouth takes on a thin line, a look that says the discussion is over and that youâre being dramatic and ridiculous and childish and--itâs so damn domineering and hurtful that you want to scream.
Then he folds his hands together and rests his chin on them, like heâs waiting for you to stop having a tantrum.
Thatâs the tipping point. You canât take it. You stand up, suddenly, and press your nails harder into your palm.
âI fucking hate this,â you spit. You search around blindly, looking for something, anything to release your pent-up anger onto. You settle for your chair, which you push onto the ground. Itâs a feeble, ridiculous gesture, and you know this. The realization of how stupid you look makes your cheeks burn in embarrassment and you cover your face with both hands.
âI want my mom,â you force out. Your voice is tight and thin and scratchy. âI want to go--go get a pizza and watch a shitty horror movie in a shitty movie theater, I want to go to work and come home and do the dishes.â You sob into your hands as your knees buckle under you, and you collapse on the ground. âI want to leave.â
You sob uncontrollably until you feel a firm hand on your shoulder. The sudden touch flinches you out of your sobbing fit, and your hands jerk down, only to see Kai crouched in front of you. His gloved hand is on your shoulder, firm and grounding. You immediately begin to tremble as you realize what you just did. You had a fit and you swore and god, worst of all, you admitted that you wanted to leave. You knew what he would do--send you into solitary confinement. Youâll be all alone without books or baths and the fear makes you cry harder.
He shushes you, soft but commanding, and wipes away your tears methodically, until your cheeks are wet and empty.
âI know it hurts, angel. I know. But we donât always get what we want, do we?â
You quietly tremble until your realize that he wants an answer.
âNo,â you whisper.
His hand gently strokes your cheek. You can barely make eye contact.
âI take care of you. I make sure youâre healthy, donât I?â
You donât want to say it. But his questions leave no room to argue.
â... Yes, you do.â You canât manage to bring your voice above a whisper.
âI give you plenty of things to do, ways to occupy yourself, keep you entertained?â
âYes,â you force out. You want to shut your eyes.
âIâve never hurt you, have I?â
You look away. The pause is uncomfortable. He hasnât hit you, no, he hasnât done the things you saw him do that night in the alleyway. But thereâs more than one kind of hurt.
âNo,â you finally whisper. You have no energy to argue. And you canât go back in that room, you just canât.
His finger lifts your chin until you look at him.
âThen you need to understand that I only do whatâs best for you. Thatâs why you canât have a visit for your birthday. You understand that, donât you?â
Youâre about to answer when his phone goes off. He swears under his breath and releases your chin before checking the screen. He sighs, clearly annoyed, and you wonder if the sender of the text message will end up in pieces.
âI have to leave, (Y/N). Weâll talk more before your bath tonight. Please finish your meal.â He picks up your chair and sets it upright. Then he holds out his hand, offering to help you up. You stare for a moment before taking it, and he easily hoists you to your feet. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before letting go, and swiftly walking through the door to his office. You hear the lock click behind him.
You sit down in the now-upright chair and stare down at your plate. You hate it. You hate that he calculates your nutrition out as perfectly as possible. You hate that he sometimes gives you a tiny paper cup with less than a dozen M&Ms as a reward for being on your best behavior. You hate the frustrating realization that you do feel healthier, physically, now that youâre not constantly eating junk and have free access to fresh, healthy food.
You shovel the food in your mouth, barely tasting it. Your silent tears mingle with most of the bites, anyway. After finishing every bite, a wave of exhaustion crashes over you. Youâre not supposed to take naps after a certain time, but arguing and hopelessness is too tiring to resist; you curl up on your bed and drift into unconsciousness quickly after.
You gasp as you jerk out of a cloudy dream that slips from your mind in seconds. Itâs dim in your room, and you quickly realize that someone (Kai, of course, only Kai ever comes in) has turned off your overhead room light. You blink away your sleep and confusion. The bathroom light gives you enough brightness to see something sitting on your desk--an unassuming cream colored envelope.
You slide your legs over the edge of the bed and sit, staring at the note in the low light. In addition to your mind feeling hazy from an unplanned nap that likely went on for too long, you feel confused for another reason: Kai didnât wake you up to get you ready for your bath. Or for bed. You glance at the clock kept securely high on the wall. Itâs after bedtime. Yet instead of freshly cleaned and clothed in whatever nightgown heâd picked out for you, youâre in your day clothes and, you realize, slightly damp from sweat. The break in your routine is surprisingly disorienting.
As you waken up more fully, the dull ache of pain from his rejection of your request resurfaces. You push down thoughts of your mom and home and stand up. You might as well open the note. Itâs for you, after all, and itâs something to do--something else new, in addition to the unusual change in routine. Something to distract you.
As you sit at the table, you wonder if you should just go back to bed. You donât want to read the note, but that doesnât stop you from carefully opening the little envelope--no spit-seal, of course, Kai would never--and unfold the note inside.
â(Y/N). I know it is difficult to adjust. You are doing so well. You may take your birthday trip next year, if you continue to behave so beautifully. You can do your own bedtime routine tonight. I will see you in the morning.â
You can feel your stomach curdling, the dinner youâd had earlier threatening to make its acidic way back up. Next year⌠another year here⌠with him. The realization that he doesnât even consider that you could escape between now and then scares you. The realization that might continue âbehaving so beautifullyâ scares you even more. You shakily set the note down, and rest your cheek against the cool desk.
You can feel sweat trickle down your back. Stress must have made your warm. You want a bath. He said you could do your own routine tonight, after all. But the idea comes with complications, the number one issue being the water has to be turned on by Kai--so youâll have to ask him to turn it on when youâre ready. Maybe you could write a note and slip it under the door? But he might not see it, which means youâll have to knock on the door anyway. The idea of taking your own bath, a bath of your own design, briefly animates you.
You quietly knock on the door to his office. It takes a moment to hear a response, and you briefly wonder if you should be doing this at all. Maybe heâs gone to sleep in his own room. Maybe he decided you were being insufferable and thatâs why he didnât want to do your routine tonight. Maybe he--
The door opens slowly, and you crane your head to get a quicker look at Kai as he comes into view. His mask is back on, and his eyes widen, just a touch. He seems⌠surprised?
â(Y/N)?â He asks, and you can tell by his tone that he didnât expect to see you until the next morning.
âI was just wondering if youâŚâ You fidget a little. You can feel your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. âI wanted a bath.â
âAh,â he says. âAnd you need the water turned on?â
You nod, and bite the inside of your cheek. âAnd the um, the stuff from the cabinets, too.â
âOf course.â
You hear him walk back into his office and retrieve the keys, which jingle slightly as he comes back to the door. You step out of his way and tentatively follow him as he walks in your bathroom, briefly glancing at the note heâd left on the way. Thereâs a strange anxious tension in the air thatâs making you feel nervous, and you canât shake the odd feeling that youâre being punished somehow, that Kai is annoyed or mad with you.
Even though heâs said nothing to that effect. He simply inserts the keys into the customized water panel and turns the water on for you. He then crouches down and unlocks the cabinet, taking out the basket of supplies--shampoos and soaps and little balls of bath bombs--and setting them on the countertop.
âYou can use the hot or cold taps freely. Let me know when youâre finished and Iâll clean up.â
âKai--â you say, without realizing it. It feels instinctive.
He looks straight at you, eyes impassive as ever. âYes?â
His gaze makes you stare at the ground. You fiddle with your shirt sleeve. You donât know why you say it. But it comes out quickly, softly--helplessly.
âWould you⌠would you set up my bath, like normal? And pick out my clothes?â You look up at him with what you hope are pleading eyes.
He raises his eyebrows.
âPlease?â you say, barely above a whisper. âIf youâre not busy?â
He waits another moment before answering you from behind his mask. âYou want your normal routine?â
You nod, again chewing your lip. You feel childish, ridiculous, but⌠the routine has become comforting, and you want to be comforted. You want the dull ache in your heart to go away, even if itâs just for a few minutes.
The sight of Kai reaching up to take off his mask makes you want to cry. As he slips it off, you see heâs wearing a small, but approving, smile.
âOf course, angel. Now you just sit on your bed while I set everything just how you like it.â
You canât help the weak, relieved smile on your face as you sigh and leave the bathroom, ready to sit on your bed and--as he wrote in his note, behave so beautifully. He wasnât mad at you, he wasnât annoyed, and things would slip back into normalcy any minute now.
The sound of the running bath, the promise of the gentle heat and rose-scented shampoo that awaits, covers up the pain in your chest. It makes it all the easier to rebury the awful realization that youâre well and truly trapped in this little world heâs created for you.
#yandere overhaul#yandere kai chisaki#overhaul#yandere#yandere x reader#afterwitch writes#kai's such a diiiiiiiiiiiick#okay well something is up with the keep reading feature :;; so I apologize for the length on your dash#seems like keep reading works on the actual blogs but not on dash for some reason... oh tumblr
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someone behind me was tracing my steps / maybe youâre better off this way
Fandom: Kamen Rider Ryuki
Characters: Asakura Takeshi, Kido Shinji
Songs: "After the Fall," October Project & "Passive," A Perfect Circle (playlist here)
Takeshiâs sitting against the wall, bleeding out, and the mirror guyâKanzaki, rightâis standing over him, mouth twisted in something he vaguely recognizes as dismay. âI canât use this, thereâs barely any energy left,â he says, not to Takeshi, and there sure as hell isnât anyone else in the room. âIâll have to reset.â
âHang on a second.â Takeshi coughs and feels his mouth fill up with the taste of copper, which isnât such a bad flavor when you get down to it. âWhat about my wish?â
Kanzaki doesnât even look at him, already fucking around with the mirror. âYou donât want anything, thereâs no point.â
âSure I want something.â
ââŚwhat on Earth could you want at this point? Itâs all going to be reset anyway.â
Takeshi grins up at him, knowing that itâs sure to be an unnerving sight with his teeth all over blood. âLemme remember.â
âOut of the question. Giving one participant unnecessary foreknowledge would interfere with the procedure.â
âNah, nah, Iâm not gonna interfere with shit. It was just a hell of a time.â Takeshi looks up just as Kanzaki is looking down and grins his bloody grin a little wider. âI like to remember times when I had fun. Looking forward to doing it over again. Let me remember.â
---
Itâs not until he graduates university that Shinji realizes that heâs missing something.
Slightly after, really. He graduates, he works some shitty part-time gigs, he does some freelancing, and then Ookubo gets in touch and offers him a job at Ore Journal. Thatâs all fine, but when he steps through the door of the Ore offices heâs hit with a wave of dĂŠjĂ vu so powerful that he nearly trips and falls face-first into Reikoâs desk. Fortunately he catches himself before anyone notices. It had been bad enough trying to explain to his mother about the girl who lived in his mirror when he was thirteen; he canât imagine how the people here would react to, âI remember walking into this room for the first time at least eight times over.â
He gets a grip on himself, but the feeling of loss stays. Heâs missing something, and he doesnât know what. Sometimes heâll get a glimpse of it, heâll pass someone on the street or overhear a snatch of conversation and a fragment of memory will overwhelm him, but he never gets everything.
From the bits that he sees, heâs not sure that he wants to get everything. It might be better to be missing something than to remember.
---
Takeshiâs known that heâs missing something for a long time now, and whatever it is, he wants it back.
Heâs not exactly an educated guy, but he knows himself pretty well, and the idea that thereâs a big chunk of him missing is galling. He can feel its absence. He canât tell what it is, it hasnât got any kind of useful shape, no edges that he can detect, but itâs his. And since he wouldnât just go carving out part of himself, that means heâs been robbed.
He doesnât take kindly to being robbed.
Mostly, though, he can ignore it, the way you ignore a hole in the wall that you donât feel like repairing yet. He does what he likes, gets what he wants, eats when thereâs food, and doesnât think about it unless he reaches for something in his mind and finds that it isnât there.
And then he sees the journalist.
Some sweet-faced kid, he is, showing up at a bar that Takeshi likes and bugging the regulars about a local ghost story that Takeshi knows for a fact is bullshit. He doesnât try coming over to Takeshiâs corner, because the bartender visibly warns him off, but heâs talking to everyone else. That suits Takeshi fine. He can just sit with his drink and watch and remember, in shards and splinters, tantalizing and incomplete.
Kido Shinji is whatâs printed on the business card he swipes from the bartender once the journalist leaves, with the address of a tea shop written on the back in pen.
Now thereâs a name that rings a bell.
He stares down at the card for a moment, not sure whether heâs pleased or furious, and then heads out. Guy couldnât have gone far.
---
Shinji gets through the door and is immediately handed an apron and a bandana for his hair. âDishes.â
âWhatâRen, I just got here.â
âYeah, and there are dirty dishes. I donât have time to deal with them, there are customers.â Ren squints at him for a moment, frowning. âWhatâs wrong with you, anyway?â
Shinji pauses in the middle of tying back his hair, uneasy. âIâll tell you once there arenât customers. Whereâs Miyuâheâs still working, ok.â
Ren rolls his eyes. âApparently that middle schooler who was here last week told all of her friends about him, heâs been busy all day.â
There are a lot of dishes piled up, and it keeps Shinji busy until Renâs shooing out the last customers of the day. Atoriâs different without the old lady, but itâs not a bad different; hopefully sheâs happy in whatever warm place she moved to after she sold the shop to Ren. Sheâd certainly never seemed happy here.
Heâs happy here. In a stable place, with a little bit of stable work apart from Ore, with people who inexplicably love him for reasons that none of them quite remember clearly.
When the last customer is out the door, Ren leans back against the counter, arms folded across his chest, and says, âSo somethingâs bothering you, spit it out.â
Shinji frowns down into the dishwater. âI think someone was following me again today.â
âWhat, again? How longâs this been going on now, two weeks?â
âThree and a half. Ever since that thing I was looking into about the ghost, do you remember that one?â One saucer in the dish rack, start washing the next piece. âMaybe I pissed off the ghost.â
âYou said there wasnât a ghost.â
âWell, yeah, but what if there was and now itâs following me?â
âDonât be ridiculous, youâre not being chased by a ghost.â
Shinji glances nervously over his shoulder, as if heâll see his ghost reflected in the tea shop window. âHow can we be sure, though?â He picks up another dirty cup and starts to wash it. âSome of the things I rememberâŚâ
Renâs arms wrap around him from behind, chin resting on his shoulder. âThey arenât here,â more softly and gently than he usually speaks. âNo ghosts. Just you, me, and Miyuki.â
âNo ghosts.â Shinji takes a deep breath. âYouâre right. No ghosts.â
---
The place isnât tough to break into. Decent locks, but nothing Takeshi canât get past with a crowbar. He lets himself in and looks around the vaguely-familiar tea shop with interest before heading past the counter and to the back. Stairs lead up to the apartment above, and sure, they creak a little, but thatâs nothing to worry about. After all, heâs still got the crowbar if he really needs it.
Upstairs, the place is chaotic in sort of a cute way, decorated as it is by three people with clearly pretty different sensibilities, fragments of three very different lives on display. It smells faintly of frying oil, too. Someone made something good for dinner tonight. On a whim, he checks the fridge, finds a container of leftover gyoza, and eats them absently as he contemplates the shopping list stuck to the freezer door. Eggs, rice, sliced pork belly, in neat handwriting that definitely isnât Kidoâs.
He finishes the gyoza and the tail-end of a carton of milk, leaving the empty containers behind on the counter and picking up his crowbar again as he heads toward the back of the apartment.
There are three bedrooms, and none of them are marked, doors closed against the darkened hallway. Checking each one would be a hassle, and might lead to more trouble than Takeshi feels like getting in right now. Instead he just remembers how jumpy Kido seemed even before Takeshi started following him and lets intuition lead him to the room closest to the fire escape.
The door swings open, and the first thing he sees is a cloth square on the wall. A covered mirror.
There we go.
Kidoâs asleep, sprawled across the bed with his head tossed back and his hair spread out on his pillow, throat pale and exposed. Alone, which makes things a little easier. Thereâs a computer desk set up in the corner of the room; Takeshi grabs the chair from it, drags it over next to the bed, and sits, resting the end of the crowbar on the floor as heâs saying, softly and cheerfully, âHey, Kido. Wake up.â
A shift, an irritated mumble, âNot time toââ and then one eye opening halfway and the jolt, Kido scrambling upright in the bed, one hand flung out to the side reaching for something that isnât there.
What isnât there?
Splinters reform into another regained memory: a deck of cards in an elaborate case, gleaming purple metal smooth and cool in Takeshiâs hands. Thereâs a name that goes with it, or maybe more than one, faint and still lost but centimeters from the tip of his tongue.
Kidoâs gone white as a pan of milk, hand still empty because theyâre in a world with no decks, now, no monsters that Takeshi suddenly remembers with fondness, not nearly as much fun, and Takeshi leans forward on his crowbar and smiles, friendly, like, and says, âCome on, Kido, I remember you being more interesting.â
---
Shinji can hear his heart beating over the ringing in his ears. Thereâs a bit of light coming in from between the mostly-closed curtains, just enough to see by, and with his hand coming up empty and his unwelcome guest illuminated so that only golden hair and white teeth are visible, he is assailed by memory.
He knows this man.
From the corner of the bar where heâd been looking into that ghost story, sure, the one the bartender had told him not to bother, but also from before, from ten befores or more. A killer, vicious and cheerfully so, dangerous to be around, but beneath the adrenaline thrum Shinji can feel another pulse, pity, pity, pity, perhaps misplaced but still there.
He fights to get his breathing under control and says, âAsakura. What are you doing here?â
âYou took something of mine.â Asakuraâs head tilts slowly to the side, semi-friendly grin still visibly. âI came to get it back.â
âI donât have anything of yours.â
âNever said you did. I said you took it. Didnât say I thought you had it.â
âThatâŚyou know that doesnât make sense, right?â
âNone of this makes sense, Kido. We live in a world that revolves around a guy like you.â Asakura leans forward, one hand darting out to grab Shinjiâs chin, ragged nails digging into his skin. In the dim light his eyes are flat and dark and predatory as their gazes lock, only taking on any gleam as he drinks inâŚsomething, whatever heâs getting from looking at Shinji like this. Shinji nearly asks, in fact, but he canât quite speak, and anyway Asakuraâs talking again, still as cheery and conversational as he has been. âUsed to be, I got the deck in my hands and Iâd remember all of it. That was the deal. Donât know how the mirror guy finally bit it, but whatever happened, youâre the key to everything now.â
Shinjiâs considering shouting for Ren, because even if he did have a dragon at his beck and call, the mirror is covered. Then, of course, he notices the crowbar. And Asakura continues to look at him, searching for something that Shinji is apparently giving him.
âPathetic.â Abruptly, Asakura lets go again. âYou used to be fun, Kido.â He stands, shouldering the crowbar like a baseball bat, and heads for the open bedroom door, only pausing briefly to say, âCall me if you ever decide to get the band back together, yeah?â
Shinji remains frozen for what seems like a long time after heâs gone, dizzy with memory and his heartbeat noisy in his own ears.
He doesnât remember the end of things. None of the ends of things, actually, and heâs not sure if the others know that it happened more than once, how many times they were put through the same wringer. Whatever it was, though, whatever he or they finally did, it was permanent.
He never would have expected someone to resent him for it.
Finally he finds the focus to move, raising a hand to rub at the sore spots on his jaw before getting out of bed.
Miyukiâs bed is disturbed by unoccupied, and this fills him with a banked and indistinct dread until he comes to Renâs room and finds them both there, Miyuki sprawled as inelegantly as always and snoring lightly at Renâs side. Ren is awake, barely. âBad dreams all around tonight, I guess,â he slurs as Shinji closes the door, and moves over to make space. âWhaâ was yours about?â
Shinji curls up beside him and says, softly, âJust ghosts.â
---
Takeshi strolls down the middle of the empty street, crowbar on his shoulder, in such a good mood now that heâs very nearly whistling. Itâs a damp night; the streetlights make shadows in the fog that look like old friends he now remembers, any number of enormous beasts stalking him as he walks. Which makes him want to laugh, and so he laughs, and the sound bounces off the buildings and the fog in an echo that could go on forever.
âGoddamn,â he says to a fog-reflection that shifts and changes with every step he takes, now a vast snake, now a rhino, now a stingray. âThat was a good time, wasnât it.â
The fog makes no reply, but the shadow continues to follow him down the street as the echoes of his laughter die away, and after a moment, feeling almost jaunty, he starts to whistle.
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I need hotch whump. Dad rossi being a total dad and the team helping hotch through his deep seated emotional trauma. Just the team helping hotch be emotionally open and maybe some crying and him getting hugs n shit?? And if you can, at least 3k words cuz hes sad and needs to use his words
One Step Forward, Two Steps Back
(Fair warning, I feel like I couldnât get Hotchâs script right. He has a unique way that he speaks and I just feel like I missed that. I hope I didnât drop the ball but Iâve been working on this non-stop so Iâve kinda passed a point in my ability to tell. Bonus, this fits really well for a fix-it for this post that I made that hurt everyone. You can find that post here)
Word count: 5,452
He can feel himself falling apart. His thoughts are more than often filled with deterioration and self-deprecating harm. He knows itâs getting worse but he excuses it. If he can rationalize his thoughts, condone them, and recognize them then thereâs no need to ask for help.
Especially, when he doesnât deserve it.
The breath is kicked from his lungs as he opens the file in front of him. Heâd gotten the call from the Dallas police department that morning and fielded the consult to himself. Normally, this would be the type of case JJ would handle but as soon as he heard the victims were blondeâs in their thirties he couldnât let the case go to her. Except, a very important factor had been left out.
They were all mothers.
He finds himself looking down at half a dozen women who all look too much like Haley.Â
Panic bubbles in his chest and a trembling hand pushes the case away. Itâs not enough. He stands to his feet, leaning heavily on his desk to stop his knees from caving from beneath him. Heâs paper left too long in the sun, warping. His print is no longer legible. His glue peeling away.
On the floor of his office, a step away from his desk, he falls to his knees. His breath is caught in his throat-- his tie an ever-tightening noose that leaves his mouth dry and his voice stuck. Logically, he can recognize his own symptoms. Itâs a panic attack. Triggered because heâs never worked through his feelings. Never got over Haley. His incompetence.Â
His failure.Â
His brain can recognize that the pain in his chest shouldnât kill him. His mind still draws the parallel to his own father. A chronic alcoholic who died in his office of a heart attack. An abuser. An asshole.Â
What was that the team had said about him?
JJ had called him a bully.
Reid said he was a narcissist.
The hurt in Emilyâs eyes as she deduced he doesnât trust women as much as men.
Morgan said heâs a drill sergeant.Â
So⌠maybe Hotch didnât hit Jack. Heâs never laid a hand on his son so heâs different from his father in that sole regard. Heâs not a good father though. Heâs not a good boss.
His team must loathe him.
Which means heâs not all that different from his father.
What does that leave? What does that make him besides a suit and tie? A terrified, sweat-soaked coward on an office floor.Â
And thereâs no wonder that heâs never made the time to work through his problems. Who is to talk to? Haley had known of his father. Enough to leave that subject alone. Even when he sat bolt upright in their bed, lost to his youth spent outrunning the hands of his father. Sheâd comforted him enough to get him back to sleep, holding him to her chest but never inquiring. Never pushing.Â
The others have their own problems. Dave is a father without a son. Reid has a mother whoâs taken care of for the better part of his whole life. Prentiss wants a child, a family so badly but she continues to have that torn from her grasp. JJ feels like sheâs failed, Henry. Garcia is plagued by the images she sees daily. Morgan feels torn between his loyalty to this team and doing better for himself.Â
So when should he fit in that time for himself? When does he silence them to talk about himself?
His phone vibrates on his desk. Itâs a low, hollow sound but it snaps him to attention. The kind of sound that he could not ignore any more than a cry of pain from Jack. A case, more than likely. Maybe even an email from the Director or Strauss requesting his presence.Â
His knees cave beneath him, a frustrated grunt leaving his mouth. He takes his fist and beats it into the carpet, hoping the pain that spikes up his arm will ground him. The world spins but he manages to stagger to his feet. Even if that means nearly losing his footing as the world dips suddenly. Curling that arm, pulling it protectively to his core, he manages to cross the room.
Except, there is no call to duty.
Heâs greeted by a picture and an unknown number.Â
Itâs a newborn baby in the lap of someone but the important detail is the hospital bracelet on picture takerâs wrist and the distinct newness of the baby. The sight invokes a pang in his chest, reminding him of when Jack was that small. A youth blind to injustice and death. Before Hotch had gone and messed it all up.
A moment later, his phone goes off again. A single line of text but he knows immediately what it means.
âLearning how to smile again... I hope you are too.â
Elle.
He's not sure if heâs meant to respond so he doesnât. It does spark a certain flame in his lungs-- he wouldnât call it a breath of life but for once the inhale his raged lungs pull in doesnât hurt. He falls into his desk chair, cradling his phone in his hand.
âYou know,â JJâs voice breaks through the silence of his office. She steps into the room with that blatant disregard that most of the team has. A mutual understanding that heâs given them-- as long as his door isnât shut, theyâre free to come in.Â
As far as he sees, that openness is well understood by JJ, Morgan, and Garcia. He suspects their understanding comes from a creative source. A kind that Prentiss and Reid have taken their time in understanding.
He sees the way the two of them hesitate before knocking and announcing themselves. For what, he might ask if he did not already know the answer. The answer is on the tip of his tongue each morning as he shaves his face. Itâs his last thought as he drifts off.
You donât trust women as much as men.
âYouâve ruined me for all future employers.â JJ continues. Unaware of the fact that her audience is a bit lost.
I choose Aaron Hotchner. Heâs a classic narcissist. He thinks heâs better than everyone else on the team.
JJ moves closer, her arms falling from their defensive place across her chest. She smiles, her eyes dancing between his. Thereâs a flash there, of what sheâs uncertain but as soon as itâs there itâs gone. She sees the bone-tired, ragged look of his large frame and she wonders when the last time he got a good nightâs sleep was.
âYou--â Hotchâs eyebrowâs knit together as he stutters to put together what sheâs said. âI--I ruined you?â His brain is still reeling from the panic attack. Heâs too exhausted to put together whatever trivial meaning her words are meant to have.
JJ chuckles lightly, perhaps she should have opened that better. âYou didnât ruin me, literally,â she explains with a smile. Honest, she loves him like a brother but he can be as thick as mud sometimes. For someone whoâs entire job revolves around understanding people, Hotch often misses the point.Â
Not that she minds explaining that to him.Â
âI mean,â she says, sitting herself down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. She pulls her legs underneath herself, not afraid to take the time to get comfortable. âYouâre too kind. You give so much to this team that if you ever leave Iâm not sure how any of us will function without you.â
He blanches. This seems out of left field to him.Â
She smiles at his reaction, reaching across his desk to squeeze his hand. âHotch,â she reminds him softly, âyesterday you brought me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. You made it for me because you knew I hadnât taken a break.â
He can hardly understand how making someone a peanut butter and jelly sandwich constitutes a pat on the back. He does it all the time for Jack. When he was making JJ one yesterday heâd ended up making one for Reid and Prentiss as well. The two of them poking and badgering him until heâd relented.Â
âBosses donât do that,â JJ assures him. âNot normal ones anyway.â Sensing that heâs not really putting this together, she rises from her chair. Stepping into his personal space she can see just how awful he looks. With all the tenderness she can manage, she presses a kiss to his cheek. Encircling his shoulders in her arms, she realizes that heâs trembling. âI love and appreciate you and Iâm just⌠None of them tell you how much you mean to us. I just want to make sure you remember that.â
It takes him a moment but he hugs her back. Where his body is stiff with tension, sheâs warm and soft. He breaks for just a moment, allowing her words to warm his chest before resigning himself back to his darkness. To his self-hatred.Â
JJ gives his back a quick rub before pulling away. âYou need to take a nap,â she informs him. âYou look like shit.â
He smiles, mustering up all his energy into convincing her that heâs not on the knifeâs edge of falling over into darkness. âIâm fine,â he assures her. Besides, he motions to the file on his desk. âIâll get some coffee and finish this consult. Then Iâll go home.âÂ
She looks at the file in question and decides to save him the trouble. She picks it up despite his anxiety-filled voice calling her name out. What she finds shocks her but not for the reason heâd thought. These women do look like her but their resemblance to Haley is⌠âOh, HotchâŚâ
He canât look at her. âTheyâŚâ he clears his throat. âI didnât want you to see it because I knew they were blonde and that kind of stuff really gets to you but--â Heâs said too much. Heâs admitting that he knows they look like Hailey. Maybe even that it bothered him as much as itâs bothering her.
âThis is exactly what Iâm talking about,â JJ whispers, her emotions getting the best of her. Of course, he looks like shit. Heâd done something kind to spare her and ended up looking at dead mutilated women who look too much like Haley. âYouâre too kind for your own good.â She tucks the file to her chest, where she knows he wonât make a quick grab for it.Â
âJJâŚâ
She shakes her head. âGo home. Go get coffee. Take a nap. I donât care what you do but you are not getting this file back because I promise that whatever seeing these women will do to me is going to be less damaging than seeing them is to you.â She doesnât spare him a second more before leaving his office. Leaving him to do what he pleases just not allowing that file to be one of them.Â
She turns in the doorway to his office, offering him a smile. âBy the looks of you, Iâd recommend taking that nap.âÂ
He doesnât but her words stick with him for days.Â
I love and appreciate you. Itâs most unlike the voice in his head reminding him that heâs a bully. A narcissist.Â
When he goes to bed, arms wrapped around his chest and tears threatening to spill down his face⌠he thinks about those four simple words. His cheek stings where sheâd kissed him and for a moment his chest burns again with an unfamiliar light.Â
He remembers these words over and over.Â
He starts to believe them but that doesnât mean he changes.Â
Then a case sends him home. His hometown is hardly an hour away from Quantico. Standing in front of the team, his hands buried in his pockets to hide the way they tremble, he tells them they wonât need the jet or the GPS. He knows where theyâre going.Â
He knows it too well.
Prentiss doesnât start second-guessing her boss until he pulls off the main road. Reid will testify, he second-guessed Hotch the minute the man told them he didnât need a map and turned the GPS off. Neither says anything but Hotch is still aware of the weight of their silence. He doesnât feel comfortable offering them the reassurance that he knows where heâs going so he chooses to say nothing. The whole car opts to not comment on how it is that he knows where heâs going.
âDetective Carter!â Garcia is the first person out of the second car jammed packed with the other members of the team.
In the second car, there was a lot of aired criticism. Ninety-eight percent of which came from Morgan but upon pulling into the station, thirty minutes before the GPS estimated arrival time, he canât complain. It does leave him curious. Itâs not often they drive to crime scenes from Quantico but they never stray from the GPS.Â
âIâm Penelope,â she explains to the older man. Itâs clear the detective is taken aback by the sight of Garcia but the old man just smiles and takes her hand. Kindly he smiles and Garcia only beams that much more. âThese are the agents I told you about.â She turns back to the others, lined up like a kindergarten class rather than a ragtag group of highly trained professionals. âJJ, Dr. Reid, SSAs Prentiss, Rossi, Morgan, and our prestigious and very handsome leader-â
âAaron?â
Prentiss had noticed Hotchâs hesitation the moment he put the car in park. He masterfully hid anything that might have given her a why but sheâd still seen his stress become gradually more apartment as he got closer to the precinct.
âJesus,â the detective shakes his head. He doesnât give Hotch the opportunity to step away or even get a word out. The mood shifts as Hotch canât hide the way he flinches as the man pulls him into a hug. âYou were fifty pounds soaking wet the last time I saw you,â the detective admits.
Hotch canât look at the detective and he canât look at his team.Â
Mercifully, Prentiss calls out to the older man. âI hate to push here,â she lies, âI would like to get working as soon as possible. Iâm not sure how many more dead girls I can stand to see.â There are a few mumbled responses from the team, all agreeing with Prentiss.Â
Hotch doesnât notice. He stands in the spot the detective left him in. Eyes on the gravel, heâs struggling but he pushes it down. He has a job and the job has always come before physical comfort.Â
He hangs his head and he gets through the day knowing that heâll be allotted his personal time in a hotel room soon enough. He can break down there.
And he does.Â
And then he has a nightmare that wakes up the entire team.Â
Heâs shaking so badly when he finally opens his door that he canât even play it off. They know.Â
âLet it out son,â Rossi whispers, holding Hotch tight to his chest. âItâs alright, itâs okay.â He rubs his hand down Hotchâs back. Something in his chest locking tight and stiff at the way Hotch melts, unable to even stand. Dave has always known, in one way or another, that Hotchâs childhood was a litany of things done wrong.
Heâd seen the kidâs back, the crisscrossing pattern heâd only ever seen on dead people. Scars. Someone had hit Hotch so hard as a child to leave marks on his body into adulthood. If Dave had to guess, heâd say a belt. Given Hotchâs soft accent and tendencies, Dave knows heâd probably be right. Belts are loved by Southerners.Â
Beat the sin out of your children.Â
See if they ever come home.Â
Rossi looks at Hotch, the man struggling to pull himself back together. Sometimes they do come home and thatâs worse.
âThis place,â Hotch whispers, eyes falling to the carpet. âThis town isâŚâ His eyes move to the window on the adjacent wall. If the sun were up, he would be able to see the house he spent his youth in. The drive-way where his father bounced his head off the gravel for dropping a can of green beans. The window by the main door that his father broke smacking his mother against it. âItâs an awful place and I-- I will be glad when weâre able to leave it.âÂ
Reid, of all people, is the first person to offer a condolence, a way out. He clears his throat, anxiously moving from foot to foot. âYou could go back home,â he offers. âItâs not a long drive, you would be back with Jack before the sun even comes up.â Seeing that his idea isnât being torn down but rather the others seem to agree this is actually a perfectly good solution, he continues. âYou could work from the office with Garcia. Weâve all done it. I certainly wouldnât think differently of you if you went home.âÂ
Reid sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, stepping forward and sitting on the edge of Hotchâs bed. âThis town gives me the heebie-jeebies, anyway.â His small shiver lightens something in Hotchâs chest because not even Hotch can twist the geniusâs actions. Reid is being sincere and Hotch hasnât messed up. They donât hate him. They donât think heâs weak.Â
âIt does, doesnât it?â Dave speaks up, shaking his head. âI feel it creeping into my bones.â
There seems to be a unanimous decision made in that immediate moment that no oneâs going to push him. Theyâre not frustrated about being woken up in the middle of the night by his terrified screams. No one is going to force him to tell them about the detective.Â
They solve the case and rescue the last girl from the clutches of their UNSUB. This time, Detective Carter does his job. He doesnât send an obviously beaten and abused boy back home to his father.Â
They save the girl the way no one ever saved Hotch but he doesnât consider himself irreparable anymore.
He closes his eyes and remembers what it felt like when Dave held him.
Son.
I love and appreciate you.
I wouldnât think differently of you.
He starts to feel loved and heâs so broken-- thereâs something in his mind that just equates their affection for a need for him to be better-- he decides he has to prove heâs worth it.Â
JJ has formed a habit of squeezing his elbow when she passes him.Â
Rossi pulls him into one-armed hugs.
Reid brings him a coffee and smiles shyly when they pass one another in the halls.
But he canât do anything right.
âPrentiss!âÂ
He doesnât clear the second room properly as they raid a house and all he can do is put himself between her and the danger. Thereâs only a split second to think about it. Sheâs a head shorter than him. So the shot that would take her head off hits him center mass.Â
Thereâs a sickening crack that rings through the room as he hits the wall behind them. His head bouncing off the wall. He doesnât hear her cry his name out.
Prentissâs hands shake but her own shot hits its mark. The UNSUB falls limply to the ground just as Hotch had. Despite every fiber of her wanting to double back and make sure Hotch isnât dead, she moves forward. She can see her bullet embedded in the opposing wall. The hole in the UNSUBâs head is visible proof but she canât walk away from him until she finds no pulse and moves his gun away.
âAgent down,â she calls shakily. Her knees almost give out from beneath her when she turns to see him.Â
All six feet of her boss is crumpled into a limp pile. His neck is bent, chin resting against his sternum. She canât tell if heâs even breathing, the vest strapped to his chest swallows any movement that might or might not be there. âHotch?â She calls, hoping that he'll stir. That heâll make a noise or something.
She sees blood.
âHotch is down,â she cries over the radio. âHotch is down and we need medics.â She pulls at his tie, swallowing down her own need to cry. To sob as her friendâs blood covers her skin. âItâs a--a-â she pulls the tie around his neck free and the blood starts to flow twice as fast. âFuck,â she places her hand over the wound. Her hot tears stinging her eyes. âItâs a neck wound.â
A death sentence.Â
She can feel his pulse against her palm. Each beat a little fainter than the last.
âDonât you die,â she rasps. Her emotions are bubbling to the surface as her panic and adrenaline get worse. âCome on you stubborn bastard,â but her insults are laced with worry. âHotch,â she pats his pale cheek. Attempting and failing to rouse him. On his cheek, her hand is left perfectly preserved by his crimson blood.Â
âAgent,â the medics come in. Someone puts a hand on her shoulder but she canât pull away. She canât let him bleed out. âAgent weâve got it.âÂ
I love and appreciate you.
Those words are the last thing Hotch thinks before his head hits the wall. He just has to hope she meant it.Â
âHey.â
She has to wait days to wring him out. To give him a proper piece of her mind. They are supposed to be passed this. They did pass this a long time ago. Time and time again heâs proven that he does trust her. After Foyet, theyâd become the semblance of friends. She considers him family.Â
Instead of offering him the immediate bitchfest heâs more than deserved, she offers him a passing-- âHey, yourself.â Seeing him awake settles her but she has to be mad with him. She is mad with him. Even if she wants to hug him. He is her friend and she values him. It hurts to see him in pain.
After a moment, she looks up from the book sheâs reading. Paying him just enough attention that she notices how uneasy he is. It makes her question her chosen silent treatment. Itâs clearly not helping and the last thing she wants is to stress him out more. So she reaches between them and takes his hand. âYouâre life isnât less important than mine.âÂ
Her words take him by surprise. She can see the words make their impact. His brows furrow in confusion but he doesnât say anything. Not for a long moment. Heâs stalling. âI didnât say that,â is what he settles on.Â
She looks up at him and sheâs disappointed. Theyâre profilers and he settles on deflection. She canât say sheâs surprised, he always chooses deflection. Sheâs just as stubborn as him though and sheâs not afraid to push a little. âYour actions did.â
âPrentiss, I couldnât--â
She lets go of his hand. For a moment, her anger gets the better of her. He gets the message and stops talking but the damage has been done. Of course, heâs not going to say that his life has less value than hers. Heâs not stupid. That doesnât mean he doesnât think it.
âWeâre partners, right?â She sits forward in the chair. âYou trust me?â She already knows the answers. She knows everything heâs going to do.Â
Hie scowls and he opens his mouth before he shuts it. He shakes his head as he says, âof course.â
She reaches back out to him, taking his hand again. His fingers are cold, his body still not fully recovered from the blood transfusions he needed. She needs something like this to never occur again. âThen itâs your job,â she tells him. âTo cover my ass when I mess up and itâs my job to cover yours.âÂ
He doesnât look at her. He canât. He could have gotten her killed. Canât she understand that? She should be furious at him for putting her life at risk. Not trying to go over protocol. He understands, though, that sheâs trying to make a point so he nods his understanding.Â
âI trust you with my life,â she whispers, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. âWhy donât you trust yourself with it?â
Sheâs right of course. If there was time for him to step in the way, there was time for her to move out of the way. A thousand things could have happened and, in the end, his actions werenât warranted. This hits his chest in a tight, painful bundle. He has to look away from her. Clenching his teeth against the tears threatening to sting his eyes.
âHotch, you gave me a family.â She squeezes his fingers, feeling her own emotions bubbling right back to the surface. Itâs out of character, she can recognize that but something happened in that house during the raid. Something she never wants to happen again. âYou are a part of my family, whether you like that or not.â
He turns to look at her, his mouth unable to tell her that he knows and he does like it but thatâs okay. Theyâve always been able to understand passing glancing. He offers her a lopsided, forced smile when she rubs her thumb over his rough hands.Â
âI love you,â she says with a roll of her eyes because sheâs Emily Prentiss and she canât take herself seriously for too long. She stands from the chair at his side and knocks the back of her hand against his shoulder. âAnd,â she adds, âdonât take any bullets to the neck for me, alright? Iâm starting to feel like I owe you.â
He nods his understanding, still not trusting his voice.
Just as JJ did, she presses a kiss to his cheek.Â
Prentiss feels pretty safe at that moment. Heâs high as balls and she doubts heâs capable of anything more than a grumbled complaint.Â
Heâs full of grumbled complaints but this time he doesnât offer her one.Â
He doesnât spare Morgan the same courtesy.Â
âHotch,â Morgan manages, taking a deep breath to stop himself from losing his cool. âI love you, man. You know I do but if you donât stand still--â Honest, Morganâs seen Henry and Jack behave better. The soft corrector does the job though and Hotch lets Morgan shoulder some of his weight. Leaning into Morgan as they walk.
He knows he asked Hotch to lean into him. He said it would be okay but to feel the way Hotch trusts him, the way he stiffens in pain instead of masking it⌠Morgan has to clear his throat. âHotch?â
Hotch is limping the whole way. Getting shot in the neck sucks but hitting a wall and breaking ribs isnât any better. Through gritted teeth, he replies, âyes.â
âDonât scare us like that again, alright?â Morgan keeps the pace going, forcing Hotch to keep moving even when he pauses as Morganâs words take him by surprise. Morganâs on a roll, though, and heâs got to get it off his chest. He canât let Hotch think that Morgan wants this. âI canât⌠This teamâŚâ itâs harder than he wants to admit. âIâm not ready to lead this team. I donât⌠I donât want to, man.â
Hotch remains silent. Heâs not sure what heâs supposed to say but heâs exhausted and heâs not sure heâs got it in him to tell Morgan that wonât happen. It might.Â
âWe left you the couch,â Morgan changes the subject. He steers Hotch through the opening of the jet, forcing him in the direction of the couch. As soon as Hotch is seated, Morgan excuses himself. He ducks away, taking his own seat and putting his music on.Â
A proper distraction from the emotions burning his throat.
David Rossi knew the moment he met Aaron Hotchner that he would take the world by storm. Through the years, Rossi watched that rip him apart. Being unyielding and selfless is good in measure but too often Rossi found himself holding the younger man together. His hands interlaced over a bullet wound, holding him upright as his lungs rebel from smoke inhalation, and, on more than one occasion, watching him push himself past the point of no return.
David Rossi also knew Aaron Hotchner was going to be a problem child. Unlike the other interns, Hotch was married, had gone to law school, and had a successful career. A state attorney turned federal agent⌠Rossi was initially skeptical. He got a wise-crack, no-nonsense, hot-headed nerd dressed in mediocre suits but, Rosis had to hand it to him, the kid had spunk. So Rossi put in the time.Â
He trained a prodigy and he watched that prodigy fail and break.Â
But Hotch never quit.
Not after Gideon and the bomb that killed nearly their whole team.Â
The Fisher King and Elle Greenaway.
Tobias Hankle.
New York and Kate Joyner.
Strauss.
FoyetâŚÂ
On the jetâs couch, some twenty-- hell, maybe thirty-- years after their initial meeting David Rossi is gently combing his fingers through that bull-headed new kidâs hair. His thoughts are actively drifting away. Back to times when he was the Unit Chief and Hotch was a lanky kid. Prone to accidents of spilled coffee stains on crisp white dress shirts and knocking files off his desk with his elbows. Dave and Jason had an ongoing joke that the poor kid should have come with a warning label sewed into the ass of his suits.Â
He cracks an eye open, aware of a shifting presence. Emily. He offers her a small smile, âanything I can help you with, bella?â His voice is deep, bothered with exhaustion, and tinged with an unsettled sadness.Â
But thatâs all part of the job.
They get the bad guys and stop them from hurting people. Only, sometimes they become the hurt-- the victims.Â
Hotch just added his name to another serial killerâs list of victims. His name is starting to appear a lot these days.Â
Prentiss shakes her head. Sheâd been sitting on the other side of the jet and for a moment it occurred to her that from her vantage point she couldnât tell if Hotch was breathing or not. Panic struck her center mass and sheâd risen to her feet, clearing half the jet to get to him. To be close enough to see his chest is rising. To see if he's still breathing.
âI thought he wasnât breathing,â she tells Rossi. âI just⌠it freaked me out.â
Rossi nods his understanding and shakes his head sympathetically, but not for Emily.Â
Heâs not sure what Garcia has planned but heâd put money down on the fact that Hotch isnât ready for it.
Hotch is not even through the glass doors at BAU when the sound of heels prefaces Penelope Garcia shouting down the hall. He takes a step back, glancing at the others in confusion as they chuckle. Like they know whatâs about to happen. He moves back to the hall, nodding his head at a rapidly approaching Garcia.Â
âSir!â
He raises an eyebrow, âGarcia.â
She comes to a stuttering halt, taking a deep breath as she steadies herself.Â
Something about it, he canât explain it, strikes him as humorous. He shakes his head and smiles. Next thing he knows sheâs thrown her arms around him. Hotch raises an eyebrow, his confusion not muffling the smile still spread across his face. âWhatever was that for?â He wouldnât lie by stating the feelings he has at this moment are anything other than happily surprised.Â
Garciaâs smile is a twisted happy smile laced with sadness being overtaken. âYou stopped smiling for so long, I-- It just made me so happy to see you happy.â
And he realizes sheâs right.Â
He hasnât smiled in a long time but⌠slowly, his team has wormed their way into breaking that.Â
Son.
I love and appreciate you.
I wouldnât think differently of you.
Youâre a part of my family.Â
I love you, man.
"Please, " Garcia says softly. "Don't ever do that again, okay? You scared me--" she sucks in a breath and it sounds so much like an approaching sob that he reaches out and pulls her back into a hug.Â
"I'll be more careful, " he promises. "No more close calls."Â
She squeezes him gently, aware of his ribs. "Good, " she whispers, "because I'm tired of losing people I love."
And he remembers that next time he sinks. He reminds himself constantly.Â
Aaron Hotchner is loved. He has a family to come home to. They need him.Â
And he doesn't always have to be the strong one.
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The Beeâs Knees
Pairing: Bakugou x reader
A/N: pretty happy with how this turned out! pretty nasty though so please read the warnings carefully. thanks @lady-bakuhoe for checking it over!
(sorry for double post it got fucked up on mobile :/)
Warnings: Smut, gun play, violence, dub-con, oral
taglist: @ikinabi, @redbeanteax, @marilla-eldriana, @kittykatkrissa
Youâd always had a bit of a boring life. While your friends had been out at speakeasies and dancing with men and woman through the night, youâd had to take care of your little sewing shop. Repairing and making fine clothing you couldnât afford wasnât what youâd choose to do if you could, but it was what you had to do to keep yourself fed and safe.
You lived in a decent part of town, although that didnât stop you from hearing gunshots every few nights between the law and the mafia. But then again, nowhere was completely safe from the mafia, especially with the bosses at the helm now. All of them were young, violent and eager to expand their territory and prove their worth, and the state of the city and surrounding areas were proof of that. But, nothing bad ever really happened to you, so you often ignored it and did what you wanted on your own time.
However, one day your entire life changed just from simply meeting Katsuki Bakugou, one of the new mafia bosses whoâd come to power recently.
It had been a normal Tuesday night, except for the fact that youâd ran out of bread. Something so simple and you- albeit annoyed- went to the store despite it already being night. Getting there and getting your bread had been simple, it was getting home that had changed your life.
On a shortcut to get back to your little shop and home as quick as possible, you passed into an alleyway. Where you happened to run into three people, a blonde with his suit all messed up, someone with bright red hair and a lanky black haired man with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
Oh my god- they were all standing around a bloody and beaten body. You drop your purse in surprise and they all turn around sharply to face you. Not caring that youâd be leaving behind money and belongings, you run as fast as you can the opposite way, trying to get to a main street.
You hear them yelling behind you, telling you to stop but all you can think of is that theyâre criminals, worst case theyâre mafia, and you need to get away.
But theyâre bigger, faster and stronger than you are. The red haired one catches up to you first, and he grabs your arm before you can get more than a block away. You try to scream, but as soon as your mouth opens up, his large hand prevents you from screaming and breathing too. You can hear them muttering about what they should do with you as your air supply is completely depleted and you start to black out.
You return to consciousness in perhaps the worst way possible, your headache from being choked out being exaggerated by the really loud yelling coming from a new man in front of the three youâd seen in the alleyway. You shake your head a little as you get your bearings and realize there's duct tape covering your mouth, and ropes tying your limbs to the chair youâre sat on. You begin screaming but the sound is muffled as because of the restraint covering your lips.
Two of the three glance back in your direction which seems to anger the leader who snaps in their faces and starts to yell at them.
âSo you accidentally killed the mark instead of subduing them, and on top of that brought back some fucking worthless extra that now I have to find out what to do with. YOUâRE ALL MORONS. GET OUT!â
The three scurry out of the office and he kicks over a stray chair, cursing loudly and sitting behind his desk. You canât seem to take your eyes off of him. Despite your fear and the obvious lack of self restraint and loud anger he exhibits, you notice heâs gorgeous and has a way of speaking that seems to draw people and energy towards him.
âWhat are you looking at extra? Hah?â He snaps at you. You just look at him wide eyed and shake your head, showing that you donât mean anything by it. He snorts and rolls his eyes, and goes back to his paperwork.
You feel incredulous and canât believe that, after all the fuss he just pulled he straight up ignores the fact that he has a live human captive in his office. You shook your head. How the hell were you supposed to get out of here? Your fear was starting to disappear and in its place annoyance was quickly surging up. You were tired, needed to sleep and had to wake up early tomorrow to get your shop in order. Yet you couldnât even speak to the man because of the tape across your mouth. So you decide to grab his attention, and the first step of that was making as much noise as you could through the gag. Which unfortunately, wasnât much. He didnât even spare you a glance.
So you decided to make a larger uproar, and start shaking on your chair - which was great for making noise, however for staying upright, not so much. You clatter to the floor with a loud crash and let out a grunt of pain as your head hits the floor, your vision a bit blurry.
âWhat the fuck are you doing? Seriously?â The man in charge yells and starts stomping towards you and you wince in fear as he approaches. He pulls you and the chair upright by a firm grip on your hair, close to your scalp. At this point youâre crying from pain and a little bit of fear and embarrassment. âWhat do you want?â he asks, even though you canât answer. You just look up to him with watery eyes, fucking helpless in the current situation..
He curses a bit looking at you, âYou know I should just get this over and done with and kill you.â he says, almost conversationally. âYou saw something you shouldnât have and I need to tie up the loose ends of my business. Canât be on top if weâve gotten ratted out by a little lady yâknow.â His grin is sharp, it reminds you of a wolf. Despite the situation and how close you are to death, you canât help but be aroused by both his determined attitude and gorgeous features.
Suddenly he rips off the tape gagging you, and you let out a sob in response to the quick pain that burns around your mouth. âIf youâre going to kill me, why are you playing around with me so much?â you ask, a little confused.
He just lets out a laugh. âDo you know how long itâs been since Iâve even been around an upstanding lady such as yourself? Your reactions to things are so refreshing, everything's new and terrifying for you.â
You can hear your heart hammering in your throat as he pulls a pistol out of his pocket and holds it up to your forehead. Your eyes cross as you desperately try to keep the muzzle in sight, even if you know that it wonât make a difference.
âI promise I wonât say anything to anyone! I just donât want to die, I have friends, I have a job, please, please donât kill me!â You start pleading with him and straining against the restraints on your arms and wrists, crying because these could be the last few moments of your life.
He cocks his head to the side, emotionless, staring down at you from above - the light from a lamp hits his face as it turns, lighting up his blood-red eyes. When he smiles you feel as if youâve already signed off on your death sentence, until he starts laughing so hard he has to bend over. Itâs an ugly cackle but youâre too shocked at the rapid switch in behaviour to do or say anything about it.
âOh my god- this is actually a great opportunity, I didnât even think about it really, but - yeah alright. Iâll give you a choice, whatâs your name?â he doesnât wait for a response. âYou let me use you how I please right now or die.â
What kind of choice did you have really? This was your only chance to see another sunrise, to see another normal day.
âAlright.â you get out, the word sounding sad and broken as it leaves your lips. At your agreeance, he backs off to his desk, placing the pistol down and opening a few drawers until he finds what heâs looking for. Out he pulls a wooden case. Inside another pistol, but this one is clean, more delicate looking and has a longer muzzle. He pulls some bullets from the case that it was in and loads the gun, one at a time, making eye contact with you.
What could he be doing with that? You think as he slowly walks towards the chair where youâre tied up, eyes stuck on his. He shoves the muzzle into your face.
âOpen up sweetheart, this will go easy or fucking hard depending on your actions.â he smirks poking your lips with the barrel. You feel your teeth cutting against your lips as you resolutely close them. You arenât going to give him the satisfaction of making this easy for him.
At least thatâs what you think until you feel a blooming pain on the side of your cheekbone, the bastard had pistol whipped you and your mouth fell open in a scream. You feel something cold and metal shoved deep into your throat and you gagged harshly.
âI said, fucking OPEN bitch.â he seethes, shoving the gun deeper and you feel your air supply drastically restricted. âNow be a good girl and suck the gun off, my trigger finger is a bit itchy today.â
Sobbing in embarrassment, you begin to bob your head up and down the gun, shaking in fear. You close your eyes rather than have to look at the sick fascination on the manâs face as he sees you work the gun. You know heâs getting hard because of this and as much as you hate the situation you can feel your arousal growing knowing that heâs likely going to fuck you well.
A few minutes pass, the only sounds being wet noises as you blow the gun, the metallic taste of steel taking over your mouth and combined with your fear, making you want to vomit.
âEnough.â he says suddenly, and you drop your mouth open and take deep breaths trying to steady yourself as he takes it out. You open your eyes and feel your heartbeat race as he pulls out a knife in his left hand. You flinch as he brings it to your lower half, but instead of cutting into you, he instead uses it to rip through all your clothing and tears it off. He smirks as he looks at your cunt quivering as the cool air hits it.
âWhatâs this? Have you been hiding your enjoyment through your tears?â he leans down putting his face near yours and the gun beside up to your head as his fingers ghost across your lower lips. You bite your lip, youâre not allowing yourself to feel pleasured by this. He sees the determination in your eyes and smiles, always excited for any challenge that crosses his path.
He knows he always wins of course.
You feel him enter a calloused finger into your pussy, the slight stretch making you take a sharp breath as he moves it in and out, occasionally curling the digit. Against your will, your body responds to him, hips moving as much as they can while youâre restrained. When he deems you ready, he adds a second in, scissoring them to open you up. His thumb plays with your clit and you let out small whimpers as you feel your core heat up and start to tighten.
âYou like me playing with your pretty pussy, donât you? No matter how much you try to deny it, I can feel you tightening around my fingers, and I can see your eyes start to dilate.â as much as you want to shout that heâs wrong, you know heâs write. Youâre not sure if you hate him or yourself more in that moment.
He suddenly pulls his fingers out and looks at you as you whine needily. âWanna be full again? I have the perfect idea.â he puts the gun on a hook as he takes out the knife again and cuts the restraints on your arms. Immediately you reach to claw at any bit of him you can reach, but he grabs your hands and lets out a tsk in disappointment.
âI thought you were smarter than that. Guess weâre doing this the hard way.â he manages to hold your wrists together in one hand as he gives you a strong backhand across your face with the other, dazing you. Blearily, you realize heâs tied your two wrists together and cut off your leg restraints. He puts your tied arms behind his head and lifts you with one arm, as he picks up the gun once again and brings you to sit on his lap in his large leather desk chair.
He leans back with a self satisfied sigh as he moves his legs to spread yours further apart, watching as some of your juices drip out of your cunt.
âI want you to listen very carefully,â he says lowly, his voice a growl in your ear that makes you shiver. âWhatâs going to happen is that Iâm going to put this pretty loaded gun up your pussy, and youâre going to get yourself off. If you canât do that within a couple minutes, I might get impatient and pull the trigger. Got it, sweetheart?â
What else can you do but nod? You have no idea if you can even get yourself off only on penetration with the fear holding you stiff, but if you want to live youâre going to have to do it somehow. You clench in surprise as the cool metal is ruthlessly shoved into you without warning, letting out a moan.
His eyes are on you as you gradually start moving your hips into the gun, feeling it reach deep. His wrist moves in time with your movements, helping you out a bit. You try and force out the entire situation and the fear from your mind, focusing on the sensations. The cool metal providing you some sharp pleasure as you pump yourself up and down the muzzle.
You whimper as you start grinding down faster feeling one of the ridges on the weapon hit your clit every time you bring yourself down on it. You lose track of everything as you shut your eyes and lean your head into the manâs neck. He smells almost as good as he looks and you just let yourself go, losing track of time. You enjoy the sensations and soon enough you bring yourself to the edge.
You can hear yourself whimpering and cum with a shout, your juices flowing down the metal and onto his hand. You open your eyes after feeling spent, as he takes the gun out and sends it clattering onto the table. Making eye contact with you, he lewdly slurps the juices from his hand into his mouth.
âSweeter than I thought. What a good girl you are for doing it right.â He says stroking your face rather condescending. âNow itâs my turn.â
He unbuckles his belt and shimmies them down as he stands up holding you in his arms. He then drops you onto his cock without warning, as you scream from pain and pleasure as he fills your needy cunt.Â
He chuckles, the sound much deeper than before. âThatâs right I want to fucking hear you scream, better yet Iâll give you a name to scream out. Katsuki Bakugou.â
He lifts you almost off his cock and slams you down again, thrusting as you come down making you see stars. Soon youâre only crying his name out as you card your fingers through his hair and tug as you lose sense of everything else but the feeling of his cock in you.Â
âYou take my cock so fucking well sweetheart, I havenât even found a whore this good.â He practically cackles, speeding up his pace as he chases his own release. He slams your back onto the desk and you howl as your back arches, the pleasure heâs giving you covering up the pain of your body being banged up.
You cum shouting out his name, clamping down on his cock as he releases his load deep into you and takes heaving breaths.
He pulls out and lifts your arms over his head as he gets his clothing back on and straightens out his shirt. You want to move, run, get away, but you canât bring yourself to even move. The most you can do is blink the tears out of your eyes and blearily look up to him.Â
âSo now I can go right?â You ask, your voice shaking. âYou said I could live if you fucked me.â
He just laughs. âI said you could live, I didnât say your were leaving sweetheart.â
You wail as your heart drops and you realize just how utterly fucked you are.
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A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 9
AN: a slightly longer one today guys, got myself all emotional with the rowaelin here and i hope it gets you too
masterlist - ao3
------Â
âHe was friendly when he first came in,â Chaolâs normally subdued tone was full of energy as he spun his tale, eyes wide with excitement as he looked towards Aelin. âBut then so quickly he goes completely crazy, shouting and ranting so loud in my face that Maeve has to come in and see what the problem is.â
Yrene laughed fondly at her husband as she rested a hand on his shoulder where she sat across the wooden staff room table from Aelin, âYou could hear it all the way down the corridor.â
Aelin laughed as she took in Chaolâs wide eyed expression and Dorianâs restrained laughter, Yreneâs gentle grin and Nehemiaâs cool smirk.
Her first parent-teacher conference at the new school was this evening, and to her absolute delight, her friends were busy spinning their horror stories. Admittedly, she was nervous for the event, and even though it wasnât her first time it was always an unnerving experience at a new school. It was her opportunity to introduce herself to the parents as Miss Galathynius and show them who she was, what she had, and to prove to them that she was the best choice for their children.
Realistically, she knew she had no reason to be nervous, her class were a great group of children, they all tried hard and engaged enthusiastically with her lessons, but meeting their parents for the first time was important. Making her first impression as an educator was important, and she knew that people sometimes unfairly judged her. At her previous school she knew some of the parents had made some unfair and incorrect assumptions about her but she had tried not to let it bother her. Had tried to brush off their barely hidden insults about her styles of teaching and even her choices of clothing. She couldnât change peoplesâ opinions but she could try to change their lasting impressions of herself.
Dorian had assured her that the majority of the parents at the school were great, most were pretty chilled out as long as their child wasnât falling too far behind, which Aelin knew hers werenât. That said, it was Dorian who had prompted the story time session in the break room, wordlessly picking up on her nervousness and launching into every horror story he could remember from his years teaching.
Since their ill-fated affair he had cemented his place in her life as one of her closest friends, rivalling only Lysandra in level of familiarity and they had spent an increasing amount of time together. From coffee runs to lounging around the loft watching movies she enjoyed every moment they spent together and she was comfortable that there was no remaining awkwardness from their brief tangle.
She hadnât told anyone the outcome of their date yet, she hadnât had much time to catch up with Lysandra since, and it wasnât something she was particularly keen to tell her roommates. As much as she loved them there were times that their typical guy nature made her hesitant to share, and her failure to sleep with her date was not something she felt like sharing with them.
She was especially reluctant to share that piece of information with Rowan, he had told her to forget about their moment in the kitchen, and she had tried. It just hadnât worked out quite as she had planned. But she was resolved, she would get over him, and if having him think she was dating Dorian told him she was, she wasnât complaining.
âIt took five minutes for us to even figure out what he was yelling about.â Chaol continued, flashing her an exasperated look.
âWhich was?â Aelin asked, already grinning in anticipation of whatever ridiculous answer Chaol could give.
In her experience Chaol was a by-the-book teacher. She liked him, he was pretty smart, straightforward and an involved and ambitious teacher, she couldnât imagine him doing anything deserving of being shouted at by a parent.
âChaol had, completely unreasonably,â Dorian drawled sarcastically, tossing his unstarted apple between his palms, âdecided to offer his students a quiz for the last class of the week instead of one more hour of curriculum teaching.â
Yrene sketched a mocking gasp and Nehemia held a hand to her chest as she rolled her eyes at the story.
âCould you imagine such a thing?â She laughed, eyes dancing with mirth as she grinned over to Aelin.
Aelin shook her head in mock horror at Chaol, unable to fully hide her smile as she laughed along.
âHow could you?â She asked, half laughing at the absurdity of the parentâs rage and half at Chaolâs over the top attempt at a dejected expression. âYou arenât actually making me feel any better about later, by the way.â
Yrene reached over to squeeze her shoulder, âYou donât need us to do that, they will all love you Iâm sure.â
Aelin needed more of Yreneâs optimism in her life and admittedly the womanâs kind smile was infectious. She was also right, why wouldnât they love her?
------
The documentary on the television hadnât fully captured Rowanâs attention, it was something about an animal in the rainforest and he had missed the part where itâs name was given, but it would do for a lazy afternoon while the rest of his roommates were at work. The afternoons were one of his favourite times of the day, he had the loft to himself to read or watch or listen to whatever he wanted in the usually shared spaces rather than his ordinarily messy and somewhat cramped bedroom.
Being the only one of his roommates to not work in the daytimes had its ups and downs, the freedom and space was a definite pro, but sometimes it could be lonely sitting around the loft on his own, and the days Lorcan was off with him after working a shift were often ones he enjoyed the most. His friend had a sarcastic and wicked sense of humour that worked well with Rowanâs relatively blunt demeanor. Heâd never tell him that though.
Of everyone in the loft he had known Lorcan for the shortest amount of time. Technically, but he didnât count the years of Aelin being in his periphery as knowing her. They had met through Fenrys, and Rowan wasnât convinced that even Fenrys knew how he had come to be friends with the surly male, their personalities werenât ones Rowan would have expected to be friends, but years later Lorcan had managed to cement himself as one of Rowanâs closest friends.
He checked the time on his phone as the sound of the loft front door caught his attention, none of his roommates should be at the loft at this time.
Seconds later Aedion came into view, already shucking off his tie before launching himself onto the couch next to Rowan with a deep sigh. Rowan slowly turned his head towards his best friend, waiting for him to reopen his eyes before raising his eyebrows.
âDonât take this the wrong way,â He began. âBut why are you here?â
Aedion laughed before rolling forwards to sit upright on the sofa.
âTurned in the final piece for one of our biggest accounts this morning so we all got the afternoon off.â
âNice,â Rowan nodded, Aedion probably worked the hardest of all of them in the loft. He worked for a marketing firm that had a bunch of high profile clients and he spent many nights in the office working overtime. Rowan shared those unpopular hours, but was grateful he didnât have the early mornings too. âWhat are you doing for the rest of the day then?â
Aedion shrugged. âThought I could spend some quality time with you my friend. Maybe find out what you wanted to talk to me about the other day.â
Aedionâs smirk was predatory, and Rowan felt like a deer in the headlights. He opened his mouth then closed it again.
He had been more than lucky to have gotten away with it for so long, he was surprised Aedion had managed the few days of Rowan saying nothing before giving in and straight up asking.
Since Aelinâs date with Dorian the manâs presence had become a regular feature of the loft, each visit reducing Rowanâs desire to admit any of his feelings about Aelin to anyone, let alone Aelin herself. He had tried to avoid being in the room when they were snuggling on the couch or had quickly changed the topic when he had come up in conversation.
Message received. He was at least glad that Aelin seemed happy, and it was his own fault that it wasnât with him. He had told her to forget it ever happened and she had. Why Aedion wanted to make him talk about it now was anyoneâs guess, he just wanted to deal with it alone. Preferably by not thinking about it, or at least trying not to.
âOh nothing,â He brushed it off. âIt doesnât matter now.â
Aedion raised a golden eyebrow, unimpressed with Rowanâs clear denial and he winced internally. He should have known better than to assume Aedion would have been satisfied with that.
âAre you sure?â Aedionâs question was all too innocent. âYou sure it wasnât about anyone in particular?â
Rowan gritted his teeth, knowing he was just going to have to let this play out.
Aedion took a moment, pretending to ponder his next words and letting Rowan stew in his anticipation. âNot even my darling cousin?â
Rowan felt his cheeks begin to burn as he chewed on the inside of his lip. Aedion was a smug son of a bitch, smiling at Rowan like a cat who got the cream.
Rowan took a deep breath in. âDonât fucking tell anyone, okay.â
Aedionâs expression dropped into something slightly more serious.
âPinky swear,â Aedion grinned at him and Rowan flashed him a glare.
âIâm definitely not saying anything if youâre not being serious.â
Aedion cleared his throat, making a show of sobering his expression. âIâm serious, okay, now go.â
âSo you clearly know something went down between me and Aelin,â That was as good a place to start as any he supposed. âHow did you even find out about that?â
âLysandra.â Aedionâs voice was almost dopey as he said the womanâs name. Gross, even though he was happy for his friend it was gross.
âNice to know you and your girlfriend have nothing better to do than gossip about me.â Rowan frowned.
âBelieve me, we have better things to do,â Aedionâs grin took over his whole face. âItâs just when weâre done we move on to pitying youâŚâ
âI said be serious.â Rowan said bluntly, embarrassed enough as it was.
âSorry, sorry.â Aedion held his hands up. âContinue.â
âThere isnât much more to be said.â He paused, realising the almost uncomfortable truth in his own words. âSheâs moved past it anyway, like I told her too, so thatâs it. Weâre good, no danger of that.â
The look Aedion gave him was pure pity and Rowan looked away fast.
âRo,â His friendâs voice was soft as he said his name, but he struggled for anything more, clearly reading Rowan better than he ever wanted to be read.
Rowan shrugged. âItâs fine, weâre all good.â
Aedion opened his mouth to speak but Rowan interrupted before he could get a word out.
âYou need to tell her about you and Lysandra.â He could only see the secret ending in disaster, and now he was involved. He owed it to Aedion to keep the secret, but the guilt of keeping it from Aelin was eating away at him.
Aedion sighed, âI know. We will, soon. Itâs just, when? You know?â
âYou need to do it soon.â Rowan told him, feeling somewhat like a parent scolding a child. âYouâre only going to upset her, and keeping it all a secret longer is just going to make it worse.â
Aedion looked down to the couch they sat on, avoiding Rowanâs eyes.
âI know.â He sighed.
âI donât want her to get hurt.â It was as much as Rowan was willing to admit out loud.
âI donât either.â Aedionâs tone was defensive and Rowan sighed.
âNow,â He began, pushing off the couch and standing above his friend. âI have a shift at the bar, you coming?â
Aedion half-smiled up at him. âAlright, but Iâm not paying for any of my drinks.â
Rowan scoffed, âWhen do you ever?â
Aedion rose to his feet, shrugging, âJust making sure.â
Rowan rolled his eyes, feeling as Aedion always made him feel, relaxed and amused with the usual hint of mild irritation.
------
The evening had passed relatively quickly, all of the parents she had met so far had been lovely and were well engaged in their childrenâs lives and education which Aelin always appreciated. She only had one parent left to meet, the father of her student Evangeline, a bubbly young girl who Aelin adored. The young girl was inquisitive and tried hard with anything Aelin threw at them, a perfect student in Aelinâs eyes.
A knock on her classroom door sounded and she jumped to her feet, calling out for them to come in as she rose. The man who came through her doorway was striking, his golden hair shone and his green eyes were bright. He was dressed in a sharp grey suit, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his tie was missing.
He held a hand out for her to shake and she caught a brief glance of a tattoo on his wrist, one that looked almost like a snake, peeking past his expensive looking watch.
âArcher Finn,â His voice was low and smooth, as he flashed her a polished smile.
âAelin Galathynius,â She shook his hand firmly and smiled widely. âPlease, take a seat.â
The man slid smoothly into the seat opposite her, and she forced her mind to focus on the task at hand, and reminded herself that this was one of her studentâs fathers. No sign of a ring, her unhelpful mind added.
âThank you, Miss Galathynius,â He folded his hands in his lap. âIâve been waiting for an opportunity to speak with you about Evangelineâs progress.â
Aelin grinned. âAs have I, Evangeline is a fantastic student, the passion she displays in the classroom is phenomenal. Her artwork-- she displays a level of true talent.â
âYes,â His tone was clipped. âThat is what I have been hoping to talk to you about.â
Aelin felt her smile freeze.
âEvangeline will not be participating in any art activities from this point onwards, I donât believe they are of any value. To put it bluntly, theyâre a complete waste of time.â
Aelin was frozen, paused in a state of shock at the manâs words.
âI unfortunately have to disagree--â
He held a hand up to stop her and she recoiled.
âPlease, Miss Galathynius,â He huffed out a condescending laugh and Aelin felt her blood begin to boil. âAs her father I believe I know what is best for Evangeline.â
âAnd what is that?â She asked dryly.
Archer Finn seemed to take a moment, raking his eyes from her head to her toe before meeting her gaze again. She could tell the look hadnât been one of appreciation and she bristled.
âWhat Evangeline needs is a teacher who takes her education seriously, someone who understands that painting her pretty pictures is a waste of time.â The sarcasm in his voice had her clenching her jaw, but she tried to rein in her temper, remembering that she was still new to the school.
âMr Finn, I--â
He held a hand to her face again and stood, buttoning his suit jacket as he did, and Aelin slowly rose out of her chair.
âMr Finn, I have a masters degree in childrenâs education, I know the value of creativity in learning.â Aelin could hardly keep her voice steady as she spoke, barely concealing the anger the man in front of her had managed to unleash inside her in such a short space of time.
The man seemed to sneer at her words, looking down his nose at her as he frowned.
âYou may well have, and Iâm sure it was worth every penny to you.â He smirked at her, crushing her with only a handful of words. âEither way, Evangeline will be seeing a private tutor during your creative hours.â
The scorn in his voice burned her, hitting her in a deep part of her soul that wasnât often exposed. She knew she was right, knew that she knew what Evangeline needed, knew that her methods of teaching had merit and worth. This sad excuse for a father was blind and arrogant if he thought he knew better than Aelin, but she was trapped. What more could she say to change his mind?
In her silence he had crossed the room to pause by the door before turning back to look at her where she stood dumbfounded behind her desk, clenching her fists at her sides and trying to compose herself.
âIâm glad we had this chat, Miss Galathynius.â With that he was gone, taking his smug and condescending atmosphere with him.
Her breath rushed out of her in a gust, burning her throat as she held back the tears that threatened to fall. She couldnât believe him, Mr Finn. The audacity he had to walk into her classroom and speak to her like that.
She dropped back into her seat, resting both of her hands against the cool wood of her desk and focussing on all the knots and whorls in the wood, breathing deeply in and out as she centred her thoughts. She almost couldnât believe how her evening had ended up and she let out a brief snort at the idea that maybe her story could now beat Chaolâs from this morning.
A knock at her door snapped her to attention, if Mr Finn had come back for another go at her she wouldnât be able to bite her tongue this time. Her fears were sedated when a familiar head of dark curls poked around the door frame.
Dorianâs smile was bright and easy as he walked towards her, perching on the front of one of her student's desks.
âSo?â He asked as he crossed his ankles in front of himself, the portrait of a male completely at ease.
Aelin only shook her head, unable to sum up her final visit in a few words.
âHave you ever taught Evangeline Finn?â She managed, hating how destroyed she sounded even to her own ears.
Dorian barely managed to cover his wince.
âAh,â He sighed. âYou met Archer Finn. How bad was it?â
She looked at the floor, holding back the flood that wanted to break through, she refused to cry in school over a parent, no matter how much he had riled her up.
âBad,â She managed but her voice betrayed her, letting a crack rip through the word.
Dorian was around the desk and at her side within a second, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.
âWhat did he say?â Dorian asked, his tone gentle as if not to startle her.
Aelin sniffed. âOh you know, the usual, dismissing my teaching and belittling my degree.â
She let out a self-deprecating laugh as she looked to Dorian whose brow creased at her words.
âDonât listen to him. You know heâs not right.â She knew his words were earnest, but they couldnât keep the doubt at bay and she shrugged out of his hold.
âI donât know,â She looked away.
âCome on,â Dorian tried. âLetâs get a drink or something, take your mind off it.â
âThanks, Dorian. But I think I just want to go home and be alone.â
Dorianâs mouth twisted as he considered it, probably weighing up whether or not to try again. Eventually he relented.
âText me if you need anything, okay? Iâm here for you.â
She lightly squeezed his hand before rising to pack up her things. His offer hadnât tempted her, she did want to be alone, but maybe a drink wouldnât be such a bad idea.
------
The bar was relatively busy, a few customers every so often had him drifting in and out of conversation with Aedion. Lorcan had joined Aedion at the bar not long after they arrived, grumbling about something or other that Rowan soon avoided, turning back to another customer after dropping off Lorcanâs pint.
A brief lull allowed him to drift back to his friends, wiping down a few spills along the bar as he went.
âItâs the fucking worst, all right.â The dark-haired giant complained, words muffled by the strong hand he ran down his face.
Rowan turned to Aedion for explanation who merely shrugged before lifting his empty glass to Rowan. He grabbed it and turned to refill it as Lorcan spoke again.
âI didnât sign up for any of this, stupid regulations and reforms.â
Lorcan was clearly in a talking mood tonight. Rowan met Aedionâs eyes, a silent challenge, begging the blond man to speak first but Aedion just leaned back in his seat, taking a large gulp of his beer. Rowan flicked him the middle finger before turning to Lorcan.
âWhat is?â
Lorcan turned the force of his glare to Rowan who shifted against the unexpected heat.
âMy stupid boss.â
âWhat about them?â Aedion finally joined in.
Lorcan sighed, a frustrated sound as if explaining it would be hard work. Rowan grinned a sharp flash of teeth at Aedion who rolled his eyes at their friendâs dramatics.
âI donât want to talk about it. I want to drink.â Lorcan finished his drink in a final swig, placing the glass before Rowan ceremoniously.
Rowan scooped it up, sketching a mocking salute at his friend. âThat, we can do.â
As he turned he spotted Fenrys making his way over from the door and he grabbed another glass to fill as the golden-haired man took his seat. He dumped the drinks in front of his friends with little finesse as Fenrys spoke.
âWhy is Aelin sitting in the corner on her own?â
Aelin?
âAelinâs here?â Aedion asked as the four of them turned to look where Fenrys had pointed.
Sure enough, Aelin was tucked away in a booth in the corner of the room. He hadnât noticed her come in and Rowan could see the glum expression on her face even from a distance.
âIs she okay?â He managed.
âShe doesnât look okay.â
The three of them swivelled to look at Lorcan, matching looks of disbelief across each of their faces.
âHas she said anything to any of you?â Fenrys asked. âAnything to Lysandra?â With a look to Aedion who shook his head.
âShould we go over?â Aedion asked, an unsure twist to his mouth.
âIf she wanted to sit with us sheâd be here.â Lorcan said bluntly.
âShut up, asshole.â Rowan narrowed his eyes. âIâll take her a drink.â
-------
The glass of wine was cool in his hand as he made his way across the bar, skirting round tables of customers as he went.
âHey,â His voice was soft as he reached Aelinâs booth, lingering by the edge of the table as she looked up at him.
His heart jolted at the expression she wore. Her beautiful blue eyes were wide and red-rimmed, her plush pink lips twisted into a pout. She swallowed before speaking and the hurt in her voice tore his heart again.
âOh. Didnât think youâd notice me here.â Her voice was quiet as he dropped into the seat opposite her and pushed the glass towards her.
âItâs kind of my job to notice who needs a drink,â He said equally quietly, leaning forwards and pressing his arms against the table between them. He had hoped his words would bring a smile but Aelin pursed her lips, debating, before reaching towards the glass and taking a sip.
At least there was that.
âYou donât-- I mean, you donât have to answer... If you donât want to, but,â He didnât usually stumble over his words so much. âAre you okay?â
Aelinâs refusal to meet his eyes pretty much answered his question, but he still waited for her to speak.
She blew out a breath, the air teasing the fair strands of hair around her face as she looked towards the ceiling then back down to him.
âNot really.â She said as she looked away from him again.
He spared a glance over to the bar where his friends sat, watching him and Aelin, each with expressions of concern. Even Lorcan for all his grumbling before Rowan came over.
âWhat happened?â He asked as gently as he could.
Aelin took a sip of her wine, glancing around the bar and spotting their friends who quickly jumped back into their own conversation before resting her gaze back on him.
She shrugged, putting her glass back on the table before speaking.
âOne of my studentâs parents basically told me Iâm a shit teacher today.â
âAelin no,â The words left him in a rush, utterly raw in his desperation to reassure her. âAelin, you have to know youâre not a shit teacher.â
She looked up at him through her eyelashes, her pout still standing strong.
âWhat did they say?â
âJust that my degree is worthless and that I donât know whatâs best for the kids.â
Asshole. Fucking asshole.
If he ever saw the asshole who had said those cruel words to Aelin heâd-- He didnât know what heâd do but it would hurt.
âAelin, donât listen to them. Thatâs not true.â
âItâs not?â Her question, in combination with her soft sniffle shattered him.
He reached out to lightly grasp one of her hands in his, gently toying with her delicate fingers.
âOf course not Aelin. Youâre an incredible teacher.â
She drew her hand back to take another sip of her wine.
âHow would you know?â She asked. âYouâve never seen me teach.â
âI donât need to Aelin. I know you, and youâre everything a good teacher should be. Kind, caring, patient, passionate-â
âOkay,â She interrupted.
âIâm serious Aelin, promise me you wonât believe a word that asshole said.â
She scoffed, looking away from him yet again.
âAelin?â
âOkay, I promise.â Her tone was resigned, but at least she had agreed. He didnât know how much help he had managed to be, but he hoped at least a small part of her had listened.
âWhat are you doing sitting alone anyway? You can always come to us with things like this.â He knew without a doubt that the others would agree.
She brushed a strand of hair away from her face, and Rowanâs fingers itched to follow the motion but he held his hands together, now under the table. She shrugged as a faint blush crossed her cheeks and Rowan fought the warmth blooming inside him at the sight.
âCome and drink with us.â He said, nodding his head towards where the others were sitting at the bar. âSalvaterreâs miserable too so you wonât be alone.â
At that, Aelinâs lips twitched as the hint of a smile ghosted across her face, it was the closest he had seen all night and heâd take it.
âWhy?â Her voice was quiet.
âOther than the usual?â He joked and she finally cracked a real smile, small but still there, and the relief that flooded through him was like lightning. âI think itâs something about his work or his boss, I donât really know.â
He slid himself out of the booth and held a hand out to her, his final request, if she really didnât want to join them he could accept that, but he knew heâd still keep an eye on her for the rest of the night.
Thankfully she stood, grabbing her things and leading the way over to their friends, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods. Over her head he saw Aedion flash him a thankful smile. She flopped onto a stool next to Fenrys as Rowan slid back behind the bar.
âSo,â She turned to Lorcan, barely missing a beat. âWhat are you crying about now?â
Lorcan didnât hesitate before lunging into his story, his own subtle way of making sure Aelin was alright and not dwelling on her issues.
âMy new boss is an asshole. Turns up in Rifthold fresh out of headquarters in somewhere called Perranth, and thinks everyone should just bow down or something. Now, first of all, Iâve never even heard of Perranth,â He paused to take a bitter swig of his beer.
âMe neither,â Fenrys chimed in.
âItâs in Terrasen,â Aelin said after a sip of her own wine. The heaviness from before didnât weigh on her face anymore and Rowan turned to serve another customer, hiding his smile. âI think I went once when I was a kid.â
Lorcan frowned at her but Rowan could tell it lacked itâs usual heat.
âWhatever,â Lorcan continued. âThe point is, Iâve worked here for years, I know Rifthold and how things are done. Captain Lochan has been here all of five minutes and apparently knows all the improvements we need to make.â
The curl of Lorcanâs lips as he hissed his bossâ name prompted a small laugh, the guy must be a total hardass to have Lorcan so riled.
âWhatâs wrong with the improvements?â Aelin asked and Lorcan sighed.
âNothing is wrong with the improvements,â He muttered and Aelin finally laughed, the tinkling sound washing over Rowan and settling into his bones.
âSo whatâs the problem?â Aedion asked after a moment, the question that they were all thinking and Lorcan shot him a glare, this time not lacking any heat.
âThe problem is the Captain. So controlling and everything has to be done in exactly their way, constantly on me about my reports as well.â He rolled his eyes, clearly over talking about his boss and Rowan couldn't help from poking the bear one last time.
âWhy donât you invite the Captain here? I donât know any problem a free beer couldnât solve.â
âAbsolutely not.â Lorcan said, shaking his head.
âWell I, for one, want to meet the famous Captain Lochan.â Fenrys grinned. âEspecially if it would annoy you so much.â
âDonât.â Lorcan said, a hairâs width below a growl.
âWhy not?â Aedion joined in and Rowan watched the smile settling on Aelinâs lips at their friendsâ antics.
He shook himself, laughing along as Lorcan slugged Aedion in the shoulder.
âMaybe find something to take your mind off it?â Fenrys suggested and Rowan knew where he was going would be fun. âGet a pet or something?â
âJust watch me, boyo.â Lorcan bared his teeth around the grin threatening to take over his own face. His pretend displeasure only just winning the battle.
The smile on Aelinâs face struck him again in its beauty, and he forced his attention away from her and back to the idiots now suggesting outlandish animals Lorcan could bring home as a pet.
He bit his lip as Aelin suggested a lion in response to Aedionâs tiger and thanked the gods again that she was smiling.
------
tags:
@jesstargaryenqueen
@maybekindasortaace
@slytheringalathynius
@http-itsrebecca
@morganofthewildfire
@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato
@fictional-horan
@tottenhamboys20
@dressedindustandshadows
@sleeping-and-books
@perseusannabeth
@ireallyshouldsleeprn
@superspiritfestival
@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln
@spyofthenightcourt
@jlinez
@queen-of-glass
@booknerdproblems
@sjmships
@elriel4life
@bamchickawowow
@woollycat22
@claralady
@illyrianwitchlingââ
@SHINYA-HIIRAGI
hmu if any tags donât work
#rowaelin#rowan whitethorn#aelin ashryver galathynius#rowan x aelin#throne of glass#throne of glass fanfic#rowaelin au#dorian havilliard#chaol westfall#yrene towers#nehemia ytger#aedion ashryver#lorcan salvaterre#poor lysandra seems to be the only one not in this chapter?#throne of glass fic#rowaelin fic#a groovy kind of love#my writing#my fics#this was soft okay#rowaelin fluff#whoops i forgot fenrys#fenrys moonbeam
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Painful Use of Powers
Tim and Jon are having a friendly discussion that is rather rudely interrupted when Jon accidentally Beholds something. They powers of the eye have faded after the world is back to normal, and it makes Jon very ill.
Cw panic (not detailed), vomiting (he vomits static so like.... not anything gross just weird), food mention, baby shark
This prompt is from the bingo on my tumblr, feel free to send a prompt, a character, and let me know if you want a drawing or a fic! Â The starred ones I already have prompts for, the crossed out ones are ones I have already posted. Â Bingo by @celosiaaâ!
âItâs⌠been pretty strange. About half the people I talk to remember everything about⌠well, you know. And the other half donât seem to remember anything at all. Just remember before⌠and then remember after. I have to wonder if itâs a trauma response thing or âŚ.some weird eldritch thing. But⌠not actually that curious, if you know what I mean?â Tim is sitting on the couch next to Jon. Once upon a time, they maybe would have been flush with each other. But it had been a long time since they were that comfortable together. Jon hopes that one day he will feel safe enough to lean on Tim again. Â
Jon half swallows a partial laugh. Not a particularly humorous one, just a huff of air, really. âIâm curious⌠of course I am. I just⌠try to avoid thinking about it. Curiosity is a little dangerous for meâŚÂ Which is irritating because being a teacher is about Learning as well as teaching. And apparently it is down to me to try to revive these children from the fatigue of rote memorization without an independent will to learn!â Â
âHa! You inspiring people to learn! Are you sure you donât just give them that glare of yours and tell them when the homework is due after babbling to them for an hour about whatever. Bet they donât get a question in edgewise!â
Jon gives Tim that very glare. And Tim laughs properly. Which fills Jonâs chest with hope. He shouldnât hang on the every positive response he gets from Tim⌠but he does. Â
âActually I read something funny the other day! I was on twitter and I found a threat that had a theory that one of those stupid kids songs brought about the Eyepocolypse! One of those ones that you sing over and over again until every adult that ever met you just wants to clobber youâŚ. I think it was the baby shark oneâŚÂ Whatever the fuck that is.â
Static fills Jonâs mouth. Buzzing through the air. And he Knows the song. The words. The many many many versions. Â
BĚ ĚźĚÍĚÍĚşĚĚĚżÍĚÍÍÍả̜ÍĚĚĚŠĚĚĚĚĚĚĚÍ
á¸ÍÍĚÍĚŚĚŤĚĽÍĚÍĚÍĚĚĚĚÍ͢yĚ̳̹̏̌ĚÍĚÍÍÍĚĚÍÍÍ sĚĚ ĚŞĚ Í̝̯̰ĚÍĚĚĚĚÍÍ
áşĚ´Ě˘ÍĚÍĚ̤̯ÍĚÍÍĚÍÄ
ĚĚĚÍ̪̚ĚÍÍÍĚ˝ÍĚÍĚÍÍÍrĚĄĚÍ̳̚ÍÍĚąĚÍĚžĚÍÍÍ̞̿ĚÍ Í
ġ̯̟ĚĚÍÍĚĚÍͥ͢ d̡̪ÍÍÍĚĚÍĚĚÍÍĚÍÍƥ̲̾̊̌ÍÍĚĚĚĚÍ˘Í˘Í Í
dĚĚłĚ̺̣ÍĚ̿̽ĚĚ˝ĚÍÍ
o̸ĚÍÍĚ ĚŁÍ̞̿ĚĚĚĚĚÍ
d̸ÍĚ̤̍̚ĚĚÍĚĚÍĚÇŤÍĚŽĚłÍ̤̰̌ĚĚĚĚÍÍĚÍͥ͢ d̲Ě̤̚ĚĚÍÍĚÍĚ̽͢Ǎ̴Ě̤̤ĚĚĚŻÍÍĚĚżĚĚÍÍ
á¸ĚśÍÍÍÍĚŤĚŻĚĽĚĚÍĚÍĚĚĚÍÍÍÜ̢ĚĚĽĚŻĚšÍĚąĚĚÍÍÍÍĄ dÍĚŹÍ̤̯̊ÍĚ˝ĚĚÍȍ̪̟̯̟̎ÍĚĚĚĚĚ b̡̢Í̹̎̚ÍĚÍÍĚĚĚÍĚÍĚaĚĚŠÍ̲̞̊ĚĚÍĚžbĚŽÍĚĚŁĚĚŤÍĚĚ˝Ě
ĚžĚĚÍ áťˇĚˇÍĚÍĚŤĚ˛ĚŠĚ ĚŽĚŹÍÍĚžĚĚ
ÍĚĚ s̲̳Ě̟̊ĚĚĚżÍĚÍĚÍÍÍ ÍĄh̴̥̺̯̟̎ĚĚĚĚĚÍ̿͢Í
å̴̳̲ÍĚąĚÍÍĚĚĚ͢Í
ášĚˇĚ¨ĚĚŹÍÍĚŽĚĚŁĚĚĚĚĚ͢kĚÍĚąÍÍĚ
ĚĚĚÍÍÍĄÍ
d̸̼ÍĚťĚĚŠĚŽÍĚÍĚÍĚĚĚĚÍoĚšĚÍÍ̤ĚÍÍÍĚĚÍdĚľĚÍĚźĚÍĚŹÍÍĚÍÍĚĚ͢ÍÍÍoÍÍÍĚĚ ĚšÍĚĚĚ˝ĚĚÍá¸Ě˘ĚĚĚÍĚĚžÍĚÍÍÍĚĚÍĆĄĚÍÍÍ̹̳ĚĚĚ˝ĚĚÍÍĚÍ͢á¸ĚľÍĚąÍĚĚĚĚĚÍĄÍo̴̧ÍĚźÍẸ̲̝̌ĚĚĚÍÍÍĚÍÍ
d̨ÍÍÍÍÍĚłĚĚŠĚżÍĚĚĚĚĚĚĚÍČ̡ÍÍĚÍĚ̟̣ĚĚĚÍĚÍÍdĚ´ĚŠĚŠÍĚĚÍÍ̟̯ĚĚżĚĚžÍĚÍĚÍĹĚ̤ÍĚąĚĚŻĚĚĚ
ÍĚÍ w̴̰̼̹̲̤̌ĚĚ ĚĚ
ĚĚĚ͢ÄĚśĚĚŹĚĚÍÍĚĚĚĚÍÍ͢ášĚĚĚłĚ
ÍĚžÍĚĚĚÍ͢ÍtĚľĚ ĚŻĚŤĚĚ̺̳ÍĚĚÍÍĚĚĚĚ f̸̝ĚĚŤÍĚŽÍĚĚĚĚĚĚÍȯ̢̨ÍÍ̼̲ĚĚ
ĚĚÍr̢ÍĚĽÍÍĚÍ̟̚ĚĚżĚĚĚĚĚĚÍÍ áşŁĚ˘ĚĄĚÍĚÍÍĚŠĚĚĚĚĚ͢Í
Ĺ̺̌ÍĚŁĚŹÍĚ̲Ě
ĚÍĚżÍĚÍ
w̺̺ÍÍĚŠÍ̝̣ĚĚŞĚżĚĚ˝ÍĚĚĚÍĂ̢̺̼̊Ị́̚ÍÍĚĚĚżĚĚÍmĚśĚĚŻĚşÍĚŻÍĚĚĚĚÍÍĄÍ d̢̨̜̥ĚÍĚ̼̹̊̚ÍÍĚĚ˝ĚĚĚ˝Ěò̤̤̪ÍÍ̺̽ĚĚĚ
ĚĚÍ dĚłÍĚĽĚ̺̰̰ĚĚżĚĚĚĚĚĆĄÍĚŁĚ̹̪ĚĚŞĚĚĚżĚÍĚĚĚĚd̢ÍÍÍĚÍĚĚĚĚĚĚĚÍÍĆĄĚ´ÍÍ̤ĚĚĚŻÍĚĚĚĚžĚÍd̡̤̺̍ĚĚ ĚĚŹĚĚÍĚ˝ĚÍĹÍÍÍĚłÍĚĚĚĚĚÍÍÍdĚ´Í̲̰̏ĚĚĚĚĚĚÍ Čďż˝ďż˝Ě ÍĚÍÍ̹̼ĚĚÍÍĚĚÍdĚłĚĚŽÍĚĚÍĚĚĚ
Í͢oĚşÍĚĚşÍĚŤĚ̞̞ĚÍ
.
The knowledge floods his senses. Too many words. Too many songs. And he canât stop it until he has experiences every annoying childrenâs song and rhyme and poem at once and he canât take any of it in and he canât thinkcantthinkcantthinkcantthinktoomanywordstoomanytoomanyÂ
sharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharkDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDo
The static crackles in the air, and Jonâs vision goes dark. Â
Jon wakes up and throws up. Or would, if his insides hadnât turned to static. As it stands, static floods his mouth and echos around the bin that has been shoved hastily in front of his face. Â
He thinks vaguely this must be an unpleasant experience for whoever is guiding him upright and holding back his hair. Â
Even so, it is miserable for him. Â
This is one of the least pleasant experiences of his life. Which is saying something. Â
It hurts. It feels like he is being turned inside out and his head sawed in two. Â
Once his body is done, his eyes are leaking static is well and he slumps further, head still in the bin, breathing hard. He groans, pitifully. Â
He allows himself a minute. A minute to try to process the information overload that sent him into this state. To try to feel more real and less like a manifestation of buzzing energy. Â
He canât drag his eyes open. He doesnât even want to try. Â
Then he remembers Tim. Â
Tim who is almost certainly the one rubbing his back. Â
Tim who just witnessed Jon Behold something. Â
Tim who thinks Jon has this under control. Â
Jon is supposed to have this under control. Â
But does he? Does he really? Because this Does happen. Not too often anymore, but it does. Jon canât always. Â
Sometimes a weak compulsion threads through his words. Sometimes he something slips through into his subconscious. And sometimes, the floodgates open like they just did, and Jonâs body is not equipped to deal with that now, if it ever even was. (Which it wasnât. He remembers lying on his office floor⌠sick and shivering for hours before Basira found him at his desk, having finally found the strength to stand, plagued by a raging headache.) Â
Tim wasnât supposed to see that he is still like this⌠this⌠monstrousness that hasnât gone away. It hasnât. Just a bit weaker. Still out of control and he should have this under control by now! Itâs been years! Â
And he canât think anymore because it hurts too much, and even the gentle hand on his back is too much like hitting. Like scratching. And he knows it is just oversensitive skin and he knows that touch is fine and grounding and good, but his brain canât tell the difference anymore. Not after years of hurt have been visibly pressed into his skin. And not when merely existing is rending his head in two. Â
He is breathing hard with a solid band of panic crushing his lungs. And heâs gagging around more static. And static is streaming down his face and he canât let Tim see him like this. he canât. He canât! He doesnât want to lose Tim again. He canât do it again! Not when things are so close to good that it hurts. Â
He tries to get up. To hide, but it sends him retching again. Â
Tim is alarmed. Not about Jonâs use of powers. Heâs⌠something close to okay with that. Well⌠not Okay okay with it. But itâs still⌠just Jon. It doesnât happen often. And Martin warned him Long before allowing them near one another, the second conversation they had after Tim ran into him in the grocery store and had to go through the awkward business of âyes Iâm alive, sorry I didnât say anything, also hereâs Sasha who you thought was dead. What do you mean you almost got yourself killed because you were left with nothing to live for?â That had beenâŚ. a conversation to remember. Â
In any case, Tim knows that Jon isnât entirely human. Mostly human, at this point. But⌠not entirely. Sometimes things like this happen, although Martin hadnât said anything aboutâŚ.. all the static. Something about ink? Something about some minor compulsion. And that Jon is⌠not cagey about it⌠but skittish. That he still expects to be punished for this thing that he clearly canât entirely control. He knows that Jon occasionally Knows things on purpose and gives himself migraines. Much to Martinâs worry. But accidentally Beholding⌠well it looks worse than a migraine to Tim. This looks painful, and like itâs quickly devolving into a panic attack. Â
Which⌠Tim has a sinking feeling is because he is there. This would beâŚ. the third one heâs caused. At least that he knows of. Â
There was the time that Jon was under the weather and compelled him by mistake. There was the time when heâd finally gotten comfortable around Jon again and had started joking and something in the tone of his voice or the volume had sent Jon into a messy spiral. And now this. Heâs been so careful. He wants his friend back. And they were finally getting somewhere with easy visits without Martin moderating. Finally. Â
And now Jon is sick and hurting and afraid and Tim is probably just making it worse. Â
Jon flinches away from his hands with a whimper, and his theory is strengthened. Â
He stops. Timothy Stoker takes consent very seriously. âDo you want me to let you go? Can you sit on your own?â Â
Jon whines again, forehead resting on the edge of the bin. Dreadfully pale and face crackling with a static that Tim guesses to be sweat or tears⌠possibly both. Â
He would absolutely let go of Jon if he was sure he could safely do so, but⌠Jon looks as if he might just topple over as it is. Best not to disturb him too much. And if he looks uncomfortable with the arrangement, then Tim will try to fix it. However he can. Â
Until then, he ought to call Martin. But he canât get up without dislodging an unsteady Jon. And Jon doesnât look up for sitting in on a conversation. Â
He sends a text instead. Â
Thereâs been an incident. Weâre okay, but if you could come back here soon⌠Please come back soon. Â
Jon cries. And so does Tim. Softly. Briefly. So many steps they have taken together, and there is still a journey before them. Â
Martinâs home. Jon would cry with relief if he wasnât already crying. Finally real tears instead of trails of static. Every time heâs tried to move has made him sick. He eventually gives up and leans against Tim. Shivering slightly. He wishes he could get some painkillers, butâŚ. he canât even sit up. Not even far enough to let Tim get up. Â
He did find it in himself to weakly sign for Tim to wrap an arm around him. Â
Itâs grounding. And solid. And warm. And real. Â
But now Martin is here. Speaking in low tones to Tim. Hands on his face. Jon leaning into Martinâs warmth. Martin wiping his damp face with a warm flannel. Â
âHey, sweetheart. Jon, what happened?â Martin.
Jon doesnât want to open his mouth. Insides still unhappy static. He signs, âBaby Shark.â
Tim chokes on a laugh. Â
It jostles Jon, which causes him to groan. But⌠but. A laugh is good. It isnât derisive. Itâs⌠just warm. And very Tim, as he once was when they were together. As he is, now. Â
Tim stays for dinner. Itâs takeout. And while Jon is still queasy, he manages a little bit of soup before falling asleep. Still leaning on Tim, Martin cradling his legs. Â
#the magnus archives#tma#whump#jonathan sims#timothy stoker#tim stoker#martin blackwood#cw nausea#cw food#cw fainting#cw panic attack#cw vomiting#emeto warning#words#my words#my writing#my fic#art#my art
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Ęá´É´É´Ę Ęá´É´á´Ęá´ęą(ÉŞá´˘á´á´á´ x reader)
(Boss-Intern/Hybrid AU)
Warnings: Smut, Cat Hybrid!Female!Reader, Bunny Hybrid!Izuku, (Everyone is pretty much hybrids) Im also rlly bad at warnings
Part2
Summary: Your new bunny Intern with the silvery voice has caught your attention once again, but who knows if this time you can get to him first.
  The quick pitter patter of my feet as I walk through the parking lot to the elevator are drowned out by my thoughts. Â
     My every waking thoughts constantly running rampant of that that green haired ball of energy. So sickeningly sweet yet enticing. Our newest Intern, Izuku Midoriya. The bunny hybrid who held the whole world in their eyes. Just the same as the last time you saw him.
 You slowly enter the elevator and press the button for your floor number, tail swaying from side to side slowly. Standing there idly humming to yourself as the lift slowly rose to your floor. âPINGâ the loud sound of the lift arriving snaps you out of your daze. The doors slowly open and you step out and begin making your way to your office.Â
Besides the soft hums of conversations and typing it is rather peaceful in the cubicles. âHey (y/n)!â. Well shit. You turn to where the voice came from and lo and behold the man whose been on your mind, standing there in all his glory. He smiles brightly at you, ears on the top of his head at full height. You look at him blank faced.Â
âPlease stop calling me by my first name during work hours, people will think we are friends.â You spit at him in a hushed tone. You turn away and begin walking away. He follows behind you closely, he begins giggles. âI mean of course were friends dummy.â He says to you in full confidence. âWell im sorry to burst your fucking bubble, were far from friends, you work for me and thats all.âÂ
You make it to your office and kicking your heels off. His ears drooped some. âWell its ok (l/n), No need to be a bitch about it.â He huffs at you also walking into your office closing the door and plopping down on the sofa. âMe?! A Bitch?!â Your head does a perfect 180 and you scowl at him.âYea, you.â He plops a gummy bear into his mouth. âWhere the hell did you get gummy bears from?! You know what, doesnt matter, stop eating in my office. I have work to do.âÂ
You shuffle over to your desk and plop down in your seat, pulling out your papers and beginning to work. Your ears sit upright. You can hear loud Chewing. Ignoring it was not even an option. You can hear it over your on thoughts at this point. You look up with a huff and there izuku is. âYou chewing to loud dipshit.â For a bunny hybrid he is loud as hell.Â
Your becoming irritated. A knock on your door turns your attention away from the green haired male laying on your sofa. âCome inâ you mumble. Your assistant Tsuyu walks in. â Ms(l/n), Mr Todoroki wants to know if your meet for later today is still on?â She shuffles through papers in her hands. You take a minute to think, âdo I really want to have to deal with Enjiâs shit today? nahâ. â Tell him i would like to reschedule for next week, and Tsuyu, take a rest of the day off I got it today.â She nods her head and walks out quietly shutting the door behind her.
A couple of minutes goes past uneventfully. âYou know you cant always be mad at me.â The human bunny hybrid speaks. You chuckle at him âThats a good one.â You continue doing what you were doing. Izuku sits up from his lying down position. âIm serious, listen we both made mistakes. So we have to let go to help ourselves grow as people.â You sit your pen down and you look at him. âAre you fucking kidding me? We both made mistakes? You fucking cheated on me, and WE made mistakes? You must be out of your rabbit ass mind!â
 You jolt upwards, now standing making your way around the desk to the sofa. âHey I said sorry, okay.â He says as you stalk closer to him. â Do you think sorry is going to fix the fucking pain i felt?â Your ears are completely pined against your head as you his at him. âwell what do want me to do?â You take the tights off of your legs and ball it up, throwing it. You begin to slide you panties off. griping them in your hand tightly. âIf your really fucking sorry youâll make mommy feel good.â Izuku turned pink.Â
âYou know I cant do that, you know im dating Ochaco.â You shake your head. âDo you really think I give a fuck about that home wrecking bitch, do what your told unless you want you darling little Ochaco to know that her boyfriends boss is his ex girlfriend and that you dick still gets hard to the thought of my cunt on your face?â He freezes. âYour probably fucking hard right now arenât you. You sick fucking shit. Getting off of calling me mommyâ Before he can react you stuff your underwear in his mouth. âgo ahead, can you taste mommy on it?â He says something unintelligible and nods.Â
âGood because that is the last time you will ever fucking taste it.â He reaches to take the panties out of his mouth. You slap him with force before he can. You can tell heâs gonna bruise later. His phone rings. its Ochaco. He looks up at your form questioningly. You nod. âPick it upâ He does just that. As he talks you begin to unzip his pant. His breath hitches. keep talking, you mouth to him. You pull out his hard length. He twitches in your hand. gracious amounts of precum falls onto your hand. His tip red with a purple hue. You flatten you tongue and run it from base to tip and stopping to suck on his mushroomed head.Â
He chokes on his spit âuh yeah im fine Ochaco I just choked on my spit, but i have to go, yeah ill t-talk to you later bye.â He rushed to hang up his phone up. You stood back up, taking in the view of him. He looked so perverted with his dick out leaking and pulsing. But he looked so innocent with his flustered face. You wanted to corrupt him. He reaches out and cups your naked core. Massaging your folds. You lean into him, beginning to straddle him. He rubs his fingers against your wet entrance, slightly teasing you. He pushes his two fingers into you breaching your warm walls. You reach both of your hands around to his back. Your hand grabs his shoulder. The other one slowly going down his back. You grip his tail.Â
â(y-y/n) you know my tail is sensitive.â He removes his fingers from you and grips your hips with both hands. You smirk against his neck. âI know.â You snatch his cotton ball of a tail with your hand. His hips thrust up into yours. His dick ruts against your wet core. The humping motion causing his dick to stimulate your clit. Your feeling hot, you can feel your heart beat in your pussy. âCome on baby, fuck mommys tight pussy. You have my permission. He whines out starting to rut harder against you. You lift yourself lining izukuâs meat rod to your dripping core. You begin to slowly go down, Not used to the feeling of him inside of you yet. Izuku grabs you hips and slams you down onto him before you could intervene.Â
Izuku begins to get into position, he braces his feet on the floor and grips you with both arms, beginning to thrust up into you. You can barley keep your eyes open. His curved dick keeps beating at your walls. You reach down to you clit and begin to rub it trying to satisfy that building pressure in your abdomen. You gush out on him, he humps you through it all. You push off of him with a huff. âMommy?â He whines out at the loss of your heated walls. walking over to your desk you sit on the edge and spread you legs giving him a good view of your box. âCome on baby, come get what you want.â He practically jumps out of his seat and rushes to you, lining back up with you and pushing straight back into your depths. you wrap your legs around him. He starts fucking into you like he was out for revenge.Â
You throw your head back moaning out as his tip hits your g spot. Your tail raps around his leg. âSay you love me more than Ochaco.â You breath out. No answer. He keeps fucking into with the speed of a jack rabbit. You santch his hair pulling his head back. He moans out as he gets closer. You grab his face between your fingers and pushing your foot into his hips causing him to stop thrusting. "Tell me you love me more than her, fucking say it. your tail begins flicking the more agitated you get. Looking at you doe eyed he stumbles over his words "You know i cant say that, i love both you and Ochaco the same." You scoff looking away in disgust. "If that was fucking true you wouldnt be balls deep in me while your girlfriend is at home waiting for you."Â
You look back at him in disgust for the second time today. Pushing him off of you. Causing his dick to fall out with a wet sound. He whimpered at the loss of your heat. "kneel" you bark at him. Ears pined to the top of your head. Midoriya drops to his knees his ears lifeless against his head. "Know show mommy that your sorry for being a shitty boyfriend who cant even keep his dick in his fucking pants." "m'sorry" he mumbled.Â
" Stop being a little fucking bitch and actually apologize!!" You yell at him. He just stares up at you. Hissing you hop off of the desk pulling your skirt down and snatching him up by the collar of his shirt, " If you dont want to be here get the fuck out, go the fuck home. Why are you still here if your in love with her?" You begin to push im towards your office door, eyes filling with tears. âill have you transferred to another buliding." You begin putting yourself back together and getting dressed. "N-no, im sorry." He squeaks out after almost a eternity of silence. You wipe the tears out of your eyes, putting a stern face on.Â
âwell i have no other choice, your fired.â
#bnha scenarios#bnha imagines#bnha#izuku midoria x reader#mha izuku#reader x midoriya#reader#reader x bnha#reader x#reader x izuku#bnha smut#smut#i mean its ok#just needed to put it out there#bnha fanfiction
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Disney Princess - 3
i told you id get it out anon, didnt i? but legit, so sorry this took for fucking ever, i get distracted :)
Chapter 2
M Rating (i bumped it up cuz of drinking? am i meant to? and no warnings)
Aurora x f!MC (Rylen Damen) (if you haven't been here in a while, i changed mc to an oc, but same personality)
~3k words (not super long, but i got a jump on chapter 4 so that should be out soon)
Read on Ao3
-
Aurora Emery is relieved.
It's strange. Very strange, the way her shoulders feel less tense and the way her thoughts are less clouded as she winds through Edenbrookâs halls, steps light as they lead her to Harper Emeryâs office. She adjusts her coat outside the door, smoothing out the lapels delicately before stepping inside.Â
Harperâs sorting through papers on her desk, only glancing up as Aurora sits across from her, palms flat on her thighs to quell her nerves. Thereâs tension lingering in the air, thick as it attempts to weigh down Auroraâs shoulders, attempts to counteract the result of the trial.
The pair sitting across from each other havenât spoken since the fight in the atrium, the only communication being a brief, agitated text. Auroraâs foot begins tapping beneath the desk, muted by the carpet resting under her feet as the silence drags on and on and on and on.
âWhat did you need?â Aurora rushes out, her anxiety getting the best of her as her fingers twitch in her lap.
Harper glances up from her paperwork momentarily, meeting Auroraâs gaze, then sits back in her chair, hands folded atop her desk. âI thought it best we discussed what happened earlier,â she answers coolly, the slightest irritation in her expression.
âWhatâs there to discuss?â Aurora counters, squirming in her seat slightly.
Harper sits up, straight as an arrow, with tense shoulders beneath her coat and fingers knit together, resting on the desk. âIf youâre not happy with me, Aurora, Iâd like to know how to fix that.â
A sigh sinks Auroraâs own shoulder, sinking her further into her chair, âAunt Harper -â
âAurora,â she cuts her off gently, âI never want you to resent me or hate being around me. If thatâs starting to happen, I want to correct it and be the best aunt I can be.â
âItâs just -â Auroraâs shoulders slump, any fight dissolving from her. âItâs overwhelming. When you give me as many assignments as you can, just to spend twice the time to keep you updated and involved. Itâs exhausting.â
Harper nods along, falling quiet. Her hands find a pen, twirling it, twisting it between idle fingers. She nods again, more resolute this time, âIâll try to step back some more, give you space.â
âAre you going to go back to practicing?â
She sighs, âAuroraâŚâ
âYouâre not happy sitting in this office, I know it,â Aurora frowns across the desk, folding her arms in defiance. âYouâre always upset when you get home and take every opportunity to do some real work.â
âThis is real work,â Harper frowns right back.
âNo, itâs not.â
âAuroraâŚâ she warns, eyes flickering with growing anger. âMy career does not concern you.â
âAnd mine doesnât concern you, but youâre still involved.â
âThen Iâll stop being involved. We can cut ties entirely, if thatâs what you want.â
âThatâs not what I said,â Aurora bites out.
Harper sighs, her head falling into the cradle of her hands as a quiet permeates the office, mingling with the leftover irritation. âI think you should move out,â Harper finally says, not moving.
âWhy?â Auroraâs asking before she can help herself, surprise widening her eyes and dropping her jaw.
âBeing this involved in each otherâs lives isnât working, Aurora,â she gestures uselessly. âI love you, but weâre both adults and donât need to be getting into petty arguments.â
âSo Iâm getting kicked out?â Aurora asks indignantly, her expression some odd combination of frustration and betrayal.
âOf course not! Just - Letâs take a step back, okay?â Harper attempts to gesture placatingly, waving her hands down.
Jaw clenched tight, Aurora spits, âFine,â standing quickly and exiting from the office, letting the door fall closed with a thud. A nurse glances up from across the hall, and she barely musters as scowl before hurrying down the corridor. Her hands mess with her coat, adjusting neurotically as she navigates the winding halls.Â
Sheâs not quite sure where sheâs headed, just that it has to be far from her auntâs office and the woman still sitting within it. It has to be far away from the nagging voice in the back of her mind, telling her she just canât handle this workload, sheâs not cut out for it. It has to be far away from the anxiety that sat heavy in her gut in the hearing, an inexplicable bubbling of nerves.
Her feet eventually lead her to a waiting area, where family members and patients awaiting treatment sit, the air heavy. A womanâs sniffling in a corner, a few tears escaping just to be wiped away by the tissue in her hands. A young boy plays with a toy car on the floor, a teenager keeping watch over him a few feet away. A man sits with his hands clasped tightly, knee jerking anxiously with wildly roving eyes. Thereâs a dozen stories within this room alone, each wrought with upset and grief.
And thatâs why sheâs here, why sheâs dealt with that workload for so long. Why she felt that anxiety tug at her over Edenbrookâs fate. Why she wants and needs the best for herself, her aunt, the staff as a whole. A notification shakes her phone in her pocket, and she tugs it out, finally tearing her eyes away from the stories before her.
Itâs from the other source of that anxiety, the person she was dreading seeing go most, purely because Rylen can help these people just as much as she can. âI know youâre allergic to fun, but everyoneâs heading to Donahueâs tonight. Figured you might wanna come :Dâ
She frowns down at the message, glancing up at the waiting room one last time before turning down the hall, typing as she goes, âOnly for the drinks.â Itâs an easy, comfortable quip, one that comes without trying.
Grey dots pop up in a single second, a chime quickly following, âOf course. Iâd never presume itâd be for me, Princess ;)â
Aurora rolls her eyes at the emoticon, sending out a response as she arrives at a nurseâs station, leaning against it idly. âGood.â Her grip slackens as she stares at it, one finger tapping the side of her case, a slow, steady beat, while her lips twist to the side. âAnd good job, Damen.â
âThanks.â Itâs quick as usual, and even without the smiley, Aurora knows it's there, reflected in Rylenâs own device screen.
Now, to survive the last of her shift - headache-inducing patients, stacks of paperwork, gossiping coworkers and all. She straightens up, exhaling deeply and setting her shoulders, teeth gritting in determination.Â
---
Aurora arrives to a bustling bar, attendings and interns alike shouting and drinking, dancing and laughing loudly. A few glance her way as she cautiously steps up to the bar, ordering a beer as quick as she can, but she doesnât bother with them. Once the bartender moves on, she slips through the thick crowd, finding a small, empty booth in the back corner.
She slumps into it, pulling her phone out just to occupy her time. She taps open the message thatâs been waiting for her since she left Harperâs office: âIâm sorry if I upset you, but you should be more independent.â
With a huff, her phone slams against the table, and she chugs back her drink, leaving the booth for another. And another. And another.
âYou came!â a joyful voice chimes, earning a short glance from Aurora.
Her attention quickly snaps back to where itâs been occupied lately, apartment listings she doesnât have much interest in. âYou always did like stating the obvious,â she grumbles. âYou donât have to check on me, by the way. Iâm used to being alone.â
Beer sloshes in its bottle as Rylen slumps into the booth beside her, glancing over Auroraâs shoulder at her screen. âYou moving?â
âYes. And youâre nosy.â She slides away from Rylen, who puts even more space between them. âIâve been staying at my auntâs place all year, but we both think itâll be good to have some space.â
Rylen nods enthusiastically, slouching back against the seat to look out over the bar. Elijah and Bryce are cheering on Sienna and Jackie as they down a row of shots, Siennaâs arms raising in victory when she slams her last glass down. âYou know⌠we have a room opening up,â Rylenâs elbow nudges Aurora, a mischievous light in her eyes as they meet Auroraâs.
Aurora eyes her suspiciously, âAre you saying what I think youâre saying?â
âYeah,â Rylenâs smile somehow seems to grow, glinting as she picks at the label on her beer bottle. âI mean, I have to ask my roommates but⌠itâs not like we can afford the place on our own.â
Nodding, Aurora turns to her own drink, tapping her nails against the side in contemplation. The faint sound can barely be heard through the barâs sounds, but itâs enough to focus on, to drown out laughter and music to.
âThink about it,â Rylenâs nudging her again, pulling her back to Donahueâs. She glances up, finding Rylen smiling softly as she stands, gripping her beer loosely in her palm.
Aurora nods, still tapping lightly, â...I will.â
---
Rylen appears before Auroraâs eyes, collapsing across from her with a thud against the boothâs cushions. âSoâve you thought âbout it?â Her arms fold on the tabletop, chin resting on them as she gazes up with bright, shining eyes.
Blinking, Aurora looks up, setting her phone down and eyeing Rylen and her flushed, red cheeks. âAboutâŚ?â
âMoving in! Duh!â She grins, not a hint of trepidation, of reservation, all teeth and deep smile lines. Her head lolls to the side, cheek pressing into the fabric of her shirt, âSoâŚ?â
Aurora sighs, rolling her eyes, âMaybe. I need more than a single night.â
Bottom lip jutting out in a pout, Rylen tries her best to be irresistible, âBoo. You should just say yes.â
âWhy do you want me in your apartment anyway?â
âOkay, so,â she sparks to life, jerking upright as energy overflows from her. âOne:â she flicks a finger out, leaning over the table. âWe need help paying rent. Two: We know you, and strangers are weird. Three: Youâre pretty cool and we all like you already.â
âReally? Even Jackie?â
âWellâŚâ Rylenâs voice pitches up as her head bobs in consideration, âShe likes the help with rent, but sheâll come around. Swear it.â She draws an âxâ over her heart, slumping against the back of the booth.
Aurora only shrugs, picking her phone up again to occupy her hands and mind, âI still havenât decided.â
Rylen hefts a world-weary sigh, her shoulder rising and dropping dramatically, âFine. But decide soon or weâll have to find someone else.â
Aurora nods, attention already returned to her phone and the scrolling of her email inbox. Across from her, Rylen falls quiet, gaze wandering distractedly, seeming to snap onto anything and everything.
Abruptly, her gleaming eyes fall back on Aurora. âGimme your arm,â her hands reach across the table, keeping their distance but waiting expectantly, palms upright.Â
Aurora obliges without thinking, allowing Rylen to carefully take her wrist, pushing her sleeve up her forearm, fingers barely brushing her skin. A shiver ripples down Auroraâs spin before she shakes it away, schooling her expression into distant curiosity, âWhy?â
âJust checking you havenât broken out in hives.â Rylen smiles easily, thumb brushing Auroraâs wrist unconsciously, light enough to send goosebumps breaking in a tidal wave.
âIâm not actually allergic to fun, you know,â Aurora barely manages a glare, her attention continually slipping back to the fingers still tracing random patterns on the inside of her wrist.
âCan never be too careful.â Finally retracting, Rylenâs hands fall to her lap, and despite the heat of the small, crowded bar, Auroraâs skin feels colder for it. Her goosebumps disappear, and she retracts her own arm, fidgeting with her glass.
She avoids Rylenâs eyes, staring into the random cocktail she ordered intently. âDonât need your concern.â
âEveryone needs my concern.â Rylen doesnât react to the slight edge in Auroraâs voice, the unspoken warning to keep her distant, like a snakeâs rattle, âI have great concern, youâll see.â
âIâm sure I will,â Auroraâs teeth grit together, grinding ever so slightly.
The corner booth falls silent as Rylen watches her carefully, watches her race the rim of her glass and stare at the colors inside. â...If you really donât want to be here, you should go.â
âTrying to get rid of me?â Auroraâs dark eyes flicker up, finding an earnestness in Rylenâs she hasnât seen since that day in the supply closet. Itâs not unwelcome either, itâs reassuring as Aurora takes in the crease between her brows.
âNever,â she shakes her head adamantly, âJust donât want your night to suck.â
âIâm fine,â Aurora shrugs awkwardly, picking at one of her nails. âBut thanks.â
ââCourse,â hazel eyes crinkle as Rylen smiles, nearly squinting with the force of it, and Aurora can feel herself relaxing under the full brunt of that smile. The spell breaks as Rylen stands, âIâll go but lemme know if you need anything,â tapping the table in a short burst before sauntering off.
She joins a group by the bar, throwing her arm around a giggling Siennaâs shoulders as Bryce speaks animatedly, Kyra interjecting periodically. Occasionally their laughter and shouts manage to float over to Auroraâs corner, and every burst of Rylenâs voice draws her eyes.
Itâs late when Donahueâs finally starts emptying out, loud clusters of doctors filtering out the front door, most a little uneasy on their feet. One of the interns spilled a drink on another earlier, their raised voices effectively ending the night for most.
Auroraâs nearly slipped out behind a few of the quieter attendings when someone stumbles into her from the side, arms wrapping around her waist as a face is buried in her shoulder. Dark hair tickles her nose as she glances questioningly to the culprit, beaten to the punch by a mumbling against her, âThanks for coming. Even just for booze,â before sheâs released, a flushed, very drunk Rylen leaning against Rafael for support.
He smiles kindly at Aurora before carefully putting his arm around the woman waving to her and leading Eylen away, down the street after their other friends. Tugging her jacket tighter, Aurora turns the opposite direction, scanning the cars for the ride she called thirty minutes prior.
---
Auroraâs keys jangle as she unlocks her apartmentâs front door, dropping them on the nearby tabletop before shrugging out of her jacket, bag still slung over her shoulder. She stretches her back, pops sounding as she stalks further into the apartment with a sigh, head bowed in exhaustion.
âI wasnât sure you were coming home at all.â Harperâs voice rings from the kitchen, her arms folded on the countertop.
Gaze snapping over to her, Aurora straightens up, âI went to Donahueâs. Damen invited me.â The response is quick, nervous as she stares down her aunt, the very same aunt she fought with twice today.
âRylen? I heard about that.â Harper speaks over her shoulder, crossing the kitchen to scavenge in the fridge.Â
âYeah,â Aurora shrugs, crossing her arms beneath her chest awkwardly. âThere were a lot of staff there.â
Harper pulls out a water bottle and an orange, messing with them idly as she bumps the door closed with her hip, âDid you have fun?â
âI guess. It was pretty typical.â
With a nod, Harper snatches ibuprofen off a counter, stepping up to Aurora and depositing the items in her hands. She smiles softly, squeezing Auroraâs shoulder as she steps past her, before disappearing down the hall, âTake care tonight.â
Aurora blinks down at the things in her hands, somewhat surprised by the peaceful interaction. She follows a beat later, juggling the objects until she can dump them on her bed, door slammed shut behind her and bag dropped to the floor. Staring up at the ceiling, she listens to the quiet, dark apartment, and the bustling of the city outside, blocked from her by a closed curtain tonight.
A buzz sounds, an increasingly familiar buzz. Aurora jerks upward with a sigh, grabbing her bag and rifling through it until she finds her phone case. Her screen appears blurred as it lights up, and after rubbing her eyes, she opens it to the expected message.
âThnks agan . drunk but youre a perfct princess :DDDDFDDâ
Typing slowly, carefully, Aurora crafts her response, still grinning at the virtual smile she was gifted. She smiles too much when sheâs been drinking, but maybe Rylen deserves it more than most. Or maybe sheâs drunker than she thought. âYouâre a pain but the drinks were good. Thanks.â she finally settles on.
And with that, she puts her phone on silent, plugs it in across the room, nearly collapses into her bed, and begins messily peeling her orange in little pieces. A half hour later, sheâs tucking into bed, eyes fluttering shut with the image of Rylenâs loopy, relaxed smile branded on her eyelids.
#oh dp#aurora emery#open heart fanfic#choices fanfic#aurora x mc#rylen damen#this one was funnnn#and next chapter should be longer and building up yknow
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Set after Martin gives his Jane Prentiss statement and is now sleeping in the archives.Â
(Also, thatâs where I left off, so forgive potential shit characterization/inaccuracies. Iâm obviously still painfully new to this, and itâs going to take me a HOT minute to catch up, but Iâm enjoying it!)
Jonâs half-way through a statement, teetering between getting lost within the panicked narrative and trashing the written document for itâs apparent lack of rationalization and validity, when the door slams open hard enough to rattle the walls.Â
Martinâs standing in the doorway, absolutely drenched through yet beaming from ear to ear. It makes Jonâs eye twitch, and he rests his index finger on the stop button of his tape recorder, just in case.Â
Martinâs shoes squelch loudly as he walks into the room, and behind his lips, Jon grits his teeth sharply, thinking of the mess heâll have to clean from the droplets of water all but pouring off Martin.Â
When Martin starts prattling on about a potential lead from a statement Jon had assigned him a few days prior, Jon wordlessly presses âStopâ on his tape recorder and rests both palms atop his knees under his desk, his fingers curling around tightly until theyâre digging into his knees. Still, he holds his composure and silently waits for Martin to finish.Â
âI know Iâve interrupted you,â Martin sputters, âbut I really think we have something here, Jon.â
Jon sucks in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He considers chastising Martin for dwelling on a case he deemed close two days ago; however, he has to admit that Martinâs findings have piqued his interest, enough that he may consider reviewing the statement with Martinâs updated information, that is if he can find a long enough gap within his work day to squeeze in this unplanned development.Â
âYouâre drenched,â Jon mutters, eyes slowly honing in on a drop of water thatâs clinging to a damp strand of Martinâs hair, pooling toward the end, until it drops and slides down his temple. âYouâre making a rather soggy mess of my office.âÂ
âAh, sorry!â Martin leaps to his feet and backs toward the doorway, and Jon carefully watches Martinâs face pull in different directions of conflict.Â
âIâll go grab some napkins! Be right back!âÂ
Before Jon can utter a word, Martinâs disappeared from the doorway, the faint sounds of his shoes squeaking fading to dull echoes against the towering walls. Jon sighs deeply, stiffened shoulders all but deflating against a weight of annoyance and something else he canât quite pinpoint.
He turns his focus, instead, to the details Martinâs verbally shared, and he finds himself turning to relocate the filed statement when Martin returns with a handful of crumpled napkins and a rather sheepish expression thatâs paired with tinged-pink cheeks.Â
âIâm really sorry about the mess, Jon, but Iâll have this cleaned up in no time!âÂ
Martin drops to his knees and begins mopping up small puddles of water, and Jon watches silently, eyes narrowed and taking in the soft shudders that seem to shoot up and down Martinâs spine and the sodden clothing now so tight, it appears as if a second layer of damp, clammy skin that has to be rather uncomfortable.Â
Jon clears his throat. âMartin.âÂ
âAlmost done-â
â-Martin,â Jon presses, lips snapping tightly around each letter.Â
Martin freezes, hand mid swipe, and he pulls a hesitant gaze toward Jon.Â
âGo change,â he nods toward the doorway. âI can take care of this.â He watches Martinâs mouth open and close slowly, and he can almost hear Martinâs rapid thoughts.Â
âGo,â he repeats. âIâm very busy.âÂ
Slowly, Martin gets up to his feet and wraps his arms around himself with a small shiver that Jon frowns at.Â
âIf youâre sure-â
â-Iâm sure,â Jon finishes, and Martin nods, a word of genuine thanks falling off his lips as he exits the office, closing the door quietly behind him.Â
Jon spares a glance toward the wad of napkins on his office floor, nudges it around with his foot halfheartedly, and decides it can wait for his mind keeps wandering toward the information Martin provided. He drops back into his chair, a newfound course of energy pulling at him, and begins reviewing the statement, plugging in Martinâs information as he goes along.Â
---------
Jon can hear Martinâs loud keyboard tapping before he approaches the small, open office. By sound alone, Martinâs typing furiously, and Jon ponders briefly over which statement Martin could be working so intently on when he finally pops into the doorway, leaning lightly against the door frame and knocking softly on the opened door.
Martin jumps violently, almost knocking a cup of tea over when both hands shoot up from his keyboard and bang loudly against his desk on their way to cover his face. It takes a few long seconds, Jon notes, for Martin to move his arms away from his face, one hand slipping to rest against his heaving chest.Â
Jon studies Martinâs wide, panicked eyes, and... oh, right. The worms, and Jane Prentiss, and the repetitive door knocking. âMy apologies,â he drags out. âI didnât intend to startle you.âÂ
Martin swallows thickly; Jon watches the slow bob of his adamâs apple.Â
âNo, itâs quite alright. I guess Iâm still a bit bothered by... well, you know.âÂ
Nodding, Jon crosses his arms and cocks his head to the side slightly, contemplating if Martinâs voice has always held that color of rasp or if something else is going on. He drags a slow gaze to Martinâs face, to his flushed cheeks, to the damp perspiration clinging lightly to his temples.Â
â-Jon? Are you alright?âÂ
Jon forces his gaze to Martinâs eyes, wiping the image of his too-rosy cheeks from his mind just as quickly as he honed in on the sight. âSorry, you were saying?â
âI was just asking if you needed something.â Martin casts his eyes to his hands folded in his lap. âYou donât often stop by.â
âAh, yes,â Jon mutters, clearing his throat. âI just wanted to come tell you that your findings today redirected the statementâs narrative enough that Iâm willing to reopen the case file to explore further outcomes.â
âThatâs good!â Martinâs beaming again, such an odd, warm contrast to his poor pallor, Jon thinks.Â
âIâm glad to have--â Martinâs voice hitches, and he turns to sneeze sharply into the crook of his arm--Â âhelped,â he finishes, sniffling, and Jon unwillingly takes note of the congestion thickening Martinâs tone.Â
Jon only frowns at him, and Martin laughs lightly, nervously, and he snags a tissue for his nose. âSorry, Iâm feeling a bit worn down after, well,â he gestures helplessly to the pile of wet clothes in the corner of his office, and Jonâs eyes fall to the clothing, and he canât help but shiver slightly.
âRight,â Jon mutters, turning from Martinâs office. âWell, good work,â he adds, reluctantly, and he starts out of the office, choosing to not address the loud âthank youâ that echoes from Martinâs office as he starts back to the archives.Â
---------
Jonâs focus the remainder of the day is wavering, voice abruptly halting every time he hears the faint echoes of Martinâs coughing or sneezing. Twice, he almost slips from his office to send Martin home for heâs too loud and distracting, but then he remembers that, for the time being, this institute is Martinâs home.Â
He organizes, instead, for his last hour, teeth gritting harder and harder the sicker Martin sounds, and itâs a few minutes near closing time when he picks up on Tim and Sasha talking with Martin through the gap below his door.Â
âAre you sure you donât want to come stay with one of us?â
Sasha, Jon thinks, sounding quite concerned.Â
âYou really do look and sound terrible, Martin. Youâd be much more comfortable with one of us.â
âI couldnât impose, but I do appreciate the offer. Iâll be quite alright here. Thank you, though.â
Frowning, Jon listens to the two reluctantly leave Martin, and he listens to hear Martin shuffling down the hall, presumably to the small room with the cot heâs been sleeping in.Â
He should leave well enough alone, let Martin get his rest, but when he leaves his office for the day, bag heavy with his tape recorder and statements, he hesitates, feet faltering just a few steps before the makeshift bedroom. He can hear the cot creaking under Martinâs weight and seemingly restless shifting, and that odd feeling from before, the one heâs yet to pinpoint an appropriate word to, comes back, swelling hot in his chest. He steps in front of the closed door and raises his fist to knock, thinking better of it and calling out instead.Â
âMartin. Iâm coming in.âÂ
He opens the door slowly to see Martin struggling to sit up on the bed and coughing into his fist.Â
âJon, whatâre you-â
Jon holds a single hand up, signaling for Martin to stop talking, and Martin does, coughing instead, deep, wet coughs that Jon almost wishes to shrink away from. He can see Martinâs muscles straining against each cough, and when Martin catches his breath, he shoves himself upright fully on shaking arms and drags the light blanket over his shoulders.Â
âSorry, I guess my little run in the rainâs left me rather poorly.âÂ
Jon finds a small stain on the rather hideous area rug, and he stares hard at it, fingers tightening around the strap of is bag. He, of all people, knows how uncomfortable this room can be, as heâs only managed a few hours here or there at the most. He canât begin to fathom Martin being able to rest comfortably in here, not while taken ill.Â
He just only wishes Martin wouldâve taken Tim or Sasha up on their offers because then, he wouldnât be standing here, feeling somehow responsible for Martin.Â
âJon?â
âIf youâd like,â Jon starts, swallowing thickly, âyou may come spend a night, or two, at my apartment.â He braves a glance up to see that Martinâs face is frustratingly unreadable. He looks, Jon thinks, concerned, confused, and something else that just doesnât make any sense.Â
âAs I told Tim and Sasha, I donât wish to impose. Iâm sure Iâll be fine.â But, even as Martin utters such politely practiced words, he shivers, pulling the blanket tighter around his frame, and he coughs quite a bit, always excusing himself.Â
âYou arenât imposing,â Jon says, sighing. âIâm not... I wonât force you, of course, but I have experience sleeping roughly on that small cot, and I can only imagine how dreadful it would be while ill.âÂ
Heâs not sure why heâs pushing, guilt maybe? Even though, he reminds himself, he did not instruct Martin to pursue follow-ups with this particular statement. Martin did that of his own accord, so really, Jon thinks, he should be angry by the blatant disobedience from one of his assistants, and yet, somewhere, heâs glad for Martinâs unruly persistence. He just wishes, now, that Martin would be a little more attentive to the weather before running off on one of his escapades. Â
âAre you sure?âÂ
âI wouldnât be suggesting it if I wasnât,â Jon snaps, turning on his heel as Martin slides off the cot to gather a few things to take with him.Â
---------
âIâm not taking your bed, Jon, and thatâs final.â
Jon slips his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose. He and Martin have been dancing around the same argument, back and forth, for the last fifteen minutes. He offered his bed because he knows how uncomfortable his couch is, and Martin all but threw a fit at the notion. If Jon werenât completely annoyed, heâd find this pushy side of Martin rather interesting as itâs a clear contrast to how Martin acts around work. Still, he canât dwell on the many sides of Martin Blackwood at the moment because said man is quite ill, his condition seeming to worsen every minute, and he wonât just take the damn bed.Â
âFine,â Jon spits out sharply as he disappears for some extra blankets to make the couch into a makeshift bed, slapping Martinâs hands away when he tries to help.Â
He wordlessly gestures to the couch when he finishes, eye twitching against aggravation, and Martin sinks onto the couch, sighing, to Jonâs disbelief, in relief as he pulls two blankets up to his chin, his face relaxing for the first time in an hour.Â
âThis is nice, Jon, thank you. Seriously.â
âSee if you can still say that tomorrow when your backâs twinging in pain,â Jon mutters as he moves to turn off lights. Heâs quiet when he flicks each light switch, hearing soft snores after only a minute at the most. He canât imagine how exhausted Martin must be, having barely slept for two weeks when... he experienced an uncertain and unfortunate situation, not quite ruled to be Jane Prentiss just yet. Pair that with the uncomfortable cot, fever, and a cough, and Jonâs surprised Martin hasnât dropped sooner. Â
He starts toward his bedroom, stopping by the arm of the couch where Martinâs head is resting. Without thinking anything through, he reaches down and ghosts a feather-light touch of his palm to Martinâs forehead, frowning sharply at the heat and making a mental note to inquire about medicine in the morning.
Martin sighs contently under his touch, and he jerks his hand back quickly, his heart thumping oddly fast against his rib cage, and stalks to his room to quietly record.Â
#tma#the magnus archives#jonathan sims#martin blackwood#jonmartin#sickfic#whump#whumpfic#my writing#my tma writing
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Part 2 of MCU/Twilight verse
âThat MCU crossover Iâm writing that actually hasnât mentioned the MCU at all yet.â
Alt 7: Found FamilyÂ
Rating: T for swearing
Words: 2,551
Summary: Twilight X MCU crossover. The Snap doesnât just kill humans. What happens next?
Notes: Is this even Whump-y enough to count to Whumptober? I donât know, everyoneâs grieving. I made myself watch Endgame again and I found something useful. I know it probably feels like I wiped out a lot of characters, but thereâs method to my madness. Iâm desperately resisting the urge to make some obvious corrections to the MCU, and Iâm pretty sure the last two chapters are going to be needlessly self-indulgent. And yes, I need a title.Â
Part One here
two. survivors
What happens next?
Itâs a good question, and one Alice used to be able to answer. Her predictions have⌠well, they havenât stopped, but there are less. Maybe sheâs not saying everything but he doesnât press.
They stay in Forks. Itâs the easiest option, really. They have resources at the Forks house - all of Jasperâs computers, Roseâs cars, Carlisleâs medication stash. And for, now, it makes sense to keep up the masquerade - the orphaned Cullen kids, in that big old house.
And Seth Clearwater. Neither of them have made more than polite inquiries about the Quileute reservation, because what can they do, really? They werenât allowed on the land, and nothing they offer will be accepted. Seth doesnât want to talk about it either, so they just⌠donât. Not yet.
The first announcements and news reports are hard to listen to - half of all living creatures. Humans, animals, plants, sea-life⌠just gone. Then there are the people who survived, but died in the aftermath; the patients in surgery with the dust of their surgeons sinking into their chest cavity, the passengers on an airplane, the school bus with no driver. The news plays on, listing losses and catastrophes until he loudly asks if Seth wants to play Xbox instead.
Alice goes with them, and sits crosslegged on a recliner, watching them.
âCarlisle would have liked that,â she says suddenly, when Emmett realises the error in picking a war game - should have opted for a racing game instead.
âLiked what?â he asks, as he gets up to change the disc. Seth doesnât say anything, playing with the recliner buttons instead.
ââHalf of all living creaturesâ,â she quotes. Sheâs been wearing one of Jasperâs t-shirts under her cardigan, and the scent of his brother is fading the longer she wears it. âCarlisle would have appreciated that. That the universe thought we were living creatures. Might have convinced Edward that we werenât total monsters, either.â
Seth looks up at her, confused. âWhy wouldnât you be living creatures?â he asks, concentrating at the recliner tips him right back.
âWe donât breathe or age or change,â Alice says, a smirk playing around her face as Seth yelps when the entire chair begins to tip, but luckily it doesnât fall.
âBut you eat,â Seth accepts the controller Emmett passes him. âAnd youâve got families. That means you still count.â
âI wish we didnât.â Emmett doesnât realise heâs said those words aloud until he realises Seth and Alice are both staring at him. He wants to explain that if they didnât count, then there wouldnât be five vases lined up on the mantel (three empty) full of dust. That he wouldnât be sitting here playing Xbox with Seth Clearwater, and Alice wouldnât be wearing leggings and her husbandâs t-shirt, looking brittle and tired. That he wouldnât go into their room every night, and bury his face in Roseâs clothes to keep himself from going insane.
But he doesnât need to. They both understand - Alice sits with Seth when the boy sniffles and tries to hide it; Emmett hears Alice padding around Jasperâs office, having a conversation with thin air, questions asked to silence. If there was some loophole they could grab with both hands and exploit, he knows he and Alice and Seth would take it, humanity and life and all those upright and moral things be damned.
âJust what everyone needs,â Alice muses, leaning back and stretching like a cat. âA world where humans and animals were cut in half but the vampires werenât.â
And sheâs right. That would be a mess. The fucking end of times.
âThat would be a cool movie,â Seth says absently, focused on the screen and forcing Emmettâs car off the road and into a ravine.
Alice watches them play for awhile before getting up. A few minutes later, thereâs a knock at the door and low voices. Charlie Swan, with Carlisleâs phone. Â Emmett lets Seth win a second race, focused on the conversation Alice is having - why it took Charlie so damn long to bring the phone, how theyâre holding up; his irritation at the delay it took to get Carlisleâs phone is tempered when he hears the genuine concern Charlie has for Alice. He doesnât know much about Bellaâs father, but he seems like a good guy.
Not that Alice needs to act the part - she looks broken. Most of the time he feels like heâs seeing a part of her that he shouldnât be seeing, that the loss and grief that becomes her is somehow shameful to witness; itâd be less awkward to see her naked than to see her twisting Jasperâs t-shirt in her hands with that glassy look of hopelessness she tries to hide.
Alice feels the same about him; that Emmett without Rose is devoid of that joie de vivre, that endless good humour, the extra joke. He feels tired in his bones, deflated, and distracted with the space in his chest that Rose used to fill. He feels like an old man, when he was never finished being a young man, never made it to middle-age.
But they are trying. Especially with Seth in the house - heâs taken over the bedroom that Esme planned to give to Bella, mostly because it didnât stink of vampires as much as any other room; and neither of them wanted to dismantle Esmeâs studio or Carlisleâs office. It wasnât really much - a mattress and boxspring, a dresser and desk. Alice had given him a laptop to use, and found some new bedding for him, and occasionally even remembered that a fourteen year old boy shouldnât be eating pizza six nights a week, and probably needed more boundaries than they were giving him. But Alice isnât maternal, and her attempts at forcing vegetables and a bedtime on Seth usually get forgotten within a day or two.
Charlie Swan leaves, and he listens as Alice puts Carlisleâs phone into his vase, and then he focuses on the game so that Seth doesnât think heâs letting him win because of pity or anything.
â
Itâs not until late summer than people start bothering them. Parents of classmates who suddenly donât have any children of their own to worry over. Colleagues and acquaintances who feel some kind of lingering responsibility. Busy-bodies, usually a part of some self-aggrandising self-appointed community group butting into everyoneâs grief.
Alice ignores the early attempts to interfere, to crack open both the metaphorical and literal door for anyone who isnât Charlie Swan. Sheâs taken to doing the oddest tasks, but Emmett doesnât ask. At the moment, sheâs painting every single door in the house with a swirling pattern of flowers that is tiny and detailed and fills up the day. Esme would have a conniption if she saw her lovely doors like this (he remembers when Alice and Jasper first arrived, and her art projects ran afoul of Esme - she had apologised and channeled that manic energy into embroidery instead; thereâs a pair of unspeakably ugly curtains hanging in the Vermont house from one panicked week when Jasper went off with Peter and Charlotte).
Then the harassment starts - both her and him, since heâs apparently considered her âguardianâ. Alice hangs up the phone numerous times wordlessly before being so outstandingly rude to Mrs Newton that both he and Seth stare at her before Emmett remembers heâs actually supposed to be in charge - as far as the rest of the town knows, at least - and calls to deter any more visits or phone calls or casseroles because Alice isnât well and the disruptions are upsetting her.
If Carlisle or Esme were here, theyâd think to send Mrs Newton flowers or something as an apology, but they arenât, and no one can get Alice to apologise when she doesnât want to, and Seth confided in him that sheâs crying when heâs hiding in the garage and Seth is totally at a loss over what to do about a crying girl that isnât Leah, so maybe theyâll just leave it at that. Give the town something new to gossip about.
But it does spark sudden realisation in both Cullens about a topic that has been long forgotten - school. Alice and Emmett have both graduated, but Seth had not. Seth had another four glorious years in high school, even if the Res school is down to double digits of enrolments, and probably wonât even run every weekday.
Seth whines and begs and negotiates until Alice stamps her foot and demands to know what Sue Clearwater would say and that makes Seth all small and miserable, and Alice hates herself and Emmett solves the problem by making a large donation through one of their anonymous charities to the Res school so that Seth can at least do online learning, and apparently thatâs a huge deal that is on the local news, and that makes Alice and Seth laugh because only Emmett would stop a teenage boyâs whining by revolutionising a tribeâs educational provisions with a cheque large enough to sustain a small city for a year.
But itâs good help - it means the children who suddenly have no parents and have to raise siblings can still study; it means that half-empty classrooms donât necessarily mean half-empty classes; it also means that other tribes with larger losses and no way of schooling are invited to join them.
Thatâs one good thing theyâve managed.
He also fixed the backdoor as good as new, so it should be two, but heâs pretty sure that doesnât count now that Alice has painted flowers blooming and dying all over it.
At some point they both bully Seth into going home again, to get his own stuff - clothes and bedding and photos and all those things you look for when youâre in a house that isnât yours. He yells at them, they yell at him, and he storms off. But now thereâs a photo of him with his parents and sister on his dresser, and a bunch of books crowding his desk, and the worldâs most beat-up DS under his pillow. There are more photos, somewhere - Emmett knows that because Alice knows where they are and then one day there are two framed photos joining the vases on the mantle - one of Sue and Harry Clearwater on their wedding day, and one of Leah laughing. Neither of them knows what happened to Sue or Leah precisely on that day, but Seth doesnât bring the ashes with him, so they donât ask.
Summer folds into fall, and whatâs left of Esmeâs gardens wither up. Charlie Swan checks on them every few weeks, sounding tired. Thereâs a lot of work for him right now - mostly community and social issues, like scared and orphaned children hiding, people struggling with money, grief, religion. Thereâs been some shortages of food, since thereâs less being grown, less people to process and package and ship it, and a little town hours outside of Seattle is not a priority to whomever is deciding where to send a milk delivery.
They order Sethâs food from high-end places online that deliver them quickly and quietly; Alice starts choosing long-life and bulk items, and no one needs to ask because itâs obvious things will get worse before they get better. Seth holds a pretty intense grudge against the powdered strawberry milk, though.
But food shortages are the least of their worries, as Alice uses the dining room wall to start taking nonsensical notes, and Emmettâs heard enough stories to know that losing a mate can be⌠well, heâs not having much fun, but the very last thing he needs is to wrangle Alice if sheâs lost her mind. Dead or not, he knows he could never lay a hand on her even if she did go nuts out of love for his family, out of respect for Jasper, and out of this funny bond theyâve somehow formed, being the last ones left.
The notes turn into lists, lists of everyone theyâve ever known, in her swirling handwriting. Even people they know are gone, like Bella, goes on the list.
Then she starts striking out names, like sheâs slashing with a knife - Carlisle, Esme, Jasper, Rosalie, Edward, Bella, Charlie, Sue, Leah, Sam, Jacob, Paul⌠Slash, slash, slash.
Then it starts getting interesting. Peter and Charlotte are gone, but so are half the goddamned Volturi (Alice smirks as she crosses out Caius, Jane, Alec, Dimitri because imagining Aro on his throne with grief-mad Marcus and only the minions is a pretty picture indeed). Carmen and Tanya have survived, but Kate, Irina, and Eleazer are gone. Garrett is alive, but Randall and Mary arenât. J Jenks didnât make it either, which makes things⌠difficult.
Alice scowls darkly as she scratches out Mariaâs name, and Emmett wonders if itâs because she didnât get to do the honours of destroying the Mexican harpy herself. Or because wherever Jasper is now, so is Maria, and Alice is left behind.
Finally, she is done, and the list is nearly balanced in living and dead. Aliceâs left eye twitches, and whatever sheâs thinking she doesnât say as she stands up.
âAlaska and then Mexico, then,â she says to him, and he gives her the Look that he gives her and Edward and Jasper every time one of them forgets that not everyone has a gift and some of them have to use their words.
âWe need to check on Carmen and Tanya; I think they need us,â Alice explains, still examining the list. âI saw that we need to go. And then weâre going down to Mexico.â
âMariaâs dead,â he gestures at her list, and Seth wanders in stuffing his face with Pringles, and turns white at the sight of Esmeâs freshly defaced walls; evidently Motherly Wrath is something universal across all of the species.
âMariaâs dead, and left behind a bunch of fresh newborns,â Alice sounds tired. âThereâs no one left for clean up, Em, no one who knows. And it will be bad if we donât step in soon.â
There might be something cathartic in that for Alice, undoing Mariaâs lifeâs work. Mariaâs lands werenât exactly in the wealthiest or most populated lands these days - Jasper kept a secret map that wasnât at all a secret - and if going down there and taking off a few heads saves a mother or father or child, then maybe itâs worth the hassle.
âFine. Alaska and Mexico,â he agrees, and Seth cheers.
âRoad-trip!â he declares around a mouthful of chips. Alice rolls her eyes.
âIâll make you up a passport,â she says, not even bothering to argue with the younger boy that heâll be joining them. âWeâll take the Jeep, Em - Rose just finished it.â
The words hang in the air for a second, and he nods in agreement. There might be something in that, taking the last gift-gesture-offering Rose ever did for him on their End-of-the-World Road Trip. Alice can rip the heads off newborns, he can drive around in the SUV his wife carefully and lovingly put together just to please him, and maybe heâll buy Seth a beer in Tijuana.
Closest thing theyâll ever get to therapy, he supposes.
#my fic: jar of hearts#alice cullen#emmett cullen#seth clearwater#twilight fic#i should check the jalice prompts again for ch 3#but is this crossovery enough for a crossover?#like we're aggressively not talking about the avengers yet#we'll get there#i promise the roadtrip isn't just an excuse to run into captain america buying a milkshake or something#there is plot and purpose#we are above that sort of cloying and anemic meet cute#in this fic at least#others not so much
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